#let alone all the career stuff she was willing to let slide

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I know it’s been talked about ad nauseam, but I think one of the things that got lost in the discourse about TTPD and the muses and whatnot is how one of, if not the core trigger points of the album is the yearning for commitment and perhaps even more poignantly, motherhood.

The reason she was so susceptible to falling for the “conman’s get love quick schemes” is because she was grieving that imagined life with the person she had long assumed would be the one to give her that. What has been beyond clear in several albums, let alone interviews etc, is that those plans for building a family were very much real and top of mind for years, and she kept holding on and shifting her world in service of making that happen. And when whatever happened happened that pulled that rug out from under her, it left her bereft not just for the relationship that had once been her world but also the imagined family she had been hoping for and sticking out the hard times for.

And that’s likely why she was swayed by and trusting of the promises of someone who knew her history and knew how unmooring that loss was to her. It may have been partially about the person himself or lust or whatever, but the core issue was the pain of giving up the dream, and sublimating that dream into this new opportunity in front of her, because she was so desperate to hold onto the last scraps of that imagined life she wanted so badly. (And I don’t mean desperate as in pathetic or negative, I mean as in fighting within the last ounce of energy and hope she had.) It wasn’t rational and it wasn’t love, it was grief, not just for a relationship but even more so for the family it represented.

So to me the core issue of TTPD isn’t just the Joe vs. Matty or whoever of it all: it’s Taylor and her yearning. She wanted a family badly and a life that was theirs and was processing losing that in all kinds of ways. It’s all over the album in overt and subtle lyrics. It may not have been grieving a literal death but I’d bet it felt pretty darn close.

And I’d also bet that’s why we’re seeing… what we’re seeing now.

(I have so many more thoughts about womanhood and motherhood on TTPD but that is another post being worked on piecemeal in my drafts… this is just a little Saturday morning post-zoomies reflection)

[poutyyybangtan]

ready or not - j.jk

genre: friends to lovers, enemy to lovers, (almost a slow burn?), a mix of everything lol  character pairing: jeon jungkook 9bts) x female oc warnings: not really any lol just angsty fluff kinda stuff word count: 5.4k (it’s alot) authors note: i wrote this months ago and it’s not finished but i can finish it if yall want? let me know :)

______

(prompts from @im-here-to-help-you-all-write​)

“i think the longer you look at it, the worse it gets.” “yeah, kinda like your face.”

“i need your help.” “holy shit, i never thought i’d hear you say that.’ “please don’t rub it in right now.”

“i don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet” “you’re going to have to be, because we’re out of time.”

you can’t believe you actually had to do this. the last person you ever wanted to look at was your only shot at getting out of the situation you brought upon yourself. you had originally counted on one of your other friends to help you out, but of course, life never seemed to work out the way you wanted it to. 

“jin, please. can’t you just cancel and come with me?” you begged, watching as your older companion continued to chop away at some vegetables. 

“you know i would love to help bamboozle your family with my impeccable acting skills, but unfortunately, i do have a business to run. this weekend is a big deal for the restaurant and joon would kill me if i left him alone to handle such a thing. and besides, we all know joon can’t toast bread without having to call the fire department first,” jin laughs. you laugh softly, knowing jin had a point. poor namjoon had amazing business skills, but unfortunately that means he lacks in the cooking department. 

“i guess you’re right,” you mumble begrudgingly. 

“why not ask jimin if he can go?” jin asks, sliding the chopped vegetables into a pot.

“my mom knows him, she’ll know something isn’t right. and besides, he and hobi are going to a dance camp for school,” you shrug.

“and tae? yoongi?” jin asks.

“he’s got that test retake for his photography class and yoongs has an audition for an entertainment company in gangnam,” you sigh. you’re really proud of all your friends and the successes they have, but you really wished they could’ve helped you in your time of need. but you couldn’t be that selfish, so maybe you had to admit defeat. 

“you know, you could just ask jungkook,” jin asks nonchalantly. 

“you know i can’t do that,” you answer bluntly, refusing to even entertain the idea.

“i mean, you could,” jin laughs, putting the lid on the pot and onto the stove top, turning to you afterwards.

“jin, you know i can’t. he is the last person on earth i would ask to help me. i would rather die of embarrassment than to ask him for his help,” you dramatically claim.

“you just might if you don’t ask. besides, what's the big deal? it’s only for a weekend,” jin shrugs.

“yeah, a whole weekend of him pretending to be my boyfriend. jin, we can barely tolerate each other as is, having us cooped up together and pretending like we actually like each other is a whole other ball game,” you said.

“well, here’s the way i look at it. either you tell your mother that you don’t have a boyfriend and face embarrassment at your mother's wedding, or you can suck it up, ask jungkook nicely to do you this one favor, and have fun this weekend. you never know, jungkook might actually be up for it,” jin says, an underlying suggestive tone in his voice; one that you never caught.

you had to admit, jin was right. as painful as it was, jungkook was your only chance at escaping this nightmarish weekend. 

-

you found jungkook in his usual zone of comfort: with his lips attached to some random girl he probably barely knew. you found yourself scrunching your face in distaste. such a vulgar display in a library no less. you huffed off your second doubts and approached the table with confidence. you noticed that neither party acknowledged your presence, so you knocked on the table to gain their attention. reluctantly, the girl pulled away first to throw you a bitter look.

“jeon, can we talk?” you say softly, not trying to cause a disturbance.

“i’m kind of busy, can’t it wait?” jungkook asks, a smug look on his face, the girl sat next to him donned a complacent smile on hers.

“please, i saw you making out with some bimbo blonde yesterday, i’m sure you can find some other toy to play with when we’re done,” you smirk, watching the look on the girls face fall with every passing word that escaped your lips. she glanced over at jungkook with disgust before grabbing her belongings and walking away in a fit.

“great, well there goes my whole afternoon,” jungkook scoffs. he leans into his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

“you’ll deal. look, i need your help,” you admit, much to your dismay.

“holy shit, i never thought i’d hear you say that,” jungkook laughs ironically.

“please don’t rub it in right now,” you groan.

“how can i offer my service to you?” jungkook smirks, looking up at your obviously irritated figure.

“i need... i can’t believe i’m saying this. i need you to be my boyfriend for the weekend,” you spit out.

“you what?” jungkook asks incredulously. you don’t blame him for his confusion. what you were asking was heinous, add to the fact that you two barely tolerated each other? it was the biggest taboo situation you could’ve put yourself in. but you were desperate.

your mother, as loving as she was, was relentless. she just wanted the best for you. you were about to graduate college soon, about to get a real career and be a real adult. and to her, that meant start a family as soon as possible. and that couldn’t happen without being in a relationship first. and what better way than to hook your daughter up at a gathering for family friends? cause nothing says love like a wedding, right?

“what’s in it for me?” jungkook asks. you looked at him in disbelief.

“wait, you’re actually considering it?” you asked.

“well, you gave me a proposition, so why not?” jungkook asks. 

“uh, because we’re not necessarily friends? it’s not like you owe me anything to even consider the idea,” you chuckle.

“you might not be my friend, but that doesn’t mean i’m not yours,” jungkook shrugs, finally standing up and collecting his scattered books. you hadn’t actually noticed them before, you just thought that the library was a good place for jungkook to hook up, not an actual study zone. 

“well, uh, what do you have in mind?” you asked, answering his question finally. 

“i need a date for this work thing, and my usual hookups aren't going to cut it. they’re not exactly what you would say… modest?” jungkook jokes, causing you to laugh a little bit. 

“sound like a deal?” jungkook asks after a moment of silence passes. you pretend to consider his proposition, as if you actually had a choice. you look up at him and you can see that he saw that too.

“what kind of work thing?”

=

“where are you going?” jimin asks, watching you step out of your bedroom clad in a cocktail dress. you really would’ve rather been at your shared apartment, cuddled up next to jimin and tae watching some horror film eating greasy food, but alas, you had to uphold your end of the bargain.

“remember i told you that in order for jungkook to uphold his end, i have to uphold mine? apparently, he works at some magazine company and they’re having a company gathering to celebrate the issue's 90th anniversary and he needed me to come with,” you groan, strapping on your heels. 

“you’re going all out for this,” taehyung comments, a teasing tone hidden in his words. you looked up and glared at him, knowing what he meant.

“if i put forth 100%, maybe he will too,” you say. 

“oh, he most definitely will be putting in 100% effort,” jimin says, low enough for only taehyung to hear which makes him giggle. you look up and see jimin smirking at you which makes you groan internally. 

suddenly, the doorbell rings and you thank whatever being there is that saves you from the conversation that was happening, with or without your participation. you pull the door open and the first thing you see is jungkook, properly dressed head to toe. you notice the bow tie pressed snuggly against his neck, not a wrinkle in his suit jacket or his dress shirt. his long hair was parted down the middle, brushed out out of his eye. you hated to admit it, but he looked breathtakingly beautiful. 

“wow,” jungkook finally says, eyeing you in a way that made the blood pool in your cheeks. 

“uh, yeah. let’s- let’s go,” you murmur, noticing the boys in the living room giggling at your guys’ interaction. you shove him in his chest. he grabs your hands and laughs, pulling you out the door.

“what did i miss?” jungkook asks. you roll your eyes, noticing the way jungkook held onto your hand, even after you got further and further away from your apartment, but not minding the warmth his hand provided against your cold one. 

“trust me, nothing you want to hear, and nothing i’m willing to repeat,” you scoff.

=

jungkook was right. he had warned you beforehand that everyone at his job was stuck up and snobbish and would continuously point out that fact that you were no model. and like he had forewarned, all you heard all night was “you’re too pretty not to be a model” or “jungkook ended up with you?” you were appalled, sure, but you didn’t take their words to heart. you don’t know these people, and after tonight, you’re never going to see them again. 

but jungkook flinched every time someone opened their mouth. he felt bad for you, but when he saw you delicately handle the situation, he knew you would be fine. still, it didn’t make him feel any less bad. 

“we can leave whenever you want, you know?” jungkook whispers into your ear. you look up at him and smile.

“sounds like you’re using me as an excuse to ditch this snooze fest,” you giggle. jungkook smiles back down at you and laughs with you.

“busted,” he finally says.

“thank god, let’s ditch these runway wannabes and get some pizza. i’m starved,” you groan, looking away, missing the endearing glance he tosses your way. you both ditch the stuffy building, and headed to a late night pizza shop down the corner. you sigh in relief once you step into the restaurant, inhaling the smell of cheese and dough. you both decide to seat yourselves in a booth in the corner of the dining area.  once you both place your orders, you settle into a comfortable silence. 

“so, what caused you to conjure up this boyfriend lie?” jungkook asked after awhile. 

“my mom thinks that i need to be in a relationship to be happy since i’m getting ready to enter the real world,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and leaning into your elbows that rested on the table.

“thats stupid,” jungkook scoffs, leaning into the booth. you were caught off guard by this, expecting jungkook to somewhat agree with your mother.

“you look surprised,” he says, gauging your reaction.

“i kind of am. not gonna lie, i was expecting you to agree with her,” you say, shrugging. the waiter brings your slices and leaves you two alone, settling back into the conversation.

“no way. if you want to be single, you should. i’m sure you’re single by choice anyways,” jungkook says, picking up his pizza and taking a huge bite of it.

“what do you mean?” you ask him, slightly confused behind the intentions of his sentence. 

“i just mean that you’re insanely smart, funny and talented. and you’re extremely beautiful. if you wanted any guy, you could have him,” jungkook shrugs, munching on his pizza in peace. meanwhile, his statement sent you into a frenzy. who knew jeon jungkook thought so highly of you. you were under the impression that he dispised your entire being. he never really complimented you before, so his statement shocked you. 

“never knew you thought so highly of me,” you said, smiling to yourself. you can’t really explain it and you don’t know why, but knowing how jungkook truly felt about you made you extremely happy. 

“there’s a lot you don’t now about me,” he winks, causing you to roll your eyes and eat your pizza. and yet again, you missed the way jungkook smiled at you, enjoying your presence more than he would care to admit to. 

=

“i don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet,” you murmur, feeling your hands start to shake as you stood outside the venue. 

“you’re going to have to be, because we’re out of time,” jungkook smiles, taking hold of your hand and waltzing you two into the building. your mom had asked you to come early for a surprise so you decided to give her a surprise of your own.

“jungkook, maybe we should say you caught food poisoning and we had to leave,” you murmured as jungkook continued to drag you further and further into the building. jungkook smiled at your child-like nature and shook his head.

“we’ve come too far to give up now. let’s just rock this and get home,” he says, smiling at you. you felt a sudden urge of confidence that surges through you and gives you enough momentum to swing open the doors of the chapel hall. you were taken aback by the way the chairs are decorated with white pieces, hanging off the backs. you take notice of the pale yellow and white combo that you didn’t think would match so well. you felt happy for your mom and that she met someone who loved her so much that they were willing to do this for her to cherish the day.

“it’s beautiful,” you gape, admiring all the minute details your mother probably agonized over. jungkook admired the astonished look on your face as you practically ignored his presence to take in your surroundings. he always found you beautiful, but watching you be you while nobody was looking was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. jungkook had the biggest crush on you for as long as he could remember. and he refused to even fathom the thought of confessing to you when he knew how you felt. he knew you couldn’t stand his lifestyle, his choices that he’s made regrettably. but how else was he supposed to cope with the fact with the one person he’s allowed to steal his heart hates him. 

“ah, there you are,” a voice says from behind you two. you both turn around and you see your mom, hair curlers and full glam. 

“hi mama,” you smile, running up to her and giving her a big hug. 

“hi sweet pea,” your mama coos, swaying you both back and forth. you pull back and look behind you to see jeon smiling at the interaction. this made your heart jump for a split second before you returned back to your surroundings.

“ma, this is my boyfriend, jeon jungkook,” you smile. 

“oh my, you’re so handsome,” your mother gushes, rushing up to him and pulling him into a hug.

“thank you,” jungkook smiles, blushing slightly. you’ve never seen jeon blush before and to see him in a such a fragile state made you happy. and you couldn’t seem to figure out why. your mom finally released jeon from her clutches and she turned back to you. 

“hun, i’ve got a surprise for you. follow me,” she says, grabbing yours and jeon’s hands dragging you to what you assumed was the dressing room. there were two dresses that were covered hanging off of a clothing rack. your mom shoves you guys onto a couch and rushes over to the dresses.

“one of these beauties will be yours to wear for the wedding because… hon, will you be my maid of honor?” your mother asks, eyes full of stars that made your heart swell. you felt the air leave your lungs and your heart begin to race. you remember watching your mom struggle with love all her life, her face in a frown always. you’ve never seen your mom so happy now, and you would do anything just to see her happy. 

“ma, are you serious?” you ask, wanting to be sure this is what she really wanted. 

“of course baby,” she smiles. you jump up and hug her tightly, muttering a yes into her hair. you both squeal with delight, jumping in place like teenage girls. suddenly, another pair of arms are wrapped around you, chest pressed against your back. you managed to look up and see jungkook bouncing with you and your mom. 

“i wanted to join too,” jungkook says, his voice high pitched and filled with excitement which in response, made you giggle. you all finally stop bouncing and jungkook pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, catching you off guard. you felt your heart race and you swore his heartbeat matched yours. you brushed it off as it being the sudden activity you all had just endured.

“i’ll leave you two alone so you can try the dresses,” your mother says after she catches her breath, winking at you. 

“you’re just gonna let your daughter get undressed in front of her boyfriend alone?” you ask incredulously. 

“hon, he’s your boyfriend. i’m sure he’s seen more,” she giggles, exiting the room, leaving you with your jaw wide open. 

“can you believe this?” you ask, shocked at your mothers bold statement.

“i’ve always wondered where you get your vulgarity from,” jungkook teases, his chest causing a vibration that you felt in your back, reminding you of your close, read as nonexistent, proximity. you push yourself away and whip around to face him, catching a glimpse of him trying to fight the smile that tried its best to take place on his delicate features.

“i’m not vulgar and you’re not watching me change. however, i do need an opinion on the dresses, so i guess you can stay,” you say, walking past him to try on the dresses. you snatch both of them of the rack and head into the bathroom, changing into dress number one. 

at first you thought it was a joke, the frills and exotic colors making your eyes hurt from how loud it was. you tried it on anyway, and you couldn’t believe how ridiculous you looked. no way your mother was being serious when she picked this dress out. you unlocked the bathroom door and stopped your way to where jungkook was sitting on the couch, playing on his phone. you clear your throat to capture his attention and you nearly explode with the laughter with the way his eyes widen and face drops.

“what do you think?” you ask him, twirling around in the godforsaken dress you know your mother probably bought as a joke. 

“i think the longer you look at it, the worse it gets,” jungkook says, a dumbfounded look on his face. you withhold your laughter and stare at him in distaste.

“yeah like your face,” you scoff, playing with the dress as if you actually admired it. 

“are you gonna wear that?” he asks, secretly hoping you’d say no so he could release a breathe he didn’t know he was holding. 

“well, i like it, don’t you?” you say, continuing to pretend like you actually were considering wearing this deafening dress. 

“uh.. if you like it then… sure,” jungkook says, shifting in his seat. you admired the fact that he was trying to cater to your feelings and for some reason it made your heart race at the thought. you don’t know whats been going on with you lately but every kind gesture has made your heart race with excitement. you didn’t know when it happened, but you started looking at jungkook as more and it scared you. you couldn’t be with him. you knew that. jungkook had a reputation, and he was proud of it. he was proud of the amount of women he could pull in one night. hell, in one hour. he was used to the idea that feelings were a concept he wasn’t willing to understand or try out. and you had to accept that.

“i’m messing with you gukkie. my mom probably bought this as a gag, the real dress is still in its cover,” you say laughing at jungkooks face that was contorted into one of discomfort. you leave him to relish in your teasing as you retreat back to the bathroom to change into the actual dress. you could still hear jungkook laugh to himself as you unzipped the dress to change into the other one. little did you know, he was laughing to himself about the nickname you gave him. he’s never had a nickname he actually enjoyed before. he was still lost in the thought of you calling him gukkie forever when you finally exited the bathroom.

he always thought those scenes in cheesy rom-com teen films where the guy is staring at the girl like she’s the only one that matters was cliche. but he was wrong. so very wrong. watching you in the tight floor length pale yellow dress that just made you glow knocked all the air out of his lungs. you’re hair that was in a messy ponytail allowed some pieces of hair to frame your face as you continued to fumble with the dress.

“it’s a little longer than i thought, but it fits well, yeah?” you say, still looking down at the gown. you honestly felt ridiculous. you rarely dress up like this. you hid your body underneath baggy clothing so to have something so tightly pressed against your body made you severely insecure. the silence coming from jungkook made everything worse. you looked up to see jungkook leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands holding his head up. there was a look in his eye you had never seen before and it made your stomach churn with excitement.

“that bad huh?” you joke, hoping to ease some of the tension that was building in the room. jungkook stands to his feet and approaches you, his body so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off of his body. 

“you look beautiful,” jungkook says, smiling down at you. you feel yourself blush and begin to fumble with your fingers, a nervous tic jungkook found absolutely adorable. jungkook was helplessly in love with you, this much he knew. from the way you laughed, to the way you rolled your eyes in his presence. he loved the way you gave yourself wholly to the ones you cared about, willing and able to do any and everything for the people you love. he loved the way you strived to work hard and how incredibly intelligent you were. and suddenly, his heart was full with all the love he was dying to give you, but know he never could. because you deserved much more than some player who was willing to sleep with anything with legs. but if he could at least pretend like the love between you two was real, even if for a short while, he’ll take it. as desperate as he was, he wanted to know what it felt like to have you love him back. even if he knew it was all pretend. 

“jungkook, i can’t thank you enough for doing this. i know you would rather be in some girls bed trying to figure out a way to sneak out without her noticing, but i’m glad you’re here… with me,” you smile, hands gripping his bicep’s to keep him close. his cologne was hypnotizing, causing you to pull him closer and closer.

“there’s no place i would rather be,” jungkook said honestly, placing his hands onto your waist, allowing you to lean in. 

“you don’t mean that,” you scoff, smiling and rolling your eyes, getting ready to pull yourself back from a dangerous territory. jungkook stops this from happening, wrapping his arm around you til your pressed flush against his body. 

“you have no idea how bad i want you. all of you. mind, body and soul. but for right now, for the sake of our friendship and the momentum its growing, i will take you in whatever way you will allow me to have,” jungkooks says, forehead pressed against yours as he wills himself to hold back from pressing his lips against yours and taking you on the small couch in the dressing room. the words jungkook spoke so honestly made you shake from it’s intensity. 

“jungkook i--” 

“how’d the dress fit?” you mother asks, barging into the room. you and jungkook scramble apart from one another, him taking seat on the couch and you standing in front of him. you mother misses the way you two seemed highly unfocused and nervous as she coos over how adorable you look in the right dress. 

“you need to finish getting your hair and makeup done, so scooch along so me and your beautiful boyfriend can get to know each other,” your mother says shoving you out of the room and directing you to where the other bridesmaids were getting their hair and makeup done. it wasn’t until you were sat in the chair that you realized.. your mother and jungkook were alone. oh boy. 

=

you never felt so girly in your life. your hair was curled and put up in a half up half down situation, your makeup light and barely noticeable, but enough to tell you were wearing it. this wasn’t you, you didn’t like wearing makeup mainly because at the end of the day you forget to take it off and causes acne. you were working part time and went to school full time so you always left your hair in a ponytail or a bun. this look was new for you and you were kind of excited yet nervous for jungkook’s reaction. 

you surprised yourself with the thought, not really caring about jungkook’s opinions before, but now it was all you could think of, and that scared you. you knew this was just a favor he was owing to you, but he was really going above and beyond and it warmed your heart. but you had to remind yourself that you were just friends, nothing more. hell, you were barely friends. had it not been for you incessant need to prove yourself to your mom, you two would’ve never even became cordial with one another. 

you brush these thoughts aside, trying to manifest positive vibes for such a joyous occasion. you leave the dressing room, filled with chatter, in search of jungkook who may be suffering your mother’s constant conversation. you return back to the room you first were in when you arrived, catching your mother exiting the room. 

“you didn’t scare him off, did you?” you tease, hugging your mom. 

“honey, you look beautiful!,” your mom gushes, taking in the sight of her daughter. you smile and thank her, happy that she was happy.

“is he still in there?” you ask, nodding towards the door she came out of. she giggled and placed her hands on your shoulder. 

“he is, and he is absolutely in love with you,” she smiles, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.

“what do you mean?” you ask, your heart starting to race. 

“the way he talks about you, the way his eyes gleam with love with the mere thought of you. hunny, this man is undoubtedly in love with you,” she smiles. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, there was no way that jeon jungkook, the university playboy, is in love with you. you two barely conversed without an argument taking place. you doubt he knew anything about you, despite you two running in the same circles. sure, you knew a lot about him, just because your friends talked about him a lot and it was hard not to listen to sometimes. 

“you’re crazy ma. you need to finish getting ready, the weddings going to start soon,” you laugh, trying to brush off the conversation. 

“jungkook is in there getting ready, one of robert’s groomsmen caught food poisoning so he’s gonna walk down the aisle with your cousin, sam,” she said, rushing off to get ready, leaving you no room to reply. this wasn’t what he signed up for and you felt bad, so you went into the room to check on him. you caught him standing in front of the vanity, trying to finish off his tie. you had seen jungkook dressed up before, but there was something different about this time. you felt something more for him, and honestly, you always have. but his reputation…

“looking sharp,” you smile, looking up at him. his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he smiles, and this time you see it. the love your mother was talking about.

“you look beautiful, as usual,” he says, his charm peeking through. you scoff at his comment, walking up to him. you seemed small compared to him, and it was kind of an odd sight for you. you leaned your head against his shoulder, just staring at him staring at you through the mirror. 

“something on your mind?” he asks, noticing how lost in thought you were. you focus in on him and the surroundings around you.

“my ma said something interesting earlier that’s got me thinking is all,” you say, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue much further. you didn’t want to make the air awkward or uncomfortable by trying to involve feelings, but a big part of you want to know how he feels from his own lips. 

“what did she say?” he asked, his nerves jumping. he didn’t say anything wrong did he? he tried to be as cordial and respectful as possible, wanting your mother to like him. if things were to happen in the future, he didn’t want to be on bad terms with your mother. 

“she said… she said that you love me?” you murmur, you heart caught in your throat now that the truth was out there and you can’t take it back. jungkook froze, caught off guard by your confession. he wanted to play it off like it wasn’t true, that your mother was delusional. but he knew the truth. and he knew that you also knew it too. he wanted you. he’s always wanted you. and now, he’s presented with the opportunity to have you in any way he wants and he can’t make the move to move forward.

“is it true?” you ask, trying to get a clear and concise answer. you’re not sure what’s going to happen, regardless of what his answer is, but the anxiety of not knowing is starting to kill you. you shouldn’t be forcing him to confess, but now that it was out there in the air, you couldn’t take it back. maybe you should tell him?

“if you’re not comfortable talking about it it’s o--”

“i love you,” he blurts, interrupting you. you pick your head up off of his shoulder and now you’re standing side by side, staring at him through the vanity mirror. you’re frozen, unsure of what to do now. you didn’t actually think he was going to say it. you thought your mother was pulling your leg. but she didn’t know that you two weren’t actually a couple and maybe that’s why you had hoped what she said was true. 

“did you hear me?” he asks, voice laced with nerves. he couldn’t even begin to explain the amount of fear and vulnerability he was feeling at the moment. he meant it. he loved you. but why should you believe him. he was a playboy, and though you may never understand his reasons as to why he tried so hard to escape you by sleeping with other people, he wanted nothing more for you to believe him now. 

“i did,” you whisper, afraid that the sound of your beating heart was louder than the words you spoke. you wanted him, god you wanted him, but you were scared that his words were from false bravado. a heat of the moment feeling that was fleeting. 

“i know you might not believe me, and you have every right not to. but i love you with my entire being and.. it’s scary,” he chuckles, trying to explain his emotions to the only person he’s ever been vulnerable with. 

“and like i told you earlier, for the sake of us finally gaining friendship, i will play it to your pace and whenever you’re ready, let me know. because i’ll be here,” he smiles. he turns to you, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss to your cheek before walking out of the room, leaving you confused as to what the hell just happened.

_______

an: part two? let me know :)

[excelsi-or]

just a little sweeter (pt. 7)

BIPOC rec: Check out Elsa Majimbo on IG. She makes hilarious videos about everything, especially poking fun about life in these COVID times. They make me laugh so much. And for some arty stuff, check out Allenmoreworks. She’s posting some stunning pieces.

w.c. 2.1k (fluuuuuuff, i’m realizing there is a lot less angst in this story than in the last one. hope you guys don’t mind that lol)

pt.1; pt.2; pt.3; pt.4; pt.5; pt.6

“You’re sure I’m allowed to be here?”

“Yes,” Jihoon laughs as he lets her into the company building.

She wraps him in a hug, and he can smell the coffee he loves in her hair. “Hi.”

Jihoon smiles at her. “Hi.”

“So, where is everyone?”

“Called it a night,” Jihoon tells her. They head to the elevator.

“And Eunha?”

“Sleeping on the couch in the studio.”

She lifts an eyebrow.

“I can’t let her stay home alone. My daughter’s not even 2,” he explains.

“But if she’s sleeping, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I have to finish this album. There were some things the members didn’t like in the final mix.” Jihoon pushes off the wall and leads her out the elevator and down the hall.

She trails after him in awe of the bare white walls and glass doors. “This is more business-like than I anticipated.”

Jihoon glances over his shoulder. “Oh. Yeah. Studio’s not that bad.” He pushes the studio door open and leads her into the room. Sitting on the table in front of Eunha is a phone that’s on a call. He picks it up to end it.

“Did you use an iPhone as a baby monitor?” she demands.

He nods as he tosses the phone on the desk. “Yeah.”

She turns, admiring the room. The neon lights are on, which cast a blue haze over everything. The red neon light of ‘Woozi’s studio’ near his workspace highlights that area.

“Thoughts?”

“Very… unlike you,” she comments, smiling at him. “More colour than I was anticipating. But also your style.” She hums. “Hard to describe.”

They both glance over at the couch when they hear Eunha mumbling. Jihoon is about to reach for her, but she gets to his daughter first. She scoops Eunha up and Eunha immediately rests on her shoulder, arms around her neck.

“You didn’t have to,” Jihoon says.

She shakes her head. “You asked me to keep you awake so you could finish your album. I brought a book. I’m here for conversation and to babysit,” she chuckles.

