#online Straight Tuck End Boxes

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

For the ask game, what is unnamed fics 6 about?

hello! 🥹 thank you for sending an ask and sorry for the late response 💀

unnamed fic number six (also known as speed dating) is a fic i've had jostling around in my head for a long time 😭 but it's more than you'd think -

Harry is an auror in a modern!au with cellphones etc -- i haven't decided if magic will be a factor (i am leaning towards no magic), but Tom is, naturally, a dark lord in the making, or someone generally shifty 😂 Hary has had some trouble in the past with relationships coexisting with his work/life balance (the balance being: nonexistent) and Hermione has pushed him to get back out there and try a speed dating event. Tom ends up being one of Harry's dates, and they are both hesitant to disclose their work/jobs to each other -- hilarity ensues

please accept my submission - [hesitantly now titled: (dis)organised crime]

Meet anyone interesting yet?

Bless her, Hermione was checking on how things were going. Again.

They weren’t really allowed to have their phones on during the event. It ‘ruined the lovey-dovey atmosphere’-allegedly. But Harry was technically on the clock and couldn’t afford to miss a call, plus he was still hovering on that online tips idea... 

And, though he would never admit it, her check-ins brought him immense comfort. 

i’ve only met like three people

So?

you already asked about the first one

And?

Harry sighed—it was very nearly a laugh—and tucked his phone away. This was going to be a long night, and-

Someone cleared their throat. “Good evening,” a smooth, lilting baritone voice interrupted his misery and jolted him to attention. Harry’s eyes locked on warm mahogany brown, its shine similar to the polished panelling on the walls and stained wood grain tabletops. 

He hardly got a hi and a small wave out before that little jingle played to signal the end of table switching. And he watched with a growing sense of panic as - #12. Tom - took the empty seat across from him.

What on earth is going on here? Harry was mostly sure Hermione wouldn’t set him up at a swinger’s event, but that hope was quickly dying the longer he took in Tom’s features.

Those brown eyes straight from the forbidden forests of folklore weren’t where his dripping good looks ended, oh no. Harry could only find more and more attractive traits, from the slight curl of Tom’s dark hair to that naturally tempting smile and the long line of his - well, everything. All of Tom was long lines from his neck to his arms and his legs. 

There’s no way this man is single.

if you'd like to send me a wip, please do! my ask box is open 🥹

[chetungwan]

Today I put myself through the most complicated and stupid series of events that I could have devised, and it was only tangential to moving in the first place. First, carpets in rented apartments Suck. Second, when you're renting from an LLC, nothing is actually getting examined anyways. So if you, like me, do not want to constantly wonder what that stain is, you'll clean the carpet yourself.

Clearly, the right move was to rent a carpet cleaner.

My first stop for renting a carpet cleaner was Walmart. Yes, Walmart is evil, yes, I abhor them, yes, they're a blight on this earth. But they usually have Rug Doctor kiosks, and after ten hours of driving, I didn't have the energy to go looking for a more moral option.

How little I knew.

The nearby Walmart doesn't have the kiosk. They didn't rent anything, as I soon found out. But I needed a shower curtain, and since I was evidently going to have to put some elbow grease into getting my carpets clean, I wouldn't have any to spare finding a better store to get it at. So I buy a shower curtain and an ice cube tray. Hey, it's hot, and moving boxes around just makes it hotter. It'd be useful.

Before taking off for the second, further, Walmart, I check that it had a rental kiosk first. Sure enough, there was a picture of one there online, right next to a key copier. Well hey, it was suggested in my lease to get copies of the keys made. Two birds with one stone, and what were the odds I'd actually get new keys if I didn't do it now.

So I take off for the new den of capitalistic horror. I take the route I was most sure I wouldn't get lost along, which means that I get on and then off a highway and generally take an extra fifteen minutes to get there  There is so much traffic. It's the Friday before the weekend of July 4th, and fucking everyone needed to be on the road right now. I hate other cars now with a burning, petty passion.

So I arrive at the second Walmart. My legs hurt from driving and carrying boxes. I'm tired. It takes me ten minutes of wandering to find the key copying booth, and I'm dreading finding out that there's no carpet cleaner rental here either.

First, though, I get my keys copied while the employee helping me tells me that he's pretty sure he knows exactly who broke the key machine last month and he's gonna prove it. I nod along while he tells me about the delicate power balance surrounding who manages the gun counter and the key booth. This is normal. People like telling me things; I just have that demeanor. Two hours ago, my new neighbor's opening welcome was an explanation of her health issues and an offer to help illegally sublet my room.

Finally, my keys are done, and I ask if he knows if they have a carpet cleaner rental. He does not know either way, and I thank him for his time, wishing him a survivable 4th of July shift.

I begin wandering the hellscape that is Walmart again, taking psychic damage all the while. Eventually, I ask the right employee, and am finally directed to the rental kiosk, which was tucked in a corner, out of direct view. Surely this was the last challenge, the hiding place only discoverable via defeating social anxiety and asking for help. Surely my quest is at an end.

The kiosk rejects my credit card. And then rejects my second card. Eventually, I work out that it straight up can't process the transaction because it's internet connection is broken. When I flag down an employee for help, I am told the kiosk belongs to a vendor and that no one here can fix it. I thank her for her time and tell her I understand.

At this point, it's 5 pm and I haven't eaten since 7 am, not counting coffee. I want to murder someone very badly and then sleep for a decade. I buy some hummus.

Giving up, I text my dad that it's a bust on the carpet cleaner, and head home so I can eat my hummus. Twenty minutes later, as I pull in, my phone rings. It's dad. He tells me that he has some places for me to look at.

I still haven't eaten or slept, and all I can think is that I've already signed the lease to the apartment.

I make some kind of befuddled croaking sound in an effort to convey my confusion. Thankfully, my father is used to this, and quickly elaborates that he's found some places that might have carpet cleaners for rent. In fact, there's a Lowe's nearby. It's off this exit, and he lists the exit that I literally just came from. It's a stone's throw from the Walmart I just left.

I hang up the phone and go inside. If I have any hope in doing anything further today, it lies in the tub of hummus in my hand. I proceed to eat half of it while drinking water out of the only cup I've unpacked so far, which is a plastic wine glass. The stem comes off so you can pack it more easily. It is my cheap concession to being a wine snob.

Today, I take a fistful of ibuprofen instead of wine, and lay down on my filthy carpet until they start working.

After they work and I no longer want to murder someone, I get back up. My mom and sister, who are coming with the rest of my shit, are delayed in 4th of July traffic, and I have enough time to get down to Lowe's and pick up the carpet cleaner. At least I already know the route.

When I arrive, I again begin to wander. First, because I accidentally came up to the building along the deliveries route and have to circle the whole thing to the parking lot, and then, because once inside the building, I don't know where to go. Eventually, I remember to ask for directions and find the customer service center.

I ask to rent a carpet cleaner. The employee stares off into space, and for a full minute, I don't register that this is odd. As far as I know, this is how time is supposed to move. Then, she apologizes for her hesitancy. Apparently she's still in training, and the person who normally does this is on break. She says lunch break, but it's six pm by this point, and I get the idea that lunch is a meaningless concept to her as it is to me. Retail, as with moving, erodes the concept of time.

I tell her to take as long as she could possibly need, and proceed to tune out as hard as I can. I try to enter a coma while standing upright in front of a plastic shield over a desk. She makes some phone calls, and a very butch person comes to take over the other orders that are piling up. There's a long period of time where she can't find the serial number on the carpet cleaner. I think I write my address down at some point.

The next thing I am fully aware of, I'm hauling a very heavy machine out to my car with a bottle of soap in my other hand. I have succeeded. My goal is complete. I arrive back at my apartment at eight pm, and have no time to clean anything because my mom and sister have arrived and we have to carry more heavy boxes around.

Thus ends the saga of the carpet cleaner. It is currently 12:30 am and I hate the concept of carpets as if they are cars full of tourists or a Walmart

[unknownjpegs]

birthday

The day ends. 

Lark’s asleep by the time the front door bangs open, and thanks to that suddenly he’s not. He’s very awake, eyes sleep-sore, staring at the blinking red of his alarm clock when a barrage of familiar footfalls bangs around the foyer. 

I have to be up early in the morning, rises to his tongue as a shout, almost makes it out, but he stifles it. Remembers what day, at least for another hour or so, it is. So he sighs deep, settles quietly back onto the pillow.

“Don’t trip on his boots again,” Matilda mumbles between his shoulder blades, rubbing her face into soft fabric of his sleep shirt — it’s age-worn, some track thing he’s had since maybe middle school. 

He reaches behind to pinch at her hip until she swats at him. “Xavier’ll get them,” he mumbles back, sighing contently at the snake-like wind of her arm up his stomach, crossing his chest. It’s a possessive sort of touch, and maybe that’s why he gets back to sleep so quickly.

Doesn’t last. The television squeal of tires, brakes, a scream, and an explosion make him groan. Matilda has tossed herself to the side, so Lark slips out of bed with a soft brush of hair over her shoulder, the sheet tucked under chin. 

When he stumbles out to the living room, a variety of takeout boxes are stacked on the coffee table. Lark moves quiet, searches out the remote to turn off the flagrantly awful action movie. It’s not Lark himself, but the sudden lack of noise, that makes one of the figures lumped on the couch move. 

“Hm?” Benji’s messy mop of hair peeks out from a plaid blanket. He’s fallen asleep upright, Lark supposes, chin propped on a fist. His glasses are askew on his nose, so Lark huffs a near-silent laugh and tiptoes over. They get plucked off and placed on the end table. Benji grins sleepily up at him, and then shuts his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles groggily, squirming down into the cushion. It’s impressive, how immediately he nods off again. There’s a soft, muffled sigh — Lark lifts the blanket, reveals staticky red hair underneath as it pulls away. The birthday boy is knocked out just as hard, his freckled cheek smushed against a broad bicep, hand fisted in the collar of his shirt. There’s a new ring of ink  surrounded by agitated skin at the base of Xavier’s pale thumb. A tiny smiley face.

Lark smiles, ruffles a gentle hand across Xavier’s scalp affectionately.

“Hope it was a good day, man.”

*

In the parking lot outside Xavier’s flat, Benji leaps over the edge of his truck, DIY kit in hand. The stars blink on the navy horizon, coming brighter and brighter as the last washes of the sun dip away. 

“This isn’t sterile.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Benji agrees, cap of the isopropyl alcohol twisted off between his teeth.

“Am I gonna get MRSA or something and, like, die?” 

He upends the remnants of the bottle over Xavier’s outstretched hand. “Mmm…dunno.” It doesn’t take long to prep the bought-online gun, snap on a pair of gloves tucked in a side pocket. 

“This isn’t technically a stick and poke.” He admits, taking Xavier’s big hand and scooting closer. Lifting his knee to lay the hand flat overtop. Close enough that he can see without leaning in, without chancing a splatter of ink on his glasses — that’s happened before.

“Okay.” Xavier breathes. Benji can’t read his tone, so he glances up. “Surprise me.”

It makes him grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it extra shitty just for you.” 

He doesn’t. Benji takes his time. Keeps his hand slower than he usually would, notes his own breath to keep the line straight, balances an elbow and doesn’t move otherwise for the entirety of the time it takes. When he’s done, he nods once and then offers Xavier his hand to inspect. 

Feels fucking bludgeoned by that flashing, immediate grin, the intensity of the gratitude and goofy, pleased energy radiating across to him. 

“Wicked.” Xavier says. “That’s fucking wicked, Benji. Thanks.”

I don’t want to go back to mine, Benji whinges internally, staring back at him. Wish we had more time. Aren’t enough fucking hours in the day, even though we spend so much of ‘em together — I don’t get tired of it, either. Is that insane? Am I fucking insane for that?Don’t say goodnight. Don’t make me go home. 

“Wanna — Benj, I still get special treatment for like, another couple hours.” When Benji’s head jerks up, Xavier is staring down at his thumb, fingers of his other hands brushing across the curve. Benji reaches out and grabs his wrist, guides his hand away. 

“What’re you thinking, in that case?” 

Xavier doesn’t look at him straight away. Stares down at his hand, at Benji’s fingers circling his wrist, and then straightens his shoulders abruptly. 

“Uh. I’m kinda hungry again. Let’s…let’s order food, and we can watch some shitty movies.”

Benji laughs, shakes his head a bit. He leans back against the truck bed and nudges Xavier’s thigh with his foot. 

“You really want to end it on that note, mate? Shit entertainment and worse takeout?” 

The responding grin isn’t his usual toothy wide one. “Yeah.” 

The sincerity of that single word makes Benji feel like he floats all the way up the elevator ride, around the corner, and back inside the flat.

*

They hop the turnstile, and Xavier nearly eats ground because his jean gets stuck on the bar and Benji nearly fucking pisses himself, laughing as hard as the does. Xavier braces a hand on his shoulder, a hand on the edge of the turnstile, and huffs with amusement too. His cheeks are pink, green eyes narrowed with humor but darting around to see if anyone’s watching. 

“Beauty and grace,” he teases once Xavier stumbles free. His blush darkens, hip checking Benji as they jog towards the platform.

“Fuck off.”

In the metro, they have to stand close together. 

Well, they don’t really have to, but it’s just…easier. Xavier ducks away from the cold rush of air at every station, and there’s a few people milling about, and neither of them like the accidental touch of a stranger, so — 

So they just end up standing close, is all. Xavier braves onto the grip above his head while they chat, looming over, head tilted down. His focus, so much of it and so intense and so near, sends Benji into such a momentary trip of madness that his eyes feel fuzzy. He’s got to ask twice for Xavier to repeat back his sentence, and at the sweet look of concern all her can do is mumble, need a tea. And Xavier, who reads him incredibly, concerningly well on a bad day, simply tucks even closer. Angles himself with that straightened roll of his shoulders without breaking eye contact, not pausing a quip or thought. 

Xavier’s quick with people like that. Reminds Benji of Maran — if it didn’t, the blatant read on his behavior would piss him off. Make him feel too seen. Doesn’t mind it so much with Xavier, especially when he physically puts himself like that between potential annoyances and Benji.

Benji stares up at him for the duration of the ride, listening — watching — him talk about one thing or another, supplying an observation or addition here and there. Two stops away from their destination, Xavier suddenly trails off with a focus beyond him.

“What?” Benji asks, peering over his shoulder immediately. No fucking subtlety, he hears Maran sigh.

Xavier nudges him with an elbow, chin tilting towards the far end of the rattling subway car. 

“What’s his day job, do you think?” 

A rat scuttles across the tile, darting between feet, disappearing in and out of sight. Benji scoffs, rolling his eyes up to Xavier. They look at each other a beat, and then Benji’s grinning. Xavier’s grinning. Both of them twitch, holding back chuckles.

“Well — nothing fancy. Wanker’s on transit with the rest of us.” 

Xavier’s responding smile is all tooth. “And no suit.”

He pretends to consider it carefully, head tilting as he follows the rat’s path. People shuffle and move out of the way, a little ripple of complaints and swears at public sanitation funding. 

“Right, ‘course, no suit. Not an upperclass guy. Dunno. I think maybe something like, fuck, maybe —” he waves a hand in the air between them, and Xavier nods encouragingly. “What’s a rat job?”

“Test subject at the trap factory?” Xavier widens his eyes, snaps his fingers. “Cheese sampler.”

Benji sucks his teeth, glares playfully up at him. “Oh, mate, now that’s fucked. You’re being problematic.”

“Fine, okay,” Xavier’s shoulders are jumping, his voice wavering a bit as he fights publicly inappropriate loud laughter. “Uh — man, I don’t know a fuckin’ thing about rats, except Ratatouille. Not a chef. Maybe…uh. Fruit…washer?”

“Fruit. Washer?” 

“Sorry,” Xavier barks out a laugh. He leans down a bit, one eyebrow challengingly raised as he shakes the now empty-bag of grapes. “Sorry is that so unbelievable of a job? That can’t be a rat job? There are real and fake rat jobs now?”

He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes darting around to see if their rowdiness is drawing attention. It is. Benji’s cheeks go warm under his palm, so he lifts the bottom to speak softer, now. Xavier bends even more — to hear. To hear him better, Xavier bends closer, tilts his smiling face slightly away.

“Xavier, mate, you are fuckin’ delusional if you think—”

The metro lurches suddenly on its rails. 

Benji adjusts with a soft noise, a partial-laugh of shock. Xavier catches him with a hand cupped around and elbow. It doesn’t slip off. On the next bit of turbulence, it grips him tighter. Slides up his forearm to help him balance. Xavier doesn’t run warm enough for him to feel the heat skin beneath the thickness of his jacket’s sleeve, but he feels it nonetheless. Five firm, bracing pinpoints that raise goosebumps on his arm. 

Aw, now that’s sad, Benji chides at himself. Now that is proper fucking sad, Benji. C’mon.

He clears his throat, moves slightly back into his own space. Tears his focus from the auburn curl stuck damp to Xavier’s neck, just under his ear. He wants to brush it back.

“Fruit washer’s — that’s gotta be the poshest rat in this city, if he's worried about food safety. Seen ‘em eat out of dumpsters.” 

“Haven’t we all,” Xavier intones sagely, keeping the seriousness tight on his face for just a moment. Then he’s laughing again, loud, the both of them too fucking loud because Benji joins in, the sweet pressure of anxiety, of want in his chest, silenced by the noise.

They’re still laughing when their stop finally chimes. Nearly miss it from their snickering, they’re shared embarrassment at the numerous pairs of eyes on them as they stumble off.

 Fucking weird. Benji allows Xavier to link an arm around his shoulders, tug him close as they lazily climb the stairs. 

*

“We’ll catch the next one,” Benji reasons.

Xavier laughs sheepishly and straightens up. He’s sat on the pond’s bridge, long legs dangling off the side. Below, another delicate volley of halved grapes into the water has Benji grinning beside him. His knife is sticky in his pocket — Xavier had taken one look at the crowd of baby ducks at water’s edge and declared it necessary. 

He’d been halfway through the bag, dumping halves into Xavier’s waiting palms, when he’d thought: take a long look at yourself right now. Cutting fucking fruit because the bastard had a soft fucking heart, because he’d asked so genuinely, because the strength of that grin at the simple enjoyment of an evening spent feeding fucking ducks has sent Benji absolutely spinning. 

Spinning more than he usually would, anyway. Than he already had. It’s a dizziness he’s trying so, so hard to conceal. Or maybe it’s the heavy-handed drinks.

“Sorry.” Xavier says. With his hair tucked messily behind both ears, Benji can see thee tips of them are pink.

“What for?” Benji scoffs, instead flattening a palm on the top of his head, ruffling his hair until it all comes undone — hides that tempting skin. “Enjoyin’ yourself? It’s the whole point, so…are you?” 

Xavier laughs, but the noise trails off. “Yeah, I am. If it’s like this, it’s nice.” He says the second half almost distantly, almost to himself more than anything. It’s quiet like he meant for it to be for a solo audience.

“Pardon?” Benji asks, elbow on the bridge’s railing, chin in his palm. He’s still a bit fuzzy from the drinks, from the brisk walk.

“Nothing.” He dismisses, dramatic shake of his messy head. Benji’s hand falls from the top of it, but it’s not a brush-off; Xavier braces himself with a grip on his forearm, fingers curling tight as he stands. Benji has to shift his weight, still ends up stumbling forward because Xavier’s a shit and yanks hard on purpose. 

And Benji tells him as much as they knock together; his chin bounces off Xavier’s elbow hard enough to jostle him with a sharp, shocked laugh. Nearly bites his tongue off.

“Fuck!” Xaviers snorts as well, just with a note of worry. “Fuck, they made those things strong, I’m a little — I’m so sorry Benji, Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” 

Benji’s own giggles taper off as Xavier slips a hand over his, cradling his jaw. His whole hand spans his face, palm rounded to his cheek. Their gazes lock. Neither of them blink, and Benji’s air catches.

“Better start walking if we want to make it.” He says, breathes, the words loaded mostly empty, low. His eyes feel liquid and slow in his skull. Feels like his whole head moves in disembodied, halted rotations on his neck. 

He pulls himself away because he has to. Otherwise — 

Otherwise.

*

At a cornerstore, Xavier stops to pet the shop cat. Benji finds the grapes — back of the cold stock shelf: sad little bag of them, way overpriced, mush at the bottom. He rings out while the ginger tabby gets scratched under the chin.

“Her name’s Phil,” the owner says. 

Xavier takes her little face in both hands, shaking her gently. “I would fucking die for you, Phil.” 

They chat shit the whole two blocks down to the entrance of the park, tossing observations from the day back and forth. That dickhead back there, the one sat behind us at the restaurant, yeah, the rude asshole, right exactly, and then he — 

They’re both so focused on the conversation that their walk goes fast. Too fast, Benji realizes as they come up to the entrance. 

“Never been here before.” Xavier says, fiddling with their haul. Grapes, two energy drinks (they shared a favorite flavor), massive chocolate bar to split (that he will let Xavier eat most of, naturally), bag of insanely flavored crisps (“Oh, man, that seems fucking nasty, we’ve gotta try it”). 

“When the weather’s nice enough and I’ve got time to spare, it’s a good study spot.” Benji leans over, tucking his hands in the jacket’s pockets. “So, y’know. Don’t get out here often, either.” 

Xavier laughs and nudges him back, and they end up stumbling and shoving each other up and over the slight hill cresting the pond’s edge. 

* 

The restaurant is horribly fucking busy, which isn’t ideal. But he can manage. Not like he’ll fucking care in about an hour, once they’ve packed away enough cheap drinks.

Which they absolutely manage to do. Embarrassingly quick, a touch too loud by the end, and certainly too fucking early. 

“Three dollars,” Xavier says slowly, his lidded eyes on the check, which is absurdly long, “Is really dangerous.” 

“Really,” Benji echoes in a long mocking drawl, fighting a mad giggle. “Shape up mate. We’ve still got places to go.”

“You shape up,” Xavier teases back. “It’s fine. I’ll just tell ‘em it’s my special fucking day.” 

He snaps his fingers, a horribly menacing grin curling his mouth. “Oh, fuck. Thanks for reminding me.” 

Benji leans slightly out of the booth, head twisting to look for their waitress. Bitterly, he thinks it’s probably hard to get her attention considering he’s not Xavier. Benji didn’t know it was necessary to touch somebody so much, serving them shit microwave-heated food, but whatever.

“Do not.” 

Benji turns to find the other man pink again, slouched slightly in the seat. Play-dead mode. He snorts, mean little sneer when he sticks his tongue out. 

“What, Xavier, you don’t want a song? Y’don’t want a buncha underpaid food service workers to sing monotone at you while the whole place watches? Make everybody get all uncomfortable?” 

“Please, Benji,” he whines, tucking his jacket higher around his ears. “Please have fucking mercy.” 

“You should do that more.”

It slips off Benji’s tongue, dripping humor and cheek but also heat, before he can stop it. His hand pauses where it reaches for the check to sign. Do that more. His face goes hot. Beg. Real normal thing to say to a friend. To Xavier. Fuck, he shouldn’t have had the last one.

Benji sucks in a breath, zips nervously through his next sentence without acknowledging the lull in conversation: “Why t’fuck do you people do this to yourselves? Shit. What’s twenty of thirty-one?”

“Six— round up to seven,” Xavier says immediately, sounding a bit distant. He plucks at their mostly empty plate of appetizers, fingers tucked shyly to his jaw.

*

It’s a long walk to the boys’ flat, but Benji makes it in record time. Saha had texted him the night before, hadn’t the courtesy to give him proper fucking time to prepare. It had been a mad dash to get dressed once he read the message. 

Bastard, he’s thinking as he jaywalks, cuts a crossing diagonal, anything to shave off a few seconds. Bastard, you fucking prick, you absolute dickhead, you asshole. Fucking asshole. 

He hasn’t got a key for the exterior door, but he knows the old lady in the 155, so he rings her and wishes her a good morning. Bless her, the door beeps quickly open. He bounds the stairs two at a time, pockets jangling and his hair going a bit messy. He’s flattening it as best he can when Lark opens their door.

The other man’s eyes narrow, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “You’re up early.”

“Xavier awake?” 

“At eleven on the weekend?” Lark scoffs, like it’s obvious. He stepping aside to let him in. “What do you think? Also. Hi, I’m doing fine Benji, thanks for asking.”

Benji kicks his shoes off into the hall, pausing only a moment to consider them. “Mornin’ Lark, great to hear, fantastic as well, ta.” 

Xavier is awake after all. He’s sat at the kitchen table, scrolling videos on his phone in one hand while the other lifts a glass of orange juice to his mouth when Benji rounds the corner.

“Morning to you too, mate. Nasty fuckin’ secret keeper, you.” He strides over, teasingly snapping the words. 

Xavier blinks sleepily, cheeks blushing steadily full of color. Benji looks him in the eye instead of his bare chest, the dark ink on his arm, on his stomach, or the cartoon character print on his dangerously low sweats. He thinks those might be Maran’s, actually.

“What —” Xavier whistles, rubs the back of his head, and then offers Benji a massively cheesy grin. “Ah. How’d you find out.” 

Benji pulls out the adjacent chair, thrifted a different color and style than the one Xavier occupies. “Saha let it slip. You mentioned it or something last week. She doesn’t forget shit like that.” He grins, flopping into the seat. “Can’t keep a secret, neither one of us. Just, y’know, for future reference.”

“I’ll remember that,” Xavier says good-naturedly. He’s turned towards Benji now, hands braced on his knees. “And it wasn’t anything personal. I promise. It’s just —” the sigh speaks volumes. “It’s just kind of a thing, I guess, and I like to keep it low key.” 

“Sound, we can do that.” Benji offers, hoping it’s cheerful enough that it nixes and of the gentle shame in Xavier’s tone. Hopes. Benji’s not great with cheerful. “Go get dressed.”

Those big, sleep-foggy eyes widen slightly. “Uh. Why?”

Benji shakes his head, sinking in the chair enough to kick Xavier’s leg. Because it’s your birthday, Xavier, and I’m so fucking mad about you.

“Because it’s your fucking birthday, Xavier.” He scoots back, the chair scraping against wood, and meanders back towards the front door. “And even if you don’t wanna do anything big, it should be a good day.”

[zenruption]

Making Extra Cash In The Home

It is estimated that many of us are sitting on at least $1,300 or more of things that we don’t need or want in the home. Often these items are tucked away and rarely see the light of day. And in a true out-of-sight-out-of-mind way, we don’t think about them at all. 

But imagine you set aside a day to start looking out for everything that you don’t use or need to sell. And, at the end of that week, you had more cash and less stuff? 

Photo by Jessica Kessler on Unsplash

So what should you be looking out for in the home when it comes to great things to sell? 

Clothing 

The most obvious one is that almost every household has too much clothing. Yours, your partners, your parents, your kids - a whole plethora of extra clothing is probably lying about. Many people have the habit of buying but not ever wearing or saving older clothing ‘for when it fits.’ 

Instead, check out apps where all you need to do is take a photo, set your price, and wait for people to buy it. You might not make loads of cash straight away - but you’re cleaning your closet and making a start on extra income. 

Jewelry 

What do you have, and what do you wear? They probably aren’t the same. Heirloom pieces are often something we want to pass down, but often we have items that might be better off elsewhere.

Almost any type of jewelry (real precious metals, gems, and diamonds) can be sold either online or direct to Gold Rush Houston. It is always a good idea to have everything independently valued so that you know in advance what you should be asking for. 

Books

The price of used books has taken a significant nosedive, but if you have hundreds of books you’ve never read or the type of book you only read once - sell them. There are several book-buying websites that give you a price per book on their system, and usually, shipping to them is free. 

Before selling anything or donating them to charity, look for the edition type, any signatures, or notes. 

Collectibles 

One of the best things about collectibles is that there is typically a market for almost anything, from dolls to Hot Wheels and puppets to Ty. But you might have a range of older collectibles and tea sets that were given to you and have never been used. 

Take a look through storage boxes and toy boxes to see what is there. Search online for the brand, hallmark, or stamp and see what comes back. There are a lot of people looking to complete a set, and you might just have the missing piece. 

Parts 

Have you got defunct electricals, car parts, or even a spare kitchen sink lying around? Those things can be sold online - because sometimes manufacturers decommission a line, and the parts become hard to get. Start listing things on eBay and Craigslist and see what happens. 

