#even my ceramics teacher has pointed out how much my hands shake

[metrixnos]

Hey to all my ceramicists out there, do your hands shake too or have i done something wrong

[the-swedes-knees]

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent. 

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

[rouiyan]

𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 𝘖𝘍𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘍𝘐𝘌𝘓𝘋 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

synopsis: we’re all sprinting towards one thing or another. the players to the ball, mark to his class, and haechan right to you.

✧ soccer player!haechan x (fem.) reader + best friend!mark ✧ high school au, best friends to loverz, inspired by heather (conan gray)

✧ genres : some fluff, some angst, some pining what’s new ✧ word count : 2.3k ✧ disclaimer : swearing

✧ author’s note — wrote this in ap stats, probably should have been paying attention instead bc i can't figure out how to do the hw for the life of me.

"did you see y/n today?" 

haechan thinks, by the sound of the voice, that it's mark who's speaking. he pulls the rest of the sweatshirt past his head, "no, did you?" haechan's grabbing for his socks, he swears he stuffed them in the front pocket of his backpack. "that's why i'm asking, idiot. she told me she would be here today." a tongue of frustration juts out from haechan's mouth, he hopes it just looks like he's agitated about his missing socks and not the fact that you always tell mark those things, always mark and never him. 

haechan is out of the locker room in seconds, sneakers slipped on without socks. he's adjusting the hood of the sweatshirt, tucking his locks under the material, when he sees you lingering by the bleachers. you smile sheepishly when you see the boy coming from the locker rooms, "somehow, i thought it started at four and i thought i got here early but your coach told me you guys just finished." haechan can't help but laugh, so that's why you weren't here, "and we won, too. did he tell you that?"

he's by your side now, seated, though his feet are planted on the ground while yours are swinging back and forth, "he did tell me that, congratulations haechan, wish i could've seen you score today." haechan tucks a lip under his teeth, now's not the time for him to be so obvious, not when it's just you and him. he thinks that yet, his stares linger on you for a little longer than normal, his fingers are fiddling with the ridges of the bleachers, and his cheeks host the brightest hue of cherry red. 

"hey, y/n, where were you today?" haechan's nose scrunches at an emerging mark, he really thought he could have the moment with you. mark approaches and sits on the other side of you. captain mark lee, haechan notes with shrewd annoyance, is wearing your sweater, his favorite of yours, the one with the worn polyester fabric that's pilling all over but still holds warmth snuggly. the one that haechan's been wanting to wear since day one. 

mark swings his legs as well and haechan watches as you point it out, giggling now that mark is trying to swing in sync to your own pace. "wanna come over? my mom's been asking you to come over for dinner," marks eyes are on you, haechan can see that much, but he also misses the way your own eyes shift to himself. and what haechan doesn't see, mark does, and his lip twitches into a knowing smile, "haechan, you should come too, my mom misses you."

the boy himself is already in over his head and passing up the offer is the only way he sees to escape the despair that comes with being a third wheel, "no thanks, i have a shit ton of homework to do today." your hum in response is mixed with an undertone of a sigh, one that haechan is too sidetracked to notice. he takes his leave, "well, i'll see you two tomorrow i guess."

you and mark sit in silence for the minutes after his leave, mark sneaking small glances at your ever-changing expression, an open book to all your thoughts. "next time, y/n, next time." 

well shit, maybe mark wasn't as clueless as you pegged him to be. 

in agitation, mark shoves the last of his books into his backpack, class is about to start soon and if he doesn't get going now, well then he might as well give up his perfect attendance, no tardy record. haechan leans against the locker next to his own, a seemingly bored expression on display to hide the inner rumblings of his thoughts.

"so how was dinner last night, did you guys miss me?" haechan's trying to come off as nonchalant, he hates it when he has to pry just to satiate his curiosities. mark shuts his locker, swinging his backpack across one shoulder, "uh, dinner didn't happen and no, i didn't miss you but i bet y/n did." haechan's left in confusion on all fronts, "what do you mean it didn't happen? why would she miss me- wait, why did you not miss me?"

"well y/n said she was busy all of a sudden, something like that. as for-" the bells rings, signaling the end of passing period, and effectively cutting off the answers to all of haechan's worries. marks eyes widen and before he can even catch the boy by his arms, to shake and spill the words out of him, he's already sprinting down the emptying halls. 

haechan sighs. he should be sprinting too but he's already late, might as well walk. the campus grounds are vast and he decides to take a stroll outside, the much longer way to his physics class. haechan is passing a few classes on his left, all of them filled with the chatter of students before a teacher begins their lectures, but there's one class that catches his eye. the window into the ceramics class reveals a clear view of you, eyebrows furrowed and trying to shape a little figure on the table before you. you've told him many times before that ceramics was your least enjoyed of all your courses, that you had taken it simply because you needed an art credit and while that might've been the reason you'd signed up, haechan can tell by the way you handle the little mold of clay, that you had stayed for much different reasons.

he thinks to tease you of it later but it's then during lunch where he stops himself because before he even so much as reaches the table your group frequents, there you are, showing the little figurine to mark, eyes glistening with pride and joy. "i think i did quite well this time, i even got praised." as haechan comes close, he sees the clay figure in full clarity for what it is, an ambiguous sitting shape with a heart cradled in its lap, lumpy in certain spots but emanating in the care and thoughtfulness with which it was made. 

haechan slides into the seat across from you. "look," you sound softly to him, holding out the little figure in both your hands, "do you like it?" haechan swallows thickly when he looks up from your hands to your eyes, he sees the way they light up, he hopes. wordlessly, he nods, a small smiles tugs at his lips. he likes it, he really does so he questions, "what inspired you to make it?" it's in the way that you immediately eye mark, and the way that mark immediately hides his oncoming giggle, that haechan relinquishes his hopes.

mark walks you to class after your lunch break that day, he's a grade higher but a thousand times dumber, you think. "are you insane? why would you laugh at that specific moment?" in between small giggles, mark does his best to provide a reply, "you should've just told him that he was the one that inspired you." smacking his elbow, you purse your lips, "but then he'd know!"

the older boy stops walking for a second and you're five steps ahead when you notice. you turn. "what now, mark?" he holds a mischievous glint in his eyes, "he'd know what?" now his eyebrows are making little squiggly lines by his hairline and you take a few steps back to drag him by the arm. flushing, you whisper, figuring he already knew as much, "he'd know i like him."

if mark is considered your best friend and potential crush, then what about him? possibly also a best friend, though he could only hope you would talk to him a bit more, spend a bit more time with him, make more conversation with him during breaks. potential crush was for sure out of the picture right? the way you look at mark, the way you share you everything with mark, objects and secrets and everything in between, haechan isn't sure he can say the same for himself. he texts mark anyways. tell y/n ur busy, something bout soccer.

haechan's out the door a minute and a half before the bell rings, his teacher yelling at him to come back. he doesn't give a shit. mark always walks you home, he always does and haechan is so fucking fed up with it because he himself lives closer to you so why should he get to walk you home. 

he arrives at the door to your last class just as the bell signals the end of the school day. there's only enough time for three deep breaths, panting breaths, before the door to your classroom is propped open and students begin filing out. 

"y/n, over here!" he calls. your eyes widen at the sound of his voice and you turn to it, a smile already lifting the corners of your mouth. you're walking side by side with him, and haechan starts leading in the direction of your locker, despite needing to go to his own. "i can walk you home today." you turn your head to him, "what do you mean? i usually walk with-"

"mark, i know," he says it with a disclosed derision, "he's busy, had to go talk to coach or something, i don't know. but i can walk you, plus my house is just two streets down, remember?" he watches in anticipation as you retrieve your phone from your bag. his eyes do their best to peer over and he sees your lockscreen light with a notification from mark. "oh, yeah he said he's busy with soccer stuff." haechan's lip quirk in victory, his plan unfolding itself into perfection. 

"can we go to my locker first though? i need to get some stuff, and we're on the way." he nods as if it wasn't in his intention to head in this direction and for that reason. he merely disregards the need to go to his locker. who cares if he has to bring a whole ass chemistry textbook home if he gets to go home with you. 

it isn't until he's at your front steps that he musters up the courage. you're in the middle of keying in the pin numbers to your door pad when he speaks up, "hey y/n?" you give a hum in response, messing up the last two digits after hearing him voice your name. you abandon your attempts, turning to look at the questioning boy. "would you like to come watch my match next week?"

you take a step down so that you're two above from where he's standing, now the same height as him. frowning, "of course. i'm going to see you and mar-"

it seems that haechan really doesn't want to hear that name come from your mouth today because he interrupts you yet again, "yeah, but i'm asking if you'd want to come to watch me." your lips part and shut in search of what to say. haechan nudges a little further, "i want you to come watch me play, would you want to?"

you release a breath, biting down a smile, you manage a nod within all your flusteredness. your voice, a bare peep, "i want to," gives haechan all the courage he needs to grab one of your hands to give it a little squeeze before muttering a, "see you," and taking his leave. haechan's turning the corner out of your driveway when he sneaks a glance before the fence blocks his view of you. his heart hurls at the sight of you, still on your front steps, face buried in your hands. even from all the way here, the bright red flush of your cheeks can be seen through your fingers. 

no one knows why that one boy on the field is scoring goals left and right. no one knows except you and him. from the moment haechan saw you on the bleachers, the other team was done for. it isn't even about impressing you anymore, it's not about making you proud. it's not a crush, it's these stupid feelings that never go away, never fade with time, or any amount of effort, at least, not in the knowledge that you are equally his as he is yours. it's not a crush, it's the sickening feeling in his gut when he sees you with someone other than himself, with mark, when he sees that sweater on mark instead of himself. it's not a crush, it's the way he feels the need to be with you all the damn time, the lingering feelings from whenever you leave his side that tell him that moments spent without you would be so much better if you were just there. haechan moves on the field with full conviction that it's not just a crush, it's love.

and so as the last whistle of the game blows, their team securing the win with haechan's last goal, he runs, no sprints, straight off the field to where you're seated in the stands. he brushes past all the people with hushed apologies and it's only when he's right in front of you does he realize how frenzied he likely seemed. he doesn't mind for more than a second though, because you've stood up and laced your arms around his shoulders, fingers on the back of his neck. he embraces you back and the kiss he gives to your cheek is something that just feels so natural and close to home. his forehead is on yours when he asks, his voice a bare minimum, "y/n, will you be my girlfriend?"

it isn't you that answers, rather it's a mark lee with a loud, "FUCK YEAH." 

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — hey anon babe who requested this. apologies for making it fem. reader, i know you didn't specify. if you would like me to reupload with gender neutral reader, then send an ask and i'll be more than happy to. ♡

[wayward-dreamer]

Life’s Lessons - Part 3

Title: Life’s Lessons - A Lesson in Faking It

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Female!Teacher!Reader (eventual)

Other Pairings: Dean x Lisa

Word Count: 5,342 (song lyrics in italics).

Part Summary: Monday morning is off to a bad start as Y/N’s car refuses to start, but she receives some help from Dean. As an IOU when he refuses to let her pay full price for the car service, Y/N invites him dinner. Realizing what it could imply, she backtracks and invites Lisa, too. 

Warnings: Swearing, some angst, Lisa being aloof, social insecurities, alcohol consumption to deal with nerves.

Music: Out on the Tiles by Led Zeppelin (Dean and Y/N car scene), Back in Black by AC/DC (playing in the garage during Dean and Y/N garage scene).

Life’s Lessons Spotify Playlist 

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read so far, it’s been so great to hear your thoughts! Any thoughts, theories and feedback you have is always welcome, so don’t be shy to comment! It’s greatly appreciated! Happy reading and enjoy! :)

Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics! Check her out for all your AU needs!!!

Life’s Lessons Masterlist 

Monday arrived too quickly for Y/N to be happy about it.

She had managed to get some revisions done on her lesson plans, so she was prepared for her classes in terms of content. She just hoped for the strength to deal with the kids this week. She really hoped this week would be better than her first.

She woke up as soon as her alarm went off and started getting ready. After her shower, she dried her hair and got dressed into a purple A-line dress, with a collared neckline. She wore her black, pointed toe shoes, that had a short heel, the most sensible heels for school. After applying a little bit of make-up, she fixed her hair and pinned it into a bun. Seeing that she had some time before she left, she made herself a quick breakfast, of yoghurt and fruit and a piece of toast with peanut butter.

Breakfast was a lot different at the Winchester/Braeden household.

Dean was at the stove, working on scrambling eggs. Ben placed plates on the kitchen counter, the bacon already crispy and done, on the counter already. As Dean turned to put the eggs on the counter, he lifted his arms up, as Lisa ducked underneath to get past him. She took out one ceramic mug and a travel mug, filling them both with coffee.

“I’ve got soccer try-outs after school, so I won’t be done until 5” Ben said, pouring himself some orange juice.

“I’ve got a meeting today and it might run late, so can you get him?” Lisa asked, putting Dean’s travel mug in front of him.

Dean took out some eggs on Ben’s plate. “Yeah, I’ll come get ya.”

“Thanks” she mumbled, fixing her own plate of breakfast.

Dean ignored her lacklustre response, as he practically shovelled food into his mouth. He was going to be late if they didn’t leave now.

“And then drop me off at my science partner’s house. We’re working on a project together” Ben explained.

“Sure” Dean nodded, as he ate.

“They’re going to bring you back home, right?” Lisa asked.

Ben nodded but continued eating.

Dean looked between them, practically inhaling breakfast. “Alright” he mumbled around the last bite of food in his mouth. “You ready?”

“Yeah” Ben replied, gulping his juice down.

Dean put his plate in the sink, followed by Ben’s as he grabbed his coffee. “Bye.” He leaned over and kissed Lisa’s head, a habit that he hadn’t dropped even if it didn’t mean what it used to, before walking to the door.

“Bye mom!” Ben called out.

“Have a great day!” she called back before Dean closed the door.

“Fucking start, you piece of shit!” Y/N yelled, as she turned the key to her car in the ignition. All she got back was a grinding sound, and nothing else. It would stutter and die down but pick up again every time she turned the key.

“Damn it!” she slammed her hands on the wheel as she sat back, shaking her head.

This is what she got for driving all the way to Kansas in this piece of crap car, which might as well have been held together by duct tape and dental floss. She got out of the car with her phone, trying to look up a number for a mechanic.

Dean walked over to the Impala and was about to get in when he heard an awful sound coming from across the street. He looked up to see Y/N’s car still in her driveway, which was the source of the noise. He watched as she got out, a frustrated look on her face.

“Hey” he called out.

Y/N looked up, smiling tentatively. That’s not really the mechanic she wanted. Well she did, but she shouldn’t.

“Get in the car” he said to Ben, as he walked across the street to her.

“That doesn’t sound good” he told her as he reached her.

She shook her head, as she frowned. “Yeah, I’m going to be epically late by the time someone shows up.”

“Okay, there’s no freaking way you’re calling someone else, I’ll give you a ride to school and tow this to the shop later” he explained.

“What?” she asked, shocked that he offered without hesitation. “No, Dean, it’s really okay-”

“No, no, you’re not talking me out of this. I’m taking Ben to school; it just makes sense” he gave her a pointed look, letting her know he wasn’t backing down.

“Dean, I really can’t. With Ben… it’ll be really awkward, I’m his teacher” she protested.

“Look, I’ll drop you guys off around back, no one’s gonna see you. Okay?” he insisted.

She was going to be late if she didn’t take the offer.

“Okay” she sighed, defeated but relieved. “Thanks.”

Dean smirked. “No problem, sweetheart. Come on.”

They walked over to the Impala and Y/N admired it as they got closer. She had obviously seen it a few times from across the street, but she was excited to take a ride in it. She loved the look of classic cars because of her dad, and she felt a heaviness in her heart as she thought about him, so far away back home.

“She’s beautiful” she said, as she ran her hand over the smooth finish. The sleek black shone in the sun, showing her that Dean loved his car immensely.

“Yeah, she is” he agreed, grinning.

Ben smiled at her nervously as she got into the car. Y/N just smiled, feeling slightly awkward that she was in a car with one of her students, and his surrogate dad. She just had to avoid conversation about school and hopefully everything would be okay.

They were on the main road to school pretty quickly, the silence in the car too much for Dean to bear. He leaned forward and switched on the music player, his Zeppelin tape coming to life through the speakers. Y/N smiled and bopped her head along to Out on The Tiles. Dean looked at her from the corner of his eye and smirked at her reaction to his music. Lisa didn’t really like listening to his music.

“I’m gonna go back and get your car later” he said, lowering the music slightly. “I’ll take a look at it.”

“I really can’t thank you enough, Dean” she smiled.

“Hey, it’s my job” he shrugged, as he looked out at the road. “Swing by the shop after work and we can sort everything else out.”

“Sounds good” she nodded.

Another silence fell between them, the music the only thing they heard but the lyrics to the song caused an air of awkwardness to fill the car.

All I need from you is all your love All you got to give to me is all your love All I need from you is all your love All you got to give to me is all your love Oh yeah, oh yeah Oh yeah, oh yeah

“So…” Dean trailed off, trying to find something to say. “You uh… you into Zeppelin?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed. “Grew up on this and pretty much all classic rock, thanks to my dad. I got all his records and his record player when I moved out here. Said he wanted me to take a piece of home with me.”

Dean let out a whistle as he glanced at her. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah” she sighed, looking out the window. “I started listening to this stuff because of my dad, too” he told her. “Hell, I got a lot from him, the car too.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised. “Your dad gave up a mint condition Impala?”

Dean raised his eyebrows as he looked at her. “You know this is an Impala?”

“Yeah” she shrugged like it was no big deal. “I went to a car show once with dad. I saw one there and knew it was the same once I saw yours.”

Dean, however, thought it was a very big deal. Damn it, just one more thing to like about her he shook his head, getting rid of other things he was thinking of.

“Well… it’s still in the family, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice” he laughed.

“Still… he must really love you to just give it you” she said, turning to him.

Dean looked at her and saw the small smile on her face. As he thought about it, he knew that she was right. He and his dad had their issues sometimes, but there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for each other. He smiled back at her and then looked at the road. He knew he had to get this conversation back to the safe zone before they arrived at school.

“So, you’re into cars?” he asked, casually.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Only for the look of them. I have no idea about them otherwise.”

Dean shook his head, with a smile on his face. She had a great laugh and he suddenly felt the need to hear it as much as he could.

“Ben’s into cars and this music too. Right, Ben?” he asked the kid sitting in the backseat.

“Yeah” Ben mumbled.

“Lisa not so much though” Dean mentioned, but he realized that he only did that so that it didn’t seem like he had forgotten her about for a second. It scared him how drawn he was to Y/N.

A few moments later, Dean pulled up at the back of the school. They could see the main drop-off area from there, as kids yelled goodbyes to their parents and hurried in.

Dean looked up at the rear-view mirror, seeing Ben gather his things. “See you at 5, kid.”

“Yeah. Bye Dean” he mumbled, as he opened the door and shut it, the hinges squeaking.

Dean watched Ben walk towards the entrance, then turned to Y/N.

“Thanks for the ride, Dean” she said, gathering her bags. She handed her car keys to him, for later.

“No problem” he smirked, as he leaned back, one arm outstretched, his wrist leaning on the steering wheel.

Y/N tried not to sigh noticeably, as she was flustered at the sight of him. Did he know what he was doing to her? He had to know, right?

“I should go” she laughed, trying to hide her nervousness.

“Wait” he said, as he pulled out his phone. “Put your number in and I’ll text you when I’ve picked up your car.”

“Sure” she said, quietly.

She was a little nervous about him having her number. Would Lisa think something of it? It was just two people exchanging numbers, that’s all. Plus, it was about her car anyway. She quickly typed in her digits and name and handed his phone back to him.

Great. I’ll see you later” he smirked, trying not to sound excited at seeing her again.

“Yeah, see you there” she replied, as she quickly got out of the car and walked towards the entrance.

Dean watched Y/N walk away, appreciating the way her hips swayed as she walked. He told himself it was harmless to look. It’s not like he was going to do anything about it. He quickly pulled away from the curb, the engine roaring as he drove to the garage.

Later that day, just after lunch, Dean left the garage with Benny in charge until he got back. He drove back to his street and stopped in front of Y/N’s driveway with the tow truck. He got out of the truck and walked over to her car, popping the hood open. Given the sound he could hear that morning when she attempted to turn the car on, it was clearly the starter and the flywheel that weren’t cooperating with each other. He opened the driver’s side door and put the key in the ignition. When he turned it, he heard the same sound, which confirmed what he thought. The grinding noise also seemed to die down every quickly, which meant the battery was weak, too. Hopefully there was enough in there to get the car into neutral for a tow.

He spent a few minutes trying to get it to start without harming the flywheel, which already looked to have some broken teeth. He got out of the car and walked over to the tow truck, driving it up the driveway. He slid the panels under the back wheels, and then got out to put Y/N’s car in neutral. Once everything was secure, he got into the tow truck and drove back to the garage.

As he drove, his mind wondered to Y/N. The conversation he had with her that morning was so easy, and they had just met last week. It wasn’t that easy with Lisa. Having been with Lisa for 3 years now, shouldn’t they have their easy moments, too? The first year had been great. The second was a little rocky, with its fair share of arguments and apologies. Soon after, as he quickly started to realize the kind of woman Lisa was, he knew the charade was over. She was a great mom to Ben; it was everything else that was a problem. The last year had been filled with distant behavior and more arguing, a lot arguing. To the point of yelling and not being able to hear what the other person wanted. He also doubted whether she told him the truth about something that was bothering him, but he didn’t dwell on that.

If they weren’t fighting, it was mostly quiet as they’d ignore each other or pretend to be the happy couple when people came over. They had tried to fix things, but it had pretty much been useless for about nine months straight now. Maybe things would be different with Y/N…

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t think like that. Just because things were rocky with Lisa didn’t mean he could check out on her and Ben. He still cared about them and didn’t want to do anything to hurt them.

He arrived at the garage and decided to get his mind off things by seeing what to do about the car. Work was always a good distraction from what was going on at home, and it would have to be a distraction from thinking about Y/N.

Y/N sat in the staff room, munching on her salad. It was a slow day, surprisingly, and so she found herself just scrolling through social media and news articles. She was on top of her work for school, so it was nice to take it easy for one lunch. Her phone chimed loudly, showing her she had a message. As she opened it, she smiled down at the screen.

Hey, it’s Dean. Just got back to the garage with your car. Pretty positive I know what’s wrong, but I’ll tell ya when you get here.

She instantly replied back.

Thanks so much for doing this. I really owe you!

His reply came quickly.

You really don’t, sweetheart! That’s what friends do :)

So… we’re friends now? I thought we were just neighbors. She typed back, with a laugh emoji.

You knew I had an Impala. Trust me, we’re friends ;)

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She bit her lip trying to keep it at bay, but she just couldn’t.

She and Dean were friends now. Maybe that would help in keeping her crush on him from becoming complicated.

“Thanks for doing this” Y/N said, as she sat in the passenger seat of her friend’s car.

Cas smiled, waving her off. “You’re welcome. I should really see the guys anyway. I haven’t in a while now.”

“I didn’t realize you were friends with Dean” she said, trying to act casual. She was dying inside knowing that they were friends. It was like she couldn’t escape him. Not that she wanted to, even if she should.

“Yeah, since high school” he nodded, as he glanced at her. “We drifted a little when I went to college in California and he stayed here, but we reconnected once I got back. I’m friends with most of the guys who work there.”

“That’s great” she said and looked out the window. Hearing how close he was with his people made her miss her people.

“So, how long have you and Meg been together?” she asked, changing the subject from Dean.

Cas smiled as he thought about his girlfriend. “4 years. I never thought she’d go for me, so I know I’m lucky to have her.”

She smiled sadly, longing to have something that would last more than a year and a half.

“I was telling her about you, and she wants to meet you as soon as possible” Cas laughed.

Y/N joined in and nodded. “I do too.”

