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marypsue · 2 years

Note

for the WIP ask meme, trust that i'm exercising great control in picking only three. i would be so honoured to hear about: 1) circus luna draft 2 2) groundhog day but it's halloween and every time bob newby dies it get faster 3) relativity falls but it’s stranger things. :-) <3

Hello friend! It took me entirely too long to answer this because in between you sending it and me answering it, holiday happened. Whoops.

1) circus luna draft 2

This is an original fiction project that’s near and dear to my heart, that’s been trapped in the writer equivalent of development hell for over a decade now. It’s almost entirely unrecognisable now from what it started out as, save for the very basics: it’s a Kids On Bikes story where the primary antagonist is an evil, supernatural circus.

The current elevator pitch for Circus Luna is ‘Stephen King’s IT meets Karyn Kusama and Diablo Cody’s Jennifer’s Body’. The main cast of characters, over the years, has morphed into a group of five friends, who face the circus once as teenagers and then have to face it again as adults, when they’ve all come to doubt what it was they experienced when they were young. I’ve talked a little more about the premise and the characters here and here. There’s also an inspiration tag on my blog, here.

I won’t share a sample, because I’m hoping to publish this professionally someday in the (far distant) future and apparently that can become a Problem if parts that end up in the final draft have already been posted somewhere. But I can promise that it includes:

growing up queer in a small rural town in the early aughts!

the seductive appeal and selective memory of nostalgia!

emo hair!

the power of cultural narratives to impact our personal lives!

star-crossed, tragic romance!

Halloween vibes!

the painful, difficult, but ultimately rewarding experience of growing up, and how to mourn the things that are naturally and inevitably lost along the way!

Goffs Vs. Prepz!

the corrosive nature of fear!

having crushes on all your friends!

trains!

BUGSSSSSSSSSS

and, perhaps most importantly:

the Power of Friendship (and My Chemical Romance)!

2) groundhog day but it's halloween and every time bob newby dies it get faster

This is Exactly What It Says On The Tin! It’s a oneshot in three chapters set during season 2 of Stranger Things, wherein Bob Newby gets trapped in a time loop and somehow has to solve the overarching mystery of s2 using only the information everybody has up to the point where he dies, if he wants to save the people he loves and also himself. And also, he and Joyce and Hopper are all going to get to kiss.

I don’t know how much of an audience there is out there for Bob Newby-POV adult-monster-hunting-trio fic out there, but hey, I’ve written weirder shit.

Because I can, here’s a sample:

...

Jim throws the breaker and then hovers while Bob taps through the series of commands and prompts to unlock each of the doors in turn, pacing and scanning the hulking shapes of the boiler and whatever other equipment is stored down here, with the machine gun held at the ready and a scowl on his face. Finally, Bob has to abandon his task to say something. “Would you please pick a spot and stand there? You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re not already nervous?” Jim cracks, with something Bob thinks is trying to become a smile. But he does stop pacing. “Jesus. Forgot. This must all be old hat for you by now.”

“Yeah. But you never really get used to it,” Bob says, turning back to the glowing black screen. Beside him, Jim gives a little huff that might almost be a laugh.

“Got that right.”

They’re both quiet, for a few minutes after that, the only sound in the room the rattle of Bob’s fingers over the keys.

“That’s the exit doors back online,” he says, coming to the end of the string of commands. “Joyce and the kids should start heading out.”

Jim nods. But he doesn’t immediately pass the information along. “You really don’t think we’re gonna get out of here alive. Do you.”

Bob looks at the computer screen to avoid having to look at Jim’s face. “Well, hope springs eternal.” He lets out a long breath, and decides he can afford to offer Jim a little of that hope. “I’ve never had you here with me before. And I’m sure you’re a much better shot than I am.”

Jim’s quiet, for a long moment. When he does speak, it’s into the walkie-talkie. “Newby says to start moving out. Exit doors are online.”

Bob takes that as his cue, and for a few minutes more, the only thing he thinks about is the screen and the keyboard in front of him, turning on sprinklers and setting off alarms to draw the monsters away from Joyce and the kids, based on the directions the doc relays via walkie-talkie. It’s like some kind of video game, trying to control the movement of a bunch of distant characters through a maze full of enemies without getting them killed. Just with impossibly real stakes.

Bob can’t keep the thought from forming in his head, though. “Why are you here? We both want to get Joyce and the kids out of here safe, I’m sure they could use your marksmanship more than I can.”

Jim shrugs, shoulders tight, the smallest possible gesture. “Told you. I know Nancy Wheeler can handle herself. And if you got eaten on the way down here, we’d all be fucked.”

They’re pretty well fucked anyway. And Bob doesn’t get much time alone with Jim like this, not late enough in a loop that he’s earned a little trust. Maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s knowing that, if and when they do loop, Jim won’t remember anything about this conversation. Or maybe it’s just a combination of masochism and morbid curiosity that makes Bob say it. “You’re in love with Joyce, aren’t you.”

Jim whirls to face him, wide-eyed, startled, like he’s just been goosed. He doesn’t say anything, at first, just stares.

When he finally does speak, it sounds strangled. “I’m not enough of a prick to let you get killed just so I’d have a shot at your girl, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Obviously you’re not, or you wouldn’t be here,” Bob points out. “I’m just – trying to figure it out. What I got myself into. What’s going on between you two.”

Jim cracks a humourless grin, at that. “Some puzzles I guess even the Brain can’t solve.”