Start viewing your unused items as money, and see just how much you could make. 

Aside from selling your goods, you can also take a look at selling your skills: 10 Tips for the Budding Creative Entrepreneur. 

[starshipsofstarlord]

Rush Hour

Pairing | Sebastian Stan x reader

Summary | whilst on the way to an interview, you and Sebastian are stuck in traffic. There seems to be only one way to pass the time that comes to mind.

Warnings | smut, fingering, teasing, slight voeyurism I guess (on the phone?)

QUICK LINK TO MY MASTERLIST IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF MY CRAP 😬

It was stressful, viewing how parades of cars, lined up in their designated sections filled the large road. It appeared as none of them were going to start moving for a while, and it made you bite your lip in frustration. Out of all days, it had to be this very one, when you had to assign your presence within a specific slot of time.

You and Sebastian had even left early, as insurance that you would arrive at your destination on time, but now, you had severe doubts that you would. And those doubts, within the past few minutes, had became incredible high. It looked as though there was no chance of escaping this frozen parade for the current and important time being. 

Even the simplicity of looking out the window made you slightly mad, you had places to be, as you assumed many other people that were under the same predicament were too, but for the meanwhile, you weren’t going anywhere. The lines of vehicles were stuck in some kind of limbo, stricken by the same thundering of karma at once.

Your significant other was behind the wheel, tapping his long fingers upon the round gear, causing your attention to divert up to his talented digits. As you studied them and their smooth exterior, an idea rendered in your fuming mind, and so, to put it into action, you slyly placed one of your own hands to rest upon his upper thigh.

Sebastian, instead of waving off the affection, smiled at it, thinking that it was nothing more than a tender instinct to also calm him down. The bet was, his agent would have his ass for showing up late, well aware that they had been the one to arrange this press in order to promote the latest of your shared projects.

However, he had not expected in this bustling, and public surrounding moment that you would creep your grip up higher, and so he tensed as you did just that. But he chose to allow you to continue for now, his front deep digging solely into his lower lip to express some of the tension that he was under whilst stuck in the car.

It was impossible to predict how long the pair of you would be stuck in the moving box, and it seemed that you had configured a way in your mind to pass it. One that had lead to your fingers dancing over his trousers, and making him groan lightly in anticipation.

His cobalt eyes snapped towards you though as you removed your hand. To put it simply, you were teasing him, riling him up in the constricted amount of space. It relented you no escape from him, nor his uptake in revenge. And as you shrouded under his gaze against the inside of the passenger side door, you gulped.

Perhaps, you thought, you should have just kept your hands to yourself. And then, you would not have been stuck in this predicament of being cursed with his winter glare; it made you feel like melting ice cowering into the level below. For a second, you wished the controls of the radio volume had the ability to reverse time, so that you could correct your mistake.

The feeling of his hands abandoning the wheel, considering that the car was not going to be continuing moving on the road for a while, and drifting towards the bottom seam of your skirt had you inhaling as much air as your lungs would allow. It would not be the first instance of which he put his earnest skin upon yours in public, but with all around being still on one spot, a part of you worried sincerely of a noticed fan grabbing their phone with their clammy hands, and recording the interaction.

And if done, the interval, whilst stuck in one, would be painted sourly over the entire internet. There would be an assortment of clashing reviews; some lustful and imagining what it would be like to be trapped in the car with you two, and others shaming of your indecency. And to say the magazines and online articles would have a field day, well, that would be an understatement.

Seb drifted his feather light touch up higher, brushing just above the border that labelled the end of your outfit. Instead of say anything that compromised his mission, you settled back into your seat, sinking your head into the designed rest, and opened your legs a little, permitting him no resistance to do as he pleased; all because, you wanted the satisfaction and fulfilment of the adult acts too.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, squashing it beneath the carnivorous bone, as his hands danced elegantly around beneath the complimentary fabric. He toyed with you, by stroking his fingers over the thin material of your underwear, expertly putting pressure down upon your covered bud, confiscating a breathy whine out of your closed mouth. “You’re already wet.” A damn smirk coveted itself upon his healthy lips, your eyes flickering between the seductive sight, and that hidden beneath your clothes.

“Do something.” It wasn’t an order on your part; it was a sensual beg, in other terms, your sexual starvation put into words. The air from your lungs was practically ripped away as your partner delved his explorative fingers into the privacy of your garments, the pads of his delirium causing fingers heading straight towards your swollen and puffy clit.

With no hesitancy, you head rolled sideways to rest against the window, your breath frosting carelessly against the glass. Instead of caring about what was being viewed from the outside of the car, you focused on what could be seen from within the space of the front two seats. And so, you pushed up your skirt, giving the pair of you an explicit image of his hand roaming beneath the divider that kept your crotch from the barren air.

“Like this?” Sebastian taunted, sinking a finger into your sopping hole, causing your eyelashes to flutter at the sensation. A furrow worried his face however, even as he stayed still, not moving his digit, all due to the ringing of his phone. Using his free hand, he picked up the device, bringing it to his ear. “Hello?”

As he began to converse, he slowly paced his finger in and out of you, the thought of him finger fucking you whilst on the phone making you that much wetter. “No, me and y/n are going to be late, there’s traffic.” You assumed that he was speaking to his agent, and as you mewled, he left you empty, bringing his finger to his mouth to clean.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to be until the road clears.” Seb sighed, after removing his slick coated digit from his mouth, pouring a little spit onto it, and bringing it down to rest on you clit. Shuffling, you leant back as far as the seat belt allowed you to have both of your feet to be perched on the end of the passenger side, knees tucked up your body willing to take whatever he would so much as give to you.

“Seb.” At the sound of his voice falling so erotically from his lips, a crease formed between his eyebrows, and so, as punishment for interfering with the static of his phone, he pinched your clit, and to cease the audible response, you bit into the palm of your hand, leaving indents of your teeth begins.

“I can’t make it go any faster.” You were not sure whether he was speaking to you or his agent. But it didn’t matter, not as he began to roll your clit between his fingers, paying the button ample attention, that had your head going all fuzzy and thoughtless.

“As much as I wish I could clear up this whole parade of stuck cars, I can’t.” He deliberately shook his head, purposely looking away from where he was playing with you to keep focused on the phone call, despite still rubbing tight circles around your bud. “She’s fine, in fact, she’s fallen asleep. Y/n will be all rested and content if we get there.”

Rested was a word that you were opting against, but if you were going to be privileged with being made content, then who were you to argue with him? So you remained silent, biting onto anything that could silence you, to keep yourself satisfied and ensuring that he would keep some truth behind his words. “See what you can do, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With little to no reluctance, he dropped his phone onto his lap, it meeting and causing some friction against his semi. But the awakening in his trousers was not his priority, instead it was the slick that was collecting so wholesomely on his fingers, acting as a natural lubrication to continue his round administrations.

“Sebby.” This time, instead of trying to silence you, the man marked you with a pleasant grin, only to apply more pressure behind his movements. It was a wicked deed, but you had no mind to it as it served no bother; instead, you were rather pleased that he was to be giving in on his pardoning.

“You going to cum for me darling?” His words were almost taunting, you could feel a flush of heat cascade up your neck and all around your body. And all from clitoral stimulation, this man certainly knew what he was doing. “Cum on my fingers baby, make them all nice and wet.”

Plunging your teeth once more into your bottom lip, you groaned, shutting your eyes and breathing steadily throughout your nostrils. And with that, you shattered underneath him, your shoulders twinging from the spasming aftershocks that riddled your body senseless.

“Would you look at that, the cars are slowly beginning move.” You needn’t have even needed to open your y/e/c eyes to know that there was an amused smirk contouring his features; that man sure could get cocky sometimes, and half of those happened to be in public.

[bigilante]

〖 her best friend ❣ zendaya 〗

「 zendaya x gender-neutral!reader 」 ┅ 「 2.7k words 」

: a.n : back at it again with the unsolicited fics :)) i hope you guys like it 👉🏼👈🏼

⤷ : prompt : separated forcefully or for reasons you can’t control, run into each other again years later on accident.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop making headlines calling us ‘very good friends’?” You halfheartedly laughed at yet another Instagram post by some magazine that showed you and Zendaya out and about LA. “Like, the minute you hang out with any guy they’re like, ‘Oh! Date alert!’ But I’m just your ‘best friend’” You were ranting now, unable to hide the annoyance you felt.

“Why does it matter what they say?” Zendaya quizzed, her hands playing with the waist string of your sweats. She looked up at you from her slumped down position on the sofa, her faint frown making you sigh.

“Because... don’t you feel is a bit homophobic?” You wondered, placing your phone face down on top of your stomach to give her your full attention. The brunette just shrugged nonchalantly and you let out another sigh picking your phone again to close the app, “I’m gonna head out.” It was best to just leave then, you didn’t want to get in a stupid argument with her not before you were set to leave for New York the very next morning. You began to incorporate but Zendaya’s hands gripped your thighs keeping them draped over hers.

“Y/n, come on.” She said, gorgeous hazel eyes pleading at you. What exactly? You had no idea but for a second, you were about to give in however a loud ding coming from your phone stopped you. Your eyes scanned the screen and the reminder that had popped up read ‘PACK ! 4 ! N Y C !’, you sent her an apologetic glance before getting off the sofa, gathering your stuff and petting Noon goodbye.

Zendaya had stood up from the sofa too, watching your every move intently, probably trying to figure out if you were upset with her. The truth was, you didn’t know if you were upset with her or with the media, it was possible that both had a little part in your now sour mood. “See you next week, best friend. Love you.” You joked before swinging the front door open and leaving. The week was going to feel like a month, you knew, but the hope that making that simple joke followed by the declaration would ease things up was strong.

But what did hopefulness ever bring if not disappointment and heartache?

Seeing medium-quality paparazzi pictures of your girlfriend as soon as you landed from a five-hour flight wasn’t exactly the way you wanted to be welcomed to New York. You sat quietly in the back of an Uber trying not to cry as your eyes stared at the images on your phone. A series of pictures of Zendaya and Tom leaving her house, —they must had been taken that morning while you were on your way to the airport— the further you scrolled down the Twitter trends the more you felt like throwing up. Them in his car. Tom’s hand reaching for Zendaya’s jaw. Both leaning in. Kissing. Laughing.

It felt like a punch to the face, it was the worst feeling you had ever endured and the people that caused it were the last you would’ve thought could ever dare to hurt you. Your trembling hands fumbled with the settings on your account, privating it and blocking her and Tom, doing the same with Instagram followed by their numbers on your phone. It felt like doing a cleansing, the pressure in your chest easing only minimally when you locked your phone and looked out into the running city. You wanted to scream and cry, break stuff, throw your phone away and not show to work, you just wanted to go hide in your Airbnb for the rest of the week and pretend you and Zendaya never happened.

The reality was that you two had happened and it was far too hard to pretend it didn’t, your heart ached both physically and metaphorically and you hated every second of it. For that week you spent in New York no one shut up about the photos, every person you worked with had that hot, brand new ‘goss’ about the pair that had hurt you so badly.

You sat in the quiet living room of the apartment you had been living in whilst in the big city, laptop sitting in front of you as you cancelled your flight back to LA, changing the tab to the Airbnb’s one to pay for a few more days. You had been holding yourself together the whole time you were there, work keeping you busy and sleeping pills doing their magic at the end of the day but it could only go so far. Glassy, stinging eyes stared blankly at the empty inbox of your email, the cursed images projecting over the blank space and you just weren’t strong enough anymore, you couldn’t, so you cried and choked and screamed until your throat and eyes were sore; until your whole body was drained of every bit of energy.

Little by little you were sweeping your life clean of her, clearing out your phone’s camera roll, changing your number. Deleting social media was a big no for your job so filtering everything and anything that had to do with them was the only option, that and spending little to no time online. You had stopped to think one night of the what-ifs of the situation, you were aware that Zendaya’s publicist wasn’t so happy about you and her dating publically and Tom’s was obsessed with boosting the Spider-man movies at all cost, still, giving you a heads up about it would had been the right thing to do.

For a year and a half, you made yourself busy, going back and forth wasn’t something you enjoyed but it worked to avoid unwanted visits and accidental encounters. Enough time had passed, you thought as you stopped booking in so many clients across the country and settled back in your LA home. “You know what? I could go for a thick, sugary milkshake, right now.” Naomi told you as you put down your half-empty box of fried noodles on the coffee table.

“Are you serious?” You asked incredulous receiving an enthusiastic nod from your friend. “Naomi, we just had Chinese and you wanna wash it down with a milkshake?” She rolled her eyes at you when you pointed it out.

“Fine, what about Bubble U? Bubble tea is Chinese isn’t it?” She offered, her question prompting you to send her an unamused glare. “Yep, Bubble U it is, then!” Naomi jumped up, going straight to the door. Reluctantly you got up from the floor, groaning all the way to the door where you got ready to go out, “Come on! It’ll be fun!” She chirped while she pulled you out of the house. You hated to admit it but you had completely modified your life after the heartbreak, once you settled back home you barely left it, you didn’t attend parties unless it was for work or go out with your friends unless it was at any of their houses. You didn’t walk around the city that often anymore in fear of bumping into her.

“I miss this.” You sighed as you walked down Chinatown with your friend, the coldness of your drink pleasant against the palm of your hand. “Just walking around town.” You continued taking a sip of the milk tea.

“I still don’t get why you had to stop going out with us.” Naomi said inciting you to turn to look at her, “I mean, I know why it’s just… you didn’t have to stop.” She rephrased it giving you an apologetic glance. You knew how much your friends hated the idea of you not being able to be you after the whole thing with Zendaya and Tom happened but it was your way of coping with it and even though they didn’t agree with it, they supported you.

“Well, I’m outside now, aren’t I?” You nudged her side with your elbow making her giggle as she nudged you back. “Maybe this is me getting back to my old self.” Hope laced your every word as you looked around the busy street. The way the golden light of the setting sun washed over the buildings made the outing worth the risk.

LA was the second-largest city in the United States, with a population of nearly four million that one could think the chances of crossing paths with a lover-turned-stranger was one in millions, yet, there you were rooted to the pavement as your wide eyes stared at the tall and thin figure coming out of one of the many restaurants that dotted the street. “Come on, let’s go back.” Naomi said, placing her hand on the crook of your elbow ready to pull you out of there but something inside your chest told you to keep moving forward.

So you did, you started walking again letting your friend’s hand slip away from you. She was quick to follow, whisper-shouting at you that whatever you were doing probably wasn’t the best idea. The closer you got to her the more nervous you felt, it’s been over a year since you last saw her and god, was she even more beautiful than before; long legs clagged in camel coloured trousers, feet sporting her beloved black converse. Her top was white, a little see-through and you cursed at how much it still drove you absolutely crazy in the most irritating sense.

Curls tucked into an elastic on top of her head in a carefree and relaxed way, a few stubborn strands hanging out framing her face and gracing her neck. She was laughing loudly at something Darnell said, that laugh you had forced yourself to forget but the second it hit your ears, you realised how badly you had missed it. Then everything stopped, Naomi’s panicked telling off, Darnell’s chatting and Zendaya’s laughing. It all had stopped but the rambling around the four of you.

You stood in front of Darnell while Naomi stood in front of Zendaya, your friend’s usually amicable attitude disrupted by the scowl on her face as she glared Zendaya’s way only the brunette’s pupils were set on you with no apparent intention of averting. “It’s you,” She breathed out, hope barely perceivable in her tone. You only hummed at the observation, your eyes moving from hers down to her hands that were gripping the long lanyard that held her phone around her neck. Her nerves were evident then, the intensity with which she clutched it seemed to be draining the blood flow from her fingers. “I— How—” Zendaya tried to speak but failed, letting out a shaky breath. “How have you been?”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Naomi protested, you understood where your friend was coming from but you also needed that, you needed to speak to Zendaya just one more time to be able to finally let everything go. You needed her to confirm your theory just so you could move on and Darnell seemed to be on the same page as you for he stepped in between you and Naomi, throwing his arm around her shoulders to guide her away from you two. You heard her object some more but ultimately she complied and walked away.

“I’ve been fine. You?” You eventually spoke after short but agonising seconds of silence.

“I don’t know. There are good days among the terrible ones, so... fine, I guess?” She shrugged a shoulder. With a nod of your head, you looked past her over her shoulder to see a man pointing a camera at you, you were about to warn her when she began speaking again. “Y/n, I’m so sorry about—” Zendaya started but you shook your head no making her stop, you realised then that you did want to talk to her but not on the street in front of that many people and certainly not when there were paparazzi nearby.

“Heard the movie did well.” Your tongue betrayed your brain. Zendaya tried to speak once more but you cut her again. “I’m glad it did. Made it all worth it, didn’t it?” You faked a small smile nearly choking on the words, the anxious lump in your throat threatening to cut your airflow.

“No, It didn’t.” Zendaya denied taking a step closer to you forcing you to hold your breath with the sudden move. “I was a total asshole to you before you left, then Marla wanted me and Tom to do that for a while and I don’t even know why I did it.” She ranted in one breath.

“I upset you.” The statement earned you a furious head shake from the tall girl. “I did. I kept bugging you about the articles,” You carried on, inconspicuously your eyes started to line with tears. The more you talked the more you realised that maybe, just maybe there was a bit of blame in you too, however, that didn’t mean Zendaya was absolved from any. “You never said a thing to me about the stunt.”

“I felt like I didn’t need to, I wasn’t gonna do it.”

“But you did. The morning I left LA.” You mumbled, trying to hide from the second man with a camera that had appeared closer than the first.

“Fuck, I know it was a shitty thing to do and I’m sorry,” She took another small step forward.

“You always told me kissing in public wasn’t your thing.” You exposed, tears irrevocably breaking the surface tension and cascading down your cheeks. Flicking your gaze up at her you saw nothing but hurt and regret written all over her gorgeous face and your heart squeezed at the sight. She had never spoken about it and neither had you asked, you just felt it in your heart that she was scared of how the media would treat you both if they ever found out you were dating, you knew the times had changed but there were still closed-minded people that ran gossip magazines and could make your lives a living hell the moment they caught you holding hands in public or worst, kissing.

The murmuring around you increased, reminding you that you were in a very public place crying in front of your secret ex-girlfriend. “Fuck that.” Zendaya grumbled. One moment she was a small step away from you and the next her hands were cupping your face and her lips were softly pressed against yours. The action took your breath away instantly, still, you found yourself powerless against the familiar taste and feel of her and allowed her to kiss you as long as she wanted to in front of how many people she wanted to. There were yelps and gasps all around the two of you and you started to regain conscience and pulled away.

Wide, watery eyes staring up at the girl mere inches away from your face. “Th-there’s pap—”

“I don’t care.” She whispered before she captured your lips once more, this time deeper and twice as intensely as the first time. Your hands scurried to her waist, bringing her flush to your body as you kissed her back gladly, desperately wanting her lips to make the past year bleep out of your core memories.

The night went by slowly as if the universe was granting you more time to spend in the arms of the girl you loved. She never once let a second of silence go by you, filling it with a whispered apology and a kiss. You talked about everything the time you spent apart brought to both of you, she told you about firing her publicist right after the pictures came out, about how she understood why you had cut her off without any explanation and how bad both her and Tom felt with the whole thing.

Articles flooded the internet that very night as well as the next morning, however, neither of you knew of them right away for any device that could be hooked to a WiFi signal was rightfully turned off while you basked in the presence of each other under the covers of Zendaya’s bed.

“Spider-man Star Zendaya shares intense kiss with BFF, Celeb Stylist y/n l/n in the middle of Chinatown! Swipe to see the pictures!”

It might be 2021 but some things refused to change.

【 thank you so much for reading! ♡ please, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought of this ♡ kit xx 】

[tommyspeakycap]

Can I request some chilly fluff? Anything really, just some cute sweet chilly fluff with a little bit of angst maybe?

of course! here's an idea that's been swimming around my brain all day lol

helping hand

ben isn't coping with his newest responsibility and his best friend comes to save the day once again

It's honestly less about the news than it is about the fact that you didn’t here it from him. Texts have gone mostly unanswered since you read that online article you first believed was false, only for it to be confirmed by him. You offered a congratulations despite the pain it brought to you to hear that you had completely lost your chance.

You had probably called him about a million times, each time ringing out and some even being hung up after merely a few rings.

At first, you worried that something had happened. Then you managed to wrangle the news out of Mason that everything was well, you let yourself have those days of utter heartbreak that he had found a girl, started to settle down and then completely cut you out of the picture. This was the first time in all of your 23 years that you hadn't been able to speak to him about things that were going on. He seemed to have completely fogotten about you and you couldn't bring yourself to think of a reason why.

She never really did like you, his girlfriend. You could only imagine it had something to do with the fact that Ben was incredibly close with you. A lot of girls had been unhappy with the fact that while dating Ben, they were subject to teasing that everyone was surprised he was dating when they had thought he was so clearly in love with you. You understand that, it would be irritating but nothing had ever happened between you and Ben that might suggest you would ever get together. People just love a rumour.

What had really hit you, however was seeing her from the Instagram you followed. She didn't even appear to be in London, never mind with him and that made no sense by the timeline you had managed to figure out.

That's how you found yourself standing at his door with what felt like a million bags and a feeling of hurt you had never actually had before. You cornered Mason, refusing to leave until he told you what the hell was going on and when he did, you were gone like a flash with a broken heart to seek out the man who needed you now more than he ever did.

Your heart shatters even more when you step into his house, pushing it open and pulling out the key he gave you a few months ago as you head carefully to the kitchen. You can hear him trying to talk, his voice strained and croaky as he attempts to speak over the sound of the screaming baby girl.

"Come on sweetheart," he begs, "Please take your bottle, I promise you're just tired."

His house is messier than you've ever seen it with gifts unopened, blankets and bottles, baby toys and clothes strewn around everywhere you could see.

You're quick and quiet to get to work clearing the place up, clean clothes being folded and sat in his clean laundry hamper while sorting the dirty things and shoving them into the washing machine by colour before tidying away all the blankets into the baby boxes he had set up in his front room. The infant upstairs screams the entire time you whiz around, throwing an entire bin bag worth of rubbish out of his kitchen before restocking all the shelves and his empty fridge with food for him and milk powder for the little girl. The pizza you shoved in the oven the second you arrived was finished after 15 minutes, so you plated that and left it on the kitchen island before you decided to make you presence known to him.

"Need a helping hand?"

His head whips around rapidly, instinctively tucking his daughter closer into his chest before he recognised your voice and turned his face back away from you. "You shouldn't be here, (y/n)." He mumbles, bouncing his legs to try and get that screeching to stop before he starts crying again himself.

How had everything ended up so messy? He found a girl that he thought he loved, he had his best friends and he had you. She got pregnant and he was ecstatic until she told him she wasn't interested in having a baby. It was too late to do anything about it, so she gave birth to that baby and legally signed over parental rights wholly and fully to a destroyed Ben. You, of course, had to find this out half from the tabloids and half from Mason. Ben was absolutely affronted. He was mortified. How had he gotten himself in this position?

You were the first and only person he wanted to tell. He was desperate to seek out your arms and have an absolute sob to you so you could help him fix this like you do with everything else, but he couldn't bring himself to face you. He cut you off slowly and carefully without even noticing himself because she had coaxed him into it. She played him like a fiddle, let him grow her platform and fund her lifestyle until she had everything she wanted from him and left him with something that was supposed to be theirs to love forever.

As if things couldn't get worse, from the moment he found out she was having a baby he had realised he didn't want kids or a life with anyone but you and now here he is, with a baby that has no mother and he had lost you. How could he just go back crying to you now after all the hurt he had caused you? What kind of person does that? He made this mess and it was his to clean up.

"Mason told me what happened. You can fight me all you want, Ben but I'm not going to go anywhere so you may as well just let me help." You say firmly, not inviting a single space for him to actually contest your words. His shoulder deflate even further than they already are as he finally turns to meet your eyes.

There's bags and dark circles beneath his with greasy, messy hair and a shirt he probably hadn't changed in longer than he should.

"I'm sorry." He croaks, clamping down on his lip with his teeth so he doesn't immediately burst out crying at the sight of you standing there in his house. God, he's missed you so much he couldn't even begin to put it into words and his emotions are so messed up from the lack of sleep that he'll cry at just about anything right now. "It's forgotten about. We don't have to talk about it, I'm here to help."

The weight that lifts off of Ben's shoulder is the kind of immense relief that only really you can bring to him, honestly. There are few people that he has ever met that can ease him like you can and knowing he doesn't have to explain this whole situation really is something he's so thankful for.

"This is Lilly," he says weakly, nodding his head down at her whining. You smile immediately and without thought, stepping forward to get a closer look at the small baby, only two weeks old and already giving her dad a run for his money. "Hello Lilly," you coo softly, raising your hand to stroke her cheek with your finger in the most gentle manner he's ever seen. "Can I? I feel like I've missed out on two weeks worth of aunt (y/n) cuddles."

He tries not to think much into the fact you refer to yourself as her aunt because if he lets enough thought onto it, he'll find himself breaking his heart over you all over again. Ben nods, passing her into your arms carefully.

"I'll feed her, I made some pizza for you so you should go eat." You hold our your hand to take the bottle from him, but he frowns. "I-" Ben stutters, "I don't want to just lump you with her, plus she's upset so I shouldn't leave her y'know? It's not fair on-"

"Go and eat Ben, and have a shower while you're at it. We'll be fine in here, I've babysat a million times before." You shrug, taking the bottle from him as you step further into the nursery instead of standing in the doorway cradling the still whimpering little girl in her pink onesie. "But I-"

"Go."

"I should-"

"Ben go, now."

Ben sighs in defeat and turns on his heel, the rumbling of his stomach finally giving him away as he realises just how hungry and smelly he actually is. No wonder the infant was crying in his hold.

He trudges downstairs, hearing the sounds of those winging dying down as he does, half expecting to walk into the messy swamp he had left when he went upstairs earlier this morning, only to see the whole bottom floor of the house was basically as spotless as it had been the day he moved in, bar the baby variety adjustments he had made to welcome the new arrival.

He makes a mental note to thank you more and do some grovelling and apologising later on. He knows he has to do it and he knows he'll explain in more detail what really happened probably later today, but for now he will scoff that pizza down his throat faster than he has ever consumed a meal in all of his life before raining the cupboards that he discovered you had stocked. He is reminded with every step he takes around his house that this is you, again, here holding him up when the world around him feels like its completely crumbled.

This is what you do, you keep him together, fix him up after the heartbreaks and breakups preparing him for the next girl who's pieces you'll have to pick up when they hurt him. This time he doesn't want another girl, he wants you. This time, the one time that he would be miles too late. He's got a baby now that he needs to focus on and he can't imagine that you're going to want an instant family even if you could really see past the fact he had ghosted you for nearly five straight months from the moment he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. He can't forgive himself, so how on earth would you?

If he would ask, you would tell him you already had. Seeing how hurt he was, how genuinely sorry things had ended dup like this with everyone in his life he was was enough for you. It was enough to cause you actual physical pain. You never could hold a grudge considering the situation he had ended up in.

Ben had never ever once in his life being more thankful for his shower. He’s also pretty sure he fell asleep against the wall with the heat of the shower steam loosening his muscles and the fatigue of barely an hours sleep catching up to him. He towel dries off his hair, letting the towel hang around his neck as he rubs it against his head while he pads along the soft carpet of his hallway from the bedroom to his beautifully done pink nursery where he hears no crying, at all.

But he does here soft talking.

“Giving your daddy a hard time eh, pretty girl.” You hum softly, slowly swaying from side to side. She lays in your arms, looking up at you and stealing every bit of your heart with her daddies eyes. “He deserves it a little, you know. Just ‘cause he done me out of some adorable baby cuddles y’know?” Ben can hear the teasing smile on your lips as he leans against the doorframe out of your sight, keeping quiet so as not to be detected. “But he’s a good man, sweet girl. One of the best, actually. And i know he’s already such a good daddy to you, he loves you so so much. Do you know that, eh?” You say quietly. Ben catches the sight of you swaying that amazed little baby who coos up at you, reaching for your finger to hold. “Mhm, and i love you too. You have no idea how loved you are.” That’s one thing Ben can agree on.