Cas pulled up to the garage and Y/N could feel her nerves flutter around like butterflies in her stomach, as she stared up at the sign Winchester’s Auto Repair. Dean had that effect on her, and it was scary to think how quickly she had started to like him. The reception area was closed, so they went in through the side door, after Cas shook the front door and found it locked. She walked into the garage, with Cas behind her, instantly hearing buzzing noises in the corners of the garage. She looked around and tried to spot Dean, but was met with a muscular man, short hair and a beard, wearing a white Henley, smiling at her as he walked over.

“You must be Dean’s neighbor” he said, his Southern accent, mostly likely Louisiana, thick and raspy. His blue eyes shined as bright as his smile. “I’m Benny.”

“Y/N” she smiled in return.

“Hey brother” he said to Cas, nodding at his friend with a smile.

He looked at Y/N, the smile never leaving his face. “I’d shake ya hand, but as ya can see” Benny laughed, showing her his greasy hands. “Dean’s just on a call, he’ll be out soon.”

“Okay, great” she said, but just as she did, she saw Dean coming out of the office.

“Hey!” he beamed, as he walked over. “I see you’ve met Benny.” He patted his Cajun friend on the back as he stopped by him.

“Hey man” he said to Cas, as he hugged him. He smiled at Y/N, and she felt as if her heart skipped a beat.

“Your car’s out back. You wanna come with me and we can talk?” he asked her.

“Sure” she replied. She turned to Benny and smiled. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Good to meet ya, cher” he winked at her, causing her face to heat up.

Dean rolled his eyes as he led the way, walking past his friends. “Ignore him” he told Y/N, causing Benny to snicker when Dean was out of ear shot.

Y/N followed behind Dean, as they walked past all the cars inside the shop. They went out to the back, which was a small outdoor workstation, with a few more cars out there. She spotted hers as they walked over.

“Okay, so…” he started as he popped the hood on her car. “The starter wasn’t catching on the flywheel because it had broken teeth, that’s what the grinding noise was. And the noise was sort of dying as well, so the battery’s weak.”

Y/N looked at him blankly, her eyes wide as she tried to understand what he just said. Dean found it extremely cute.

“All I understood was the battery part” she shrugged; her eyebrows furrowed.

He let out a small chuckle. “It’s okay, I forgot that you don’t understand car speak.”

“Guilty” she confessed.

“Don’t worry about it” he reassured her. “Basically, you’re looking at two new parts, which I’m gonna have to put an order in for and uh… it’s gonna cost ya some.”

She sighed heavily, hanging her head. “Great.”

“Hey, it’s all good. I’m gonna do it for half” he told her, with a smile.

Her head snapped up in shock. “No, Dean, I’m not asking you to do that.”

“You don’t have to; I’m doing it anyway. The only thing is, it’s gonna take a week for the parts to get here, so you have to do something about getting places. There’s a good car rental over on-” he explained but she cut him off.

“That I can deal with it, but Dean… I can’t-” she stopped when he gave her a playful glare.

“It’s not up for discussion, Y/N” he stated as closed the hood. He crossed his arms as he leaned against the car. He looked at her and she just couldn’t take it anymore. Damn him and his glorious face for being such a nice guy.

“Dean” she sighed, shaking her head.

“Y/N” he said, smirking.

A silence fell between them as they looked at each other. He wasn’t going to budge on this, so she had to admit defeat.

“Thank you” she said, smiling.

“No problem” he said, still smirking.

Y/N had noticed he said that every time she thanked him so far. It almost like their thing, now. Shit. They had a thing already.

She smiled and leaned into him, wrapping her arms under his as she hugged him. Dean was a little startled but quickly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He smiled as the smell of her shampoo filled his nose, just as the scent of his deodorant mixed with a hint of motor oil smell filled hers. They both realized that the hug had lasted longer than they expected it to, and quickly pulled away from each other.

“Alright” she moved a few steps away from him, pushing her hair back, awkwardly. “I better head home.”

Dean scratched the back of his head, trying not to think about that hug. “Yeah, I gotta finish up and pick up Ben” he moved off the car and walked her back out. It was quieter in the garage now, and Y/N could hear Back in Black playing from the little speakers in the corners of the garage.

She looked around the room, trying to decide whether she should ask him what she wanted to, before looking back at him.

“Hey, if you’re not doing anything tonight… you want to come over for an early dinner? It’s a school night, I know but I can at least pay you back in food” she asked.

Dean looked at her but didn’t say anything. Y/N realized how that must’ve sounded and immediately back tracked.

“Oh, I mean you and Lisa. Both of you. Not just you, both of you” she rambled.

Dean laughed and patted her arm. “It’s okay, Y/N. Uh, yeah. I mean, I’ll run it by her, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Is that allowed though?”

She knew what he was asking and nodded. “As long as we don’t talk about Ben or any of my other students, it’s fine. I mean, this is a small town. Who else are we supposed to socialize with?”

“Well, he’s going to be over at a friend’s anyway, working on a project. So, coming over to yours will be better than being at home. It uh… gets quiet when he’s not around” he told her, but quickly realized how much he revealed.

Y/N realized what he meant but didn’t say anything. “So, I’ll see you both tonight.”

“Sure thing” he nodded.

Y/N smiled and walked away. Cas insisted on taking her home, but she told him she’d be fine to walk. It wasn’t that far. Dean watched as she said goodbye to both his friends and took her things out of Cas’s car, walking down the road. She had an effect on him, and it was beginning to scare him. He was in a relationship and had made a commitment. He couldn’t just back out because he wasn’t happy. He had to try harder and make more of an effort, and he had tried when they started going through problems, but that hadn’t been enough for Lisa.

Maybe he had to try again.

“I really don’t like this” Lisa lamented, as she fixed her top in front of the mirror.

Dean rolled his eyes, annoyed at her attitude. Ever since he told her that Y/N had invited them for dinner, she had been voicing how unsure she was of going over there.

“Lis, if you’re having a tough time with this then why’d you say yes in the first place?” he asked, as he shrugged on a fresh plaid shirt.

“Because…” she didn’t really have an answer. “I don’t know, I just agreed because she’s new here and she needs people to talk to, clearly.”

“She’s not desperate, Lisa” Dean turned to glare at her. “You’re talking about her like she doesn’t know how to make friends. Plus, she literally just got here.”

“I didn’t mean it like that” she corrected herself.

“Well, that’s sure as hell what it sounded like” he clipped back. “Not everyone has to be out every damn weekend to prove they have a social life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, frowning.

“Nothing” he mumbled. “Let’s just go.”

Dean turned and walked out of the bedroom, picking up his jacket along the way. He waited for Lisa to pick up her bag, before he walked out of the house, with her locking the door behind them.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, a glass of wine in front of her. She never drank on a school night, but she really needed at least a glass before her company for the evening arrived. She was nervous to have Dean and Lisa over to her house, mostly because of Dean. She was really crushing on him and she had to hope that she could stop herself from looking over at him in a way that would make it obvious how she felt. At least with Lisa there she could control herself. Fake it till you make it, Y/N she thought to herself as she took a big gulp of wine.

When she got home, she had made chicken alfredo for dinner, something that she knew how to whip up quickly.

Y/N jumped out of her skin and her thoughts, as the doorbell sounded. She smoothed her hands down her jeans and fixed her plaid shirt as walked to the door, opening it. She smiled as she saw Dean, trying not to linger on him as he smiled back at her.

“Hey guys, come on in” she said as she looked at Lisa.

She stood aside and let them in, closing the door.

“Wow, looks a lot different without all the boxes” Dean joked, as he walked into the living room.

“Wait…” Lisa stopped next to him, a look of confusion on her face. “You’ve been over before?”

Y/N sensed that Dean didn’t tell her about that and stepped in. Dean didn’t need to be interrogated for something small. “Oh, he just helped me on the first day here, with some of the furniture.”

Lisa nodded. Luckily, she let it go, but still walked past Dean with a glare.

“So, can I get you guys anything? I’ve got beer, wine, iced tea…” Y/N listed but Lisa shook her head.

“I’m fine, thanks” she said, simply.

“Dean… beer?” she asked, with a small smile.

“Sure, thanks, Y/N” he replied, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Well, dinner’s actually ready so we can sit down. I’ll bring your beer over” she said, walking into the kitchen.

Dean and Lisa sat down at the table, next to each other. Y/N took a beer out of the fridge and brought it over to the table, setting it next to Dean’s plate. She sat down across from him and lifted the lid off the dish on the table.

Dean whistled, a dreamy look in his eyes. “That smells amazing, Y/N.”

“Thanks” she laughed. “Let’s hope it tastes good.”

They all served themselves and dug in, and surprisingly, Lisa was the first complement her.

“This is really great, Y/N” she said, after a mouthful.

“Thanks, Lisa” Y/N smiled.

“This is amazing” Dean hummed, around a mouthful. Lisa glared at him, but Y/N found it endearing. He noticed Lisa looking at him and swallowed quickly.

“So…” Y/N started. “Dean told me how you guys met. I think it’s amazing that you reconnected, and now here you are” she smiled, as she looked at Lisa.

Lisa looked at her, her lips pursed as she took in what Y/N just said. “Yeah, it’s pretty great, but um… you know it’s private so…”

Y/N nodded, staring down at her food. “Of course. Sorry.”

“It’s fine” Lisa played it off with a small smile.

As Lisa ate, Dean looked up at Y/N with an apologetic look. He mouthed ‘sorry’ to her and she smiled, shaking her head to tell him it was okay.

“So, Lisa. What do you do?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I’m an accountant” Lisa told her. “Not the most interesting of jobs, but hey, at least the money’s good.” She added in, with a small laugh.

The conversation remained simple and somewhat bleak. Mostly questions about work and brief questions about family, that didn’t require a lot of explanation. It was a civil evening; however, which Y/N was really grateful for. When they were finished, Y/N picked up the dish and started clearing up.

“Hey, Y/N. where’s your bathroom?” Lisa asked, as she got up from the table.

“It’s just down the hall on the left” Y/N instructed.

“Thanks” Lisa muttered as she left the room.

When she was out of ear shot, Dean stood up and helped Y/N clear the plates. “I’m sorry, Y/N. She just-”

“Dean, it’s really okay. Please, don’t apologize” Y/N reassured him as she walked into the kitchen.

She carried the plates over to the sink and didn’t realize that Dean was right behind her, ready to pass the glasses over. She turned around and smacked into his chest. She laughed as he held her steady, joining in.

“Sorry” she continued to laugh.

“It’s okay” he laughed as well, as his hands rubbed along her arms.

Y/N looked up at Dean and realized he was looking at her. Their eyes met; their bodies close to each other. Dean looked down at her lips, beautiful and inviting. She looked up at his, perfect and pouty, begging to be kissed. It would’ve been easy to lean down and press his lips against hers, but they couldn’t. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. They heard the bathroom door open down the hall and jumped apart. Dean went back to the table and pushed the chairs in, making it look like nothing had just happened.

Lisa walked back into the room, oblivious to what had happened just moments before. She smiled as Dean stood next to her. She put her arm around him and smiled up at him. Y/N looked away, her heart sinking at the scene in front of her.

“Dinner was really amazing, Y/N. Thank you” Lisa told her. “We should really get going, though. I’m sure Ben’s on his way home, too.”

“Of course,” Y/N walked over to them. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for having us” Dean said, trying not to look directly at her.

Y/N walked them over to the door. “Goodnight.”

They both called out ‘goodnight’ as they walked down the steps of the porch. Dean knew he couldn’t look back at Y/N, so he kept walking, resisting the urge to turn around.

Y/N shut the door and leaned her forehead against the wood.

“Fuck” she whispered, as she closed her eyes and shook her head.

That was too close. She can’t believe she almost did that with Dean. That couldn’t happen again.

She began to realize that maybe her little crush on him was developing, and that was a scary thought that she didn’t want to entertain. She couldn’t.

So, she wouldn’t. It would be easy enough. She just had to avoid him.

That was easier said than done.

-x-

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @katehuntington @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05 @kyjey @halesandy @440mxs-wife @stoneyggirl @deanswaywardgirl @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @redbarn1995 @marianita195 @babypink224221 @deans-baby-momma @parinarain @thoughts-and-funnies @mandalou29​ @castiels-a-winchester​ @perpetualabsurdity​

[toastedclownery]

Hey so uh, I finally finished the bit I wanted to write based on this scene by @mintyfrosty!! I changed some things according to my version of them but it’s basically the same Gonna put in under a Read More. TW for anxiety attack and passing out of exhaustion ovo”

He looked at the board in front of him. Hours of work put into it, papers full of notes and reminders, calculations, timetables and floor plans.  And yet, he couldn't remember one thing he had written on it. He couldn't read, couldn't think clearly.

He had to get this heist right. Had to plan out every single detail, every possibility. That's what he was for. Think ahead, be prepared for anything that could go wrong, and create a way to avoid it. He was particularly good at that, it was easy for him to consider different scenarios where things could meet with disaster. However, it came at a cost.

Still staring at the bunch of papers pinned on his wall, he blinked slowly, unable to focus on anything. His mind was tired, and so was body, even if he himself didn't feel it. He took another sip of the cup of coffee he was holding, deciding to push his sleepiness away for one more night.

This one has to be perfect, they couldn't have any more mishaps. Terrence' last raid was the last straw. They had lost too many people to it. There had to be a stop to that de iure leader's wreckless nature. Reg thought if he proposed a calculated enough and totally safe plan, maybe the elites would listen to him. Maybe he could get a seat at their table. Maybe…

His head almost drooped and he quickly had to readjust himself, his eyes now wide open, heavy bags under them. His body was fighting against him. Why? He didn't feel tired. In fact, he wasn't feeling anything at all. He felt fine.

Rising his hand in order to reach for the cup again, he noticed the trembling waves inside the container. His hand was shaking. He frowned, shut his eyes in frustration and downed all the remaining coffee in one go. Two or three seconds later, he realized that might not have been the best idea.

No, it was okay. He didn't need to worry, he was fine. He looked at different points of the board rapidly, trying to take anything in. Nothing went through. His breathing became unsteady, and the corners of his vision were beginning to become blurry and dotted. 

It has to be perfect, he thought.

Realizing he was getting dizzy, he had to remind himself to breathe. He felt like he was choking. Why wasn't he getting any air?

We've lost too many people already, were the repeating thoughts drumming in his mind.

He was too out of it to notice his hand had given out, dropping the ceramic cup and letting it shatter. Startled by the loud noise, he tried taking a step back, only to notice his legs had turned wobbly, barely keeping him on his feet.

With one last glance at the board, all the papers were now a mess of smears and black spots. The room started tilting… and tilting… He was out before he even hit the floor.

Night patrol. It had to be night patrol. He would have preferred to have some rest tonight, but he had to be chosen for taking a walk around the base at ungodly hours of the night. He would have complained, but knew he couldn't speak against the Chief. He went along with it, knowing nobody else would do it anyway. Right thought Terrence usually cut the other elites too short, himself included. He felt like he could do more than just night patrol, but on second thought, he was the one that fit best for the job.

He was passing through the corridors, reaching a series of doors that led to the Toppat members' rooms. Unlike his fellow elite's bedrooms, these were smaller and had thinner walls. He remembered the time he had to sleep in one of those rooms. It was nearly impossible, any noise was able to get through those walls made of cardboard.

Just thinking about it made him tired. He was about to let out a yawn, but was stopped by a loud noise coming from one of the dorms ahead. It sounded like a glass-shattering noise, followed by a light thud. 

He saw a stream of light under one of the doors. Who in their right mind was still awake at this late hour of the night? He looked at the name on the door. "R. Copperbottom" It read. That name was familiar. He gave the door a couple of knocks.

"Oi, is everything alright in there?"

He waited about ten seconds, no response.

"Can I get in?" 

Again, silence. 

Right opened the door and stepped into the room. He didn't know what he was expecting to see, but it definitely wasn't a collapsed man in the middle of the floor. He cursed under his breath and went to check if he was okay. 

He gently turned him to face upward. He drew a few hairs back and was able to see his face. And then he recognized him. The smooth mane of hair that was usually collected in a ponytail was now a frizzy mess of ties and knots. There was also his familiar curled mustache, which seemed to get the same treatment, and a pair of dark circles around his eyes. 

He knew this one. He hadn’t spent that much time in the Clan, yet he had jumped up the ranks in no time. He ascended to his current position much faster than he had seen anyone do it in his time as an elite. There was a reason for that. The guy was a working machine. 

Ever since the day he was recruited, he would show interest in what the Clan’s next big heist was going to be. Even if he wasn’t part of it. Right had started to see his face more often around the higher positions. He shone with curiosity and initiative when robbery plans were finally handed to him for the first time, adding thousands of tweaks and details that would stun the field operatives. He would go on his way to arrange every minute of a heist, and then proceed to explain each new bit to his superiors. 

Needless to say they were surprised with this new guy appearing out of nowhere and before they knew it he was suddenly giving them lectures like a teacher rants to a bunch of toddlers. If he was met with any kind of criticism, he would come back the very next day with a new refined version of the plan. The team of elites were intrigued, they shared their recognition of his potential, whereas the Chief… Would usually butt heads with him. 

"I think you worry too much, pipsqueak" 

Right hated to agree on that, currently looking at said pipsqueak laying on the floor, most likely passed out from exhaustion. He doubted he got enough sleep when making all those schemes, and the scene before him proved his theory to be correct. 

He examined the room. Next to the unconscious prodigy were broken pieces of a ceramic mug. He must have dropped it before falling along with it. His hat was still on his head but tipped to the side. In front of them was a wide corkboard, filled with papers and post-its hung on it left, right and center. Right blinked twice before regaining his focus on the other man. 

"Hey, Reginald? Can you hear me?"

He shook him by the shoulders a little bit. Maybe he would be able to wake up momentarily so he could go to bed on his own. Seeing how that wasn't the case, he sighed, and decided to do it himself. 

He drew the bed sheets back, scooped him up carefully and held him in some kind of bridal style, his head resting on his shoulder. He was light as a feather, so he was pretty easy to carry around. The smallest yelp came out of Reg’s mouth at the feeling of being picked up, but he relaxed again when leaning on Right's chest. Right slowly put him down on the bed and tucked him in. 

It was weird, seeing him like this. The only times he would see him were quickly running through the corridors or giving his presentations on schemes. Always full of energy and enthusiasm. Right noticed a certain spark in his eyes when he talked. He noticed the way he would smile while telling his favorite parts of a plan. How he would sometimes motion rapidly while nervously rambling things under his breath. Now, he was laying limp on the bed, looking a mess, a strong fatigue visible on his features. Right chuckled. He would not want to be seen like this. Suddenly, he blinked, and found himself sitting on the side of the bed, hypnotized by the rhythmic breath of his sleep longer than he would have liked to admit. 

He shook his head and got up. He had completely forgotten about the ceramic shards still on the floor. He picked the broken pieces one by one. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be a lot of small bits, just five big shapes that fit neatly like a puzzle. He chose not to throw them away, thinking of putting them back together if possible. He grabbed the dark gray fedora that had rolled off his head and left it on the bedside table. 

He saw an alarm clock, set to chime three hours from now. He turned it off. There was no way he was gonna let him sleep so little. He would let him sleep in, have the day off. He could make up something not to make the others suspicious. He’d ask him about that jungle of papers another time. He needed rest now. 

He turned off the lights and shut the door, the pieces of the coffee cup still in his right hand.

[midnxghtsunwrites]

SMOKESTACKS | 16, NO MORE SURPRISES

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warning: ⚠ domestic abuse ahead ⚠

FOR THE SIXTH TIME IN TWO hours, Nadine's phone blares its annoying ringtone. She could only assume that those calls are coming from the same people she's been avoiding for the past week. Nadine has managed to take the week off of work to avoid seeing Gemma and/or Jax.

Now, she's sat in a bar on a Friday night, sipping on a gin and tonic and bobbing her head to the music playing over the speakers.

She glances at her screen to see the familiar name pop up.

Jackson Teller.

She was in her feelings when she changed his name in her phone and she doesn't see herself changing it back in the near future. Honestly, she doesn't know what to do. It seems impossible to avoid these people considering everywhere she turns, someone associated with the club is in her face.

Of course, her friendship with Lyla was the only constant and based on the fact that the porn star brings up Jax in every one of their conversations, he knows it too. Does she want to just wait it out until they're tired of trying to reach out to her or does she try to make another getaway?

She just got here and she loves her job and her kids and she already can't imagine leaving them.

Guess she'll have to suck it up.

"I really can't tell if you're drunk or just vibing," The voice belongs to a black woman who'd been sitting beside Nadine for the better part of thirty minutes. She has an eyebrow raised and a glass of scotch raised to her lips, "Or both."

Nadine shakes her head in amusement, "Definitely both." Sticking a hand out, she introduces herself, "Nadine."

"Amelia." The woman shakes the teacher's hand, "Why haven't I seen you around before?"

"That is a great question," Nadine jokes as she sips her drink. She's barely tipsy, which is far from where she wants to be. The conversation continues to flow as the woman is drowned out by Nadine's phone blaring obnoxiously for the third time in ten minutes, the teacher ignoring every call.

Noting this, Amelia tilts her head in interest, "Boyfriend?"

The teacher scrunches her face at the thought, "Nope."

"Girlfriend?"

"I wish."

"Almost boyfriend?"

At Amelia's teasing tone, Nadine rolls her eyes in amusement, "Definitely not."

NADINE WAS DOWN THREE GLASSES of whiskey before she felt the effects of the alcohol on her senses. She giggles, fruitlessly as she tries to drink from her glass only to miss completely and basically pour it down her shirt.

Amelia bursts out into laughter, drunk to her ass. The women had been drowning themselves in tequila shots — for reasons they choose not to admit. Apparently, Amelia has lived in Charming her whole life — she's an OR nurse at St. Thomas's Hospital and extremely talented when it comes to her job.

Nadine didn't get much more than that.

"Oh, crap," Nadine snorts as the woody aroma from the alcohol wafts to her nostrils.

Amelia points in amusement, her eyes squinted as a loud laugh escapes her, "You smell like a bar!"

The teacher nods and leans back on her stool, almost falling on her back, "That's 'cause we're in a bar, silly!"

Staggering forward, Nadine peers through the mirrored wall behind the shelves of alcohol — the clear space allows her to look at the rest of the bar patrons behind her. She takes note of the large spot on her grey shirt and groans, exaggeratedly as she throws her head back.

Luckily, drunk Nadine still has some sort of logical reasoning, "I'll be right back — I gotta clean this up before it stains."

Amelia just tilts the rim of her glass of scotch towards the teacher and sends her a dopey smile, "Have fuuun." She sings, joyfully.

"I willll," Nadine mimics as she throws cash for the drinks on the bar counter.

Fortunately, the dark spot hadn't dried in the time it took Nadine to go through the line of women standing outside of the bathroom. A lack of stalls seemed to be the verdict for the long queue. Standing there in the bathroom, she hovers over the sink, wiping a damp paper towel over her tank top.

The stain is almost out — the woody smell being replaced by stale tap water. She should've just kept the stain there if that's the case.

Suddenly, it's like time stops. Chills run down her back and the hairs on the back of her necks rise. Goosebumps line her arms as she furrows her eyebrows. There's a sinking feeling in her gut — so deep that Nadine is knocked out of her drunken stupor and forced to grab on to the ceramic sink.

Almost as if she could predict it, there's a knock on the door. Nadine blinks profusely and calls to the person, "Someone's in here." That doesn't make the person on the other side back off — no, instead, the doorknob that was once locked is twisted and pushed open.

So much for locking the door. She ponders.

The figure that enters is tall — and so familiar. It's too dark for her to see a face but for a moment, Nadine assumes that Jax found her. She didn't put it past him considering he has so many connections that probably tipped him off and she doesn't put it past him to break down any barriers between them.

This leads her to her beginning sentence, "You don't have to check up on me, Jax. I just need time to myself."