He turns his back to Bob again, watching the door. Bob thinks the conversation’s over until Jim says, quietly, “You’re good for her. She deserves something, somebody like you in her life. Stable. Sane. Normal.”

“Not so much of any of those anymore, apparently,” Bob half-jokes, half to himself.

Jim goes on like he hasn’t heard. Maybe he hasn’t. “Joyce hasn’t had a lot of good things come her way. I don’t wanna fuck this one up for her.”

“She might want you to,” Bob offers.

Jim looks a little stunned. He doesn’t say anything else.

He doesn’t have time to, either. The strange screeching, rattling cries of the monsters rise from the stairwell, echoing eerily through the metal of the vents and pipes overhead. It sounds like a lot of them. And they’re coming down fast.

Jim doesn’t take his eyes or the machine gun off of the open doorway to the little room they’re in as he barks, “Give me good news, Newby!”

“All the doors are open,” Bob says, turning to look in his direction. “Think you can buy me one more minute to open the front gate for them, too?”

Jim’s face isn’t visible, his back still turned to Bob, but his voice is grim. “I can try.”

3) relativity falls but it’s stranger things

Yet another WIP that’s near and dear to my heart and taking forever to finish! This seems to be a theme.

This one was inspired by (as you may be able to tell from the file name) the Gravity Falls Relativity Falls AU, where people swapped the ages of the Stan twins and the Mystery Twins, and also various side characters and antagonists. This fic is a Stranger Things season 1 AU where the teens are in the roles of the adults, the adults are in the roles of the kids, and the kids are in the roles of the teens. Nancy’s the Chief of Police with a broken family and a broken heart, Mike’s the loner who gets thrown together with a classmate by the disappearance of a kid, and Karen is the plucky twelve-year-old determined to find her missing friend.

I’m stuck in the Dreaded Middle at the moment, because shaking up the roles shook up the plot, and I didn’t plan ahead for how to resolve it quite enough. There’s a reason outlining has become my best friend.

There are a number of samples in my sample tag, but also, since you asked so nicely:

...

The girl’s eyebrows crumple together and she makes a soft, wordless little noise as Mike and Will lower her carefully down, spread out along the length of the couch. Like it hurts. She’s already bled through the blue strips of bandage that used to be Mike’s t-shirt. Not for the first time, Mike wonders what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

“I’ll – I’ll check on the water,” he says, dropping the girl’s heavy black Doc Marten boots on the arm of the couch. He doesn’t wait for Will to answer, just makes his escape across the room to the kitchen sink. His ears are burning, and he has no idea why.

The taps at the sink refuse to turn, at first. When they finally do, it’s with an ominous creak, and then a slow and rising rumble that makes the faucet shake before it abruptly spits out a clot of slime and rust. The water that comes burbling out after it is brown and freezing cold.

“I forgot,” Mike says, as he rejoins Will by the couch. “This place is on a well. The tapwater might not be any better than the rainwater. Actually, it might be worse. But there were some clean dishtowels in the drawer,” he finishes, offering up the stack, along with the cereal bowl he’d filled with brownish water. “And I think there are still some towels in boxes in the bathroom, so we could dry her off -”

Will, Mike notices, has a smile like a sunbeam. Somehow it makes Mike even more embarrassed of his babbling. “That’s great. Do you think your mom or her uncle would’ve kept any antiseptic and bandages around?”

Mike spends the next – he doesn’t know how long, starting up the cabin’s generator to get the lights on, lighting the cast-iron stove in the corner, running and fetching and washing and applying pressure under Will’s quiet but certain direction. He’s a little amazed by this side of Will. Mike mostly only knows the Will Byers he sees at school or when he has to pick Karen up or drop her off at Joyce’s. The Will Byers with his nose always in a sketchbook or a novel, who lets the bullies push him around with an air of silent exasperation, who rarely if ever talks back or raises his hand in class. Seeing him this confident, this focused, is new. He really seems like he’s in his element.

Mike wonders briefly how Will learned so much about medicine and first aid, and then feels stupid. Of course. He knows Will works, has worked at just about every odd job around town since he was old enough to start. He knows Will was a lifeguard last summer. And – it’s just Will and his dad and his sister, and Will’s dad works odd hours, with the paper, and long ones, at the general store. Will probably cooks, too. And does laundry, and all the other stuff Mike’s dad has somebody come in to take care of.

That thought makes Mike feel incredibly – something. Maybe guilty, though he’s not sure why. He’s got bigger things to worry about right now, though, so he shoves it to the back of his mind.

The girl frowns, and whines, and at one point throws an arm out and smacks Mike hard across the chest, but she doesn’t wake up. Mike presses the inside of one wrist against her damp, pale forehead, under her close-shorn fringe of hair, and starts. “She’s burning up!”

Will glances up from the wound in her side. “Fever’s a bad sign. Can you get a couple of cloths and run them under cold water? One for her forehead, one for the back of her neck.”

Mike comes back with three cloths, and another cereal bowl full of icy wellwater. There’s just something fundamentally – grubby about the girl, now that he’s up close and personal, like she’s been camping for weeks without a proper bath. Mike tells himself it’s important to get her cleaned up to keep her wound from getting infected. But mostly, there’s just not a lot else he can do, other than putting his finger where Will tells him to to hold bandages in place while Will ties them off.

And Mike just thinks that, if it was him who was hurt and hiding out and unconscious at the mercy of a couple of strangers, he’d at least want somebody to clean the smudge of dirt off his chin. And the dried blood from the crevices around his nose. And maybe wipe off some of the black eyeshadow that the rain had melted down his cheeks.