Jihoon holds the back of his ‘guest’ chair and she sits on it. She readjusts Eunha so that her little head is cradled in the crook of her elbow. The little girl is all pudgy limbs that curl around her. She brushes hair off of Eunha’s forehead and looks up to see Jihoon’s fond expression.

“Stop that,” she whispers.

Jihoon feels his face warm at getting caught. “Do you wanna hear some of the album?”

“Of course I do. You don’t know how much I’ve been anticipating hearing a work in progress.”

Jihoon plays a few tracks for her, stopping right before the parts he needs to change. The members were right. Some of the songs are not his best work and can be tweaked a bit to be hits. He watches her microexpressions, catching the tilt of her head at some parts. He mentally flags them for later.

“They don’t call you a genius for nothing.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You’re good, Jihoon.” She rocks the chair back and forth as Eunha begins moving in her sleep.

“Well, thanks, I guess.”

“Can we just talk about how good lunch was yesterday?” she asks, changing the subject.

Jihoon snorts. “Yes, we can. It was so good I made the members order it for lunch today.”

She grins. “I know the odds of there being leftovers is a long shot.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “I was planning on being in late and ordered us both something. It’s in the fridge.”

Her jaw drops. “You sneak. You were going to ask me over regardless.”

Since their first date, the two have been nonstop communicating. If they can’t see each other for a coffee break (not in her café) or a meal, they’ll video chat after Eunha’s gone to bed or in the morning before she goes to work. Somehow, his baby winds up in the call at some point or another, regardless of when they chat.

Jihoon shrugs. “Is that a bad thing?”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, it’s not.” Jihoon watches as she reaches for her bag on the floor to grab her book. She manages to do so without waking his daughter.

“You know, the members have been worried,” he says once she’s upright.

She puts her book on the desk and lifts her feet to prop them on his chair. “Yeah, they make a few comments when they come to pick up coffee.”

Jihoon frowns. “Like…?”

“Nothing rude. Warnings, I guess.”

“About…?”

“Just…” She tilts her head. “That you’ve been hurt before and that I should walk away if I’m not committed.”

He holds back an eye roll. “I’m surprised you haven’t run away yet.”

“What do you mean?” she chuckles.

“Just that… well, one, I have a full-on child. And two, I have overprotective members. You haven’t even met my mother yet.”

She nods. “Yeah, I know. I’m insane.”

Jihoon studies her. He can’t help but feel his heart swell every time she turns her attention to Eunha. The way she looks holding his daughter makes him want to laugh or cry or something. And he gets caught every time he watches her like this, interacting with his daughter. There’s no real point to be embarrassed anymore.

Doesn’t stop him from turning red every time anyway.

“I told my mom about you,” she says, her eyes on Eunha.

“What? Me or Eunha?”

She snorts and looks up at him. “You, you dolt.”

“And?”

“I let slip that you have a daughter.”

Jihoon’s stomach clenches at the thought of someone else knowing. “It’s your mom. I don’t mind.”

She gauges his expression. “As soon as I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have.”

“Sharing things with your mom is a good thing. I hope that Eunha gets to have that one day.” Jihoon takes a deep breath. “What… what did she say?”

“About you having a daughter? Plenty.” She chews her bottom lip. “Do you want to hear it?”

Jihoon hesitates for a second, but nods.

“She thinks I’m crazy to even consider being involved with you. You’re an idol, first of all. She thinks the lifestyle is crazy. She ultimately wants someone who dotes on me.” She shrugs. “I don’t blame her for that one. But when she found out about Eunha, she…” She tips her head both ways. “Let’s just say that if she could ground me and control everything I did from that day on, she’d make it so I moved back home and was never allowed to date anyone ever again. Because clearly I can’t make decisions.”

Jihoon whistles. “That’s… harsh.”

“I haven’t had a boyfriend in a long time. She wants to know what’s possessing me to date someone who already has daughter.”

“We come as a package deal.”

“And… I know that.” She pulls Eunha closer. “Or at least, I think I do.”

Jihoon starts to turn in his chair towards the screen. “So why?”

“Why what?”

“Why… date me?”

She lifts an eyebrow, a small smile on her lips. “You want a list?”

Jihoon pulls up the file he needs and slides his notebook closer. “I… thought I was undateable because I have Eunha. Figured that no one would be willing to be with someone who already has a kid. Especially at our age.”

“Ah. You also think I’m crazy.”

Jihoon glances over at her, finally seeing the smile quirking her lips. “I just want to know why.”

“You have a good heart. You’re a good person, talented, with a career.” She shrugs. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re good looking. What more could I ask for?”

“Someone without a kid.”

She snorts. “I’m surprised you want to date me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I could walk away at any moment, break your heart and make life even more difficult for you.” She picks up her book and holds it in her other hand. “I don’t know what you see in me that would be any bonus for you and your daughter.”

A couple hours pass. She’s dozed during the slow songs that Jihoon is mixing. They talk about light topics when he wants to keep his mind off the songs. But when Eunha starts whining, she gets up to go for a walk.

“Do you want your food?” she asks, holding Eunha to her chest. The kid’s head rests on her shoulder, the whining about to turn into sobbing. She presses a kiss to the back of Eunha’s head. “Do you want to stay with Daddy?” she whispers.

Eunha grips her tighter and Jihoon has to fight a smile. “If you don’t mind grabbing it on your own.”

“I can get it,” she snorts. “Tell me where it is.”

Jihoon instructs her to where the kitchen is. In the kitchen, she manages to get the food out of the fridge.

Before she can heat it, Eunha suddenly wakes up. As she looks around the dimly lit kitchen without her dad, she begins whimpering.

“Hey kiddo,” she hums, putting down the plate she was about to put in the microwave. “Hey, hey.”

Eunha’s whimpers start to crescendo to crying.

“Okay, okay.” She goes to turn the light on and Eunha squints at the brightness. “You’re okay. We’re at the studio. Daddy’s in the next room.” Eunha stares at her with red cheeks and tears welling in her eyes. “Do you remember me, hmm? We’re just going to make food and then we’re going straight back to Daddy’s office.” She turns Eunha towards the open containers on the counter. “Look, food.”

Eunha blinks away her tears, her crying subsiding to uneven breathing.

“See? You’re alright.” She uses her thumb to wipe away some of the tears. “If you’re going to stay awake, do you want me to put you—oh, okay.” Before she can finish her sentence, Eunha’s head is back on her shoulder. She bounces Eunha up and down as she puts the food in the microwave.

By the time she gets back to Jihoon, carefully balancing a child and a plate of food in each hand, Eunha is asleep again. At the sound of the door opening, Jihoon looks back over his shoulder. He gets to his feet to grab the plates out of her hands. He bends a bit to get a look at Eunha’s face.

“Did she cry?”

“Yeah, she did.” She follows him to the desk. “She’s asleep now, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is.” He sets the plates down and then manoeuvres Eunha into his arms. She lies against his chest.

“Now, I’m cold,” she chuckles.

Jihoon turns in his seat towards the couch. “There’s a blanket here somewhere.”

She sees it on the couch. She wraps it around her shoulders and sits back down. “How’s the music going?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Let’s talk about something else. I can’t talk about it anymore.”

“That’s saying something,” she murmurs. They’re quiet for a moment, tucking into their food. “How are your parents?”

“My parents?” Jihoon tips his head at the question. “They’re good.”

“And have you told them about me?”

“Ah,” Jihoon chuckles. He carefully bends forward to eat. “Yes, I have actually.”

“And?”

“Be careful,” he quotes his mother. “After Eunha’s mother, they’re protective of us.” He presses a kiss to Eunha’s head.

She eats quietly, mulling this over. If this were just a case of two 20-somethings dating, then she doubts either of their parents would have much to say about them testing it out. But because of Eunha, it either needs to be serious or nothing. It’s an interesting way to date, she finds. It puts so much pressure on the early stages of a relationship to work out. Now it’s not just about whether she likes Jihoon; now she needs to consider if she wants to be involved in Eunha’s life too.

Jihoon must see all of this on her face. “I understand if you’re scared away by that.”

She smirks.

“It’s a lot of pressure to put on you.”

“And you.” She lightly kicks his knee. “You’re expecting yourself to be able to be the best judge of character. You’re not leaving any room for error here.”

His voice quiets. “I’d really hate to be wrong.”

“About?”

“You, me, Seventeen, this little one and how I raise her.”

“Those last couple ones are all you. You can control those things.” She takes another bite. “As of right now, I think I’m more a figment of your imagination than anything else.” She reaches for the water bottle in her bag. “But that’s why I’m here. To make me real. And to make you real to me.”

“You know,” Jihoon turns to scribble her words into his notebook, “if the café doesn’t work out, you could be a lyricist.”

She snorts, watching Jihoon carefully as he balances Eunha on his chest, his fork in his hand and the computer mouse in his other. “Could I? I don’t think so.”

[darkblueboxs]

If you're taking requests, maybe the foxes reacting to soft andreil? I love seeing their relationship through outside perspectives

Sorry for the delay! I ended up with two very different ideas for this and wrote both of them. I’ll be posting the other one in the next week or so! [EDIT: Here it is!]This was great fun to write. Thank you for the request.

In the Eye of the Beholder

Read here or on AO3

.

#1 Dan

Dan raps her knuckles against the door to the monster’s flat and waits. Nicky greets her with an impressive mop of bedhair and a baffled expression which smooths over only when Neil darts past, citing brunch with Dan as his excuse for being awake at such a thoroughly reasonable hour on a Sunday morning. He’s in high spirits, from what Dan can tell, rolling on the balls of his feet as they wait for the elevator to arrive. Dan is ready to put it down to excitement over their plans – she has a stack of potential recruits under her arm thicker than Les Misérables for them to discuss, hopefully with a stack of pancakes of equal height on the side. Then she spots the light bruise peeking over the hem of Neil’s collar, and draws a very different conclusion about the source of Neil’s good mood.

She smiles as they step into the elevator, but keeps the observation to herself. While some members of the team love to badger Neil for the slightest insight into his relationship, Dan is willing to push her curiosity aside for the sake of Neil’s privacy. He has plenty other teammates to pester him without her jumping on the bandwagon.

Just before the doors slide shut, an arm bursts through the gap, forcing them open. Andrew is as stoic and terrifying as ever (not that Dan would ever admit it) even while wearing Neil’s foxprint-patterned pyjama bottoms. The quickened rise and fall of his chest is the only hint that he ran to get here.

Neil raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of his underdressed partner.

Andrew lobs something at Neil which bounces off his chest and lands on the floor between his feet. Neil stoops to scoop it up, and Dan sees that it’s his wallet.

“Thanks.”

“Idiot,” Andrew huffs. He retracts his arm, and the doors slide shut on the sight of him stalking back to their dorm.

Neil taps the wallet against his hand a couple times before sliding it into the wallet.

“You’re both idiots if you think I’m letting you pay for brunch,” Dan says wryly.

Neil shakes his head. “I said I was going to pick up some stuff at the store afterwards. But thanks. Brunch is on me, though.”

“We’ll see,” Dan says, which means no. “Okay, I’ll admit it. That was sweet of him.”

The corner of Neil’s mouth twitches. “Nah. He’s just making sure I come back with the junk food I promised him.”

“Sure.” And, oh, Dan had been trying to be good, but she really can’t help herself any longer. “So, did you guys mean to give each other matching hickeys, or was that just a fun little accident?”

Neil slaps his hand to his neck and groans.

All in all, it’s a great morning.

 #2 Kevin

Aaron’s trial is coming up. Kevin wouldn’t care (well, he would, but for different reasons) except that it’s making the cousins snippy and fractious. More so than usual. Andrew isn’t sleeping properly, although he would deny that it had any relation to the trial. Unfortunately, his insomnia is contagious, which ends with Neil losing focus at their night practice, having spent the best part of a week running on fumes and gatorade.

Kevin has been patient – patient by his standards, anyway – but the third fumbled catch in a row snaps his temper like brittle bone.

“Get the fuck off my court, Josten.” Kevin says, smacking the base of his racquet against the floor.

“Fuck you,” Neil answers reflexively. He stops to push his lengthening bangs back from his face.

“I’m not joking. You’re in no state to play. Get the fuck out.” Kevin wishes Neil would take it as the blessing it is, a night to re-focus and re-calibrate, but instead he’s glaring Kevin down like he just asked him to eat sewage.

Neil turns away from him to send another ball barrelling towards the goal. It misses by an entire foot.

“Neil,” Kevin says sharply, readying for a fight that neither of them have the energy nor patience for.

Before he can begin, the doors to the court bang open. Andrew stands in the entrance, arms crossed. It’s the expression that ends an argument before it’s had time to start; Kevin knows it far, far too well.

Andrew leads Neil away to the showers while Kevin continues his drills.

When he’s finished washing up, he finds the pair in the team lounge, collapsed on the wider of the couches. Neil is asleep, slumped into Andrew’s side. Andrew looks up as Kevin enters, but he doesn’t move his hand from its resting place in Neil’s hair. Although Neil was the only one of the pair training that night, Andrew’s hair is plastered against his head as though he, too, is fresh out of the shower. Kevin tries not to consider the implications.

They wait in silence for a few minutes, watching as Neil sleeps, properly sleeps, for the first time in far too long. Neither are willing to disturb him, but the night is late and Kevin has a whole host of classes waiting for him in the morning.

“I’ll walk back,” says Kevin. Andrew meets his gaze for a long moment before nodding briefly. The bags under his eyes betray him.

Kevin darts back into the lockers to pick up Neil’s abandoned kit bag. When he passes them again, Andrew has slouched onto his side, having manoeuvred Neil in front of him so they can both lie comfortably. His arm is slung protectively around Neil’s waist like Andrew is prepared to beat off the world to keep him there.

Kevin knows they spend more nights in each other’s bunks than out of them in the dorm, but somehow they’re always up and away before anyone else is awake enough to give them any hassle over it. Kevin doesn’t care, but Nicky can be overbearing at the best of times, and Aaron is… well, Aaron. But here, in the privacy of an empty stadium, it looks like Neil has finally found enough security to drop off at last, and Andrew looks ready to follow. Kevin shuts the door behind him, not quite smiling, but close. It was strange to some, the idea of Neil and Andrew, but anyone who saw them curled up together would see it plain as day. They just fitted.

The next day, Neil is closer to being himself again, and no more is said on the matter.

 #4 Matt

Matt has to admit that press duty with Neil is never boring. The interviewers seem to share his opinion, visibly perking up when Neil follows Matt into the room. They lost to the Bearcats, but it was close enough that Matt doesn’t have to lie when he says that he’s proud of the team’s performance today.

“Some are saying that the failure of the defence line in later stages was due to Minyard’s performance in goal in the second half. How would you respond to that?

Matt doesn’t know why he bothers opening his mouth; the question may be directed to him, but he knows damn well that a boulder in the shape of Neil’s fury is already barrelling in this hapless reporter’s direction. “Well-”

“Last time I checked, this was a team sport,” Neil says loudly. “Was I hallucinating that, or has there been a few rule changes since yesterday?”

Matt isn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Coach had told Matt to keep an eye on their resident fire-starter as though anyone was at all capable of controlling Neil when there was a mic in front of him. Matt feels sorry for the poor sucker that will one day be assigned to the role of Neil’s publicist, because he’s sure that Neil will drive them into an early grave alongside Matt’s.

“You have to admit that the number of goals that he let in-”

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that his entire defence line had already played two full quarters before he even stepped foot on court. People get tired the longer a game goes on, of course defence is going to suffer in the second half. But sure, keep pinning it on the goalie you clearly have it in for.”

Matt claps a hand on Neil’s back. “What he said,” he agrees, staring down the reporter.

They take no further questions.

Matt doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when he leaves the showers to see Andrew and Neil alone in the locker room he ducks back out of sight. He walks into at least one dramatic confrontation amongst his teammates per week, and sometimes the best way to deal with the daily bouts of fox drama is to hide and wait for the storm to pass.

“Point me to where I asked you to lead my own personal crusade.” Andrew’s flat tones echo off the tiled floor. Matt regrets leaving his Ipod in his bag. The conversation doesn’t seem too personal to overhear, but Andrew and Neil have never been the easiest reads.

“I’m tired of them talking shit about you just because they have a vendetta against anyone with your…” Neil trails off. Matt imagines him to be making several expressive hand gestures; it’s hard to condense all of Andrew’s history and circumstances into one word. “…everything,” Neil settles on.

“Your principles should not intersect with my business.”

“Even if it could affect your future career?” Neil’s words are met, unsurprisingly, with silence. “Besides, yours do.”

“Explain.”

“When I first came here, you told Nicky to back off. Not out of concern for me. Because of your principles.”

This time, the silence stretches so long that Matt doesn’t think Andrew is going to answer.

“Point,” Andrew concedes.

“Besides, is it so bad that I’m standing up for you?”

“Only when it’s making new enemies for you. How many does one man need?”

“I’ve got room for a few more,” Neil says. There’s a rustle of movement, and, oh, are they kissing? Matt strongly suspects that they are kissing. It’s more than his life is worth to look. He takes a few steps back, rattles his kit loudly and makes as much noise as possible before entering the locker room. The pair are a safe distance apart by the time he enters, and Matt gives them a probably-not-convincingly-casual nod before busying himself with his change of clothes.

The pair spend the journey home holed up together at the back of the bus, and if he suspects that they’re doing a little more than talking, Matt keeps it to himself.

They’ve earned a little privacy, after all.

 #5 Aaron

“Well, maybe if you stopped and took the time to, I don’t know, explain literally anything that you do, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.”

“Aaron,” says Bee, a gentle reprimand. He isn’t in the mood to hear it. His attention remains on his brother, who’s features remain the same stony, impassive blank that they have in almost every joint session to date. It’s an expression that makes Aaron want to tear his hair out, or kick his brother’s face in, or both.

“What would you like me to explain?” says Andrew, more of a challenge than an offer. Aaron snorts, because, where to fucking begin?

“How about we start with your little fuck-buddy, seeing as you’re so keen to start on mine.” Earlier that week, Andrew had returned early from a class to find Aaron and Katelyn together in their dorm room. The result, while not outright violent, had been deeply unpleasant for all involved. And of course, Andrew was being an ass about it.

“Aaron. We’ve talked about this. How can you expect Andrew to talk about Katelyn respectfully if you won’t offer the same respect to his own partner?”

Aaron scoffs. “It’s not the same.”

Andrew’s eyebrow… it doesn’t quirk, but it twitches. “Oh?”

Aaron gestures vaguely. “You know what I mean.”

“I can assure you that I don’t.”

“Me and Katelyn. You and Neil. It isn’t the same.”

“How so?” Andrew’s tone isn’t in the danger zone yet, but it’s edging towards it.

“I’m not talking about the gay thing. I’m talking about…” The hand Aaron was waving clenches into a fist as he drops it into his lap. “Don’t make me say it.”

Andrew and Bee share a look over his head.

“Aaron,” says Bee.

“I just, fucking…” Aaron grapples with words, struggling to find a combination that won’t rip them apart any worse than they already have been. “How the fuck can you expect me to believe that you and him… that you’re real. That you’re normal, that you’re like us, after everything those fuckers did to you. What makes him so different?”

Andrew watches him. Just when Aaron resigns himself to the fact that no answer is coming, Andrew speaks. “If I ask him to stop, he stops.”

Aaron bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he thinks he might have drawn blood. “It can’t be that simple.”

Andrew shrugs.

“How?”

Andrew’s eyes flicker upwards, like he would rather be anywhere else, having any other conversation in the world than this one. “We have a system. We don’t touch each other without asking first. We listen to each other. We talk. What more do you need me to say?”

Aaron falls silent. He doesn’t know what he needs from his brother, still, but it’s something.

“I have a question in return,” Andrew’s eyes flick to Bee. He isn’t looking for permission, but she nods in encouragement nonetheless. “Katelyn. What makes her so different?” Andrew meets his gaze dead-on as he turns Aaron’s own words back on him. “How can you trust her, after everything that bitch Tilda did to you?”

And finally, it all clicks into place.

Aaron forces himself to look his brother in the eyes. So much like his, yet at the same time so different. “Okay,” he concedes at last. “I see.”

Because, at last, he does.

 #7 Allison

Neil appears at Allison’s door with a black eye, a bust lip, and the words “don’t freak out,” spilling from his mouth before she can get so much as a word in.

“Great start,” she says, pulling him in. “Who do I need to kill?”

“My shoelace came undone and I ate shit while I was on my run. I just need enough makeup that I can get through class without looking like I’ve been in a fight again. Do you know how many of my lecturers have taken me aside to give me the domestic abuse hotline?”

“You should know how to do this yourself by now.” Allison rolls her eyes as she leads Neil through to the table.

“You’re better at it,” he admits grudgingly, and oh, doesn’t that just warm her heart to hear.

“Nice try. You’re still taking me out for coffee after this.”

Neil pulls a face, and Allison laughs. It doesn’t take long – Allison has treated him in far, far worse shape, as much as she’d rather not think about it – and soon there’s only the faintest smudge around Neil’s eye.

“Can I tempt you to some mascara? Glitter?” Allison asks, waggling her eyebrows as she spreads the contents of her makeup bag out for his inspection.

“Maybe next time,” says Neil, “When I’m not going to a calculus lecture.”

“But that’s the best place for it.” Allison dabs the tip of his nose with her brush, and Neil’s face scrunches up as he tries to hold back a sneeze. His hair flops back down over his forehead as he moves, falling into his eyes.

“Don’t move just yet,” Allison says, yanking a drawer open and fumbling for the kitchen scissors. “I’ve been meaning to deal with that mop for weeks, and right now I have you trapped.”

“Oh, no,” Neil says flatly, but still he surrenders herself to her demands. Wise move.

“Perfect,” says Allison a few minutes later, ruffling Neil’s hair to shake away the last loose strands. “Ready for the red carpet now. I hope there aren’t any cute guys in your maths class, or Andrew is going to go mad with jealousy.”

Neil snorts. “He’s not really the type.”

“Mhmm,” says Allison, because in her experience, everyone is the type.

Speaking of the psychotic little devil himself, Andrew bursts through the door just as Allison is brushing up the last of the trimmings.

“Hey,” Neil says, apparently impervious to Andrew’s thunderous entrance. Andrew ignores the greeting, taking hold of Neil’s chin to turn his face from side to side.

“Kevin said you fell,” he says, relinquishing the grip. Allison half-turns away, pretending to busy herself tidying but really listening, because the monster’s overbearing-boyfriend performances are rarely seen in public yet endlessly entertaining.

“Shoelaces. Who could have seen it coming?”

“I did. And warned you. Twice.”

Neil winces. “My bad.”

Andrew mutters something under his breath that seems to involve the words kill you. The day Allison understands their relationship is the day that she gives up on any and all gossip for the rest of her life.

Then, Andrew pauses, distracted. “Did you trip and fall onto a pair of sheers?”

“Allison gave me a haircut. How does it look?”

Andrew holds his hand in front of Neil’s face. When Neil nods, Andrew runs it quickly through his hair, gently tugging at the roots as he goes. “Awful.”

“Hey,” Allison interrupts, outraged. They both start, and Andrew’s hand drops away, like they had forgotten she was there. Which was the point, really. She holds the scissors in Andrew’s direction. “You’re next, scraggy.”

“When I’m dead,” Andrew replies flatly. It’s clear he isn’t joking. Neil shakes his head at them both.

“Come on, then,” Allison says. “Neil’s taking me for coffee. Give us a ride and I’ll buy you the sugariest, most expensive drink on the menu. I’m hoping the diabetes will finish you off if lung cancer falls through.”

Andrew glances between them. “Fine.”

Sugar and Neil; the keys to Andrew’s stony little heart.

 #8 Nicky

Nicky is fully capable of responding to his cousin’s newfound domestic happiness with maturity and decorum.

He just chooses not to.

This has nearly ended in violence no less than eight times. But really, how can he be expected to let it lie when his cousin, who came to him an unruly, violent teen to whom any conversation was like pulling teeth with plastic tweezers, is, for the first time, experiencing the gay teen college romance Nicky could only have dreamed of?

With his fiancée a million miles away, Nicky has to live vicariously when it comes to matters of the heart. There is no better subject for this than his violent baby cousin, who, it seems, isn’t such a baby anymore.

Nicky is beyond late for his class already when he realises that his laptop is dead. He had been skyping with Eric until ass-o-clock in the morning, forgot to plug it in before passing out in his bunk and is paying for it three-fold. He has two options; pencil and paper (what is he, a toddler?) or steal someone’s laptop. The answer is both clear and obvious.

Andrew’s is the first to hand. He most likely won’t surface until noon, by which time Nicky will have returned from class, leaving him none the wiser. The perfect crime.

Or it is the perfect crime until Nicky opens the laptop in the middle of his seminar to a webpage that is filled with very, very unsafe-for-classroom content.

Nicky slams the laptop shut. It wasn’t a video, none of the sites Nicky knew from his own fits of late-night loneliness. Large blocks of text, diagrams that were more analytical than downright pornographic. Nicky slides the laptop open again, just enough for the screen to light up once more, and tabs up. No, not porn. Informative. Educational.

The girl beside him, although unable to see his screen, is giving Nicky some very strange looks. Nicky glances back to the laptop before sliding it shut once more. Pencil and paper will have to do.

The class is drier than dirt, leaving Nicky’s mind with far too much space to think. A dangerous pastime in Nicky’s case, Eric would say teasingly. Nicky had assumed – well, not that he had thought about it, much, but Andrew always seemed so set and sure of himself that it was hard to imagine him googling how-to guides like an acne-riddled teen the night before prom. His apparent innocence is weirdly adorable. Not a word Nicky uses out-loud in his cousin’s presence, but true all the same.

Nicky remembers his first time. Awkward, uncomfortable, and involving entirely the wrong set of genitals. He can only hope Andrew and Neil’s is better.

He shouldn’t get involved. He really, really, shouldn’t.

Nicky slips the laptop back into place mere moments before Andrew slouches into the living space. Nicky watches him as the coffee-maker gurgles away, thinking.

“Andrew.”

Andrew glances up. Nicky isn’t sure what he reads in his face, but it must be setting off alarm bells, because his hands move almost unconsciously to his sleeves. Nicky holds his hands up.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I just…” Oh, this is a lot more awkward than Nicky anticipated. “You know, I’m always here for you. If there’s anything you want to talk about.” He clears his throat. “If you have any questions…”

Andrew’s eyes narrow. They flick in the direction of his desk. Nicky remembers, far too late, Andrew’s impossibly perfect memory. He would remember the exact position he left his laptop in. Nicky is busted.

“Don’t borrow my laptop,” Andrew snarls. The coffee brewer clicks, and it may be the only thing that saves Nicky’s life.

“I’m sorry! I was in a rush!” Nicky says weekly. “If it’s any consolation, the guy who sits behind me now thinks I’m a grade-A pervert.”

Andrew slams a mug down on the counter so hard he almost cracks it. “One more word. One more.”

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise, I’ve been there, okay?”

Andrew takes his coffee and his laptop and leaves without another word. Nicky counts it as a blessing.

The next day, he’s working his way through the mother of all essays when Andrew enters the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Nicky keeps working until Andrew pulls a chair over to Nicky’s desk and sits in it. He stops typing mid-sentence, fingers hovering over the keys.

“Everything okay, Andrew?”

“I want you to take a moment and remember how many knives I have on me right now.”

“A lot, I assume.”

“A lot,” Andrew confirms. “If I had any other choice in the world, I would take it. But I have you. So, I’m going to ask you something, and you are going to be calm and level and mature and everything that you usually are not when you answer.”

“Of course,” Nicky says in a heartbeat. He can’t think of a single time Andrew has ever come to him for help, not even when he was wrapped up in bed and coughing his lungs out the day before his AP Calc exam. Nicky has never been more determined to get something right in his life.

“How,” Andrew says, stops, starts again. Today is full of firsts; Andrew is usually so careful and measured with his words. “How do I do it without hurting him?”

Nicky’s heart is ready to melt or break or explode, maybe all at once. “Oh, Andrew.”

“The knives, Nicky. Remember the knives.”

“Okay,” says Nicky, and he tells Andrew everything he can. He wants, more than anything, for Andrew to be safe and happy, and if it involves going into details that even Nicky is squeamish about discussing with family, then that’s what he’ll do.

He offers to write out a list of reliable books and websites for Andrew to check out, ones he used himself and others Eric recommended to him. Andrew shakes his head.

“Just tell me. I’ll remember them.”

When they’re done, Nicky almost claps Andrew on the shoulder. He thinks better of it, hand hovering mid-air before he withdraws it. “Andrew.”

Andrew is half-way out the door, but he stops, which is more than Nicky expected.

“You’ll be fine.”