“And you might not know it now because you’re little, but i do know one thing for absolute certain; I’m always gonna be here for you, and for your daddy even if he’s as stubborn about it as they come. You’ve got to help me out though, eh sweet girl? Be good to that daddy of yours. Yeah, sleepy baby? Mhm, my sweet girl.” The way you hum, bouncing her carefully and swaying in just the right way for her to fall asleep in your arms. Ben watches you for only a minute more, softly singing a little lullaby to her that makes Ben’s heart swell to ache so much that he has to take a small little video before he heads off downstairs with one last look.

When you finally greet him downstairs with a tight hug that he sinks into immediately, resting his cheek on your shoulder as your hands massage your fingers through his freshly cleaned hairs as his arms hug around your waist. “I’ve missed you.” He admits, words muffled by your sweatshirt. The feeling of your fingers at the nape of his neck makes him hum in content and sink into you peacefully just like his baby daughter did not half an hour ago. You’re just perfect for them both in every way and there is not one bone in his body that doesn’t wish he had started his family with you.

But with that realisation comes one more; that he will not settle until he has given everything he has, tried with every morsel of him to earn your forgiveness. He might not of started his family with you, but he is damn determined to make you part of it.

[rafescoke]

Crime ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Part #1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader would do anything for the boy she loves from a summer ago.

Warnings: Story takes place at the start of season 2 (and some flashbacks from season 1), swearing, angst, death penalty, gaslighting, reader just needing help

A/N: i don’t think this is my best work at all :( but i’ll post the part 2 straight away!! didn’t know tumblr has a word limit now wtf

p.s; tell me what do you think of this fic!!

(Y/N) had begged for somewhere else to spend the Summer. She couldn’t go back to that place, not when there were too many memories that awaited her. No one seemed to listen to her, and her father continued to check something online.

“Rafe Cameron.”

“(Y/N),” she had smiled, and she thought about how gorgeous a boy could be. This man before her; with his hair messily parted and that goddamn blue eyes had her holding her breath, and she wasn’t in her usual demeanour.

“You come down here often?” Rafe asked, raising his eyebrows. (Y/N) watched as he chugged on his beer, and gave her another sly smile again.

“Um, not really. This is my first summer here.”

“That’s nice,” he shrugged, “Welcome to Obx.”

“Thanks,” she nodded, liking how Obx already is. She made a mental note to tell her friends back home about this island, and most importantly; Rafe Cameron.

“Do you wanna take a walk?”

(Y/N) never really accepted any boy’s invitation for a walk, because all the boys in the city never had good intentions with her. She never dated anyone, never bothered to do so.

“Sure,” she smiled, and walked alongside the dirty-blonde boy to the far end of the beach. He sucked in a breath, glancing at her from the corners of his eyes, and laughed.

“You look nervous.”

“You could be a mass murderer.”

“Isn’t that just the perfect person to spend the summer with?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, the moonlight from the sky illuminating his features. God, he really is beautiful. “I guess.”

“So would that be a problem if I killed someone before?”

(Y/N) laughed easily at the joke, bumping her arms against his. She felt a jolt from the touch, and swallowed her saliva. “No.”

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah. That’s more like it.”

(Y/N) had thought of that moment as nothing but a joke. A playful joke, meaning to flirt with her. The next few weeks were spent with only them two, sometimes in his house or (Y/N)’s stay. They were inseparable; always attached by the hips morning and night, and (Y/N) knew about all of his problems.

“Try it.”

“What? Coke?” She asked, bewildered. She looked down to the table, her hands fidgeting, and she quickly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked up to Rafe again, “I don’t know how.”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he smiled, pulling her by her wrist and seated her beside him. She felt the jolt again, but she had gotten better at ignoring it.

Rafe lowered his hand, a finger placed on his left nostril, and snorted the line of white powder. He grunted, throwing his head back, and after a few seconds, he gave her a smirk.

“Your turn.”

(Y/N) smiled back, reaching for the rolled up bill before lowering his head to the last line. She took a deep breath, still so shaky, and snorted the powder before she could change her mind.

Her heartbeat quickened, and her mind was all over the place. She could feel her forehead getting clammy, and before she could do anything, Rafe cupped her face in his large hands.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he expressed, looking straight into her eyes. (Y/N) didn’t realise she was starting to cry, and stared back into his eyes.

“You’re so pretty,” he said suddenly, rubbing comforting circles on her temples. (Y/N) relaxed under his touch, “Such a pretty girl.”

“I thought you’re friends with that Cameron boy,” her father suddenly said, shaking her out of her memories. (Y/N) closed her eyes, trying to push away the thoughts, and gave her father a grimace.

“So? I don’t want to see him.”

“What happened between you two? You used to ask me to move to Obx,” her father laughed, still clicking on the mouse to the laptop.

“People change, dad,” she muttered, and made her way back to her bedroom to be alone with her thoughts.

“Rafe! You don’t have to do this,” (Y/N) gasped, her hands around her mouth. She looked around the gazebo by the lake, her eyes brightening against the beautiful fairy lights and veins decorating the railings.

“It’s your last week here,” he shrugged, helping her to her seat before sitting for himself. He pointed to the food displayed before then, “Steak. Your favourite.”

“You are amazing,” she expressed, her eyes suddenly glassy. The lake never looked so calming, and (Y/N) wished she could capture this exact moment in her head.

“Just thought you should see the other side of Rafe Cameron,” he shrugged, his lips forming into a smile. “I’m glad you came down here to Obx.”

“Me too,” she breathed, and went for the food. “I’m so glad to have met you.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, cutting his steak into small pieces before biting into one. “Didn’t you called me a mass murderer the first time we met?”

“It was a joke,” she rolled her eyes, “But I’ll still like you even if you are.”

She didn’t know the truth behind her words.

“You will?” He looked up to her, grinning. “And just like?”

“Just like. What are you playing at, Rafe?” She faked groan, putting her cutleries down and clasping her hand together. “What? You’re going to propose to me or something?”

Everything happened so fast; Rafe chuckled, awkwardly running his fingers through his fair, messing with his slicked back hair. She liked this messy hair better, but she liked anything about Rafe Cameron, messy hair or not.

“No.”

Rafe held out the tiny velvet box in his hands, and (Y/N) never saw a prettier smile than his.

“No,” she repeated, her breathing heavy. She was too shocked by this, only meaning the proposal part of her speech as a joke, and looked into his sincere eyes again.

“I’m not proposing to you,” he laughed, getting down to one knee and opening the box to a beautiful diamond ring. (Y/N) sucked in a breath, mesmerised. “I will though, in the future.”

“Oh my god, Rafe, I can’t accept this,” she gasped, watching as the diamond glinted under the bright light. “You’re too much.”

“It’s a promise ring,” he smiled, “And a proposal to ask you to become my girlfriend.”

He sucked in a breath, and (Y/N) swore her heart stopped. She never thought of herself worthy as these kind of moments, but here she was; all teary eyed, her hand against her heart to calm her crazy heartbeat.

“Will you be my girlfriend, (Y/N)?”

She laughed, wiping the tears that had rolled down to her cheeks, and cupped his face into her hands. “You’re so fucking dumb. Of course I will, asshole, without this whole dinner thing. You could ask me while we’re in the swimming pool and I’ll say yes.”

Rafe laughed, melting into her hands, before taking out the ring he had saved up for (by not buying anymore coke) and asking for her permission to slide it over her ring finger.

(Y/N) nodded, holding her breath, and the diamond ring slid to her finger, and she gasped at how pretty it looked. She wondered about how much it had cost Rafe to buy the ring for her, but pushed the thought away when Rafe tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“We haven’t even kissed yet.”

(Y/N) laughed, “I told you you’re too fast, Rafe.”

Rafe smiled, inching closer to her, and (Y/N) just instantly stopped thinking. He was so beautiful, so angelic, and she wished she could stay at Obx forever.

“I love you, (Y/L/N).”

“Rafe,” she expressed, placing her forehead against his, “I love you too, okay?”

(Y/N) groaned, deepening her face against the soft pillow. She felt like screaming, but she didn’t have the energy to do so.

She would do anything for Rafe, and the next few days after that proposal went too fast that she felt like God was being unfair to her. He made her feel so good, and no one had made her feel the way he made her feel.

She felt like she was in heaven.

Until that one, certain Friday; the day before she went back to New York.

“Rafe, please,” she cried, pulling him by shirt as he pointed the gun at the sheriff, his eyes flaring up in anger. “Rafe, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

She looked at Ward, who looked afraid as well, and sucked in a breath. “You told me-”

“Shut up!” He grunted, his own fingers trembling on the trigger. “Fuck! Shut up.”

She didn’t know what to do. Sarah was looking at her for help, but she had tried her best to console him. She tried to reach for him again, to which he quickly pushed her away.

“Do that again, and I’ll kill you next.”

“Rafe-”

“Shut up!” He yelled again, and before she could do anything the pulled on the trigger, and the sheriff fell to the ground with widened eyes.

“Hey.”

(Y/N) jolted from her position at the knock, and groaned when her mother came in. She scooted away, giving her some space on the bed, and laid with her face planted against the pillow again.

“You never told us about what happened with you and Rafe,” she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, so why don’t you want to go to Obx for the summer?”

“I want new boyfriends.”

Her mother laughed, “Okay. Then find new boyfriends in Obx. The blonde boy who helped us carry our bags the first time we arrived there can be one.”

“JJ?”

“He’s always around the island too, helping people for money,” she shrugged, “That’s a good kid. Doing honest work for honest money.”

“I’m not actually looking for a boyfriend, mom,” she rolled her eyes. “It was a figure of speech.”

“Well,” she stood up, “You better be looking for one. We’re spending the summer in Obx, and that’s final.”

. . .

(Y/N) rubbed her eyes against the glowing sunlight of North Carolina, her body screaming with pain from hours of sitting in the same position. She heard the pilot said something, her mind still woozy from only being caffeinated, and placed her head against the seat again.

“It’s a bright day, like it’s waiting for us,” her mother exclaimed, fixing her sunglasses before walking down the stairs to the road. (Y/N) groaned, still so tired, and she wished for nothing but to stay in her room with Netflix to watch.

“Hey, Mr (Y/L/N),” JJ smiled, and (Y/N) noticed the fake exterior he was trying to portray. “Come down here for another summer again?”

Her mother, who admired JJ’s ‘honest work’ gushed out to beside him, asking about his school and his works. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, not interested in making any new conversation, and she looked back at the area where the incident took place.

JJ caught her looking, and when her parents and the little brother had entered the car, he went to her to help her with her bags.

He crouched down, wrapping his fingers around the handle, and quickly whispered. “You saw, right?”

“Huh?”

“What Rafe did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, and went into the car before he could say anything else.

God. Just how she expected her first moments after arriving in Obx.

“Hey! Welcome back!”

“You called the Camerons?” She groaned, looking at her father for some kind of useless explanation. After the brief conversation with JJ, she wanted nothing that could remind her of Rafe and hoped she could stay in her room for the whole 2 months.

“(Y/N), wait-”

She barged into her room for 2 months, noticing the old posters she had put up the year before, and thought about how happy she was at that time. She felt nothing now, and she couldn’t wait until the end of summer.

“Fuck!” She yelled, her head feeling so light, and placed herself before the naked bed. She sighed, trying to calm herself down, and thought of the ways to ignore the certain boy a few miles away.

Maybe he’s in college.

Maybe he’s going to leave her alone.

Maybe he has found someone new.

She felt a tug at the thought of the last sentence, and she couldn’t explain why she would even be devastated over him finding a new girl. That’s good, she guessed, at least she doesn’t have to think about staying away from him again.

Maybe she should spend her time with the pogues; JJ’s friends. They looked fun to hang with.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

“I’m not in the mood,” she grunted, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “What do you want?”

“Can we go to the beach?”

“The beach?” She huffed, “We just arrived. Shouldn’t you clean your room or something?”

“Okay. But can you bring me to the beach after I’m done?”

“I’ll think about it,” she expressed, but after a few hours of sweeping and mopping the dusty room, placing the new bedsheet over the mattress and taking down her old posters, all she wanted to do was get out for some fresh air. She had slept most of her time in the plane so she wasn’t feeling like taking a nap at all, and she guessed it would be appropriate to bring her little brother to the beach.

She walked to her room, her hands around her waist. “Hey, you’re- where the fuck did you get that?”

“What?” He asked, raising the frame with his sister’s arms around Rafe, smiling happily at the camera. “This? Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“Throw that away!” she yelled, “I said throw that away!”

“Okay, okay,” he groaned, throwing the frame into the big plastic bag before dusting the dust off of him. “Can we go to the beach now?”

“You’re an asshole, do you know that?” She huffed, watching as he changed into his swimming shorts, “And we’ve been cleaning for 3 hours. You’re not half done yet.”

“Whatever,” he said, and closed the door. “Just wait for me downstairs.”

The ride to the beach didn’t take long, and (Y/N) actually felt peaceful riding the bicycle and letting the breeze hit her square on the face. She had laughed at a stupid joke by her little brother, and she thought about how she could do this for the next 2 months.

“I wanna learn how to surf,” he said, letting the water soaked his feet and dumped his feet into the sand. “Do you?”

“You’ll forget how to when we’re back in New York,” she mumbled, gazing at the sky, “Also your body’s too weak to fight the waves.”

“No, it’s not,” he argued, “What are you going to do for the summer, (Y/N)? Are you going to be with that-”

“No,” she quickly said, curling her toes at the feeling of the water soaking her feet. “I’m not going to be with anyone.”

“Isn’t that your friend?”

“Ha-ha, nice joke,” she laughed falsely, still closing her eyes against the bright sky. “Who’s the friend? Is it Rafe?”

“Hey.”

(Y/N) sat up straight, her heart beating wildly, and what greeted her sight sent shivers down to her spine, and she quickly clutched onto her little brother’s wrist before pulling him away.

“Ow! What are you doing? (Y/N), let me go!” Lucas groaned, looking back at the boy who wanted nothing but to talk to his sister. “Rafe, help!”

“Shut up, you bitch,” she groaned, still pulling on his wrist. She knew about the possibility of leaving a claw mark on his skin, but she wanted nothing to do with the boy.

“Help me, Rafe! She’s going to kill me!”

“I said shut up!” She yelled, her chest heaving now, and she didn’t care about her hair that was hanging loosely from her hairclaw.

She didn’t know if Rafe was chasing after her, and she didn’t dare to look back.

“Ride your bike home,” she fumbled with the handle, “Now. Please, now!”

“Okay,” Lucas groaned, “What’s wrong with you? It’s just Rafe.”

“Go!” She yelled, already set to cycle back home, with her clothes all wet and sticking against her skin. She couldn’t breathe, and she hated the sight of him. She cycled back home hurriedly, tears streaming down her face, and she wished she had stayed home.

The night after the day on the beach she didn’t bother to come down for dinner, only staying in her room and browsing through Netflix. She didn’t feel like doing anything, and she hated how quick her mood was ruined.

She didn’t think about seeing him that quickly, especially after just arriving on the island that morning. This was exactly the problem; she couldn’t face him, not after what he did, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn him to the authorities. She was pushing him away, but at the same time protecting him.

The next morning, she felt shittier than ever. Being in the small island, where everywhere she goes could remind her back to Rafe, she decided to stay in bed and browse through more movies, only going downstairs for a glass of water before going back to her room. She was glad Lucas and her parents were enjoying most of their time here in Obx, and she would do the same if it weren’t for what happened last year.

She was scared. She was mad at herself too, because she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone about what she saw. As much as she hated him now, a part of her still loved him.

“(Y/N)! Wait!”

“Get the fuck away from me!” She yelled, her eyes red and her cheeks wet. “You’re a fucking psycho.”

“No, no, baby, please-”

“Don’t call me baby, I swear to fucking god!” She yelled again, getting into the car and watched as Rafe desperately banged against the car window, pleading for her to hear him.

“It’s not what you think-”

(Y/N) cried, her head painful, and slowly slid the diamond ring from her finger before lowering the window by a slit and throwing it outside. Rafe watched the ring roll away but didn’t care to fetch it, only trying to speak to her through the tiny slit.

“I had to do it, please,” he begged, “Please. Baby. I can’t do this-”

“Go to hell,” she hissed, and sped away.

That was the last time she had ever seen Rafe, and she knew he tried to contact her with different phone numbers every day, but she had blocked every single number. The trouble stopped after a while, and (Y/N) realised how much she had been missing him.

Who could she confront about this?

Who could she tell?

She couldn’t. She loved him too much.

A week after settling in their summer home, (Y/N) was tired of all the screaming and nudging by her mother for her to get out of the house, and ‘get a life’. She didn’t feel like having a whole summer of just hanging out at the beach, not when the last time she had went there and bumped onto Rafe, so she decided to keep her distance off Figure 8 and made her way to the other side of the island.

She had only been there twice with Rafe before, to pick up something at Barry’s (he told her not to worry about it), so she never really quite get used to the road around here.

She stopped the jeep by the side of the road, glancing at the signboard and the road behind her. Did she go too far? Or was this just the wrong way?

She rested her back against the car door, already tired, and decided to just wait until she was good enough to drive home.

It was half an hour later when she heard the roaring of a motorcycle, and she quickly got to her feet, her chest suddenly heaving.

“Yo? You’re okay?”

“Huh?” She fixed her hair, “Um- yeah. Just resting.”

JJ nodded, “You should turn off your engine. You don’t want to-”

Just right on cue, the engine stopped completely and (Y/N) groaned, getting into the car to turn the engine again. It made some noise, until silence fell between them.

“That’s what I’m saying,” JJ said, “Where are you heading to?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” she sighed, getting out of the jeep and shutting the door angrily. Good. Just like how she wanted her day to be.

“Let me send you back home,” he offered, pointing to the black ride behind the jeep. She shook her head, her mouth forming into a tight smile.

“That’s alright, I can-”

“Walk back home? Come on, you’re far from Figure 8, and you’re 50 minutes away from The Cut on foot.”

She didn’t exactly wish for this, but it would help.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, helping her up to the motorcycle and placing her hands on his shoulders for some balance.

“You’ve never ridden a bike before?” JJ asked, half-amused. “No, no, because you look nervous.”

“I’ve just never ridden a bike with you driving,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Can you send me to the taxi stop or anything?”

“Really? Why can’t I just drive you home?”

She groaned, “Just send me to the taxi port, Maybank.”

He laughed, putting his helmet on, and (Y/N) placed her hands against her ears at the loud sound of the engine.

(Y/N) hate to admit it; but the ride to The Cut was the most thrilling thing that she had ever felt in months. She felt a smile slowly forming onto her face, and JJ swore he could see it too from the side mirror, and when they finally stopped at the taxi port, she was so happy she felt like buying a bike for herself.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “Minus one point for no helmet.”

“I didn’t know I would see you laying by the side of the road,” he rolled his eyes, a hint of teasing in his tone. “But where’s the fun when you’re all safe?”

She hummed in response, “I’ll see you around then.”

“So you’re just going to get an expensive ride back to Figure 8? Why wouldn’t you let me send you off?”

She knew exactly why, but she didn’t want to admit it. She was scared of Rafe seeing her on JJ’s bike, knowing that he’s not on good terms with the pogues, and the last thing she had ever wanted was to make him feel like he was being replaced.

“Don’t trouble yourself too much, JJ,” she sighed. “Besides, you can see me for the next 2 months everyday if that’s what you want.”

He grinned, “Good offer. Will think about that soon.”

(Y/N) laughed, tilting her head to one side before making a move to reach for her phone. JJ watched as she filled in her passcode, went straight to Contacts, and handed him the phone.

“What’s this?”

“Oh god, you’re annoying,” she rolled her eyes. “Put in your McDonald’s order.”

JJ laughed again, his fingers sliding over her phone screen easily to fill in his number, and he handed her the phone back after saving his name as ‘Handsome pogue’.

“I’ll see you around, (Y/L/N).”

(Y/N) smiled, this time sincerely, and she thought about the possibility of spending her summer in The Cut with JJ where she knew there would be no troubles awaiting her.

It was safe to say that JJ and (Y/N) were inseparable after spending so much time together the next few weeks. Everywhere JJ goes, (Y/N) would be there with him, either by helping him with his work in the restaurant or running for groceries to deliver with him. She liked it with him; he took her mind off Rafe, and that was everything that she needed.

JJ knew about the girl’s relationship with Rafe last year, but he was careful not to cross the invisible line. He was gentle with her, always studying her reactions at certain places (he was sure Rafe had taken her to those places before) and in return, she knew everything about him.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she bit her lips, letting the water soaked her jeans as they laid on the sand, gazing at the view. She felt sorry for the blonde boy after knowing the truth about his father, and wished she could help him in any way.

“That’s okay,” he replied. “Hey, I’m bringing you to meet my friends. Would you like that?”

“Your friends?” She raised her brows, “Like Kiera and Pope?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Would you like to meet them?”

(Y/N) thoughts went back to the many times Rafe had told her about the pogues, but she always saw them as a tight group of friends who always had each other’s backs. She never had that kind of friendship before, especially living in New York where almost everyone is fake, and sometimes wished she could have something like that.

“Okay, yeah,” she nodded, “Would they like me?”

“You’re kidding? You’re amazing!” JJ gushed out, throwing his arms onto the air before slapping the water, resulting in a splash across her face.

She gasped, “Fuck, you’re fucking dead.”

“No, no, I don’t mean it-”

The conversation turned into a water fight, their screams filling the air and attracting everyone’s attention, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She was enjoying the moment, with JJ, and she wished she could do this forever.

“Stop it!” JJ laughed, pushing her down to the sand before pinning her arms on top of her head. He watched as her chest heaved, a smile playing on her lips.

He pulled away, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

(Y/N) pulled him into a kiss, her fingers wrapping themselves around his jawline and allowing the water to completely wet their whole body. JJ softened into the kiss, still so shocked, but he never felt better than ever.

(Y/N) pulled away, giggling. “You’re red in the face, JJ.”

“Huh?” He smiled, and quickly pulled her up with him. “Let’s go to the Chateau. Get you cleaned up.”

“I’m not meeting your friends looking like this, J,” she rolled her eyes, pushing him away slightly. He pulled her close, placing a soft kiss against her forehead that left her all breathless.

“Why not? You’re still pretty.”

She made a face, but let her body be pulled away by JJ to his bike. She was nervous, of course, to see his friends, but she decided it was time anyways.

If she was to date JJ, then she would have to meet his friends and talk to them eventually.

When (Y/N) first entered the chateau, she didn’t know what to expect. Pope and Kiera were friendly to her, but she could feel the strange vibe between her and Kie, but they were both trying to be polite not to mention anything.

(Y/N) knew there was somebody missing from the group, but she didn’t dare mention it to anyone. JJ had hinted about this to her before, something about John B getting convicted, but she had tried her best to stray away from the topic.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Kie smiled, clasping her hands together and laying her back against the chair. She watched as JJ whispered something to (Y/N), feeling her heart tightened when she laughed, and shook her head. Kie would never let anyone like her trouble her.

“JJ, truth or dare,” Kie said, crossing her arms. Her question was directed to JJ, but she watching (Y/N) intently.

“Dare.”

“Come on, we’re short of one person who could think of the best dares,” she said, and (Y/N) realised the piercing tone and attention towards her. She sucked in a breath, not sure if she was just stating or directing the statement to her in a satirical manner.

“Okay, truth,” JJ rolled his eyes.

“Do you miss John B?”

“Kie-” Pope groaned, “Not the time.”

(Y/N) watched as he glanced at her, but quickly pulled away when he realised she was staring at him too.

“Okay, since you guys wanna be such assholes,” Kie sat up straighter. “(Y/N), truth or dare?”

“I’m not playing.”

“Of course you’re playing,” Kie laughed, “You’re fucking with JJ now right? You gotta show-”

“Shit, Kie, what’s your problem?” JJ sighed, throwing his arms up into the air. “She’s a friend of mine.”

“She’s not your friend!” She suddenly exclaimed, “She fucking saw Rafe shot Sheriff Peterkin but decided to keep her stupid mouth shut because-”

“Stop it!” JJ yelled, pushing her against the seat. “Kie! Not right now!”

“What do you mean not right now?” (Y/N) asked, disbelief lacing in her tone. What was even happening? She was having the best time of her life a few hours ago at the beach, and now this?

“Oh, did your boyfriend not tell you?” Kie laughed. “It’s all an act for you to confess to him that you saw Rafe kill Sheriff Peterkin. Don’t fucking act dumb with me, (Y/N), you saw, and you didn’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gritted her teeth, “I never saw him kill anyone.”

“Bullshit!”

“Kie!” JJ yelled, using all of his power to hold off the struggling girl. He motioned for Pope to take over and tried to reach (Y/N), only for her to walk straight towards the exit.

“Wait, wait, I don’t mean it-” he sighed, wrapping his fingers around her wrist before pulling her close. “I don’t-”

“You betrayed me,” she said. “Are you that stupid? So you planned about helping me to the taxi stop so that I can confess whatever it is about Rafe? Is that your fucking plan?”

“No, oh my god, I didn’t mean-”

“Fuck! I know I can never trust you guys,” she hissed, pulling her hand away before walking towards the door. She groaned again when she realised the lack of a vehicle to drive home, but she rather walk back home than be in the same distance as JJ or Kie or anyone else.

She walked alone all the way to the main part of town so that she could hire a cab, and just to make her day any better; the rain suddenly decided it was time to cool the island, and (Y/N) was left to soak.

She put her arms around her, shivering slightly, looking back at her previous way and wondering how much time she had spent walking from the Chateau. If only she had driven all the way from Figure 8 to The Cut, she wouldn’t have had to waste her time walking mindlessly.

A few minutes after, she saw a car pulling up beside her. She decided to ignore the black vehicle in hope for whoever it is to finally give up.

“Get in, (Y/N).”

Part #2

[macnevercries]

Champagne and Cake

(Dilf! Bakugou x Chubby F! Reader)

Warnings- oral(receiving), penetrative sex, cream pie, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, age gap, plus sized reader, mentions of alcohol

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Men your age usually don’t go for your body type. 20 something’s have always gone for skinnier girls, at least in your experience. But men in there 30s and 40s? They absolutely adored you. All of your soft curves and plush body, perfect in their eyes. You were used to the attention from the older men, it was a confidence booster but you never considered dating any of them. You always pined for your male friends who didn’t return your feelings. Who knew someone out there would change your mind.

Going out to meet online dates scared you, you were afraid of being catfished or harassed but this one was different. You had been talking for almost a month and he seemed so.. genuine. His personality could be prickly but at least he was being real to himself. You cherished honesty and he gave it to you. He was a little older, but you decided to step out of your comfort zone. Despite his age he was insanely handsome, in fact his age added to his looks.

You slip on a little black dress and kitten heels, getting ready for your date. You don’t remember the last time you had been this excited. And on top of that he was taking you to a real restaurant, not just a coffee shop. This man was full of green flags.

You pass by the mirror and check yourself out one last time before going to grab your purse, even you had to admit you looked good. Your phone dings from the couch and you rush over to get it, tripping a little as you go. Picking up your phone you see a message from your date;

-Can I pick you up at your house? There’s a specific detour on the way back from the restaurant I’d like to show you, it’s a place I love-

You read over his message, a little suspicious but you decide it’s okay. You had been talking for such a long time and you have to admit you’re quite interested in what place he would take you to. You type your address with a smiley face sitting down on your couch. After scrolling through your phone for around 10 minutes you get another text from him and you run to the door, adjusting your hair and grabbing your purse.

You lock your door behind you and dash over to the blonde man, grinning wildly. He chuckles at your excitement, embracing you in a hug as a greeting. You don’t expect it but you hug him back, man does he smell good. You inhale into his shoulder, cedar, spice and caramel filling your nose. You can’t help but nuzzle your face into him a little, quickly pulling back when your realize what you’ve done. You apologize quietly, an embarrassed red flushing your cheeks.

His crimson eyes take you in. He couldn’t help but think how cute you were, a blushing mess, round cheeks and plush thighs showing out of the bottom of your dress. You looked good enough to eat.

-You look gorgeous- he smiles, eyes crinkling at the ends.