As the figure steps closer, Nadine's breath hitches in her throat. Fuck. Tears fill her eyes as she looks upon the man that's caused her so much turmoil for two years. The man she fucking ran away from. Ezra Moore in all his mysterious obscurity stands just feet away from her.

She tries not to let her gaze shift to the pepper spray in her bag.

The man smirks, sadistically as he steps further into the room, almost steps away from his target, "This place should really get some better locks."

As his patronizing tone, Nadine jumps towards her bag on the sink, only to be shoved backward by her assailant. Her back lands against the filthy tiled wall and he holds her there, a grimey hand wrapped around her neck.

There were times when she loved to peer into those chocolate brown eyes — they used to give her a certain comfort. Now, they're the epitome of terrifying.

"What? You thought you could get away from me, you little bitch?" He growls, leaning so close into Nadine that the palm of his hand pushes into her larynx and the stench of cigarettes and nasty beer invades her senses. "No matter how far you go, what name you use, or if you change your phone — I will always fucking find you."

"Please —"

"Shut the fuck up!" He yells into her face, spit flying to land on her cheek (the way my COVID brain just threw up). "You know you can't run from me, Nadine." His voice lowers as he jerks her head to the side and leans towards her ear. His lips wrap around her lobe, bringing tears to her eyes. His grip tightens, taking her breath from her — "You've been a little slut since you left me, haven't you? Fucking Jax Teller? That little biker I've been seeing around here?"

She can't speak. She can't breathe.

Ezra doesn't care.

"Answer me!"

Whipping her head around swiftly, she shakes her head and gapes her mouth, wanting to speak but no words can make it past Ezra's tight grip. Seeing this, he loosens it for a split second so Nadine can muster a small, "No."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, "Don't fucking lie to me! That's all you've been doing since I met you." He forces her to look at him, frowning for a moment at the sight of tears running down her cheeks, "You're a fucking liar, you know that? And such an actress. Even right now — all these crocodile tears that you've been saving for me. For two years. All that fake love. Did you even love me?"

Nadine watches in pure horror as Ezra's voice breaks and tears begin to fly down his face. This man is insane, she sobs. Thoughts flurry through her mind as his grip loosens significantly. She's so taken aback that even her mind seems to be lagging. She wants to go home where the locks work.

"I did." She whispers, cringing as her voice cracks, "I-I do. I do love you, Ezra." It pains her to speak these lies, but she has to go and the only way to do that is to feed into his crazed actions, "I love you, baby. So much." She lifts a shaky hand to cup his cheeks, willing her tears away at the thought of touching her oppressor. "I'm sorry I left you. I don't know what I was thinking."

Her back stiffens when he falls into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He sobs, savoring the feeling as she runs a hand through his scalp. It was something she did years ago to help him out whenever he had a stressful day — she used to love doing it.

Now, she feels like she needs to take a shower in acid to scrub the feeling of him off.

Her neck is sore when he releases her — surely, she has bruises.

Now is her time to get away — with that thought, she swiftly thrusts her knee up in between his legs and pushes him off of her body. He falls to the floor with a pained groan, cupping his groin.

"You bitch!" He screams at her as she shuffles along quickly to make her getaway. She snatches her bag from the sink, grabs her pepper spray and unleashes hell on the man writhing on the floor. He screams bloody murder before Nadine exits the room, closing the door behind her.

Nadine tries to wipe away the messy mascara under her eyes before heading for the exit of the bar, ignoring as Amelia calls after her.

The teacher drove home in fear that her shaky hands would make her swerve into oncoming traffic. That and her blurry vision, eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. She's spent too much of her life crying over that man — she'll be damned if he gets anymore from her.

Taking extra precautions, she checks behind her every few seconds to make sure she isn't being tailed — even taking the long way home.

When she arrives at her apartment complex, she double checks the locks on her car before making her way up the stairs, her key already in one hand and her pepper spray in the other. When she sees another figure crouched by her door, the woman jumps. She doesn't want any more surprises tonight.

As she steps closer, arm extended with her pepper spray, her eyes catch sight of the familiar dark hair and the lit end of a cigarette. Nadine holds her breath as she realizes that that cigarette belongs to the woman she's been ignoring for the past week.

With a broken voice, Nadine freezes and whispers, "Gemma?"

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[lils-writes-stuff]

Spinning Wheels

Spencer Reid x reader

Best Years Season 2 part three | part two | part one | season one

summary: a local case hits a nerve with the reader

warning: normal criminal minds things, angst, description of shooting, yk fun stuff

A/N: based on season 8 episode 8; *chanting* angry reader, angry reader!

“Penelope,” Y/N sang as she entered the woman’s bat cave. She carried a coffee in each hand, one for her and one for Penelope. “I bring you a present.” 

 “Oh my gosh, you’re so sweet!” Penelope gushed as she grabbed the coffee from her hand. She pulled the lid off to look inside the cup. “This is my favorite, oh my gosh, you know I-”

 She looked up at Y/N to see her sheepish smile. She only brought Penelope her favorite, kind of expensive coffee, when she wanted something. 

 “No.” 

 “You don’t even know what I want!” 

 “I know that it’s big enough for you to bring me my favorite,” Penelope set the cup down and began typing on her computer. 

 “Garcia, I’m desperate,” Y/N admitted. She sat on the small open area on Penelope’s desk. “I can’t get anything out of JJ on what Spencer’s been doing up here at seven when we don’t have to be here ‘till nine. So I was hoping you can work some of your Garcia Magic and...” 

 Penelope stopped her typing, she knew exactly what Spencer had been doing. 

 Y/N noticed how Penelope stopped typing. “Oh my god, you know!” 

 “No, I don’t,” she lied. “Okay, well I know kind of what he’s doing, but I can’t tell you.” 

 Y/N knew she could get somewhere with Penelope, she was terrible at keeping secrets. 

 “Penelope,” Y/N drug out the name in a pleading tone. 

 “Uh-ah, my lips are sealed.” She ran her finger across her lips as if she was zipping them.

 Y/N gave her a pout and some puppy dog eyes, but Penelope turned away and stuck her nose up in the air. She was determined to not break and ruin Spencer’s plan. 

 Y/N sighed, if Penelope was going to be this persistent, then she wouldn’t get it all out of her. 

 “Fine, then can I admit something to you?” 

 Penelope turned to her, hearing her serious and almost shy tone. 

 “Of course.” 

 “I, um, I bought him a ring,” Y/N confessed, wringing her hands together like she normally did when she was nervous. 

 Penelope gasped and a gigantic smile formed on her face. “You did!?” 

 “Yeah, I did, here-” she reached for her purse she set on the desk behind them- “I bought it about a week ago.” 

 She pulled out the grey box and revealed the simple gold band on the inside. 

 Penelope, extremely excited, grabbed the box with shaking hands. “Oh my gosh, Y/N!” 

 “Is it weird? I know it’s not normal for a girl to propose-” 

 “It’s not weird at all, I think it’s a great idea,” Penelope interrupted to clear her doubt. “If he doesn’t do it-” 

 She stopped and cut herself off, almost revealing the secret she had been trying so hard to keep. 

 “If he doesn’t accept it, then he’s a total loser,” Penelope stammered as she tried to correct her words. 

 Y/N laughed at her phrasing, and Penelope laughed too, glad she didn’t think anything of her almost slip up. 

 “I also got, um, I got our initials engraved on the inside,” Y/N pointed to the small initials on the inside of the band. 

 “Y/N…” Penelope sighed and took the ring out of her fingers to look at it. “You are so amazing, Spencer will love it.” 

 Y/N sighed in relief, she needed to hear that. The two kept talking and Penelope was trying to give her some ideas of when to ask him. 

 “Does anyone else know?” Penelope asked, handing the ring back to Y/N. 

 “Just my mom and London,” Y/N answered. “London actually helped me pick out the ring, we-”

 She stopped herself when her eyes caught the TV.

 “Penelope,” Y/N hit the woman’s shoulder to get her to turn around. 

 “What?” 

 They both stared at the TV in horror. The headline read “High School Bus Is Taken Hostage”. One cue, Penelope began to get alerts and texts signaling that they have a case. 

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

 “What we have is a school bus abduction which accrued at approximately 1 P.M. this afternoon. What we know is there twenty-four students on board, along with the driver and a monitor,” Y/N said to the small group of detectives that sat in front of her, JJ, and Spencer.   

“The GPS appears to have been disabled, the last known ping was a little over two hours ago,” Spencer added. 

 “Highway patrol has traced the route it was last traveling but has found no signs of any accidents,” Y/N continued on their knowledge of the situation. “We also have helicopters and ground units in the D.C. area working local search and rescue. Which means we’re likely dealing with more than one unsub.” 

 “We’ve attempted to contact everyone on board, but so far all calls have gone unanswered,” Spencer said. 

 “But we can confirm that the students dropped off at the first two stops have been accounted for,” JJ added, shedding some hope on the gloomy situation. 

 “The average school bus holds approximately eighty gallons of diesel fuel, making it possible for them to travel up to 550 miles on a single tank,” Spencer explained, his hands moving as he spoke each word. 

 “Which is why we believe they’re still within a 200-mile radius,” Y/N closed as she nodded to the detectives. 

 “The SUVs are outside and we’ll set up our command post at central high,” Hotch said as he rushed past and to the elevators. 

 Spencer, Y/N, and JJ all glanced at each other, giving a look all the same. Silently saying, ‘This is gonna be a long day’.

 They quickly made it down to the front of the building and into the SUVs.

 On the drive to the high school, the sirens were on as they tried to make it there as fast as possible. 

 “Okay, thanks,” Penelope hung up her phone. “Local P.D. says they just found a backpack full of the kids’ cell phones half a mile from the second bus stop.” 

 “Disarming the GPS, disposing of cell phones, makes it feel less random and more premeditated,” Y/N said as she looked back at Penelope from her seat upfront. 

 “There were seven other buses from different schools on their route. Why target this particular bus?” Spencer said as he tried to dive into the minds of the unsub. 

 “Maybe a group of kids got together to pull this off?” Y/N posed. 

 “Waited for their friends to get off at an earlier stop, then made their move,” Spencer said as he dove more into Y/N’s theory. 

 “Okay, I’m checking school disciplinary records to see if I can find any recent suspensions.” Penelope pulled out her tablet and began searching. 

 “It could be about a specific target and the other kids just got in the way,” Hotch added his own thoughts in. 

 Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket as it rang. “Hey, Blake you’re on speaker.” 

 “Uh, I’ve been looking over the personnel files of the bus driver, Roy Webster, something isn’t adding up,” Blake said over the phone. 

 “What did you find?” Spencer’s voice spoke up from his backseat spot behind Y/N. 

 “Over the past three years, Webster had several altercations with students, but was never formally reprimanded,” Blake answered.

 “It sounds like the school hasn’t told us the whole story,” Rossi’s voice was heard over the phone. 

 “We know how disrespectful some teenagers can be, maybe he snapped,” Derek’s voice was heard next as he posed his thoughts.

 “It could be payback for years of abuse,” JJ’s voice said next. 

 “What about the woman who was on the bus?” Spencer asked. 

 “That would be Carol Roberts, a retired teacher, assigned to monitor Webster’s bus six months ago,” Kevin Lynch’s voice said. 

 “What’s that about?” Rossi questioned. 

 “I took a bus all through high school, we never had a monitor,” Kevin said as he didn’t know the formal answer to the question. 

 “Makes you wonder who she was there to keep an eye on-- the kids or Webster?” Derek posed. 

-----------  

 Y/N had sat through many family interviews before, comforting them after a loved one had been murdered or taken. She had done it plenty of times to know what words to use, how to act depending on the family, she was trained for it. 

 This though was a whole new level.

 Her chest felt heavy as she listened to the mother explain how her son was a good kid and how it was just him and her. She didn’t know why this one particular interview was taking so much out of her. It felt emotionally draining to watch this mother cry over her young son named Billy. Maybe it was because she could relate to it.

 After her older brother died and her father left, it was just her and her mom. She was around his age too when it happened. 

 Walking out of the classroom she had the interview in, she stalked into the closest bathroom she could find. Her hands pressed against the ceramic sink as she leaned on it to keep herself up. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the white surface tightly. She could feel her pulse course through her hands as it picked up. This was not the time to be emotional, so she didn’t let this moment last too long. 

  She took a couple of deep breaths, looked at herself in the mirror, and walked out of the bathroom.

 She had gotten past her brother dying, sure she missed him every day, but her grief had passed. When she thought about him it was wistful and happy, so she didn’t know why this was bothering her. 

 She tugged at the bottom of her maroon blazer, making sure it was straight after she opened the door of the bathroom. She took two steps out into the hallway, and glanced to the left and then to her right looking to see if anyone saw her walk out. After assessing she was alone, she let out another sigh and walked down the hall to the performance room. 

 “Y/N,” Derek called as he jogged down the hallway. 

 “What’s up, Morgan?” She asked as she turned to the man coming down the hall. 

 “We’ve got an address.” 

 The SUVs and squad cars turned up the dust as they parked in front of an old barn. The team hopped out of their respected cars, pulling out their guns as S.W.A.T. unloaded in front of them. 

 The team stood in anticipation as Hotch nodded for the captain to open the door. As the doors swung open, the S.W.A.T. team entered and walked around the school bus that was parked on the inside. 

 “Bus is all clear!” Derek yelled from the inside of the bus after checking it.

 Y/N followed Spencer as the two walked around the rest of the barn to check it, making sure it was clear and there was nothing else there. When they finished, they walked outside and met Blake who had just checked a shed. 

 The three holstered their guns as they walked over to the head detective on the case who nodded for them. 

 “Barn was registered to a Violet Burgin, she died a few months back. It's been abandoned ever since.” the Detective said as he approached them. 

 “Making this a perfect transfer point,” Y/N said as she glanced back at the barn. 

 Blake was about to say something, but she was stopped when the sound of the bloodhounds barking was heard. 

 “They found something,” Spencer said and took out his gun. The four of them along with some others in the immediate area ran towards the dogs.

 They approached a wooden door that was latched closed. The Detective placed his hand on the latch, waiting for the S.W.A.T. team member to give him his cue. When he nodded, the Detective pulled the latch and pushed the door open quickly. 

 “Please don’t hurt us,” a young girl said as they were met with the light from the outside.

 “It’s okay you guys are safe now,” Spencer said as he began to undo the bindings on their wrists.

 Y/N looked up and began counting the kids in the room as quickly as she could, but of course, Spencer beat her to it. 

 “There’s only fourteen here, we need to find the other ten,” Spencer looked back at Blake and Y/N who were still standing in the door. 

 Y/N gripped her gun tighter. She let out an agitated sigh and walked away from the room. 

------------ 

 The students ran to their parents as the doors to the cafeteria opened. Y/N sauntered in behind them, watching as the parents hugged their kids, grateful they were okay.

 JJ walked up next to her and sighed as they watched the families. 

 “Where’s Billy?” The brown hair woman who Y/N had interviewed earlier asked walking up to her. Another student, who’s name was Sean, dad walked up behind her. 

 Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t phrase the words to tell them that their kids were still missing. 

 “There’s still a number of students unaccounted for,” JJ answered for Y/N, noticing that she was struggling.

 When Billy’s mom gasped, Y/N’s eyes widened and quickly added, “But we’re still looking.” 

 Sean’s dad walked away but Billy’s mom stayed. “Oh, my god,” she muttered. 

 Y/N’s lips formed a tight line and she placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. 

 Once the woman had calmed down, Y/N started to make a beeline for that same bathroom she was in before. On her way there, Spencer stopped her, noticing her disheveled state.

 “Hey,” he whispered as he stepped in front of her. 

 She sighed, she didn’t want him to stop her, she didn’t want anyone to stop her. 

 When she tried to push past him and continue to the bathroom, Spencer put his hand gently on her arm. 

 “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

 “Nothing, it’s nothing,” her voice cracked. 

 “No, it’s not,” he said. 

 She let out a frustrated sigh. “I was over this, I was over my brother, I thought I was over it.” 

 “Your brother?” Spencer gave her a confused look. Of course, he knew about her brother, how when he was seventeen he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. How her dad walked out because of the medical bills, how her mom picked up two jobs to help pay for medical bills. How even Y/N, when she was legally allowed to work, picked up a job to help. 

 “One of the victims, Billy,” she let out a shaky breath. “It’s just him and his mom, and he’s about the age I was when I lost my brother, and it just hit a nerve, I guess.”

  Spencer reached to give her a hug, but she pulled away. 

 “No, I don’t- no,” she held her hands out as if she was putting up a boundary. “I just need a second to be irritated, just give me one second to be angry at the son’s of a bitch’s who decided it was a good idea to take a bunch of teenagers.” 

 So Spencer did, he watched as she paced side to side in the locker filled hallway. One hand on her forehead and the other on her hip, muttering curse under her breath. 

 This is the most irritated Spencer had ever seen her in a case, she was so calm and collected usually. Sure, every now and then she got a little emotional, but so did everyone. This though, this wasn't a sad emotion, she was angry. Furious even. 

 Spencer jumped as the sound of Y/N’s boot hitting an empty trash can echoed through the hall. She stopped pacing, standing in the middle of the hallway now, her face laying on her palms. 

 “Okay, I’ll take that hug now.” She walked over to Spencer and wrapped her arms around his waist. 

 His arms wrapped around her shoulder, his cheeks pressed against the top of her head. He turned his lips to kiss the top of her head softly, keeping them there until they pulled apart from their hug. 

 Another reason she loved Spencer so much, he knew when to give her a second to breathe. Sure he was always there for her when she needed him, and vice versa, but sometimes she just needed to deal with her emotions on her own. And Spencer understood and respected that.

 --------------- 

 “Dividing them into groups-- you think that was to maintain control?” JJ asked as they stared at the pictures of the still missing students on the board. 

 “Mm, could be, but how do you explain the shock collars?” Blake asked as she remembered the collars that one of the students told her about. 

 “Torture,” Y/N said in a monotone voice. She stirred the coffee in her cup with a straw aimlessly, still upset about not being to find all the kids. 

 “Still, there doesn’t seem to be any method to how or why they were chosen,” Spencer added the thing they still hadn’t figured out.

 “Okay, so far we have two white males, early twenties, and wore gas masks of all things,” JJ recapped on their findings. 

 “Abducting a bus, a form of transportation, gas masks, shock collars, dividing people into teams…” Rossi trailed off as he walked up to the board. 

 “Sounds like ‘Gods of Combat’,” Y/N muttered as she listened to what Rossi was listing, the thought just coming out of her mouth like it was nothing. 

 “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Rossi pointed at Y/N. 

 “Wait, Rossi-” Y/N pushed herself off the desk she was leaning on- “We’re not seriously considering-” 

 “That this is a video game to them? Yes, I think it is.” 

 Everyone in the room looked at each other, all of them knowing it made sense and it was probably the most probable with what was going on.

-----------

 “These guys are replicating a video game?” Derek asked as he, Rossi, and Blake entered the room. 

 “In the game, you take over a form of public transportation; subway, train, bus. That’s how you get your players,” Rossi explained. 

 “Wait a minute,” Blake stopped Rossi. “You’ve played this game before?” 

 “Well, I may have once or twice,” Rossi admitted. “But so has Y/N.” 

 When Rossi pointed an accusing finger at her, she raised her eyebrows in shock. “Rossi, I only played it because the kids I babysat made me, what’s your excuse?” 

 Everyone shook their heads as they laughed. 

 “If I remember correctly though, the game consists of five players.” Y/N walked up to a whiteboard and pulled out a marker. “Captain, lieutenant, a pair of soldiers, and the pawn.” 

 She wrote each of the positions on the board. 

 “Maybe the unsubs picked them based on their personality type,” JJ said as she looked at the pictures of the students. 

 “Well, Sage and Trent-” Derek pointed to the two pictures- “are both athletic. So they probably would have been considered lieutenants.” 

 “Wendy would most likely have been considered the pawn,” Rossi added. 

 “They preselected these kids.” Y/N crossed her arms as she turned back to face those behind her. 

 “Probably got details about their lives from social media sites. Most teens don’t use privacy settings, anyone can gain access,” JJ said. 

 “They planned their attacks and struck the bus when it was the most vulnerable,” Blake nodded. 

 “That explains why the unsubs only needed ten of these kids and left the rest behind,” Derek added. 

 “So how do the collars fit into all this?” JJ asked, looking between Y/N and Rossi. 

 “They’re used to keep your player from straying from their mission,” Rossi replied. 

 “The object of the game is to destroy as many of your opponents as possible,” Y/N added on to the game.

 “The one with the highest body count wins,” Rossi continued. 

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

 “So these guys just got together and decided to pull this thing off?” The Detective asked as Spencer, Y/N, and he walked down the hall back to the performance room. 

 “You know, something this elaborate, it’s likely they’ve known each other for years, actually,” Spencer clarified. 

 As the three continued to walk, Penelope appeared behind them as she walked out of the computer lab with her laptop. 

 “Hey, I just got off the phone with the people who produce ‘Gods of Combat’--”

 “Lovely people I assume,” Y/N joked, trying to keep some light heart in the air. It was mostly for herself though, so she wouldn’t think too much about being upset. 

 “Uh-huh, it turns out they have six million players worldwide, 40,000 of which are D.C. residents,” Penelope continued. 

 “Garcia, if they’re capable of this type of violence in real life, do you think we’d see some sort of evidence of it in their gaming history?” Spencer asked, stammering as he tried to find the right terminology.

 “What type of evidence?” The Detective asked. 

 “He’s talking about the universal online gaming code of conduct,” Y/N answered. 

 “Yeah, prevents stuff like harassing, threatening other players, cyber-bullying, that kind of thing,” Penelope gave some more elaboration on the subject.  

 “How’s that supposed to help us find these kids?” The detective asked confused as to why it was relevant. 

 “Instead of looking for people who play the game, we need to look for people who were kicked out,” Hotch answered.  

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

 Y/N sipped on her fourth coffee of the night. She sat criss-cross applesauce on the table next to Spencer as they waited for Penelope to come up with some findings from the new info Kevin narrowed it down to. 

 “Okay, a month ago two players were kicked out at the same time for hacking into hell mod,” Penelope said as she continued to type on her computer to find more. “Previous to that, they both logged thousands of hours playing the game, dating back to early 2000.” 

 “You got any names, Garcia?” Derek asked, back still faced to the three sitting at or on the table. 

 “No, just online handles, but--” she stopped herself as a ping on her computer sounded- “You know what’s weird? They were both playing from the same IP address.”

 “So they live together.” Y/N peered at Penelope’s screen. 

 “They’re roommates, maybe?” Spencer posed, walking to stand beside Penelope as she typed. 

 “Or siblings,” Derek argued. 

 “Oh that’s not good,” Y/N muttered into her cup as she took another sip. 

-

 “It doesn’t make sense,” JJ said after those in the room caught her up to speed with their findings. “If they are siblings, how do you explain the gaps in time when they weren’t logged in at the same location?” 

 “Yeah, it looks like it happened several times a year, sometimes from different states,” Penelope agreed as she looked at the time logs. 

 “Maybe their parents got divorced.” Spencer looked up to JJ and Y/N who were currently standing next to each other. 

 “Maybe the parent got divorced,” Penelope repeated and began typing again. The new thought gave her a fire that had burned out after the confusion formed. “Leave it to the genius to come up with the obvious, here we go.”

 As her ramble ended, two pictures popped up on the screen. 

 “Joshua and Matthew Moore. They both went to central high, their parents worked two jobs each to make ends meet, led to a messy divorce. Joshua went to live with his dad in Arizona, Matthew stayed with his mom in D.C.” 

 “That’s how they knew when to strike,” Y/N pointed her finger. “Probably rode the same bus route.” 

 “Long hours, different schedules, they were latchkey kids,” Derek added. “Video games became their babysitters.” 

 “As they got older, they got more competitive and it became more about bragging rights,” Spencer continued the deep dive of the unsubs stressor. 

 “This game became the core of their sibling rivalry,” JJ continued. 