Andrew huffs, and abruptly disappears. Nicky smiles to himself as he turns back to his essay.

It took him a long time to piece it all together, but the truth is that Andrew really can be quite sweet, in his own terrifying way.

Nicky wonders how long it will be before he has to give Neil the sex talk too. Maybe he should offer.

Best not to; he has some self-preservation instincts, after all.

 #9 Renee

Renne likes to think that she has improved at reading Andrew over the years. Some of his quirks are more obvious than others, however; it doesn’t take a student of human character to notice that when Andrew wants to spar, it’s usually because he has something on his mind.

Renee is hardly in a position to judge, not when she finds the cut and blow of a vicious fistfight as cathartic as he does. There’s still a piece of Natalie Shields underneath all of Renee’s growth like the pit at the heart of a peach. Sometimes the best way of holding her down is by letting her out in controlled increments. Give her the inch so she won’t take the mile.

As usual, it is only when they have beaten each other to exhaustion and back that Andrew is ready to talk. They sit cross-legged in the centre of the room, slurping down apple-juice cartons like kids in the playground, and finally, Andrew speaks.

“I want you to train Neil.”

Renee sets her carton down. “I thought Matt was teaching him to box.”

“He’s a shit boxer.”

“Neil or Matt?”

“Both.”

Renee shakes her head. She reaches back to pull out her hair tie, letting her bangs tumble back into their usual place. “Is there a reason Neil hasn’t asked me himself?”

Andrew is silent. There it is; the heart of the matter.

Renee sighs. “I’m not going to force Neil to train with me if he doesn’t want to.”

“I don’t force Neil to do anything,” Andrew says sharply. Renee winces; it was a poor choice of words on her part.

“Why do you think he needs it?”

“Matt is teaching him how to box. It’s not the same as real fighting.”

Renee hums. “Can’t he do something for fun?”

“That’s not the point. Besides,” Andrew pauses. “Matt only knows how to fight like the fuck-off giant that he is.”

Renee can’t argue with that; Matt never had to learn the same style of combat that she and Andrew did. He may teach Neil how to throw a good punch, but there’s a big difference in stance and strategy when your opponent is a foot taller than you. Renee and Andrew learned that the hard way.

“And who is it that you think Neil is going to be fighting?”

Andrew waves one arm in an all-encompassing gesture. “Have you met him?”

“Andrew.”

“Renee,” he shoots back, imitating her tone and inflection.

“What did he say when you suggested that I teach him?”

Andrew scrunches up his features in an imitation of Neil’s ugh face. “He said that he gets enough bruises as it is.”

“He’s not wrong.”

Andrew doesn’t roll his eyes, but his eyebrows twitch as though he’s considering it. “He also said he doesn’t need to get any better. Because he…” Andrew grimaces. Sharing is still tough for him, even after years of therapy and trust. “He has me to protect him.”

“As I said,” Renee says, smiling. “He’s not wrong.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He has his moments.”

They finish their juice boxes in silence.

“Well,” says Renee, getting back to her feet. Her legs may be going stiff, but there’s still some fight left in her. There always is. “I may not be able to train Neil, but at least I can train his bodyguard to the best of my ability.” She holds her hand out to Andrew. After a moment of careful consideration, he takes it, using the pull to swing himself to his feet. “One more round?”

Andrew nods, determination setting in his eyes like concrete. “One more round.”

Renee likes to think that she has improved at reading Andrew over the years. This time, as they trade hits and kicks, it isn’t anger or frustration powering Andrew’s movements; it’s something far more powerful.

She thinks – hopes – prays – that the worst of Neil’s fights are behind them. All the same, she sleeps a little easier knowing that, should the day come, Andrew will be at his back with a knife in each hand.

That’s love, after all.

.

Thank you for reading - please let me know what you thought

Still open to requests!

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 10 - Tentacools in the Ocean

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Extra Note: this gonna be so long and so plot heavy, ngl. if y’all can get through this, well done :)

Tentacools in the Ocean (but None of Them are You) … … ["If there's something strange in the neighbourhood who ya gonna call?"] … …

It's night-time, and Horace the security guard is making rounds within the depths of Rose's Art Gallery in Wyndon.

The art gallery is not officially open yet; it is a brand new building with many exhibits and displays and the grand unveiling is due to open in a few week's time and many jobs were created thanks to this. Owned by Rose, it houses many ancient and wondrous antiques which his family had gathered for generations. They are finally put on display and will be available to the public after the Macro Cosmos marketing department discovered it could generate further profit considering people were willing to pay to look at old relics of Galar.

He whistles a jovial tune to himself as he patrols the empty halls with his torch shining on the floor, thinking about the TV show he watched yesterday and what he should eat when he returns home. He has a long night ahead of him but he's already into the new job for a week or so and it's been peaceful and quiet.

And it's a regular night as he follows the same route he takes, turning left to exit the butterfly gallery and into the conjoined, long stretch of the hallway where the benches are and that's when the silence and peace is shattered.

A loud banging noise can be heard a short distance away, and Horace pauses to listen but it is not the sound of the plumbing system or whatever noises buildings emits for Horace has a long career of being a security guard in buildings old and new and he knows what is right and what is wrong.

And this is wrong. It comes in twos or threes, and often it comes at random intervals. Perhaps there is someone else in here, he thinks, perhaps a group of rambunctious kids and should he catch them they will be in for a right scolding for there should not be anyone here at all, not at this ungodly hour anyway.

But what is this noise, and he cannot tell as he stops and shines his torch down the hall where the noise persists.

Something is knocking on the walls.

The noise continues, growing louder and louder in volume and as it started at the end of the hall, it seems to be growing closer. As though someone's palm is placed flat upon the wall and repeatedly pounding on the surface, he hears it all over as it travels from the end of the hall, moving closer to him, and the posters stuck on the walls begin to tremble and shake.

Confused, he moves the torch left and right but he sees nothing, feels nothing.

"Who's there?" he says, and he thinks it's a mistake for the noises stop as soon as he's spoken. He's informed it that he is here, that he is aware of it, and that he is alone.

Horace waits and the stillness returns and he's about to brush it off, perhaps he needs more sleep, yes, and his ears were playing tricks on him, but then one of the chairs begins moving, the legs forcibly scraping across the linoleum before it is lifted in the air and hurled halfway across the floor.

...

Oleana is the only person still working at Rose Tower at this hour.

She reads through the entries of your blog on her laptop quietly; Rose is too busy to look at it himself so he's designated his secretary to do the work and weed out the minor, trivial stuff and sift for the important details. She reads through your excursions in the Wild Area, the old house in the Rolling Fields, Gengar, the ghost of South Lake Miloch and many more until she comes to your first entry which is dated three to four years ago, more or less.

Penning down your contact number and some bullet points in her notepad, she silently collects her findings and is about to leave her desk until the phone rings.

Whilst she wonders who it could be, she picks it up and says, "Hello, this is Oleana speaking."

"Hi, this is - Arceus, I really didn't expect anyone to pick up!" a man squawks on the other end, clearly shaken.

"I'm still in the office, yes. How may I help."

"Ah, thank you, Miss Oleana, this is Horace...you know, from the art gallery? I'm a security guard and I'm on shift tonight...Um, I...I'm not quite sure how to tell you this but....the art gallery is....I think it's...I think it's haunted."

"Haunted, you say?"

"Yes, ma'am. I-I'm terribly sorry, um, I-I know how it sounds..."

"We're already looking into this matter."

"Oh, r-really?"

"Yes, we have received similar complaints. Chairman Rose is coming up with a solution. I'm terribly sorry, but can this wait until the morning?"

"Uh....s-sure...guess I'll pray to Arceus to keep me safe for now...."

"Thank you." Oleana promptly hangs up after exchanging goodbyes with the security guard.

…

Meanwhile, in Postwick, Leon can't sleep.

He's in his room, lying in his old bed, wide-eyed with insomnia and staring at the ceiling in the darkness. He hasn't been home for so long that his bedroom walls appear foreign to him. Having stayed many nights in hotels and inns, usually for his next endorsement or pokemon battle, he's used to the lively hum of the city outside so the quietness of Postwick is wholly welcoming yet sleep continues to eludes him.

Tonight's events keeps replaying in his mind over and over again, ranging from the many instances when he held your hand, the conversations he had with you and the casual glimpses the two of you kept throwing at each other throughout the entire duration. He finds himself smiling widely at thoughts about you.

You've passed the Charizard Test and according to Charizard himself, you had deliberately injured yourself for him that night without a moment of hesitation or lingering thoughts, and he still cannot fathom how you could've have done such a thing for him. In all earnest, Leon would do the same for you.

You had informed him that your family has vanished. Your father and little sister first, followed by your mother. He can't quite get his head around how that may have happened. The enigma of you is slowly being unravelled and Leon, having just managed to put a few pieces together, discovers there's far much more to know about you than he had realised.

He recalls how forlorn you had become once your family was mentioned and although you declined any form of assistance from him, there must be something he can do.

Troubled, Leon tosses and turns for the umpteenth time before he finally pushes the covers off him and sits up in bed, gets up and switches the lights back on and Rotom is snoozing but he gently picks up his phone and checks the screen. He's wondering if you may have messaged him but there is only a reply from Raihan whom he had messaged earlier.

The bedroom door squeaks open and he hears someone enter.

"Lee?"

He looks up from his phone to see Hop at his doorway. "Hop?"

"Are you okay?" his little brother asks, rubbing his eyes. Wooloo is by his feet, also looking rather drowsy.

"I'm fine. What's up?"

"Nothing, I saw your light was still on..."

"Yeah, I'm finding it hard to sleep. You okay?"

Hop shakes his head, "I can't sleep either. I think I ate too much...."

Leon chuckles. "Wanna chat?"

"Okay...I was gonna go downstairs to grab a drink though..."

"Let's make Tapu Cocoa," Leon suggests, and Hop grins widely in agreement.

He exits his room and joins Hop in the hallway with Wooloo trotting beside him and they both make their way quietly down the stairs only to see the light in the kitchen is on and Leon's mum is standing at the sink with rubber gloves, furiously scrubbing at some mould behind the taps.

"Mum!" Hop says, and she turns round, startled before she exhales a sigh of relief as she glances between Hop and Leon.

"Whoo, you scared me, boys."

"Hehe," Hop grins whilst Leon gives her a sheepish smile. "Mum, what are you doing?"

"Oh nothing...just doing some late night cleaning. What're you boys doing up?"

"Lee and I can't sleep!"

"I know what will do the trick; a good, big ol' mug of Gossifleur Camomile Tea."

"We were thinking Tapu Cocoa," Leon replies.

"Oh, that works too," mum says cheerily, and Leon and Hop each slide into the chairs of the kitchen table; Hop also settles Wooloo over one chair but it is so tiny it doesn't even reach the table. Mum adds, "Let me put on the kettle."

"Let me do it," Leon offers, but she shakes her head.

"No, no, dear, you just sit and relax," mum coos as she brings out three mugs from the top shelf. Hop has a white Wooloo mug and Leon has a blue mug with a Charizard on it.

As they sit and mum waits for the kettle to boil, Leon glances at his brother and mother before he says, "It's been a while since we sat down like this."

"You should come home more often, Leo."

"I'll try to. Are you guys okay when I'm gone?"

"Yes, of course we are, dear."

"How's gran and granddad?"

"They're fine, they just sit and watch TV with Purrloin," mum reassures him; as the water finishes boiling, she starts making the cocoa, pouring the hot water into each mug and stirring them with a teaspoon before she finally joins them at the table, settling down their mugs.

"Lovely! Here we are altogether, just like old times. This is nice... if only your dad was here..." mum says with a sigh as she takes a seat in the middle of the table with Hop on her left and Leon to her right. Wooloo hops off the seat and trots to a bowl on the ground, lapping at the water.

"Thanks, mum," Leon says, and Hop echoes him. The drinks are too hot so they leave it to cool down. It grows silent in the kitchen, the only sounds that can be heard are the Ledyba's clicking outside and the clock ticking on the wall.

"So...how is work, dear?" mum asks, breaking the monotony.

"It's good. I'm gonna be busy for the next few weeks or so but today was fun, right?"

"Yeah!!" Hop replies with vigour, grinning widely from ear to ear, "Lee, are you gonna invite your girlfriend over again??"

"Hop, she's not my girlfriend...We're just friends."

"But you kept holding her hand. Me and Gloria are friends but I don't hold her hand. She said only couples do that."

Leon splutters at once whilst mum giggles, taking a small sip of her drink. When did Hop see him holding her hand anyway? Leon begins rubbing the back of his neck, entwining his fingers into his unruly thick hair. "Well...um...That's because..."

"Did she keep trying to hold your hand? Was it the other way around?"

Leon shakes his head. "No, no! No, Hop, it wasn't her...ah, it was that obvious, huh?"

"Leo, you couldn't take your eyes off her," mum says with a giggle, "She's cute."

His cheeks grow pink. "Mum, I…” he leaves his sentence trailing and mum and Hop look at him mutely in response, waiting for him to finish but he doesn't. It's then Leon realises he is talking to his family about a girl...maybe he should've asked Raihan instead...

“What’s the matter?” mum asks, and his face grows warm before he gives her a reassuring smile.

The last thing he wants is his mother to worry about him. “It’s nothing, mum.”

Mum crosses her arms, pondering to herself and Hop imitates her action. Leon watches them wordlessly as mum unfurls her arms and sighs. "Just do what you think is right, what feels right. If she’s the one, then that would be lovely. But if she's not the right one, then…perhaps you shouldn't talk to her or hold her hand so much. She'll get the wrong idea. There's plenty of Tentacools in the ocean, dear. I just want you to be happy."

Plenty of Tentacools in the ocean, Leon thinks to himself.

It grows quiet as mum and Hop take sips from their mugs and Wooloo drinks the bowl of water. It occurs to Leon he hasn't thought about this properly.

There are plenty of Tentacools, but none of them are you.

...

After his grandma passed away and his sister moved to Alola, Jace lives on his own.

When he’s finished his shift at Wyndon stadium, he goes home with Joltik. He wanted to become an electrician and trained for a few years or so but unfortunately was unable to find a job and resorted to being a part-time Ball Guy, a job which he's held down for while now. Jace received an inheritance but avoids using it, concerned that it will run out soon in a few years if he doesn’t get a well-paying job, so he’s doing his best to find a new career.

Little does he know that you’re attempting to train him though he has much to learn. Although you dislike being called an ‘exorcist’, Ezra’s taught you everything he knows and he is recognised by the church as a fully-fledged exorcist and essentially you’re his successor, so you want to pass on everything you know too, and Jace seems like a good candidate.

He isn’t the bravest person you have met but he has good qualities. He’s good with people, he’s friendly (friendlier than Ezra, anyway) and he’s also had a spiritual encounter.

You’ve yet to tell him this so he goes on about his mundane, daily life: he has a microwave dinner whilst sitting in front of his TV, then he spends some time with his pokemon. He is aware of the Giant’s Seat incidence from the news and knew you had solved the case so he messages you to see if you’re alright before he heads to his room to fix the radio.

Jace works with the utmost attention to detail and care, grabbing his goggles with the magnified lens along with his box of tools. Aside from being a part-time Ball Guy, Jace is quite the handyman. The first time when your radio broke, he was able to piece it back together with barely any effort and since then, he’s fixed it for you time and time again.

He’s almost finished; Joltik sits on his shoulder, watching him work whilst Heliolisk sits in his lap. His Eelektross lazes on his bed, curling up to sleep and slobbering over his sheets.

Turning the radio around, Jace uses a small screwdriver to carefully ease some wires together and loop them around each other before he replaces some of the bolts and screws into their proper positions.

Once they’re fixed into their appropriate places, he inserts the case back on and turns the radio around again onto its front and does a test run, pulling out the antenna. The radio only has one dial and he rotates it gently, watching the little tuner move across the screen and the radio splutters into action.

It begins emitting white noise as Jace rotates the dial through all the channels and as he passes eighteen ninety-eight hertz, there is still white noise.

He proceeds to move the dial all the way to the very end. Satisfied that the radio appears to be back in normal working order, he moves the dial to the very beginning and as he passes eighteen ninety eight again, a male’s voice emits from the radio but Jace accidentally rotates the dial past the channel and so he misses what was said.

“What was that?” Jace utters to himself, before he slowly turns the dial back to eighteen ninety-eight and the deep, scratchy voice can be heard far more clearly.

“-a pocket full of posies, a-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down. Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies...”

The mysterious voice unsettles Jace, it is sinister and full of malice.

“Hello, who’s there?” the voice says before it emits a chuckle, and if Jace knew any better it is as though whoever was on the other end was smiling. "Don't be shy. Say something."

Jace instructs his pokemon to keep quiet by placing a finger over his lips and he reaches over to turn the dial to a different channel.

“Jace, Jace, what a disgrace," the voice begins to chant, "Failure to his mother, failure to his father, should just kill himself hereon after.”

Eyes widening, Jace quickly turns the dial all the way to the very end and the room goes silent. He did the right thing by not responding and a sense of security washes over him. He breathes a sigh of relief, swivelling round in his chair only to be greeted with a tall and dark silhouette situated at the door to his room.

He lets out a howl of fright, his heart slamming hard against his ribs. In a blink, the shadowy figure is gone, replaced with the empty space of the doorway.

The silence is broken when the radio switches on with a loud click, sending Jace into another fit of temporary shock, and the dial rotates to eighteen ninety-eight, twisting around on its own accord and when the white noise disperses, the sounds of mocking laughter fills the room.

Reaching for the device with a shaking hand, he switches the radio off once more. When all goes silent, he exhales audibly, grabs his Rotom phone and dials your number.

…

A week has passed since the dinner with Leon.

He has returned to his duties as Champion and he’s left Postwick. You found out when you returned to their house the day after with the Wooloo plushie; his mum opened the door and she told you that he had already left. Then you check your Rotom phone and see that he hadn’t sent a message to let you know beforehand, which would have been nice.

You see him again when he is on the news, issuing his statement about the gym challenge and the Giant Seat’s incidence.

Leon addresses the people’s concerns and voices his empathy towards the deceased. Coupled with his good looks and overflowing charisma and confidence, his words are empowering and incredibly motivating. Just like that, people are returning to the gym challenge with renewed trust and faith.

The Giant’s Seat incidence is more or less forgotten, and Chairman Rose is very happy.

There was a funeral which Leon and Graves attended, but you didn’t go because you had no idea nor were you invited. Speaking about Graves, you're supposed to meet him tomorrow at Wyndon Police Station.

As you watch Leon on the TV screen with Gengar and Mimikyu, you remember watching the movie with him over a video call using Rotom, and afterwards you remember how enthusiastic he was.

You had engaged in lively discussion regarding the true meaning behind ‘Rosebud’ and you could tell how deeply moved he was by the film and he had even told you how much he had enjoyed watching it with you.

You mentioned you should watch another movie together and he agreed but following that, he has ceased to message you.

Out of your control, you messaged him first. Just a simple 'how are you' but unfortunately, you elicited no reply though your message was read and Leon was online which confused you but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realise he is talking to everyone else except you.

You can't deny you feel a bit hurt, but you don't take it personal and try not to think about it too much for you assume he’s far too busy to deal with the likes of you any longer and so you should return to your normal schedule as well. After all, he’s the Champion of Galar and you’re a pokemon researcher. Your paths and priorities are bound to diverge.

However, you find yourself unable to stop thinking about him.

Leon occupies your mind day in and day out. When you’re meant to be working, you’re thinking back to the dinner and all the words that were exchanged, the looks he subjected you to and you would replay certain scenes in your mind again and again.

You think about what he said and what you said, and what you could’ve said differently… and you also think about what could happen should you see him again and what you would say to him. You think of all sorts of scenarios in your head: what if you bumped into him at a café, maybe in Wyndon? What if you saw him in the Wild Area again? So many endless possibilities.

These thoughts soon grow unhealthy because you had wanted to study Mimikyu and her origins and how she could speak human language, but then you’d suddenly find yourself recalling those fond moments of Leon’s dreamy eyes gazing into yours and how he held your hand. He held your hand so many times during that dinner.

You find that you are unable to study and with a heavy sigh, you rub your temples and groan. You need to forget about him for now because most likely, you're the only one who's thinking about him. With no new cases and Leon’s match scheduled more than a week away, you’re free to do as you please.

You have a new member on the team (your client did not want to take Mimikyu back so she will be staying with you) and it’s a good idea to head to the Wild Area tonight; you can even attempt some training…

After devising a plan to venture into the Stony Wilderness, you begin packing your bag until you are interrupted when you receive a call from Jace:

“H-hey chuck,” he sounds shaken when you answer, “…I-I-I fixed your radio…can you come over right now, please? Please???”

“Okay, I’ll come over.”

He breathes a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks!”

You abandon packing a full bag and merely bring some essentials with you before you head out and arrive at his place in roughly twenty minutes. You see that he had spent those minutes waiting with all the lights switched on and the TV turned up to a high volume in an effort to drown out the monotony. You ring the doorbell to his apartment and from within, you hear him exclaiming loudly with relief and rapid footsteps rushing over.

A pale-faced Jace greets you along with his Joltik, Heliolisk and Eelektross who cling to his arms and leg. Jace is trembling, holding your fixed radio in hand. His blonde hair is usually styled but he’s left it alone, loose strands flopping untidily over his forehead and eyes.

Before he can say a word, you glance around, looking at his lounge and the conjoined kitchen and utter, “Your house feels off. Let me do a quick sweep...”

He nods in agreement. “Thanks…”

“Good thing I brought holy water today."

“T-thanks, chuck…Your radio is soooo cursed, I hate it so much,” Jace moans as he returns his pokemon into their capsules in case they accidentally interfere with your ritual. As you remove your shoes and enter his lounge, he closes the door then hands you the fixed device and adds, “I heard a new voice: it was a man, not your father either. It knew my name and told me to go kill myself. I switched the radio off, turned round and saw this shadowy figure standing over there.”

He points to his bedroom doorway where the door is wide open and you head over to inspect.

“It went away but it scared me half to death," he says with a shiver. "Are you sure it picks up transmissions from the spirit world only?"

You ponder to yourself, glance at the radio then pocket it into your bag, “I'll check with Ezra. Jace, I'm so sorry…thanks for fixing the radio. I’ll make sure to be more careful and not break it anymore.”

“It’s fine, duck, I know you can’t help it and you know I’m always happy to lend a hand.”

“…Thanks, Jace.”

He gives you a wide grin as you smile weakly at him, then he pats you on the top of your head and shuffles to his kitchen in his flipflops so you can perform the cleansing ritual in peace.

Rolling your sleeves up, you begin murmuring the appropriate chant to bless and purify the house before you take out a bottle of water from your bag, unscrew the lid and empty some on your fingertips. Jace watches as you murmur under your breath and sprinkle some of the water over the doorway.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. Amen,” you murmur, and once the dark presence lifts, you nod to yourself; the task is complete. “That should do it.”

He gives you a wide grin as you smile weakly at him; closing the door behind you, you wander to the lounge and Jace gestures for you to take a seat on his grey couch. “Thanks. All good, right?"

"Yeah."

Whatever it was, it's gone now.

"Let’s have a nice cuppa tea and catch up.”

The décor of his apartment used to be old-fashioned and full of Purrloin plates on the wall or photos and calendars of Snubbulls in various costumes courtesy of his grandmother, but now it’s become more of a typical bachelor’s pad with the casual grey sofa, glass coffee table, the modern blinds and the high chairs that line the counters that stand in the middle of the kitchen which itself has become more modern; there are no more frills and florals, Jace has replaced the wallpaper with white paint and spotlights embedded in the ceiling.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” you say and he grins.

“Thanks, it took me a while to get it renovated but I’m glad I got it done.”

“It’s more you.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Thanks, chuck. How’s things anyway?” he asks; he’s putting the kettle to boil for two cups which he’s laid out over the counter, tossing in teabags.

“I have a problem.”

The kettle finishes boiling and Jace pours the water in. “What problem?”

“I think I’m in love with Leon.”

“And so do ninety per cent of the female population of Galar,” he replies flatly as he stirs the tea with a spoon then heads over to the sofa with the mugs in hands.  

It’s piping hot, so you’re extra careful as he hands you your mug of earl grey tea. “I’m serious, Jace.”

He seats himself comfortably on his plushy sofa, then grabs the remote and presses the button and the channel changes to some dancing show called Strictly Come Krumping where a dancer is busting some aggressive-looking moves with her Scraggy on the podium.

He flicks through the available movies and TV shows, passing a popular detective drama called The Killer Sableye and eventually move to the documentary section where Jace stares at the blurb of a comedy docuseries called ‘Hiker Dave’s Adventures in Alola with Kiawe’.

“So…Leon, huh. I thought someone like Kiawe would be your type. Not Leon.” Jace muses, “I didn’t think Leon would be your type at all.”

“Me either. I can't stop thinking about him, I can’t seem to focus on my work anymore. I noticed I can’t stop smiling whenever he’s mentioned or if I'm around him, my heart thumps like a Spoink on steroids and I get so nervous, it’s driving me bonkers and – is that a documentary about Leon?? Put that on, quick.”

Jace raises a brow and rolls his eyes but clicks on the program anyway.

“This is so exciting.”

He sighs and you deadpan all of a sudden.

“Dear lord," you mutter, "What’s happening to me?”

“Relax. You just have a crush on him, that’s all. It’s totally normal for girls your age. It’ll go away and you’ll realise it was just a phase and you’ll return to normal,” Jace mutters before he grabs a biscuit and dabs it into the tea.

What if you don’t want it to pass though?

And what if you want Leon to return these feelings?

“...You’re right," you end up uttering, shaking your head to clear such ridiculous thoughts, "this is just a phase. I need to snap out of it. I need to maintain a distance from him and I need to stop thinking about him because he sure as hell isn't thinking about me.”

“There are plenty of Tentacools in the ocean,” he adds. “Plenty of Tentacools.”

Yes, there are plenty of Tentacools in the ocean, but none of them are Leon.

…

In Hulbury, Leon is faithfully carrying out one of his Champion duties, which is to help out at a soup kitchen for the homeless.

He usually attends the one in Stow-on-Side, but on this occasion, the soup kitchen in Hulbury requires his assistance.

It’s wholly voluntary and the amount of people who turn up is staggering, ranging from up to thirty to three hundred so Leon has a busy half-day ahead of him.

Swapping his champion uniform and cloak for a t-shirt, overalls, apron and hairnet, the people of Galar probably wouldn’t recognize him nor would they find this hardly fitting for the Champion of Galar, but Leon is happy to lend a hand to the charity and they are extremely grateful for his assistance.

Leon enjoys working with the homeless; they are a lively bunch though most people would be repulsed by the foul stench due to living on the streets and their unsightly looks. They line up one by one in front of the tables that have been set up with Tupperware boxes full of food and cutlery, and Leon assists with the handouts.

“Arceus bless you, Mr Leon,” says a man with a toothy smile and an equally toothy Growlithe by his side.

“And you, sir,” Leon replies with a grin, as the man waddles away with his food for the night. “Enjoy your meal!”

The next individual steps up in line; it is an old man dressed in black with a mop of messy black hair and eyes that are entirely white and glazed over. He slowly shuffles over whilst coughing harshly, balancing an unlit cigarette between the cracked corners of his dry lips.

An Absol trots beside him, carrying a silver flask fastened to a harness that’s looped around her body.

“Here you are, sir,” Leon says, handing him a cutlery set and a plastic box full of hot rice, curry, potatoes and mushrooms, and the man blindly grasps for the box. Leon notices immediately and places the plastic tub into the old man’s palm, his long and gnarled fingers curling over the plastic.

“Thank you,” the man grunts out with gratitude, “C’mon, Absol, let’s go.”

The blind man begins to wander away with Absol plodding silently beside him until another homeless man comes rushing over in a hurry to join the queue and slams into his side none too gently, causing the blind man to topple over and the box’s contents to spill everywhere as it clatters to the ground.

“Oof,” the blind man grunts as he lands on the floor, cigarette falling out of his lips.

“Watch where you’re going, old geezer!” yells the other man before he sprints away, and Absol hisses angrily at him, her eyes glowing a bright blue. She attempts to chase him down but her owner stops her in time.

Having witnessed the entire scene, Leon hastily grabs a new food box and heads over. The blind man attempts to get up though he is helplessly sprawled over the ground, trying to locate his cigarette by patting the space around him with his hand.

Once he’s arrived, Leon lowers himself to his knees and helps the blind man up by grabbing the back of his elbow firmly. “Are you alright, sir?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he grunts, rubbing his aching hip.

“Can you stand?”