Somehow your face manages to get redder -Thank you, you look amazing too-

His pictures don’t do him justice. His spiked blonde hair reminds you of his youthful personality, but his smile lines and wisdom-filled eyes give him away. He’s taller than you, a little tan from years in the sun and broadly built. His shoulders extend far and muscles line his arms, perfectly covered by his well-fit suit that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. He’s more gorgeous than any man you’ve been with.

He takes your hand and opens the passenger side door for you, walking around to get in after you. Such a gentleman, no man your age had ever treated you with such respect.

-Where are we going?- you ask as he pulls out of your driveway.

-A restaurant down town, only the best for a darling like you-

-Katsuki don’t mess around, I meant the ‘detour’ you told me about-

-That’s a secret, it would be no fun if I told you-

You huff, slightly annoyed at his response but still giddy with excitement. He drives calmly, it’s obvious he’s been doing it for years. As you pass through the city he reaches his hand out and places it on top of your thigh.

-Is this okay?- he asks, glancing over at you. You nod a little too quickly, the feeling of his gruff hands on your soft skin a little overwhelming in the best way.

-Good, you’re mine- He squeezes your thigh a little rough and your can only nod, his words going straight to your core.

You pull up to the restaurant and once again he gets out, opening your door and helping you out. You link your arm around his as he leads you into the most elegant place you’ve ever seen. He speaks to the hostess with you at his side, words flow from his lips as smooth as silk and it’s obvious he charms not only you.

You get led to a private table in the back, food already waiting for you.

-I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and ordered for us, I know the best things here and I wanted you to be able to try them all-

You sit down across from him, mouth open in awe at the presentation in front of you. It looked amazing, a variety of expensive looking dishes almost completely covered the table.

-You did all this for me?-

-Anything for you princess, I love to spoil-

You giggle at his nickname, satisfied with how the date was going. You both dig into the food, exchanging small chatter smoothly as you eat. The atmosphere is romantic and serene, you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Waiters come to collect your plates and bring Bakugou a box and a bottle.

-What’s that?- you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him

-Part of the surprise sweetheart-

You fake a pout, grabbing his strong arm again as you leave the restaurant. He sets the box and the bottle in the back, resting his hand on your leg once again as he drives. He drives out of the city and towards the hillside, a beautiful forest surrounding you. You gape at the landscape, you hadn’t explored far out past the city very much and it was so enchanting at sunset. He drives up a hill, parking towards the top near a few trees.

-Can you stay here for a few minutes?-

You whine but nod, not wanting him to leave. He grabs the items from the back and opens the trunk, walking out of your view through the forest. He returns soon, a piece of fabric in his hands. He grabs your arm and locks the car, tucking your hair behind your ears.

-Turn around for me-

You don’t question it when he wraps a blindfold around your eyes, careful with the pressure but making sure you can’t see anything.

-Trust me okay? You’ll love this-

-Mhm, I trust you Katsuki-

You don’t see his smirk, but you can almost tell that it’s there. He leads you through the trees, one of his hands on either of your shoulders, a firm grip that reassures you. He stops suddenly, wrapping his arms around you, hugging you from behind. He slips the fabric off of your eyes and you audibly gasp at the view.

A blanket is in front of you, cake and champagne set out on top of them. Beyond the blanket is the most beautiful sunset, the sky pink and red, clouds blending the colors. Hills beyond it lit up by the soft light. It looks like a painting, it’s perfect.

-This is my favorite place and I wanted to bring you here-

His arms don’t leave you, in fact he squeezes you tighter. You feel so good in his arms, so soft, so comfortable.

-Thank you Katsuki, this is amazing-

-You’re amazing, you deserve this princess-

You turn around and link your arms behind his neck, standing on your tip toes to kiss him. You pull away after a few seconds but he grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for another, hungrier kiss. He eases you down onto the blanket, taking his place above you.

His lips are soft, tongue rough as he swipes it against your mouth, pleading for entrance. Your lips part slightly and he shoves his way in, exploring the caverns of your mouth. You give into him, letting him take care of you. Eventually you part, foreheads pressing together as you pant into his mouth. You can feel him poking your thigh and you raise your eyebrows in question.

-What can I say? You make me feel young again-

You laugh and he grins, caressing your face. He could hold you like this forever. He kisses your cheek, lips, jaw, neck and exposed collarbone, making his way down. He never takes his eyes off you as he pulls on the bottom of your dress, waiting for your nod before continuing. He kisses up your thighs, blushing when he comes face to face with your lacey panties.

-For me?-

-Who else?-

He growls, biting your thigh. You gasp and shove your fingers into his blonde locks, tugging slightly. His calloused hands play with the hem of your panties, pulling them down excruciatingly slow. He finally pulls them off, shoving them into his pocket. He flattens his tongue, licking a long stripe up your dripping slit. You shiver, gushing more slick at the feel of his experienced mouth.

-So wet for me princess-

You can feel the grin in his face as he presses kisses against your slit, a large finger toying with your entrance. Before you can even comprehend the pleasure he has two fingers pumping inside of you and his lips wrapped around your clit, teeth grazing it lightly. Your hips grind up into his face and he uses his free hand to hold you down, a bruising grip holding you still.

His fingers scissor inside of you, exploring your velvet walls until he finds the spot that makes your thighs tremble. He curls his fingers against it and nips your clit, unraveling you below him. He eases you down from your orgasm, slowing his movements and pulling out his fingers. His chin glistens in the fading sunlight.

-Open up-

Fuzzy-minded, you obey without thought. His fingers enter your mouth and you wrap your lips around them, sucking diligently. You taste yourself on his skin, the flavor only making you wetter. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a string of spit connecting them to your lips.

-More, Katsuki, I want more- He chuckles darkly at your plea, a smirk spreading over his face.

-More? I can work with that-

He sits you up, unzipping your dress and tossing it to the side. His practiced hands don’t struggle to unclasp your bra. He does it in seconds, his hands immediately finding purchase on them. You unbutton his dress shirt, fingers tracing his firm muscles. He unbuttons his pants sliding them down quickly and sitting down on the blanket, pulling you on top of him.

He leans into your ear, his voice lower than before

-Ride me-

You don’t have to be told twice, you grab his cock, lining it up with your entrance. He prepped you well so the only burn you feel is pleasurable. You still struggle a little to sink down onto his length, the girth stretching you for all you’re worth. He grabs your hips before you can even move, pounding up into you. You grab his shoulders for support, moans escaping your lips. Your noises make him go quicker, he wants to, needs to hear more. You look amazing above him, the sun down by now but the purple sky illuminates your figure perfectly.

Groans erupt from his chest when you clench around him, spasming and twitching, having come from his cock only.

-Fuck princess you’re doing so good for me, I know you can give me one more-

You shake your head no but that doesn’t stop his hips, he pistons into you, his thumb finding your clit and circling it roughly. You whine loudly, nails leaving crescent marks in his shoulders. The overstimulation is overcome by pleasure as he continues. You can feel yourself nearing the end again, Bakugou’s grunts helping you. He’s doing everything he can not to come, but the blissed out look on your face makes it so hard for him.

-Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so good, breed that pretty pussy of yours, you’d like that wouldn’t you?-

You slut out a yes, followed by mewls as he gives you the third orgasm of the night. Your entire body is shaking now, and the vice grip you have on his cock brings Katsuki over the edge. He spills his load into you, painting your walls white. You collapse onto his chest, panting and pressing kisses to his jaw.

-Thank you, Daddy-

[nekowriteshaikyuu]

 - mistletoe with middle blockers -

 𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕒 , 𝕜𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕠 , 𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕦 ,

 — slight nsfw, fluff, not proofread

 word count : i’m so lazy to copy and paste so uh..alot u^u

 a/n : it was so difficult having little to no connection at home, but all’s good now ! anyways this was pretty last minute but nonetheless, i hope you guys enjoy this !! decided to create this after impulsively buying the christmas dlc for mystic messenger aksksk. also i tried to write for more than one person so yeah, do give me any feedback so i could improve:) ngl writing kuroos’ is so heartwarming, his one is the best out all three uwu (that’s why is a little longer lolol)  anyways enjoy and merry christmas !! 

—

𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕒 𝕜𝕖𝕚

he’s not really into christmas because of the blinding lights that littered everywhere, so he often stays home

his house is no where near festive so you’d hang some decorations every single day you come over.

on christmas itself, you saved the mistletoe last to kind of give off a finishing touch

tsukki would just mock you when you constantly jump to hang the mistletoe by the door, in the end he helped you and sighed because he know what’s coming.

“yaay !!” you threw your hands up in the air, eyeing on the last deco that was put up. tsukki leaned by the door, hands crossed over as he stared blankly on the floor. inching a little closer, you looked at him with your gleaming eyes, hinting him.

“i’m not kissing you.” he said coldly, walking away from the door to the kitchen. you pout as you trail along behind him, begging for even just a peck on the cheek.

“tsukki please ~ it’s christmas !!” your arms cling onto his as you rubbed your head onto it. tsukki wasn’t reacting much but inside, he’s dying by how adorable you were to desperately beg for a kiss. he wouldn’t mind kissing you, but he know very well that the minute his lips touch yours, there’s no way it will end then and there. he sighed as he took a sip of water, slowly getting annoyed by your constant whine and you pulling his sweater.

“stop pulling my shirt.” you eventually let loose before stomping into the room and closing the door shut, the mistletoe dropping to the ground. tsukki slowly made his way back and noticed the fallen mistletoe. picking it up, he opened the door slowly before hanging it back. you sat on the bed, face smooshed into the pillow as you laid completely still. he sighed, before walking up to you, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out.

you groaned, trying to pry from his grip but only for him to tightened it. he stopped by the door, having a moment of thoughts

“you don’t have to do it, i’m not asking anymo-” you couldn’t finish your sentence before tsukki turns to face you, cupping your cheeks and pecking your lips. you stood there, your face burning up and turning red. tsukki pushed his hair backwards before picking you up and throwing you to the bed.

“i knew this was gonna happen, you’re gonna accept it no matter what.” taking his glasses off, he glared down at you, his brows furrowing. 

what a night you could say ~

—

𝕜𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕠 𝕥𝕖𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕦

this guy- istg. 

any mistletoe, like any, EVEN THE ONES PLACED INFRONT OF A BUSY MALL, he’d sneakily give you a kiss.

your face will burn like hell but aint gonna lie though you liked it alot

he’ll go out to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close to him, giving you a very long and passionate kiss

so long sometimes people just awes the both of you and wish you both the best of luck (you’re face will be as red as a tomato by now)

every year, he’d always hand you a gift after kissing below a mistletoe, just to spice things up (what a gentleman uwu)

maybe this year...i guess you could say you’ll never forget this year’s christmas. ever.

walking around the mall with your hand intertwined with your boyfriend’s, it was the most romantic date out of all the dates you’ve went with him. you could have spent your day at his place, binge watching every christmas movie he downloaded online. but he felt a little special and decided to bring you out to see the lights and do some shopping here and there.

you stopped after eyeing on the huge christmas tree deco that was centered at the mall. you pulled out your phone, dragging kuroo in as you snapped pictures of the both of you with the beautifully lit tree as your background. you heart melt as you take short glances to your boyfriend who was smiling as you snapped the pictures. after a few takes, you switched the camera around to take pictures of the lights and your surrounding. you were so engrossed with the atmosphere you weren’t aware of what’s was anticipating upon you.

you felt a hand gripping onto your arm and pulling you back. turning, kuroo only smiled before his eyes looked up. you followed his eyes to see the little plant hanging above the both of you. your cheeks grew red, knowing very well that he’d devour your lips even if you both are in public. kuroo took your phone from your hands, pocketing it into his coat. his hand snaked around your waist, while the other cupped the side of your cheek. his face slowly inched closer to yours, feeling the tip of your noses touching each other. your eyes were shut close as you felt his soft lips colliding with yours. as per usual, the kiss was slow, passionate, filled with love. you could hear couples behind aweing the both of you. a rush of embarrassment started to creep upon you, making you try to pull away from the kiss. it only made kuroo deepened the kiss, his grip around your waist tightening. after a solid seven minutes of endless love, he broke it off, his eyes looking straight into yours. you gave him a weak smile, still slightly embarrassed that this all occurred in public. he tucked your hair that was covering your face, lifting your chin up slightly higher to see your every feature.

“i love, y/n.” he said cheekily. you only lightly punched his chest, before saying it back. he took a step back away from you, pulling a small black box from the inside of his coat. oh my god. is this really happening? is it what you think it is? you watched every move he did, where he got down on one of his knee, slowly opening the box revealing a diamond ring nicely tucked in the sponge placed inside. a swam of people soon crowd around, some with their phones out recording.

“my dearest y/n, spending my high school years with you till this very day has never once been a bore to me. every moment, i cherish it. every memory, i kept it secure within my heart. you are my everything, and for that, i want to create more memories with you, each better than the one before. “ he took the ring out the box, reaching out for your hand.

“y/n, will you marry me ?” you could the lights reflecting from his eyes, his smile never leaving his face. everyone crowding around slowly waited for your respond, some clenching their hands into each other in hopes of this public engagement to be successful. you giggled, a tear shedding from your eyes. you looked at kuroo, stepping a little closer to him, before nodding with a smile pasted on your face.

“i would love to.” the crowd was cheering, applauding as kuroo slipped the ring onto your finger. he got up from his kneel, pulling you in for a hug. you sighed in relief as you bury your face onto his chest.

“god, this is embarrassing !!” you screamed into his chest, bringing him to laugh while caressing your hair. 

hands down, this was the best christmas day ever.

—

𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚

honestly, he has never once walk by a mistletoe.

n e v e r

either he avoids it or just pays no attention to it

with that, he doesn’t get why couples kiss in certain locations that has a small plant hanging above them.

you thought you could use this as an advantage to get him to give you a little kiss.

you went to the deco shop and bought a mistletoe, hiding it in your bag as you went back into the dorm he was living in.

you waited for a perfect time before you could pull  it out and kiss him

but i guess not all plans work out, huh ?

“satori !!” you cheered as he opened the front door, his smile growing just as you arrived. he let you in, closing the door behind him before plopping back in bed, reading his weekly shounen jump magazine. now is the perfect time. you quietly took the mistletoe out of your back, tiptoeing you way behind tendou who was busy reading. you held the mistletoe above in between both of you, preparing youself. you cleared your throat loud and clear for tendou to hear, which worked and he turned around.

you inched closer, eyes close as you slowly move closer to tendou to kiss him.

“wakatoshi ?” he said before moving out of your way, making you fall face flat onto his pillow. you groaned, turning to realise wakatoshi was standing at the door. tendou walked up to him, conversing away as you lay on the bed, upset that your plan did not work. you toyed with the mistletoe on your hand, tempting to throw it away. you were downplayed the idea of kissing him. despite dating him for over 5 months now, he never really showed much affection aside from hugs or just head pats.

after a while, ushijima left the dorm after handing tendou a gift. tendou turned to see you in the midst of chucking the mistletoe in the bin, which caught his attention.

“oh ? isn’t that the plant thingy that couples kiss under ?” you were surprised he knew despite not seeing one is real life. he walked over to you, taking it from your hands and observing it. he was mesmerised, fondling with it for a while. he placed ushijima’s gift on the table before resuming to inspect the little ornament.

you started to grow a little annoyed that we was taking too long playing with it. your hands were crossed and one of your knee popped out as you spoke in a very cold manner.

“look, it’s trash, just throw it out.” to your surprised, tendou stretches his arm that was holding the mistletoe up high above, before his lips pecking yours. his sudden action kind of caught you off guard. you could not react fast before he smashed his lips back to yours, a hand snaked around your waste to pull you closer. your hands cupped his cheeks as you slowly melt from the kiss. you’ve anticipated this long enough and now you got it.

tendou broke the kiss, chucking the mistletoe straight into the bin before pushing you down to the bed. he hovered above you, his hands caging you. he lowered his body closer to yours. you shiver slightly which made him grin from your reaction.

“you were hoping for this weren’t you, hmph?” he whispered to your ear. this was a whole new side of tendou you’re experiencing. however, you were rather fond of his more dominant side, instead of his cheerful loud side he portrayed since the beginning of your relationship. 

your noses touch, his lips slightly brushing over yours. he got back up, removing his shirt before tossing it to the ground and caging you back with his hands.

“i guess our christmas is gonna be a wild one, huh?” he giggled before nibbling on your earlobe. 

i’ll let your imagination roam further~

but let’s just say, you were satisfied at the end despite your plan backfiring<3

[winxwrites]

Misconceptions,  Jadon Sancho x Reader

Request: Can you write sth with Jadon, where you're both famous and rumours start coming up about him Angst with fluffy ending please

A/N: Thank you for the request anon! I have a lot more requests to get to, so look forward to those ❥

You were sat in your dressing room, your makeup artist finishing up your look as your stylist ensured your hair looked perfect. Your phone lit up revealing a picture of you and your best friend together. You quickly answered it, excited to speak to her before you took the stage. 

As your friend droned on, you instantly knew something was up. 

“You know you’re doing that thing where you ramble on and on because there’s something you don’t want to tell me.”

A nervous laugh resonated from the other end of the line. “And this is why we’re best friends.”

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. “Have you…been online today? Like recently?”

You shook your head. “Nope, I’ve basically just been getting ready for the concert. Why, what’s up?”

“Don’t freak out, but there’s this picture going around of Jadon. It looks like he was out taking another girl shopping.”

The phone was on speaker so everyone in the room paused. Your fans and everyone in your staff were more than aware of yours and Jason’s relationship. The news that he was out with another girl caught everyone by surprise.

“Send me the picture.”

You quickly zoomed into the image. It showed Jadon, a smile clearly on his face as he had his arm around a woman’s neck. They were looking at a shelf of purses and he seemed to be asking her to pick one.

Your stylists had also gone onto social media and confirmed it. You and Jadon were both trending topics, countless posts and news article claiming your boyfriend of almost two years was cheating on you.

~~~

You felt more disconnected with your fans than ever as your mind seemed to stray to the rumors throughout the duration of your show. Once the last song wrapped you couldn’t wait to get to your phone and confront your boyfriend. 

There were dozens of message notifications on your phone. It was upsetting to see that not one of them was from Jadon. Surely he had to know that you’d seen the photos. Wouldn’t any man in his position try to get ahead of the situation by refuting it himself? 

As your driver took you back to the hotel you crafted a slew of venomous texts, not even bothering to rethink them before hitting send. 

It wasn’t long before three dots appeared in the conversation. Your heart was pounding as you knew Jadon was going to respond. The look on your face must have been priceless as you saw the response he’d conjured up. 

??? 

What are you talking about

An annoyed groan left your lips as you tossed your phone into your bag. You didn’t look at it again until you were tucked away inside your room. 

12 missed calls. All from Jadon.

When the next call came through you were quick to answer it. Jadon’s voice was cut off as you interjected. 

“I’d love to hear how you’re going to explain your way out of this.”

“Just let me explain. Babe, I swear it’s not what it looks like-“

“Whatever Jadon. That’s what they all say.” Your sarcastic laugh cut him off. “I just can’t believe you’d do this,” your voice cracked as you ended the call. 

~~~

London was the next stop on your tour. Normally you’d be overjoyed to have a chance to see your boyfriend but now you wanted him nowhere near you. 

A knock on your hotel room door drew your attention away from the chick-flick you were watching. You tossed your spoon into the ice cream carton you were eating from and walked to the door. There was no way a fan could’ve found your room, your security would never let that happen. 

A flood emotions poured into you as you opened the door to see Jadon standing on the other side. 

“If you came here just to lie to my face you can leave.”

Jadon followed behind you as you headed into the living room area of your suite. “I know the photo didn’t look good but it was misleading. You know how the media is. They’re always going to try and tear us apart if they can sell a story.”

As much as you hated to admit it you knew he was right. You hesitated before taking a seat beside Jadon on the couch. 

“Just give me a second and I promise I can straighten this out.” You refused to make eye contact keeping your eyes trained straight ahead.

“Babe what did you say you really wanted a while back. Think about it.”

Your mind was racing as you tried to think. Where was he going with this?

“I don’t know, Jadon. Just get to it.” You were still too frustrated to think straight. 

“Look at the picture again.” 

Jadon pulled up the picture, zooming into the rows of designer purses on the shelf. “You said there was this purse you really wanted. From Dolce & Gabbana.” 

He walked over to the door and picked up a white box before handing it to you. “Open it up.”

You removed the lid and sorted through the tissue paper to find the most gorgeous jewel embroidered, golden bag. Exactly the one you wanted. 

“J, I don’t know what to say…”

“I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary next week. The woman in the picture works at the store. She was just doing her job and helping me find something you’d like.”

Tears formed in your eyes as you realized just how perfect your boyfriend truly was. Of course he’d never hurt you. He’d never done so in the past, why would he start now?

You placed the purse aside before wrapping your arms around Jadon’s neck, pulling him in for a much needed hug. 

“J, I am so so sorry I didn’t trust you. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Jadon kissed your neck giving you the comfort you needed. 

“You know I would never hurt you. I love you way too much. Happy almost-anniversary, angel.”

A/N: If you got this far like, comment, and maybe even reblog. I’d love to know what you think and get some feedback!

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 30

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 12.0k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧  act four ➻ part five

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“I hate playing a waiting game,” Jongho mutters as he runs a finger over the rim of his glass. The liquor inside trembles from the faint touch, small waves rippling over the surface before coming to a rest again when Jongho pulls his hand back.

You pay little attention to the movements. You’re far too preoccupied with the dainty hand-drawn map in front of you: the small blueprint you hastily drew before coming to the dingy bar thirty minutes ago. Too much of your time in the military is hazy, and the parts that are clear and at the forefront of your mind are most certainly not diagrams of whatever the military bases look like. You have little hope that your memory is serving you well, and even so, there is no guarantee that the military here on Kebos hasn’t changed their systems in the past few years. Jongho holds much more faith in your abilities, however, and he hums as he glances over your work.

“It looks good.”

You can’t keep from rolling your eyes at the tone of his voice, mostly thanks to the constant thrum of anxiety in your gut.

“There’s a big chance that this base won’t even be built the same as in the past,” you mumble. You retrace a few lines off to the side in efforts to busy yourself and quell your nerves, but it does little to help. Jongho shakes his head, and you catch the motion out the corner of your eye.

“This one has been standing for at least sixty years, according to Seonghwa. It’s merely been repurposed time and time again, so… layout should be the same. Even if it’s a little different, you know what you’re talking about. Surely Yeosang can manage it too with his experience.”

“No, he’s – he wouldn’t have spent his time in warehouses and inventory bases. Not with a royal background.” You blink down at the table with little interest, taking your lower lip between your teeth and gnawing lightly at it. “It’s too quiet. Isn’t it? Are San and Yeosang okay?”

A sigh passes Jongho’s lips as he looks over at you, then he shakes his head once more.

“They’re probably fine. They–”

As though on cue, the comm pressed to the shell of your ear crackles to life, and Jongho winces as his does the same, the suddenness of the action catching you both off-guard.

“Hey, it’s me.” You and Jongho both exchange a glance, one that holds a bit of disappointment as it’s only Seonghwa’s voice that crackles through the comms channel. “I’m just checking in – have you made it yet?” You know that the ‘you’ in his sentence is figurative — something to keep Hongjoong from catching onto what’s really going on behind the scenes.

“No, they haven’t – we, I mean, we haven’t gotten there yet,” you reply, keeping your tone to a quiet minimum.

“Can you hear me? Hello?” Relief finally comes, and San’s voice is like warm honey against your ear.

“San,” you exhale. Your jaw stutters a bit as you try to come up with something else to say, but San continues speaking before you get the chance to say anything.

“We just got past a radio barrier. I’ve been trying to reach you guys for at least ten minutes.”

“Well, comms are back online, it seems,” Seonghwa responds, voice fading a bad at the tail end of his sentence. Jongho extends a hand towards you and drops it atop your thigh. It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, and you pass him a smile of gratitude.

“I told you not to worry,” he murmurs quiet enough to escape the comms. Your smile devolves into a slight frown, and you bring your chin forward again.

“That was the easy part. Now they need to get past the militia barrier and scanners.”

“You don’t have any faith in us?” It’s Yeosang’s voice that crackles over the comms this time, and you huff out a laugh.

“Stay quiet. There might be guards or patrols nearby.” You refuse your attention back to the map before you, trying to pinpoint where the pair might be at this point. “Hey, one of you look to the left. There should be a grey box on the wall. It’s a router to the laser scanners. Maybe tucked closer to the floor?”

“Yeah, yeah, I see one,” San responds quickly.

“Okay, you’ll need to shut that down by pulling a… um, hopefully a red wire out and cutting it? I never took care of these mechanics on jobs.” You swallow around nothing, feeling the heat of Jongho’s stare on the side of your head, but you try to push it out of your mind in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

“On jobs?” San echoes, curiosity clear in his tone. “You were a soldier. What use would have for jobs like these?” You inhale sharply, and the sound carries over the comms with haste.

“Focus, San,” Seonghwa cuts in without giving you a chance to answer his question.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll cut the wire righ–”

“No, no! Wait a second, you need to know something before going in. As soon as that wire is cute, you’ll only have a limited amount of time to get to the infirmary where the serums are stocked. The guards will notice that something is off and that there’s a break-in within the facility so speed is key,” you explain, maintaining your hushed tone from earlier as you trace a finger over the map on the table. “The infirmary will be straight down the hall, then you’ll need to take the first left, two rights, another left, and it’ll be the last door on the left at the end of that corridor. There is a chance that they don’t store the serum in the infirmary, but all new recruits are taken to one before going through induction. I’ve seen it happen too many times to forget it, so I’m fairly confident that that’s also where the operations happen and the serums should be there.”

“And what are we supposed to do if someone is there?” Yeosang inquires. You hesitate a moment, not realizing that he’s speaking to you and not Seonghwa until the lieutenant provides no response.

“Um… kill them,” you mutter. Jongho’s expression doesn’t shift in the slightest, and he remains unreadable as you search his eyes for some sort of reaction. The only response you get is from Yeosang in the form of a huff of air.

“That’s more like the killer I know you to be, Ghost.”

“You don’t know anything about her,” San sneers back without missing a beat. Yeosang hisses through his teeth – a sound that is nothing more than a whistle over the comms channel.

“Am I stepping on little lover boy’s toes, is that it? Seems like you need to bring that up with someone else before you go around claiming things for your own.”

A crash resounds, then a bang against metal that is so loud it rings in both your ears. You can only imagine what’s happening on the other side of the line, whether San and Yeosang are merely fighting with each other or in serious danger.

“Don’t you fucking call her a thing! Should I start referring to Wooyoung as ‘slave’ again?”

“You fuc–”

“Knock it the fuck off, you two.” Seonghwa’s voice growls over the line. His tone is so severe that both you and Jongho sit up a bit straighter in your seats even though he’s not referring to either of you. San and Yeosang fall silent at the sound of Seonghwa’s harsh tone, not daring to make a sound as the lieutenant continues speaking. “Fight over who has a bigger dick later. This is more important than fucking feelings.”

“I’m not the one having trouble keeping feelings in check,” Yeosang spits.

“God, Hongjoong is a fucking moron for putting the two of them on a mission together,” Jongho mutters as he rubs the skin between his eyes. “Like putting fire and ice together and asking them to cooperate.”

“Yeosang. Don’t make me tell you twice. Do not start shit, and get the damn mission done without further trouble.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” It’s more than obvious that Yeosang is biting his tongue through the words, holding back what he truly wants to say in efforts to be cooperative, and you almost respect him for it if not the preexisting annoyance you have surrounding the man.

“You two need to hurry this along,” you say once the silence becomes too palpable to handle. “It’s almost time for a unit to make the rounds and check the systems. You need to get going before the half-hour.”

You don’t get a verbal response from either San or Yeosang, and instead, a reply comes in the form of a loud clang of metal. The line falls quiet after that, not because it’s gone dead but because neither man is speaking anymore, and now it comes down to playing the waiting game as they make their way through the base. You drop a hand atop where Jongho’s rests against your leg and clench your fingers hard around his. The wait causes you to hold your breath. You expect the worst to happen, for one of the two to say that they’ve been caught, or that your map was wrong entirely and you’ve led them into a dead end. The possibilities of failure are endless, and your mind won’t stop running through all of them.

“You said the last door on the left?” Yeosang huffs, radio crackling with noise. You exhale a sigh of relief, and tension falls away from your shoulders once you hear San’s footsteps falling beside Yeosang’s.