The girl’s face is narrow and sharp, her cheekbones high, the bow of her lips sweet, her lashes dark against her cheeks. When her face screws up in pain, Mike gives one extra, unnecessary brush of the cloth over that cheek, as gently as he can. He doesn’t dare touch her with his bare hands, without the excuse and barrier of the cloth in between them. But he wants to do something to comfort her.

Without the makeup, without the scowl, she looks – so much younger. Almost delicate, despite the hair and the boots and the leather jacket and the tattoo. Almost vulnerable –

The girl’s eyes snap open, and fix on Mike’s.

Mike’s not sure what happens next. One second, he’s kneeling beside the girl, carefully washing grime off her face. The next, his back is smashing into the wall across the room. There’s an ominous rattle, and the mounted deer head high on the wall goes crashing to the floor between his feet. He raises a hand to his spinning, aching head, and tries to focus, to figure out what just happened.

The girl is wedged up against the far arm of the couch, knees tucked tight against her chest like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. One arm’s flung out in front of her with the palm facing Will and her fingers all splayed, like she’s directing traffic. There’s a bead of blood inching down from her nose, but she doesn’t move to wipe it away. Her eyes are big and furious and scared and flicking back and forth between Mike and Will. If she was a cat, Mike thinks, her back would be up and her ears would be flat against her head.

Her voice is clear and sharp as she demands, “Where am I?”

Will’s got both hands in the air, like the girl had pulled a gun on him. The bowl of water Mike had brought him – which is a pinkish brown now, Mike notices, with a lurch in his stomach – is splashed all over the floor by Will’s knees, slowly soaking into his jeans, but he doesn’t so much as shift away from the slowly-spreading puddle.

“It’s okay,” Mike says, wincing as he starts to straighten up. He’s not sure why the look Will shoots him is so frightened, but then, he’s also not sure how he ended up on the other side of the room. Maybe the girl’s some kind of ninja assassin or something. She doesn’t look strong enough to throw Mike across the room, but – Mike knows maybe better than anybody how appearances can be deceiving.

The girl’s attention snaps to Mike as well, and she whips her arm around so that the palm is facing him instead of Will. Mike stops trying to get up, raising one hand instead in surrender. “It’s all right, okay? We’re not gonna hurt you. And we’re way out in the woods here, nobody’s gonna find you.” He glances down at the girl’s side, where fresh red is starting to seep through the bandages Will had so carefully wrapped. “You should probably lie back down, it looks like you’re opening that back up -”

“I’m leaving,” the girl says. Somehow, she makes it sound like a threat.

“Okay,” Mike says, as she unfolds herself from the couch and takes one uncertain step forward. “Nobody’s stopping you. You don’t have to, though. You’ve got a fever. And a bullet wound. You can stay here until you feel better, Will and I won’t tell -”

“I,” the girl repeats, wobbling and nearly crashing back down onto the couch, “am leaving.”

Will meets Mike’s eyes with a panicked look. Mike’s sure Will can see as clearly as he can that the girl isn’t going to make it more than two more steps before she falls over. But neither of them, Mike thinks, knows what to do about it.

“Who’s after you?” Mike asks. Maybe, if he can keep the girl talking –

She fixes him with a glare. And then flops back, heavily, onto the couch. She looks briefly surprised and indignant, like her own legs have betrayed her, and pushes herself back to her feet, even though she looks even wobblier than before.

“Mike,” Will says, low and urgent and frightened.

“What? You want to know too, right? If they’re the same people who took Joyce -”

“Mike,” Will repeats, with a warning flicker of his eyes in the girl’s direction.

Mike’s getting the feeling he’s missed something. “What?”

“It might be a bad idea to piss her off,” Will hisses at him, still with that pleading, scared look.

Mike pushes himself to his feet. “Yeah, well, murdering bank robber or not, I don’t think she’s in much shape to -”

He doesn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Because the girl glares, and waves a hand. And Mike’s back smashes into the wall again and stays there.

Mike kicks, and struggles, and gasps. But none of it does anything. It’s like there’s a gigantic, invisible hand pressed flat against his chest, squeezing the air out of him, pinning him in place. The girl’s glower turns to a slow, small smile, which is somehow just as ominous, her dark eyes never leaving his.

She lifts her hand a little higher. Mike can feel his windbreaker drag against the wall behind him as his feet leave the ground.

And then the girl’s eyes roll back and she collapses gracelessly backwards across the couch. The invisible hand holding Mike pinned abruptly vanishes, and he drops, hits his feet wrong, and winds up on the floor on his hands and knees, inches from putting an eye out on one of the deer head’s antlers.

For a frozen moment, nobody moves.

“Oh,” Mike says, finally, straightening up with care.

“Yeah,” Will agrees.

They both turn to look at the unconscious girl.

“Well,” Mike says, for lack of anything intelligent to say, “that might be why somebody’s after her.”

...

[ask me about a WIP!]

#chatter #the theme song for circus luna is mcr's 'kill all your friends'#stranger things ageswap au tag #circus luna #this is mary's fic tag #i don't thiiiiink I've shared any of these yet

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junghelioseok · 3 years

Text

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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everlasting-stories · 3 years

Text

To Feel Again [M]

Genre: light angst, romance

Warnings[!]: smut, penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, mentions of adult toys

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader

Words: 4.4k / One-shot

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Valentine's Day: the day of roses and hearts and chocolates and romantic candlelit dinners. When people proposed marriage and professed undying love.