 “But it wasn’t just a game,” Y/N corrected. “ ‘Gods of Combat’ was their one constant connection to each other.” 

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

 “Picked up a ping on the E.L.F.,” Kevin said as he entered the room. “It’s emanating from somewhere in this 25-mile radius, west of Bolivar.” 

 Kevin circled the area of the map he set down.

 “What fits?” Blake asked as she looked down at the map.

 “Well, there’s a few old factories and a couple of bunkers from the ‘70s,” Kevin replied. 

 “What’s this?” Y/N pointed to a building on the map. 

 “The old paper mill,” Kevin answered. 

 “You know, given the size and location, that could be the perfect spot.” Spencer used the pencil in his hand to tap the spot on the map as he spoke.  

 They all looked up at Kevin. 

 “I’m gonna pull the schematics,” Kevin exited the room to do so. 

 Soon after Kevin did that, Penelope was able to get in contact with one of the kids, Billy, by hacking the feed. They compared the rooms they could see on Billy’s camera and established it was the paper mill. 

 Then they were on their way there. 

 The team walked into the paper mill, mixed in between different members of S.W.A.T.. 

 Y/N crept down the hall with Derek, each of them turning to check a different opening as they saw one. When they heard pounding footsteps, they jerked towards the sound. 

 “FBI, drop your weapon,” Y/N commanded the person she couldn’t quite make out in the dark, all she could see was the gun. 

 “I’m Agent Morgan, this is Agent Y/L/N,” Derek said as he tried to calm the boy. “We’re the good guys, now drop the weapon.” 

 “How do I know this isn't part of the game?” The boy whimpered.

 “Kid, you gotta trust me,” Derek said, trying to make the boy back his guard down. 

 “Are you Billy?” Y/N asked calmly. 

 At his name, the boy turned to look at her, his gun lowering slightly. 

 “Yes.” 

 “Billy, you gotta trust us, you talked to our friend Penelope, remember?” Y/N spoke in a soothing tone. 

 “Come on, now, I know you’re scared, but don’t do anything stupid,” Derek spoke in a not so soothing tone. 

Billy hesitated, still afraid this was a part of the game, but then bent his knees and put the gun on the ground. Y/N sighed in relief and was about to walk towards him, but out of the corner of her eye she saw movement.

 Joshua Moore appeared, a large gun held to his side. 

 “Drop your weapon!” Derek yelled.

 When he realized he was cornered, his finger went for the trigger. 

 In an almost slow motion moment, Y/N aimed her gun and shot before he could do the same thing. The bullet went right through his chest, and the blood began to spread on his white shirt. 

 Joshua dropped to his knees, then fell to the ground as he let out a breath of pain. 

 Derek rushed over to check Joshua, but Y/N’s only concern was for the teenage boy whose mom had told her about. 

 “Hey, Billy, it’s alright.” She grabbed his arm and led him out of the room, not allowing him to look at Joshua’s now dead body. “Your mom has been worried sick about you.” 

 “You-you saw my mom?” He stuttered as a smile of joy and relief washed over his face.

 “Yeah,” and as they walked into the cool night air, his mom called his name. 

 He broke away from Y/N’s grasp and ran to his mom to give her a hug. And even though the circumstances wouldn’t normally allow it, Y/N smiled. She smiled as she got to watch the boy hug his mom, holding her like his life depended on it. 

 “I’m sorry, Trent,” a girl behind Y/N whimpered as a body bag rolled past. 

 For a moment, Y/N forgot where she was and what she had been doing, because she was thinking about the last time she got to hang out with her mom and brother together. The memory used to be painful, but now she looked back on it happily. The last time she saw her older brother smile a real smile. One that didn’t show pain from chemo, one that didn’t show he was dying, one that showed how happy he was to be with them. 

-----------

 Y/N closed the report from the case on her desk softly, laying her hand on top of it. She let her cheeks bubble out as she filled them with air, then let it out slowly from her lips. The office was quiet, everyone else gone. The team was still there though, finishing up some reports and the political side of the job. 

 “We saved them,” Spencer reminded her as he walked over, his tall figure towering her sitting one.

 “Yeah, I know, it’s not that,” she confessed, but didn’t look up at him, knowing he could read her eyes like the back of his hand. Or the back of anything really, seeing as he had an eidetic memory. 

 “What is it then?” He asked, leaning against her desk. 

 “For a split second today, I forgot I was at the scene of a crime,” she finally met his eyes. “I saw Billy reunite with his mom and I forgot where I was...because he reminded me of him.” 

 “Your brother?” 

 Y/N nodded. 

 “Oh, sweets, it’s okay to miss him you know? He was your older brother, and it was a terrible thing that he got sick--” 

 “Spencer, I know that, I know all that,” she cut him off, her voice soft and not cutting. “It’s just, I don’t know…”

 She rubbed her bicep with her hand and averted her gaze. She turned in her swivel chair to the family photos on her desk. In a line three photos sat; one of her and her mom at her college graduation, one of her and the team at a dinner Rossi hosted, and one of her and Spencer, from JJ’s wedding. These photos all showed people who were so important in her life, people she loved...people who were there. 

 “You feel guilty for not going to visit him,” Spencer said, catching onto her guilt as she stared at the photos. 

 “I think so,” she murmured looking up at him. 

 He smiled at her sadly. Reaching down, he grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her seat. “How about we go home, order some food, then tomorrow, you can talk to Hotch about going home to visit your mom?” 

 “I think I like that idea,” she quivered, a stray tear falling down her face. Man, was she grateful for this man.

 She picked up her bag from beside her desk, lacing her fingers with his and walked out of the office with him.    

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[muilkyu]

Treasure's Types of Dates

🐷 Hyunsuk

"This would look so good with the new shoes I got last week." Hyunsuk gushes while picking up a pair of shades.

"Hyunsuk, that's amazing, but my feet hurt now. Can we leave now?" You whine. 

"Just one more store babe. I saw this dress the other night that would look adorable on you," he says. Then he walks away, spotting a different pair of shades that he just needs.

Thrifting dates are a must for both of you

You both drag each other to underground fashion shows when you can

If you are staying home you decide to have a runway date with both of you just playing around with different types of styles 

For lazy nights it's just face masks and a Netflix movie party

🐼 Jihoon

"Tilt your head to the left!" Jihoon yells from across the field of wildflowers he's crouched down eyes squinted holding his camera trying to get a good picture, "Extend your foot. A little more! Okay perfect!" 

The sky is a beautiful orange shade that compliments the wildflowers and your sundress. Jihoon was right about this being the perfect place for a photo. 

"Okay. You look gorgeous. Come look," He says again. You make your way over to him looking at the photo. He really does have a talent for photography. "These are my best ones yet. I don't know if it's the sun or the model I should be staring at more."

Jihoon likes to visit places where you can get a pretty picture

He finds the best cafes for dates. Even though he wants a picture before you can eat which can take forever

You often travel outside of Seoul to see even more of Korea

You got to Busan often for your dates just spending a day walking around and enjoying the city

🐯 Yoshi

"If you fall I will catch you."

"I trust you, but I also can't take the chance of that happening," You say placing a foot on the skateboard. It's staying still for right now, but any second it also could move forward, "Just hold my hands and guide me." 

Yoshi was 100% determined to teach you how to skate. Even though you told him you had no interest in skating. When he told you he wanted to teach you his face lit up so you agreed.

The type that wants to share his hobbies with you so that's usually your date idea 

Yoshi likes to make you laugh on dates 

You don't do too many dates at home unless you are playing a game or something

Sometimes you spend time helping him make art which leads to a big mess and paint staining both your cheeks and clothes

🐨 Junkyu

"We have been here before," you point out as Junkyu lays out a blanket on the grass.

"I know, but it gets even prettier every time we come back." He says laying down on the blanket.

"Don't you think we should go somewhere else next time? We have been to the Bank river on just about half of our dates."

Junkyu shakes his head patting the blanket, "Nope. Now let's lay down and watch the clouds."

Not the best at planning dates at all

You can tell he tries however so you let it slide

Dates are usually more relaxed than exciting

When you want to have full-on fun he makes you do something 'crazy' aka roller coasters

🐹 Mashiho

"Bend your elbow a bit more so you can aim properly," Mashiho says pushing your wrist back.

"I won't make it either way." 

Mashiho smiles, "Exactly why you have me as a teacher. Now bend your knees and shoot." 

You do as he says. You watch as the ball hits the back of the rim and then slowly falls into the basket. 

"You did it! I told you I was a great teacher."

Dates with Mashiho are always playful

You end up either playing a game outside or shopping for cute toys and plushies around Seoul

You pick up hobbies together that interest you both 

You rarely go out to eat or order food for dates, but when you are getting food you stop at a bakery for sweets

🦁 Jaehyuk

"We will take whatever the chef recommends," Jaehyuk tells the Waiter. He's decided to bring you to a very fancy restaurant, definitely one that you don't deserve to be at, but he insisted. 

"This is all so amazing Jae." You say looking around. You're sitting right next to the window which allows you to look out into the Seoul nightlife.

"I know right. I've always wanted to eat here and now I can with you it makes it all that more special."

Fancy dates. At nice restaurants and cafes. 

He likes to pamper you when you go out together so he doesn't hold back

All of the money he has saved up goes towards making you happy

A true romantic at heart he loves to spoil you and make you feel loved

🤖 Asahi

"Which color should I use for the flowers?" You ask digging through the pencil bag of markers. 

"Why are you adding flowers on my self-portrait?" Ashai questions. He's still sketching he's very focused on his drawing. 

"I know, but I went above and beyond and gave you a background. I should get extra points." 

He chuckles at that remark, "I'm highly doubtful you can beat me, but you should do pink."

Homeboy dates 

You end up trying to cook homemade pizza which turns out horribly so you just order in

One time he built a fort and you snuggled inside with a movie marathon and hot chocolate 

🦊 Yedam

"We should get green tea and a banana nut muffin," Yedam suggests as he looks over the menu. You're at your favorite cafe that's just down the street from your dorm. Yedam suggested you have a study date today which is exactly what you agreed on. 

"I want a muffin, but order a different drink. I'm not in the mood for tea." 

"Okay," he circles the option on the menu and sets it aside. A worker will walk past soon and pick it up. He unzips his bookbag pulling out a binder and a workbook ready to work, "What are you going to study?"

"I think I am going to start on my Language Arts report. I just need to decide on a topic." You say pulling your laptop out from your tote bag. 

Yedam smiles, "I can help you with that."

Study dates happen often because grades are important to you both

Sometimes you end up at a Karaoke bar because you would be a fool to not love his voice

You walk around in parks often just looking at the scenery and enjoying nature

🐰 Doyoung

"Are you sure you should be adding so much salt?" 

"I'm only adding a little bit. Trust me It Will taste amazing." Doyoung smiles. 

"After your strawberry jam disaster, I don't think I should trust you." You say looking down into the pot at the bright red liquid boiling. 

Shrugging off the comment Doyoung reaches for the sesame oil adding a teaspoon, "It will taste fine. Now can you please set the table?" He pushes you towards the table so you leave him to his work.

Doyoung is a wildcard for dates

At times he will bring you to a restaurant for a nice dinner

At other times he will insist on cooking something

Sometimes he finds really weird places for dates such as going to a token food market or he books a ceramics class

One time he tries to teach you a dance one can only imagine how that went

🐏 Haruto

"So what do you have planned for me today?" You ask pulling off your crossbody bag hanging it on your chair. 

"I was thinking we should watch a horror movie." He says. 

You laugh, "No seriously what are we gonna do?" 

"I am serious we should watch a foreign film together and eat popcorn." 

"Are you sure this is a good idea? The last time we watched one you wanted to be the knight in shining armor, but I had to walk you home." You point out recalling the memory from a few months ago. 

"I promise I can handle it. Let's pop some popcorn."

Spoiler Alert: You only made it 15 minutes into the movie before you had to turn it off. You ended up watching Wreck-It Ralph instead.

Haruto doesn't really plan for dates be just goes with the flow

Most nights you just enjoy the presence of each other talking for hours 

Haruto seems quiet but when he is comfortable he loves to sit and talk with the people around him

🐺 Jeongwoo

"Why did you tell me to wear pants?" You ask as you meet Jeongwoo. 

He just smiles, "With what I have planned you'll be happy you wore pants." 

-

"You're not going to win!" You shout while running after Jeongwoo. He's decided to bring you to an indoor jumping park. The floor is filled with trampolines and there are sections for different games. 

He has a head start already making it to the jumping area, "Hurry up. I want to beat you in dodgeball."

Jeongwoo has a lot of energy so most of the time he has you moving around when you meet to go out. 

Sometimes you're screaming your lungs out on a roller coaster other times you're racing him just to see who will win

When you want to just stay home your still moving around either just singing and dancing till you can't anymore or eating ice cream and watching YouTube

🐮 Junghwan

"There is a zombie behind you!" Junghwan shouts. He's right next to you, but he still feels the need to shout. 

"Kill it more me I'm still smelting the iron!" 

He shakes his head, "No you do it I have to go look for more diamond." 

"Wow, you're not gonna protect me from a zombie. I'm gonna take all the diamonds and leave you then." You say turning your character around to kill the zombie. 

"I was just kidding. I'll kill any monster that tries to hurt you."

Video Game dates at home 

You both enjoy taking each other down or working together to meet a goal in a game

When your not gaming for a date you just walk around Seoul till you find something fun

Him being from Iksan he's only really looked at bits and pieces so you just walk to you find interesting shops and stores

-

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed!

[solonglondons]

The Symbolism of Owls Fandom: Doctor Who Pairing: Whouffaldi Length: 2,300 words Rating: G   Also on Ao3

“This is new,” the Doctor says, staring at the ceramic owl on Clara’s bookshelf. “It is. You don’t like it?” ”It looks very cross.” “It looks like you.” “Ha ha ha,” he says dryly, the words coming out in sharp little Scottish staccatos. “Your wit is sparkling, Miss Oswald.” Or: At some point, Clara starts collecting owls. She’s trying not to think of the symbolism there. (She’s kidding herself. She’s an English teacher. Of course she thinks about it.)

It starts at a department store. It’s Tuesday afternoon and it’s raining, and it’s all quiet and quite unremarkable as Clara makes her way through the store, picking up items she needs: New ankle boots (to replace the ones she lost after a rather unfortunate incident on Kalvinan IV involving space squirrels and sentient quick sand), an area rug (to cover the scorch marks left on her living room carpet after that little sonic fire that happened last Wednesday - she’s so not getting her flat’s deposit back), and a wine rack (because she realized somewhere in between escaping alien rodents and putting out the Doctor-induced fire in her flat, that she really needed to start keeping alcohol on hand.) It’s as Clara’s walking past the home decorating section and wondering if the TARDIS can age wine that she spots it, sitting on a shelf right at the level of her eyes: A small, white ceramic owl. The expression molded on its little glossy face is adorably odd and comically cross, with sculpted feather tufts that nearly look like furrowed eyebrows, and if Clara squints, she can almost imagine it staring down it’s pointed beak and advising her not to be lasagna. Unable to help herself, Clara steps closer and picks it up, carefully running her fingers over it’s ceramic feathers before tapping the tip of its beak and smiling to herself. It looks funny and grumpy and it doesn’t go with her normal taste in decor or anything else she owns, and she really shouldn’t like it so much, but she does. She loves it. Clara tries not to think too much about the symbolism there as she plops the little owl in her basket and heads to the register. (She’s kidding herself. She’s an English teacher. Of course she thinks about the symbolism. She buys the owl anyway.) # When Clara walks into her flat after work the next day, she finds the Doctor already there, standing by her bookshelf and staring down unblinkingly at the new ceramic owl that’s currently propping up several classic novels (treasured classic novels, she might add, since they contain autographs and personalized messages to one Miss Clara Oswald even though all the authors had been dead decades before she’d even been born). “You can blink, you know,” Clara says, slipping her bag off her shoulder. “It’s just a regular statue, not a Weeping Angel owl. I checked.” Slowly, the Doctor swivels his head to send her a disdainful look over his shoulder. The resemblance between him and the statue is quite uncanny, really. “Weeping Angel, no,” he says. “Alien, possibly.” “Excuse me?” He shrugs, “Some owls are alien.” “What do you mean owls are aliens?” “They can turn their head nearly two-hundred-and-seventy degrees, why do you sound so surprised?” He says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his velvet coat, and looking for all the world like he has a pair of elegantly folded wings. “And I didn’t say all owls are alien. I said some owls are alien.” “The best owls are alien.” He blinks at her, looking suspicious, and then he shifts his shoulders, looking much like a bird ruffling it’s feathers. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” “Not smiling,” Clara says dismissively, as she’s definitely smiling. “So, where are you going to take me today?” # The next owl Clara obtains is a teeny tiny little plastic one. She’s much too old for toys, she knows, but this owl has silver feathers and bright blue eyes, and she just couldn’t resist it when she saw it sitting in a plastic toy bin next to the register. (Yes, again, she’s an English teacher. She knows there’s a comparison to be made there, thank you very much. She’d just been trying not to read too much into it when she bought it.) And one day, when the Doctor nips off to the TARDIS swimming pool to check on the carnivorous goldfish he’s keeping there until he can take it safely back to its aquatic planet, Clara takes the grey plastic owl out of her purse and places it gently on the TARDIS console. She supposes that it’s a bit like how one might put a bobble-head dog on their car’s dashboard, but Clara thinks that, just this once, the great space and time machine won’t mind. “I think it looks like him,” Clara admits, looking up. “Don’t you?” The TARDIS’ console flashes bright blue at her words and then burbles something that sounds like whirring laughter. Apparently, she agrees. (“I keep moving that thing and the TARDIS keeps putting it back,” the Doctor grouses at Clara a week-and-a-half later, when the plastic owl is still sitting prettily on the console. “Why is she doing that?” Clara shrugs. “Guess we both have a soft spot for angry owls.”) # Clara sits at her vanity, finishing getting ready to go...somewhere. (The Doctor hasn’t quite explained where he’s taking her yet, but he suggested it has something to do with Sontarans and space Vegas, a combination that Clara finds both frightening and fascinating.) And while she’s fixing her hair and fastening on her watch, the Doctor’s meandering about her bedroom, flipping through the stack of books on her bedside table and fiddling with the assortment of items on her dresser. He scans her fish tank (finding that the fish are, rather disappointingly, from a PetCo on this planet and aren't anything remotely alien), sniffs at her perfume bottle (it’s hard to tell, but Clara thinks he likes the scent), mutters at a miniature of Newton’s Cradle (probably, Clara thinks idly, something about him being there the day it was invented), and it’s just when Clara’s opening her jewelry box that she hears him harumph. It’s a very disapproving harrumph. It sounds all displeased and Scottish. Clara glances up in the mirror, and watches as his reflection wrinkles his nose at her new throw-pillow sewn in the shape of an owl’s face. “This is new,” he says. “It is. You don’t like it?” ”It looks cross. It’s a very cross pillow.” “It looks like you.” “Ha ha ha,” he says dryly, the words coming out in sharp little Scottish staccatos. “Your wit is sparkling, Miss Oswald.” “Oh, I know it is,” she says. “Here, hook the necklace clasp for me, will you?” ”Yes, boss.” # It is three o’clock in the morning and Clara Oswald is staring straight up at her ceiling, mind reeling, not sleeping, because eight hours before, she had a fight with the Doctor. She hates fighting with the Doctor. Even when he’s definitely in the wrong and even when she’s truly mad and even when he really says things he shouldn’t and crosses the line. (If there is a line. It’s gotten hard to tell lately, where boundaries lie, if there are even any in their lives anymore.) It’s as Clara’s thinking this that she hears an oh so familiar whir and the TARDIS begins to materialize right in the middle of her bedroom, its deep blue beaming in and out of focus. See? This is what she means by questioning if their relationship has any boundaries anymore. As it is, Clara’s not even really surprised to see the TARDIS. He’s turned up in her bedroom in the middle of the night enough times before. (She realizes, shortly after thinking that sentence, exactly how that sounds, and she has to shake herself several times to stop thinking about it.) Clara’s got a robe on and is standing up, arms crossed, by the time the Doctor steps out. (Or steps in? Never mind, it’s three in the morning and she’s too tired for proper space-dimensional wording, even if she is an English teacher.) He blinks at her robe, then past her to the sky out her window, and says, “So not seven o’clock then.” “Three o’clock.” “Ah. Well, when you take all of time and space into consideration, being four hours early is still pretty good parallel parking.” Clara sighs, rubs her temples, “Doctor, what are you doing in my bedroom at three in the morning.” “It was supposed to be seven.” “Doctor.” He sends her a look that suggests he’s suitably miffed as well as chastised, and then gingerly, he reaches into his pocket, and cups something in his hands, and then, hands still cupped awkwardly, he deposits the something in her palms. The room is still dark, save for the pale star-white glow from the TARDIS, so it takes Clara a moment to see what the Doctor’s given her, but slowly, her eyes adjust to the dim light, and she realizes she’s holding a delicate painted porcelain owl. She stares at it, stunned, and together, they stand in silence in the pale half-light for a minute. “You like owls,” the Doctor says matter-of-factly, breaking the silence. “So I got you one. From seventeen-eight-one. Or two. It was hard to tell.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” (And this is why they have no boundaries, Clara thinks. Because at the end of the day, he’s the one person in the entire universe who truly knows her; knows her intimately, horribly well, and no matter how many times they may break apart, they’ll always come back together, because yes, he’s the type of man who’ll drive her mad but he’s also the type of man who has all of time and space at the tips of his fingers and yet uses his time machine to come to her flat to apologize by way of a knickknack.) “I love owls,” Clara says very quietly. (The Doctor stares at her, like he understands her words must mean something, but he can’t tell what. He thinks, maybe, that it means he’s forgiven. And he’s not wrong, even if he is missing the larger meaning behind her words.) Clara bites back a smile and ducks her head, studying the tiny porcelain trinket in her hands and when she turns it over, she blinks at the royal-looking French inscription and says, “Wait, the seventeen-eighties? Doctor, did you take this from the Palace of Versailles?” “Er, well, I was there ironing out something with a Slitheen. Kind of pocketed it. I don’t think Marie will mind.” # Clara’s collection only grows from there. A braided owl fob she picked up to put her house keys on. A plush owl she won from a claw machine in nineteen-eighty-four after fighting off an alien in an arcade. A blown-glass paperweight she picked up from a book shop. A set of owl-printed oven mits she unfortunately burned after a failed soufflé. Because, yes, she loves owls and by now she’s learned how to live with the symbolism. (Especially when she’s living in the space between one heartbeat and the next.) # It is Tuesday (or, well, it’s Tuesday somewhere), and Clara Oswald is winding her way through an alien bazaar. She doesn’t look a day over thirty, but she’s well over three-hundred. (How far over three-hundred, she doesn’t quite know. You lose track of silly little things like ages and years when you’re spending your time spinning out across the stars, saving planets and cheating death.) Clara’s only there for things she needs: a change of clothes (hers got a bit burnt after saving that colony on Axmis from the fire trials), goggles to use when repairing her TARDIS’ circuits (she’ll never admit it, but she talks to her old girl as much as the Doctor talked to his), and a new barstool for her ‘diner’ (she’s been missing one ever since she broke the old one over a Dalek. It’s a long story.) But then she spots it, in the stall selling antiques, sitting on a stack of crates right at the level of her eye: A small, white ceramic owl. It’s old and weathered, its paint is scratched and its horns are cracked, but it looks exactly like the very first owl she got, so, so, so many years ago. (For all Clara knows it’s the very same owl. For all she knows, after her death on Trap Street, the ceramic owl and her other belongings were packed up and donated and put in a thrift shop and bought as gifts and eventually passed on in wills as antiques until they now sit, some hundreds of years later, miles and miles and miles away from Earth, on an alien planet, simply waiting for her to find them again. Stranger things have happened. She’s proof of that.) Carefully, Clara picks the owl up, smiling at its glowering beak and the grumpy look in its eyes. (By now he’d have a different face, she knows. But she also knows that thanks to the wonders of time travel, the owlish version of him she knows and loves is still somewhere out there, right now, right this very minute. And maybe, there’s a version of her with that version of him. The thought is comforting.) “It’s a very old antique,” the alien vendor tells her as she runs her fingers over the carved feathers. “Made in the form of some Earthen creature.” “It’s an owl,” Clara tells them, handing over her currency. “An owl,” the vendor repeats, carefully rolling the odd word over its blue tongue. “What’s an owl?” Clara smiles, holds the ceramic close, and she thinks. She thinks of the shade of his eyes and the sound of his voice and the rare curve of his smile and the way he made her laugh, and she is over three-hundred years-old but she’s still an English teacher and she’s still very much aware of the deeper meaning behind the owl and the literary device she’s using as she smiles and says: “It’s something wonderful.”