“Yes, yes, at the end of the corridor.”

“Yeah, we’re in the right place.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s a big white door with the word infirmary on it, I’m fairly certain we’re in the right place,” Yeosang retorts through a scoff.

“Well, be careful going in as there could be–”

A crash interrupts your train of thought, leaving you to cut off with a deep sigh, and you roll your eyes to keep from snapping at the pair on the other side of the line.

“Do you have to be so loud and obnox—holy shit.” San’s voice falls quiet, and the insult he threw in Yeosang’s direction must not process because the Elitist doesn’t say a word in reply.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s… There have to be hundreds if not thousands of vials in here. Hell, if only you guys could see this.”

“The serum?” You murmur even though you can assume what San’s answer will be.

“Every single one… all have this strange-looking blue liquid in them.”

A stab of a needle, a syringe going into your skin, a strange blue liquid being pushed into you. Warmth, then the feeling of your blood turning to ice.

Your eyes flutter shut. You bite the inside of your cheek sharply to ground yourself, keep yourself from slipping too far into the memory, and Jongho’s hand twists so that his fingers slip through yours. You couldn’t be more grateful for the gesture now; the warmth and comfort in it grounds you just enough to stay on track.

“That’s it.”

“You’re sure?” San inquires, more of a precautionary question than anything else.

“Positive,” you mutter back without hesitation. Seonghwa’s voice crackles over next, a coolly spoken command falling from his lips that has a chill running down your spine.

“Secure the package then.”

“You want us to destroy them all?” San asks. Something twists in your gut, something so unpleasant that you could vomit just from the thought of it. This was the agreement, was it not?

“As many as you can, yes.”

Morality is far too muddy for your liking. Too many hazy and thin lines, too many places where one should read between the lines, and far too many instances in which morals can clash. Life would be much easier if morals didn’t exist at all.

Of all people, you should want these vials destroyed more than anyone else. Yet you can’t shake the thoughts that intruded the precious day, the ones which haven’t left you alone since.

No matter which way you look at the situation, you can only see it as taking away Mingi’s choice. No one is asking him what he wants, and while you understand the reasoning behind that, you cannot grasp how this is the just thing to do. Whether you give him the serum or not, he won’t have a say in the matter. Where is the line drawn? When it comes to morality, when is it okay to take away someone’s consent and leave them with nothing? Surely when it comes to protecting them, but both these options... both can defend him. What then?

“I… Jongho, we – we can’t do this,” you stutter. Jongho’s hand slips away from yours as he turns to look at you. The confusion across his features is more than evident, and you wish you had a proper explanation for him, but your mind is running a hundred miles per second without slowing down. “I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean?” Jongho’s tone holds too much warning in it. You ignore it all.

“Don’t destroy them,” you call over the comms. “San, Yeosang, don’t destroy them.”

“Why? This is what we agreed on! We were supposed to destroy them!” In the back of your mind, you wonder if San might hate you for this.

“I agreed to nothing,” you murmur, unable to keep your voice steady for much longer. Yeosang snorts.

“Then what was the point of coming here? We aren’t going to do anything except break in and leave empty-handed?”

“What are you doing, Y/N?” Jongho presses further, and his tone is much firmer than before. You can’t bear to look him in the eye – the weight of that feels too heavy on your shoulders.

“I – this is – I’m sorry. I’m sorry, J-Jongho, I–” Your words fail you. You want nothing more than to curl into a ball and shy away from Jongho’s lingering stare. There’s a certain kind of disappointment hiding behind his dark irises, one that takes you back to an all too unpleasant memory.

“How could you do this, Y/N?” This is the last memory you want to revisit right now, but you can’t keep it from overwhelming you in mere seconds.

“How could you be so selfish?” Iron bars separate you from the man, but it doesn’t keep you from catching the gleaming emotion in his eyes. “They won’t give you the luxury of death, don’t you realize that? They’ll take everything from you. Leave you as an empty shell. Throw you to the wolves. They’re going to take you away from us, Y/N.”

“Hyunwoo, I already said t–”

“Just give me some more time. We’ll get this sorted out.”

“How? There’s no fixing this, Hyunwoo! We were caught. I was caught! How do you expect to fix that?”

“I would rather die than see them take your memories of us away.”

Your chin falls to your chest. Your body no longer feels like your own, more like someone has possessed you and taken control, and that’s the only way you can justify the next words that tumble from your lips.

“Yeosang, secure some vials, as many as you think is reasonable.”

“What the hell are you thinking? Are you even thinking?” San’s words sink deep into your chest, penetrating your skin with a pain that’s worse than a knife or bullet. Out the corner of your eye, you can see Jongho’s eyes blow wide open as shock overtakes him as well. “This isn’t the time to joke around, Y/N!” You bite at the inside of your cheek, letting the metallic tinge of blood hit your tongue and swirl through your mouth rather than offering any sort of response to San.

“…Seonghwa?” Yeosang is asking for confirmation, for Seonghwa to overrule you or agree with you, and you don’t know what to expect from the lieutenant until he breathes deeply from his end of the comms.

“Do as told. Secure some vials and get the hell out of there.”

Yeosang is in the midst of replying to Seonghwa’s order when the sound of shattering glass resounds. You don’t need to be present to know what is going on, and Yeosang’s shouts confirm those suspicions easily.

“San, you fucking idiot, what are you doing?”

“I refuse to let this happen!” San counters, tone equally scathing and booming.

“I’m not – San, please, I’m not saying to give the serum to Mingi!” You argue. Every ounce of your tone is weak, too fragile to compete with the rage filling San’s, and you’re certain the words fall on deaf ears. “I can’t do – I can’t take away Mingi’s choice like this, San. If he wants it, then please. Please, if he wants it then we will need to have the serum on hand. If you would just listen to reason for a mo—”

A shrill ringing hits your ear so hard that you wince, and Jongho does the same at your side.

“He just triggered a fucking alarm,” Yeosang hisses through the din. “And won’t quit with his idiotic behavior of knocking the vials off the shelves.”

“You need to stop him, Yeos—”

“I already got three, Hwa. All that’s left is to knock the idiot out seeing as this was not part of the mission.”

“You – You can’t leave without him,” you stammer, head throbbing from the insistent blaring of alarms surrounding Yeosang’s voice.

“I know that. Your little lover boy will be fine once he’s done fucking things up royally.”

The table shudders and your cup clatters as Jongho pushes to his feet, thighs bumping against the lip of the metal, and you have to strain your neck to examine his face.

“Yeosang can’t get out of there with San alone,” he explains without sparing you even the smallest glance. Your heart strains painfully in your chest. What was the cost of your morality? To have Jongho not bear to even look at you? To hear San speak to you with such disdain in his voice? You cannot imagine morality is worth it at all if this is the cost.

“Please sit down,” you beg, hand stretching out desperately to catch hold of Jongho’s sleeve. “There should be – there’s a back exit across the hall, through the door and to the right. Yeosang, you can get out through there.”

“Easy enough. San’s like a feather compared to you, Jongho. I’ll be fine on my own.” The claim appeases the dark-haired Berserker for the time being, and he sinks back down to the bench without another word. You’re more than grateful for the huffs coming from Yeosang and ringing alarms in the background that fill the messy silence hanging between you and the man. “The exit is right here. Where do I go after?”

“Um, you take the first left you can find and follow the path you used to get there. You’ll recognize it, at least you should. Hopefully, all the guards will be inside thanks to the alarms. We should meet you near the hangar bay.”

“Meet him closer than that,” Seonghwa cuts in. His voice has fallen to whisper, no doubt to shroud the words from Hongjoong’s ears. “He can’t carry San the whole way back with the vials on his person too. He’ll need help getting back with both in one piece regardless of what he claims.”

“He’s right,” Jongho mutters. This time when he stands up, he takes hold of your arm and pulls you with him. The grip is surprisingly gentle and light, and for a moment it feels as though you have done nothing wrong in his eyes. “Can’t believe how quickly things went to shit.”

It is an opportunity to apologize. You recognize that much, but your damn pride screams at the edges of your thoughts and tells you not to apologize for doing the right thing.

“It’s fine,” you utter instead. Defeat creeps in like a plague. “Everyone got out in one piece.” Jongho’s gaze shifts to meet yours.

“At what cost? Hongjoong will tear the crew apart because he can’t think straight, and now – now you would join him in that? What are you thinking?” The confrontation hits you square in the chest, and you nearly trip over your own feet as Jongho continues to guide you along. For several moments, all you can manage are a few shakes of your head.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. This wasn’t the agreement for you to stay but… Mingi needs to make this choice. Not Hongjoong, not Yunho, not San, not you. It has to be Mingi.” Silence ensues between the two of you. You can only drink it in for the few precious moments it lasts before Jongho struggles through his next statement.

“Deep down… I know you’re right, and deep down I know that my desires are selfish and biased.” Jongho manages to maintain his steady pace, eyes so focused on the ground before him that he nearly walks into a wall before you move him aside. “But if I let him go through with this procedure, I don’t know what I will do. Remaking Mingi is a cost too high. I would not be able to have my redemption, I would not be able to see my family ever again, and I – I would not be able to forgive myself either.”

You come to a sudden halt where you are, and the pause forces Jongho to jerk back and face you at last. His eyes shine in a way that hurts to look at, tears that threaten to spill over, but he pulls them back before they can fall.

“Listen, Jongho, I don’t know what happened with your family, and I’m not asking to know that either. That needs to be something that comes from you when you are ready and no one else. But there are no rules for redemption. Believe me, I have tried to find them and I have tried to follow them. It can come from anywhere and anything. My redemption – mine is in the form of a handful of pardon papers with no signature on them, and I am waiting for the day where I can forgive myself enough to put that name on there and hand them over. That door – it has been closed many times, but that doesn’t mean that the door is locked. It means that there will be another opportunity in the future. The same goes for you and Mingi. Giving Mingi this choice could be your redemption for all you know. Helping him and making sure that he gets to do something for himself, that he gets to make a choice based on what he wants.”

“It’s… it’s always been about helping Mingi,” Jongho whispers. His lip quivers as he speaks the words, raw emotion pouring through, and in that moment you can truly see the level of restraint and control Jongho has over his emotions. Even when on the verge of tears, the Berserker exudes no anger, no aggression – merely pure and untouched feelings. As vulnerable as the moment is, you know that if you don’t get moving now, Yeosang will be at risk of getting caught especially with an unconscious San and stolen goods on his person. You force your feet back into motion, and Jongho moves alongside you with little resistance.

“There can be a solution then, Jongho, by making sure that Mingi is the one to make the decision.”

“You’re r-right. I know that that has always been an option but I fear what Mingi might say. And I fear the hold that Hongjoong’s word has on Mingi. I cannot trust him to make a completely individual decision without being influenced by Hongjoong in some way.”

“And what if Mingi didn’t know where Hongjoong stood on the issue?”

“That’s… a possibility, for sure. He may not know what Hongjoong would want or ask of him; he could only assume. But he doesn’t operate on assumptions, just as he doesn’t make choices for himself. How is he supposed to know which one is right?” You wish you had the time to stop Jongho again and look him in the eye.

“I can’t pretend to know or understand Mingi better than you do, Jongho. But of all people, you should be the one able to answer that question, no?”

“I should be, yes.” Jongho lets his sentence trail off with a sigh, and he brings a hand up to comb through his hair, pushing it off his forehead with the movements. “I know that Mingi will make the decision that feels best to him. I worry because there are so many unknowns involved. However, I-I want to give the choice over to him, and I want to give him a chance, if nothing else. At the end of the day, all I want is for Mingi to be alright.”

“Then be the one to give this to him, please.” Perhaps you are merely searching for some sort of justification, something that makes your decision okay and fair, and perhaps it is selfish of you to thrust this onto his shoulders rather than bear the weight yourself. But as Jongho nods, everything feels okay for that brief moment. Then the Berserker disappears from your side before you can blink, and a flash of blond appears in front of you. It takes some time for you to recognize Yeosang standing there, profusely sweating to the point where his bangs are glued to his forehead thanks to the moisture. You hardly process the limpness of San’s body around Jongho’s shoulders as Yeosang passes him over to the Berserker, and you think that if you dwell on it any longer, the pain will be too much to handle.

Then, all of a sudden, Yeosang is facing you head-on and it’s as though you are staring down the gauntlet of death just from the look in his eyes. It doesn’t soften even as Jongho shifts San’s weight in his arms and begins to guide the way back to the hangar.

“Did you get the serum?” You ask, tone so thick that your voice is hardly audible. Yeosang falls into step with you when you move to follow Jongho.

“Of course I did,” Yeosang scoffs as he exposes three vials of stark blue liquid. You blink away before the memory comes swirling back.

“Do you still think it was the right thing to do?”

“What of you? Was your decision the right one?” Yeosang counters without missing a beat.

“Of course it was. Actually giving Mingi a choice in the matter is what’s fair.”

“Then you are naive and narrow-minded, only looking at one part of a larger picture. Think about San’s reaction. Truly stop and think about it. Because of your decision and what you chose to do, you took away his choice in the matter. Jongho’s choice. Seonghwa’s. Mine. The people who didn’t want this did not get a choice, did they?”

“Sometimes, not everyone gets to make a choice. There is right and wrong, and the right thing to do was what I did. Jongho understands that and he agrees with me. He is willing to cooperate and talk with Mingi about this matter.”

“Would San think the same? It didn’t sound like he would earlier. In fact, it sounded like San was so vehemently adamant about it being the wrong thing to do that he was ready to do anything to stop it. You can handle me hating you but I wonder — can you handle San hating you?” You sink your teeth into your lip. The skin splits under the pressure, and you taste blood on the tip of your tongue.

“He will understand that it had to be done,” you whisper. “He has to.”

“Yet you only say that to save yourself from the pain of reality, do you not? You don’t truly believe it. Because after all that he’s been through, don’t you imagine that San finds more security in his own morals than those of others?”

“Stop.” You intend for the word to be spoken with force and anger, but the syllable breaks on your tongue as the corners of your eyes burn with unshed tears. Your lip quivers dangerously, and despite all your efforts, you cannot keep it from happening. Yeosang’s glare is nothing compared to the pain ripping through your chest.

“You don’t even try to pretend to be an Elitist. Perhaps Wooyoung’s suspicions were right.”

“What are you talking about?” You hiss between gritted teeth. Yeosang merely shakes his head and refuses to answer your question.

“To answer your original question,” he continues after a small pause, “yes, it was the right decision. It was the right thing to do. And you – you need to be secure in that. You need to stand by it and be strong. If you knew beforehand that you would not be able to stick to the plan, you should not have dangled opportunity and empty promises before San and Jongho’s eyes.”

“And what would you have done?” You spit.

“I would have done the same as you,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders as though it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I cannot pretend that I would not make the same mistakes you have for my weaknesses are far too obvious in that regard.”

“Wooyoung.” It is spoken more as a statement rather than a question, a mere confirmation of what Yeosang said, and his small nod only adds to that.

“It is clear that you care for San. Whether that care runs as deep as the care Wooyoung and I share for each other is yet to be seen, but I would encourage you to tread carefully. Most pain can be fixed with time, but certain mistakes are irreversible. You’re toying a dangerous line between what can be undone and what can’t.”

“Is this a warning, Yeosang?”

“Not one spoken out of spite, as surprising as that may be. One spoken from experience.” Yeosang’s tone falls a bit quiet with the words, and even though it lasts less than a second, you spot a flickering emotion in his dark eyes. The briefest moment of vulnerability that is gone before you know it. “Regret is a disease, Y/N. Once it blossoms even the smallest bud, it won’t leave as long as you live, even if the worst is yet to come. Even if you haven’t done what you set out to do yet. Even if you have only dreamed about crossing that line in your worst nightmares. It never leaves you, and I would not wish that pain on even my worst enemies.”

It hurts to swallow, like you are trying to down a brick that has somehow lodged itself in the column of your throat, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the silence. You don’t have to suffer in it for much longer either, because the shadow of the ship looms before you, tucked away inside the hangar and shrouded from prying eyes as it has been throughout your whole stay on the planet. Jongho shifts San’s weight on his shoulders as he slips through the airlock and turns to face you and Yeosang.

“I’ll take San to the medbay to let him rest. You two should probably head straight to the bridge.” His gaze lingers on your face for a little while longer. You wait, expecting him to say something more, but that never comes and you are left with his silence until he turns on his heel and heads down the corridor.

Yeosang doesn’t wait for you to gather your bearings before doing the same, walking in the opposite direction, and you nearly trip over your feet in your rush to chase after him. He provides no conversation, although given what he shared with you not long ago, you aren’t sure you even want to hear him speak out of fear of how much it might hurt. His warning has left the bitter taste of ambiguity and curiosity on the back of your tongue. It was always clear that he cared for Wooyoung more than anyone else, but for him to speak with such pain in his eyes – however brief that pain may have been – means that the pair have been through more together than you initially imagined. And if Yeosang could barely conceal his pain effectively as an Elitist, you cannot imagine what kind of pain you would have seen had Wooyonug been the one telling you that. And somewhere in the back of your mind, a vague and fuzzy image arises of San’s face, eyes filled with that pain and tears that you wish not to think about. You can at least be glad when you reach the bridge to find Seonghwa standing there alone, eyes watching the entrance with bated breath. He heaves a deep sigh when you and Yeosang step through, fists relaxing by his sides.

“Jongho and San?”

“Medbay,” Yeosang mutters, stepping around the lieutenant to get to Hongjoong’s quarters. Seonghwa lets him go without a fight, but the moment you try to do the same, he slips in front of you. Hands find your shoulders, and his grip hovers between a firm hold and a gentle touch. It is the most minimal form of intimacy, but it’s more than you have had from Seonghwa in at least a week.

“What happened out there?” You know what he’s referring to and what he’s asking but you cannot provide the answer he’s searching for.

“Nothing happened,” you mutter back. Seonghwa’s touch disappears, and you curse yourself for missing the warmth so much. It returns less than a second later as he presses his hands to the underside of your jaw and cradles your face as though you’re made from glass. He doesn’t utter a word for too long; instead, his gaze continues to trail over every centimeter of your features like he’s trying to memorize the sight in front of him or see through you to find the truth. You know it’s not logical but it feels as though hours pass before he speaks again.

“We can talk later. Right now we ought to see Hongjoong about this mess.”

“I would rather be anywhere else.”

Seonghwa tilts his chin to the side, pondering your words for a few seconds, and then he nods slowly. It’s like he can see straight through your walls without having to do more than blink.

“You should go see San. Check on him and see if he’s doing well. Yeosang and I can easily handle Hongjoong on our own.”

You return the words with a nod of your own and pull away from Seonghwa to do as told. You don’t get more than a foot away, however, Seonghwa’s fingers closing around your wrist and pulling you forward once more. Air catches in your lungs. Your eyes find his nearly onyx ones, refusing to break contact even to blink as he guides you back with hesitant steps. You gasp out a shaky exhale when your back hits the wall. Seonghwa doesn’t stop moving forward until he’s intruded on your breathing space, lips so close to yours that if you exhale too much, your mouths would connect.

“How foolish of me to think that I was going to… forgive me for being greedy, I – I missed this,” Seonghwa whispers.

“Being physical or me?”

“Need I remind you that I swore I would not have you unfairly?” Seonghwa tilts his head back only to huff out a laugh. When he returns to his original position, you are right there to greet him with a kiss, slotting your lips against his with a force that surprises the both of you. Seonghwa inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense from the shock of the action before he settles into the touch and presses back into your lips with equal fervor. You refuse to part until you’re desperate for air, pulling away to breathe in each other’s air. “I suppose that means you missed me as well?”

The question is meant to be teasing and nothing more. You are well aware of that, and yet it flips an invisible switch in your head that sends you reeling.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?”

Bright, bright eyes sparkling with all the love in the universe.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

“I would give my life for yours if you would just let me.”

Your chin dips closer to your chest, shrouding yourself from Seonghwa’s prying gaze until he shifts with you in attempts to make eye contact.

“I’m here, Y/N, talk to me.”

“Don’t subject me to a life without you in it, Jisung.”

Seonghwa’s fingers brush over your chin, and he lifts your face just enough to examine your distraught expression with one that is equally concerned and distressed.

“I-I…” The words you truly want to say die on your tongue.

“I could never. I love you far too much to do that.”

Gone.

“I’m here, Y/N.”

“Promise me that you won’t.”

Jisung is gone.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

Perhaps promises are made only to be broken and that is the only reason why he could not maintain the one he made to you. You’re certain that your life could be described as the sum of broken promises, and all you can amount to is a gross combination of bitterness and pessimism. Even though Seonghwa says he isn’t going anywhere, you can’t shake the pain that has overstayed its welcome yet refuses to go away. You would put all your trust in him if not for that same pain. You owe him an explanation – a decent one in the very least, and a proper one since he’s been so patient and gentle with you – and yet all you can manage to do is slip out of Seonghwa’s grasp.

“I – Hongjoong needs you more than I do right now,” you whisper. Looking up at Seonghwa’s expression provides a completely new punch in the gut, and you could burst into tears on the spot just from the sight of it.

“Yet even if you did need me more, would you let me help you?’ Seonghwa asks. His tone does not rise about a whisper, and you know that is merely because it conceals most of the wobble in his voice.

“If I knew what I needed, then yes.” You release a dry laugh, and it sears your throat as it breaches the air before you, hand coming up to comb through your hair. Seonghwa says nothing more. It may not be an opportunity to leave but you take it as one, slipping back out through the corridor and leaving in the direction you came.

Each step away from the bridge seems heavier than the last. You aren’t sure if it’s the exhaustion finally catching up to you and hitting hard or if the emotional distress has caused it, but walking all the way to the medbay is a struggle of its own. The hazy thoughts that occupy your mind don’t help in the slightest, especially those surrounding the fuzzy and unwelcome memories of Jisung. Sheer willpower is the only thing keeping you on your feet at this point surely because otherwise you would collapse or pass out on the floor outside the door.

The metal door slides open to reveal the white expanse of the medbay, only disturbed by San’s presence on one of the beds and Yunho’s form sitting at the foot of his bed with a tablet in hand. Yunho snaps his chin in your direction the moment you step through, eyes flipping from apprehension to something more relaxed once he realizes who you are. San seems to be comfortably asleep with no wires or tubes connected to him. Just resting. You wonder how long it’s been since he had this sort of opportunity to rest without being disturbed.

“You just missed Jongho,” Yunho says, returning his focus to the tablet. “Couldn’t bear to be around me any longer.” A scoff follows, and you shift your weight from foot to foot.

“Is everything alright between the two of you?”

“I’m supposed to be the doctor, not you.” Yunho laughs, a sound that is loud and clear but does not disturb San’s rest in the slightest. Your gaze trails over the Spectre before coming to a halt on Yunho’s side profile. You shrug even though he isn’t looking at you, hoping that he will catch the motion in his peripheral.

“What happens when the doctor needs someone to talk to?”

“He goes to the captain.”

“What about now? Would you go to the captain now?”

Yunho pushes the tablet onto his lap. Sharp brown eyes flitter up to meet yours, and the first and only thing you notice is a certain lackluster gleam in them. The usual confidence and grandeur to his aura is dull and dismal. He nods his head towards a spare stool, and you’re quick to drag it forward and sit near the foot of the bed.

“No, I wouldn’t. But you’re probably wondering what I’m thinking too. After preaching about how awful the military was for taking away your choices, how could I of all people stoop so low?”

“Everyone sees situations differently.”

“I regret bringing it up and making it an option.” Yunho toys with a loose thread on the blanket under him as he speaks. You’ve never thought the man to be young – childish and immature in some regards, mostly thanks to his jokes and sense of humor – but he has never looked to be a child in your eyes.

Right now, with his legs pulled under him and hands clenching the white blanket, you can say with confidence that Yunho looks like a child. One who is lost and without direction, seeking answers to questions that he cannot ask. And yet, it only makes sense that he would appear that way. He mentioned how he grew up in his mother’s profession learning medicine and tending to wounded people day in and day out. The festival was a luxury he only got once a year, and from the way he spoke of it, it sounded like it was the sole luxury he had.

So no, you have never seen Yunho in this light, but now it is clearer than ever that Yunho suffers and struggles because he was a child who was forced to grow up too quickly.

“A good doctor wouldn’t do that.” He speaks in such a way that sounds as though he is trying to convince himself of that fact rather than you.

“Are you a bad doctor for one mistake?”

“I am a bad doctor for not being able to properly help Mingi.”

“Why is that your job though? Especially when Jongho says that he’s the one best equipped to handle it.”

“I witne–it’s just in my nature. I have seen too much pain in my life to sit idly by and watch others suffer. I have to help people, no matter who they are or what they are. I have to fix them because if not then — then I… what am I if I don’t? A failure of a doctor. So if this fixes Mingi then why would I not take that chance?”

“Would a good doctor take away someone’s choice?” You inquire. “Do you not give every other member of the crew one? Why is Mingi different?”

“Nothing else works. What am I supposed to do? All possible treatments over the past six years have failed. The progress we’ve made is minimal at best but Mingi is still in pain. As a doctor, I am supposed to take that pain away but I only see it getting worse and worse with time as he learns more and understands his feelings better. For what? I know that it’s because of me. I just… I want to take it away.”

“What are you trying to do, Yunho? Are you afraid? Is that it?”

Yunho doesn’t respond right away; instead, he glances down at San’s resting face with tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His next breaths come in shaky gasps – desperate attempts to keep from falling apart. You have only seen him look so fragile and vulnerable once before: when he held a gun to a thug’s head and told him to move out of the way.

“I am only afraid of one thing and that is failure,” Yunho admits once the silence has dragged on for a bit. “And every time I look at Mingi, I see a reflection of my failures. Forgive me for doing things that will take away that reflection.”

There is a stark selfishness in Yunho’s words, an inherent interest to save himself rather than Mingi, and that sends a surge of anger through your veins. You huff air through your teeth, letting the sound ring before standing up and moving towards the door once more. You hesitate just before stepping out and turn to face Yunho head-on as you speak your next words.

“I won’t forgive you for being a coward who is afraid to face the thing he fears most or for being a selfish prick who only cares about his own pain. You can run all you want but don’t ask for forgiveness.”

It puts Yunho on the defensive; his eyes blaze and he sits up a bit straighter with a hardly concealed venom to his gaze.

“And you would know that feeling well, wouldn’t you?” He laughs, and this time the sound holds none of its usual mirth and brightness. “Running? That’s all you’ve ever done. You can’t outrun who you used to be because you are too afraid to lose it. Letting go and moving on is your biggest fear and the thing that holds you back the most. You can stand there and preach about how I should face my fears that are practically trivial compared to yours while you do what? Keep running and clinging to the past?”

You aren’t aware of the tears in your eyes until they hit your cheeks, leaving a path of messy streaks down to your jawline. Yunho has surely already seen the effect his words have on you, but you jerk your head away from his prying gaze anyway and glare at the metal of the door.

“So much for being a good doctor,” you hiss out with as much stability as you can manage. Then you are out the door and gone into the hall. There is nothing more to say, and his words have already taken root in your chest, stretching its reach far into your veins, and every fragmented memory and broken flashback you’ve had throughout the day comes rushing back with the force of a typhoon.

“I could never. I love you far too much to do that.”

“Promise me that you won’t.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

Every muscle in your body feels heavier than lead, and you aren’t sure how you manage to keep pushing yourself forward without collapsing. The tremble in your fingers is a sign of what’s to come, panic surges through your veins and swells around your vision, and you reach out to brace yourself on the wall.

“Just give me some more time. We’ll get this sorted out.”

“How? There’s no fixing this, Hyunwoo! We were caught. I was caught! How do you expect to fix that?”

“I would rather die than see them take your memories of us away.”

What would they say if they could see you now? Perhaps you replaced them too quickly? You were quick to push them out of your life? What did Hyunwoo sacrifice himself for? Your self-destructive plan to pardon his crimes and put yourself back in jail?

The memories swirling around you are so vivid that you can almost feel Jisung’s hand in yours when he appears at the forefront of your mind. That vision doesn’t last for long though because something new and unwelcome hits you out of nowhere. It strikes with enough force to make you stumble and collapse to your knees, fingers clenching against the cold floor as a new image comes to life.