You sighed, staring unseeing into your bowl of cornflakes as they succumbed to their milky grave and turned to soggy goop. Funny how a date on a calendar could open the pit of despair that lived somewhere near your stomach. It had to be near your stomach. You've been reasonably hungry until you've noticed the date and the pit opened. Your hunger had fallen into it, and the memories and pain rose out of it.

There was a time when this day had been wonderful. Life had been wonderful, you didn't need Valentine's Day, but you celebrated it with reverence and, sometimes, wild abandon.

You knew what love was, what it felt like to love a man and how it felt to lose him. You remembered what he'd said that last morning, how he'd kissed you; how the sun had lit his face as he smiled, promising he'd be back. You also remembered the police, how the sun seemed to dim as they told you the phrases out of courtesy. They were sorry for your loss. They will let you know of details as soon as the investigation on the accident comes to an end.

Since that time, Valentine's Day had passed unheralded, unheeded and uncelebrated. You knew you were a joke of the office - entering thirties soon and never been fucked, that's what they said. The borning woman who had no idea what fun was, wouldn't have known what to do with a man if by some miracle you did catch the attention of one. They were wrong, of course. Not that it was any of their business; it certainly didn't affect your ability to do your job.

If you chose to act and dress your age and spend your evenings quietly, rather than as mutton dressed as lamb in some gaudy nightclub, surely that was your right?

You sighed again, getting up from the table, taking your cereal bowl and dumping the gloop down the sink. A bleak day of petty jibes and pitying looks lay ahead. At least you knew what to expect this year.

Last year had been your first Valentine's Day with this particular company and, therefore, your first with this particular bunch of malicious people - your fellow employees. As front counter receptionist, you were the company's first "public face" and some of your co-workers had decided it didn't look good if that face wasn't surrounded by gifts from admirers on this day.

When the first bunch of anonymous flowers had arrived, you've been flustered, flattered and flabbergasted that anyone would send you flowers. You had hurriedly cleared a space on the counter for them, proudly displaying them, fussing with them to show them off at their best and make them visible from the greatest distance. You kept touching them, moving them slightly, reaffirming they were really there. Your heart sang; someone had noticed you. Maybe he was too shy to reveal himself; maybe he was married and couldn't: your mind was alive with questions, trying to solve the mystery of their origin. You were all in all happy.

Then a large box of chocolates arrived, closely followed by more flowers. By lunchtime, these had been joined by a little plush cherub, two red plush love hearts, a pair of earrings, three more bunches of flowers, four assorted boxes of chocolates and a large jar of candy hearts. They all carried the same anonymous message. And you knew then and there what is the catch behind this.

By the end of the day there were nine flower arrangements, ten boxes of chocolates, three cherubs, the two red love hearts, three teddy bears, two jars of candy, the earrings and a gift box containing four pairs of edible undies. Just before the close of business the final humiliation came - a fantastically wrapped see through box containing an inflatable male doll with vibrating tongue, a massive purple vibrating dildo and a copy of the Sex for The Beginners book.

You had to stay at your post until the last visitor or client left. But the rest of the staff was already heading out of the building. Some boggled at your desk, some snickered, a couple made loud crass comments and a very few had appeared horrified at the pile of stuff surrounding yourself. The building had almost emptied before that last visitor departed. You were sure that, too, was a set-up, particularly when you saw it was the client that had been visiting quite frequently lately.

Myungsoo ushered the man to the street and turned back to you as you gathered your coat and handbag, ready to escape.

"Gee, you're a popular girl. Who would have thought?" He reached your counter and began collecting up the flowers, grinning madly. "Let me help you with all that."

Before you could say a word, he bundled all the flowers, chocolates and assorted other items into your arms. You could barely see where you were going. Myungsoo put his arm around your back and shepherded you out the door, peeking at the vibrator in its transparent box. "There you go, sweetheart. Looks like you're definitely gonna get some action tonight." He turned smartly away, laughing as he rapidly put distance between the two of you.

You obviously had thrown the whole lot in the nearest dumpster and hurried to the relative sanctuary of your car before breaking down and sobbing, burying your head in your hands to hide from prying eyes of curious passer-bys.

Standing at your kitchen sink, you wondered what they'd pull this year. It couldn't be worse, could it? You sighed again and then abruptly shook your head, standing straighter. To hell with it - you were not going to let them get to you today.

It had already begun when you arrived. A bouquet of irises sat at the front of the counter. You were tempted to throw them straight in the garbage, but decided they were too pretty, too unusual. So they stayed. Curiosity got the better of you as you looked at the card, expecting it to say something sappy and insincere, as last year's cards had.

"You are worth far more than they will ever realise. Hear the flowers."

You pondered the card. Hear the flowers?

What on earth did that mean? You raised an eyebrow as you settled into your post: at least it seemed this year would be more intriguing than last. During quiet moments throughout the morning, you'd pick up the card, reread the cryptic message and study the beautiful bouquet, but its secret was never revealed.

No gifts arrived for you, no more flowers. You were relieved, but it only served to deepen the mystery of the flowers. As your lunch hour approached, other staff began filtering out of their offices to take a break. They all noticed the irises. Several of the women stopped and commented on their beauty. No one laughed.

As always, you left the building for lunch. You would usually grab a sandwich somewhere and do a bit of window shopping. Anything to get away for an hour - if you stayed in the office, someone always "needed" you for something.