[izaswritings]

Title: peaceful days from far away

Fandom: Witch Hat Atelier | Tongari Boushi no Atelier

Synopsis: There are days when Coco can hardly believe her new reality, the task looming over her head— but she doesn’t have to face these fears alone.

AO3 Link is here.

.

Coco can’t sleep.

It is midnight in the atelier, dark and quiet and soft in the way it always is after everyone else has bedded down to sleep. The small flicker of Coco’s lantern is a glowing ring of gold, just enough to light her desk and illuminate the ink-stained paper, her calloused hands. She’s gotten as far as changing into her nightgown, and has even attempted washing her hands, but still, sleep is eluding her—distant and far away, like a dream.

Dreams. Coco bites her lip and practices another circle, her hand faintly trembling. Oh, she’s being so silly—dreams aren’t a good reason to avoid sleep. Professor Qifrey says it all the time, that she has to rest and take care of herself first in order to do her best work. And she knows he’s right, but—

She thinks of her mother. Of stone and magic and the way that first sigil stained her palms. She thinks of the fear in her mother’s voice—of drowning in the sand, in an hourglass, in…

Coco squeezes her eyes shut, and has to put down her pen. Oh, she’s ruined it— her circle is all wobbly now, and she’s screwed up the symbol something awful. Coco looks at it for a long moment and swallows hard. For a moment she has to keep from crying. It’s so silly. She’s not sure why she’s crying now, but—

Sometimes it just hits her a little sideways, she thinks.

She rubs away the tears and clenches her fist, taking a deep breath. She can’t sit here and mope like this! She needs—she needs to take a break. That’s what Professor Qifrey would say. She needs… a clear mind.

She needs to sleep.

But the restlessness is still there, itching beneath her skin, and Coco bites her lip, standing gingerly. She… she’ll go outside a bit, she decides. Just to breathe. Just to get a clear head. She’ll sit in the nice cool air and then she’ll sleep. Maybe. Probably. At some point.

Coco grabs her witch’s cloak.

She’s careful as she creeps down the stairs, stepping soft and light, making sure the boards creak as little as possible. Through the windows, the moonlight pools bright and silver, lighting her path, highlighting the shadows, and frost lines the edges of the windows. When she sneaks into the kitchen it is to find it dark and empty, quiet and cold—but as she slips out of the room, heading for the front door, she hears a series of thumps and a muffled curse.

She hesitates. There’s another thud, and a quiet cry, almost exasperated. She heads for the other door, into the hall.

It’s not hard to find her teacher; his workshop is the only room still lit, and she traces that golden glow to the door. When she creaks the door open, shy and feeling a little silly, it is to find him lying on his back in the midst of the room, books fallen half-open all around him and his hands pressed against his face.

“…Professor Qifrey?”

He goes very still, head snapping up, then sees her in the doorway and winces. “Oh, Coco. Oh no. Did I wake you up?”

“N-no, I just… I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard a noise…”

“I see.” He pushes himself up, still wincing, but laughs softly all the same. “It’s nothing to worry about, I’m sorry. I was researching, and made a tower, and then…” He gestures to the books on the floor. Coco giggles.

Qifrey smiles at her, and sits up properly, pushing one hand back through his hair. Despite the ease of the conversation, he looks worn in a way that Coco doesn’t quite like—more disheveled than usual, and his one visible eye looks tired and shadowed, ink all over his fingers and smudges of it darkening his cheek. He looks—he reminds her of her mother, somehow, of Coco’s mother when Dad first died and she had to manage the store all herself, the customers and the cloth and the weaving, and how she would stay up late almost every night, all nights, working until her fingers were raw because there was no longer any time to rest.

The memory sours the moment; Coco swallows, her throat suddenly tight, and looks down at the floor, desperate for a distraction. “What were you reading?”

“Oh, things.” Qifrey’s voice is light, but he reaches out and closes one of the books before she can get a proper look. “Just a side interest. Nothing all that important.”

“Oh…” There’s something she could say to that, she thinks, something she could ask—but words are so hard, right now, and she’s thinking of her mother and her chest is all wound tight. She fidgets in the doorway. Her fingers catch and pull at the hem of her cloak.

Qifrey is watching her, now. He closes the last book and sets it carefully on his desk. “Coco,” he says, almost gentle. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“It—it’s going to sound really silly…”

“Nonsense.”

“I—I was just… the dreams, and, um, sometimes, in them, I see my mother, and she…”

She can’t quite finish it. Qifrey seems to understand anyway. His eye widens and then his expression falls, and his lips thin. “I see,” he says, quiet. He watches her for a long moment, then nods to himself, clapping his hands very softly. “Well then.” He rises to his feet, and heads for the door, placing one hand on her shoulder—warm, grounding. He pushes her back into the hall, and takes one lantern from his workshop into his hands. “You look cold, Coco. Come on. The kitchen will be a far more comfortable place to sit than the floor of my messy workspace.”

“I-I think your workshop looks really cool, Professor, all those magic items—and tools—and the glyphs….!”

He laughs. “Thank you!”

He steers her to the kitchen and waves her off to the table, heading to the stove. Coco fiddles with her sleeves, eye-lids heavy but mind wide-awake, and only jumps a little bit when Qifrey comes back with a small cup of herbal tea for them both. The ceramic is warm in her hands, the drink herbal but sweet, with only the slightest bitter tang, and Coco breathes in the steam and feels a little stronger.

Qifrey is watching her, a slight smile on his face. “Better?”

“Mm-hm!”

“I’m glad.” He sips his drink, too. “I’m sorry. You said before you hadn’t been sleeping well— and I should have expected the problem wouldn’t just go away on its own. We’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Okay…” She looks at the cup, her watery reflection, and something about the sight of her own face— red-rimmed eyes, exhausted shadows— makes something in her falter. Her hand tightens around the cup. “Um… Professor…”

“Hm?”

“I can—I can do it, right?” Her voice shakes, something thin. “My mom, there’s definitely a way… I can…”

Qifrey is silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he says, at last. “Yes. You have my word. And—” He clears his throat. “It is not just you, Coco. Once we can identify the spell, of course I will help—and I’m sure the others will, too.”

“O-oh.” It’s not that she hadn’t known that, so much as it was that Coco hadn’t wanted to assume. She draws her cup closer, and ducks her head with a smile. “Right. Right!”

Qifrey smiles down at her. For a moment his gaze goes distant, unseeing; he stares off in the direction of his workshop and one hand slowly drifts up, almost to his eye—the other one, the one Coco has never seen, hidden behind the darkened lens and his fringe. For a moment Qifrey’s lips thin, and he seems almost to speak—and then he shakes his head and sighs, looking exhausted, and his hand drops.

“It’s all right,” he says instead. “Just know, Coco, that… that you are surely not alone.”

You too, Coco almost wants to say, and for a moment she isn’t sure why those words come to mind. She swallows them back. “Thanks, Professor.”

“Of course!”

She’s still not entirely used to the atelier—to magic, and witches, and all the wonders of the world. Some days she’ll wake up and think she’s back home again, with her mother calling her away, cloth to be cut and work to do. Sometimes she wishes with all her might that she was.

But she is growing to love the atelier, now; already it is swiftly becoming a new kind of home. Agete, Riche, Tetia—Orugio, and Qifrey. She has students to work with and friends to make, teachers who watch over her and cheer her up when she feels low. She’s happy to be here, despite everything. She’s so happy to know them.

And when she finally saves her mother from the stone—  Coco hopes she can show her mother this new, wonderful world she has found. The new foundling home.

A future like that, she thinks, would be magical. It’s something to reach for. Something to hold.

And when she finishes her drink, and sets down her cup… Coco smiles, and feels at peace.  

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Renjun Huang) Art

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Friendship, Angst, Fluff, School AU ☁

Word Count: 1,362 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Renjun ☁

World: Kpop, NCT ☁

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Art had never been your best subject, falling second only to math. It frustrated you because you loved art so much, having grown up with a father who could paint masterpieces with no effort at all. Meanwhile, you spent hours working only to produce a crudely drawn stickman whose lines weren’t even straight. You had followed so many blogs on Timblr, reading tutorials on how to improve your drawings, but none of it stuck. Your dream had always been to follow in your father’s footsteps, which only grew stronger when he died a few years back.

How could you possibly achieve your dream when you couldn’t even draw a proper stick figure?

After a while, you found yourself growing more and more envious of those with talent. You wanted so bad what they thought nothing of. You started to loathe those that could create masterpieces. In particular, you hated the art prodigy in your class, Renjun. He was one of the most popular boys in school, loved by all of the students and staff. He was kind and gentle but wasn’t a pushover by no means. His grades were excellent, he could sing and dance, and most importantly, he could draw realistic landscapes and portraits without even thinking about it. His photographic memory was nuts. He was the perfect kid, which only made you hate him more.

“Okay, class, settle down.” The teacher clapped her hands, smiling at her students excitedly. “The arts festival is right around the corner, and our class has been chosen to create the fliers! I’ll be dividing you into pairs, and it’ll be your job to work together to create a beautiful piece of art to represent this class and this school. Keep it clean!” she sent a sharp look to a couple of giggling girls in the corner, both of whom were known for drawing erotic comics. “No extreme violence or gore, either.” This time she glared at Haechan, who had already begun sketching out Godzilla eating a student. “You have two weeks to present your piece. The class will then choose their favorite three to represent us. And no, girls, you are not choosing your own partner.”

At the comment, most of the females in the class protested, all staring longingly at Jaemin.

You scoffed, folding your arms behind your head. “I don’t see what’s so great about him,”

Jaemin looked at you, annoyed. “I can hear you,”

“I know you can.” You spared your seatmate a bored look. “Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t get it. You’re just a guy, why do they worship you?”

He hummed, twirling his pencil absentmindedly.

“If only they saw you in the morning, they wouldn’t think you were so hot. Maybe I should show them.”

“Don’t you dare,” he glared at you. “Don’t forget that I have just as many embarrassing pictures of you as you do of me.”

“Che,” looking away, you knew he had you beat. What was the point of the popular kid being your childhood friend if you couldn’t show off his embarrassing pics?

“Who do you want to partner with?”

“Anyone but you.”

“That’s rich considering I carried you last project.”

“You only carried me because you felt guilty that your rabid fangirls threatened to hex me if I ruined your grade.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That very much is the point.”

“Ahem,” the teacher cleared her throat, raising a brow at the two of you. “Are you both done? Good. Y/N, choose from the jar, dear.”

With a sigh, you reluctantly stuck your hand into the ceramic jar and pulled out a folded slip of paper. Uninterested, you passed it to Jaemin, who opened it without a word.

“Renjun,”

Your body tensed and you whipped your head to look at him. Surely he was joking! He turned the paper around and, sure enough, there was his name written in the teacher’s beautiful script. “Fuck my life,”

“Language, Y/N!” The teacher scolded, but you just groaned, sliding down in your seat.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Renjun approached you a week later, a determined but worried look on his face. “Y/N, hello.”

You glanced up at him before packing your things into your bag. He grabbed your arm before you could walk around him. “Let go,”

“Not until you tell me why you’re avoiding me. We have a project due, remember? We only have a week left and we’ve done nothing.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to yank your arm free, but his grip was firm. “You act like you’re incompetent. Just draw something and turn it in.”

“It’s a group project, not a solo one. We need to be working togeth – ”

“God you’re annoying,” you ripped your arm away, making him stumble. “I couldn’t care less if we fail. Do you?” You turned around and headed for the entrance of the library.

“Why do you hate me so much?” His voice was soft, weak. You almost hadn’t heard him.

The words made you freeze in place, hand tightening around the strap of your bag.

“Have I done something to offend you?” His voice rose a bit as he took a step forward. “If I have, please tell me so I can apologize properly.”

You felt anger starting to bubble in your chest.

“I’m not the best at reading people, so I may have done or said something that you took as offensive… but I never meant any harm.”

You scoffed, “Of course not.”

“Eh?”

You whipped around, eyes burning. “Perfect little Renjun never does anything wrong.”

“I never said – ”

“Shut up!” You screamed, gripping the front of his shirt. “What makes you so special, huh? You don’t even take art seriously, it’s your fucking hobby! So why… why were you blessed with effortless talent while I have to struggle with the simplest techniques! It’s not fair… I’ve worked so hard since I was a child to live up to everyone’s expectations, but I’m not my father… I’m not you… I let everyone down and they don’t hesitate to let me know. Was he even my real father? I…” Tears were rolling down your cheeks down, your hands shaking as they clenched his shirt. “It’s not fair,”

Renjun felt a tug at his heart. He pulled you into a hug, gently rubbing your head as you cried into his shoulder. The librarian sent him a look at the noise you were making, but seeing your state made her keep her tongue. Renjun sent her an apologetic look before slowly directing you towards the exit, not once loosening his grip. He brought you to one of the stone benches outside before digging into his pocket looking for a tissue. Finding none, he tugged the sleeve of his sweater down over his hand before gently wiping away your tears. You tried to push him away, but you didn’t have the will to.

“I never knew you were struggling so much.” He murmured softly. “I’m sorry,”

“I don’t want your pity.” You spat, rubbing at your eyes furiously.

“It’s not pity, Y/N.”

His tone made you look up. It wasn’t pity lurking in those brown depths, it was concern and care. He was genuinely concerned about you.

“I’ve treated you like shit for years, shouldn’t you hate me?”

“No,” he looked up at the sky, leaning back on his hands. “It’s strange, but the more you pushed me away, the more I wanted to get close to you.”

“You’re weird,”

He chuckled, sending you a bright smile. “I am~ but so are you.”

You scoffed, looking away from him so he wouldn’t see the pink dusting your cheeks. You both remained silent for a moment. “If… if I help you with the project, it won’t get chosen.”

“I don’t care if it gets chosen or not. I just want to create art with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, ears turning red. His hand found yours, resting gently on top of it as his head found your shoulder.

“Your heart is too heavy, Y/N. Let me help you take some of that pressure off you.”

You didn’t answer, letting your fingers twist around his own.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 7: Let It Be]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language, ANGST.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love this fic has received! I hope you continue to enjoy it...the highs and the lows. :) I also wanted to give you a heads up that I am currently in school and that the next year will be pretty intense, so there may be times when I don’t update as frequently as I’d like to. But I will never go on an official hiatus or not finish a series, and you are always welcome to drop me a note asking how the next update is going. Happy reading!

Taglist: @blushingwueen​ @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo @caborhapch @kimmietea @asquiresofftime @hardzzellos @sleepretreat @ramibaby @jonesyaddiction @ixchel-9275 @omgitsearly @lovepizza-cake11 @deacy-dearest @shishterfackisback @mrbenhardys @deaky-with-a-c @whitetrashdarling @stephanie-everlasting @brianprobablywill @dancingstan @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @abigfatmess @hufflepuff-khaleesi @sara-1705 @thigh-your-mother-down @chlobo6 @danamaleksworld @painkiller80 @teenwolflover28 @jazzman-19 @lucyplaysguitarandcellobitch Please let me know if I forgot anyone!!

You slam the door behind you and sink to the kitchen floor. Your hands are trembling, your chest heaving, your vision blurring as tears ripple across your eyes. You don’t remember what you said to her, to the siren, to the sublime woman you’re still struggling to comprehend is Ben’s fiancée; something insipid and vague, something brief. You don’t remember leaving Trader Joe’s or driving home. Your shopping cart is still full and unattended in the produce section, waiting powerlessly to be retrieved, ice cream slowly melting and dripping through sagging paperboard containers.

“He’s getting married,” you gasp almost inaudibly between ragged breaths. You glance up at the refrigerator. The magnets still spell those two innocent little words: I’m sorry.

You rip your potted artificial calla lily off the counter and hurl it at the refrigerator; magnets and ceramic shards fly in every direction like shrapnel.

“He’s getting fucking married!” you scream to your empty house.

You bury your face in your hands and sob with maddening helplessness. You fell for it. Some outlandishly-too-good-to-be-true British movie star dropped out of the sky and you were stupid enough to believe he loved you, that someone like him ever could. You fell for it like a mammoth into tarpits, roped in viscous darkness and with nowhere to go but down.  

And then you hear a jarringly cheery ringtone. You clutch for your purse and tear out your iPhone. The name on the screen is Ben Hardy. 

“No fucking way,” you hiss, and decline the call. It occurs to you—gnaws away at you—that just enough time has passed for them to have finished shopping, picked up Eli from Ben’s mother’s apartment, arrived home; just enough time for Ben to have slickly dismissed himself, disappeared to his Lexus or some other shadowy corner somewhere, a dim clandestine place to deal with dirty secrets. And that’s exactly what I am: the unhallowed mistress, an unspoken ghost in the haunted crevices of a marriage, a black stain on a white dress.

Your phone, face-down on the countertop, rings every two to three minutes like clockwork. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hands and try to collect yourself: stagger to your feet, pour a glass of the Patrón tequila—straight, no ice—that you keep on the top shelf, drop a vinyl on the record player. Take It Easy by The Eagles floats through the thick, stifling air. You glare at the green calla lily that lays limply on the kitchen floor, its petals bent precariously yet still intact.

“Die, bitch,” you whisper bitterly. But of course, it doesn’t die; the calla lily is fake, just like your relationship with Ben, just like all the things he said to you. It’s a lie. It’s eternal. You snatch the lily off the floor and toss it into the trashcan.

There’s a sound outside—the humming of an engine, the rustling of footsteps—and then frantic banging so forceful your door quivers on its hinges. “Y/N!” Ben shouts from outside, still rapping on the white-painted wood. “It’s me, it’s Ben, let me in.”

“Never in your life,” you hurl back, furious at how hoarse your voice sounds: like someone who’s been crying, like someone pathetic and wounded and weak. You feel like a fox caught with its leg in a steel trap, the flesh split down to the bone and glistening with ruby gore, the hunter looming voyeuristically with his hands on his waist and a rifle slung over one broad shoulder.

“Please, please let me in, just let me explain—”

“Fuck off!”

“You deserve an explanation,” Ben says, more measured now. “Let me give you that.”

That knocks some of the rage out of you, replacing it with curiosity, unsurety, temptation. You don’t know what you deserve, but you do crave an explanation. And part of me still wants to see him.

“Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.” His words are patient, suppliant. The Eagles record spins as the moments tick by.

At last, you cross the kitchen and open the door. Ben slips inside as you step away until your back hits the refrigerator. You remember the last time you were in this room together; it hangs between you like spiderwebs, invisible but ensnaring, interlaced threads just waiting to be walked into.

“Hi,” he says softly, almost whispers. Then his gaze flicks around the kitchen, to the magnets and ceramic debris littering the floor, to the tequila, to the record player, to you. And you almost feel sorry for Ben, almost; because his once-clear eyes—malachite or emerald or peridot or jade, you think impulsively—are red and swollen, his shoulders wilted, his expression shell-shocked. He looks like hell. But you probably do too. “Babe...I...” He comes towards you.

“Don’t touch me.”

He backs away immediately, raising his hands in surrender. The silence is heavy and ominous.

Finally, you ask: “Who is she?”

Ben sighs, rubbing his chin distractedly with one thumb. “Her name is Santina Nicolosi.”

Your eyes close like drawn curtains. “Of course it is.” You know that name, you’ve taught Nicolosi kids before. The Nicolosis are a vast family with old roots in Hollywood, producers and actors and directors, ostentatiously wealthy, omnipotent. The kind of people Ben should be associating with. The kind of women he should be marrying. “Is she a model?”

“An actress.”

“Jesus christ,” you moan. And then, before you can stop yourself: “Why, Ben?”

“It’s hard to explain, it’s complicated, it’s...” He gestures vaguely with his hands, his beautiful hands. Hands that will never touch me again. “We haven’t...we...we were really young when we had Eli, and it hasn’t been easy, it’s been off and on, and we disagree on virtually everything...but I...” He wrenches it out. “I’m an adult, I have to take responsibility, I have to try to make it work. For Eli.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure living with gorgeous Santina Nicolosi and her barrels of money and inexhaustible industry influence is a real goddamn curse.”

Ben says nothing.

You swallow, your voice cracking. “So this is what you do, you find someone brainless and naïve and ordinary to screw around with, and then when you’re bored of that you go home to your actress-slash-heiress fiancée—”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“You fucking liar,” you seethe.

Incredibly, he laughs, a quick caustic sound. “I didn’t lie to you.”

“I get that ‘not in the picture’ could be open to some interpretation but there is no alternate universe in which it means engaged to.”

“I didn’t lie to you about the rest of it.”

You shake your head in fury, in persistent waves of shock. “I can’t believe this, I really can’t believe this, and I...oh god, I...I still have to see you, because I teach your son...” You’re sobbing again, you’re falling to pieces, you’re fracturing like thin ice under reckless feet.

Ben tries to reach for you. “Please don’t—”

“Don’t touch me, you, you...” There’s no word for what he is, there’s nothing malevolent enough.

He points at you as his voice leaps louder, more wrathful. “Don’t you say it, don’t you dare call me a demon!”

“You are!” you scream at him. “You are a fucking demon, you are a monster, you are the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

Now Ben has nothing to offer in reply. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, frowns at the floor, chews on his lower lip in that absentminded, nervous way that he does. “I’m so sorry,” he says simply.

“Thanks, I’m whole again,” you fling like a dagger.

He flinches, and again you’re struck by his palpable distress, his vulnerability. But that didn’t stop him from cheating, lying, making me love him, cracking my ribs open so he could rip my fucking heart out. “I...”

“Get out,” you snap.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I won’t make this any harder for you than it is already. I won’t bother you again.”

“Perfect,” you whisper, your lips trembling. He needs to leave, he needs to leave NOW, I can’t let him see me crumble again.

Ben opens the door. “I hope—”

“Just get out!”

He nods in resignation, steps outside, disappears into the fading afternoon sunlight. And you’re alone in so many more ways than one.

You bite back tears as you pace through the kitchen, struggling to compose yourself, desperate to forget. Then your eyes catch on the artificial calla lily in the trashcan. It’s pointless to throw it away, you realize. There’s no end to it; even if it’s collected with the refuse, even when goes to the landfill. It won’t decompose, it won’t disappear. If anything, it’ll just end up choking a dolphin or sea turtle to death. You fish it out and lay it on the counter.

“I don’t want to let you go,” you say to the green calla lily, to nobody at all.

I have to heal from this. I have to get over Ben Hardy. I have to move on.

But you’ve already forgotten what your life looks like without him.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Saturday. You shuffle out of your bedroom with a blanket draped over your shoulders like armor, your eyes sore and aching, your thoughts a fog. You’ve slept for approximately ninety total minutes. You scowl at the couch.

“Stupid debaucherous sex-couch of shame,” you mutter. That’s supposed to be funny, but it doesn’t feel that way; it feels sad and pitiful and raw. You plop down in your lounge chair instead, pulling your knees to your chest, flipping through the channels until you find a special about the Cretaceous Period on HBO.

After an hour, your phone rings. It’s Joe Mazzello. You’ve saved him in your contacts as Zappy Zap Dino Boi. Tipsy Y/N is an interesting character. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sweet Caroline!” His voice is bright, bubbly, effervescent.