Everything is dark around you, save for the pale yellow moonlight that filters through a small grate in the ceiling. You can hardly see the scenery outside thanks to the puffy clouds covering the round and full moon. Your prison rattles as the driver hits a bump in the road, then a horse neighs, and you curl into yourself more. The shackles around your wrists are heavy, chains dragging on the floor of your walled cage, but the thick collar about your neck is the only one you can feel. It’s tight enough to choke you, letting you breathe just enough to stay conscious but nothing more than that. Somewhere off to your left, there is some whispering. You can’t understand it – the language is foreign and strange to your ears – but when you glance over, you find a child bearing similar shackles as you.

“Lasu – lasu kan tan wogo?”

You don’t respond even as her eyes meet yours.

“Lasu kan tan wogo?”

The image disperses, her whispers fading into a vague nothingness as you return to reality, and all you can see is the haze of the lights above you blurring with the walls. The edges of your vision are speckled with black dots, and your head hurts so badly you can barely keep your eyes open. You don’t have to for much longer because you can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness, but just before you do, you see a pair of unfamiliar black boots approaching you.

Warmth. Everything is warm as strong arms slip around your body and lift you high with overwhelming ease. Nothing about the touch or scent of the person is familiar, and you know that it can’t possibly be Jongho or Wooyoung. It shouldn’t be San or Yunho either, but that’s more logical than a random intruder coming onto the ship. A hand brushes over your forehead, hot against your clammy and cold skin.

“I could sense your distress all the way from the cargo bay.”

A man. Cargo bay. Sensing your distress. A Berserker? A Siren? Seonghwa? Not possible, he wasn’t anywhere near the cargo bay.

“It’s okay; you can calm yourself some. Just rest for now.” His tone is so gentle and warm. He could put you to sleep just like this, and it only takes one more sentence for him to do so. “I’ll bring you to Healer.” Your body falls completely limp in his grasp and darkness takes over you, a pleasant sense of calm rushing to greet you as you slip into unconsciousness.

…

The walled prison has returned stronger than before. The road remains bumpy and rocky as you ride along in the darkness, the same child still sitting a foot away from you with her knees tucked close to her chest. You eye her form with a sense of wariness; her nonsensical mutterings haven’t ceased. In fact, they’ve only increased in both volume and quantity no matter how obvious you try to be about ignoring her.

“Lasu kan tan wogo? Cezi, lasu kan tan wogo?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you mutter as a new word comes into her sentences.

“Hosun gatu lu!”

“I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m sorry, I-I can’t help you.”

“Lasu kan tan wogo?” Her ceaseless mutterings return, and you let her voice fade into the background as you look around the cell. You don’t know how long things carry on like that, with noisy chains and neighing horses drowning out the foreign words. When the prison comes to a halt at long last, you don’t know what to expect next. Ahead of you, a door bursts open to reveal several cloaked figures shrouded by the moonlight. One reaches forward and grabs hold of your chains, jerking you roughly. You blink against the harsh light filtering in behind them, unable to defend yourself as the person pulls you out of the cage.

More cages just like your own fill your vision. They are all around you, filling the rocky and flat terrain like they belong there, all containing people of all ages in chains like yourself. Another figure tugs your companion out of the prison, and her voice grows in volume as she continues to repeat her question over and over. No one answers her.

You don’t know what comes over you – perhaps a surge of panic and fear – but you yank against your captor’s grip with as much force as you can manage.

“H-Help! Someone – someone help!” You cry out, voice croaking like a frog, and your throat burns from the effort. One of the chained prisoners in front of you turns at the sound of your voice. Dark charcoal hair flutters in the still air as he whips around to face you, eyes wide and curious as they land on you. All the air leaves your lungs. Your heart constricts painfully in your chest, and you choke on nothing as his face comes into focus.

Wooyoung.

A cloaked man steps in front of you and effectively blocks your line of sight before you can examine the sight further.

Wooyoung.

A searing pain blossoms over your cheek, and it takes a moment for you to process that the person has just punched you.

Wooyoung.

Another blow comes down on your head. You feel your body go down before your mind catches up, and you enter a harsh freefall. Your chains clatter as you tumble to the ground.

“Y/N!”

“Wooyoung!” You jolt awake, chest heaving as you gasp in deep breaths of air. There’s only one person in the room with you when you wake up, and you don’t need to see him to know who it is thanks to the shrill yelp he releases upon hearing your outburst. He slips backwards and falls off the stool he was sitting on, ass hitting the floor roughly. Ironically enough, it’s Wooyoung who now sits on the floor with wide and curious eyes.

“Holy fuck, you scared the shit out of me!” He exclaims, lips folding into a soft pout. “You’re up earlier than I thought you’d be though. You haven’t even been resting for that long.”

You glance around the room, taking in the white walls of the medbay, and your gaze shifts to the bed where San had been earlier. It’s empty now, made in such a way that makes it look like no one was ever there to begin with.

“S-San? Where is he?” You stammer as Wooyoung pulls himself back to his feet.

“He woke up not too long ago and went straight to the bridge to talk to Hongjoong.” Wooyoung brushes his hands over his thighs, rubbing the fabric of his pants until it’s clean of dirt. When he sits back on the stool, he folds one leg under him and peers at you with a skeptical gaze. “Why’d you say my name when you woke up?”

“I…” How are you supposed to explain your dream when you don’t understand it yourself? The strange language, the weird scenery, Wooyoung – you aren’t sure where to even start with it. “Di-Did – I, um, have a question. Did w-we know each other at one point?”

Wooyoung’s frown deepens. He leans back a bit, eyes scanning your expression for any sign of humor or sarcasm there.

“Did you hit your head or something?”

“No, no, just – did we know each other at one point?”

“Um… before you came to the ship, I had never seen you or known who you were. I only heard about you through word of mouth and bounties. Why do you ask?”

“I had t-this dream, and you were in it. In chains and a collar like the one you have now, but… but I was too? I don’t know what it means.”

“It was just a dream, Y/N,” Wooyoung says. He shakes his head a bit, bangs shifting on his forehead, and the image of him whipping around to face you in that misty landscape returns.

“It felt real. It didn’t feel like a dream – more like a memory.”

“I really didn’t know you before you came to the ship, Y/N. I don’t know what you think – who you think I am, but… I don’t know. Maybe you heard me and Yunho talking while you were asleep? And that’s why I showed up in your dream?”

That is debatable at best, but you opt not to voice your doubts.

“Where is Yunho anyway?”

“Ah, he didn’t want to be here when you woke up. Thought you wouldn’t want to see him.”

“It’s probably the opposite actually,” you huff.

“Yeah, I – Yunho told me what happened,” Wooyoung explains. He tilts his head from side to side as he ponders his next words then slides his stool forward so that he can prop his elbows on the bed. “You know Yeosang and I have spent a lot of time together. Lots of years at each other’s side and lots of time in each other’s space. We’ve said a lot of things that were harsh. We’ve been cruel to one another with our words and what we say. Been hurtful and mean and torn each other apart. Not because we don’t care – quite the opposite really. Sometimes our fear overshadows how we feel about one another. Misunderstandings happen, tempers flare, people say things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment. But that doesn’t mean that it should or will ruin your relationship with them. Hell, Yeosang is an Elitist. He barely shows an ounce of emotion most of the time, and I struggle with that because I just have to take his word for his feelings. I don’t get the pleasure of seeing how much he cares about me all the time because he can’t always show it. We’ve struggled with that together and individually, but we never let it destroy us.”

“You and Yeosang must really love each other if you’re so confident about that.” Wooyoung offers a weak smile in response to your words, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes.

“We do…”

“Why don’t you sound certain then?”

“I love him, and he loves me. That’s it. It can’t go anywhere, and we don’t put a label on anything because we simply can’t.” Wooyoung stops himself from saying anything else, and his gaze drops to the mattress.

“Why not?” You don’t get an answer straight away, although that isn’t Wooyoung’s fault.

“Crew to the bridge.” It’s Seonghwa’s voice, as even and steady as ever, and both you and Wooyoung glance up to the speaker in the corner of the room. Wooyoung doesn’t move a muscle, however, and he continues to stare at you with an unchanging expression before he answers your question.

“We went to a fortune teller once – just the two of us before we even joined the crew or knew anything about pirates. To see my future, not Yeosang’s, but… when the woman looked into my future, Yeosang wasn’t in the picture. She said that we were not meant to be in each other’s lives. Our meeting was a mistake, and it was not what fate had planned for us. And as such, any attempts we made to stay close to each other would inevitably end in flames. All because the stars didn’t align for us.” Wooyoung laughs weakly before he glances back up to your face.

“Do you truly believe it?” You inquire in a quieter tone, matching Wooyoung’s solemn expression. The man heaves a deep sigh. A smile stretches his lips but it isn’t kind or humorous in the slightest, merely painful. That thought you had of seeing how much pain Wooyoung would be in when speaking of Yeosang suddenly comes to life before your eyes, and it is far worse than you imagined it would be.

“Every time I kiss him, it feels like someone is digging a hole in my chest and prying my ribcage open so they can carve my heart out. Does that sound like fate to you?” Wooyoung pulls himself up and sits straight as a board. “I don’t care for fate or destiny. I would rather it not exist, but I can’t deny the feeling that I get in my chest in those moments of intimacy. In a perfect world, I would get to call him mine without worrying about what fate has planned for us. But this? This is far from a perfect world.”

Whatever words you thought to say die on your tongue in the face of Wooyoung’s dismal explanation.

“Crew to the bridge,” Seonghwa repeats, sounding a tad more exasperated this time around.

“Come on, let’s get up there before we make them mad. You’ll be okay to walk?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you reply with a nod, letting Wooyoung pull you to your feet. “Who was it who brought me in here anyway? I think I passed out before I saw.”

“Mingi!” Wooyoung beams, and his smile stretches so wide that his nose scrunched up and his cheeks shine. “I stepped out of my room right as he was walking by with you, and he told me that he found you having a panic attack in the hallway.”

“All possible treatments over the past six years have failed. The progress we’ve made is minimal at best but Mingi is still in pain.”

“It’s amazing, honestly. A few years ago, he probably would have killed you to put you out of your misery had he found you. But now – now he knows how important saving people is to Yunho, and he understands it even if he doesn’t agree with it.”

“And every time I look at Mingi, I see a reflection of my failures. Forgive me for doing things that will take away that reflection.”

It is clear to you in that moment that somewhere along the way, Yunho got things twisted. He viewed progress and growth in terms of the amount of pain a person was in, not the shifts in their decisions and opinions. And surely there are reasons for that – perhaps that story Hongjoong mentioned of how Mingi killed Yunho’s lover affected things in some way – but you cannot shake the feeling that it runs deeper than that. The boy who grew up too fast thanks to his profession as a healer is all too similar to the one who was robbed of his childhood to be a killer.

You and Wooyoung are the last to reach the bridge. The crew is spread out more awkwardly than the last time you all were here together: San and Yunho linger off to the side with flat expressions while Mingi and Jongho stand closer together, and Yeosang stands near the captain’s chair, keeping his hands folded neatly behind his back. Seonghwa is on the opposite side of the chair, and he bears a similar stance to Yeosang except he rests a hand on the back of Hongjoong’s chair. It’s close enough to brush over the man’s shoulder, but Seonghwa opts not to and keeps the distance he has currently. You try not to let your thoughts wander back to your exchange with Yunho. He glances up at you when you step onto the bridge though, and the neutrality in his visage crumbles into regret and guilt the moment you lock eyes. Wooyoung has to nudge your arm to get you to continue moving.

“Right, now that we’re all here…” Hongjoong clears his throat and sends a pointed look toward you and Wooyoung that has you both mumbling quiet apologies. “And now that Jongho and Mingi have had time to speak one on one, we need to come to a decision about this whole ordeal prior to leaving tomorrow morning. After no shortage of discussions with the lieutenant, we at last reached an agreement to allow the choice to be Mingi’s and Mingi’s alone.”

Wooyoung’s hand darts out to grab yours, and you’re just as caught off-guard as he is. While he releases an audible gasp, your lips part in a silent one that has you looking over at Seonghwa to gauge his expression. Despite the exhaustion, you find a certain degree of relief there along with a faint smile that blooms when he blinks down at Hongjoong’s head.

“And I believe you’ve explained everything to him, Jongho?”

“I have. As promised, no biases.”

Hongjoong nods only once then turns to Mingi. He stretches a hand out, fingers unfurling to reveal two vials of blue liquid in his palm.

“What would you have me do, Captain?” Mingi inquires the moment Hongjoong reaches forward. For a moment, you think Hongjoong will answer that question truthfully. However, all he does is offer a tight smile.

“I would have you decide what’s best for yourself.”

The tension throughout the room is so thick that you could cut through it with a knife, and Wooyoung’s grip on your hand increases with each second that passes in silence. Anxiety still bubbles in your gut despite the fact that you got what you wanted. You wanted this for Mingi, you were so desperate for it, but you can’t keep yourself from wondering if it will all go to waste when Mingi makes the choice.

“I… don’t like being in pain,” Mingi starts. Hongjoong’s jaw shifts and his hand wavers, but he manages a steady nod. “And I do wonder what it would be like if I took the serum but… at the same time, I have memories I do not want to let go of. All that’s left of my father are my memories of him. Even if I should despise him for the choices he made, I would not like to forget those things. I have many regrets and have made many mistakes as well but – those are not things I would like to forget. I need them to learn more and better understand why they are mistakes and why I regret them. But I can’t pretend not to know that you would rather me put it behind me and move forward without having that hold me back.”

“I wou–I will not share my bias,” Hongjoong says, lips pressed tight together.

“Even if you did, my decision would remain the same. I don’t want it. Captain, I – Hongjoong, I would rather they be destroyed.”

Hongjoong’s face falls so flat that it terrifies you. You cannot read his next move, whether he’s angry or relieved, any of the thoughts running through his mind are lost on you in his stillness. There are signs of relief on San’s face, as well as Seonghwa’s and Jongho’s, which you expected from them. Yeosang seems to be thinking of something else, and based on Wooyoung’s wavering hold on your hand, he is grateful to hear Mingi’s decision as well. Yunho won’t look up from the floor.

Hongjoong stands up slowly then steps down from the chair to be face to face with Mingi. The Berserker towers over him, but when Hongjoong looks up at the man’s face, you see zero intimidation or fear in either one of them. He lifts one of Mingi’s hands and pushes the two vials into his palm, closing his fingers around Mingi’s.

“However you see fit to destroy them, I would only ask that you be the one to do it.” Hongjoong pulls away from Mingi after that and returns to the captain’s chair to sit back down. “Lieutenant Park constructed the plans for if this was Mingi’s decision, so… he will provide the details himself.”

Seonghwa pulls his arm off the back of Hongjoong’s chair to stand up straighter, nodding to the captain before speaking himself.

“The planet is home to many bunkers thanks to the asteroids circling the planet. In the event that these asteroids fall into the atmosphere and collide with the planet, the inhabitants are to use these bunkers as safe havens to protect themselves from harm. Over time, many bandit crews have taken to claiming bunkers for their own, including our allies in the Bloodletter Crew. I exchanged a call with them last night to discuss the usage of one of these bunkers, and we came to an agreement about allowing Mingi to reside in one of their bunkers for as long as we are out on this mission. It will prevent him from having to go see Vladimir with us, but also protect him from Vladimir’s men circling the ship while we’re gone. They will also take some of the cargo off our hands as that was the price they named for this exchange. A bit of lost money in the long run, but well worth it for the safety of the crew. The bunker they’re providing is not far from our destination, so San and Jongho will accompany Mingi to the bunker and reconvene with the rest of us outside. From there, we conduct the mission as discussed. San and Jongho will take left-wing while Yunho, Wooyoung, and Y/N maintain the right. Yeosang and I will accompany Hongjoong to meet with Vladimir. The wing teams are merely there to watch for any tricks Vladimir might have up his sleeve. He is not beyond assassination attempts in plain sight, so all of you need to be as alert as possible.”

“Is that all?” Hongjoong asks, glancing up at the lieutenant.

“Yes, Captain, everything as we discussed.”

“Very well then, I would advise you all to go and rest now. It’ll be an early morning and a long day tomorrow. And Jongho, if you please stay a moment so we can talk in private. Mingi as well, if you would.”

“Okay, can we have a celebration dinner right now, please! If Jongho is gonna be a while that means he doesn’t get to cook!” Wooyoung exclaims as he tugs his hand away from yours. “Seonghwa, please give us a decent meal for once, I am not too ashamed to beg for it.” The lieutenant snorts and rolls his eyes but steps down from where he’s standing nonetheless.

“Unlike Yeosang, I would not like to hear you beg for anything. I’ll still treat you all either way though.”

Wooyoung sputters at Seonghwa’s comment, cheeks flushing a bright red in seconds, and you can’t keep from smiling at the small exchange. San moves with Seonghwa when the man steps forward, and Wooyoung returns to grab your hand before trying to drag you from the bridge in his excitement. Jongho stays behind as asked, and Mingi lingers at his side as asked. Yeosang is the last to move, waiting for Yunho to catch up before falling into step with him. You are about to bring your chin forward to focus on making sure that Wooyoung doesn’t guide you into a wall, but something happens to keep you from doing so.

It is as discreet as possible, but you catch sight of the exchange nonetheless. As you do, your breath hitches in your throat and you forget how to function for a moment. It's the flash of blue that passes from Yeosang's hand to Yunho's, slipping under sleeves with haste so that no one sees it, and the hushed whispers Yeosang hurries to send in the healer's direction. You don't know what they're talking about, but there is a growing hunch that it has nothing to do with Mingi or Hongjoong. Yeosang would not be this secretive if that was the case; no, this is something quite different, something outside of the current situation entirely, and that scares you more than anything else.

✧✧✧ a/n: lmfAO 12K?!? bITCH HOW!!! okay but anyway i honestly forgot what to do with myself it feels like it’s been years since an update and i was so anxious to get this one out and it ended up being !!! 12 fucking k!!!! what the hell!!! crazy stuff fr oml i hope you enjoy seriously, this one was a joy to write and i enjoyed it so much so i hope that translates and you enjoy as well!!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​​ @sugarrimajins​​​ @atinyinwonderland​​​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon​ @sparklychangbin​​​ @jeong-uwu​​​ @jeonartemis​​​ @anothershorthuman​​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​​ @haotheheckk​​​ @noonawriter​​​ @lostscenarios​​​ @nlost21​​​ @mirror-juliet​​​ @okokokok123-45​​ @purple-aeon​​ @theoinkypiglet​​ @toothlessshiber​​ @atinyarmyx1​​ @simpforhyunjin​​ @hwangwoosan​​ @takitaro​​ @vampire-jimin​​ @softyubi​​ @drumboydowoon​​ @chatsgotmytongue​​ @just-a-starfruit​​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter Seventeen

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

Exams, pizza, board games... what more could a girl ask for?

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty

 “That was a lot of chess,” Emily complained, nearly chugging her latte as she and Spencer left the coffee shop. 

She pulled her beanie onto her head and braced herself for the snow as the taller boy held the door open for her. Emily almost slipped on the slushy tile floor on her way out but managed to keep her balance. 

“Fifteen of the multiple-choice questions to be precise,” Spencer replied. The salted sidewalk crunched under their feet as they made their way across campus. 

“I’m so glad it’s finally over,” she admitted. “I think I’ve had enough philosophy to last me a lifetime.” 

“I’m enrolled in ‘Minds and Machines’ next semester,” he said. “I think I might try and get a double minor this time around.”

“What’s the goal? Three PhDs by the time you’re 24?” Emily quipped. 

He was well on his way, having completed his engineering degree before she managed to graduate high school. He was 17, only two years younger than her, but somehow seemed like a kid. A kid with more education crammed into his brain than she could ever master in her life.

“Something like that,” he replied with a smile. His hair was getting long and he had tied it back during the exam. With last names starting with P and R, they were seated near each other in the large exam hall, and she glanced over at him as he fussed with his hair. 

They stopped at the red light, watching as the cars and busses wooshed past them, sending the slush flying into the snowbanks. It had been a fairly sunny day, but bitterly cold. Now, the sun was setting and the campus was bathed in a warm golden glow. The snow had fallen the night before, leaving fluffy white snow covering their campus. 

Emily had spent most of the day holed up in the library with Spencer, with him quizzing her on fallacies and philosophers. With his eidetic memory, he only really needed to read the material once. Earlier in the semester, she did feel useful when it came to editing each other’s essays. He always got bogged down with detail, word vomiting everything he knew, and she helped him with his structure and argumentation. 

More studying awaited her back in her room. She rubbed at the back of her neck as she thought about the upcoming evening spent hunched over her desk studying criminal justice, a subject that left her questioning her degree half the time as she was forced to learn about the muddled ethics of justice. 

That week, she had survived on minimal sleep, eating mostly bagels and coffee to sustain her. Her body was protesting with each step, and she had suffered from a constant tension headache for as long as she remembered. At least her college had that golden retriever walk around at the library yesterday, she thought to herself, sarcastically. Animal therapy definitely relieved all her stress. As if petting a dog for five minutes would fix the anxiety of finals season. 

Two more exams, she reminded herself. You’ll make it. 

Despite this mantra, Emily was conflicted. While finals were killing her, the end of the semester also meant winter break. Emily would be forced to go “home” for the holidays. For most college students, that meant going back to their respective towns and being surrounded by their loved ones. Emily, on the other hand, didn’t have anywhere she called home. Last winter break, her mom had at least been in DC, and Emily was able to catch up with some of her international school friends who were in the city. This time, her mom was stationed in London, and Emily knew she’d be roped back into her old life. She didn’t know anyone there and knew most of her break would be spent alone. 

The last place she had called home was Rome, and now that was tarnished by her complicated past with that city. 

Emily was good at being alone. Being an only child of a workaholic single mom meant she learned to keep her own company. She read a lot. She got good at running away, escaping her nannies, and skirting security in order to roam free. She’d be fine. 

The problem was that Emily had gotten used to this. She rarely spent a moment alone these days. Whether it was walking to class with Spencer, or Hotch, or Derek, getting lunch with the team, surprise coffee dates with Penelope and spending almost every evening with her girlfriend, she hadn’t been left alone in ages. She didn’t miss it. 

Their residence building had a warm yellow light shining out of the windows and a soft red brick facade. In the summer, ivy grew up the south facing side but in the winter, the ledges were covered in snow and the stone steps were slippery. She trudged forward, excited for the warm embrace of the dorm. 

Spencer had other plans. He reached into the garish yellow plastic newspaper box that was stationed next to their doorway and retrieved this week’s newspaper. 

“Come on Reid,” Emily said. “Just subscribe to the newsletter or something like the rest of us.”

He held up the cover to her in surprise. Usually it reported the news of a recent sports victory, or a change of policy announced by the administrators, or even a fun event held on campus. Sometimes there was even a dramatic protest or an important speaker coming to campus. But this week, the headline surprised her. In large font printed across the page read: “Multiple student politicians fired amid financial scandal.” 

“That sounds bad,” Emily said. It did seem way more dramatic on newsprint than on a website, so maybe Spencer was onto something with his affinity for the printed word. 

Grabbing a copy for herself, she then walked inside to escape the cold. Warm air greeted them as they entered their residence hall, and both students kicked the snow off their boots before trudging up the stairs. They read as they walked, but the route to their rooms was already muscle memory, so neither worried about stumbling on their way. 

Normally, Emily wouldn’t willingly touch this sort of student politics with a ten foot pole. Sure, she was involved with the Criminology council, but there was a difference between the kind of person interested in petitioning for better accessibility to faculty events or running a bake sale, and the kind of students to embezzle thousands of student dollars like what the current student government executive seemed to be accused of doing. 

She quickly ran her eyes down the page, the contents jogging a memory from Halloween, of Hotch and JJ discussing the early stirrings of said scandal. 

“You know,” Spencer said, “I’m surprised they got a lot of this information, it’s notoriously difficult to file FOIAs for student governments, as they’re technically private corporations. So the fact that they got these files means that this is a much bigger scandal than one might assume.”

Corruption, bribery, embezzlement, nepotism. All words that jogged memories of hiding in the corner of political fundraisers, overhearing the worst of politics from too-drunk elites sipping on their wine and munching on charcuterie. 

“I hate politics,” Emily said, stuffing her copy of the paper into her bag. 

“I find it interesting. It’s basically a microcosm of our current political climate. In fact, I have subscribed to the print edition of fifteen student papers in the region,” Spencer said, “I like to keep informed on the coverage of student issues, and compare them to our own.”

“Why?!” Emily said with a laugh. “You know you can just look them up online.”

Spencer gave her a withering look, and she should have known better than asking about his aversion to tech. He loathed having to use his computer, as the LCD screens apparently gave him a headache. Penelope even gave him a pair of blue light glasses to attempt to alleviate the issue.

Then, he began to speak, at length, about the dying printed news industry and why print copies were better for understanding than screens et cetera. She made sure to nod and hum at appropriate points, but her mind kept wandering. 

She wondered if her girlfriend was in her room. Emily missed her any time they were apart and she yearned to hold her in her arms once again. But she shouldn’t. She needed to work. She had too much to do. Her grades had slipped, slightly, this semester. Everyone warned her about how college would be harder than high school, but no one ever warned her how much the expectations were raised in second year. 

Two more exams. She clutched her coffee tighter. She’d rather do anything else besides study at this point. Her body was exhausted, her mind frazzled. She wondered if she could even manage to get through a chapter of revision before conking out on her desk. 

As she said goodbye to Spencer and struggled with her keys that were tangled up in their corresponding university-branded lanyard, JJ’s door opened.  

“Hey girlfriend,” JJ greeted her, sounding way too much like a straight girl greeting her platonic friend for Emily’s taste. She gave her a pass because it sounded cute in her voice. 

“JJ!” Emily said, somehow surprised to see her despite the fact that she lived right across the hall. Her girlfriend was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized sweater, with her straight hair tucked behind her ears and her face bare of make up. Her face was lit up with a smile, and Emily rushed towards her, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

“Hi JJ,” Spencer said as Emily and JJ kissed. 

When they pulled apart, JJ gave Spencer a smile as a greeting and asked them how their exam went. 

Spencer babbled about their Logic exams for a minute or two, as Emily basked in JJ’s presence. She grabbed onto her hand and found that it was so much hotter than her own and wasn’t sure if she held on tight because she was cold, or if she had missed her girlfriend. 

“I’m just glad it’s over,” Emily said. “I never want to hear about fallacies again.”

Spencer seemed to want to say something, but fell silent at Emily’s tired expression. 

“Wanna come in for a bit?” JJ whispered in Emily’s ear. Apparently she said so a touch too loud because Spencer replied instead. 

“Sure!” he said, and then walked into JJ and Penelope’s room. 

“I should really study,” Emily tried to argue, but a single glance into JJ’s deep, blue eyes had Emily melting. 

JJ’s room was much messier than Emily had last seen it. Both desks showed clear markers of the ongoing exams, with papers and books piled high. In addition to this was an assortment of pillows strewn all over the floor.

“You guys are back early!” JJ said, after checking her watch, “I thought it was a two hour exam?”

“I finished in an hour,” Spencer said, “and Emily only needed an extra half hour on top of my time.”

Damn straight, Emily thought, feeling somewhat competitive with the boy-genius despite herself. 

She really should study, but the prospect of seeing her girlfriend outweighed the desire to sit hunched over a textbook for another evening. 

Emily and Spencer kicked off their boots, placing them neatly on the mat by the door before peeling their jackets off and hanging them on the back of her door. Emily wasn’t sure if she liked winter. Whenever her mother was stationed in the Middle East she yearned for snow, but now that she was experiencing the Nor’easter for the first time, the desert sounded like a good time. 

“Well there goes my plan,” JJ said, blowing her hair out of her face with a puff of air.

Spencer flopped onto Penelope’s neatly-made bed, collapsing into the assortment of pink pillows while carefully keeping his take-away cup upright. Emily sat down next to JJ on her bed.

“Your plan?” Emily asked. 

“Yeah,” JJ said, sounding a bit shy. “I had this whole plan to make up a blanket fort here for you, and I would surprise you with it when you walked in.’”

JJ gestured with her hands at the mess. Blankets and pillows were strewn about, and a bundle of fairy lights were laying in the middle of the floor. 