When you returned, a neatly typed page was on your desk: "The meaning of flowers". One line was highlighted in blue: "Iris: Have Faith. Don't Give Up On Hope." A single purple violet was pinned to the page. You scanned the page to find "Violet (Purple): You occupy my thoughts". You put the page to one side, but still in view, unsure whether to laugh at it and throw it along with the flowers away before the punch line or wait it out. This was definitely a far more sophisticated assault than last year.

Throughout the afternoon a steady procession of couriers arrived, carrying flowers and gifts. You nervously watched each one approach your counter, only to breathe a sigh of relief as the teddy bears and hearts, the chocolates and flowers were all destined for other souls.

At 4:30PM a man approached your station: nothing unusual in that; everyone that came to see someone had to check in with you. What was unusual was that he actually saw you as a fellow human, not a robot programmed to take names and give directions. He smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and warmed your heart. Something familiar in his eyes...

"Good afternoon. My name is Kim Doyoung. I have an appointment to speak to Choi Myungsoo. Would you mind letting him know I am here, please?"

Quickly, you dialled Myungsoo's extension, giving him the information. Myungsoo, as usual was brusque to the point of rude, telling you to "entertain the idiot 'till I'm ready for him - he's not supposed to be here for another 15 minutes".

You were tempted to tell the polite gentleman exactly what Myungsoo had said, but instead used your tact and diplomacy (that was why you were hired after all) to tell him that "Mr. Choi is a little delayed. He will be available in a few minutes."

With that being said, you offered him a seat.

Again he smiled. "Those are beautiful flowers," he said, nodding towards the iris bouquet. "A discerning choice for a lovely lady."

You lowered your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your face, knowing you were blushing.

His voice softened and became much quieter. "You don't remember me, do you?" Your eyes flew to his face, confused. Were you supposed to know this charming man?

"I had an appointment here at the same time, on this day last year. I was waiting outside for a taxi when you left. That was uncalled for, the whole situation that happened - mean and heartless and exactly what I would expect of Myungsoo and his friends. I deal with them only because I must. They offer a service unparalleled in this town."

He leaned across the counter, his voice so low only you could hear. "How they manage it, I cannot tell. They are pig swill and don't know a pearl when confronted with one." Doyoung paused, seeming to weigh up his next statement, then leaned closer to you. "Did you hear the flowers?"

Your eyes again flew to his face, your mouth falling open a little. "You sent them?"

"I did. And the violet. I had hoped to counter whatever crass display they had planned this year. Would you possibly consider spending the evening with me?" His face was eager, hopeful. "A nice dinner?"

You were stunned, flattered, amazed - but also wary. This was Myungsoo's client. He could easily have been put up to this. You studied his face closely, seeking any hint of a lurking cad. His face fell. "But, of course, you have other plans. I apologise for embarrassing you." He moved away and sat, abashed, on one of the hideous lounge chairs to await his appointment.

You studied this man. He didn't seem to fit the mould of Myungsoo's usual cohorts. For one thing he was unerringly polite. He was also good looking, very, very good looking, without being outstanding or flashy. He was also much closer to your age than Myungsoo's and had an air of quiet confidence, like he had nothing to prove to anyone and nothing to fear from them either. You looked at the flowers. Could Myungsoo have possibly thought of something this elegant? You didn't think so. You took a deep breath: to hell with it.

"Mr. Kim?" He looked up. "What time would you like to pick me up?"

In your bedroom, staring at the clothes hanging limply in your closet, the cool bravado that had claimed you as you agreed to the date vanished. In its place indecision, doubt and outright terror took hold. It seemed painfully obvious to you now, away from the office and that lovely man, that it was all another twisted joke, something for the office beautiful people to laugh at during tomorrow's coffee breaks. Why did you say yes? Your wardrobe was woefully inadequate. It was years since you'd been out with a man; you were bound to make a fool of yourself, even if it wasn't a set-up.

At that thought your heart jumped and lurched. The possibility that Mr. Kim - no, Doyoung; this was a date not a business appointment - was sincere in his wish to take you out only heightened your confusion and indecision.

Finally, in desperation and the realisation that if you didn't decide soon, you'd still be in your underwear when he arrived; you chose a chanel-knee length cremé skirt and baby pink cashmere sweater, topped off with knee length boots. The heels were quite high, but you remembered him being tall, so that wouldn't be an issue, as long as you didn't fall over in them.

You were saved from an overcritical examination in the mirror. You had just completed applying your makeup when Doyoung arrived. You grabbed your coat and quickly walked out the door, before you had time to rethink and back out.

"You look lovely," Doyoung said, smiling down at you. Feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks; you weren't used to receiving compliments, particularly from someone like him. You mumbled a shy thanks as he helped you put on your coat and led you to his car.

Sitting in the car as he drove, you were able to study the mysterious man that is Kim Doyoung. He was extremely handsome, not in the classical sense, but he certainly was far from a plain looking man - a man at peace with himself. He knew who he was and was content with that; he knew what he wanted and how to get it; and what was beyond his capabilities and lost no sleep over it. He obviously managed quite well; his car was expensive but not too flashy.

The restaurant he took you too was a quiet small place, away from the standard eat-and-entertain strip. It was intimate without claustrophobia; the decor was elegant without being overbearing; the lighting low but not dim; the service attentive without being intrusive. The food you could not describe - later, you barely remembered what you had eaten beyond it being "nice" - your attention was totally taken by Doyoung.

He was gallant and charming; helping you with your coat and holding your chair for you at the intimate table for two tucked away in a corner. Doyoung quietly suggested items on the menu he thought you might like. It was obvious he'd been here before, was a regular, but usually without company. His choice of wine was perfect to go with the excellent food as you enjoyed each other's company.