The blind man nods and on the count of three, Leon helps him up though his knees shake and his legs wobble. Leon glances around the floor with all the spilled food and calls for some of the volunteers from the soup kitchen to help clean up; they acknowledge with a nod and arrive at the scene with a mop and long-handled brush.

“Where’s my cigarette?” the blind man growls under his breath, and Leon quickly picks up the little stick and hands it to him.

“There you go.”

“Thanks, kid,” the blind man proceeds to place it between his lips, “You new here? You don’t sound like the regulars.”

“I’m assisting the Hulbury soup kitchen for today only.”

“Hm. I see.”

“I brought you a new box of food.”

“That’s very kind of you, new guy. Usually if I cock up and rejoin the queue, they tell me to scram.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that. That’s not fair on you.”

The blind man lets out a huff of agreement. “They need to be more like you, new guy. You’re a good ‘un. Now, uh… I need to siddown …”

“I’ll help you,” Leon grasps his elbow and helps the man hobble over to an empty space near one of the stalls whilst Absol purrs with appreciation at Leon for his help.

Her owner pats her on the head and turning to Leon, he looks up at the Champion with his empty white eyes and says, “I can manage from here, new guy. Don’t mind me, I’m just a blind and useless old man.”

“I need to make sure you’ll be okay,” Leon replies, and he helps the blind man sit down on an overturned plastic box, allowing him to sigh and smack a clenched fist over his knees.

Another volunteer hurries over with a batch of paper towels. “Ezra, are you alright? That was a nasty fall.”

Leon blinks at sound of the name. “Ezra?”

“He’s one of our regulars,” the volunteer proceeds to inform him in a hushed whisper. “He’s an ex-convict…he was jailed for the murder of his wife and kid.”

“I may be blind but I ain’t deaf,” Ezra barks and the volunteer goes red in the face.

Leon glances at Ezra wide-eyed, unsure if he is willing to believe what his ears just heard. However, he chooses to stay put and asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright…” Ezra grumbles, before he throws his empty gaze to Leon’s direction, then jabs a finger at the volunteer, “Hey, you should hire more people like this new guy. You can learn a lot from him.”

“This is Leon, the Champion of Galar!” the volunteer exclaims.

“Champion, eh?”

“Yes!"

Ezra nods to himself. “New guy. You remind me of my disciple. You got a big heart, just like her.”

“I know your disciple,” Leon says excitedly before he can help himself. At the mere mention of you, his face has lit up and a huge grin has appeared. Reaching for Ezra’s ragged hand, he shakes it firmly and Ezra raises a brow, “She found me when I got taken by a Froslass and I went with her to a haunted house with Charizard and she deducted that it was actually a Zorua-“

“Whoa, hold it right there, champ. Slow down, have a seat,” the man replies, and Leon eagerly moves to sit beside him whilst the volunteer decides to saunter away. Emitting a wheezy laugh, Ezra rests a hand on his knee and says, “So, you’ve met my disciple?”

“Yes, Mr Ezra.”

He chuckles at Leon's formality. “Saved you from a Froslass, huh? You were one of the missing folk at the Giant's Seat?"

"Not exactly, but she still saved my life."

Ezra chuckles louder. "She tell you much about me?”

“Not much, only that you’re frightening and that you taught her everything she knows.”

“Hehe, that’s right,” the old man says with a smirk, “I used to be the pastor for the Church of Circhester. Decided it really wasn’t for me. I stay in Greyson’s Cemetery now. I’m the caretaker. Come visit when you have time."

“Thank you, sir. How did you meet her?”

Ezra snickers in response before he rubs his chin, “Huh, now you’re testin’ my memory…She tried an Ouija board in the cemetery and summoned a demon. Ended up possessin’ her. I found her and performed an exorcism, woke up in hospital and she was there. She kept apologizin’ and started cryin’ too, thought she’d gotten me killed… and I told her it’d take more than that to kill this old man. Think she was kinda…traumatized or somethin’ after that ordeal…but then she turned up to the graveyard one day and kept comin’ back every night and askin’ me if I could teach her stuff."

Leon nods in response as Ezra opens his flask and takes a brief swig. It smells of strong beer.

“She’s a good kid, Leon. A poor kid, too,” Ezra adds, wiping his chin.

“She told me her family are missing.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” the old man says with a sigh, “she says nobody believed her and that’s why she came to me for help. I was the only one who did. Now you’re best not to get tied up with our affairs, you know? It’s dangerous.”

“Yes, sir."

"And uh, could you do me a favour? If you see her...give her this, please?" Ezra lifts out a strange stone with a fissure in the middle and Leon recognises it as the Odd Keystone. "Tell her it needs one more spirit. She'll understand."

"Sure. Thank you, Mr Ezra. Take care.” Leon replies and he pockets the keystone and before they depart, they shake hands and he returns to his station, pulling on a new pair of gloves and begins serving the next few individuals in line.

When he’s finished with the soup kitchen, Ezra heads to the cemetery, waving to Leon. It’s growing dark and following a message from Chairman Rose, Leon returns to Rose Tower.

The journey to Wyndon is a short one and when he has arrived at the penthouse with Charizard's help, he knocks on the door and waits patiently. It’s been a long day but he still has many tasks ahead of him. Leon hasn’t even begun his training with his team yet. He hears the door click open and Oleana appears.

With a stoic expression, she greets him with a polite bow of her head. “Hello Mr Champion.”

“Hi Ms Oleana.”

“Thank you for coming,” she utters and she opens the door for him and he enters the penthouse without further delay to see Rose sitting on his large leather couch, engrossed with the little flashing screen of his Rotom phone which is playing a video.

"Good evening, sir,” Leon says, and he looks up.

“Ah, Leon! You’re here. Please, come over and have a look at this. Tell me what you think," Rose says as Leon joins his side, before he hands him the phone, pressing 'play' on the screen.

A screechy song can be heard, with a violent mix of percussion and bass guitar riffs blasting out in high volume.

"Ghostbunkers, hoooo yeah! Ghostbunkers, ghosts beware!!! GHOSTBUNKERS!!!" a charismatic but deep, gruff voice belts out. It ends in thirty seconds or so and Leon stares as a young man proceeds to appear on screen in the dark. His form is an eerie pale green in colour, his eyes are glowing pools of light due to the night-vision camera. "Hi, hello! Tan here, and welcome back to another exciting episode of Ghostbunkers! Tonight, we're heading to the abandoned Thrifty Megamart in Alola!"

He returns the phone. He's seen enough. “Sir, what is this?”

"An interesting duo who call themselves the ‘Ghostbunkers’," Rose mutters with a small smile gracing his lips.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“Do you recall the art gallery event?”

“Yes sir. It was due to open but it got postponed for unknown reasons.”

“Indeed. Well, we received a call from one of the night security guards. It was another complaint regarding the art gallery being 'haunted'.”

“Haunted?” Leon says, surprised. This would be the first time he’s heard such a thing.

“Yes, we didn’t want news to spread so kept it secret. Anyway, I was thinking it's time we hired a couple of experts to inspect the building.” Whilst Rose hums under his breath in response, Oleana does not look amused with the direction as to where this conversation is going, “And you have just met a pokemon expert who deals with these sorts of things. It's great timing. If she's available, I'd like to ask her to help....if she's up for the task, that is.”

Leon is uncomfortable. He put in a good word for you and he told Rose about the Giant's Seat incidence but he didn't realise this sort of thing would happen. “Sir, she is a good person. Please do not-“

“Don’t get me wrong, Leon. I am treating this as a very serious matter…though I'm not inclined to believe in ghosts but what choice do I have? The art gallery’s opening has been delayed for far too long."

“I understand, sir.”

With that, Rose steeples his fingers together and nods to himself, "Excellent. Then it's decided, we'll ask this pokemon researcher and these...'Ghostbunkers' for help. Oleana. please call them at your earliest convenience. Explain to them our circumstances, the art gallery, the hauntings... The fee can be discussed later."

"Very well, sir," Oleana acknowledges with a short bow as she clasps her hands gently together.

"Thank you; I'd also like to meet the pokemon researcher in person. Can you arrange a meeting for me at the hotel tomorrow?"

"Yes sir."

As Oleana begins to exit the penthouse to make the phonecalls, Rose rises from his seat, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Very good. That's another matter off my chest. Leon, let’s go have dinner, shall we? I have a booking at The Captain’s Table. All the gym leaders will be joining us tonight. We're celebrating your smooth recovery.”

“Yes, sir…” Leon utters, as he follows Rose outside; he can’t help but wonder what he’s gotten you involved...

…

You’re on your way home, sitting in the Corviknight taxi whilst checking Rotom; you still have not received any messages from Leon. Suddenly, Rotom's screen changes, indicating to you that an unknown number is calling you. It must be a new client.

“Hello?” you say as you swipe the screen and hold Rotom to your ear.

“Hello,” says a stern voice belonging to a female, “Am I speaking to the ghost-type pokemon researcher of Wedgehurst?”

“Yes, that’s me,” you reply and she mentions your name for further confirmation, “Who’s speaking?”

“My name is Oleana. I work for Chairman Rose of Macro Cosmos.”

“Ah, hello. How may I help you?”

“Chairman Rose would like to meet you to discuss a proposition. Would you be free tomorrow afternoon?”

You remember that you’re supposed to meet Graves tomorrow as well. “Sure, I’m free anytime except one pm.”

“Very good. Please go to the Rose of the Rondelands in Wyndon tomorrow and inform reception you have a meeting with the Chairman at three pm sharp.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“What is this proposition?”

“The Champion has recommended and vouched for you and your credentials, so Chairman Rose would like to personally meet you to enquire about your services. You will find out more when you see him tomorrow.”

You're taken aback. “...Alright, sounds good.”

“Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

…

[fantastiqueparfait]

The Best Medicine

Fluff for White Day! Come get your fluff -- hot off the presses! As promised, a continuation of Fluff Prompt 26 (but you don’t need to have read that to follow along).

No warnings -- appropriate for general audiences.

Tagging: @dangerouspompadour​, @umacaking​, @lemonlushff​, @clearwillow​, @sarah-writes-stories​, @disgruntledbeast​, @superpixie42​, @meggz0rz (I thiiiink this is everyone who wanted tags; yell at me if I missed you)

Kagome knew it was all about to come crashing down. If she was honest with herself, she’d known since yesterday when her throat started to get a bit scratchy. Daring to hope, she’d written it off as the result of lots of talking combined with mild dehydration.

And then she woke up with a full-blown sore throat and mild congestion.

She checked the time – 7:00 AM. She would need to meet Inuyasha in an hour to head to the airport and he would flip out if he knew she was sick. He’d always been protective of her, and it certainly intensified when they started dating a few weeks ago.

He just won’t know, then, Kagome decided as she rolled out of bed to dig up a decongestant pill from her medicine cabinet and prepare a saltwater solution for her throat.

There’s no way I’m going to let him make me miss this for anything.

Not that she was worried he would. She knew he would never fly off to Los Angeles, leaving her home alone and sick – he always made sure to check on her when she’d fallen ill in the past, and that was long before they got together. Years, even.

Anyway, the wedding wasn’t for another week – they were just flying in early to help Sango and Miroku set things up. It was the least they could do as the best man and maid of honor. She’d kick this measly cold in a few days and be healthy in time for the wedding.

She just didn’t need Inuyasha breathing down her neck about it. She’d take the medication and power through.

Easy.

~~~~~~~~~

Kagome started to drag as she stood in the security line -- why was the wait so long? Where did all these people come from? It was the middle of the morning on a Saturday!

Things got worse as she pulled her suitcase through the terminal, struggling to keep up with Inuyasha as they made their way to the gate. Fatigue was setting in way sooner than it should have and her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

You just need to sit for a few moments, Kagome decided as she slumped into a chair in the waiting area, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You okay there?”

Kagome jumped as she opened her eyes to find Inuyasha’s face maybe an inch from her own.

“Y-yep, fine. Just resting!”

Was she sweating now? Had the walk from security been that exhausting?

Oh no.

“Resting, huh? Well, I’m going to go get coffee. You just… keep resting,” came the reply as he patted her head, not-so-subtly taking a second to rest his hand on her forehead. He winced slightly, undoubtedly feeling the heat radiating from her.

He knows, oh god; he KNOWS. Just keep your shit together; you’ll sleep on the plane and it’ll be fine.

Then you can let the warm weather do its thing and you’ll be good in no time.

~~~~~~~~

Kagome did sleep on the plane – the whole three-hour flight, in fact, wrapped in a blanket and Inuyasha’s sweatshirt -- and woke up feeling better.

Not that Inuyasha would hear her protests that she was on the mend.

Carrying all of the luggage (and looking completely ridiculous but ignoring any offers to help), he ushered her through the airport to a coffee stand for tea and into the rental car in near-record time.

“Dinner is cancelled,” he stated as Kagome settled into the passenger seat, her tea in hand.

“What? No, I’m feeling better! I can meet Sango and Miroku!”

“And get them sick the week of their wedding? Nope. We’re going to the hotel and you’re getting in bed.”

“But… it’s pool weather…” Kagome wanted to cry. It had been so cold at home and the thought of sitting by a pool in March (in March!!!) was one of the only things keeping her sane at work these days.

“Okay, if you’re getting teary over that, you’re definitely sick. I’ve seen you get slapped by your own client and not even cry.”

Kagome frowned, recalling that day. She was defending a repeat offender who had apparent… issues with being represented by a woman, and he slapped her, completely unprompted, midway through his competency hearing.

Kagome remembered being too shocked to cry (though she had later that night, once she was home and the day’s events sank in). She also remembered Inuyasha launching himself across the courtroom to get to her as the bailiffs descended.

It was the week before she and Inuyasha had gone out for that (fateful) pizza dinner. It was also the day she started reconsidering her career choice.

I don’t want to think about job stuff now, Kagome thought, unable to stop a few tears from falling. This is so embarrassing – I’m so off my game right now!

“Ugh, fine,” Inuyasha conceded. “If your fever breaks tomorrow, you can sit next to the pool.”

Kagome beamed.

“For ten minutes.”

She slumped down in her seat as they pulled out of the lot.

~~~~~~~

“You need to dry your hair.”

Kagome wanted to cry again. The burst of energy she’d experienced after the flight was short-lived. She made it through a shower okay, but it had been a struggle to get her pajamas on. She was so tired and bed was so close.

So close.

“I don’t need to; I’m sure I’m not going anywhere tomorrow. I’ll just pull it up,” she whined, grabbing a hair tie from the counter.

“You’ll stay sick if you sit with wet hair all night. It’ll make you too cold. Bad for your immune system.”

“That’s not real. What are you, my grandmother?”

“You’re sick, so I’m choosing not to hold that against you. Come on,” Inuyasha replied, pulling the towel from Kagome’s head and tossing it on the bathroom floor. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the desk in the corner of the hotel room, setting her gently in the chair.

“Stay there,” he told her as he walked back to the bathroom.

Kagome rested her head on the table, using her arms as a pillow. He wasn’t gone long, but she began to drift off nonetheless.

She was startled by the sound of a hairdryer but found herself quickly steadied by a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t jump – you’ll fall out of the chair.”

Am I just that small, or is his hand really that big?

Kagome found it hilarious. It was probably the fever.

“I’m just going to get it dry enough so you can get in bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

She started to drift off again as Inuyasha dried her hair, his firm but gentle grasp keeping her upright. Kagome couldn’t say that she’d ever expected to see this side of him – she was so sure that he would be frazzled by her illness throwing off the pre-wedding week with Sango and Miroku, but here he was, he was caring for her so patiently.

And he always had, hadn’t he? That dinner a few weeks ago, that time in the courtroom, and so many moments before then…

He adores you. He is soul-crushingly, disgustingly in love with you.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, yet at the same time she was completely unable to process it. It just stayed there at the front of her mind as Inuyasha finished drying her hair and helped her into the bed. It remained as he propped her up on a couple of pillows and tucked her in before heading back to the bathroom.

Kagome started to drift again. She thought she heard him mention something about stepping out as he set a glass of water on the nightstand and gave her a kiss on the forehead, but she wasn’t really sure.

~~~~~~~

Kagome wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The last thing she remembered was being tucked in and vaguely hearing the room door close, and here she was now, waking up to the feeling of the bed shifting as someone sat down on the other side and gently shook her shoulder.

“Do you think you can eat?” Inuyasha asked as she opened her eyes, frowning when she shook her head no. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast,” he chided gently.

Kagome sat up and reached for the glass of water only to have her hand moved away.

“Wait,” Inuyasha murmured before shoving a thermometer in her mouth. “You can drink water in a minute.”

Kagome wrinkled her nose in displeasure but didn’t fight it, instead focusing on the warm hand stroking her hair.

He’s babying you.

She couldn’t say she minded that much. She snuggled up to him as much as she could, given that she was still tucked in and he was sitting atop the covers.

Inuyasha frowned slightly as the thermometer beeped and he read the result.

“102? No wonder you were struggling. I’m honestly impressed you hid it as long as you did. Do you think you can eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” Inuyasha frowned as Kagome shook her head.

“You need to eat. I picked up a pizza when I went out to get the thermometer,” he gestured to the desk where a small pizza box sat next to a plastic shopping bag.

“Pizza?” She wasn’t hungry, but she supposed she could try to eat a little to make him happy.

“Don’t get used to it. If we weren’t stuck in a hotel room, you’d be eating something actually good for you.”

Kagome wrinkled her nose and he tapped it teasingly in response.

“That said, I thought you might be willing to try to eat if it was something you liked… even if it isn’t all that healthy.”

Kagome still wasn’t sure. The thought of food wasn’t revolting to her; it just… wasn’t really motivating in any way.

“I’ll try to eat a slice,” she conceded. Inuyasha beamed as he got up to grab a box from the shopping bag as well as the pizza before sliding back onto the bed.

Kagome couldn’t help but smile at him as he put on a show of things to keep her spirits up. She liked this side of him – she knew she was perhaps one of only a few people would had ever seen it.

She wanted to protect it at all costs.

~~~~~~

“Come on, just a little more? You can’t go to bed having eaten a muffin and a half of a slice of pizza.”

“I had a coffee too,” Kagome grumbled.

“Black coffee has 0 calories. That doesn’t help your argument, counsel,” he took the remainder of the slice and held it toward her face. “Eat. I’ll feed you if I have to.”

Kagome sighed but made no effort to take the slice back.

“Fine, you leave me no choice then. Here comes the airplane, Ka-go-me.”

“Oh my god,” Kagome moaned.

It’s unfair! I can’t even fight back because my brain is all mush and my skin hurts.

“The airplane, Kagome! It’s circling the airport. The people are getting restless – they want to go home.” He held up the pizza to emphasize his point.

He’s mocking you, Kagome realized fuzzily. Still though, she didn’t feel attacked, just… aggressively cared for.

Still nice, even if it was excessively silly. And mushy. So mushy she was embarrassed.

“I’m an attorney. I don’t have to put up with being treated like this.” She grabbed the pizza from his hand and shoved half of it in her mouth, glaring at him as she chewed deliberately.

“I knew it.”

“What?” Kagome swallowed and took a bite of the remainder of the slice.

“I knew I could goad you into eating.”

“No you didn’t.”

“True, but the alternative was hand-feeding you -- which wouldn’t have been so bad either.”

“You need to stop talking to Miroku.”

Inuyasha blushed. Kagome squeezed his hand and tried to wink.

She thought she was successful, but she wasn’t sure.

~~~~~~~

Less than an hour later, Kagome found herself settled back into bed after a brief adventure to brush her teeth, snuggled up to Inuyasha’s shoulder.

“You should go to sleep,” he murmured.

“No, it’s only 8 PM. That’s too early.”

“You’re sick. There’s no such thing as ‘too early’.”

“I like this movie though,” Kagome countered sleepily.

“Fine,” Inuyasha replied, ruffling her hair. “We can watch.”

They stayed like that for another half hour, watching the movie silently as Kagome’s eyelids started to get heavier and heavier.

“Inuyasha?” She was barely awake by this point, but Kagome’s earlier realization just would not leave her alone.

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, his face still buried in her hair. Kagome could have sworn she felt him grin as she drifted off.

[outspokens-ar]

new  york’s  very  own devin  bahar was  spotted  on  broadway  street  in  louis  vuitton  ankle  boots.  your  resemblance  to  bella  hadid  is  unreal.  according  to  tmz,  you  just  had  your twenty-third birthday  bash.  while  living  in  nyc,  you’ve  been  labeled  as  being  a  workaholic,  but  also  loyal.  i  guess  being  a  libra  explains  that.  three  things  that  would  paint  a  better  picture  of  you  would  be  messy  silk  sheets,  red  wine,  and staying  in  on  a  saturday  night.  (  female  &  she/her  )  +  (  katie,  21,  she/her,  est  )

I’m incredibly excited for this to be back so, hello, hello, I’m Katie and here’s a long ramble about my bby bean Devin !

BACKGROUND ;

Devin I. Bahar was born to Isabella Corine Bahar, an ex-model who retired when she got married, becoming far more attracted to the ‘rich housewife, bow down to me’ aesthetic than continuing to work, and Damian Ethan Bahar, a lawyer coming from a long line of family lawyers that were known for working important, high-profile cases.

The relationship she holds with her mother is strained due to the woman’s materialistic nature and her goal of marrying off her daughter for as much money as possible. Her eyes are always on a far bigger and shinier prize, no matter how good her life already is.

Her relationship with her father, miraculously, is healthier than the one she has with her mother, simply because she has absolutely no relationship with the male. He took off when she was younger, cutting off all contact with his daughter without a second thought and he hadn’t bothered to make any effort to try and have a relationship with her.

In fact, when she had attempted to start some form of a relationship with him after she turned eighteen, he completely rejected her and wanted nothing to do with her and it ripped her apart far more than she was willing to admit to herself or anyone else.

Even now, she isn’t sure if the complete cut in contact is due to her mother or if it was simply because she didn’t live up to his expectations, didn’t deserve his love. Either way, she has attempted to move on from it after the rejection, even if she still has that small hole in her heart over it.

Due to how strained her relationship is with her mother, she moved out of the household the day she turned eighteen, having managed to save up enough money to support herself, wanting to get away from her as soon as possible. However, the woman is still her mother and she does still attempt to have some form of a relationship with her, even if it sends her into a horrible mindset whenever she has a conversation with the woman.

CAREER ;

She first began modeling at the age of 16 for a commercial project. She also starred in the "Swan Sittings" by Lesa Amoore, alongside actor Ben Barnes, before appearing in "Smoking Hot" by Holly Copeland. She also modeled for Hanna Hayes' F/W 2013 collection, alongside various other commercial projects, including campaign work for Chrome Hearts during 2013 and 2014.

She was then signed to IMG Models in 2014 and her career started shooting off from there.

She never actually planned to become a model, she actually wanted to be a photographer when she was younger and planned to go to school for it. When it came to the point where her focus turned towards college, she ended up heading towards visual arts, fashion design, and graphic design. Out of that, she discovered her passion for clothing and that’s what began her journey of designing clothes, a project she started along with her modelling career.

Since the start of her career, she has won over a dozen different awards that range over her multiple different career-interests. Managing to make a name for herself as a model and fashion designer.

As much as she enjoys photography, she puts most of her focus onto modelling and continuing to add to her own clothing line full-time. This leaves photography for her spare time as more of a hobby, however, she does step in to help other high-profile photographers from time-to-time.

PERSONALITY ;

She identifies as pansexual and has always been very open to sharing and talking about her sexuality.

Has always put her foot forward to support charities, organizations, and projects that support the entire LGBTQ community. Along with making sure to put her focus into other charities and organizations, she’s always been the type of person to ‘give back’ and to put her support into the things she believes in.

Devin suffers from intense depression and anxiety. For the most part, you would never know, she does well but, every once in a while she goes into a deep rut. She won’t talk to anyone, doesn’t want anyone around, generally entirely depressing and doesn’t want to bring other people down when it comes to it. It takes a lot of trust and a special type of friendship for her to allow you to be around during that time considering, most of the time, she’ll go completely off the grid the entire time. However, at the same time, she openly talks about her battle with depression and anxiety. She doesn’t ever want anyone to feel alone and she tries to involve herself with as many campaigns and projects that involve supporting those with mental illness as possible.

Along with this, she also has this back and forth with affection. She either hates being touched or gravitates towards it, it really depends on her mental state at the time and the general relationship she has with the other person involved. It can be difficult, one day she’ll be ready to give you a bear hug and the next day, she’ll shake if you try to shake her hand.

On a more positive note, she tries to be as positive as she can, to a reasonable extent. She never wants to take life far too seriously but, obviously, doesn’t want to take it for granted either. She’s the type of person you go to if you want clear-headed advice but you don’t want to be talked down to at the same time. Or if you want ridiculous jokes while also getting some kind of pep-talk.

Really the mom-friend but probably won’t ever admit to being the mom friend.

EXTRA INFORMATION LINKS ;

blog’s full navigation;

you can find links to just about everything here.

full about page;

if you want statistics, a more in-depth background, extra facts, and some other things, you can find a bunch of stuff here.

spotify playlist;

a mess but, ay’ check it out.

pinterest board;

a highkey mess but, ay’ check it out too.

connections page;

my page with connection ideas, some are specific but most are really used as templates for plotting. i’ll also update this with any taken-current connections.

wanted connections tag & side blog;

i’m also terrible with coming up ideas so, I have a sideblog to reblog things for wanted connections ( the top link will lead to the tag ), but it also has a tag for extra muse posts if you’re interested.

This is officially too long for an intro so, I’m gonna’ end it there, but if there’s anything else you’d like to know about my bby bean that wasn’t on here or on any of her other pages, absolutely hit me up because I can ramble for hours tbh. And if you’d like to plot, 100% slide into my dms and we can figure something out, or if we had a plot before the revamp and you want to keep it — let me know and we can keep rolling with it ! Also, feel free to hit me up here or on d*scord @ katie#7666 for plotting and such ! 

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

The problem with the Amazing Mary Jane

I’m willing to be corrected on this because due to a lot of real life factors I’ve not read beyond issue #2 and only skimmed a bit from issue #4. In fact I WANT to be wrong on this subject but I have to have my say.

I don’t want to hurt anyone’s enjoyment of the book but I am also not going to just let problems slide when I see them.

The foundation of the AMJ book is inherently a non-starter and relies upon Mary Jane being out of character.

There is A LOT I can dive into on the first 2 issues alone regarding this, and I planned to, but as things are in my life the possibility of doing a deep dive are not likely so I’m getting this off my chest here and now.

It boils down to MJ going along with Mysterio, staying on set, not telling the authorities and/or Peter, believing in his redemption and how she’s helping get him that redemption.

MJ is a bad ass, no question. But so is Spider-Man, and Spider-Man has limits, he knows them and (unless his judgment is clouded for a big reason) he knows better than to take stupid risks unless there is a really good reason that extends towards immediately averting threats and dangers to innocent people.

Case in point Spidey wouldn’t just pick  fight with Galactus unless he had a really good reason.

In this series MJ is directly endangering herself by being surrounded by criminals and super powered villains along with a known murder like Mysterio, who has proven himself to be an outright public menace as well. Mere months prior to AMJ #1 he intentionally caused mass panic in New York city by faking an alien invasion. He’s done that before and in fact does so again in AMJ #2 when he throws a tantrum. MJ calming him down doesn’t excuse the fact that he potentially did cause harm (physical or mental) before she reined him in and is extremely likely to do so again, particularly when you consider she can’t spend her life babysitting him.

MJ is allowing Mysterio, a seriously dangerous and awful guy*,  walk free after he’s escaped from custody, hasn’t served his term or earned parole, has committed more recent crimes that she knows about and is actively committing identity theft and potentially ruining an innocent man’s career and reputation. ** Even if he winds up not ruining it it’s a huge violation of Cage McKnight’s personhood. Hypothetically if the movie MJ and Beck are working on pans out great and McKnight wins accolades and rakes in the cash that doesn’t mean he approves of or ever wanted his name or work associated with that project. And that’s the best case scenario, if the movie tanks or there is a scandal then his career will be seriously damaged.

At best Mary Jane in being complicit in Beck’s movie/crimes (and legally that is exactly what she is doing) is in effect prioritizing her career opportunities and the hypothetical  redemption of several criminals (many of whom are still active criminals, check AMJ #1) as well as the redemption of an awful human being like Mysterio over the career and personhood of an innocent man.***

At worst she is prioritizing that stuff over the safety of innocent civilians, herself and harm that mgith be caused to the loved ones of any potential victims. Mysterio isn’t Carnage, but he is not a good person at all and very dangerous. Even if he sincerely wishes to reform, MJ has no moral right to decide he (and the other criminals on set who’ve not been legally freed) should be allowed to find redemption outside of a controlled environment. He isn’t even like Sandman or Boomerang, criminals who at least actually risked their lives to save another person’s and thus more concretely showed active signs of redemption. All Mysterio has done (unless I’m mistaken) is essentially make a movie about himself (can you spell ego) and broken several laws and ethical lines to do it, whilst doing the same to give employment to other criminals. There isn’t any kind of legal oversight to this, there is literally one, non-super powered and semi-martial arts trained woman keeping this in check and that’s all if the super villains don’t just decide to screw the rules as they often do.