“Then you came back early,” JJ concluded. “Spence, I thought you’d keep her occupied longer!”

“You didn’t tell me that,” he replied. Spencer looked quizzically at her, shrugged, then took another sip of his coffee.

“I just wanted us to have a cute date night,” JJ admitted. “I know you’re so stressed, and you deserve a break.” 

Emily grabbed her girlfriend’s moving hands and held them in her own. She felt overwhelmed. JJ was so… thoughtful. Caring. Attentive. So many things that were absolutely foreign to Emily. No one had ever tried to impress her like this. 

“It’s okay,” Emily said. “We don’t need anything special to have a cute date night. You’re cute enough.”

JJ gave Emily a goofy smile in response. 

“Okay,” JJ said. “If you say so.”

“You’re building a blanket fort?” Spencer asked. “I actually have some experience with blanket fort architecture.”

“You do?” JJ asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

“Of course,” he replied, seeming almost offended that she questioned him. “It sparked my interest in engineering. I wanted to overcome the problem of chair-tippage when it came to building the structure, so I devised a system of counter-weights that I found increased the structural integrity by 53%. My mom always told me that I could be an architect, but I thought the sciences better suited my intellect.”

“Oh?” Emily asked, genuinely interested. How would someone measure the structural integrity of a blanket fort? 

“Actually, I have some blueprints. Let me grab them,” he said, standing up and making a move for the door. 

“Of course you have blueprints,” JJ laughed. 

“I should probably go feed Gideon, anyway. I’ll be right back!” Spencer  said. Before closing the door behind him.

“Gideon?” Emily asked. 

“His fish,” JJ said, “the one he won at the fair. It’s named after his professor, I think.”

She shrugged. The kid was weird, they tended to just accept that. 

“I guess Spencer’s joining us on date night,” JJ said. “Sorry. I know you’re stressed and probably want to be studying, but I thought we’d order pizza and just have one night off. Just us. And Spencer.”

JJ planted a firm kiss on Emily’s lips, leaving her dazed and blushing. 

“Relaxing sounds perfect,” Emily said, pulling her girlfriend closer to her. “I can’t believe it’s already exams. This semester has flown by. Soon it’ll be winter break, and I won’t get to see you.”

“I can’t imagine you not being right across the hall,” JJ said. “Who will give me kisses when I want them?”

JJ kissed Emily, sucking on Emily’s bottom lip slightly before pulling apart to look at her. 

“I know you’re joking, but I hope you’re not kissing anybody else, no matter the circumstances.”

With that established, Emily pounced on her girlfriend, pushing her onto her bed and kissing her deeply. She intertwined her fingers in the blonde locks that were splayed out in a golden halo and breathed in deep, taking in the warm scent of the lilac candle that burnt on her night side table. 

All her worries melted away at JJ’s touch. Emily’s brain was filled with the feeling of JJ’s lips on hers, with her lithe form beneath her. Exams, student politics and thoughts of home were wiped away, and her stress faded into background noise. 

JJ’s pliant form writhed under Emily’s, her hands sneaking below Emily’s sweater and dancing over her back. They deepened the kiss until they were making out like teenagers in JJ’s dorm with the door still open a crack. 

This was how Spencer, accompanied by Derek, found them when they pushed open the door with blanket fort blueprints and bags of potato chips in hand. 

Spencer made a surprised noise, which made Emily aware of his return. She jumped up and pulled apart from JJ with a dark red blush gracing her cheeks. 

“Woah there ladies,” Derek said with a laugh. “Keep it in your pants!”

“Guys! I was gone for five minutes!” Spencer whined. 

Emily stood up awkwardly, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she watched JJ sit up and pat her hair down in a huff.

“Sorry,” Emily grumbled, not really meaning it. She would never be sorry for kissing JJ, but she was sorry for the awkwardness

“Pretty boy dragged me down the hall,” Derek said in explanation. He had Spencer’s rolled-up fort plans in his hand, and lightly smacked Emily’s head with it, making a comedic thwap noise as it made contact. “Hope you weren’t in the middle of something?”

“Only JJ’s legs,” Emily quipped to everyone’s surprise, even her own. JJ hit her jokingly and blushed. 

“Hey!” Derek laughed, “Let’s keep this PG!”

“You called?” The voice of Penelope Garcia—PG if you will—rang out from the hallway, and within seconds JJ’s room was filled with just about all their friends standing around in a slightly awkward silence: JJ, Emily, Spencer and Derek were joined by Penelope with Hotch in tow. 

The latter two of them had grown closer recently and walked into the room with white shopping bags with the walrus logo printed on the side, looking like they had just returned from out in the cold. Penelope and Hotch going thrifting together, that’s new! Emily thought to herself and decided to file the observation for later. The image of Hotch watching Penelope’s customary fashion show was enough to make her laugh under her breath. 

“We’re building a blanket fort,” Spencer announced, changing the subject to the task at hand. “Are you guys helping?”

“Oh you know I will, boy genius,” Penelope said with an excited smile. 

Emily looked over to her girlfriend. So much for date night.

———

Without much questioning about why they were building a blanket fort, the team got to work. In college, sometimes things just happened. Impromptu blanket forts were par the course. In their defense, any excuse to not spend the evening burying their heads in textbooks was a welcome reprieve. 

It started with just a few blankets draped in the space between JJ and Penelope’s beds, but with Spencer’s instruction, a verifiable architectural marvel began to take shape. 

While Emily knew that Penelope would be all gung ho for this sort of project, it was certainly amusing to see Hotch in his khakis and dress shirt crawling around on the floor like a child with the rest of them, tying off blankets and very seriously maneuvering the different parts of the structure. 

Sheets were draped here and there, tied together to form ceilings and walls. Two chairs stolen from the common room, loaded with backpacks on the seat for support acted as the entrance to the fort. 

While it was crawling space only, Emily had to note that there was a sense of awe when you emerged into the open space of the main fort-area. It was surprisingly big, fitting all six of them with ease. The key to the whole design was a curtain rod Hotch had stolen from the boys shower that lifted the roof up. 

The design was strangely reminiscent of Baroque architecture, which she was sure was due to Spencer’s designs. This was a fact that Emily kept to herself. She always tried to rein in the ‘I lived abroad’ conversation points so her childhood could remain under minimal scrutiny.

Emily’s exhaustion transformed into excitement as she relished the time hanging out with her friends. Music played from Penelope’s computer as they worked, they began to work as a cohesive group, each member doing their share. It was nice to do something besides sit at her desk and obsess over memorizing facts and statistics, or figuring out the proper argumentation for an essay on a subject. Making sure that a bunch of blankets didn’t crash onto them was treated with the utmost seriousness, and the whole group was focused with intense concentration at their own tasks. 

Spencer did, in fact, have literal sketches of blanket forts in his notebooks, but the details of which were fairly incomprehensible to her. While she believed that he did the math, his chicken scratch was just about indecipherable, and his drawing was little more than a few shapes on a page. Despite this, it was laid out on the centre of the dorm-room floor for them to reference. 

At one point, as Emily stood on JJ’s wheely chair, she feared that the fort had all come crashing down as she lost her balance and grabbed at the blankets to stop her fall before tumbling onto Derek with a yelp. 

“Sorry,” she muttered as she climbed back onto her feet and fought off the blanket that had wrapped her in a shroud. 

She flinched as she realized she had ruined it all, a pit forming in her stomach. She looked at her friends in concern, but instead of yelling at her for her mistake, or shunning her for ruining it for the rest of them, they smiled at her and helped her up.

“It’s okay!” Spencer said cheerfully. “I know exactly how to reinforce that wall.”

“You okay, Emily?” Hotch asked, righting the wheely chair as JJ fretted over her. 

“I’m good,” she answered, still confused as to why they weren’t mad at her. 

Instead of making a big deal over the set back, they went back to work. Soon, the fort filled out and it returned to its former glory. Arguably, better than it was because they had draped fairy lights throughout the inside, making the space glow with a warm orange light. 

Inside was filled with pillows and big enough for all of them to sit comfortably so it was a comfy lounge space. It was cozy and warm, the antithesis of the bitterly cold night air outside. 

“You know what?” Hotch said. “This is a damned good fort, Reid.” 

The group muttered in consensus. They all had piled into the space, and as the excitement wore off, Emily was wondering what happened next. What does one do in a blanket fort? She had vague memories of building one in her room, but she had just sat inside and read a book. 

“I hear the RA’s storage room has a ton of board games,” Penelope said. “They pull them out for socials and stuff.”

“That’s all well and good, but we’re not asking Strauss to let us in,” Derek argued. “I still think she thinks we were responsible for that fire alarm last week. She’s been giving me the evil eye ever since.”

“Who said we had to tell her?” Emily said. “We could just… borrow… them…”

“I mean, they are for us to use, anyway.” JJ’s eyes had a mischievous look in them as she looked at Emily.

“That is true,” Hotch said, the scowl that was usually a fixture on his face turning to a smirk. 

“That’s stealing, guys,” Spencer warned, as if they didn’t already know that. 

“We’ll give them back,” Emily said with a shrug. “Come on!”

Penelope led the way to a dark wooden door on the main floor, it was labelled simply “Storage,” but the computer science student assured them that it was where the RA’s stored all of their supplies.

“It’s locked,” Penelope huffed.

“Do you have a bobby pin?” Emily asked her in a hushed voice. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she hadn’t learned how to pick simple door locks. She had trouble with deadbolts but a simple latch she could probably do within a couple of minutes.

The blonde pulled a hot pink bobby pin out of her perfectly curled hair. Emily snapped it into two, bending one end into a longer L-shape. Sticking that into the bottom of the lock and holding it in place, she used the other side to feel for the pins that held the lock in place. 

Emily could feel all eyes on her as she confidently knelt in front of the doorknob, the group keeping watch for her as she worked. No one questioned how or why Emily knew how to do this. She had her reasons. 

This definitely broke all sorts of residence rules and if they got caught, they knew they’d get into shit, but no one seemed to care that much. They just wouldn’t get caught. 

After a couple minutes, Emily’s hands began to sweat. What if she couldn’t do this anymore? She tried to centre herself. She had made it through infinitely more stressful situations in the past. It was the eyes of her friends on her that made her nervous. She was finally accepted by a group, and she desperately didn’t want to let them down. 

Then, it clicked, and she was able to turn the brass knob easily. Emily made a noise of excitement, got to her feet and yanked the door open. 

Instead of an empty storage closet, on the other side of the door was Erin Strauss, their RA, in a passionate embrace with David Rossi. Her shirt was unbuttoned and he was in the middle of sucking on her neck. 

“Dave?!” Hotch called out, startling the couple. 

Both groups stood stock-still, neither knowing what to say. While Emily had hid the bobby pins, she wasn’t sure who was in more trouble, them for breaking into the room or their RA for using the space for unofficial purposes. 

The room was small and cramped, with a pile of poster board mostly obscuring the one small window that lit the space. Strauss had been hoisted onto the desk, her legs straddling the other student. Emily could see a shelf filled with the board games stacked on the left side of the room, but they seemed unimportant at the moment. While Emily had known about their illicit love affair, she had never expected to see it in action. 

“Hey guys,” Rossi said after a moment, his unwavering confidence carrying on to this moment as he pulled apart from Strauss, who was furiously buttoning up her shirt and trying to sort herself out. 

“What are you all doing in here?” she demanded, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “This room’s meant for RA’s only.”

“Well,” Emily said, startled by her own audacity, “Dave isn’t an RA so…”

“We just came for some board games,” JJ said in her most diplomatic voice, despite clearly wanting to laugh at the situation, “then we’ll be off.”

“Take them and go,” the RA said in a strangled voice, her face beet-red and as she avoided eye contact like it was the plague. 

Clearly not as embarrassed as Strauss, Rossi simply smirked, collected a few board games into his arms off of the shelf, then deposited them into Emily’s arms. 

Realizing that given the circumstances, they couldn’t be picky with their choices, the stunned group thanked him then scurried away, back upstairs with their loot. The silence remained until they made it back to their floor, where they all burst into laughter.

“What on earth was that?!” Derek exclaimed. 

“Rossi and Strauss,” Spencer muttered. 

Emily and JJ made eye contact, remembering all those weeks ago when they had caught their friend emerging from the RA’s room down the hall in the middle of the night. They had known that Rossi and Strauss had hooked up that night, but had no idea that it was a whole relationship.

“I see it,” Hotch commented. “I mean, I don’t know your RA too well, but Rossi likes a woman with authority.”

Derek and Emily fake-gagged in an exaggerated manner at the comment. 

“I think I need to bleach my eyeballs after that display,” Emily muttered. 

“Ooo-kay!” JJ said, pointedly changing the subject. “It seems like we have most of the pieces to Clue… I think we could manage a game of that. We also have Scrabble, Yahtzee and Snakes and Ladders. Uh… also a pack of cards.”

“At least it’s not chess,” Emily said, thinking about her seemingly endless exam that afternoon. 

“Agreed,” Spencer said. 

“We do not have chess, no,” JJ said with a quizzical laugh. 

———

After ordering a couple of pizzas to the dorm, they all settled in to play a board game. After a few minutes of debate, they decided to play Clue (or Cluedo as Emily continuously referred to it as). The board was laid out: it was vintage, with a teal and yellow colour scheme and some scuffs and rips showing its age. In their blanket fort, they were seated in a circle, all secretly looking at their Clue cards.

“Can I be Professor Plum?” Spencer asked before they had even gotten the pieces out of the box. 

“Of course pretty boy,” Derek said, “I’ll take Mr. Green.”

“My sculpted god of thunder looks excellent in green,” Penelope flirted, choosing the white piece for herself. 

“Did you know that in the original version of Clue, Mr Green was a Reverend, but they changed his name for American audience because they believed that the American public would object to a parson as a murder suspect?”

“Good thing you’re on our trivia team, Reid,” Hotch replied.  

Emily was Miss Scarlet, of course, and was seated right next to JJ, who had chosen to portray Mrs. Peacock. Hotch claimed the remaining piece: Colonel Mustard.

Emily loved board games. Her nanny in France, who was a kindly elderly woman that Emily only knew as “Madame,” would play with her each Sunday after church. She has hazy memories from that time, but the warm glow of sunlight streaming into their Parisian apartment as she learned how to play Cluedo. Emily would always try to cheat, but knew better than to try to do so with her immensely observant girlfriend seated to her left, JJ’s hand resting casually on Emily’s thigh.

She looked at her cards and grinned. She had been dealt her own character, she noted, as Miss Scarlet’s name was printed in bold on the top of her first card. It felt weirdly validating to know that she herself was innocent. Also in her hands were the cards for the candlestick and pistol, as well as the observatory. She marked these off of her card and tried to gauge her opponents' reactions. 

JJ was checking her phone with her cards face down, tracking the pizza’s arrival. Spencer was sprawled back, his long legs taking up way more room than was necessary, jotting down notes on some scrap paper. Presumably some statistics and probability for the possibilities of the cards that were sealed in the envelope in the centre of the board. Penelope smiled over at Derek and flirtatiously tried to sneak a peek at his hand. 

After the initial rounds being dedicated to moving around the board, Emily finally made it into her first room: the lounge. There, she decided on her first suggestion.

“I suggest,” Emily said, in her most dramatic, formal voice, which was particularly suited to the role of Miss Scarlet, “that Mrs. Peacock committed this heinous crime in the Lounge with-” she hurriedly grabbed the candlestick, “the candlestick!”

She knew that it wasn’t the correct weapon, but using it would narrow it down to someone ruling out either JJ’s character or the lounge as the scene of the crime. 

“Moi?!” JJ said, sounding almost offended at the accusation. “Your own girlfriend?!”

Emily grinned evilly at her, but internally she felt giddy. It was the first time she heard JJ use that word in front of their friends. JJ moved her piece into the Lounge. The others chuckled lightly at their antics.

“You have no alibi for the crime, Mrs. Peacock,” Emily said, “and I am merely making a suggestion.”

JJ glared at her, but said nothing. Emily turned to Derek, who was seated at her left. 

“What do I do?” Derek asked, looking around the room, slightly confused. 

“Do you have any of those cards?” Hotch asked. 

“Yeah-” Derek said, moving to show his hand. 

“No!” Penelope stopped him. “Just show one of your cards to Emily if you can prove her suggestion was wrong.”

He made an “o” with his mouth and sneakily showed Emily the Lounge card. Emily noted that, and that it was Derek’s card. Mrs. Peacock had yet to be proven innocent, and Emily gave JJ a suspicious glance. 

She loved this game. 

As the game progressed, Emily noted a few things about her opponents. A part of Emily was profiling her friends subconsciously, reading each of their strategies like a book. 

Penelope always seemed to luck out on her dice rolls, covering a lot of terrain and gathering information like it was a cup of tea. But, she seemed to take it personally when someone accused Mrs. White of having killed Mr. Boddy and gasped every time someone made that suggestion. 

Hotch seemed to take the game very seriously, and was at it like he was an actual police officer solving crime. But, it didn’t seem that he completely understood all of the rules, and definitely hadn’t played before, so he spent most of his turn grumbling as he skimmed the rule pamphlet. 

Spencer, on the other hand, had memorized the rules, common strategies and probabilities of the different outcomes, so Hotch often looked over to him nervously as the boy wrote longhand equations in the notebook that he pulled out of his bag for the very occasion. 

Derek also had never played before, and regularly made ‘accusations’ rather than ‘suggestions’ when he entered a room, frustrating Spencer to no end. But, Derek was smart and seemed to be picking it up as he went along. That was until he made the same suggestion twice in a row, both times making Hotch show him the exact same card. He asked Reid endless questions about specific rules, and more than once he made the boy double check in the rule book when Derek tried to make a rather unorthodox move. 

JJ seemed to be the only one genuinely trying to have fun. She munched on the Cheetos that she stored in the bottom drawer of her night stand, and made conversation. Her strategy seemed to be exclusively focused on playing the game like it was the 1985 feature film Clue, playing the role of Mrs. Peacock with a fake accent and treating it like an actual murder-filled dinner party.

After a solid twenty minutes of gameplay, the pizza arrived. With minimal grumbling from Hotch, who was apparently on a roll, they took a break to eat. 

“Did you see this?” Spencer said with his mouth full, lifting up the copy of the newspaper that he had grabbed earlier.

“Don’t get me started,” JJ grumbled and took a sip of her pop. 

“What happened?” Hotch asked, the conversation piquing his interest. 

Spencer explained—with the assistance of JJ who apparently knew one of the people involved through soccer—the entire scandal. Apparently, last year there had been very little interest in the leadership roles, so the President of the student government had simply waltzed into his role. He then hired all of his friends, his girlfriend, his roommate, and together they embezzled thousands of dollars of student funds. 

“I can’t believe they’re getting away with this,” JJ muttered. “Is there no oversight?”

“It’s always the same,” Emily replied. “Who’s going to oversee them? The college? They’re corrupt too.”

“This sucks,” Derek said. “Wish someone good would run for government, for once.”

Emily shook her head in frustration. It all just reminded her of her childhood. Embezzlement, corruption and nepotism all were casual topics discussed over family dinner in her home. She had higher hopes for students her own age, would they not break the cycle? Or was it just a microcosm of the outside world? 

“You should run Mr. Lawyer Man,” Penelope teased Hotch. “You could take any of these clowns.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at her and went back to his pizza, brushing her off. Emily smiled at him. Penelope was right, he might actually do a good job if he set his mind to it. 

The people that surrounded her now were nothing like her mother’s friends—or the kids she had been forced to hang out with when she was younger—they were genuinely kind, supportive, and seemed to like Emily for Emily. When she told them she was an ambassador’s daughter, they had been more concerned with the cool places that she had been able to travel to than whatever power she had. At college, Emily finally exhaled fully, slowly relaxing more and more into herself. 

But, the topic of politics always set her on edge, especially since the semester was ending soon. Her mother had already begun to leave her voicemails about the galas, fundraisers and events that she was required to attend over Christmas break. She pushed thoughts of the future aside and focused on the warmth that surrounded her. With some music playing softly (a song that JJ liked by Vampire Weekend), the softness of blankets under her, and JJ leaning on her slightly as she ate her dinner, Emily felt at peace. She knew she could handle winter break, because she knew that these friends would be here when she came back. 

After years of leaving a school midway through the year only to show up to some new boarding school or international school each time her mom was reassigned, Emily never had a chance to put down roots. But, with each bite of pizza, Emily felt herself becoming even more firmly rooted. Not to this place, but to these people as their lives became more entwined. 

Once dinner was over, the game continued, and thoughts of politics left their minds. By then, Emily narrowed it down to the weapon (the candlestick), two rooms (the kitchen and the billiard room) and she was pretty sure that it was Colonel Mustard that had committed the crime. 

She had a decision to make: walk all the way from the study to the billiard room, or risk being wrong by making an accusation. She was pretty sure both Hotch and Reid were on the right track, as the younger boy’s scribbling in his notebook had gotten even more intense and the older boy was beginning to look around suspiciously, as if the others were trying to read his notes. 

She had pretty much ruled out Penelope, JJ and Derek as competitors, as the trio spent most of the time talking, and genuinely trying to have fun. Emily, Reid and Hotch were all way too into it, but Emily was competitive and this was her game. She wasn’t going to lose to Hotch, no way. Reid winning she could blame on his boy-genius nature, but Emily decided that Hotch was going down. 

The two boys seemed to have come to the same conclusion, all eyeing each other across the board, the tension palatable between them as their competition became heated. 

She nervously tried to move to the billiards room, deciding to play it safe. Better safe than disqualified. But, as soon as she made that decision, she regretted it as Spencer straightened up on his turn and said: “I’d like to make my accusation.”

“Write it down,” JJ prompted, as per the rules. He jotted it down in his paper. 

Then, with bated breath, they watched as he grabbed the envelope out of the centre of the board, and read the cards. His face fell when he saw one of the cards, so he must have been wrong. He placed them back into their envelope and back onto the board. 

“No dice?” Emily asked. 

He shook his head. 

“Statistically speaking that should have been right,” he grumbled. “My math was wrong.”

“Boy genius isn’t a good detective, huh?” Penelope mused. 

A few turns went by, with Derek, Penelope, and JJ moving around the board or making suggestions. 

Emily rolled the dice, making one square from a room. She sighed. She’d make a suggestion next round. 

On Hotch’s next turn, he made an accusation, which he wrote down on a pink sticky note that Penelope had handed out when the game started. He checked the envelope. 

Emily held her breath. She was sure he had it and that the game was over. She should just call it quits now. She went to bite her nails out of stress, but stopped herself, they were starting to get long and she wanted them to look nice. 

A moment passed as Hotch compared his cards. After he saw the third card in the envelope, his expression revealed that was also wrong. 

Boys, Emily thought. Always so overconfident. 

She made a suggestion instead of risking it: “Miss Scarlet—er myself I guess— in the Billiards Room with the pistol.” 

It was a gamble. If she was right, and the people who knew she had her own card and the pistol caught on, they would also know that it was the Billiard Room, because no one would be able to disprove her theory. If she was wrong, someone would have the card for that room, and she would know that the crime occured in the Kitchen. 

The second seemed to be true, as Derek showed her his card with a small illustrated image of the Billiard Room on it. She was right. She knew what it was. But, she would have to wait until her next turn. She was going to win. 

But, it was she who was overconfident, because as she was too busy preemptively celebrating her win, Derek casually made his accusation. 

“Hey I’m right!” he exclaimed, holding up the cards and his own hot pink sticky note. 

In his semi-cursive scrawl read: “Colonel Mustard, Candlestick, Kitchen.” These guesses matched the cards hidden in the envelope, and Emily’s own deduction that she planned to make on her own turn. 

“You guys really thought I hadn’t played this game before?” Derek laughed. “I’ve got two sisters, board games were everything.”

“Were you hustling us, Morgan?” Spencer demanded. 

He smirked. 

“Should’ve put money on the outcome,” Derek said with a laugh. “I’d be rich.” 

Emily threw her cards onto the table in defeat. JJ shot her an empathetic look, and Emily tried to stuff her frustration down to pat her friend on the back for the surprising win. He deserved it.

———

After the game concluded and the pizza had been completely eaten, the group parted ways, heading to bed, or for more midnight snacks or to finish up some studying, leaving JJ and Emily alone and to start? a game of Scrabble. 

The board was ancient, and quite a few letters were missing, but with music droning on JJ’s laptop, and the soft fairy lights overhead, neither girl minded too much. 

Emily looked at her letters:  O, B, S, O, T, B, W and thought hard, rearranging the wooden pieces to try and formulate a word. After a long day of academia, and investing so heavily into the game of Clue, she probably had only one or two working brain cells and both were telling her to play the word ‘boobs.’  

Her eyes flicked to her girlfriend, who looked absolutely gorgeous in the warm light. Her blonde hair almost glowed, and she had an adorable expression on her face. Emily couldn’t help but glance lower, thinking about the real world examples of her Scrabble word.  

She played the word with a cheeky grin. 

“‘Boobs,’ Emily?” JJ scolded. “Really?”

She sounded angry, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her cheeks and Emily could tell the girl found it funny. 

“I can’t help it,” Emily said. “I haven’t thought of much else since last weekend.”

She raised and lowered her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, making JJ laugh and kick her lightly in protest. 

JJ then played the word ‘throw,’ using the ‘o’ from ‘boobs’ to form her word, earning her thirteen points. 

“I don’t think you can throw boobs, babe,” Emily said. “They’re usually attached.”

JJ rolled her eyes. 

Emily made it her mission to find the funniest words possible, working extra hard (and missing out on some good points) in an effort to make JJ laugh. ‘Armpit,’ ‘meaty,’ ‘hoagie,’ ‘urine,’ ‘joint’ and her piece de resistance: ‘boner.’ All while JJ was playing incredibly normal, and often strategic words like ‘axis,’ ‘snow,’ ‘vain,’ ‘snag’ and ‘writings,’ hitting multiple double- and triple word scores on the way. 

“This is fun,” Emily said, sneaking a handful of JJ’s Cheetos out of the family-sized bag next to the blonde, while she was distracted by playing her turn. 

“I don’t understand how you’re winning,” JJ muttered. 

Emily shrugged, “Guess I’m just a genius.”

“Reid? Is that you?” JJ joked. “Why are you disguised as my girlfriend?” 

“Would Reid do this?” Emily said, leaning over toward her girlfriend and pressing kisses all over her face until she fell back. Then Emily straddled her, their lips meeting in a passionate embrace that left both girls panting. 

“I would hope not!” JJ exclaimed with a laugh, making a face at the thought. 

They laughed and went back to making out, with Emily careful not to disturb the game pieces. JJ sucked onto Emily’s bottom lip, making her weak in the knees and she struggled to support herself over JJ’s shorter frame at the motion. 

“We should-” Emily tried to say between kisses, “finish the game.”

JJ kept deepening the kiss, going so far as to grab onto Emily’s butt to hold her in place on top of her.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Emily chided, “because I’m winning! I see right through your plot.” 

She sat up and went back to her tiles before playing another funny word: ‘suck’ for twenty points. JJ grumbled,fiddling with her own tiles, as Emily collected a few out of the bag. 

Emily was preening as she rearranged her own tiles and didn’t notice as JJ put down her word. When she went to play her next word (‘zap’) and only then did she see what word JJ played. 

‘Love.’ 

It was there. Clear as day. Written vertically and connected to the word ‘snow,’ it was unmistakable. Emily looked at it for a long moment, trying to figure out what it could possibly mean that her girlfriend very intentionally played such a loaded word. Was it the only word that fit? Did she only mean that she loved the snow? Was she also reading into it? 

Emily looked up, making eye contact with JJ. The blonde blushed and looked away, nervously fiddling with the necklace around her neck. Emily smiled faintly at the warmth that flooded through her, but alongside that, was the sharp pang of anxiety. Was she supposed to acknowledge that? Would that make it weird? 

‘Zap’ didn’t feel appropriate when her girlfriend may or may not have confessed her love for her. 

She played it anyway, deciding that making a big deal of it would just complicate matters. Besides, did she love JJ? She didn’t know. It was all so new. She liked JJ a lot. She definitely like-liked her in the traditional sense of the world. But Emily had never been in love before. She’d loved people before, Matthew for one, and her mother in a way, and she loved Derek like a brother. But being in love was a whole ‘nother ball game. 