And you talked.

You learned a lot about him. Doyoung was 34, older than you had thought; he had been engaged, but his fiancé decided to break off the engagement for simply falling out of love. He had had a series of short term relationships that had petered out and, for the past several years, had lived a solitary life, rarely going out with women. He didn't work as such; his livelihood came from investments, which explained him being a client of the company you worked in. Myungsoo may be a jerk, but he was the one of the best investment brokers around.

He had been attracted to you the first time he met you, a year ago, but had been intimidated by the evidence of all your admirers. When he realised it was all a cruel joke played by his adviser and the other brokers, he was mortified. He had seriously considered changing brokers, going to another organisation but that would have meant he had no chance of meeting you again. So he stayed. He had been in your office on three occasions since then, and each time had seen your quiet, unflappable charm and how your talent and lovely nature were either ignored or taken for granted by those around you. He was determined to gain your attention, but without the office cricus freaks being able to use it against you, hence the mystery flower delivery this morning.

You found yourself opening up to Doyoung. He seemed sincerely interested in hearing what you had to say, hanging on your every word. It was a liberating and wonderfully powerful feeling. You weren't used to being the centre of anyone's attention. You told him of your pride at the independence since the loss of your lover, all those years ago. You were happy in your little home, content with your work, rarely coming to the attention of the office jokers.

It was over coffee that you admitted to Doyoung something you haven't admitted to yourself: your life was lonely and you missed the affection of another person. You missed the companionship of sharing your life with someone.

Immediately after the words had left your lips you regretted them. You have given away too much of yourself, been too forward. You lowered your eyes, not wanting to see the closed expression you knew would be on his face, so you didn't see the fleeting look of pain, quickly followed by understanding and hope.

However, you did feel his hand close over yours and squeeze lightly. You looked up into a face of gentle eyes and soft smile. "Would you like to take a walk with me," he said quietly. "I think it's time we leave - they want to close the restaurant anyway."

You looked around yourself noticing that you two were the only people other than staff left in the restaurant, and many of the lights were dimmed. You gasped in wonder - you had no idea you've been there so long. "Yes, a walk would be lovely."

Doyoung ushered you along the street and across a small, neat park to a promenade along the riverbank. It was enough lit to feel safe and you walked along arm in arm. You felt his arm snake around your waist hugging you closer to him, and you snuggled against him, your arm around his back. The moon was up, the stars were out and the night was peaceful and clear.

Your heart was singing and your eyes sparkled. You've been right to take this gamble. He was sincere, and it was wonderful. But the night was late, and it was rather cold.

You shivered. Doyoung felt it immediately and turned off the promenade proposing to head back toward the street where he had left the car. "I'd better take you home. It wouldn't be much of a date if you ended up ill."

At your door, Doyoung formally thanked you for a lovely evening and asked if he could see you again. You smiled and surprised yourself only a little by reaching up and kissing him lightly on the lips before saying: "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

Doyoung blinked, looking mildly bemused for a moment before studying your face. "Are you sure?"

Oh, most definitely, you were sure. You have thought of nothing else since you two have left the river. He looked right, he felt right, and he smelt right. You wanted him but was sure he'd never make a move. He was too much of a gentleman to ever force the issue.

You took his hand and led him into your home, kicking the door closed with your foot, shutting out the rest of the world with its mean people and ugly attitudes. You reached up to kiss him again. This time he lowered his head to yours, cradling your face in his hands as he returned the kiss. The lips met and parted, allowing the tongues to join and caress each other. His hands moved down from your face to caress your body, yours moving up from his hips. Both of you parted, searching each other's faces for confirmation of your desires.

"I think we're on the same page," you said. "Why don't you leave your coat on the couch? Do you want the nightcap now, or after the tour?"

"I'll put a hold on the nightcap," Doyoung answered, reading the desire in your eyes and knowing it was mirrored in his while stripping off the coat.

"Right."

You took his hand again. "This is the lounge. There," you pointed to the right, "is the kitchen and dining room. This way," pulling him down the hall, "is the second bedroom, the bathroom and," dragging him through a doorway, "here is the main bedroom."

"Very nice," he said, looking around, trying not to focus on the bed.

Suddenly shy, you both looked at anything but each other, awkward in a lack of intimate knowledge of each other. Doyoung tentatively reached out a hand to you, aiming to caress your breast, veering off at the last moment to your shoulder, but still lightly brushing your breast with his fingertips. Your gasped breath emboldened him and he reached his other hand, caressing your other breast lightly as you shivered under his touch and sighed.

Your own hands went to his chest, running down the front of his shirt and back up, then beginning to undo the buttons, pulling the shirt from his trousers and teasing his bare skin with your fingers.

Doyoung pulled his shirt off and then raised the sweater over your head and off the arms, moving in to kiss you as his hands went around your back to undo the clasps of a bra and returned to cup your breasts. The sensation on your breasts as he caressed and pinched the nipples sent a sharp message straight between your legs. You could feel yourself becoming moist and shuddered under his touch; breath becoming uneven.

Pushing him away you removed the skirt, letting it pool at your feet while looking into his eyes. Doyoung took the hint and began unbuckling his belt, then grinned foolishly and sat beside you to take off his socks, sneaking kisses of your neck and shoulders as he did so. You both stood again, slightly apart. He dropped his trousers and you could see his briefs pushed out of shape by his erection, the fabric straining.