Not to mention, surely Mary Jane would have cause to question Beck’s sincerity. She’s smart, a great read of people, has super human social skills. But she’s been fooled before (remember the Aunt May actress? How about her drug addicted fellow model who lied about not needing a fix?) and Mysterio’s entire gimmick revolves around deceiving people. I highly doubt MJ would feel the guy deserves redemption (Aunt May is an incredibly forgiving person and far more patient than MJ, and she didn’t forgive the Vulture for accidentally killing her fiancé, Mysterio has done almost as aweful things to MJ’s loved ones). But even if she did it’s beyond out of character she’d go about helping him get it like this. It’s jut so contrived and badly written.

Now I want to be clear about all this.

This isn’t me saying Leah Williams is exactly a bad Mary Jane writer.

Because as bullshit as the foundation and context of this series is Williams nails a lot of who MJ is within that context.

Put it to you like this.

It’s unbelievable that MJ would allow Mysterio to continue to impersonate Cage McKnight. But hypothetically if she did, her rebranding him and playing peace keeper when they seek out funding is exactly how she’s act. So Williams gets MJ like 85% but that last 15% makes everything else fall apart.

It’s not even that this direction can’t make sense. It’s that MJ’s justifications for going in this direction don’t add up at all.

*He literally drugged, sexually violated, then later killed a teenage girl…and then tried to kill her baby….twice….in a story directly referenced in AMJ #1….and Nick Spencer’s run which set up this series…which was also one of the single most famous Mysterio AND most famous Daredevil stories ever…all of which Mary Jane KNOWS about because she was in that story!

**Let’s for the sake of argument say MJ doesn’t necesarilly know the details of Beck’s criminal record. Between basic Google skills and contacts within the super hero community (like with Iron Man) wouldn’t she be able to check that stuff and see Beck has clearly not been released legally and also has not been falsely charged with anything?

***Bear in mind, MJ’s partner/husband/best friend/guy she lived with for years was framed MULTIPLE times in and out of costume (sometimes by Mysterio himself) and had his identity stolen from him in the Clone Saga. So she has full knowledge of how awful and harmful being the victim of an imposter/identity theft can be. It’s not a small crime whatsoever just because it’s not as bad as murder, which Beck is also guilty of on multiple counts.

Oh and he also faked Aunt May’s death and convinced her partner and her beloved Aunt Anna she was really dead. Like holy shit that’s twisted, even more twisted than the multiple times he’s tried to convince her romantic partner his sanity is in question.

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 3 - Opportunities

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU,

Length: approx. 5k words

Chapter 3 - Opportunities 

            “…A preschool job?” Taehyung asked, looking up at his friend. Jimin had come straight over to his apartment from work, hurrying in and prying Taehyung away from a sketch that he was very invested in. Before Taehyung could even ask what Jimin was doing, he was given the piece of paper with all the information on it regarding the position.

            “Yeah. My boss just gave me the information before I left. I think you should totally look into applying.” Jimin said, sitting beside his friend. “The pay is pretty good, and it’s not hard. You’re just doing art projects with a bunch of little kids.” Taehyung sighed, passing the paper back to his friend and running a hand through his hair.

            “I don’t know, Jimin.” He said. “I’m not really good with kids.”

            “What do you mean? You always get along great with your cousins.”

            “Okay, then let me rephrase,” Taehyung said. “I’m not really good with kids who I can’t play wrestle and backflip onto the couch.” Jimin nodded, leaning back in the seat. “Besides, I’m trying to be a famous artist, not a school teacher.”

            “But it’s a job until you become a famous artist,” Jimin assured. “Besides, it could be fun. You need a change in scenery.” Taehyung sighed, getting up and walking back to his desk, plopping himself in his seat. “I need a day or two to make some samples for the guy. Will you at least tell me you’ll think about it?” Taehyung, running a hand down his face, focused his eyes on Jimin. Jimin smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with the same whimsical aura that they always had, an aura that always assured Taehyung that things would smooth over in the long run. Taehyung had put a lot of his trust in Jimin since he decided to pursue art when they were in high school, waiting for the bus stop one early Monday morning as they dreaded the idea of being up so early for school. Taehyung groaned, knowing it was only a matter of time before he gave in to his best friend.

            “Okay, okay, okay. I’ll think about it.” Taehyung finally said. Jimin grinned, getting up off the couch.

            “Okay, awesome. I’ll let you know when the flyers are done and I’ll give you one so you can call them.” Taehyung nodded, swiveling around in his chair as he looked back at his sketches that were stopped halfway through. Jimin yawned a bit. “Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I’m too tired to drive all the way home.”

            “I guess so,” Taehyung said. He heard footsteps heading towards his bedroom, and he looked over. “Why are you heading towards my room? There’s a perfectly good couch.” Jimin turned back around as he shrugged off his suit jacket, folding it over his shoulder as he loosened his tie.

            “You’re going to be up all night with that light on and I’m not losing sleep because of your pencil scratching and constant grumblings-.”

            “Artistic grumblings,” Taehyung said, grinning playfully. Jimin chuckled.

            “…Artistic grumblings…either way, I’m not letting it keep me awake. When you’re done, come to kick me out on the couch. Unless you want to join me~.” He teased, and both of them laughed.

            “I’ll probably crash right here,” Taehyung said, patting his desk. “Just like always.” Jimin smiled a bit. “Goodnight.” He said, before swiveling once again to face his desk. Jimin watched as he picked up a pencil and began to draw again. He stood for a moment, just staring, before finally heading into the bedroom. When Taehyung was alone in his living room, he leaned back in his seat, pulling out his phone and quickly being bombarded with tons of Instagram notifications. He had uploaded a picture about an hour ago, before he really got into his work, of the sketching that he planned to do all night. He opened the app up, wondering what his followers were saying about his brainstorming stage. The comments were not what he expected.

            Oppa, post a picture of your face~! ^.^ I’m sure you’re looking extra handsome today.

            Don’t work too hard, you don’t want to get rings under those beautiful eyes, Oppa~ <3

            I’m not really a big art fan, but I just think you’re so handsome, Oppa, I’ll follow you always!  uwu

            There were almost 100 similar comments, only a handful of them curious about what he was creating in the picture. He continued to scroll, hoping that he would find just one of those handfuls so that he could work tonight with a smile on his face. Through the seas of appearance-based comments, he finally found one. One that had nothing to do with his appearance, but his work. @MissSunshine43 wrote:

            How do you always find ways to get inspired? I’m jealous. >.<

            Taehyung chuckled a bit, tapping the heart beside the message and allowing it to pop up in bright red. He had to admit, curiosity got the better of him, and he tapped onto the profile of MissSunshine43. The profile itself was not what he was expecting. The page was bright and colorful, and it looked like a school classroom. Pictures that contained children had their faces covered by cute emojis, and as he scrolled, he saw all the different things that this school did. Different themed days for holidays, different events involving parents, and different types of work students had completed. A small smile formed on his lips as he continued to scroll, more and more curious with every picture that he saw. He didn’t need to see the kid’s faces to know that he was having fun with whatever they were doing. When a new set of pictures loaded, he clicked on the one picture of a female face. She was sitting around 4 kids, on top of a big, white tarp. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, hints of colored paint showing in her locks. Her hands as well as the hands of the emoji-faced students around her were holding up hands that were coated in different colored finger paints. The teacher had spots of red paint on her cheeks, with a small smile stretched between them. Sliding to the next picture, Taehyung saw a completed picture that was decorated with colored swirls, hearts, handprints, and crudely scribbled names most likely written by the students. In the middle, it read: Thank you for another fun year! 2018-2019. The picture was nothing stunning, but it seemed to suit the class it was for. Taehyung read the caption underneath:

            Finally got to crack open the paints this year! Our teacher did a good job again, yeah? OwO

            Taehyung’s finger ran along his phone screen as he examined the photo for a few more minutes. He thought back to what Jimin told him about the preschool job that would soon be up for grabs. Sighing, he leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes, his hand lazily tapping on his phone a few times, then blinked, lifting his phone back up to his view. The photo he had just been looking at, one that was around a year old, had a big red heart on the side of it. His eyes widened, and he quickly turned his phone off and slammed his phone down, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair.

            “Aaaah, fuck, now I look like a stalker.” He grumbled to himself. Taehyung sat like that for a moment, running his hands through his hair multiple times. Despite the constant reminder that he was an actual idiot running through his mind, he looked back at his phone, which lit up again with the notification of an Instagram interaction covering the background he had of him and Jimin posing dramatically in suits for one of Jimin’s important business events. Simply flipping over the phone so the case was exposed, he sighed. “A preschool, hm?” he mumbled to himself.

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

            Two days later, you were sitting at your desk, eating some lunch with Hoseok. He was helping you prepare for when the students returned from lunch, as this week’s focus was on different people in a community. So far, they had learned about the jobs of police officers, firefighters, and medical staff such as doctors and nurses. Today would be focused on teachers, and next week, after introducing a few more community workers, the students would be able to dress up as their favorite, and they would have a big celebration day. You were most excited about that and had lined up a few people that you knew in each profession who were willing to come and talk to the students about their job and what it was like. Videos and stories could only do so much, which is what you had been doing, so having real people come in would be a treat that kids were looking forward to.

            “I wonder what all the kids are going to choose to dress up as.” Hoseok hummed, looking at you. You glanced up, popping a piece of leftover chicken into your mouth that you had packed from yesterday’s dinner.

            “I have a feeling I know what a few of them are going to be.” You said, smiling. “Which reminds me, I need to go put up that flyer on the bulletin board by the front door for the parents to see.” You got up, setting your boxed lunch down onto the table, and picking up the colorful flyer with clipart pictures of different community helpers that the students were learning about. Hoseok continued getting today’s teaching activity ready while you headed out to the bulletin board. It was already covered in work made by the kids, as well as notifications for parents on school events, local community events, and anything else that they may need to know. It was a pretty crowded board of stuff. “I should get rid of all of the old news, huh?” you hummed, pursing your lips. You scanned the cluttered board, picking off a few events that had since come to pass. You began reorganizing the board, making sure that it was visually pleasing to the average eye despite all that was being displayed was various pieces of colored paper with lots of sentences written in Black Comic Sans.

            “Yoooohooo~.” You heard a voice calling and turned to see Seokjin approaching you. He was grinning as he waved a thin piece of paper in his hands. “Just the pretty lady that I wanted to see.”

            “Hello, Mr. Kim.” You said, a bundle of old and crumpled papers now in your hands. “What’s that?”

            “The job application for the new art teacher~.” Seokjin grinned. You felt yourself grimace slightly, but you tried to remain subtle about it. Unsure if it worked on your boss – it probably didn’t – you watched as he stepped close and showed you the colorful paper. The name Bright Star Preschool centered the page in bright pink letters and an eloquently simple font. All the information necessary was written on the flyer as well, placed so creatively inside a giant-sized palette as replacements for the colors that would normally be seen on one. A paintbrush sat beside the over-sized palette, and on the bottom of the flyer held a contact phone number. It didn’t seem like such a massively elaborate project, and yet, somehow, you could tell it was done by professionals. “Doesn’t it look great? Namjoon’s workers know what they’re doing.” Seokjin walked to the board, lifting up the stapler that was waiting for use on the floor. As he stapled the paper onto the board, a content grin remained on his handsome face. “I’m excited to start interviewing.”

            “Yessir…” you said softly. Seokjin looked at you, patting your head gently.

            “I’m going to upload the flyer to our social media accounts, and I’m sure we’ll start getting calls soon, so get your interview face ready because you’re going to be incredibly busy.”

            “Yessir.” You said, nodding your head.

            “And grow your vocabulary, okay?” he teased, patting your shoulder. You watched as he headed back to his office, his hands behind his back as he strolled down the colorful halls in absolute bliss. Suddenly, the man stopped in his tracks and turned to you. You could see the excitement radiating off of his entire body, and towards you. It was like he was trying to push that aura in your direction and have it absorbed into you, but unfortunately for him, it wouldn’t work. “Oh, this Friday night I want to get that dinner I keep promising you. Okay? You’re not allowed to say no.”

            “Yes-.” Seokjin’s eyes widened a bit, and you smiled a bit. “I’ll be there.”

            “That’s my girl.” Seokjin slapped his hands together. “Get back to work.” He waved you off before once again turning on his heel and heading down the hallway. You watched him for a moment before Hoseok stuck his head out of the classroom door.

            “You almost done? We need to go get the kids soon.” He saw your hands were still full of crumpled up papers and he walked over to you, gently taking them from you. “Head inside and finish eating your lunch, okay? I’ll go throw these out.” He offered you a grin that you just had to return, it was so genuine.

            “Alright.” You said. Hoseok turned to face the bulletin board, finishing what you started as you headed into the classroom. You plopped your body down on the chair, every muscle you didn’t even know you had tensed up finally relaxing into the comfort of the seat. Your eyes scanned the classroom, currently empty, though you could hear the scattered conversations of students as they went through their daily routines, talking to Hoseok, talking to each other, and even talking to themselves. You had no idea what they were saying or what they meant, but it was music to your ears just hearing the scattered little voices. As you leaned forward, you continued to eat the leftovers, though they had unfortunately gotten even colder than they were when you opened them up only 30 minutes before.

The idea that five days a week, right after the students returned from lunch, 30 minutes would be taken away from your time with the kids. You already gave up 45 minutes to Yoongi three days a week when he came down from his full-time job at the high school to provide the students with needed physical activity, but Yoongi was here way before you were, so it wasn’t a big adjustment. Hoseok had gotten his job as your teacher’s assistant right after you were hired, per your request. But this new art teacher was just something you didn’t want to deal with. What if they were stuck up? Didn’t flow well with the kids? They might not share the same work ethic as you did, how would you keep the peace between your time and theirs? These ideas ran through your mind, and you felt a headache coming on that was even bigger than the daily ones you found yourself getting simply by being in this profession. Your eyes wandered to the clock, and you stuffed one more bite into your mouth before closing your lunch and sticking it back into your work.

It was time to get the kids from lunch, and you were never one to be late.

As Seokjin heard the sound of chattering children returning from the cafeteria, he was just finishing with getting the flyers out onto social media. With the final click of a button, he leaned back in his seat. Ever since he had made the decision, he felt bad for the way it made you feel. However, he could sugar coat it all he wanted, if you were to distracted by the mundane arts and crafts, everyone suffers. Especially the children. He knew you would get over it in time, and he knew including you in the process would take a little, if any, tension off your shoulders. He saw you pass by through the square window in his door, your head turned as you kept a finger to your lips in hopes to encourage silence from the children as you passed by his office. A smile stayed on his face as his eyes fell back down to the flyer still plastered on his social media.

“That Jimin kid really did a good job.” He mumbled to himself. “Let’s see how long it takes for us to start getting some calls.” He hummed, leaned back in his seat and putting his hands behind his head.

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

“You want me to call now!?” Taehyung shouted. His phone was resting in between his cheek and his shoulder since one of his hands was tightly gripping a piece of sketch paper while the other was lodged firmly in his pants pocket.

“Yeah!” Jimin said. “I’ve been following the school’s social media, and they just posted the flyers about an hour or so ago!”

“Shouldn’t I wait a few days or something before I call? I’ll look desperate, won’t I?”

“Taehyung, this is a job inquiry, not a first date.” Jimin groaned. Taehyung could hear his friend’s annoyance through the phone. “Just call and say you know me and that you heard about the job. Namjoon-Hyung said the guy is really nice and the school is great.”

“How would he know?”

“His son goes there,” Jimin responded simply.

“That’ll explain it.” Taehyung sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll call now.” He said.

“Awesome! Call me back right after; I want to know how it goes! I’ll text you the number.” Jimin was quick to hang up the phone before Taehyung could even open his mouth to say goodbye. Glancing down at the phone, it wasn’t long before he saw a notification pop up, Jiminie as well as a phone number written in the little blurb. He stared at the phone for a moment, lips strung together in an extremely tight straight line. He knew the minute he did this; there was absolutely no going back. He would have to go in for an interview, at the very least. At the very most, he had to work as a preschool teacher for god knows how long. As he paced the back of his couch, he stared at the phone number, occasionally having to tap the phone with his thumb to ensure the screen would not go dark. As he paced, he thought back to the Instagram account he had come across recently. He thought about the smiling woman with the colorful paint all over her, and the students that he knew were smiling behind the emojis that covered their identities.

Was it going to be like that when he went? If so, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Taehyung sighed, pressing the phone number link as the screen went black. When a faint ringing tone was heard, Taehyung placed the phone to his ear. He chewed on his bottom lip, reluctantly halting his pacing and instead resorting to just slightly bouncing in one place. Finally, after what felt like forever, a voice spoke on the other side.

“Bright Star Preschool, this is President Kim Seokjin speaking.” The voice hummed. Taehyung froze for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he did this, having to act professionally. Well, he did, but the resulted in a shattered champagne glass and hundreds of eyes staring at him in shock and fear. “…Hello?” The voice hummed, and Taehyung blinked, realizing that he must have just barely been breathing.

“Y-yes, hi. Uhm, well. I heard from my friend that your school was looking for an…art teacher?” Taehyung bit his lip, scratching his mess of black hair. “He was the one who made the flyers for you.”

“Aaaaaaah, Park Jimin! Yes, he’s so talented!” Seokjin said. “I’m so glad you’re interested, you’re the first call we’ve gotten since I just put the flyers up a few hours ago.” Seokjin was silent for a moment. “Listen, Mr. Kim. Our school day is just about finishing up for today. I don’t want to inconvenience you with asking you to come to the school right away, so will you be able to come in for an interview sometime next week? You’ll be meeting the main teacher in the classroom as well.”

“Next week? Taehyung asked. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Great!” Seokjin cheered. “Do me a favor, please. Give me your email and I’ll send over a form for you to fill out and send back to me. Just put what days work best for you and I’ll get back to you.”

“O-okay…” This was all happening so fast, but next thing Taehyung knew, he was reading out his business email to the man across the phone. Seokjin laughed a bit.

“Awesome, I’ll send it over right now. Thanks for calling, I’m so excited to meet you.”

“Me too, Sir. Have a good day.” He said. Seokjin was first to hang up, allowing for a dead dial tone to ring through Taehyung’s ears. He sat down on his couch, laying his head back on the couch. “What days work best for me? I’m unemployed, all days work best for me.” He mumbled to himself. Before he had to sit and think of his busy schedule, he called Jimin back. It only rang for a second before Jimin picked up.

“What happened?” Jimin asked.

“I have an interview next week,” Taehyung said.

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

“Bye, Mr. Hobi! Bye, Teacher!” Yuna cheered, waving to you as she walked hand-in-hand with her mother. You and Hoseok waved to the little girl as she clung to her mother, eyes wide as she talked about the fun day she had. A smile formed on your face, watching the eyes of the mother. She looked happy knowing that her daughter had completed yet another good day at school. Kids were being picked up left and right, a sea of loud goodbyes coming from all different angles. You smiled, waving them off as the children exited the preschool. It had been a long day of teaching about teachers, which is a lot harder than it sounds when you’re surrounded by kids who kept giggling at the fact that the same word was said twice in one sentence over and over again.

As the final handful of kids began to left, you were left with just one. Kai, also known as Hyuka by his friends. The youngest boy in the class with a big personality. He sat on one of the steps, his hands clutching his backpack as he kicked his legs. H didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he was the last student in school, as Hoseok almost immediately crouched down with him and began talking to him about his excitement for next week’s party. Kai grinned as she shared the fireman costume that his father was planning to buy for him just for the occasion.

“Dad said I have to use it for Halloween too, but that’s okay. Dad has lots of parties.”

“That sounds so fun.” Hoseok grinned. “What do you do at those parties?” As the boys talked, your eyes wandered to the bulletin that Hoseok had finished reorganizing. The colored papers were placed in a way that was much more visually appealing to the eye than the cluttered mess that was there before. Looking closer, you saw BRIGHT STAR PRESCHOOL along with a painter’s set of supplies sitting right in the middle of the board, being the first to take the attention of anyone that looked there. You walked over while Hoseok was occupied, hoping to take it down and place it somewhere on the board. Suddenly, you heard Kai shriek.

“Daddy!” When you turned over, you saw Hoseok stand up and wave to the man that squatted down to lift Kai into his arms. As he stood up, you saw Kai fix his father’s glasses, which had gotten slightly crooked from the impact. Kim Namjoon. “Daddy I want to tell you about my day!”

“During dinner, okay?” he smiled. “I want to hear all about it.” Namjoon’s dragon-shaped eyes fell in your direction, and you felt your cheeks heat up just slightly. Those eyes, especially when behind those thick-rimmed glasses, always knew how to make you just slightly flustered. Namjoon set his son down. “Talk with Mr. Hobi for a minute while I talk to your teacher.” He said, patting his son on the head. Next thing you know, this six-foot-tall man was walking in your direction, hands stuffed in his suit pockets. A small smile formed on his face. “Sorry, I’m late. Jungkook called, said he couldn’t’ babysit tonight.”

“No worries.” You assured. “He was only here alone for less than ten minutes.” You offered him a kind smile. “I’m sure he’s excited to tell you about the past few days. He’s been talking to me about you every chance he gets.” Namjoon chuckled a bit, scratching his head sheepishly.

“I know, I know. But my workload is definitely lighter, so I’ll be picking him up myself again.” Namjoon shifted a bit, letting out a shaky sigh. “So, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” You noticed Namjoon’s piercing dragon eyes turn round and soft, as a small, yet genuine smile formed on his face. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” You said gently. “I’m sure Kai would love that.” Namjoon chuckled a bit. A moment of awkward silence washed over you, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Hoseok giving you a glance. When your eyes met, he offered you a playful thumbs up, before quickly turning back to Kai, who was still chatting on as if Hoseok never turned away from him. When you looked back to Namjoon, he was also staring right at you. You had to admit, it made you even more flustered to have all these men staring at you.

“I…had a lot of fun at that art show last weekend.” He said gently. “Did you?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I did. Thank you for inviting me.” He smiled down at you, and you had to reach up and play with the tips of your hair, needing for your hands to do something other than just lay dormant at your sides.

“Of course. I hope you’ll let me invite you to more places in the future.” He said happily. You sighed softly, looking at him.

“Namjoon, I don’t want my boss to make you feel like you have to-.”

“He’s not,” Namjoon assured. “I genuinely mean that I want to take you out again.” You couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I’ll…think about it. These next few weeks are going to be hectic planning for the rest of the community week and the party and everything.” Namjoon simply nodded in understanding. You felt the beginnings of another awkward silence falling over the both of you again, and your eyes wandered to the bulletin board behind you. Namjoon’s gaze followed yours, most likely hoping that whatever he would lay his eyes on would lead to even more conversational topics with you. He motioned to the flyer sitting dead center of the board.

“Seokjin-Hyung hasn’t stopped talking about the art teacher job he’s opened up.” He said, looking down at you. While he expected to see yet another smile form on your face at the idea of a new coworker, instead he was met with a slight frown on your face. “You don’t look too happy.”

“It’s not that. It’s…just a long story.” You admitted, your hand continuing to comb through your locks. Namjoon nodded.

“Maybe you can tell me over dinner?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. You looked up at him, chuckling a bit in amusement, and Namjoon followed suit.

“That was smooth. But like I said, I’ll keep you updated. Now, take your son home.” You motioned to the little boy, who was now looking in his father’s direction much like how Hoseok was still staring in yours. “I think he’s getting impatient.”

“Right…” Namjoon hummed, not wanting to end the conversation though he knew he eventually had to. “I’ll call you.” He looked at you. You offered a forced smile, nodding.

“Get home safe.” You said simply, nodding your head. You watched as Namjoon returned to his son’s side, scooping him up into his arms as the boy squealed in delight. Kai waved to you and Hoseok, saying a giddy goodbye as Namjoon headed out of the preschool gates and to the car that was parked outside on the street. You rested against the wall, crossing your arms as you watched Namjoon get his child situated into the backseat. As he opened the driver’s side of the door, he turned to offer you one last kind glance, before slipping into his car and driving off.

“Did he ask you out again?” Hoseok asked, standing beside you. When he saw you nod, he simply sighed. “Aaaah, what did you say?”

“Don’t be jealous, Hobi.” You teased, turning on your heel and heading back into the classroom to gather your things.

“I’m not jealous!” Hoseok pouted, following quick behind you. “I’m just curious.”

“Don’t be. I don’t intend to do anything with him. His son is my student, I don’t want him to be overwhelmed if his dad and his teacher started dating out of nowhere, it’s not appropriate.”

“He won’t be your student forever.” Hoseok pointed out, grabbing his bag. You glared at him, and Hoseok could only smile. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t just say it, then.” You said simply. Collecting your things, you headed out of the room and to Seokjin’s office to confirm with him that you were ready to leave for the day. Hoseok hurried behind you, calling out multiple apologies to you as you pretended you couldn’t hear them, despite only being a few steps ahead of him. As you walked down the hallway, your eyes fell towards a window that exposed the street outside the school, where Namjoon’s car had just been moments ago. You sighed, quickening your pace to the office.

You had no time for love, even if you wanted to. You needed to worry about this new art teacher that was going to ruin everything you had worked so hard to perfect all these years.

Return to Masterlist

Next / Previous

[yuhuangzhou]

i almost gave myself a fricking finger cramp liking all your intro posts/prclubtalk posts...goshDARN you guys are so active already! i go grocery shopping for 2 hours and the dash is completely full of new content and amazing writers???

i leave you guys alone for TWO! HOURS!

anyways hi everyone!!! so excited to be here! call me aza and i’ve also gone by wren before. if either of those names sound familiar it was PROBABLY me (but i absolve myself of anything embarrassing it’s been YEARS since i’ve been really active in krp/indie) and i’m one of your resident dumpster fires in human form!

i don’t use enough periods and use almost exclusively exclamation marks in casual convo and i’d love to plot with you all!!! let’s get into it!!!! leave a like or a comment or slide into my messages if you’re interested in plotting/writing!

this is her whole bio but here’s a quick and dirty rundown

parents were fake designer handbag/scarf sellers on the streets of guangzhou, and she loved trying to pick out the differences in a fake vs a real one, but her dad got arrested (on additional charges), and her mother split so she took her ass to a police station

adopted at age 9 into a wealthy family (older couple) and she realized that this was a fucking amazing opportunity. took advantage of it, fell in love with traditional art during the art education aspect of her high-brow education, and from there devolved into exploring all sorts of mediums and traditional/contemporary artists!

but also really enjoyed criminal justice, knew art wasn’t necessarily a stable career path (plus she can’t do it herself), and so went into the forensic arts as a lab tech for 4 years or so. no one took her seriously at first, just thought she was a pretty face but BAM comes along a case and she fucking solves it because it involves a real? fake? jackson polluck piece. pretty high profile case, so she gains some recognition/starts building up a reputation

from there, she dips from the lab because *double middle fingers up* and starts making connections with people from the art world and specifically from the art auction world.

works with/studies under/interns her time to other art scholars while being selective in contracting out her time (aka make it super fucking hard for people to schedule her time, and then the more they’re willing to beg/pay to get her specifically). as her art scholar/art historian resume builds, she continues to take on only high profile auction jobs

to the point where if she’s at an auction, prices on specific pieces with her seal of approval go up by the million - and also if she says it’s a real piece, people are generally inclined to believe her (which might make everyone’s jobs in the president’s club re: art a little easier, but only by a smidge)

as for her as a person...

she’s a bit of a priss? a bit of a bitch! but not really it’s just all a *krp voice* defense mechanism.

and like, she generally maintains a ‘classy’ air due to her teenage years of upper class living/manners/education which for the most part broke the streets out of her, but it’s kind of an...insecurity of hers, even after all these years.

obviously has abandonment issues so she doesn’t like to let people in past close platonic relationships like...familial and romantic relationships? PHEW! forget about it!!!

thus has resigned herself to the fact that she’s going to be without a partner for the rest of her life, but is okay-ish with that (as it’s kind of a natural human longing to be loved) so long as she’s doing something she loves and is surrounded by interesting people (and oh hey, that’s all your muses!)

speaks english pretty fluently, but does retain an accent

has those UGLY designer baggy clothes, but hates wearing them because they’re just ugly AND expensive. she’d much rather wear oversize, cheap, comfy clothes with hair tied and glasses on - or get completely dolled (hair? DONE! makeup? PRISTINE!) up in a $$$ sheath dress. extremes. she lives her life in them!

yeah she fucks! she’s thirty-one! considers physical relationships as just something that needs to be sated every now and then. i’m comfortable with nsfw themes, but if you’re not don’t WORRY and don’t feel like you need to incorporate it at all...i’m just in the camp of ‘i don’t think people should be afraid of talking about that stuff for their muses’ lmao

loves a good red lip, honestly

absolutely fucking hates sandals. thinks they’re an absolute abomination

biggest ‘social’ pet peeve is being interrupted while in the middle of a sentence/thought. she will literally try to bite your head off if you consistently do this (especially if you know her/KNOW that sets her off).

honestly? get your butt over her and let’s plot! (imma go make dinner real quick, and in about 45 minutes come back and respond to things!!!!) looking forward to it, guys!