“Ahh. You remembered that.”

“I wasn’t nearly as turnt as you were. We still on for baseball?”

Are we? You don’t want reminders of Ben, you don’t want any links to his world; you want to forget he exists entirely. But you like Joe—or, at least, you had at The Edison—and you can’t help but notice that he’s already lightening your spirits, evaporating gloom like rain off pavement. “Yeah, totally.”

“Is tomorrow afternoon gucci?”

Oh my god, he’s one of those people who says gucci. “You are definitely not as cool as drunk-me thought you were.”

Joe cackles through the phone. “Is it okay if I bring a friend?”

“Ben?” you ask reflexively.

“No, not him. Ben’s got work in London. Why?” His interest is piqued. Oh no.

“No reason. That’s fine with me. Your friend is gucci.”

Joe chuckles again. “Text me your deets and I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds like a plan, dinosaur kid.”

“Also: the friend is not Jeff Goldblum. Don’t get too excited. Don’t show up with whipped cream and lingerie.”

You laugh, your first laugh in nearly twenty-four hours, a loud genuine laugh that starts deep in your belly. “I’m devastated.”

“See you soon, amica.”

“Bye, Joe.” You hang up and stare at the ceiling. This is fine. This is sensible. This is only going to lead to good things.

Right?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Strrrrrike seven!” Joe announces cheerfully. He’s wearing shorts and a red baseball jacket that he says is from a film he wrote and directed called Undrafted. It’s an even eighty degrees outside and breezy; the strands of dark hair that jut out from under Joe’s cap are fluttering in the wind. The sky is clear, unmarred cerulean. You had been anxious before Joe’s Subaru rolled into your driveway, steeping in your dusky house and your own misery, second-guessing the point of friendship, of love, of everything; yet the moment you slid into Joe’s backseat all of that vanished. You adore this eccentric little man, you had realized with relief, even when there’s no alcohol involved.

“This is so sad,” you say, twirling the bat in your hands. “This is absolutely pathetic. I am an embarrassment to America.”

“Maybe Joe’s pitching is the problem,” Gwilym suggests helpfully from where he’s crouching over home plate.

“Uhhhh, rude, Gwilym!” Joe shouts.

You glance back at Gwil. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m pretty sure it’s me.”

Gwil stands, the ball still snug in his mitt, and pulls off his catcher’s mask. “Joe,” he calls, “take it down a few notches. Toss it underhand. Nice and easy.”

“Fine.” Joe snatches the baseball out of the air when Gwil lobs it to him.

You turn back to Gwil, shielding your face from the sun with one hand. “Is this getting too painful to watch?”

He smiles benignly, reassuringly, but his eyes are nervous. They’re an intense royal blue, you note; like the ocean, like the sky. Like Eli’s, like Santina’s. That’s a thought you push away with both hands. “No, no, not at all. You aren’t far from the mark, actually. You’re just swinging a second too soon. But if Joe slows down and you figure out a rhythm, get your comfort level up...you’ll be batting three-hundred in no time.”

You chuckle, bouncing the bat against your sneakers. “I highly doubt that, Mr. Lee. But we’ll do it your way. They don’t have baseball in the U.K., do they?”

“Cricket and football, mostly.”

“Who do you root for?”

He grins, more brashly now. “The Welsh.”

“Hey,” Joe yells. “Is the pep talk over yet? Are you ready for me? I’m aging out here. I suddenly love rice pudding and can’t figure out how cellphones work.”

“Don’t rush her!” Gwil replaces his catcher’s mask.

“You’re Welsh, aren’t you, Gwil?” you ask.

“I am, happily so.”

“I just taught my kids what Wales was last week! It took a solid fifteen minutes to get past the large marine mammal connotation. They voted that Scotland was cooler.”

“Freaking tiny American savages!”

“Hey!!” Joe waves his arms theatrically. “I exist!”

“Go ahead,” you accede, taking position and raising the bat over your shoulder. Gwil squats just behind home plate again.

“You have more time than you think you do,” he says softly. Joe pitches the ball underhand, and it floats slowly through the air as your gaze tracks it. “Not yet,” Gwil whispers to you. “Not yet, not yet, not yet...NOW!”

You swing, your eyes pinched shut, bracing for the weightless whistle of open air. Instead, there’s the jolt of an impact, a cracking sound...and Gwil’s ecstatic cheer.

“Holy shit!” Joe cries, his eyes following the ball across the field. “You hit something! You actually hit a ball!”

“Yes!” Gwil throws off his mask and pumps his fist in the air. “I told you, I told you that you could do it!”

“I did it!” You spin around and—spontaneously, without thinking at all—you leap onto your tiptoes and toss your arms around Gwil’s neck. “You saved me! I’m a proper American now!” And for one fleeting moment, there’s no Ben Hardy anywhere in your mind, there are no trapdoors of agony like cold pockets in a lake, frigid paralyzing blackholes just itching to drag you down. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Gwil says uneasily, his arms hesitantly circling around you. You back away as Joe comes jogging over, clasping the conquered baseball.

“Not bad, Carolina Panther! Should we celebrate? In-N-Out Burger?”

“Carolina...Panther...?” Gwil echoes.

“It’s a Sweet Caroline joke. Joe’s mocking me. Per usual.”

“You really weren’t that bad a singer,” Joe teases with a grin. “Obviously I enjoyed meeting you. Where did you say you knew Ben from...?” He’s trying to act casual, but you can tell he’s been waiting for an opportunity to ask that question. And you’re trying too: trying not to cringe at the sound of Ben’s name, trying not to let on that it rips you in two.

“I actually teach his son Eli, he’s in my first grade class.”

“Aww, how precious!” Joe gushes. “And...you and Ben...are you, uh...like, a thing...?”

Not since I found out about his fucking fiancée. “No, definitely not a thing. Just friends. I actually don’t even know if you’d call us friends, maybe just acquaintances.” Maybe just mortal enemies. You narrow your eyes at Joe. “You know he’s getting married, right?”  

“Is that still happening?” Gwil asks Joe.

“Yeahhhh,” Joe sighs dramatically. “Santina.” He pronounces each syllable of her name distinctly, like it’s a newly discovered breed of insect or a rare element on the Periodic Table.

“What’s wrong with Santina?” You’re channeling all your effort into seeming indifferent.

Joe rolls his eyes, tossing the baseball between his hands. “What isn’t wrong with Santina.”

Gwil snorts in agreement, slapping his catcher’s mitt against his thigh to chase the dust away.

“So...” Joe prompts. “In-N-Out Burger? What do you say, Sweet Caroline? I’ll buy, but only on the condition that you get me back when you’re in the MLB one day.”

“I will gladly accept those terms.”

You all pile into Joe’s Subaru, and Gwil isn’t riding shotgun this time; instead, he climbs into the back with you. The In-N-Out Burger is packed, so you eat in the car with the air conditioning blasting and the radio blaring A Night At The Opera. And somehow you find yourself laughing hysterically as Joe tries to sing Bohemian Rhapsody with his mouth full of cheeseburgers, as Gwil spills a chocolate shake all over his expensive plaid golf pants, as you share your animal fries with Gwil and he shoves two under his lips like walrus tusks; somehow, you find yourself barely thinking of the suffocating grief that’s been hovering over you at all.