Doyoung stepped up, taking you in his arms, kissing down your neck and across the collarbone, his hands lowering to your hips, sliding under the elastic and beginning to tug your panties down. Your own hands flew to the top of his briefs. Together, you pulled down the underwear, stepping out of them and standing naked before each other. Again Doyoung moved first, holding you and gently pushing backwards onto the bed, following after you onto it.

He ran one hand down the body of yours, teasing and tickling the beginning of your womanhood and beyond, teasing you with his fingers, tickling across your mound and easing around your damp centre. You moaned as he explored, your hips twisting and twitching. It had been so long since another man had touched you there. It felt amazing, wonderful, but achingly short of what you needed. You could feel his hardness against your thigh. Reaching down, you took his cock into your hand. It was hot, hard and pulsed under your touch. Doyoung groaned and his hips jerked convulsively. You kissed him hard and whispered fiercely, "Please, it's been too long. I need you, now."

"For me too, far too long," Doyoung gasped back, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself before gently splitting your lips and sliding steadily but firmly into you. Your moans were prominent in the air as he stretched and filled you right, not stopping his steady thrust until he was wholly inside you, your warm walls gripping him tightly. Your eyes met and locked as you lay still, immersed in the feeling of each other's body.

Being warm, wet and a safe haven, you were engulfing his cock. Doyoung was filling you with his hard heat, owning your body completely. You fit each other perfectly; you could see it in each other's eyes. You belonged together.

As great as this feeling was, you needed more. Doyoung slowly withdrew, till only the very tip split you. Both groaning as he pushed back in, again slowly feeling each other with delectable inch. Slowly in and out, in and out, revelling in the feeling of each other's bodies, gradually building up speed as your need increased.

You could feel the fire building, the tension increasing as sensation on sensation smashed into you with each thrust, your body twitching, your hips writhing. Still it built; higher, tighter, fiercer. Your entire being was wrapped around Doyoung's cock as it pumped in and out of you. You could hear him grunting with each thrust, feel his body trembling as he got closer to his climax. His speed increased and you breath got caught in your throat, your back arched, legs went stiff as you began to twitch when the white light exploded through you, spreading warmth and scattering your senses.

You felt, from far away but deep within you, Doyoung losing his rhythm before coming, pumping wildly into you, grunting and thrusting hard one last time as he shot deep inside you feeling spent but overly fulfilled.

Your hand was making lazy circles on Doyoung's chest as you lay, curled against his side with a head on his shoulder. You weren't sure how you've come to be in this position, but it felt so right and he smelled so good.

You were at peace while drifting off to sleep.

Waking up without feeling body by your side, you immediately felt the loss. Doyoung wasn't there. Your heart dropped, the pit near your stomach threatened to open and engulf it. Sensing the tears coming up, you accidentally feel something on your side with a hand.

He wasn't there. But there was a note.

"I am so sorry. I hate to leave you, knowing you will wake alone. There is something I must do."

You had just finished reading when the phone rang, disturbing your thoughts. Grudgingly, you moved to answer it. "Hello."

"Wish I was still beside you."

Your heart flipped again. The pit dissolved so you could breathe again before whispering, "Doyoung."

"Y/N. Tell me, what are you planning for breakfast?"

"Uhm. Coffee? Maybe some toast. Why?"

"Don't move. I'm on my way. With breakfast. And it's better than toast."

You lay back in bed, listening to the dial tone after he hung up. Surprised, you smile softly. You must remember to thank Myungsoo for introducing them.

If this is how you will feel loved and feel free to love again, you have no complaints.

Your new chapter is about to begin and hopefully, it will last for a very long time with a man named Kim Doyoung.

#one shot #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct fanfiction #doyoung #kim doyoung #doyoung x reader #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fanfic #doyoung smut #romance #nct romance #nct angst #nct 127 #nct u #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fanfic

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mikkomacko · 3 years

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Sweet As Honey 18

Hello everyone! Here she is! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me and this chapter. I hope it lives up to the hype and the wait lol. I'd also like to say that I will still be writing and finishing this series as well as my other in progress ones. However, I'm currently feeling like I'm not that interested in Harry right now and I feel like it's mostly all the drama and everything going on with him right now so updates will be slow. Also I've changed my theme to a Marvel x One Direction theme because I've decided to take one of my Bucky Barnes plot and actually publish it. I'll still post Harry because of course I love him but he won't be the main focus of this blog anymore.

Thanks for waiting and reading. Hope you enjoy the chapter! X

Harry's good under pressure. At least looking from the outside in, he is. It's a skills he's picked up from boxing. Always pretend you know what's going on. No surprises, no shocks. If he's in a fight and his opponent is stronger or faster than he originally thought, he doesn't show it. Acting like it was expected, like he planned it rattles others and helps him maintain his grace.

He keeps that same approach when it comes to interviews.

Liam meets him outside the gym, waving with a bright smile that Harry just smiles at, shocked to find his trainer in the parking garage rather than the ring.

"What's going on mate?" Harry greets, trying to step around him to get to the stairs but Liam halts him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Gotta reporter here who wants to chat with you about recovering from your concussion and reaching the finals."

His tone is laced with hesitance, lips pursed in suppressed grimace and Harry doesn't blame him. Liam knows how much Harry hates interviews. They're his least favorite part of the job. He's here to box and get paid, to provide for his family, not to tell the world every detail of his life.

"Oh," Harry mumbles, shrugging and stepping up to the door. "Alright. Only for a few minutes though, wanna get home a little early today."