JJ won the game after playing ‘equinox’ for twenty two points near the end, beating any lead Emily had gained from her silly words. JJ deserved it in the end, as the blonde would sit and stare at her letters until they formed the most complex words that Emily had never even heard of. Emily’s eyes drooped and she was barely able to create three letter words by the end, while JJ was still surprising her with her vocabulary. 

Emily shook JJ’s hand to congratulate her for the win. JJ grinned and kissed her. 

Then, they looked around and realized two things: it was past one in the morning and Penelope hadn’t come back to the room yet and that all of the blankets that JJ owned were currently being used in the blanket fort. 

“Can we sleep in my bed, tonight?” Emily asked. “I’ll help you clean up in the morning.” 

JJ nodded but was in the middle of texting Penelope, wondering where on earth her roommate had wandered off to. Within a minute she got back to JJ saying: with derek! will explain tmrw!! 😘 🧚‍♀️ 😳

JJ showed Emily the message and both girls giggled. Emily saw that coming, but didn’t realize it would be a game of Clue that finally sealed the deal.

Exhausted but happy and relaxed after the game night, Emily and JJ tumbled into Emily’s bed and cuddled up together. Between JJ and Emily, the word ‘love’ was left unsaid that night, but Emily fell asleep that night feeling a new warmth in her chest.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Fine Line | Jurdan Quarantine AU

Written for Jurdan Week 2020, hosted by @jurdannet​ | Day 4- Song Crossover (Adore You by Harry Styles requested by @mysweetvilllain​ )

Chapter Rating: M

CW: mature themes, explicit descriptions, vulgar language, eventual explicit content.

Summary: Two vindictive assholes. One shitty apartment. And a vow to get under each other’s skin. Stuck in hate together twenty-four-seven, this can only end in a crime of passion.

Next Chapter    |    Fine Line Masterlist    |    Masterlist    |    AO3 

Chapter 1- Adore You (Verse 1)

[Cardan POV]

The minute I walk into the kitchen, I know I’m fucked.

She’s sitting there on one of my bar stools, at my island counter, eating my strawberries straight out of the plastic container. I say “my” because I’m still in denial that I have to share this shit-hole with anyone. Especially her.

When I put the ad up online, I was skint and desperate. I would’ve taken anyone short of a serial killer, really, but I was hoping for normal. Or at the very least, boring. It’s just my luck that the only person who responded to the ad was someone so insufferable.

We were civil with each other for all of a day. Three weeks had me almost driven to moving out. Me. Moving out of my own damn apartment because even that is easier than living with Jude Duarte. 

That’s when corona hit, so I guess I’m stuck.

It’s been a fortnight of isolation. Putting up with her unmitigated bullshit. Her ceaseless presence and mulish disposition. Our constant butting heads. 

On a good day, I give myself over to the ashen taste of resignation. On the bad ones, I want to throw myself down the stairs just so I can spend the night in hospital. 

Anyways, I’m fucked because my wretched flatmate is sitting there in her baggy black sweatpants and oversized hoodie. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, giving me a plain view of those stupid rainbow socks she’s always wearing. Her hair is a mess on top of her head. Everything about her sets off a tick in my jaw.

Except the way she eats strawberries.

Her full pink lips wrap around one now and—fucking hell. I swear my cock twitches. When she sinks her teeth in, those lips come away red-stained and glistening. A line of juice dribbles down her chin as she chews. Then, she pops the stem into her mouth and eats that, too.

I find myself imagining her on her knees, strawberry lips wrapped around something else of mine. The way the back of her throat would feel as I ram into her mouth—

I blink. My lip curls. I need coffee, and maybe a cold shower.

The former is closest, so I stop standing in the doorway like the twat that I am, and walk into the kitchen. Thankfully, she’s got earphones in and is so immersed in whatever the fuck she does on her laptop all day that she hasn’t noticed my blatant ogling.

If she notices me at all, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

Good. It’s better this way. The less we talk the less we end up screaming at each other. It’s only happened twice. The neighbors came round both times.

I pull a mug and the instant coffee down from a shelf.

It irks me. Just last night, I was standing in this very spot, doing everything in my power not to lose my shit after finding a pile of her dirty dishes in the sink. For the third time this week. She always says “they’re soaking”, and I always end up doing them later anyway, because I can’t stand the mess.

She does things like that a lot. Dishes and crumbs and wrappers. Stealing my food. A week ago I found a pizza crust jammed in between the cushions of the sofa. She denies all accountability, of course.

Not to mention, she sets her alarms for the ass crack of dawn. She’s such a heavy sleeper that I’m invariably wide awake well before she is, listening to the incessant shrill of her phone through the walls as she hits snooze, over and over.

I’m certainly not without my faults, of course. I know she hates me just as much as I hate her. She’s told me as much. Which is why I’m miffed that suddenly, without any warning, I want to fuck her into the kitchen counter.

There’s a spoon in the drying rack and I use it to stir my coffee. 

Nicasia hated me, I think to myself. She loved me once, but she hated me for a while before she did anything about it. Then, I stop. Because I don’t want to uncork that bottle today. Point is, maybe it’s not completely out of left field. To want someone right when they’re giving you the very least of their attention.

I tap the spoon against the lip of my mug. Usually, I’d retreat back to my bedroom at this point. Instead, I throw the spoon in the sink and turn around to lean against the counter.

She’s still sitting at the island, honed in on her computer. I can hear the thin, metallic wail of a guitar coming from her earphones. She bobs her head slightly to the beat.

It’s not as if she isn’t attractive. In her own, unique way.

She’s strong. If I didn’t hear her pummeling that blasted punching bag she’s got hanging in her room every night, I’d have known she boxed just by the way she looks. She’s got a fighter’s build about her. It lives in her shoulders, in the barrel of her chest. As if every line of her was made bold and unyielding. With intention. 

Again, I have to stop my own wandering thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if maybe my dead end job that has me editing bad romance novels for a living is starting to go to my head. 

It pays the bills until it doesn’t. And then it rots my brain. Maybe I should quit.

Still, I tell myself it’s the quarantine talking. That if I wasn’t trapped in here with her, I wouldn’t find anything about her attractive. That I’d probably be willing to whore myself out for one cigarette right about now. And I don’t even smoke.

But then she looks up at me, mid-bite. Those honey-brown eyes are wild. They threaten to cut straight through me. She squints, accusatory. Chews her bite, slow. Swallows.

My mouth goes dry as the fucking Sahara.

“What are you staring at?” she demands, glare blazing.

Apparently, I’m in the mood to walk that fire, because I take a sip of my coffee and say, smug as I can, “You.”

Sometimes, it’s better to be completely honest with Jude. The truth always seems to appall her far more than any lie ever could. As if she expects everyone to be deceiving. Or maybe it’s just that my truths are so outrageous to her that she doesn’t believe them.

I wouldn’t blame her there. I can hardly admit to this truth, myself. Whether she believes me or not, though, it gets under her skin.

“Right,” she scoffs. “Is it because I’m pretty? Is it because you like me so much?” She bats her lashes at me, mocking. I am stunned by the fact that, for a moment, I wish it was real. That I’d gladly lose myself in that look if it came from her eyes in earnest.

Then I shake my head. I sound like the biggest shit-for-brains. It’ll take more than a few eyelash flutters to make me surrender.

“Oh, no,” I say, trying to match her taunting tone, “I don’t like you. I adore you.”

That makes Jude roll her eyes. “Please,” she says. “You’re probably plotting ways to stick me in my sleep or something. Fucking psychopath.”

It’s that last part that makes me take a step toward the island, lean forward to rest my elbows on the counter so I’m nearly in her space. She doesn’t draw back. Just gives me a scathing look from over the top of her screen.

“If I’m ever depraved enough to stick you,” I tell her, smirking, “I guarantee you won’t be sleeping, love.” Which may come off as anything from perverted to downright murderous, but I don’t care. The face she makes is worth it.

It’s all jaw dropped, vicious gaze, blush creeping into her cheeks like red smoke. I’ve never challenged her before. It makes her look at me like she despises me. Like the only thing she’ll ever do is despise me. I don’t know why that eggs me on, but it does.

“Would you look at that,” I hum, “You’ve got the face about right, too.”

Her nostrils flare. Jaw sets. There’s a lovely shade of puce coming up on her already heated cheeks. She’s absolutely livid, and I can taste it in the air between us. It’s like static on my tongue.

That’s when something cold and slimy hits me dead between the eyes. Jude’s half-eaten strawberry plops to the counter. I’m so surprised I almost laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” she says with as much derision as I feel coursing through me.

Part of me wants to give into that anger. Sling a string of curses at her. Throw the strawberry right back in her face. Those things won’t annoy her half as much as what I actually do.

Keeping an unbothered expression, I pluck the strawberry off the countertop and pop it right into my mouth. Stem and all. I lick my fingers for good measure. All while keeping direct eye contact with the little menace sitting across from me. Her gaze flits to my lips. So I swipe my tongue over them. She blinks.

“Delicious,” I say.

She looks just the right amount of scandalised for me to straighten, take my coffee back up in one hand, and saunter out of the kitchen. I don’t say anything about the strawberries. Or how stealing isn’t a very good exercise in courtesy.

We’ve never been courteous with one another, anyway.

When I’m back in my room I lean against the closed door and scrub a hand over my face. My heartbeat is raging since I did not.

Sometimes, I think the irritating things she does are all on purpose. Just to get under my skin. I rarely give her the satisfaction of knowing it works, but I don’t like letting her trample all over me, either. It gives me an oily feeling. Like I’m back to being under someone else’s thumb, and I hate it.

But that—whatever that was—felt more like fighting back than I ever thought I’d have the balls to do. I feel more alive now than I’ve felt in months.

Maybe that makes me a bastard. C’est la fucking vie.

I start shucking off my clothes, throwing them into the hamper in the corner, one by one. My bedroom is mercifully en suite. If I wanted to, I could live in here for days at a time without leaving.

I don’t know why I ever bother.

I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As I stand there under the cold stream, I think about how dangerous it is, this game I’ve entered. Flirting with Jude to get a rise out of her is one thing. That’s clear cut. A direct retaliation.

It’s another thing entirely if part of why I’m doing it is to take the edge off of my own perversions. I mean, what kind of sick fuck has sex fantasies about someone they hate? Someone they’re stuck in isolation with, twenty-four-seven, for the foreseeable future? Someone who hates their guts, too, and could probably easily take them out if it came to physical blows?

I guess that sick fuck would be me.

It’s a fine line to walk but there’s no turning back. I’ve already begun.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: So I guess I’m hopping on the quarantine fic bandwagon 😅 this is definitely not what I expected to come out of this song crossover prompt, but I kind of like it? It’s (very loosely) based off of Adore You by Harry Styles- the threads are there if you look for them 😉

I’m planning on making this a 12 part series (one chapter for each song on Fine Line) so if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this, or to my Jurdan Forever tag list, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you! 

-Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Fine Line (album) by Harry Styles, Adore You (song) by Harry Styles

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @knifewifejude​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @thesirenwashere​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @nite0wl29​ @aelin-queen-of-terrasen​ @whocares-idont​ @babycardan @mysweetvilllain​ @aesthetics-11​ @storiesandschemes​ @jurdanhell​ @poeticbrownmermaid @thechainofiron​ @random-llama-socks​ @villanellevi​ @lady-thea-of-narnia​ @b00kworm​ @flowersinvegas​ @vanessa172003​ @cardanstrickytail​ @queen-of-glass​ @doingmyrainbow​

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Fine Line Masterlist

Masterlist

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me: Chapter Four

How Claire found herself inside Jamie's bookshop, and what happens when Jamie finally gets inside to watch her perform.

READ ON AO3

The Alleys of Beacon Hill, Boston; Early October, Mid-Morning.

Following a very intense conversation with Joe and Geillis in which Claire repeatedly tried to express that there was absolutely nothing going on with that guy from the night before, peppered with lines like, “Oh bullshit, Claire! Jamie couldn’t take his eyes off ye!” from Geillis and “Seriously. It was disgusting. And romantic. Something’s there!” from Joe, Claire eventually succeeded in getting them to let the topic lie… for now.

Outside in the daylight, Claire felt refreshed. She would find a place to sit and write, and decompress. Strolling down her tree-lined street, breathing in and out slowly, she savored the way autumn here made her feel. The brick townhomes was trimmed in white with shiny red and  black doors, covered in wild ivy and window boxes with trailing flowers. Mums in classic pots lined the front porches, and stone walls raised courtyards and gardens above the worn-brick sidewalks. Tall trees, oak and maple and elm, towered as tall as the buildings and brought a soft green and yellow glow to everything below their canopies. Everything felt old, here. There was a history, here. Under normal circumstances, Claire could’ve never dreamed of living here in Beacon Hill, but because of Lamb’s will, his love, his generosity, she was now able to call her favorite place, home. She was a woman who placed very little weight on material goods, but if the townhouse and her greenhouse were the only things she claimed, she would die happy. Boston was the first place that Claire felt she could create her own history. She wandered through the winding alleys of Beacon Hill, admiring how green changes to gold on every leaf and living surface. She stopped at the coffee house that knew her name, left with an earl grey latte a few minutes later, and was back outside at a wrought-iron table and chair on the sidewalk, her black leather notebook and cheap pen drawn from her purse. She admired this little courtyard, tucked just off an alley. Across the close was her favorite bookstore. She often wished to had more time to visit the physical shop, but with running a business of her own, she didn’t have as much time to peruse all the fellow small businesses around her. When she moved to Boston in 2015, she stopped in the little bookshop, and left with nearly more books than she could carry. The man behind the desk told her she could place orders online as well if that would be easier for her, smirking as the top book of the stack Claire was balancing slid off the top. The bookshop took residence in a historic three-story brick building, with the shop taking up the bottom two floors. An open staircase in the middle of the shop gave way to an open loft filled with shelves and leather chairs. The downstairs was completely open, making it easy to work your way around the shop in a u-shape. For any other type of store, it might seem like a bit much. For the bookshop, however, it was the perfect mix of historical and charming and quaint and magnificent and absolutely beautiful. It had been awhile since she had been able to physically make it in the store, and she missed it and it’s comfortable grandeur greatly.

Today was different though, as Claire had given herself the day off while Geillis worked, and she would spend it adding new books to her collection. She savored the last time of her latte and stood when she glimpsed a man inside the shop putting up a poster in the window.

Local Musician Wanted. Claire approached the sign after the man finished taping it to the window. In smaller letters, it read: Come share your talent, play for the community, and grab a good book when you’re done. Call or inquire within.

She had promised herself to have more fun, and karaoke had turned out to be a blast in the years she and her friends had been going. Music and gardening are what made her feel alive, made her heart bloom… Why not give this a chance when she wasn’t working? Claire’s heart rate sped up and she started to sweat when she thought of going inside and introducing herself as a musician. Deciding she’d call and arrange a time to come in with her keyboard, she started to turn away. The morning sunlight caught the lettering on the window, glittering just at the edge of her vision. She’d never paid much attention to the store’s exterior before -- or really even the name, since she’d long been calling it just “the bookshop” for years now -- but today, the gold paint drew her attention. Fraser Literature. Her breath hitched, her pulse raced, her head lightened. She couldn’t look away from the sparkling name on the glass. It couldn’t be… could it? Her pulse raced, her head felt light, the brick and cobblestone around her began to swirl.

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, she pulled open the heavy wooden door.

Fraser’s Literature, Beacon Hill, Boston. Mid-Afternoon.

Jamie stepped through the doorway and tried not to jostle the small crowd that had assembled at the front of the shop. He just wanted to glimpse her, convince himself that she was real, that this, was real. That she was here in his shop, playing her music, just for him. He slowly, carefully, made his way to back of the crowd and found a small bit of standing room directly in her line of vision. She’d play a song with no lyrics, only instrumental melodies followed by quiet chords braided with thoughtful verse and chorus. The sunlight was streaming in the shop’s window now, lighting the crown of her head with rivers of auburn and gold. God, she’s ethereal. After each song, the small crowd would quietly clap and she would politely nod, cheeks turning rosey with shyness when her eyes fell back to the keys -- like she hadn’t even noticed they’d been there. She’d occasionally look up and look around the crowd, but only for a moment. Come on, lass. Look up. Find me. See me. As if she heard his plea, she held a long chord with both hands on the keys and looked up, straight into his eyes. Jamie gulped. She was singing, in French. She was singing, to him. He hadn’t expected it to work, the calling for her. He didn’t expect to be shocked into stillness by the whisky of her eyes and the dark shimmering curls around her head. He didn’t expect to feel this way after one night with a lass he barely knew… But here he was, enthralled by her. A gentle hand cupped his shoulder then and he jumped.

“Ye look completely enamored for a man who just met the lass a single night ago. Like a lovesick puppy,” said Rupert. Claire had gone back to her songs, but both men continued to watch her.

Angus had joined them now. “Ye never want to seem too eager tae please a woman, ye ken? It gives them too much power.”

Jamie watched as Claire finished another piece. He had to physically keep his feet rooted in place when she glanced his way, quirked a corner of her mouth up in a smile, and quickly looked down, tugging her cardigan tighter around her chest to hide the pink bloom erupting there and moving up her neck. “Aye, I’m completely under her power,” he smiled softly at her, “and happy tae be there.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Jamie tried to work, he really did. He refused to work in his office, since it was the furthest place from the front windows, and the furthest place from Claire. He went around with a polishing rag, trying to be inconspicuous with his meanderings until Rupert whispered, “I can practically see ma reflection in that shelf. Maybe move yerself along?” He tried to water the plants, only to remember he’d already done that when the pots started to overflow. He would run his hands through his hair just for something to occupy his time. Eventually, Angus suggested he bide his time making sure the rare and first-edition copies that sat on the highest shelves were dust-free.

“Aye, that’s a good idea! I’ll just be up on the ladder then if ye need me.” Angus laughed and shook his head as Jamie ascended the first rung. “Come get me, will ye,” Angus turned to look at him with a smirk and raised brow, “if she… uh, if anything happens.”

“Yeah yeah, get tae work. I doubt she’ll be leaving without saying hello if her looks meant anything at all -- and they definitely did.”

Jamie placed the last book at the end of the row back into its place and started his way back down the ladder to slide it to the next tall shelf when electricity pulsed up his calf. He lost his footing and came to a crashing halt on his back on the floor.

“Fuck fuck fuck… Fuck! are you okay? I shouldn’t’ve spooked you!” He tried to shift himself up, but couldn’t. “Don’t try to move; here, I’ll try to keep you still. Is your head okay?” It took Jamie a moment to get his bearings. His head smacked the hardwood floor when he landed, and his wrist tried to take the fall. Neither of those things were of much concern to him now though, since Claire was kneeling over him. Not just kneeling over him, he noticed. She was on top of him, a knee on either side of his torso. His brain was short-circuiting. She was in light-wash high-waist skinny jeans, a goldenrod cardigan, and a white tank top and she was on top of him . He couldn’t stop tracing her with his eyes. “Jamie?? I’m going to need you to respond or I’ll have to call the squad. Can you hear me? Can you say something, please? What hurts??” Dear God in heaven, nothing hurts. Nothing a damn thing. Her face came closer to his and he noticed the way her curls fell forward, how the sun was still lighting her from behind, how she was absolutely incredible. He blinked. Her brows knitted and her hands came to his face. Her touch revived him and he remembered how to speak.

“Claire,” he watched her, reverently. She smiled as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Oh, thank god. You scared the shit out of me with that little stunt, you know,” she said as she began touching near and watching his eyes. Touch me again, never stop, he thought to himself. “How do you feel? Any ringing in the ears, nausea, blurry vision, dizziness, light sensitivity? Wait, you’re not bleeding, are you?”

Jamie smirked. “Actually, there’s some pressure on my abdominal region.”

“Your stomach? I don’t understand how that could have…” She blushed when she realized she was still straddling him, right on the storeroom floor. “You mean me.” She climbed off of him as quickly as she could manage and turned a shade of red Jamie hadn’t known was possible. “I am SO sorry about that, I didn’t know if you’d be injured and you wouldn’t stay still so I--”

“It’s quite alright, lass. Thank ye for looking after me. Truly.” His hand came out to hold hers. His thumb brushed her knuckles.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Honestly? I feel terrible.”

“I’m jes’ fine, Sassenach.” He made to stand up then, using his arm to prop himself when he stood. He came crashing back down with a grunt.

“It sure wouldn’t seem like you’re “jes’ fine”,” she replied in her best mocking tone. He smiled, sheepishly. “Is there somewhere we can go where I can have a better look at it?”

“Does up in the loft work for ye? It’s usually quieter, and better light than in the office.”

“Sounds perfect.” She extended a hand to him. “On your feet, soldier.” He looked at her then. How could one woman go from tugging on his heartstrings with soft melodies and French words to making him fall for her with demanding medical questions and authoritative requests. He watched her outstretched hand, her long fingers, her gentle bones. He watched her eyes, watch him. He grasped her hand, and she led up him up the stairs to the loft. She led him. In his shop. Seeing her lead him, he decided he’d let her lead up anywhere for the rest of his days.

She motioned for him to sit in a velvet wingback chair and took his wrist in her hands. He tried to breathe normally as her fingers probed the dips in his palm and traced down the veins in his forearm. Surely, she would feel his pulse. Surely, she would know she was the one that made it race. In the distance, Jamie heard her ask him some questions about pain and discomfort, and he’d nod or not depending on his response. He couldn’t form words. He was still in disbelief she was even there, in front of him, kneeling at his side.

Claire sat back on her heels. “Will you tell me if it starts to hurt? You could have a sprain, you know. That was a pretty nasty fall.”

His mind was working overtime but he finally found words to use. “If ye didna find anything wrong, I’m sure I’m jes’ fine.” He dipped his head to meet her eyes. “Yer a verra competent doctor, Claire.” He grinned. A tear fell from Claire’s face. “Och lass, what is it? Did I do something wrong?” She sniffed. She wouldn’t look at him. “Please, Claire. Please talk to me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not a doctor, is all.” She wiped away a tear with the sleeve of her sweater. “I actually… I quit medical school, a few years back.”

“I’m sorry, I didna know…”

“It’s honestly fine,” she replied hastily. “I’m really happy with the decisions I’ve made in my life, and I don’t have any regrets. Honestly. It’s just… sometimes it hits me that the plans I made my whole life didn’t work out. It gets me sometimes.” Jamie watched her, listening. “Oh my god, I just keep rambling!” She sat back on her hands, legs out in front of her, ankles crossed. “I’m so sorry about that, I really am fine.” She smiled at Jamie, and reached down to hold her hand.

“I understand the feeling of missing things that didna come to pass. I feel it myself sometimes.” Claire watched their hands intertwine. “Ye can always talk to me, Claire. I’m always here.” I’ll always be here.

She laughed then, and looked up at him still sitting in the chair. “Next time, I’d like to see you when one of us hasn’t nearly killed ourselves with a fall.” She giggled, and Jamie followed suit.

“Ideally, that’d lovely,” he replied with a laugh of his own. “What brings ye to the shop by the way, if ye don’t mind me asking? I never expected to see ye here today.”

“Oh, I came here for the first time after I moved, and I try to make my way in again whenever I can but work makes that a little difficult. It’s one of my favorite places in Boston though. It’s so quaint and quiet, but somehow still enchanting, and then today I saw a poster in the window asking for musicians and…” Jamie was absolutely beaming. “Wot?”

He laughed then at her absolute Englishness, and brought his free hand up to join their combined ones. “I’m jes’ glad ye like it here so much is all.”

She looked down at their hands. “To be honest, I was going to come today anyways, but then I saw the poster, and I remembered what the name of this place is, and well, I took a chance.”

Jamie was watching her intensely. “And ye took a chance.” He, too, looked down at their hands. “I’m glad ye did.”

The conversation was heavier than Claire thought it would be. She didn’t expect this. She cleared her throat and asked, “So, how long have you been here?”

“Me, or the shop?”

“Both, I suppose. The shop has been here as long as I have.”

“I moved here from Scotland--”

“Shocking, the accent didn’t give anything away,” she joked, and he pinched her forearm before continuing.

“--back in 2015--”

“Hey, that’s when I got here, too!”

“--and I’ve been here ever since. When I graduated my undergraduate studies, I went back home to the highlands and spent some time with family. Wandering the cobbled streets, the little shops, reading about the history… it was the only thing I wanted to do with my life. Some things happened back in Scotland -- some family things and some ex-girlfriend things -- and Boston seemed as good a place as any with history to start over. So, here I am. I started the shop, hired the lads when they came over a bit after me, and that’s the story.”

“I feel like there’s more to the story you’re leaving out,” she said with a grin, “and I do love a good story, Mr. Fraser.”

“Ye got the Cliffnotes version. Tell me yours,” he nodded at her.

“Well, I nearly didn’t survive medical school. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t coping, and my mental health was kind of in the gutter,” she looked at him, and he gave her a sympathetic smile. Maybe he understood the feeling better than he let on. “I decided to drop out during my junior year and leave it behind. My uncle used to live here and left me some property, so I moved, and started over. Geillis and Joe came over after they graduated. Joe continued with medicine, and Geillis joined me, and as you said, that’s the story.”

“And where is it you started over at? What is it ye do?”

“Oh, I opened a plant shop here in Beacon Hill. It’s exotic houseplants, non-traditional bouquets, that kind of thing. It’s small, and eventually I’d like to run a greenhouse and garden, but right now, the shop is perfect. Besides, Boston isn’t exactly conducive for having that, is it?” She laughed, and tried to hold her pipe dreams at bay. “Geillis offers zero-waste products, and makes some of the macrame hangers and planters in the shop. It really is the most lovely place. If you ever want to visit and make sure I’m not the one to fall off a ladder, it’s just over on---”

“Garden Street. Aye, I know the place,” said Jamie, smiling to himself. His eyes were positively twinkling.

“You know the shop?”

“Where d’ye think all the plants in this place came from? Aye, I know yer wee shop and believe me, Claire. It’s a dream. I had no idea it was you behind it all.” He paused, watching her. Drinking her in. “We’ve just missed each other for years now, it would seem.”

All she could do was nod. Her mind was racing. How had they been so close so many times, but had never met? How had only two days with the man made her feel like her heart was beating outside her chest? He moved to the floor to sit next to her, his hand on her thigh. Suddenly, he turned to her. “I think yer verra brave, Claire. For starting over like that. For following your dreams.” Her pulse slowed with his comforting words, and her hand rested on top of his. “I could say the same about you, you know.”

They stayed that way for a while, watching the people down below, touching hands, touching legs, moving closer into shoulders and sides. Jamie leaned back into the shelves. Claire sighed.

“Since you own the place, I guess I should let you get back to work.” She stood, smiled, and started down the stairs. Jamie launched to his feet, unwilling to let what happened the previous night repeat itself.

“Claire! Lass!” He reached for her hand and she stopped a few stairs below him, turning to face him. His mouth was dry.

“I dinna think I can’t wait a week to see ye again. I didna think I could stand it this morning and then ye dropped out of the clear blue sky into my shop and ye sang yer songs -- oh, and I didna know ye knew French! I do as well,” Claire blushed at that but Jamie continued on, “and ye showed up and mended my wounds and ye told me of our shared histories, and… and I willna wait to see ye again.” He descended a step. “That is, if ye want to see me, too.”

Claire was overcome not just with Jamie’s declaration, but also with everything that had happened today and the last five years that led them here today. She could only smile at his nervousness, and admire him. You’re beautiful, James. His simple navy t-shirt was pulled taught across strong muscles, the red curls she daydreamed of were just combed straight back with the exception of a single lock that escaped with his chase of her down the stairs. His ocean eyes bore into hers with a plea, with an guarded passion Claire was increasingly desperate to unlock. She reached in her crossbody bag to retrieve a pen and finding no paper, offered up a Dunkin’ Donuts receipt. She brought the receipt up to his chest, just above his heart, and wrote her name and number.

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” she said, and turned back down the stairs, not waiting for a reply.

She reached was reaching for the door when a voice echoed down the stairs, “I promise ye’ll hardly be waiting at all, Sassenach.”

His phone rang then, and a woman’s smiling face shone up at him from the screen. As soon as he could, he would call Claire. He sighed, and hit accept on the call.