[harryandmolly]

The Emancipation of Ginny ~ 13 ~ FINAL

summary: shawn and ginny could’ve ruined everything six months ago, and sticking together despite their past could make or break them now as ginny stays on as his personal assistant. but what happens on tour doesn’t stay on tour.

warnings: Language, Louboutins, Love

WC: 4k

A/N: you guys are amazing. thank you for supporting this story. I love you all. never be afraid of your greatness.

____________

Ginny’s quiet. Her chin wobbles. Her smile is strained. Andrew can hear it through the phone. He shifts in his seat, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He sighs.

“I just want you to know,” she sniffles, “This was never the plan.”

Andrew nods, though he knows she can’t see him. “I know.”

“I wanted to learn from you. I d-did learn from you. I learned… so much.”

“But there was still something missing,” he finishes. Ginny sniffles again. “Ginny, I know. I know you never intended to leave this way. I know… I know you didn’t sign up for a lot of what ended up happening on this team. We all got more than we bargained for. But I think we’re all better for it. Fuck, I know I am. Do you know how nervous I was, bringing you on? I didn’t even want to ask Shawn to bring on a PA. God, it’s such a delicate balance, having a team like this. In the best way, you did throw us all off balance. You saved my ass over and over and over. You went above and beyond every day. You taught us all how to work together better. You reminded us how strong we are as a team.”

“That’s what I’ll miss most, you know,” she whispers. Her voice is gravelly. It makes Andrew’s throat constrict, “I’ll miss that. The family. You guys are my family.”

Andrew chews his lips into his mouth. “We’re going to miss you too, Gin. It’s like… it’s like you’re Dorothy and we’re the friends you made along the way to Oz.”

Ginny laughs. “Does that make Shawn the Wizard?”

Andrew snorts. “He fucking wishes. No. I’m the Wizard. Shawn is… Shawn’s the Scarecrow.”

“This is a very odd metaphor,” Ginny laughs. Andrew feels some much needed relief at the sound of it.

“We’re an odd bunch,” he sighs.

She goes quiet again. Andrew clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, “You’re gonna need a manager. I have some ideas for you.”

+

Shawn’s laughter fades. He leans back in the leather booth and meets Niall’s eyes. He rolls his own.

“What?” he groans.

“Nothing, mate. Just figured you’d have something to say about the fact that the last time we were here, she was with us.”

She. Niall’s adorably reverent of Ginny. Shawn makes a joke in his head about “She Who Must Not Be Named.” He keeps his nerdy notions to himself.

Shawn shrugs. “She’s everywhere, man. If I get all fuckin’ moody about having to do stuff and be places where I was with her, I’d never get out of bed. Actually, she’s been there too, so…” He trails off.

Niall bobs his head. “I miss her too.”

Shawn looks up from the fizzing bubbles in his pint glass. “You haven’t talked to her?”

“I’ve caught bits and pieces from her. Haven’t seen her in a while. She’s… y’know, she’s busy, meetin’ with managers and labels in all that. Don’t envy her a bit, actually. Fuckin’ miserable, that whole lot.”

Shawn frowns. He remembers that, kind of. It was different for him because Andrew discovered him, so he had an advocate in his corner from the start, plus he was a teenager, so his parents were at the helm of negotiations. He was just the music back then, not the brains. Ginny’s always been both.

“I’m not too worried about her,” Shawn confesses, his eyebrows pulling together, “She’s… so fucking smart, you know? Like, savvy. That’s why she’d be such a fucking great manager.”

Niall’s eyes widen in agreement. He nods thoughtfully. He shrugs.

“I guess things’ll happen as they’re meant to.” He angles his gaze back up to Shawn’s.

Shawn wets his lips. “They will. I know they will.”

+

Ginny gazes at the baby, lets her wrap her tiny fist around her finger. She sucks the finger into her mouth, cooing. Ginny giggles.

Hannah laughs with her, jiggling her little daughter as she lies on her stomach.

Victoria Jade Abigail is six months old and enormous for her age, looking easily 6-7 months older than she is. She has soft brown eyes and tight tiny curls, much like Ginny’s. When Ginny gets to hold her, she whispers in her ear about how lucky she is to have such a smart auntie who can help her care for them.

They’re in the park. Marcus and Kingston are exploring the Princess Diana Memorial Playground while Hannah and Ginny finish their picnic. Victoria starts to snooze against her mother’s chest with Ginny’s finger still clenched in her little hand. As she fades into sleep, her grip slackens. Ginny slips it free and smoothes her fingers down the baby’s back.

“You sure you really want to tour again, babes?” Ginny sighs, looking up to cast Hannah a curious glance. Hannah’s looking down at her baby girl adoringly.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, “I need it, Gin. Can’t live without it. Touring is… god, it’s everything. I mean, it’s not, obviously. Family. This family is everything. But…” Her voice fades.

Ginny feels a churning in her stomach. It’s familiar and unwelcome. It’s nauseating and a little helpless. It’s uncertainty. She nudges Hannah to continue.

Hannah shrugs. “But I can’t be all there for my family if I’m not being me, you know? Like, I can’t just give it up to be a mum. I know some women can. Some women want to. I applaud those women, as long as it’s what they really want. But what kind of mum am I really if I show my kids that dreams are disposable? I can’t… I can’t be the best mum I can be if I’m not also doing what I love.”

Ginny swallows and nods, rolling onto her side on the blanket they’ve spread over the dewy spring grass.

“You really feel that way? That if you’re not touring or performing, that’s… like, like you can’t be yourself without it?”

Hannah nods easily. “Of course. I think you have to feel that way to do this, to be this. Don’t you think it’s how Shawn feels, too?”

Ginny doesn’t startle like a frightened horse at the sound of his name anymore. It’s been months since she left him in that bed in Hawai’i. In that time, she’s reminded herself how to stand on her own and focus on her career.

The only problem is that… maybe it’s not the right career.

Ginny feels crazy when she lets herself consider that. After all this time, all this stress, all this work -- she upended her entire life for this. Her mother called her crazy. Her father claimed to have known all along she was meant to be an artist, which immediately made her wary. But could she really have gotten this far down this path just to find another direction again?

Ginny rolls away onto her back as Victoria stirs, hungry and squirmy. She sifts her fingers through the grass, the same way she did last summer when leaving Shawn’s team was a new and harsh inevitability. The wound has faded to a scar.

It’s not that it was the wrong move. She needed it -- they both did. But in the months that followed, as Ginny sat and thought and talked and met with managers and labels and struggled and drank and asked for advice, something felt just a little… hollow.

She chews on the inside of her lip again, where she’s convinced she’ll end up with a hole if she doesn’t find a way to calm the fuck down about all this.

“You know he’s in London, right?” Hannah hums.

Ginny blinks out of her cloud of thought. “Hmm?”

Hannah nods. “Doing some recording’s what I heard, last I talked to Teddy.”

“Teddy,” Ginny evades with a smile, “How is she?”

“Always a laugh, that one. Met with her last week. She’s going to put in a couple calls to some managers she likes, ones she thinks could fit my vibe.”

Ginny picks at the grass.

+

Ginny’s fingers stroke through the curls over his right ear. As he studies her face, she studies the way his hair looks a little bit copper in the lamplight. Her mind is blissfully empty, the way his almost never is. He smiles gently, adoring and envying.

The hand spread across her back flexes. Under the sheets of his bed, he slides a sturdy leg between hers. She shifts comfortably, welcoming him in. He clears his throat for her attention.

“When did you know you wanted to go into artist management?”

Ginny blinks a few times and scrunches her forehead. “Oh. Hmm. I guess around the time Hannah realized her first manager was nicking from her, skimming money off her accounts.”

Shawn’s eyebrows raise. Ginny sighs. “I’d been her PA, I was working closely with them both. I subbed in for a while before she could hire someone with actual experience. I guess I never really felt like her manager, more like her teammate. But I always understood her vision, y’know? I could see the big picture.”

Shawn nods. “She’s lucky to have you, Ginny. Even if you’re not directly on her team anymore. She needs you. We both do.”

Ginny smiles fondly. She scoots closer into his side. Shawn rolls onto his back and lets her fold herself on top of him, resting her head on his chest.

Finally, his head goes quiet.

“There’s enough of me to share, I promise.”

+

Ginny tilts her chin up, willing herself to focus. This meeting is important. But she’s… distracted.

It’s her third meeting with this guy from Demi Lovato’s management company. That hellish Island Records gala last year was good for something, it seems. Hannah’s come along as back up, as sort of interim-manager-substitute-person for some of the meetings Ginny’s taken. Ginny’s been doing the same for Hannah.

Ginny glances over. Hannah is listening intently, asking questions, looking engaged. Ginny smiles subtly and looks back at the man’s face, hoping her eyes haven’t glazed over.

Since the beginning, it was Ginny and Hannah. When they felt alone in a classroom full of girls with creamy white skin and soft braids and pigtails, it was down to them to make their own way.

Even when Marcus came along, Ginny and Hannah were a team. Even when Hannah’s babies came along, Ginny and Hannah were still a team. Even when Ginny was on another team, Hannah was still on her team. Things shift and change. They’re still a team.

When Ginny snaps back in, they’re alone. The industry professional in $800 jeans and Louboutin sneakers stepped out to take a call. Hannah’s eyes roll so hard Ginny’s surprised they don’t fall out.

“This motherfucker,” she snorts.

Despite the distraction, Ginny has been at least half listening and knows exactly why Hannah is reacting the way she is. After all, she’s seen and heard it all by now -- the good, the bad, the ugly. She can see through anyone’s bullshit smokescreen. Hannah is eyeing her like she’s wondering how Ginny even got to three meetings with this joker who’s talking about an EDM sound and touring with Bebe Rexha and a stage name.

And she can see through Ginny, too.

Hannah bites her lip. “Come on, Gin. This ain’t it, babes.”

Ginny sits back in her overstuffed armchair and gazes out at this loser’s stunning view of West London, her home.

“I guess I know that,” she whispers.

Hannah is patiently silent. Ginny looks back at her.

“Do you know what I think?”

Hannah shrugs in response.

“I think we’ve been going about this wrong. You and me, we’ve been trying to let other people take the reins for so long. You’ve had a half dozen shitty managers, I fell in love with my boss. What… what are we doing?”

Hannah sees a spark behind Ginny’s clear brown eyes. She sits up straighter.

“I mean,” Ginny begins, her voice growing louder, “What do you really want, Hans?”

Hannah’s brows lift. “I want… someone who understands me. A real partner.”

Ginny grins. “I understand you, Hans. No better partner than me.”

A look of uneasy understanding crosses Hannah’s face.

“But what about all this? What about doing your own music, touring?”

Ginny sits back, exhausted. “I love music. You know? I just… I really, really love it. I love performing. I love trying new things. But come on, Hans. You’re right. This ain’t it. This isn’t what I want. I don’t have to be a professional musician to sing. This is not my path.”

Hannah is quiet for a while. She nervously eyes the door. She sits forward, leaning into Ginny conspiratorially.

“Ok, Gin. What do you want, then?”

+

Ginny walked out.

She walked out of the office in her TK Maxx dress and the Louboutins Hannah got her for Christmas two years ago. She walked away from the slimy manager mincing his words. She walked away from something that wanted to change her, something that would’ve ruined her relationship with music forever.

She walked into a pub with Hannah and drank.

They sat in a booth with their heeled feet raised on cushions. They ate steak and kidney pies and drank lager and made plans.

Shortly after walking out of the management office, Ginny proposed a plan. Contracts were to be drawn up. Calls had to be made. Press releases needed to be drafted. All would be handled by Ginny, Hannah’s new manager.

Ginny didn’t feel a shred of regret, walking away. The weight of confusion from last summer is gone. The truth is, Ginny thinks, leaning back against the sticky booth with her beer in hand, leaving Shawn’s team was something that should’ve happened long before it did. They could never have a real relationship while she was on his payroll. She could not grow any more under Andrew’s shadow. The viral videos felt like a sign telling her to get out, to forge her own path. Ginny chuckles, thinking now she might’ve read it wrong.

Ginny closes her eyes. New paths are scary, that’s what kept her on the old one for so long. But as she sits here discussing strategy with her new client, she feels more stable and sure-footed than she has since she walked up to the other little black girl in the classroom and offered to show her where the milk coolers were.

Ginny sighs. Her fingers twitch for her phone. Hannah smiles knowingly, that slightly evil smile that always gets Ginny’s heart racing.

“You want to call him,” Hannah says flatly.

Ginny shrugs. “I’ve wanted to call him since September.”

“But you really, really want to call him now.”

“Of course I do,” she grumbles, “He’s… he’s the one, Han. I know he is. But I couldn’t stay with him, not while I was figuring this out.”

Hannah leans in across the sticky table. Her eyes are dark. The corner of her mouth lifts. Ginny feels a shiver rip down her spine in her prim pencil dress.

“So what’s stopping you now?” Hannah purrs.

Ginny’s stomach drops. She swallows. Her face goes hot.

She can’t answer.

Hannah holds up her phone. Her Instagram is open to a Shawn Mendes updates page on a post of him smiling with a fan outside Heathrow. It was posted fifteen minutes ago.

Ginny looks from the phone to Hannah.

“I’ve got to go.”

+

Shawn glances down at his phone one last time before dropping it in the security bin. The battery is low. He sniffs irritably, knowing he won’t get another chance to charge it until he’s on the plane back to LA.

He reaches back into the bin before the conveyor belt can drag it toward the x-ray machine. He turns it off.

+

Ginny is positively vibrating in the back of her black cab that’s speeding to Heathrow on the promise of a hefty tip.

Never has her phone felt so useless. She calls Shawn -- straight to voicemail, phone probably dead since he never turns it off. She calls Andrew -- straight to voicemail, which means he’s on a call and ignoring her. She calls Jake -- straight to voicemail, phone probably off because he’s not a desperate lovestruck millennial.

“Fuck!” Ginny cries, startling her driver. He looks back at her in the rearview mirror. She rolls her eyes and hits the contact number for Brian’s cell, waving at her driver to continue.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

“Hello?”

“Brian!” she nearly shrieks, “Where’s Shawn?”

“Uhhh, Ginny?”

She huffs. “Yes, it’s Ginny. Brian, come on, I’m on my way to Heathrow, I have to catch him before he leaves. Where is he going?”

“Back to LA. He’s closing the deal on the movie.”

Ginny blanches. “What?”

“Yeah,” Brian chuckles, “I told him it was stupid, too. Andrew wore him down, I think. He’s on the 4:30 Virgin Atlantic to JFK.”

Ginny looks up at the clock at the front of the cab. It’s 3:30.

“Shit, fuck, I’m never gonna make it,” Ginny pants into the phone.

“Gonna have to run for it, Gin,” Brian chuckles, amused by the image.

“Yeah, yeah, call you later,” she grumbles, hanging up.

+

Ten minutes later, Ginny is power walking up to security, heels clacking, thrusting her phone out toward the woman who doesn’t look like she cares at all that Ginny just bought a $900 flight to New York she doesn’t even plan to board.

The ticket scans. Ginny hustles down the ramp and picks the shortest security line behind a doddering old couple who seem very confused about air travel as though it’s 1943 and they’ve never been on a fucking commercial flight. With a strained smile, Ginny sorts them out, leaving their clunky phones in a bin with their jackets and watching them shuffle through the metal detectors. As soon as Ginny is waved through, she grabs her phone and shoes from her bin and runs.

Over her shoulder, she calls, “Have a safe flight! Enjoy Orlando!”

Ginny forgoes slipping her shoes back on and tries hard not to think about the grimy germs she’s running through as she sprints through the terminal.

She dodges and weaves like an Arsenal striker, calling out “sorry!”s and “pardon me!”s as she goes. Her eyes are fixed at the gate at the end of the long stretch of wide, heavily trafficked corridor.

D23.

Somewhere around D17 they start bellowing over the intercom for last call for Virgin Atlantic flight 214 to New York City.

Bollocks.

Ginny hurdles past families, service dogs, airport police who give her disappointed glances. She is nearly waylaid by someone toting an inexplicably empty luggage cart. Just before it can collide with her ankles, she leaps over it with as much flexibility as her tight-fitting dress will allow.

She ignores the hoots and whistles of passersby, the tuts and scoldings of buttoned-up mums and dads. She has a singular goal.

She has to get to Shawn.

The last call announcement rings in her ears, pushing her as she pants heavily. Her bare feet slap the floor. Her heart charges hard against her ribs. Beads of sweat pool around her hairline.

Somewhere at a newsstand that she runs past, she catches a bar of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Diana Ross.

She runs faster.

D23 is nearly empty. She weaves around a flustered looking family to see that the door is still open!

She’s fumbling with her phone to access her ticket. She glances back up as her feet start to slow.

She sees him standing by a window looking dumbstruck, befuddled Andrew to his left, delighted Jake to his right.

“Ginny?” Shawn cries, launching off the post he’s leaning against. His long legs carry him to her, splitting the difference. They nearly collide, but he grabs her forearms and halts them, looking her over in confusion as she drops her shoes with a loud clatter on the tile floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he cries, cupping her face.

God, she’s fucking beautiful. He’s never gone this long without getting to look at her. He doesn’t know why she’s here, but he’s going to soak up every second.

“Don’t get on the plane,” she pants.

“What?”

“Don’t-- get on the plane,” she repeats, squeezing her fingers around his biceps.

“Ginny, what are you--”

“I ran out of a meeting with Greg Osterfield today,” she manages, eyes shifting to Andrew, who’s glancing at his watch, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sign with him. Truth is, I don’t want to sign with anyone, Shawn. I don’t want to be an artist, not really. I had to try, though. I’m not sorry I did, otherwise I always would’ve wondered. But I know now.”

“Shawn,” Andrew calls, looking anxiously at the gate attendants who are getting ready to shut the door.

“Hold on!” Shawn barks without taking his eyes off her. It makes her smile through her heavy breaths.

“Ginny, baby, please talk faster,” Shawn murmurs.

“I’m gonna manage Hannah. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m going to do. I know… I know that’s going to make it hard for us. We’ll be in the same place at the same time, what, twice a year, if we’re lucky? But it’s worth it, I think, to try. We’re worth it. I’m sorry I left like that. I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

“I know,” Shawn interrupts, “I’m not-- I mean, it hurt, but I know why you did it. Honestly, Gin, I respect you so much for that. I’m so fucking proud of you. God, I love you.”

Ginny takes a deep inhale and swings her arms around his neck. Shawn follows her lead, pulling her in by her hips to a crushing kiss right there, in front of gate D23, amidst rubbernecking travelers, confused gate attendants and one very annoyed artist manager.

“Oh, thank god,” Jake mutters, going pink and averting his eyes from the scene, smiling to himself.

Shawn lightens up the kiss first, lifting a hand to cup her neck, tilting her head back to suck gently at her lower lip. He swallows her whimper and purrs, hungry for more. Ginny curls up into him, toying with the curls at the back of his neck. An unamused elderly woman passing them clears her throat. They ignore her.

After a few more heated seconds, Ginny pulls back reluctantly, bumping her nose against his.

“Don’t do the stupid movie,” she insists.

“Is that your professional opinion?” Shawn laughs, tickling the back of her neck with his fingertips.

She beams. “Yes. Don’t do the stupid fucking movie. Don’t even get on the plane. Come with me. Be here with me, just for a little while.”

Shawn smiles. He’s never been so happy to ditch work.

The gate closes. The plane leaves with Andrew onboard, toting excuses from Shawn to give the studio -- “just doesn’t feel like the right project, very excited and eager to consider more opportunities down the road” -- a line fed to him by Ginny.

Despite her expectations, Andrew didn’t look surprised or even too angry about Ginny’s sudden disruption. He muttered something about Dorothy clicking her heels to return to Oz. Shawn, with his other arm around Ginny’s shoulders, beamed and held up her Louboutins with a wink. Andrew rolled his eyes, hugged them both and left Jake with them for safe keeping.

As they stroll back through the terminal, catching the eyes of curious onlookers who either recognize Ginny as the woman who had just sprinted past them or Shawn as one of the most famous musicians on the planet, Shawn turns his face into Ginny’s hair and closes his eyes, inhaling. She still smells like coconut.

“Hey,” she whispers, getting his attention, “Where d’you want to go? My mum’s? Hannah’s?”

Shawn smiles. “How about we get a room at that little hotel in Regent’s Park and you let me show you how much I love you?”

Ginny’s face gets hot. “Yeah. Ok. Think I can spare a few days for that.”

Shawn shrugs. “Gonna take me longer than a few days to show you that, Gin.”

_____________

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Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @sauveteen @fallmoreinlove @tnhmblive @searchingunderthestars @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks

[arysafics]

this is really gonna mess her up

Summary:  Bellamy has been married to Roma for seven years, but he can't stop thinking about Clarke, the student teacher taking his class.

Rated E, ~5,100 words

for @youleftme-clarke

Clarke already has the class of fourth graders sitting quietly at their desks by the time the bell goes at the end of the day, packed up and ready to go. Bellamy can’t help but admire her aptitude for the profession. She’s the perfect amount of kind but firm with the students, and where other student teachers he’s had have let the kids walk all over them, or had to resort to screaming to get the ten-year-olds to listen, Clarke has them eating out of the palm of her hand. She has him eating out of the palm of her hand. He finds himself just as mesmerised as the kids while she’s teaching. She’s a natural. It’s been the easiest three weeks of Bellamy’s career.

Unfortunately, Clarke’s teaching skills are not the only thing he admires about her. He’s barely paid attention to her actual lesson for the last hour, instead focusing on the way her form fitting sweater accentuates the swell of her breasts. He searches for a panty line through her tight skirt every time she bends over to help a student, and wonders whether not finding one means she’s wearing a thong or nothing at all.

He feels a little guilty for thinking about it at all, but he’s spent the better part of three weeks trying to ignore his attraction to her with little to no success. But he figures as long as Clarke doesn’t know, and Roma doesn’t know, he’s not hurting anyone. The ring on his left hand doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to look.

His class doesn’t even spare him a second glance as they chorus their goodbyes to Miss Griffin and stampede out of the classroom. It’s going to be a tough transition next week when Clarke has gone back to university.

Bellamy stands, the desk creaking under him as his weight shifts, and makes his way to the front of the classroom, where Clarke stands waiting for him. She glances at the notebook in his hand, grimacing.

“Okay, give it to me,” she says, bracing herself for his notes. Bellamy shows her the blank page. His notes for improvement have been steadily decreasing over the past three weeks, and he honestly has nothing else to teach her. Plus, the whole, fantasising about what she looks like naked instead of actually paying attention.

Clarke grins. “You’re just being nice.”

“You know that’s not true, Clarke. You’re already a better teacher than I’ve ever been or ever will be.”

Clarke ducks her head, flushing. It’s cute. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear that’s fallen out of her messy bun, and it immediately falls into her face again. Unthinking, Bellamy reaches out and brushes it back. Clarke meets his eyes, swallowing. Bellamy quickly withdraws, clearing his throat. “Should we go over the lesson plan for tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Clarke says, flicking open her neatly organised display folder. It probably doesn’t need going over, she’s got this down pat by now, but it’s a necessary distraction.

He sits down at the desk and pulls Clarke’s lesson plan out, and Clarke leans over his shoulder. He can feel her warm breath against his neck, and the scent of her flowery perfume fills his nostrils. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself to concentrate on the page in front of him. He quickly scans over it, suddenly desperate to be away from her.

“Looks good,” he tells her, slipping the page back into its sleeve. Truthfully, he would have let her get away with the entire day being just one big party tomorrow, seeing as it’s her last day, but the closest she’s come is dedicating the whole afternoon to arts and crafts. Technically the art stuff is supposed to be left to the specialty art teacher, but Clarke loves it, and is good at it, and it seems like a good send off.

“Great,” Clarke says. Bellamy closes the folder and hands it to her as he stands up. “Do we have any meetings or anything this afternoon?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No, you can go if you like.”

“Oh. Um…” Clarke glances down, and she’s fiddling with the corner of the folder nervously. “I thought… never mind.”

“Clarke?” Bellamy says, tilting his head. She’s never been shy about asking questions, giving suggestions, or voicing her opinion before. Bellamy can’t quite figure out why she’s so tongue-tied all of a sudden.

“It’s just, yesterday you said you would give me a ride. But it’s fine if you can’t,” she adds hurriedly.

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.” He’d only found out yesterday that Clarke has been taking the bus to school every day, and without thinking, had offered to drive her home. It’s not that he regrets that offer now, but he does wonder what being alone in a car with her for twenty minutes will do to both his sanity and his libido.

“It’s okay!” Clarke says. “I can take the bus.”

“No, no,” Bellamy says. “I can drive you. It’s fine. Just let me pack up and then we can go.”

Twenty minutes later, Clarke slides into his passenger seat, and he averts his eyes as her skirt rides up her thighs. It’s a modest skirt, by anyone’s standards, but Bellamy’s mind still finds its way to the gutter.

Clarke pulls the door closed and Bellamy starts the car.

“Looking forward to your placement ending?” Bellamy asks. School, a safe topic. Clarke being in his car is doing weird things to him. There’s something so intimate about being alone in a car with someone. Or perhaps it’s because he’s jerked off to the thought of her while sitting in this very seat, parked in his garage, while his wife is inside, none the wiser.

“No, not at all,” Clarke sighs. “These past three weeks have been so fun. I honestly can’t wait until I graduate and can finally have a class of my own.”

“I mean, my class likes you much better than they like me. Maybe you should just stay,” Bellamy smiles.

“If only. And by the way, those kids love you. They only like me because I’m a novelty.”

Bellamy glances at her. “You’re kidding right? You’re so good with them. You wouldn’t believe the number of teachers who are terrible with children.”

Clarke chuckles. “No, I think I would.” She shrugs. “I’ve just always liked kids. I can’t wait to be a mom. You know, once I’ve got a job and a house and someone to have kids with.”

“That does sound nice,” Bellamy muses.

“Well, you’ve got all three of those things, right?” Clarke laughs. “So what’s stopping you?”

Bellamy hesitates. He knows she’s joking, but her words strike a nerve. Clarke seems to notice this, and hurries to cover up her mistake.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she says. “None of my business.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says. “Roma doesn’t want kids. I knew that when I married her, and I thought I was okay with it,” he shrugs. “I am okay with it,” he corrects, though it’s a lie. But he shouldn’t be telling the twenty-one-year-old he has a crush on about his marital problems.

“Of course,” Clarke says quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.”

“It’s really okay,” Bellamy says, grinning to show her he’s not offended. But it’s probably best if they change the subject. “You want to put a CD on?”

“A CD?” Clarke says, teasing. “God, how old are you Bellamy? I didn’t even know they still made CDs.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I know.”

“They’re in the glovebox.”

Clarke drops the glovebox open and pulls out the stack of CDs. She flips through them, reading the artists out loud, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Elton John? ABBA? Johnny Cash? Beyoncé, but it’s not even one of her new ones. Oh my god, the Twilight soundtrack.”

“That one’s my sister’s.”

“Sure it is. You have a weird taste in music.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you know any new music?”

“Sing something and I’ll tell you if I know it.”

“I can’t sing.”

“I bet you can,” Bellamy says, trying not to smile too much. He shouldn’t be flirting with her, probably. Is that over the line, or is he still toeing it? It’s harmless, right?

“Let’s just listen to ABBA.” She says it like it’s a hardship, but she sings along to every song.

“You can sing,” Bellamy accuses. Clarke just screws her nose up at him.

They pull up at the front of Clarke’s house, a rundown looking place she’s renting with a friend.

“When was the last time you mowed your lawn?” Bellamy asks, peering over the front fence through the windscreen.