But when you inevitably have to go home—when your kitchen door clicks shut and you’re left alone with your randomly-arrayed fridge magnets and your piercing memories and your undying green calla lily—suddenly it feels like there’s nothing in the world worth thinking about but Ben.

~~~~~~~~~~

Usually you have to wait until lunch or special to check your phone, but today the kids have an assembly about preventing forest fires. Only in Los Angeles.

While Sasha keeps a watchful eye on your class, you sneak away to catch up on grading. As you pluck your favorite red pen out of your teacher bag with your left hand, you tap your iPhone screen with your right. It’s 11:05 in the morning. You have seven new texts, all from Gwil.

9:21 a.m.: Good morning, love!

9:44 a.m.: Wow wow wow that was meant for someone else, please disregard.

9:51 a.m.: Okay I lied, that was meant for you, I am just hilariously bad at asking people on dates.

9:54 a.m.: ...Will you go on a date??

9:55 a.m.: With me, clearly.

10:11 a.m.: Bleeding christ I am the worst, please ignore me if you have any taste whatsoever.

10:35 a.m.: Brb swimming back to Britain in disgrace.

At first, you’re too stunned to do anything but blink senselessly at the phone: Gwil likes you? Do you like Gwil? Gwil is sweet, of course, he’s handsome and charming and successful and everything a lover should be. But Ben is immutable; he’s the stars, he’s the sawtoothed ocean floor, he’s the blood cells splitting in your bone marrow. There are parts of you that won’t ever be free of him.

Ben isn’t here. Maybe he wasn’t ever really here. And he is never coming back.

You text to Gwil: Let’s do this.

[novacxlum]

skinny dipping

in which luke, the captain of the swim team and the boy who holds your heart, offers to work with you to prepare for swim season. antics ensue.

request: “hi okay so i really feel awkward requesting smut but like,,, ur writing is so good so like could u write shower sex w luke? tysm!” ps dont feel awkward i love u sorry this is so late and also got......a lil crazy

warning: another luke smut? truly just self indulgence if im being 100% honest, some hella lax choking, light dirty talk, technically public sex

a/n: someone tell me to stop writing for luke thanks. as always, feedback is very much appreciated :-) <3

When you get out of the lap pool, all your muscles are loose and weak. The chlorine has settled in your hair and its distinct scent surrounds you as your tired legs carry you to your towel; you drop into a chair as soon as you reach one, ignoring the cold metal beneath your legs as you delight in the relaxation. Your breathing is hard and your heart is pounding as you gulp as much water as possible from your water bottle. All summer you had meant to make it to the pool, you honestly had. But you had been so preoccupied with cutting a million things off your bucket list before school started that you just forgot.

You felt that regret now, wishing you had just gone a couple times a month. That would have saved you the next three days of sore muscles. Your knees are already beginning to bruise from neglecting the stairs out of the pool by pulling yourself up from the edge. When you try to run a hand through your hair, your fingers get caught in the knots created by the chlorine; you groan, not even close to ready to brush it out later. For now, you pull it into a scrunchie high on the crown of your head while you bask in your dread. You’re standing up when the door to the pool opens; it surprises you enough to make you jump, your tired muscles clenching in fright. You had made it a point to wake up early enough to get to the pool and finish well before the kids and their babysitters started pouring in. When you look at your phone, it’s only 7:15. You look up to meet eyes with a tall, grinning blonde.

“(Y/N)!” He exclaims, making you smile back widely.

“Hi, Luke!” You greet, wrapping your arms around his warm, bare torso when he pulls you in for a hug.

Luke was a senior this year, and captain of the swim team. The two of you had gotten pretty close last year as he had always volunteered to drive the underclassmen home in the minivan he had inherited from his mother. You had almost exclusively gotten the front seat, and you were always last to be dropped off which inevitably led to the two of you gossiping about the other people on the team. Luke had most definitely made your transition into high school much more comfortable, and you always made sure to let him know.

“You excited for swim to start?” He asks, and you glare at him with playful eyes.

“Take another look at me and ask that question again.” You deadpan. He giggles, his eyes bright and you can’t help but let loose a smile. “What about you?”

“Of course.” His voice is light as he sets his things on the bench next to you. You can’t help but watch as the muscles of his shoulders ripple and you avert your eyes quickly.

It was no secret to your friends that you had a big schoolgirl crush on Luke. The close friendship the two of you shared had tricked your heart into developing feelings for him and as much as you tried to deny it, you really did adore Luke with everything in you.

“I should’ve kept up on workouts this summer.” You scold yourself to him and he shrugs.

“I only started a few weeks ago. The season doesn’t technically start for another two months, and we don’t start practices for another month.” You stare at him and he laughs again, shaking his head. “You have time. And if you need motivation, we can work out together.” He suggests.

You struggle to keep the grin off your face as you give him a casual smile. “Yeah, that sounds good. When do you usually come?”

“Just around this time on Mondays and Thursdays. I’ll text you on Thursday and I’ll just pick you up on my way here. Sound good?”

You nod as your lips quirk up. You stand, grabbing your keys and your swim bag, bidding him a quick farewell and turning your back to him so he couldn’t see the face-splitting grin you were sporting.

Despite your sore muscles, you felt better that day than you had all summer.

Thursday morning, you’ve gone through all the possible scenarios in your head. You aren’t anxious, because you’re already close to Luke, but you are excited. So excited that you can’t sit down. Your swim bag has been unpacked and repacked enough times that you could take a mental inventory. You’re just putting on a loose shirt over your shorts and swimsuit when your phone chimes.

Luke: I’m outside :-)

You slide your jandals on and grab your bag and water bottle from your bed before rushing to the front door. You close it behind you, allowing the late summer air of the early morning wash over you. You turn to face Luke’s car, which had been replaced and was no longer a minivan.

A sleek black car sits in your driveway and your narrow your eyes in confusion, but your pace stays constant when you see Luke’s smiling face in the driver’s side.

“New wheels?” The words have fallen from your lips as soon as you’re settled in the soft leather seats. Despite how early it is, the air conditioner is blasting and a Hippo Campus song is pouring lowly from the speakers.

He chuckles softly, shrugging. “Been saving up for a few years and the minivan died, so there was no better time.”

He pulls out of the driveway and you look over at him, watching carefully as he taps his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the music. The car smells of leather and chlorine from yours and Luke’s duffel bags by your feet and in the backseat, respectively. You smile softly at him and turn away, looking out the window.

In an unfairly short amount of time, you’re parked in the parking lot of the indoor pool and you’re stepping through the doors, the humidity already hitting you. Luke smiles at the girl standing behind the counter, a girl you recognize as the teacher’s aide for your biology class last year. You think she’s in Luke’s grade, and you think you catch her with a disdainful look when she sees you behind the tall blonde. You smile at her anyway and walk through the doors leading to the locker rooms and the water. The two of you skip past the lockers and walk straight for the pool.

There’s music playing over the speakers, echoing around the room and suddenly, you’re nervous. You don’t understand why, because you’d swam with Luke a hundred times before, but for some reason, things were different now.

It’s almost two full hours before the two of you are ready to call it good. You’re sore, but not nearly as sore as you were on Monday. Luke’s giggling at you as you struggle to get out of the water, your aversion to ladders still very much apparent.

“C’mere.” He chuckles, moving toward you and outstretching a hand. You grip it tightly with both hands and he uses his other hand to grip your own forearm. With a foot as high on the wall as you can get it, Luke’s body pulls back and you’re suddenly out of the water, your feet on the slick ground as the tall blonde before you allowed his hand to fall from your arm to your back to ensure your stability.

Whatever snicker was once floating through the air from either of you had disappeared as you looked up at him, his hand firmly against the small of your back holding you to him as you gripped his hand in both of yours. He takes a deep breath, and suddenly both of your hands are off of him and he’s taking a step back. You allow yourself to laugh in order to lighten the mood, walking carefully to where your bags sat.

“Are you gonna shower, or do you just want to dip?” You ask, grabbing your towel and wiping off your face.

Against Luke’s better judgment, he decides to go straight home. You both towel off, pulling your clothes back on, pushing away the slight awkwardness by throwing jokes back at one another. By the time you get back to his car, the two of you are back to normal and you’re careful to keep your wet hair from dripping on his nice leather seats. The ride to your house is full of music and jokes and laughs. When he pulls into your driveway, he puts his car in park and turns to look at you.

“Do you want to you go out? Like on a date?”

You’re shocked at his words, and in a rare moment of bravery, you look at him with wide eyes. “Are you telling me this wasn’t a date?” You tease, making him groan. “Yes, Luke. I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Great. Is Saturday okay?” He asks, and you nod, a large smile on your face.

You lean across the center console and press a chaste kiss to his cheek before hopping out, swiftly making your way to the front door and letting yourself inside. With pink cheeks and a squeal, you can’t help but immediately begin planning.

“This isn’t lame, is it?” Luke’s voice breaks through the low chatter of silverware against ceramic plates and talks in the diner. You laugh softly and shake your head, the air conditioning blasting through the restaurant despite the fact that the sun was down.

“No, I love it here. You know that.” You assure the blonde boy sitting across from you. Maddy’s was a cute little diner that had been settled early in the sixties just down the street from your neighborhood. It was always packed full of teenagers, as it was the only restaurant in town that was cheap enough to go regularly and open 24 hours a day. You adored Maddy’s, and Luke was well aware.

“I wanted to take you somewhere new, but I forgot to make reservations somewhere.” He says bashfully. It’s rare for Luke to look so shy, and it almost takes you off guard. Almost. You smile softly at him from across the table.

“This is perfect.” You say. He grins.

The smell of hamburgers and fries arises quickly as Hallie, a sweet girl in the grade between yours and Luke’s brings your food to the table. “Alright, guys, is there anything else I can get for you?” She asks, and Luke shakes his head with a friendly smile.

“No, thank you, Hallie.” He says warmly. You watch Hallie fight the blush that takes over her cheeks as she nods and walks away. You look at him in awe and he looks back at you in confusion. “What?”

“How the hell do you do that?’ You inquire, and he furrows his brows.

“Do what?” He retorts, grabbing a few fries from the overflowing basket before him. You roll your eyes.

“Get every single girl you talk to fall at your feet.” You say, causing him to scoff loudly.

“I don’t.” He says, and you laugh sarcastically.

“You’re kidding. All you had to do was smile at Hallie to make her blush, and I’m pretty sure the girl at the pool wants to hang me by my ankles every time she sees us together. Every girl that’s ever laid eyes on you is automatically entranced, follows your every move right on your heels.” You say, picking at your own food.

“Not every girl.” He says. You look up at him, seeing a small smile play on his lips.

“Maybe some of us are resistant to your charm.” You tease. Luke chuckles, shaking his head.

“Have I told you just how gorgeous you look tonight?” He says, a smirk tugging at his lips as you kick his leg softly under the table.

“Laying in on a little thick there, Hemmings,” You giggle. “but thank you.” Luke catches one of your legs between his, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he smiles sweetly and picks up his food.

The two of you remained in the diner for several more hours, giggling loudly and playfully teasing one another. By the time you leave, Maddy’s is nearly empty. The only booth left, a group of boys, whoop loudly at the two of you as you step out the door and Luke glares hard at them, but you can’t help the soft laugh that falls from your lips.

The walk back to your house envelops the two of you in a warm breeze. Your arm brushes Luke’s every once in a while as the two of you speak softly. The walk to your house isn’t nearly long enough, and when the two of you are standing under your porch light, Luke pretends that he doesn’t realize how warm it is, his large hands rubbing your bare arms. “We should do this again.” He says. You smile up at him and nod. His eyes flicker to your lips, before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. You raise up on your toes, gripping the tee shirt at his waist while one of his hands fell to your hip and the other to your lower back. You moan softly as Luke pulls you into him, parting your lips slightly to allow him access.

He pulls away a few seconds later, his breathing slightly heavier than normal. “So, we’re still on for Monday?” He jokes. You laugh softly, resting your forehead on his chest.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

He presses a chaste kiss on your lips before hopping down the stairs, sending a soft smile over his shoulder before making his way home.

You smile gently, letting yourself inside and ignoring your heavily beating heart.

When you wake on Monday, you get ready a little too quickly. You’re excited to see Luke after your date on Saturday, more excited than you are nervous. The part of your subconscious that doesn’t want you to be happy makes you worry that Luke has realized that you’re too immature for him, or not pretty enough, or generally not interesting enough.

You choose to ignore that part of your brain.

It isn’t long before Luke’s name pops up on your phone to inform you that he’s parked out front, so you grab your swim bag from the foot of your bed and rush outside to see him. The sun shines in your eyes and reflects off of the black car in your driveway, so you squint on your way to your seat.

“Good morning,” he sing-songs, and you smile sweetly at him.

“Good morning.” You mimic him. He chuckles softly, allowing his hand to fall to your thigh as he reverses out of your driveway.

“Are you ready for training today?” He asks, and you roll your eyes, your hand moving to rest on top of his.

“I’m sure I can handle whatever you throw at me.” You laugh, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you just because I think you’re cute,” he teases, and you ignore the blush raising up your neck. “I let you off easy on Thursday because it was your first workout with me, but today we’re working hard.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” You assure him.

Less than half an hour later, you’ve sprawled yourself across the cement next to the pool, Luke staring at you from the water.

“Remember how confident you were that you could handle this?” He teases, and you move your head to glare at him.

“Fuck off.” You groan. He laughs.

“You calling it quits?” He asks you.

“God, yes. Put me out of my misery.” You whimper. You aren’t usually one to admit defeat, but you can barely breath. Luke pulls himself out of the pool and you watch him, blushing at the sight of his strong arms lifting him out of the water. He stands above you and you stare up at him, lazily reaching your hand out to him. He chuckles softly, gripping your hand and pulling you up as well. His hand rests on your hip, pulling you into him, much like Saturday night.

“Hello.” He teases, and you groan again, resting your head against his chest and sighing, allowing your breathing to slow.

“Why do you hate me?” You ask him sarcastically. He laughs loudly, hugging you close to him. Your arms wrap around him.

“I don’t hate you, I adore you.” He says, rubbing your back. “How ‘bout we go out to breakfast?” He suggests. You lean back, your arms still around one another as you stare up at him.

“Can I shower first? I smell like chlorine.” You say, and he scoffs with a smile.

“Yeah, we’ll shower.” He says with a nod, leaning down to your height. You grin, stepping up on your toes to press your lips to his. His tongue immediately runs along your bottom lip, urging you to open your mouth. You, of course, indulge him and part your lips, his tongue running across the roof of your mouth. You shudder against him, and in turn, feel how excited he’s gotten. He moans softly into your mouth and your hands grip his back, your fervor increasing. He pulls away with heavy breathing, resting his head against your own. “We’d better get going.” He says, and you nod.

Letting go of him, the two of you walk closely together until you get to the adjacent doors of the two locker rooms. “I shouldn’t be long, maybe ten minutes?” You say, and he nods swiftly, carefully trying to conceal his hard-on. You turn on your heel, walking quickly into the locker room behind you.

You’re only slightly overwhelmed because now you know that Luke is as attracted to you as you are to him. Also, because you know that less than twenty feet from you, he’s just as turned on as you are.

In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, you turn around and walk confidently into the men’s locker room across the hall. “Luke?” You call out, already hearing the running water.

“(Y/N)?” He asks, and at the sound of his voice, all confidence that had filled you just seconds before has been lost as quickly as it had come across you as you blanch. This is weird, it’s so weird, and you’re embarrassed.

“I-um...I think I forgot m-my soap, so...do you have any extra, maybe?” It’s a poor excuse, and you know it before it even falls from your lips.

Luke laughs. He already knows. “C’mere.” He says, soft but demanding. You listen to him, walking timidly to the running shower. The air is steamy and you’re acutely aware of his swimsuit draped over the bench near his bag. With a quick glance to the clock, ensuring it was still far too early for any of the usuals to come, you reach his shower. His eyes lock on you immediately, his hand reaching out for you. You take a step forward, bringing yourself into reaching distance as he grips your hip and presses you against him. While you had avoided looking at his lower half when you stepped into the shower, you know now that you didn’t need to. You can feel him pressing against you. “Now, what’re you doing in here?” He asks, his voice significantly lower now than it had been before.

“Um...I don’t know, I guess. Looking for you.” You’re much shyer than you felt was appropriate, considering the two of you were one layer away from being completely bare against one another.

His fingers play with the zipper on your suit, looking to you for permission. You nod softly, staring up at him as he unzips it, pulling the straps off your shoulders. “Looking for me, huh?” He looks up just before your suit uncovers your breasts and closes the curtain behind him. He looks back to you with a sweet smile, the change in his demeanor sudden. His hands return to the top of your suit and, with one more look for the go-ahead, he pulls it down to your waist. His hands immediately move to your chest, leaning down to attach his lips to your exposed decolletage. He pushes the rest of your suit down and when you kick it off, he bends down, grabbing it from around your ankles and hanging it on the hook across from you.

You giggle at his care for your swimsuit and he smiles at you, before kneeling again and kissing up your leg. Whatever laugh was left on your lips is immediately cut off by the deep breath you take. His hands hold your hips tightly as his lips move right up to the crux of your thighs before moving to the bottom of your other leg. You can’t do anything to slow your heavy breathing as you watch him, your hand reaching down to wrap into his hair. He looks up to you, sees the desperation on your face, and smirks. His hand hooks around your ankle and throws your leg over his shoulder, leaving you exposed to him. He hums softly, before leaning forward and licking a thick stripe up your slit. You moan loudly and he leans back to look up at you. “Baby, you’ve got to be quiet.” He insists, and you nod with a lip between your teeth. He resumes, taking another long swipe over you slit before wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking softly. He moans against you and grips your hip firmly.

Your hand flies to your face to cover your mouth. “Oh, my god,” you murmured. The hand still curled in his hair tugs lightly to get his attention. He pulls away and you remove your leg from over his shoulder, pulling him up to stand before you. He licks his lips before he presses them to yours, the taste of yourself still lingering. His lean body presses you against the wall. Your hand reaches between your bodies, finding his cock and wrapping your hand around him. He gasps against your mouth as you lazily stroke him. You shudder at the size of him in your hand, breaking the kiss to look down at where you’re holding him. You moan outright at the sight of it, as does he. He kisses you chastely again before gripping your wrist and pulling your hand off of him. “I want to fuck you.”

Too turned on to say give a proper response, you say, “I’m on the pill.”

Luke silently thanks god. You thank your dermatologist.

His hand grips your thigh, hooking your leg around his hips. “Y’want me to fuck you?” He murmurs.

His words shock you and it’s all you can do not burst into tears. You nod fervently, “Please. Please, Luke.” Your hips move toward him, causing him to chuckle. His hips meet yours, rubbing himself against you without slipping inside. You whimper, both of your hands gripping his biceps.

“C’mon, pretty girl, can I hear you say it?” He asks, his voice sweet, a stark contrast against the way his cock is slipping through your folds.

“I want you to fuck me, Luke. Please.” You moan. The desperation in your voice is clear and he moans, gripping himself and pushing in.

Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, both of your faces screwed up in pleasure as he gives you a moment to adjust to him. As soon as he draws his hips back, you realize you’ve only felt half of him inside you and you whimper again, pulling him close to you. He pushes in again, settling fully inside of you. You moan loudly, biting your lips as Luke’s hand immediately covers your mouth. He begins to thrust, setting a steady pace. Your nails continue to dig into his shoulders as his dig into your hips, holding you in place with his free hand as he thrusts into you. The hand covering your mouth slips down to wrap gently around your throat and you have to force yourself to keep quiet. “Faster, Luke. Please.” You beg, one of your hands reaching to grip the wrist resting on your chest.

He complies, drawing his hips back and pounding into you. All you can hear is running water and Luke’s skin slapping against yours, and all you can feel is Luke slamming into you. The hand holding your hip moves to your clit, the speed and strength of his hips not subsiding. His fingertips rub your clit firmly as he leans in to speak to you.

You’re embarrassingly close for how short the two of you have been going, and the sound of his voice only brings you closer to the brink of your orgasm. “S’that feel good? You like when I fuck you like that?” He asks heavily, panting in your ear.

“Yes, Luke, fuck,” You moan, pulling him closer to you as you moan into his shoulder.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” He moans, and if you weren’t so close to coming that you were almost hysterical, you’d giggle at how vocal he is.

“Oh, my god. I’m close, Luke, please,” You’re babbling, but seeing him begin to lose control shows you that he’s close too. He hums, adding more pressure to your clit and attaching his lips to the junction of your neck and shoulder, and this is exactly what pushes you over the edge.

Your brows furrow and your head tilts back against the wall behind you as your orgasm washes over you. You walls clench around Luke and his hips stutter. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N),” he groans against your neck as you trigger his orgasm. The fingers wrapped around your neck tighten slightly as he comes in you, a loud moan falling from his lips. Your own hand covers his mouth, causing you to giggle softly as he twitches against you. “Jesus Christ.” He says softly. He pulls out and you drop your leg, allowing your body to rest against the wall behind you. Both of you are breathing heavily but this doesn’t stop him from pressing a kiss to your lips, pulling you close to him. “Are you good?” He asks after he pulls away, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Absolutely.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. The two of you stand under the running water for only a minute or two before Luke breaks the silence.

“So...breakfast?”

[periwinkledoodle]

Chapter 1: Bo the Funkster and His Shady Owl

Honey Lee

How do you pack for a boarding school for the magically gifted? No seriously, I’m asking. The question had so paralyzed me for weeks that there I was at 5 am on a Sunday staring at an empty suitcase. 

My parents had enrolled me, their ‘gifted’ child into Ilvermorney’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after I’d accidentally transfigured my Algebra teacher’s toupee into a small chihuahua. I mean the resemblance was uncanny but my feeble explanations weren’t fooling anyone. My letter addressed to Ms. Hun Mi Beatrice Lee arrived shortly after.

“Hey Honeycomb, do you wanna eat breakfast before we go or take it on the way to the airport?” It was my Dad calling from down the hall in our Familie’s tiny San Francisco Apartment. He was probably packing snacks and making a Spotify playlist for the drive to the Airport. He knows exactly how to prepare for this. I grumbled to myself. It was a knack of his to anticipate and prepare, not just for himself but for our little family of three. When I went to my first sleep-away camp he made sure to tuck Mr. Pinky into my duffle even though I insisted I was too old for stuffed animals. When Mom lost her job he was prepared with taped re-runs of Gilmore Girls, a steaming pan of bulgogi and extra savings from a rainy day account he’d meant to surprise us with.  

“I’ll eat on the way” I shouted back after a pregnant pause. Maybe it’s not too late to ask him to pack for me. I jumped at the knock on my door.

“Uuuuh-” I responded dumbly, unable to come up with a believable excuse to shoo away the intruder. The door creaked open and my Mom stood there sleepy-eyed with an extra cup of coffee in her hands.  

“Coffee?” She smiled sweetly, handing me my favorite ceramic travel mug. The one with the San Francisco skyline. The one not from Starbucks. She took a sip of her own before eyeing my room. I could see her face change as her eyes drifted to the empty suitcase at the end of my bed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and another sip of coffee. When she opened her eyes again she took the coffee mug out of my hands and pointed down the hall to the bathroom.

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, razor, lotion. Go!”

All I could do was nod and scurry to my task as Mom called down the hall “Ed! Put the pancake batter in the fridge and come help me!”

Twenty minutes later my parents were high-fiving each other as we merged onto the freeway to the Airport with my entire wardrobe and most of my essentials stuffed into two bags in the trunk.

“We’re only a few minutes behind schedule, which is fine because I set aside at least ten minutes of buffer time for getting your mom out the door so really we’re ahead of things- Ow!” Dad rubbed the spot where mom’s elbow met his ribs. Mom turned around in her seat to hand me back my coffee.

“Ready?” She asked

I nodded. How are you supposed to tell your parents you’re woefully unprepared to be a witch when they’re making big sacrifices to make the best of the situation? Ilvermorney was not cheap I knew that much.

“The real question is-”

I groaned as dad reached for his iphone

“Are you guys ready for this fire mixtape?”

“Dad it’s called a playlist and please never call something ‘fire’ ever again” I shouted over the speakers blasting Magic by Pilot.

My family has never been one for emotional goodbyes so forty minutes later at the departures curb my Dad handed me my bags and my itinerary with sticky notes marking extra instructions for my transfer from JFK to the School’s rail shuttle. Mom handed me some extra cash for breakfast and they were off. Not two minutes later my phone buzzed with a text from Mom.

We’re so proud of you. X.

I’ll admit my eyes did sweat a little as I took a deep breath and headed to the bag drop line.

Having a whole 7-hour flight to ease my social anxiety nerves did not prepare me for the three-hour train ride with no assigned seating from New York to Mt. Greylock. After wandering the full length of the train trying to act like I knew where I was going I finally settled into an empty compartment towards the front of the ‘student rail shuttle’ or at least that’s what was plastered on each train car. After a full five minutes of peace and quiet, what I can only describe as a Crayola box on heelies rolled into my compartment, stuck out his hand and said “Hi, I’m Bo the Funkster” before dropping his bags and a tiny bug-eyed owl in the corner.

“Hi,” I said weakly, shaking his hand. From head to toe, the guy was a loud assortment of patterns right down to his banana socks and checkered vans. I was still confused as to how they had wheels.

“You got a name?” he asked cheerily

“Honey”

“Babe” He quipped without skipping a beat. Fluttering his eyelashes teasingly.

I huffed uncomfortably “N-no that’s my name. Well, actually my name is Hun Mi but my sister couldn’t pronounce it when I was born so she called me Honey and now it’s the only name I ever remember being called.”  

“That’s cute” He smiled sincerely

“Yeah, she was cute like that. My parents miss her a lot.” I said more to myself than anyone else until I saw his smile drop. Oh boy, major overshare. I mentally slapped myself. Recover! Recover!

“I mean, she died from cancer a long time ago so it’s fine”

His eyebrows knit together and mouth agape no doubt looking for a socially acceptable response to ‘Hi my name is Honey, my sister died of leukemia what’s your childhood trauma?’  

Way to put oil on the fire Honey.

But to my surprise Bo the Funkster pat a hand on my knee. “Dude, that sucks. I’m sorry” He leaned back in his seat and studied me for a minute. “So your first semester at Ilvermorney?”

“Can you tell?”

“Uh, yeah. But you’re good don’t sweat it. I’ll help you out. Hit me with your questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yeah about wizarding, Ilvermorney, whatever. There’s no shame in being new to the wizarding community but you probably want to know a few things am I right?”

I nodded

“Well then, young padawan-” he gestured  “proceed.”

Two and a half hours later we had exhausted our Q&A and had resorted to swapping opinions on the best movies of the summer. The train turned a sharp corner into bright forested hills and the glow of the late afternoon light made me feel like we had entered another world altogether.

Bo caught me staring “Yeah, it’s pretty” he admitted crawling his lanky limbs over his seat towards the window, he wedged the rusted thing open to let the summer breeze in.

“C’ mere” He motioned

I scooted over to the window and followed suit as he stuck his head out the window and inhaled deeply.

“Aahh, the last breath of summer,” he remarked before grinning at me wildly and cupping his hands to let loose a piercing howl that echoed over the hillside. I blinked. He abruptly put his hand up and shushed.

“I didn’t-”

“SHHH!” he wagged his shushing finger more forcibly.

I rolled my eyes to the sky but without missing a beat several eerie howls drifted back over the hills to us. I could feel my eyes grow wide.

“werewolves” Bo the funkster declared waving his arm out the window in proud presentation before sitting back in his assigned seat looking very pleased with himself.

“But it’s daytime, don’t they only change with the full moon?”

“Woohoo, look who knows her stuff!” He cheered. Then leaning forward with an unsettlingly fascinated look in his eye “It is a full moon!”  Without looking he jabbed a finger at the sky. I almost didn’t look half expecting him to just be messing with me, but there it was hanging proudly in what was left of blue in the sky.

“The nighttime part isn’t necessary and werewolves can howl in their human form too. Piece of trivia for your DA course.” He clicked some finger guns at me and winked before stepping out of the compartment without explanation.

What a weirdo. I smiled in spite of myself.

“Buckle up!” He called from down the car

Buckle up?

The train lurched and took off the tracks and I white-knuckled the armrest searching furiously with my other arm for a nonexistent seatbelt. The shifty Owl who I’d almost forgotten about perched atop the now falling luggage let out a grumbly and distinctly human-like “Who” that would haunt my dreams for weeks.

I gaped at it in absolute horror.

Once I regained my balance, and a piece of my sanity, I dared to steal a glance out the window, rather than engage the bird in a staring contest I was likely to lose. The sight that met my eyes made both my stomach and my heart leap. Unsure of whether it was nausea or nerves, I took a deep breath and leaned out the window again for a closer look. As the train gracefully ascended around the mountain it passed through a flock of what I can only describe as grey eagle-like Pegasus. Pegasuses? Pegasi? There were so many things I still didn’t know.

Now is not the time to dwell on self-doubt. I lectured.

Looking again, I saw emerging from the trees at the top of the mountain piercing spires and castle windows glittering in the setting sun.

Maybe this place can be home. I hoped. The thought of finding a place to belong made me loosen my grip on the seat cushioning until another unsettling “who” came from the beady-eyed monster in the corner.

“BO!?” I called out nervously

No response.

I swear to God-  

“FUNKSTER!?”

[chaoticneutralwriter]

The Grinch Who Stole New Year

You no longer like Christmas, you love Christmas. But perhaps it was still your heart that grew three sizes before the end of the year.

guardiandemon!Jimin x reader

genre: slice of life, supernatural, fluff, comedy

word count: 4.4k

A/n: You know me, I never get stuff out on time LOLL But to make up for it, I tried to do a mash up of the two big holiday/season into this one drabble. Hope everyone’s had a great holiday and a happy New Year! 2019, let’s get this bread. Forewarning; it’s half unedited so....asfsdkgh

 December 31st

 “You look awfully happy.” Jaehee comments from the kitchen threshold. You glance up only briefly, not bothering to hide the dopey, wide smile you currently have. It makes Jaehee laugh before she asks, “Is it the guy you told me about?”

 You sputter, nearly knocking out the lone ear bud you’re wearing with how you jostle your laptop to indignantly squawk, “As if!” You take a hold of your laptop and turn it just slightly to show her your paused screen, cooing affectionately as you say, “It’s my boys.”

 “Oh.” She drags out the sound and rolls her eyes playfully, “Should’ve known.”

 You grin back at her before continuing where you left off. Curled up on the sofa with the fluffiest blanket, sipping one of your favourite white wines, you’re watching your copy of BTS’ Seasons’ Greetings 2019 on your laptop. Sure buying it might’ve put a rather large dent in your wallet but in your defense, it was deemed to be your Christmas present to yourself. Plus, in your opinion, it’s worth every penny. 

 “So what happened to the guy then? Did you ghost him or something?” Jaehee calls out again, coming to settle on the other end of the sofa where your feet haven’t reached.

 “Oh… him.” You reply offhandedly, paying more attention to the conversation the group was having on screen but at the thought of…. him, you can’t help the snort that comes out of your mouth that isn’t entirely because of BTS’ antics.

 Oh, Jimin…. Well, your demon version of Jimin…. 

 You can’t say you feel completely sorry for him because ever since the season to be jolly had crept closer and closer, he had become more and more like a mixture between the Grinch and Grumpy Cat and while it should’ve made you a little apprehensive of his temper, you were absolutely loving it.

 -

 12 days before Christmas

 “On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…” You find yourself singing as you work on stringing the Christmas lights up so that they frame your living room windows. You stand back to admire your handy work, still humming the song and you can’t help the giddy wiggle when you see how perfectly the lights twinkle in rhythm.

 “You bought more lights?” A begrudging voice sounds from within the darkened depths of your room. You turn and the grouchy mood your room invader has does nothing to dampen your own high-spirited one. In fact, his appearance looks too much like a certain grumpy house cat that even his glowing ruby eyes doesn’t detract the image. It makes you choke back a giggle, which seems to make him bristle (much to your delight).

 “Don’t you know that you can never have enough lights?” You make show of reprimanding him as if you’re an over-enthusiastic grade school teacher, hands on either side of your hip and head slightly tilted. He glares harder at you and you think this is the perfect chance to rub it in his face more. “And guess what else I got?”

 You whirl around to reach into your shopping bag and pull out your two additional purchases, shaking them excessively in both hands with excitement and a shit-eating grin stretching so wide you feel your cheeks starting to hurt. “Santa hats!” And they’re not just any old, normal looking ones. They’re red sequined and they jingled.

 “You’re disgusting.” is your only response before he promptly slams the door shut to your room. But you can’t be bothered, too busy cackling to yourself from his reaction. You’re honestly living for how much your demon guardian is loathing the holiday season. Before, you can barely get him to stop popping up at the most inconvenient times, claiming it to be ‘watch duty’ (when really it’s just to annoy you and give you a heart attack for his own amusement) but ever since Christmas started to loom around the corner, he’s gone reclusive, avoiding the outside world like the black plague was on the loose. 

 Needless to say, you were ecstatic. You could finally meet up with your friends without having to look over your shoulder or become too distracted because he thinks it’s funny to do outrageous things under the invisibility spell (you’ll never forget the time he decided to make balloon animals two seats away from you, all the while keeping the most stoic face you’ve ever seen). 

 So it’s no surprise that you’ve decided to take full advantage of this new discovery, going to lengths you never had before in a way to get back at him. To be honest, you weren’t even that big on Christmas, doing the bare minimum in the past to celebrate the holiday but thanks to him, you’ve gone all out in the decorating department and it only seems to fuel your enthusiasm (so no, you wouldn’t call it being completely petty; just more festive).

 A most wonderful time of the year indeed.

 You toss the Santa hats onto the couch, taking the moment to step back and admire your entire setup. The tree was up and filled with ornaments on nearly every branch you can hook, standing in a corner by the sofa, blinking prettily with it’s many lights, complete with a faux fur lined tree skirt. More lights were pinned just above the sofa and along the small bookshelf while garlands and wreaths were placed on your front door, above the kitchen threshold and the railing outside of your entryway. The magazines on your coffee table were tucked underneath in favour of the poinsettia candle-holder centrepiece, complete with faux self-lit candles.

 And although you don’t have a fireplace, it didn’t deter you from buying stockings to hang just below the TV stand (I mean, if you turn on the fireplace channel, it could still work right?)

 Overall, you’re quite happy with your little home makeover. Your place looks exceptionally decorative and you get a kick out of annoying your demon house cat for once. Two birds with one stone.

 -

 2 days before Christmas

 “What is that?”

 “What’s what?” You ask innocently, biting your lip to hold back a snicker as you pretend to busy yourself in fixing the holly you’ve got in your hands. You can practically feel the temperature drop behind you from the sofa but you’re perfectly warm in your oversized ugly Christmas sweater.

 “That!” He hisses. You spare him a glance but his gaze is so fixated on the little ceramic figurine on the coffee table that you actually think he might set it aflame.

 “It’s Mary and Joseph and the newborn king, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; gosh I thought you of all beings would know them?” You flippantly reply, having to turn away again to hide the smile that’s starting to creep up on your lips. 

 “I do but I also know for a fact that you’re not even Christian. So why do you have this here!?" 

 “Jesus loves everybody and it’s not exactly them, it’s a very abstract depiction of them. And besides, it’s a nice candle holder that says Noel so calm down.” 

 You hear angry muttering and then a huff, making you sneak a peek only to nearly burst out laughing at the pout he’s sporting. You have to admit, it’s adorable but only because he looks like Jimin. He turns to you and you can’t help the corner of your mouth from twitching. Your Jimin clone raises a finger, pointing at you as his expression turns accusatory, comically so.

 “You did this on purpose.” 

 “Did what?” Your voice comes out in a higher pitch because you’re trying so hard not to laugh but also because you’re clearly lying through your teeth.

 “All of this!” He finally exclaims, like his week long pent up frustration is coming to head. “I can’t believe you would go along with the capitalism of this holiday, just to get back at me!” 

 “You’re a demon! I thought you’re supposed to encourage this sort of thing?”

 “There are many things I encourage…and this is definitely not one of them!” 

 “Oh c’mon, don’t act like you totally hate the holiday season; I’m not the one sneaking gingerbread cookies at two in the morning."

 A pause.

 And you smirk; gotcha.

 Yeah, there was no way you wouldn’t have noticed that every time you decided to bake some holiday treats (for the household and your workplace), the portion left for home would mysteriously disappear at an alarming rate. You knew for sure you didn’t eat any because you literally had your fill when they were fresh out of the oven. Jaehee didn’t really like gingerbread cookies nor sweets for that matter but she indulged you and had the bare minimum.

 So doing the math for that wasn’t too hard and if the deep crimson blush Jimin had on was anything to go by….

 “So what? I had like two…” He says defensively, crossing his arms. You let a snort go, turning back around to fiddle with the fake holly berries. 

 “Sure…whatever helps you sleep at night.”

 “Demons don’t really sleep.”

 “Ugh, you know what I mean.” You roll your eyes, finishing up and stalking back towards the kitchen again. “Anyways, I’m gonna go make some cookies since someone keeps eating all of them before I can leave any out for Santa.”

 “He’s not even real!”

 “I don’t want to hear it!”

 Safe to say that your chewy chocolate chip cookies turned out fantastically, you think they’re good enough to open your own bakery even. Once the tray cooled, you take three for yourself and a glass of milk, heading back into your room. You take a quick a glance in the living and find that your demon guardian has vanished. You shrug, kicking open your door and get settled in for a little movie night in bed.

 The next morning, you find the tray more than half empty.

 “Oh wow, chocolate chip cookies. You should really open up a shop, Y/N. You’ve got a knack for baking.” Jaehee comes up from behind you, peering over your shoulder. “Why’d you make so little? Just had a craving last night?”

 “Yeah…” was the only thing you can say in utter disbelief.

 That bastard.

 He could’ve saved you some to last the week.

 -

 Christmas Day

 Oh boy, you probably should not have drank that much. You’re regretting it deeply now as you stumble up the stairs after thanking your Uber driver and wishing them a happy holiday. The Christmas party your friend held was super fun, something that wasn’t too rambunctious like a frat party even though you're totally sloshed right now. It was a gathering of close friends and their dates but friends who definitely know how to party. The night started off rather tamed with the exchange of presents and pleasantries in catching up, eating and light drinking before the games started. 

 That’s when the drinks started pouring because games are fun but they’re even more fun when alcohol is involved (and anything can be turned into a drinking game if you tried hard enough). Coupled that with your fairly low tolerance and it’s no surprise that you’re about ready to fall asleep in the closest corner you can find. But no, you’re a trooper and you held on, even when Jaehee (who was no less sober than you), insists on going home with you. So after ordering you an Uber she deemed trustful (cancelling around five of them), she saw you off, not without demanding that you text her when you’ve arrived safely at home.

 You’re almost inside, fumbling with your keys and checking thrice to make sure it’s the right one before slotting it into the keyhole. As the door opens, you let out a loud noise of relief like you’ve just finished a marathon.

 “Goddammit….” You slur to yourself as you shut your door and nearly topple over in removing your boots. You fling them off after finding your balance on the wall, heaving yourself to the living room where you promptly collapse onto the couch, energy spent. Your head is pounding already as if your hangover is beginning to form even before your body has a chance to sleep it off but you still have so much to do; take off your jacket, text Jaehee, change your clothes, wash your makeup off, brush your teeth, drink some water, the list was endless but all your body and inebriated mind wants to do is to close your eyes and just rest here for a bit because this couch was so comfy…man, investing in those throw pillows and blankets sure was a good ide—

 “I don’t remember letting in a hobo.” 

 Through your curtain of hair, you blearily make out a shadow looming over you. Tossing your head back a bit more, you find an infuriatingly handsome face staring down at you, one that you want to punch but kiss at the same time.

 “Jimin…?” 

 “Yes, but not quite darling.”

 You frown, muddled mind sifting through information like dial up Internet before you make a noise of affirmation. “Not Jimin…English too good.” 

 You hear a breathy laugh as your heavy head lops to one side, too tired to hold it up any longer. A clicking sound, the kissing of teeth in a way you can only imagine a mother would do when scolding her child.

 “Someone’s indulged a little too much in the blood of Christ.” 

 In your head, you think you’ve formed words that sound something like ‘You don’t even like Christmas’ but in reality, it comes out half way before dying in a mumbling, incoherent mess. Your head continues to pound to the rhythm of your heart and as you close your eyes, trying to will it to go away, you very nearly drift off when you feel a tug at your arm. You make an attempt to swat at it but fail miserably, giving up because you don’t have the energy to care.

 “I don’t get paid enough for this….” You faintly hear as you’re suddenly lifted into strong arms and the familiar scent of vanilla and lavender invades your nose.

 “Mm…So strong…” You giggle drunkenly, head burying against the soft cashmere sweater he’s wearing. A groan rumbles against your ear before you’re unceremoniously dumped onto the fluffy comforter of your bed. You whine loudly at being jostled, blindly rolling to your side in an attempt to sit up. A firm hand stops you from straight up falling out of bed.

 “Where do you think you’re going?”

 “Mm’face is dirty…”

 “Don’t worry, you rubbed half of it off on my sweater anyways.”

 “Jimin…!” You whine petulantly, a hand stretched out as if you could summon a cleansing wipe if you thought hard enough. Even drunk you refuses to go to bed with makeup still on your face; imagine the mess it’ll leave on your pillows!

 A loud sigh and before you know it, you feel the dampness of one of your cleansing wipes in your outstretched hand. You take it with a grunt of appreciation before slapping it onto your face and begin rubbing it in the best way you think you can get the makeup off. You try to be strategic about it, going by sections of your face but eventually, you keep forgetting if you’ve went over the area or not. You end up wiping your face for a good fifteen minute straight.

 “I think you missed a spot.”

 You let out another grunt, loudly, tossing the wipe in the direction you hear his voice coming from, “Shuddup.”

 The wipe doesn’t come close to reaching his stupid handsome face like you wanted it to, it lands rather pathetically at the edge of his knee, right where the rip in his jeans were. Still, he takes it and effortlessly sends it flying to your trashcan.

 “Finished?”

 “Mm.” You hum, snuggling into your pillows before letting out a content sigh through your nose. You feel the covers tuck a little closer to you, the weight lifting from your bed and your hair being brushed out of the way. 

 “Now stay, and sleep.” 

 “Mm…Merry Chris…Nn—Merry Holiday, Jimin.” You mumble sleepily, drifting off finally though for a split second, you could’ve sworn you heard a “Merry Holiday” in return.

 The next morning, you wake up with a splitting headache that renders you incapacitated for half the day. When you did have enough strength to get up, you’re pleasantly greeted with a steaming mug of peppermint tea (the one with cute little snowflakes on it) and a pack of painkillers.

 Jaehee’s door was still shut, no doubt she’s either still passed out in sleep or she might’ve spent the night with her date so it’s with a half-hearted reluctance that you accept who could’ve done this. Nevertheless, you gratefully take the tea, cradling it in your hands as you make your way over to the couch. Settling down on the plush seat, you go to reach for the remote on the coffee table, only to notice one minor detail.

 Your little Noel candle holder was missing.

 You could only let out a sigh. In truth, you’re not even mad.

 -

 Present day

 “You sure you don’t want to head over to Jisoo’s? We can stay only until the countdown is over.” Jaehee asks once again as she straightens her sequin dress.

 “Nah, I think I’ve maxed out my social metre for the year in just this past week alone.” You laugh, stretching your arms over your head before settling back down again, cradling the laptop perched on your knees. You’re halfway done the season’s greeting DVD and you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself where you are.

 Jaehee acquiesces, adding a couple of finishing touches to her look, giving you a twirl and you giving her your seal of approval in return. She throws on her jacket just as her phone goes off, signaling her dates’ arrival to pick her up. Jaehee bids you farewell, wishing you a happy new year beforehand as she slips through the door. You brief chill from outside reaches you and you bring the throw over blanket closer to you, resuming your video.

 Throughout the entire time, you’ve got a smile stretched wide across your face. You can’t help it; BTS does that to you. Even when the DVD comes to a finish, you’re still left with the faint feeling of happiness and utter adoration for them and honestly, it kind of makes you care even less that you’re spending your New Year by yourself.

 So with a content sigh, you eagerly fill your glass again, wiggling happily as you settle further into the cushions to continue perusing the Internet. Now this is what you call self-care.

 “You look crazy.”

 You resist the urge to groan aloud.

 “Well, look who decided to crawl out of their bat cave.” You decide to shoot back sarcastically as you glance up just in time to see him emerge from the darkness beyond your living room. The way he strides towards you makes it look like the shadows had melded to his form and given shape to his clothing as well; all black but looking rather cozy to your surprise; a simple black hoodie and sweatpants, the comfiest and most casual you’ve seen him. The change is startling and makes your heart palpitate a little, though you brush it off as the wine working its way into your system.

 “And I see you still have those obnoxious decorations up.” He looks disdainfully at the numerous Christmas lights still strung up and around the space, crinkling his nose a bit. “When are you gonna take it down?”

 “When I feel like it.” You deadpan, going back to search up the latest performance video.

 “Do you want me to burn it down for you?”

 That causes you to snap your gaze up, eyes narrowing in warning. “Don’t you dare.”

 All you’re met is a devilish smirk, eyes challenging before he turns and seats himself on the opposite side of the couch, preening. You only puff up in annoyance but then forgo getting worked up over the light bantering. It’s a common occurrence between the two of you now; a strange, love-hate, dynamic that though you may yell and complain about how much you find him absolutely irritable, a very, very, very deep part of you admits that he’s grown on you…. like a rash.

 “So are you really just going to spend the remaining part of your year binge watching BTS related content, drinking wine?” You hear him ask. You spare him a glance over the top of your laptop, finding him doing the same except he’s scrolling through his iPhone X (which you have no idea how he even got). He’s got the judge-y eyes but you see the underlying teasing glint in them that only causes you to roll your own.

 “We’ve been over this; the only thing that can melt my glacial heart now is seven beautiful and talented Korean men whom one of which, might I reiterate numerous times now, you stole their identities to.” 

 “Details, details.” He says unconcernedly, making show of stretching his neck and working out the kinks. “Ever heard of how there are actually at least six people in the world that look almost exactly like you? So it’s not that big of a deal.” 

 You could only shake your head (because low-key yes, he’s right but you won’t admit it), opting take a generous gulp of your wine.

 “Careful darling; wouldn’t want a repeat of six days ago.”

 “Hey at least I didn’t throw up on you.” You say defensively, cheeks heating up slightly when you recall what he said you did after getting home from the Christmas party (as payback, he made you hand-wash his sweater). You set down your glass to pour yourself more wine, feeling him watching with eyes piercing though that does not deter you at all (you will assert your dominance here). He scoffs but does nothing to stop you from filling your glass three-quarters of the way and taking another sip so you take it as a small victory in proving that you’re right. 

 It continues on like this; a comment made here and there, some back and forth before you both settle rather comfortably, just sat across from each other in actual companionable silence. You’re halfway through your bottle before you had the conscious to stop, feeling the buzz hitting you in growing waves. By then, you’ve settled onto browsing through your phone, much like how he’s doing right now but even after a few minutes, you had to rest your head against the back of the couch, too tired to keep it up. The strength in your hands is the next to go and soon, you had to resort to taking mini breaks in between. 

 It gives you the chance to really look at Jimin, or more like this entity that has taken the form of Jimin. You take in the way the lights bounce off of his face; all soft yet sharp angles at the same time, the way his lashes flutter at the tops of his cheeks when he blinks, and the dainty mole right at the edge. You see how the dangling silver earring catches the light at the slightest movement of his head, but also notice the helix stud that is shining as well. It’s such a small detail, however one that you find most profound; the real Jimin doesn’t have a helix piercing anymore.

 Now, as the more you look, you’re starting to find other things that the real Jimin would have that the one in front of your doesn’t; like the faint dusting of freckles you would see when real Jimin isn’t wearing makeup and when the Jimin in front of you brushes his hair back from his forehead, you don’t see the moles that should’ve been there. 

 Half of you thinks that this shouldn’t be that big of a deal, given that a major difference between this Jimin and the real one is that he’s fluent in English (and you have a sneaking suspicion other languages too), but there’s just something about actually seeing the differences physically now with your own eyes makes you feel….

 “Your eyes are going vacant darling; is it way past your bedtime?”

 His voice snaps you from your thought and the familiarity of it in contrast to what you have discovered seems all the more jarring. You blink to focus, the spitting image of the idol coming back into your view.

 “I’m not old enough to start falling asleep before the countdown happens.” 

 “But you are old enough to miss it completely.” Jimin’s voice is laced with hints of laughter bubbling at the edges but his remark makes you whip your phone up to your face, checking the time to see that indeed it’s 12:01. 

 Well, damn.

 The laugh he’s no doubt been holding back finally bursts out, a raspy sound that’s just the slightest bit airy. It’s probably from the look of utter disbelief on your face but you don’t really care, eyes too transfixed on the way he’s thrown his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing and after he calms down to just grinning do you see— 

 That his teeth are perfectly straight.

 “I guess we should say, 'Happy New Year’ yes?”

 He’s smiling at you so brilliantly, eyes almost turning into crescents as they twinkle at you with this boyish charm, cheeks rounding a little more the same way that Jimin had made your heart stutter. It makes your own smile tug onto your lips, and you have half the mind to marvel at how easily swayed you are by him.

 This Jimin, that is so like him—

 Yet not at the same time….

 The feelings tug at your heart again, except this time you think you might be able to pin what it is.

 You feel…. relieved.

 But for what?

 Your smile falters for a split second at the revelation, but you swiftly pull yourself together, covering up by reaching for your forgotten wine glass. It’s empty, however you raise it all the same to him.

 “Happy New Year.” You breathe out softly as if you’re afraid to disturb the peaceful atmosphere between you two, all the while the words have you feeling like a small weight has been lifted from your shoulder.

 He smiles in response and for a split second; his face softens almost endearingly as he replies to you with an equal softness in his voice, “Happy New Year.”

 In the quiet of your living room, with only the twinkling lights of Christmas past, you find you're less alone than you would be welcoming in the New Year.

 And somehow, you don’t quite mind that it’s thanks to him.

 -

  Bonus

 “You owe me a new Jesus candle holder.”

 “…How about no?”

New Year, and he’s still insufferable. It was worth a shot.

[tuanyiems]

The Space Between Your Fingers ch 20 (end)

Mark Tuan x OC Genre: Fluff, angst, slice of life Words: 2.8k [Masterlist] [Series Masterlist] a/n – It’s the last chapter ahhhh! Thank you to everyone who has been following the series~ This was the series that really started it all. It’s what got me writing fanfiction again and how I started posting my writing here on tumblr and now, finally, three years later it’s finally complete! 😭💕 - [RECAP] “Time really flew by,” he spoke up softly, thumb rubbing calming against her hand. She smiled, nodding along. “It really did.” With a sigh, Mark smiled softly, looking down at the girl before him. “I guess you should go in and rest now.” She nodded quietly. Mark shifted, attempting to release his hand but Ahnmi held on, a soft but firm grip. “Mark, are we just friends?” - Ch. 20: Here Ahnmi sat between her parents, opposite a row of five girls and their parents, angry scowls on all their faces. A shiver ran across her spine as she looked at one particularly mean looking mother, her one arm held protectively around her daughter’s shoulder. When Ahnmi gulped and looked away towards the younger girl, who smirks, her nose up in the air like she has already won the battle. The truth is Ahnmi knows it too, that these five girls before her have won. More than winning—they have completely defeated her. She could still feel the stinging pain of her loss beneath the bandages on her arms.

“Okay, we’ll keep this meeting as short as possible so the students can go back to studying,” the old man between both groups said nonchalantly as he shuffled manila folders against the desk. “Of course you should,” the mean looking mother bit back, her eyes rolling in annoyance. “We don’t pay this much tuition to have our kids sit here over trivial things.” Her teeth jut out as she emphasized the last word, sneering at Ahnmi and her parents. Ahnmi could only watch as her parents cowered in their chairs and her shoulders followed suit, crumpling in submission. It was at this moment she wished her cuts had run deeper. Enough so that she wouldn’t have to be alive to witness this scene before her. Of all people, why did those girls have to be the ones to hurt her? “Let’s go over the incident quickly then. Ahnmi was found at the back of the ceramics class with fresh cuts on her arm. The cardboard cutter that was used was found in your daughter’s school bag.” “I was framed though!” The girl in the middle gasped out, immediately intertwining her arms around her mother’s. Ahnmi wondered how she could look so innocent when she had spent months making her life living hell. “There’s really no proof,” another girl spoke up. Ahnmi recognized this one to be the daughter of her father’s employer. The very man sat menacingly at the edge of the table, his eyes directly on Ahnmi’s dad. “Girls, we just want an apology,” the old teacher sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. We want more than an apology, Ahnmi thought to herself but when she looked between the tired and scared profiles of her mom and dad, she wondered if it’s really we and not just she. “Apologize for what?” the mother asked again, scrutinizing Ahnmi before pointing to her arms. “For those cuts? Weren’t you cutting yourself before this?” All eyes zeroed in on Ahnmi and she watched as her mother sniffled. She realized then how much her mother was trembling as tears began to fall past her cheeks. “Well? Weren’t you?” the mother asked again, her tone accusing. “I-yes,” Ahnmi let out meekly, “b—” But before she could add anything else, her voice is quickly muffled by the complaints of the parents sitting across from her and so she swallowed up her remaining words until it felt like she would choke on them. Why blame us for a problem child? Why is this school even admitting sick kids in here? Will the school take responsibility if my child catches that girl’s illness? WE are the ones that want an apology! WE did not donate all this money to have this school be so incompetent! “Enough!” Ahnmi’s mother stood up from her seat, her eyes red with tears and fury. “We do not need your apologies. They are worth nothing coming from monsters anyways! I will not sit here and watch you degrade my daughter. I refuse to have her anywhere near your nasty, cruel daughters and if this is how the school will handle things, we will be taking our leave now!” “Okay, well that’s settled. The school will accept your termination of enrollment,” the old teacher let out what looked like a sigh of relief and Ahnmi watched as her mother glared in upset horror at the old man’s response. But before she could jump at the man, Ahnmi’s father was quickly ushering the two of them out. - That is the memory that flashes through Ahnmi’s mind as she sits in the student council office, between her mom and dad, across from three freshmen girls and their mothers. Between both groups are the school principal and teachers on one end and Jaebum and Jinyoung on the other end. The two boys smile at her reassuringly. She knows that things are different this time around. The three young girls hang their head low in shame and their mothers look equally as disappointed and embarrassed. She can recognize them too. One mother is the familiar owner of the convenience store they always go to. The other has a cute corgi she often walks in the neighborhood and likes to make small talk with Youngjae. The last one is the most familiar, a friend of Yugyeom’s mother who would sometimes come over for afternoon tea. Their eyes are soft and wrinkles spread across their faces in fatigue. It’s different from being in the city. Here, everyone knows each other. Here, the mothers look like her own mom and aunt. Ahnmi knows that things are different, and yet she can’t shake off the chill that keeps her hairs sticking up on end. And when Jaebum and Jinyoung smile her way, she can’t quite bring herself to smile back. “Hello everyone, thank you for meeting here today,” the principal speaks up. He is a kind, middle aged man with a big, round tummy and pink plump cheeks. However, today he is anything but jolly. His eyes are grim when they settle across the three girls. “This is an extremely severe case. The school takes bullying very seriously.” He clears his throat before continuing. “These three girls have been harassing another student, an upperclassman too, sending threats and vandalizing school property. On the day of the spring festival, these girls went further by acting on such threats and going as far as to assault a student, sending her to the emergency room.” Ahnmi closes her eyes as the incident flashes through her mind again, Mark’s desperate voice calling out for her. “This was assault and nothing less. If you girls were just a few years older, you’d have been charged as adults. And we are all aware that Ahnmi has had previous health conditions.” The principal takes a moment to quickly stare at each of the girls. “You girls are lucky you aren’t being charged for attempted murder.” Ahnmi opens her eyes again, watching as their mothers quietly gasp at the principal’s stern voice. “Due to the severity of this incident, the school administration has decided to expel the three students responsible.” At this, everyone in the room gasps. Ahnmi and her parents are taken aback as the three girls begin to break down in tears. Their mothers soon follow suite in panic. “Please, you can’t expel my daughter. Where will she go?” “Say sorry to Ahnmi quickly! What are you doing crying?” “Really?” Ahnmi’s mother quietly utters, looking to her husband with shocked, wide eyes. Ahnmi turns to the two boys in the room, but they only send her reassuring smiles. Ahnmi’s brows furrow further, an aching in her chest returning. She thinks of the haughty mother and daughter who turned their noses up at her own mother’s tears. She thinks of the terror she felt each morning, opening her locker to find it sullied with garbage and death threats. This should be her winning moment, the time for her to victory dance and laugh in the faces of her antagonists. She was supposed to feel thrilled to finally receive the justice owed to her. But instead, Ahnmi looks at the tears on the younger girls faces and the panic etched into the wrinkled skins of their mothers and she is reminded of her and her mother. “I-” Ahnmi starts softly, trying to muster up her own courage. For once though, she refuses to choke on her own words again. Instead she clears her throat. “Can I say something?” “Yes, of course, Ahnmi,” her principal answers with a gentle nod. Ahnmi looks at her father and then to her mother. They smile back softly, as if they know what she will say. “I just don’t think this is the appropriate punishment.” “Ahnmi, you were sent to the hospital,” her homeroom teacher emphasizes. Ahnmi nods but continues without wavering. “I know, but I’m still here aren’t I? It just seems too cruel to expel freshmen students from their first mistake.” “A mistake that could have killed you,” another teacher adds. Ahnmi nodded thoughtfully, but her mother quietly places her hand on Ahnmi’s back and she knows she should continue. “But the school’s way of teaching their students is to kick them out of school? That seems counterintuitive.” “What do you suggest the punishment be then?” Jaebum intervenes, a calm smile of support on his lips. Ahnmi returns the smile. “Instead of forcing students to leave without learning from their actions, maybe we could teach them. What if we had supplementary classes about bullying prevention and maybe even women empowerment?” She looked at the teachers cautiously, watching their expressions shift hesitantly. “I agree,” Jaebum added. “Instead of isolating students whether they have done right or wrong, shouldn’t we be teaching our students how to work through their conflicts?” “The student council can contribute to the development of these workshops and supplementary classes,” Jinyoung added firmly. “We should work on creating a safer environment for all the boys and girls at this school.” There is a long pause as the principal looks down at his own folded hands before he finally looks up at Ahnmi. “If this is really what you want.” Ahnmi breaks out into a smile, and so does the rest of the room as she lets out a confident, “Yes!” - It’s late afternoon when the meeting finally adjourns and Ahnmi is left in the company of Jaebum and Jinyoung. “You did great, Ahnmi,” Jaebum compliments as he leads the way back to her house. Jinyoung nods in confirmation. “Supplementary classes are a great idea. I wish I came up with that—especially having a session on women empowerment.” “Will you really be okay coming back to school with those girls though?” Jaebum asked hesitantly. She nodded, a small smile growing on her lips. “I have a feeling they won’t be doing anything anymore.” She chuckled softly, her ears blushing pink. “Besides, I think I’ve gotten stronger.” Jaebum and Jinyoung laugh along, nodding their heads. “You really have!” “Well, thanks for walking me back home guys.” “Ah, not that way,” Jinyoung ushers, blocking her off from the front gate and turning her around to Mark’s. “We’re all going this way.” The pinks of Ahnmi’s ears spreads to her cheeks as heat brims to her face. As her footsteps move closer to Mark’s house, her heart races faster. - “Mark, are we just friends?” His eyes widened at the sudden question and he immediately went red in the face, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I-uh-w-what? I mean, um, what?” He let out an exasperated laugh at his own muttering. “Oh, ha,” Ahnmi let out an embarrassed laugh, letting go of his hand quickly. Maybe she had been reading things wrong after all. “It’s nothing, never mind.” Just as she was turning back, he grabbed hold of her hand again. “Wait, no…I-I’m just surprised.” Mark let out a breath, glancing at Yugyeom’s gate before looking back at Ahnmi. “Can we talk at my place?” She nodded quietly, feeling the burn of her face ignite again. Mark let out an exaggerated breath after placing two cold glasses of water at his kitchen table. He sunk into the chair beside her with a smile. “Okay, so you were asking me something,” Ahnmi felt her cheeks heat up again under his gaze. She put her hands to her face, trying to cool the growing warmth. “Don’t make me ask again.” Mark chuckled, enjoying the shy embarrassed look on her face. It was reassuring to know he wasn’t the only one feeling bashful. “But I forgot the question, Mi, can’t you remind me again?” he teased. She rolled her eyes, biting at the smile breaking onto her lips. “It’s just—I really like being with you…It feels different when we’re together. B-but maybe it’s just me. I like being your friend too, I just—” Mark cut her off with his laughter. With crescent eyes and a big grin on his face, he took her hand in his. “Just ask me the question Mi.” She let out a sigh, blowing at her bangs but Mark gave her hand a squeeze and it filled her with a thrill. “Are we just friends Mark?” “We are friends,” he agreed and her heart sunk. “I’d ask if you want to be more, but you’re already more to me.” Ahnmi looked up in surprise, her eyes shining with happiness. “When something bad happens, you’re the first person I want to talk to. When I see something funny, you’re the first person I want to tell. When I think about you laughing, it makes me smile. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night because I’m too excited to meet you at the gate each morning. Ever since you moved here, I’ve been so happy.” Mark grinned, seeing her expression brighten as he went on. “At first you were just this shy girl that lived next door to me, but you’re always making me surprised. And now you’ve learned how to make me shy.” Ahnmi smiled, leaning in and holding onto Mark’s thighs for support. His eyes widened, blushing at the sudden contact. “Mark, can I kiss you?” A spark of excitement ran down his spine as she leaned in, her head tilting up for him. He gulped, wetting his lips as her eyes fluttered close. He couldn’t help smiling at the way her eyes squeezed tight and the way her lips curved with happiness. Here was his whole world, surprising him once again, unfolding with her whole heart before him and he couldn’t have felt more warm and delighted than in this very moment. Leaning in slowly, he closed his eyes and let his lips meet hers. She was soft and warm and sweet, just as he imagined and he couldn’t help grinning into her kiss. Ahnmi felt herself relax as he giggled into her lips and soon the two were just teeth to teeth, smiling against each other. And it couldn’t have been a more perfect first kiss than this. - When Jinyoung opened Mark’s front door, Ahnmi walked in to find all her favorite boys gathered together in Mark’s living room. But her eyes focused on the one walking towards her, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he took her into his arms. “You did it,” Mark whispered into the nape of her neck, squeezing her tight. “See, everything worked out.” Ahnmi smiled, nodding her head and Mark couldn’t help himself, placing a sweet kiss on her forehead. The boys yelled all around them though, making her face go red again. And though Mark tried to play it off, shrugging his shoulders and intertwining her fingers in his, his ears were bright red. “Ewwwww!” Yugyeom and Bambam squealed together. “Before you guys get all mushy,” Jinyoung chuckled, pushing the two youngest away. “We have one last gift for you, Ahnmi.” “A gift?” she questioned, looking to Mark for reassurance. He winked her way, smiling with excitement. Jinyoung handed her a gift box. “From all of us.” Ahnmi felt her heart already warm, with the box in her hands and all the boys gathering around her. She didn’t need a gift honestly. She was already so happy. She was surrounded by her friends and with her favorite boy. She had everything she needed just here in this moment. “Go on, open it!” Jackson urged. Ahnmi lifted the lid of the box and her eyes watered at the sight. Inside was a school uniform and at the breast pocket was a shining gold plate with her name on it. “Finally, a uniform of your own,” Jinyoung smiled. “You’ll need it since you’re staying with us the whole way.” Ahnmi smiled brightly, the tears flowing freely now. There were no words to describe how complete she felt now. “Yeah, no more stealing hugs from us,” Mark chuckled softly. She only laughed, wrapping herself around him. “It’s okay, I can just steal real hugs from now on!” “Ewww, the mushiness has begun!” Yugyeom yelled, followed by the shouting of the other boys. And Ahnmi laughed along, her heart warming inside Mark’s embrace and she knew this would be a moment she would remember forever. This really was just the beginning, huh?

🌸🌸🌸