“You’re not allowed to judge,” Clarke says. “Unless you’re going to come and mow it for me.”

“Nice try,” Bellamy grins.

Clarke shrugs. “Worth a shot,” she says. Her smile is cheeky, and Bellamy wants to kiss it off her face. She has the most infectious, beautiful smile he’s ever seen. And thoughts like that are very dangerous, and very stupid.  

“I should get going,” he hints.

“Right, sorry,” Clarke says, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for driving me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She opens the car door.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” Bellamy says. “A few of us are going out for drinks tomorrow after work if you’re interested. It’s your last day after all. Monty wanted me to ask you.”

“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” Clarke beams. Bellamy’s heart misses a beat. Clarke waves him goodbye and doesn’t look back as she walks to her front door and lets herself inside. Bellamy takes a deep breath and grips the steering wheel with shaking hands. The gold band around his finger glints back at him. He starts the car and drives home.

  Bellamy knows he got married for all the wrong reasons. He got married because that’s what people do. Because he’d been with Roma for two years, and he didn’t want to break up with her, but he knew she was angling for a proposal and it would be over if he didn’t marry her soon.

He always knew she didn’t want kids, and at twenty-three that kind of thing didn’t matter to him. And now, seven years later, it does matter to him, but he doesn’t feel like there’s much he can do about it. Is he really going to divorce his wife just because he changed his mind? That’s not fair on her. And it’s not like he doesn’t love Roma. At least, he thinks he does. He’s pretty sure he does.

He’s not exactly happy in his marriage, but he’s not unhappy either, and that’s more than a lot of other married people can say, right? And he thinks Roma is happy. He hopes she’s happy, because one of them may as well be.

He’s just finishing breakfast when she comes downstairs, hair and make-up perfect. Bellamy hands her a cup of coffee.

“I’m going out for drinks after work,” Bellamy tells her. “Not sure what time I’ll be home.”

Roma pouts. “I was hoping we could stay in.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says. “I know it’s last minute but Monty organised it because it’s the student teacher’s last day. I should probably go, since it’s my class she’s been taking.”

Roma sighs. “Fine. But tomorrow you’re watching a trashy romcom with me to make up for it.”

Bellamy smiles. “Deal.” He gives her a peck on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go, babe. I’ll see you tonight if you’re still awake when I get home. Don’t wait up though.”

  Bellamy has never wished for a school day to go slower. Every minute that ticks by brings him closer to saying goodbye to Clarke. He doesn’t want her to go, and it’s not just because he’ll have to actually start teaching his own class again. It’s obvious the kids don’t want her to go either.

After lunch, Clarke brings out the art supplies, pushes the tables together to form small groups, and gives the students free rein to make whatever they like. As soon as one student announces that they’re making a thank you card for Miss Griffin, the rest of class follows suit.

Bellamy sits at the back of the class, as per usual, until one of the girls, Amy, tells him he has to make one too. Bellamy is so not the artistic type, but he finds himself a seat amongst the students anyway, and starts making a card, taking suggestions from Amy and some of the other girls.

He senses Clarke standing behind him, looking over his shoulder as he glues a badly cut out flower to the front of his card.

“Nice work, Mr Blake,” she teases. Bellamy looks up at her, and she turns her attention to the girls surrounding him. “What do you think girls?”

“Mine’s better,” says Amy. “I tried to tell him how to draw a flower but he wouldn’t listen.”

Clarke laughs joyously, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and Bellamy’s stomach tightens. “I think it looks great,” she lies. She squeezes his shoulder, then drifts off to check on one of the other tables. Bellamy doesn’t stop thinking about that shoulder squeeze for the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day, the class hands Clarke their cards, and tell her how much they love her, and then they run off without a second thought. Bellamy wishes he could say goodbye to her so easily.

“You didn’t give me my card,” Clarke says, once all the students are gone.

“What makes you think it was for you?”

“It has my name on the front.”

Bellamy hands her the card, definitely worse than all the fourth graders efforts. It’s just a bit of yellow card folded in half with a red flower on the front and Miss Griffin in block letters on the front.

Clarke keeps eye contact with him as she opens, then drops her eyes to read it out loud. “Clarke. Thank you for brightening up my classroom these past three weeks. You’re going to make a wonderful teacher, and my students are going to be all the better for having known you, even for such a short time. So am I. Love, Bellamy.”

Bellamy watches her as she reads it, notices her tearing up. He looks away as soon as she looks back up at him.

“I guess words are more your thing than art, huh?”

Bellamy shrugs. “You can use that in your portfolio if you want,” he jokes.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, way too serious for his liking. Thankfully, Monty chooses that moment to duck his head into the classroom.

“Did you ask her?” Monty asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “We’re coming.”

Clarke looks to Bellamy. “I have no way to get there.”

“I’ll drive you,” Monty offers, before Bellamy can. It’s somewhat of a relief.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees. She gathers her things from the desk and heads for the door.

“We’ll see you there?” Monty says.

“Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “See you there.”

  When Bellamy gets to the car, Monty has claimed a booth, and there are a few other teachers there already, including Clarke. She scoots out of her seat as he approaches the table. She’s got her hair out now, and an extra button on her shirt undone. Not that Bellamy is paying attention.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want me to get you something?”

“Sure, a beer would be great. I’ll get the next round.”

Clarke skips off towards the bar, and Bellamy slides into the booth beside Monty. He gives a nod across the table to Raven, Harper and Diyoza.

“I think Clarke has a crush on you,” Monty says.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What? Hot, older guy, who’s mentoring her and is good with kids? As if she wouldn’t have a crush on you.”

“What are you trying to do? Set us up? I’m married, remember?” Bellamy snorts.

“No, I’m warning you,” Monty says. Bellamy frowns. “Don’t lead her on.”

“She knows I’m married.”

Monty gives a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. Just be careful.”

Monty is drawn into Raven and Diyoza’s debate about whether or not technology in the classroom is getting out of hand, and Clarke returns from the bar with a beer and some kind of bright yellow cocktail. Bellamy eyes it warily as Clarke sets both drinks down on the table and shuffles into the booth next to him.

“What is that?” he asks, nodding to her drink as he picks up his own.

“Vodka, mostly,” Clarke grins. “You want to try it?” She offers it to him, and he takes it from her, dubiously taking a sip. He screws up his face at the overpowering sweetness.

“Doesn’t taste like alcohol,” he says, handing it back to Clarke.

“That’s the point,” she says.

Maya and Jasper show up then, and Clarke scoots even closer to him to give them room to sit. Her thigh is pressed against his under the table, and somehow his arm ends up around her. Not on purpose. It’s just resting there on the back of the seat, and she just happens to be sitting there, leaning back against it. Bellamy takes a sip of his beer and pretends he doesn’t notice.

Over the course of the few hours they’re at the bar, Bellamy only has a few drinks. He has to drive home after this after all. Plus, the way Clarke is kind of tucked in against his side is making him feel things he doesn’t want to feel, and drinking more is only going to make him flirtier and more likely to do the exact opposite of what Monty said, and lead her on.

Clarke must be tipsy at least, because she’s laughing loudly and talking faster than normal. She seems to have no inhibitions about touching him constantly, or being practically in his lap. He feels like he’s holding his breath the whole night. His hearts stops every time she touches him. Every nerve in his body screams for him to touch her back, to press his lips against her neck, to bury his hand between her legs. His head pounds.

More people arrive, and Clarke doesn’t hesitate to somehow move closer to him. She hooks her leg over his, and before he can stop himself, he pulls her all the way into his lap. He catches Monty’s disapproving look but ignores him. Clarke settles back against Bellamy’s chest, clearly comfortable. Her ass presses against his crotch, and his semi hard on grows to full size. If she notices she doesn’t react.

Bellamy stops following the conversation entirely, not that he’d been keeping up with it that well before. But now he zones out, imagining pulling Clarke’s skirt up and fingering her right here under the table. He imagines secretly meeting her in a bathroom stall and fucking her up against the door. She would look so good with that freshly fucked look. He’d fill her with his come, get her pregnant with his baby.

It’s that thought that snaps him out of it. He swallows guiltily, and downs the dregs of his beer.

“I should get going,” he announces to no one in particular.

“Oh, I was going to ask you earlier,” Clarke says. “Would you be able to give me a lift home?”

He should say no, probably. It’s not like he thinks she’s going to throw herself at him, but he hasn’t exactly done the best job tonight of not leading her on. She knows you’re married, he reminds himself. She’s not expecting anything to happen.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

They make everyone get up so they can leave, and the group of teachers chorus their goodbyes as Bellamy ushers Clarke out of the bar, his hand on the small of her back.

Neither of them speaks on the way to Bellamy’s car, and they’re both silent even as Bellamy pulls out onto the road.

“You have a good time?” Bellamy asks. He’s afraid the pounding of his heart is too loud in the silence of the car.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “It’s bittersweet though. I’ll probably never see most of them again.”

“Well, you know where we are,” Bellamy says. “You can always come and visit.”

Clarke smiles. “Maybe I will,” she says, but Bellamy can hear it in her voice that she won’t.

Bellamy pulls up out the front of her house. He looks over at her, and she looks so fucking sad. Something tugs at his heart. He’s not ready to say goodbye to her just yet.

“I should walk you to your door,” he says, his voice coming out in a whisper. “Make sure you get in okay.”

“Good idea,” Clarke agrees.

They walk up the front path in silence, and Bellamy can feel the tension between them. She wants him to kiss her. And he wants to kiss her so badly. They reach the door, and Clarke unlocks it, then turns to face him.

“I just want to say,” she says, swallowing. “Thank you for everything. You’ve taught me so much and I couldn’t have hoped for a better mentor.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says. “I meant what I said before. You can drop by the school any time. And if you ever need help or advice, you can always call me.”

Clarke nods. She steps forward and presses her soft lips against his cheek. Bellamy feels like he might combust. She lingers there longer than would be seen as socially acceptable, and as she pulls away, Bellamy’s heart lurches, and he’s no longer in control of his own actions. Before she can step back, he captures her lips with his, his hand snaking around her waist to pull her closer.

She gasps, and Bellamy takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, as if it has any right to be there. Kissing her is intoxicating, far more so than the two beers he’d had earlier, and his head spins. Her body moulds to his, and yet he’s still desperate to be closer to her.

The kiss only lasts seconds before Bellamy returns to his senses, and pulls away from her like he’s been shocked by an electric wire.

“Shit,” he says, guilt already pooling in his stomach. “Shit. Shit.”

“Sorry,” Clarke whispers.

Bellamy looks at her, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who kissed you.”

“But I wanted you to.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I was all over you at the bar.”

“I could’ve stopped you.”

Clarke bites her lip. “What if I want you to kiss me again?”

He wants to. He yearns for her. “I’m married, Clarke,” he says hoarsely. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He’s not sure why it doesn’t bother him. He knows it’s wrong to want her. He knows it’s wrong to act on it. But at this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. Or perhaps it’s because he knows it’s wrong that makes it all the more appealing.

“I’d rather have you this way than not at all.”

That’s all it takes for Bellamy to press her up against the door, his mouth on hers again. Clarke fumbles with the door knob, and then the door swings open, and they stumble inside.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I want you so much. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you these past three weeks.”

“Me too,” Clarke says, breathless.

“Where’s your room?”

Clarke takes his hand and leads him down the hall until they reach her room. Bellamy’s heart thunders in his chest. Is he really doing this?

Clarke flicks the light on, and Bellamy tugs on her hand to spin her around to face him. If he wastes any time, if he stops to think, he might change his mind. He doesn’t want to change his mind.

Lips on hers, Bellamy urges her towards her bed. Every kiss, every movement, is frantic, urgent, like they’re both afraid it could be over any moment. Like someone might catch them in the act and ruin it all.

Bellamy’s hands drop to the buttons on Clarke’s shirt, his fingers too big and clumsy to undo them with any finesse, but with her help he gets them undone, and then she’s shrugging her shirt off, and then her bra, and Bellamy is gifted the sight of her tits, more magnificent than he’d even fantasised about.

“God,” Bellamy groans. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about these.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yes, Clarke,” Bellamy says. He palms her breasts, watching as her nipples harden. “You like having your nipples played with?”

“Yes,” Clarke nods. “But—”

“But?” Bellamy tilts his head.

“I just want you to fuck me. Please. Before my roommate gets home and you realise what a huge mistake you’re making and that you don’t want me after all.”

“I’m way too far gone for that, Clarke,” Bellamy says, hoarsely. Clarke surges up to kiss him, and Bellamy’s hands slide around to her ass, gripping her through her skirt. She spreads her legs as she lets him lift her slightly, then lay her down on the bed, where he imagines she’s fingered herself to the thought of him more than once. He hikes her skirt up her thighs and is greeted with a tantalising view of her swollen, wet, pussy. His cock throbs painfully at the sight.

“No panties, Clarke?” he growls.

“I stopped wearing panties after the first week,” she says. “Just in case.”

“You really wanted me, huh? Didn’t care about the ring on my finger?”

Clarke shakes her head. “You don’t love her. She can’t give you what you want.”

“And you can?”

“Uh huh.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“I see you watching me,” Clarke says huskily. “You want these,” she squeezes her tits. She runs her hands down her stomach, then cups her pussy. “You want this.” She rolls over onto her stomach and wiggles her ass for him, looking over her shoulder cheekily. “You want this.”

“You see right through me, don’t you?”

She rolls back over and sits up. “Do you think about me while you’re fucking your wife?”

“All the time. Every time. I wish it was you every time.”

Clarke reaches up, fists her hands in his shirt and tugs him down towards her. “So what are you waiting for?” she whispers. “Now’s your chance. Fuck me.”

Bellamy hurriedly rids himself of his shirt, and then the rest of his clothes, until he’s standing naked before her. Clarke eyes his cock hungrily, lip caught between her teeth.

“How do you want it, baby?” Bellamy asks. He puts a knee between her legs on the bed, and she lies back down, pulling her skirt up higher so it’s bunched around her waist. Bellamy leans over her, running his hands up her arms, lifting them above her head, grasping her wrists tightly to keep them there. Her loves the way it makes her tits look, straining towards him like they belong to him.

“I want it hard,” she says. “Please.”  

Bellamy lowers his mouth to hers, drawing a long kiss out of her, positioning his cock at her entrance at the same time. Her can feel her slickness against his cock, letting him know she’s more than ready for him. He enters her slowly, and she squirms beneath him. He keeps her hands locked above her head, so she has no choice but to let him take control, to take his time and do as he pleases, though she’s clearly desperate to pull him closer. She cants her hips towards him, trying to get him deeper inside her.

Bellamy groans, the feeling of her tight cunt clenching around his cock almost too much to handle. He thrusts into her, abruptly, his whole cock filling her up. If she wants it hard, she’s going to get it hard.

“Oh my god,” Clarke moans. “This is too good to be true,” she murmurs, more like she’s talking to herself than to him. Bellamy isn’t sure if she’s talking about his cock or just the situation in general, but either way he finds himself agreeing. This can’t be real. It feels too good.

She isn’t quiet while he fucks her, and every sound she makes thrills him. Most of it is unintelligible, but he’s not exactly thinking straight himself. All he can do is focus on keeping it together long enough to make her come. For a moment he thinks he won’t make it, but just as he’s about to lose it, she cries out, arching towards him, her cunt clenching around him like a vice, drawing his own orgasm from him as she comes. He comes inside her, like he’s imagined doing time after time, and then he collapses on top of her, spent.

She presses her thumb to his hip, and he rolls off her, but she goes with him, lying on top of him.

“Good as you imagined?” Bellamy asks her.

“Better. What about you?”

“Much better.”

“You don’t regret it?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“Maybe.”

Bellamy rubs his hand over his face. He never thought he’d be a cheater. But here he is, lying naked in bed with a woman who isn’t his wife. And all he can think about is how good it felt, and how much he wants to do it again.

“Are you going to fuck me and leave? Or will you stay a while?”

“I can stay,” Bellamy murmurs. He doesn’t tell her that he never wants to leave her. It doesn’t matter if it’s true, it’s a promise he can never keep. “But this can’t happen again.” He has a wife, and he knows whatever this is with Clarke has to stay here in this moment, in this room. He can’t screw up what he has with Roma for what is probably some passing infatuation with a girl who won’t remember his name in a year.

“I know,” Clarke says, and Bellamy tries to ignore the sadness in her voice. She’ll get over it. She’s twenty-one, she’s resilient. She’ll fuck someone else to get him out of her system, and she’ll move on. And Bellamy will go back to Roma, and let this night with Clarke fuel his fantasies, to keep his sex life with Roma going for a few more months at least. It’s the best he can hope for.

[superhusbands4ever]

Okay but what abt Tony going in to Peter’s school for career day? Like where the parents talk abt their jobs?

lmaooo this was supposed to be a quick prompt but then it turned into a full-fledged little fic and now it is 2 AM, so I will finish the rest of these prompts tomorrow (later today technically I guess)

“Hey, May?”

May looked up from spreading butter on her toast.

“Yeah Pete?”

“I was just wondering,” Peter started, fiddling with the fork in his hand, “next week is career day at school… they’re having a bunch of kids parents come in to talk about what they do, you know, try and give the students some idea where they might want to work after high school. Do you… do you think you could do it? They asked our class to bring our parents, so….”

May sighed as she sat down her knife. Peter dropped his eyes back to his eggs, disappointment burning in his stomach as he already knew what May was going to say.

“Peter, I… I wish I could,” May said softly, “I really do, but I can’t afford to take off work right now. Money has been a little tight lately, you know? I can’t afford to lose more shifts than absolutely necessary, you know?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, gesturing with his fork and trying to appear nonchalant, “yeah, I get it. Work is more important.”

“Peter, that’s not what I–”

“No, no,” Peter rushed to reassure her, guilt burning through him at the pained look in her eyes, “I didn’t– I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, you know, money is important for… for living, so going to work is important. Besides, it’s not like everyone’s parents are going to be able to show up for the same reason, right? It’s alright, May.”

“I’m sorry, Pete,” May said quietly, reaching over to place a comforting hand on Peter’s arm. “I know its hard for you when these kind of things happen. You know if I could, I would.”

“Nah, it’s fine, it’s alright,” Peter said, staring at her hand on his arm. He tried to ignore the burning in his eyes, not really succeeding. It always sucked when he wasn’t able to participate in the parent-child functions the school put on, especially since Ben died, but he knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. He knew May would be there for him if she could, but he also understood why she couldn’t.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the clock on the wall. Shoving the last of his eggs in his mouth, he stood and grabbed his backpack from the back of his chair.

“I should head out, I’m gonna be late,” he said, proud at how steady his voice sounded.

“Okay,” May smiled, pushing her glasses up her nose as she watched him go, “have a good day! I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he shouted over his shoulder as he rushed out the door.

May rubbed her hand over her eyes as she sat back in her chair. She knew it was hard for Peter when he had to be alone on days when parents were asked to visit classes, ever since he was a little kid. Her and Ben always tried to work it out so at least one of them was available to go with him, but they couldn’t always make it. She hated the thought of Peter sitting alone in class while all the other kids got to show off their parents and what they do, but they really just couldn’t afford to lose any money at the moment.

Looking at the clock and grimacing at the time, she got up to gather her stuff for work. She grabbed her purse off the counter, not realizing it was upside down, and cursing when everything fell out of it. She crouched down to gather all her stuff when he saw her phone light up with a text.

Tony StarkHey May, just making sure we’re still on for Peter coming to the tower after school today. Let me know if I need to pick him up.

She stared at the name on her screen, an idea popping into her head. It was probably a long-shot, Tony was a busy man, but it was worth a try at least.

Before she could change her mind, she unlocked her phone and pressed the call button. She held it up to her ear and waited as it rang.

“Hey, Tony? Yeah, it’s me. Wha– no, no, Peter’s fine. Yeah, he can go to the tower, that’s fine. Listen, I uhh… I kinda need to ask you a favor, if you’re willing. For Peter.”

{read more below}

~

Peter sighed and tried to bury his face further into his arms on his desk as he listened to Brooke’s dad go on and on about being a firefighter in New York. Out of all the kids in his homeroom, he was one of only two kids whose parents/guardian weren’t able to come in. And the only reason the other girl’s parents couldn’t come in was because her dad was in the Army and currently deployed overseas, and her mom was a stay at home mom with twin three-year-old boys. So, really, the only parent-less one in the class was him.

Which, really, he was used to by now. This wasn’t the first time May, or even Ben when he was alive, hadn’t been able to come in for whatever event the school was doing. Still, it wasn’t easy being reminded of the fact that his home life was different from everyone else’s. Especially when all the parent/guardians were told to sit at the desks with their kids, and he was sitting all alone in the back of the room.

He was jolted out of his melancholy thoughts when everyone started clapping around him. He looked up and noticed that Brooke’s dad had finished his presentation, so he clapped politely along as they waited for the next person to set up.

“Alright,” Peter’s teacher sad from the front of the room, “so next we’re going to have Flash’s parents come up and talk about being lawyers–”

She was interrupted by a knock at the door. Everyone stopped to look at the door as Ms. Abernathy went to open it. She froze at the door, a shocked look on her face, but Peter couldn’t see who was standing outside from his seat.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Peter’s enhanced senses picked up the familiar voice from outside the door. “I had a meeting this morning and then I got lost looking for the class… anyway, I’m here for Peter? Peter Parker?”

He frowned at hearing his name, still unsure what exactly was going on. He watched as his teacher continued to stand and stare out the door for a minute before seemingly remembering herself and taking a step back.

“Of course! If you could just go sit next to him until your turn, he’s in the back on the right side.”

The man stepped through the door and Peter gaped with the rest of the class as Tony Stark, in his signature suit and goatee, sporting a pair of red sunglasses and carrying a suitcase walked through the door.

Tony nodded at the shocked faces of Flash and Flash’s parents at the front as he walked to the back of the class, put his suitcase on the desk, and calmly sat next to Peter, pulling out his phone to silence it before looking up to wait for Flash’s parents to begin speaking.

Everyone sat in awkward, stunned silence for another minute before Ms. Abernathy cleared her throat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thomson, you can go ahead and start whenever you’re ready.”

Flash’s parents sort of jolted out of their stupor before haltingly launching into their presentation, Flash standing to the side controlling the slides on the power point.

Peter turned to Tony.

“Mr. Stark, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for career day, Pete, what does it look like I’m doing,” Tony said, reaching up to take his sunglasses off and tuck them into his jacket pocket, “and what did I tell you about that ‘Mr. Stark’ crap?”

“How did you even find out about this?” Peter asked, ignoring the Tony’s last comment.

“Your aunt mentioned you were bummed she couldn’t come, so I said I’d go instead.”

Peter felt a sudden rush of affection for both his aunt and his mentor.

“Mr– Tony, you really didn’t have to–”

“Well I did, and now I’m here, so don’t worry about it,” Tony said, crossing his legs and leaning back to rest his arm on the back of Peter’s chair. “Now, pay attention. This is important for future career decision making.”

Peter rolled his eyes at Tony’s words and matching smirk, but sat back and paid attention to the Thomson’s presentation anyway. Or, at least, he tried to. It was a little hard to pay attention when half the class and their parents kept glancing back to stare at both him and Tony, but Tony seemed to able to ignore them, so Peter just tried to do the same. He even tried to ignore the looks Flash and his parents would throw to their corner of the room every now and again.

Peter was once again jolted from his thoughts when everyone started to clap politely, Flash’s parents presentation over. As they were cleaning up, Ms. Abernathy stepped forward again.

“Alright, who would like to go ne–”

“We will!” Tony said, throwing his hand up like a – well – high school kid. Peter felt his face burn as his whole class seemed to turn as one to stare back at them.

“Alright!” Ms. Abernathy said, a little overly-cheerfully, “up next is Peter and Mr. Stark!”

“Call me Tony, please,” Tony said with a smile as he walked to the front of the class, suitcase in hand, Peter following meekly behind.

When Tony got to the front, he set down his suitcase and flipped it open, pulling out what Peter recognized as the latest versions of the Stark Phone and Stark Tablet, and a watch that looked suspiciously like his gauntlet watch. Peter stood to the side, and slightly behind Tony, waiting for him to begin.

“Alright!” Tony clapped before unbuttoning his suit jacket and putting his hands in his pockets. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Tony Stark and I am the owner of Stark Industries I run the R&D department, come up with new ideas for the Stark brand, and I am also the figurehead of and unofficial-official tech guy for the Avengers Initiative. Oh, and sometimes I’m the superhero known as Iron Man.”

Peter’s class let out a few laughs at the joke and all gave a quick applause. Tony smiled and gave them a little bow.

“Thank you, thank you…. Now, at Stark Industries we employ over 200,000 people in the New York/tri-state area alone, and hundreds of thousands more at various locations throughout the US and all over the world. Working for Stark Industries could mean working in places like Dubai, Argentina, Japan, or even Canada, if you want to get really exotic.”

A few more kids let out a laugh and the tension of the room started to go down. Peter stared at Tony in awe of how easy it was for him to take complete control of the room like he did, and without ever once looking uneasy about it.

“Of course, as I’m sure you were all wondering, it is possible to come and work for the Avengers Initiative - not necessarily as a superhero, mind you - but because it is a government associated agency, there are governmental jobs for working within the Initiative. Now, working with Stark Industries may actually be a safer, quicker, and easier bet than trying to work in the Avengers Initiative. This is purely because with the Initiative you would have to start out at a regular, boring old government level - FBI, DOD, CIA - job, and you’d have to work your way through the ranks and be placed into working with the Initiative. Working for the Avengers is not just a job you can apply for, it’s one you have to work hard and be specifically picked for based on your experience, skill-set, knowledge, and training. At Stark Industries, however, you can always…”

Peter tuned out Tony’s speech as he went on to talk about the specifics of working for Stark Industries, the different kind of departments within, what qualifications were needed to be considered for what job in whatever department, average salary, and a bunch of other stuff that Peter either already knew or didn’t really need to worry about.

Peter was looking around the room and trying hard not to enjoy the shocked jealousy that was making its way across Flash’s face when the sound of his own name brought him back to the present.

“…Mr. Parker there, though, is my own personal intern/assistant, so his job is very different from what you guys would be doing if you were to get an internship at SI. Regular interns would be placed within a specific department studying and working under a specific group of people on one or two projects over the course of the school year. Peter works with me, specifically - he helps me work on new blueprints for different tech for our StarkTech line, he works with me to come up with new ideas and prototypes, and occasionally gets to help me take a peek at the Iron Man armor and try to figure out ways to improve or add to it.”

Peter tried not to flush under the weight of everyone’s gazes as the whole room, including the parents and Ms. Abernathy, seemed to turn as one to stare at him in awe.

“Of course, he still does the regular, BS intern stuff, like get me coffee and doughnuts when I need it,” Tony added with a smirk in Peter’s direction.

The class laughed again as Tony reached back to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder blade and guide him to stand next to Tony beside the suitcase and the gadgets pulled from inside.

“So just really quick, I’ll show you a couple projects that both SI and the Initiative are working on right now. This, of course, is only one small example of the types of things we create at SI and of what I create for the Initiative. Peter here is going to show you some of the features on the newest version of the Stark Phone, which will be available for purchase in a couple months. Peter, could you grab the phone and pull up the accessibility features… yeah, the updated text reader - this particular function was Peter’s idea actually….”

Peter held up the phone and the tablet and ran through the newest and improved features as Tony explained what they were and how they were different from previous versions of the tech. Before Peter knew it, Tony was finished with the StarkTech and was reaching down to pick up the watch from the table.

“Now, the part I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for,” Tony smiled as he held up the watch, “my latest work for the Avenger Initiative. Don’t worry, anything weaponizable about it is deactivated, so while it looks cool, this thing is basically useless in a fight right now unless you punch really hard.”

He turned to Peter and held out the watch. “Peter, if you will.”

Peter looked up at Tony with wide eyes, glancing down at the watch an lifting his eyebrows to ask Tony if he was sure that’s what he wanted.

Tony rolled his eyes and reached down to grab Peter’s wrist, lifting it to fit the watch on as he kept talking to the class.

“Now, this particular version of the watch is actually my own personalized version, so no one else in the Initiative has a watch that does what this one does except for the Avenger Colonel James Rhodes, otherwise known as War Machine. You’ll see why here in just a second.”

Once the watch was on Peter’s wrist, Tony took a step back and gestured towards Peter.

“Pete, if you would be so kind as to demonstrate.”

Peter stared at Tony for a moment before he lifted his other hand to the face of the watch, tapped in the correct sequence, and pulled the nanotech down over his hand as it took the form of a replica Iron Man glove around his hand. The class gasped as Peter held the hand up and moved his fingers around - the whirring of the mechanized hand could be heard throughout the room.

“The watch is designed to offer protection to whoever is wearing it so that they are never unarmed if they are ever caught unawares. This particular watch has a miniature, less powerful form of the Iron Man glove stored inside of it using nanotech that forms to the shape of the hand of whoever is wearing it. It usually is weaponized similarly to my Iron Man glove but don’t worry - all weapon capabilities are turned off, so no one is going to accidentally get shot.”

The class gave a nervous chuckle.

“This watch has the ability to shoot less powerful versions of the power blasts that usually come from the repulsors on my Iron Man suit, which is why it is a little different from the standard issue watch we use at the compound. Usually standard issue has a built-in laser, taser capabilities, is waterproof, fireproof, shock absorbent - practically indestructible, it’s connected with the AI installed upstate, and is used as a communicator between agents who work in the Avengers Compound. It also has a holographic interface that projects from the screen - Peter?”

Tony gestured at Peter, and Peter pressed a button to retract the glove and pressed another to start up the projection, showing the date, time, and what the weather was like outside. He pressed another button so the screen changed to show he had a new text message from Bruce Banner, a voicemail from Steve, and three new emails from Rhodey and Pepper. The glass oohed and ahhed as Peter showed off the watch using the holographic interface projected above it.

“And that’s about it!” Tony said as Peter turned off the watch, took it off, and put it back in Tony’s briefcase with the phone and the tablet. “Any questions?”

The room sat in stunned silence for a moment before everyone leapt to their feet in applause. Peter tried not to blush as he smiled out at the audience and tried to look like he wasn’t completely shocked by how the whole day had gone. Tony simply smiled and nodded, shutting his briefcase and locking it before going to stand next to Peter.

Alright, well if no one has any questions for these two how about we go ahead and thank Mr. Stark for taking the time to come down here and talk to us all,” Ms. Abernathy said once the claps had died down. “Let’s give the other parents another round of applause and then we can go ahead and break for lunch!”

Everyone gave another, less enthusiastic round of applause for the rest of the parents before standing up to leave for lunch. Peter turned to Tony, a huge smile on his face as he stepped forward to hug the man before he could think anything of it. His smile grew impossibly bigger when he felt Tony raise his arms to wrap around him in return.

“Thank you so much, Tony, for coming down here. I know you must’ve been really busy and I don’t want to keep you away from your work, but-”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Tony said, raising a hand to ruffle Peter’s hair and he pulled out of the hug. “I told you, if you ever need anything, I’m here for you. Even if it’s just that your aunt is unavailable and you need someone to come visit your school for a couple hours.”

“Still, thank you,” Peter smiled, feeling that familiar, comforting feeling in his chest he was beginning to associate more and more with Tony, “you didn’t have to do all that.”

“I know I didn’t,” Tony said softly, “but I wanted to. For you. So. Don’t complain, you’re welcome.”

Peter laughed and Tony winked at him before glancing down at his watch, same as the one inside his briefcase.

“I should head back to SI,” he said, frowning as he read the email from Pepper, “I got another board meeting in an hour.”

“Oh,” Peter said, trying not to let his disappointment show. The man did just take half his morning off just to come help Peter, so he really couldn’t complain. He’d taken up enough of his time. Still– “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for lunch?”

“Ew, and eat high school cafeteria food!?” Tony asked incredulously before closing the email and smiling up at Peter. “Sure, why not. Lead the way.”

Peter nodded and turned to walk Tony to the cafeteria. He felt that familiar sense of comfort and safe wash over him again when Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and ruffled his hair. Peter tried to ignore the stares he could feel himself getting from the rest of the school and their parents also on the way to lunch. Though, he took pride in the jealous glare Flash threw his way when he walked by him and his parents.

The day hadn’t turned out quite so bad after all.

[musicprincess655]

As was typical of him, Mei barely made it to the airport in time to catch his plane. Once upon a time, that would’ve driven his agent to a panic, but now, Ueda just gave him an unimpressed side eye and let the matter slide until they were settled into the plane seats they’d had to sprint for. 

“I did offer to pick you up,” Ueda said in a way that would’ve sounded diplomatic to anyone who didn’t know him as well as Mei. 

“You would’ve rushed me!” Mei protested. “I would’ve forgotten something.”

“You wouldn’t forget anything if you packed earlier,” Ueda told him. 

“I did pack earlier! I just remembered some stuff I needed last minute. And I would’ve forgotten it if you rushed me.”

Ueda rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and Mei leaned back in his chair, smug in the knowledge that if he couldn’t beat Ueda in arguments, he could at least annoy him into dropping them. 

“You’re twenty-six, Narumiya-kun,” Ueda sighed. “Stop acting like a child.”

“You’re thirty-one, Ueda-kun,” Mei mimicked his tone. “Stop acting like an old man.”

“Knowing you for six years has aged me sixty.”

“That’s just mean,” Mei pouted, looking out the window. “I’m a delight.”

“Yes, yes,” Ueda waved him off. “I’m not just sharing a plane seat with you because I’m a glutton for punishment. We do have a few things to go over.”

“Boring,” Mei complained, holding his arms up in an X. “Wouldn’t you rather do anything else for the fifteen hours we have to be on a plane together?”

“Sixteen and a half,” Ueda corrected. “And it has to be now. You’ll just run away if you can.”

“What are you, my dad?” Mei teased. 

“I might as well be,” Ueda muttered under his breath. “Why my wife and I are trying to have kids when I spend all my time running around after you, I’ll never know.”

“How is Talia?” Mei asked, jumping on the topic of Ueda’s wife for any excuse to not talk business. If Mei had taken to American culture like it was second nature, Ueda had struggled and fought and very nearly drowned in it. Still, he’d managed to build a life here anyway, and it only took a short time of knowing him to hear a thousand stories about Ueda’s American wife, and Mei suspected that if they ever did manage to have kids, Ueda would be the kind of father who ran around with pictures of them in his wallet, showing them to anyone who would listen. 

“She’s fine,” Ueda said. “Stop trying to distract me. This is important, so listen.”

Mei almost pointedly didn’t pay much attention, staring out the window when he could get away with it and over Ueda’s shoulder at the sleeping old man across the aisle when he couldn’t. He barely caught what Ueda said about the itinerary and the schedule, the meetings he was supposed to have when he got to Japan and the interviews they might be able to schedule. 

He did tune back in, though, when Ueda mentioned something about bringing in a catcher just for him. 

“Good,” Mei thought. He hadn’t been in a battery with Kazuya since high school. Now that he was older, now that he could see how both he and Kazuya had developed as players, he could sort of see Kazuya’s point about how they weren’t good for each other. Still, they were both some of the best players of their generation, and when they worked, they worked. 

Kazuya seemed happy enough making that southpaw pitcher of his shine on the professional stage, though. Not that Mei had been keeping tabs on either of them. It was just that Mei did keep up with his former teammates’ careers, and Kazuya and Sawamura both played for the same team as Carlos. 

Of course, if they were bringing in Kazuya, that meant Sawamura would probably also be there. Come to think of it, Mei would probably see a lot of familiar faces, either from his own high school team or teams they had played. His teammates had a LINE chat, but it was still hard for him to keep up with them an ocean away. 

A part of Mei’s mind pointed out that there was no reason to say they were bringing in Kazuya just for him. Kazuya was arguably the best catcher in the Japanese professional league. He definitely would’ve gotten in on his own merits. 

Mei dismissed the thought, though. Ueda might have just been confused. He knew baseball, but they were still in another country. It wasn’t so strange that he might’ve gotten his wires crossed a little. 

“Did you hear anything I said?” Ueda asked. Mei shrugged, which Ueda correctly interpreted as not really. “You’re a pain sometimes, you know that?”

“And you still put up with me anyway,” Mei teased. “Am I that good at making you money?”

“You know if this was just about the money, I would’ve left years ago,” Ueda said. He gave Mei a sharp side eye. “Are you going to be fine with returning to Japan?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Mei asked. “I grew up in Tokyo, of course I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been back in years,” Ueda pointed out. “And even when you did go back, it was only for a week at New Year’s. I know you get along with your family, they send me a card every year. Anyone else would want to visit their home more often, so there must be something else keeping you away.”

“Baseball,” Mei said, easily deflecting. “I’m busy trying to keep up. Training isn’t easy, you know.”

Ueda’s sharp look didn’t go away, but he let it go. Mei considered it one of the best parts of their friendship. Ueda was always willing to listen - and Mei had taken shameless advantage when he’d just moved and he’d had spells of homesickness - but he didn’t push if Mei didn’t want to talk. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Ueda announced. “You should too, if you can.”

It was a smart move. Going to sleep now would mean waking up on Japan’s time, and that would at least make the jetlag a little better. But as Ueda drifted off, Mei instead stared out the window, too keyed up to sleep. 

Thinking back on it, Ueda hadn’t been that different from Mei when they’d met. They’d both just left Japan, jumping into a culture that could be foreign and terrifying, cold and unforgiving even as it seemed more open than the one they’d left. Mei hadn’t realized it at the time, too wrapped up in all of his own issues, but Ueda had probably felt just as alone as Mei had. 

Still, he’d hidden it all and offered Mei a willing ear when Mei had hit low points, and that more than anything else was why Mei had never dreamed of looking for a new manager, no matter than Ueda could be overbearing at times. 

Remembering that time, it was hard not to remember all the things Mei had been feeling at the time - the loneliness, the fear, and on the worst days, the ones when he couldn’t force himself to forget, the pain. Now, Mei could look out the window and start to remember all the things and all the people he’d left behind and not be plunged back to that dark place, but at eighteen, he couldn’t do more than keep his head above the water some days. 

In the end, Mei didn’t sleep much at all, and when it was finally time to get off the plane, he was groggy and swaying on his feet. He couldn’t do much more than follow Ueda blindly through the airport to a taxi, but he could still listen. 

He hadn’t been surrounded by Japanese in so long. There was something about the feeling of the breeze and the sun on his face, something about a smell in the air, that brought memories rushing back to the front of Mei’s mind. 

Home. 

Even though he lived in America now, even though he’d grown comfortable there and had no plans to leave, that feeling proved Japan was still home to him. It would probably always be home to him, much as he had tried to stay away for years. 

I’m finally home.

[vjjeons]

whaddup!! i’m acacia (satan). i’m twenty years old, i use she/her pronouns and i hail from the pst timezone! i’m super excited to be in a lil ol’ group again because i haven’t been in one since like… idk?? but enough about me — let’s get to the good stuff aka my girl, veronica jeon. it gets pretty lengthy, so if you just want the overall version of it just scroll to the very end! anyways, if you like this, i’ll take it as an invitation to IM you for plots, so be careful!! ♡

jennie kim + cis female + she/her — have you met veronica jeon? they are a twenty-one year old artist/barista known as the philophobic. a pansexual scorpio, they are independent + bold, as well as stubborn + cynical. their soulmark is a crescent moon on the left ring finger, and they can feel the emotions of their soulmate.

BACKGROUND + TRIGGER WARNINGS: abuse, death, drugs

to kick things off, veronica grew up with just her mother around. her father had always been MIA. so, she doesn’t have a lot of memories involving him. therefore, her mother dated an array of men. often times neglecting her daughter, with the exception of the times she brought in successful report cards.

when she was thirteen, her mother married a man who physically abused veronica any chance he had. especially when mrs. jeon started cheating on him. so ronnie recoiled around her art for a few years.

being alone as an only child, she had to keep herself entertained. she started off by doodling with just a pencil. but, eventually expanded with acrylic paints and water colors. thus ultimately discovering her love for the arts!! 

she isn’t exactly sure how she’s going to find a successful career path through her beloved hobby. which is why she picked up her job as a barista to make some actual cash flow.

when veronica turned sixteen, she thought of tracking down her father in hopes of reuniting with him. this lead her to her grandmother’s house. who eventually had to break the news that her father had died from a drug overdose before she was born.

though, the news was shocking. it didn’t leave her feeling empty. instead, she found something better — her grandmother. she instantly connected with the woman and eventually found herself making her grandmother’s home as a sort of safe haven.

her grandma even supported her with her arts. buying her any supplies she needed and giving her suggestions on places she can find more muse. basically fulfilling the mother role veronica desperately needed.

but one day while visiting, the woman had passed in her sleep. this took a toll on ronnie considering how attached she became to her grandmother and her home. she would have to return back to her mother’s and her step-father. when she went back, the man attempted to abuse her again. however, she ratted him out. ultimately sending him to his imprisonment.

once she turned eighteen, her mother had packed up her things and left the girl behind. though, ronnie was fazed by the woman’s actions. nor did she feel any lose considering how little she cared about the other.

but good things do happen to v! one day she received a letter explaining that she inherited her grandmother’s fortune. (which she often uses to pay off her apartment bills.) along with a small journal with letters and locations to keep veronica on the right path. to stray away from the hatred and negativity and turn those emotions into something beautiful.

PERSONALITY + RELATIONSHIPS

PERSONALITY: she is charming, creative, and witty. however, she can be quite cynical, stubborn, and reserved. she has that tell it like it is personality. she just calls it likes she sees it. even if she’s not exactly right. she’s witty and intelligent. she’s very particular when it comes to most things. she wants things done correctly. so she often runs by the quote, “if you want things right you gotta do it yourself.” she doesn’t like relying on others to get things done when she knows she could do it faster and better. a little bit of a ocd queen. she’s one of those people that set their mind to something and goes through with it until the end. she has a way with words. her silky soft voice makes it easy for her to manipulate people. (unless you’re close to her, then they can see past the bullshit.) but don’t get her talking about feelings. because you’re gonna just hear crickets if you do that. she’s sort of an introvert. over the years, veronica had to work hard to become the person she is today — someone who is hopeful, who sees art and beauty everywhere, even in the ugliest parts of the world..some days, it’s a little harder, but she never gives up. she’s slowly growing out of her tough head of hair and morphing into a young woman so beautiful over the years, but also at times, terrifying?? self destructive?? even if she’ll never let anyone see her deteriorate her insides sigh. basically she’s a hot mess. but she tries her best to hide that shit. yeye sweg.

when it comes to FRIENDS veronica can always use some of ‘em. she possess the qualities of a good friend loyal, honest, trustworthy. however, she can be quite pessimistic. which might be a reason why she doesn’t have as many friends. once her mind is set to think a certain way it’s hard to persuade her to believe otherwise. she’s the type of friend to listen to your problems, but be prepared to listen to her unwanted opinions – all of them. she’s also the type to put a friend in check when they need it. she thinks of it as trying to convince them to see the bigger picture. first impressions is something she might not be very good at. while she isn’t exactly the definition of rude, she tends to not filter then things she says. overall, i would say that she might just need a handful of friends, a whole bunch of acquaintances, and her a ride or die.

please flood her with ENEMIES. i know for a fact that she has these. being so boldly opinionated and all. you know this girl has more than enough haters. sometimes she has some very evil intentions. she’s vengeful and irrational. but, don’t get me wrong. she’s not pure evil. veronica does have some good intentions, she leans more to the chaotic evil side. deep deeeeep deeeeeeeeep down the girl is trust issue central when it comes to letting people in. she can’t help it. she has abandonment issues thanks to her parents. therefore, she might come off as standoff-ish to new people. she keeps her circle tight. so maybe they think she’s cliquey? or she could have pushed people away. she’s like that one rihanna meme, them: you can’t just cut people off. ronnie: *holds a pair of scissors* she doesn’t have problem with letting people go. so maybe people think she’s a bitch because, “how could you just drop our five year long friendship like that.” and she’d just shrug. but really, she’s hurting beyond repair and will go home crying while eating a thing of ben & jerry’s chunky monkey. and there’s always that possibility where a friendship just didn’t work out. maybe they just stopped having time for each other and now it’s just mad awk. whatever it is, an enemy would b beaut.

as for LOVERS. veronica is a fucking cynic. love ain’t real and life is cold. she’d rather just be alone and happy than in a relationship and suffering. she sees so many people around her settle for less. (her mother being a prime example of that.) especially when she’s giving advice for friends. she doesn’t think people should be so easily manipulated by the concept of love. she knows there’s a difference between wanting someone and wanting to be with someone. and in her eyes, most people only settle for the sake of companionship. it’d be a hard mission to win this girl over. but not impossible. she’s definitely been on a few dates and had a couple of relationships. though most ended quickly due to the realization she only fell for their smooth talking and nothing more. 100% dabbles in the quick hook ups for the sake of fulfilling those needs. though, if the right person were to come along… she’d be loyal to them, completely devoted to just them.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

sooooo, my lazy ass actually found the power to make a RELATIONSHIPS PAGE. peep it, tell me what you think. if you can’t find something your muse fits, throw whatever ideas you have right at me! i’m so down for whatever.

MISCELLANEOUS

in a nutshell, she’s an angel with a halo unbalanced with horns, not a devil but not a saint either?? kind yet has a backbone. softer than what she seems like. humorous and witty though understanding. mistrusting but willing to let loyalty speak. veronica is a hot mess dealing with personal issues by lashing out on those around her. she’s loyal, but manipulative. opinionated, but easily offended. intelligent, but sometimes argumentative. she’s a bit of a feminist. trusts no bitch. but if you’re her friend, she’s chill as fuck. though, she’s a bit hesitant when it comes to making new friends. since she’s likes being a lame outcast. but really — she just doesn’t know how to process her good thoughts into words. she’s a barista and a tortured artist. she’s independent, hardworking, and determined. muse inspo for her: kat stratford (10 things i hate about you), samantha borgens (stuck in love), michelle (spider-man homecoming), and a hint of blair waldorf (gossip girl). anyways, give her girl scout cookies and she’ll love you til the end of time.

congratulations ! you made it to end ! if you read all of this… i love you. i only ever write so much bc… it gets me in character lmao. also, i wrote all of this the second i woke up. so don’t mind the grammar mistakes and what not. HENNYWAYS… i would really love to plot with everyone. so just slide into my DMs and we can get things started!! luv u *blows a kiss*

[artistic-writer]

Between Now and Nether :: Ch 5 :: A CS AU

Title: Between Now and Nether by @artistic-writer  [full res fanart]

Summary: On their way to a Nolan Charity Gala, tragedy befalls Emma and Killian who is given just seven days to set things right.  Can he make Emma believe and escape the Nether before he is lost forever?

Rating: T+

AO3 Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5]

A/N: Two things before you all get all RAGEY - this is 100% a CS story.  I know, I know...the fanart suggests otherwise, but IF you read the last chapter you will know what is going on here ;)  And as much as i love Graham, the poor, sappy puppy dog of a man, he does not belong with Emma.  So chill your beans.  This is NOT Gremma fanart, I am NOT shipping Gremma but feel free to send me some hate mail about it - it keeps my day interesting and just proves that you are not actually reading my fic.

Anyway - I know it’s not Thursday yet, but i have work all day tomorrow so...Future updates will be Sundays AND Thursdays! (providing I can get the art made in time)

Huge thanks to @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @rouhn  and @wordsmith-storyweaver for your advice and suggestions.  This fic would just be so much worse without you guys! <3

Taglist: @mariakov81 @rouhn @resident-of-storybrooke @hookedonapirate @kmomof4@galadriel26 @yellow-bugs-and-pirate-ships @the-captains-ayebrows @yayimallamaagain@takhisismb @officerrogerss @ i-nvr-wrote-it @kiwistreetswan @distant-rose  @aye-captn

If you would like to be added please let me know for ch 6!

———————————————————————————————————

Graham’s body was weirdly toned and smooth. The man didn’t have a single hair on his entire body apart from around his jawline. Killian could feel his every muscle moving against his shirt as he exited the car, thankful that he still retained the memory to be able to drive both Graham’s body and the car he was in control of. Smooth was not something that Killian enjoyed feeling.

Even walking felt different, heavier, like his feet were too small and he had to work twice as hard to get anywhere. His hands were too pristine, palms soft and supple like a woman. Killian wondered if the taunts around the bullpen were warranted. It seemed Graham Humbert hadn’t taken on any task that meant he would get his hands dirty. Until now.

He might very well be planning to ruin the career of a very good, up and coming police officer with what he had planned. Killian was sure his plan would work, and Graham was just a pawn, unwittingly willing to be sacrificed for the greater good. The greater good of Killian’s future with Emma and their baby. It just happened that Graham would be forever known as the cop who tried to woo a grieving woman less than two weeks after her boyfriend’s demise, but Killian was more than okay with that.

“For the greater good,” he whispered to himself, taking the biggest breath he could and tapping on the white front door. It was a good few minutes before he heard the slide of the lock behind the wood, the click of the mechanism and then the familiar way their front door always creaked as it was opened.

Emma was alone again, Mary Margaret no doubt having something else humanitarian on her schedule for the day. She was a good person, too good for this world, often sacrificing her own happiness for that of others.

“Emma,” Killian breathed, his thick Irish accent making her name sound different. He paused, irritated for a second. He had never missed his accent so much, and when Emma looked up at him with her tired eyes, he knew she was just as irritated as he was.

“Humbert,” she greeted him back, stepping back from the door and silently inviting him into their home. Killian followed her, letting the door close softly behind him.

“What’s up?” Emma huffed, turning to face him and crossing her arms.

Killian swallowed hard and stepped towards her, tapping the folder against his fingers. He looked down at it nervously as he approached her, fighting the urge to toss it aside and take her in his arms. He had arms now, actual real, strong, warm arms that he could hold her with and kiss away the tears. But he couldn’t just yet. He had to convince her a bit more first.

“Can I show you a picture?” he said softly, flicking the folder open.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ve told everyone I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see anyone,” She scoffed agitated.

“I know, and I am really sorry to come here…”

“Then why have you?” Emma narrowed her eyes, pulling her arms harder against each other. Killian watched her stiffen, her irritation evident in her darkened eyes and tight lipped scowl.

Killian gulped again and without a second thought he reached up and scratched behind Graham’s ear. He shifted his gaze, nervously looking at the floor as he did so, almost tugging on his earlobe and looking back up at her. Emma was watching him with a confused look, almost unable to believe what she was seeing.

“Graham?” She prompted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yes, love?” Killian said without thinking, instantly feeling Graham’s cheeks blush and his eyes widen.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked, her tone softening slightly as she unfolded her arms and stepped towards him. “You sound different.”

Killian let out a burst of laughter. He felt like a teenager taking his date to prom but having to first meet her father. Awkward didn’t begin to describe it. How do you work up to kissing the woman you love when you look like another man? “I feel different,” he said honestly. It wasn’t a lie.

“Tell me about it,” Emma laughed sarcastically. “The last few days have been very strange.”

“Like weird alarms and taps turning themselves on, strange?” Killian prodded, knowing full well no one else knew about his ghostly activities but Emma. Her face paled and she stopped breathing at his words.

“Would you like a drink?” Emma’s voice broke and she walked past him towards the kitchen, her feminine scent of vanilla and sweetness invaded his newly acquired senses. Killian inhaled sharply, savouring the smell of her like it was the last time he would ever have it.

“Do you have coffee?” Killian asked her, knowing that she did and also knowing that she wouldn’t have drunk the stuff. Emma hated it, only tolerating the taste when it was in his kisses.

“I’m sure I have some around here somewhere,” she pulled open cupboard after cupboard looking for Killian’s stash.

“In the fridge,” Killian said quickly, pointing towards the appliance beside her. He laid the folder down on the table and shrugged off Graham’s brown leather jacket, hanging it over one of the chairs tucked under the table.

Emma twisted her features, brows knitting together in a frown as she pulled the silver handle of the refrigerator and let the door swing open. Sure enough, sitting on the top shelf in an airtight container, was Killian’s coffee. Emma felt a shiver run up her spine as she reached for the pot, closing the door and glancing to Graham.

“How did you…?” She asked tentatively.

“It’s the best place to keep it fresh,” Graham smiled weakly, Killian moving the muscles of his face.

Emma turned from him and spooned some of the ground coffee into the awaiting cafetiere, a sudden chill running over her skin. It was something that had been happening for a few days now and was normally accompanied by a tingling sensation against various parts of her body. Her ear. Her cheek. Her lips. “Killian always says that,” she said into the sink as she filled the kettle from the faucet. She placed it on the stove and lit the gas, resting her hands on the edge of the sink and taking a breath.

“Are you alright?” Killian asked her quickly, his familiar words twisted by the Irishman’s accent once more. He stepped towards her, reaching out to brush his fingertips over her elbow.

Emma jumped, spinning to face him. “Killian always said that,” she corrected herself, her voice almost a whisper as she looked up at Graham through her lashes. There was something in Graham’s eyes, something so intimate and recognizable that Emma’s breathing became shallow. The world fell away from her and all she could see was the blue of his gaze, the dark speckles around his pupil shifting as his eyes flicked over hers.

“Love…” Killian said softly, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, sliding his hand to cup her face and thumbing the skin of her bottom lip tenderly. Emma’s eyes closed and she leaned into his touch, hands coming up to toy with the collar of his shirt.

“Killian,” she breathed, eyes remaining closed.

“Aye, Swan, I’m here,” Killian whispered against her face, watching a single tear roll down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb, his hand shaking.

And then before he knew it, Emma was snaking her hands up Graham’s shoulders, grabbing his scruffing cheeks in her hands and pulling his face to hers. Killian began kissing her, pushing her into the sink and diving his hands into her hair, holding her face to his as he desperately tried to make her see. Make her feel.

His tongue danced with hers, brushing over her teeth and skimming her bottom lip, the prickling sensation returning to her skin. She pushed back, hands roaming over Graham’s torso tensely, yearning for the feel of what she wanted, the taste of Killian, and that was when Killian felt the ripping sensation, a burning stretch of a cramp-like pain tearing through his entire body. He was pulled backwards, out of Graham’s body and reduced to watching his girlfriend kissed by another man in front of him.

“NO!” He growled, running at Graham’s body again but failing at reincorporating himself into his skin. He tried again but just passed straight through them both. “Emma!”

The whistle of the kettle shook Emma and Graham apart and he pulled away from her, confusion written all over his face. He looked horrified, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and eyes flitting around the kitchen. “Emma? Where am I?” He asked quickly, heart pounding in his chest.

Emma’s cheeks flushed red and she looked just as horrified. What had she done? “My house,” she said simply, moving to turn off the gas and soothe the screaming kettle.

Graham looked at her dazed, his eyes somehow a different shade of blue than a few seconds ago. His heart was racing and he wasn’t sure why, his mind running at a mile a minute to try and work out how he had ended up in a colleague’s kitchen in the middle of the day. “Um, why?” He asked stupidly.

Emma nodded towards the folder on the table behind him. “Something about Killian’s case,” she said quickly, pouring the boiling water into the glass cafetiere and resting the plunger on the top. “You had something.”

“Leroy is on Killian’s case,” he frowned, reaching for the folder.

Emma paused, the plunger halfway to the bottom of the glass container when a realisation hit her. She swallowed hard and pushed on the plunger, finally pouring the dark, sour liquid into the waiting mug before stirring and throwing the spoon into the sink.

“Emma! It was me!”

She grasped the mug and turned, offering it to Graham. “Here,” she said holding the mug at arm's length.

“What’s that?” Graham took the mug and stared into the black, swirling drink.

“You wanted a coffee,” Emma scowled, walls going back up as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the sink.

Graham laughed, almost hysterically and placed the coffee mug on the dining table, careful to place the scalding ceramic on a placemat. Emma watched with a sideways glare. “You know I don’t drink coffee,” Graham smiled nervously.

“But I do!”

“Right,” Emma agreed, her thoughts elsewhere suddenly. Killian loved coffee. He called her love. He scratched that soft patch of skin behind his ear when he was nervous. He made her skin feel like it was on fire every time he touched her. He kissed her just enough to curl her toes and leave her wanting more for the rest of her life, but Graham had not. For whatever reason, in her confusion, Emma had kissed Graham. Misheard some things he had said maybe, wishing it was the ghost of her dead boyfriend trying to send her a message. Emma quickly covered her mouth when a maniacal laugh slipped from her lips. She was going mad.

“Are you okay?” Graham asked smoothly, his Irish accent changed once more to an even thicker variation now he was sans Killian.

“I think you should leave,” she said sternly, pointing towards the door.

“Of course,” Graham gathered up the folder, whipped his jacket from the chair, and made his way to the door. “I’m sorry,” he offered, still unsure as to what he might be sorry for but sure he needed to apologize for something.

Killian watched Graham leave, a frustrated sigh grumbling from his mouth. He shouted to himself, clutching at his hair and pulling in annoyance. He kicked out at the table, foot flying straight through the wooden leg and as he spun on his heels to face Emma once more, he was sure his heart twisted a little more. She was frozen, fingertips lightly touching her lips and her emerald eyes far away in thought.

“Oh Emma,” Killian sighed.