If Liam is surprised by Harry's ease he doesn't show it. "Got something going on?"

Harry follows Liam inside, nodding to Mark at the front desk. "Y/n has just been exhausted lately and Arlo can't spend a second alone without screaming bloody murder. Just want to be there to make sure she's resting and Arlo's not being a pest."

"He's your son, of course he's being in a pest."

The comment leaves too much pride in Harry's chest for him to even care that Liam just insisted he himself is a pest. Besides, Harry knows he's clingy and a little too attached but that's just how his relationship with y/n is, and they love it.

In his private locker room,Harry finds the reporter, a young girl who can't be too far out of undergrad with dark hair and a bright red lips. She's sat on the bench, a notepad on her thigh and her phone resting next to it.

"Hello Mr. Styles." She greets, shaking his hand when he approaches her. "I'm Rebecca Weese."

Harry takes a seat next to her, nodding. "Nice to meet you. I don't have a lot of time today but I can answer a few of your questions if we can make it quick." He smiles guiltily, hoping to not come off as rude.

She nods, immediately glancing down at her notepad and crossing some things out. Harry assumes they're questions she's decided aren't important enough. "Is it ok if I record this? Just sound of course."

Again, he nods, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie as he waits for her to begin. Tapping at her phone, she places it between them to catch both voices and then scans her notes again.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you've only been boxing for a few years, right?"

Harry shrugs. "I trained a lot when I was teenager, worked under Ted until he decided to bring me up to the pros. Was about 20 I think when that happened." He tries to stay vague, knowing he can't tell the public that his "training" was an illegal boxing ring.

"Five-Six years is a short amount of time to be included in a tournament like this one. Most contenders are well into their careers before being qualified to participate. What do you think has been the main factor in your success?"

Routine question, and he's got a routine answer. "I was fortunate enough to figure out early on that boxing is what I wanted to do and I think that helped out a lot. I also got a very good team behind me. My trainer, manager, my wife, they're all the main factors in my success. I'm very grateful to have them."

Rebecca smiles a bit, jotting down a few words. "Does your wife work in the industry?"

It's her casual tone, as if she were a friend just wanting to hear him brag about his lover that has him answering so honestly.

"No she works in design but I met her early in my career and she's always supported me. Takes care of me after bad matches and whatnot, always comes to my fights even if it means being on her feet for hours. Which isn't exactly her favorite thing at the moment with the baby-"

Harry stops, eyes widening a bit at what he's just revealed. Part of him wishes desperately that Rebecca didn't hear him but he knows that's impossible.

"I didn't know you're a father," she says kindly, sensing his panic. "Do you want to talk about it more or should I scratch that part?"

He doesn't know what makes him say it. A year ago he'd have fled the room if he were questioned about his family. Harry likes to keep them separate, to keep his kids away from his boxing. It's possibly a small part of him that's conditioned to keep his work a secret from his family even if he doesn't have to. But Rebecca's offer to drop the whole topic is what breaks him.

"S'ok," he says "I've got a son that's about a year old and another on the way."

Her eyes light up, beaming at him and he grins shyly but somehow proudly at the same time. "That's awesome. Congrats. I know your son's young but does he have any part in your career? Influence maybe?"

"He doesn't watch any of my fights or anything. Too young to be around violence like that but he does affect my fighting in a way. I used to go into boxing with just the mentality that I'm doing something I love, but now I've got the added success. A win means more support for my family and I want them to always have what they need so I've got sort of an edge there."

"Like having something to fight for?" She confirms, and Harry nods immediately.

"Yeah. I'd do anything for them and I think that makes me a bit dangerous in the ring."

No matter what, he'll always be fighting for them. Everything he does is for y/n and his boys.

The house smalls of tomato sauce and pasta when Harry walks in, mouth instantly watering and stomach rumbling. He had a light breakfast this morning before going to the gym and now that's he burnt off all that energy he reckons he could eat a horse. Dropping his keys on the table in the entryway, toeing off his sneakers, and dropping his gym bag to the floor, Harry makes a beeline for the kitchen. He's so caught up in wanting to eat he doesn't notice the TV playing a Disney movie or the two figures sprawled out on the couch until one of them is calling for him.

"Daddy!" Arlo's head pops up over the cushions, dimples sunk into his cheeks and eyes bright. Harry immediately changes course, coming up behind the couch and meeting Arlo's outstretched arms.

"'Ello bug," Harry greets, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Arlo coos happily, curling up against Harry's shoulder. Y/n is watching them with a small smile, a hand resting easily over the stretched fabric of his tee-shirt she's wearing. "And hello darling." He leans over the back of the couch to press a crooked kiss to her lips.

"Hi baby," she sits up, smiling dreamily at him. "How was the gym?"

Harry shrugs, adjusting Arlo on his hip. "Was good. I had an interview today about finals and....stuff." Her eyebrow quirks up at his hesitancy to continue.

"What stuff?"

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Harry drops his gaze to Arlo. "You, Arlo, the baby." She doesn't respond immediately and he knows it’s because she’s trying to analyze him. He's fairly private about his family, especially his children and the only reason he'd informed the world of Arlo was to get people off his back about leaving y/n, so he knows she's probably confused by his ease with talking about the new baby.

"How'd it go?" She asks, pushing herself up from the couch with a hand on her belly. Without hesitation Harry reaches out to place his free hand over hers, moving her with him towards the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

"M'starving darling," he says and his stomach grumbles in agreement, making Arlo gurgling back and nudge his foot into Harry's tummy. "But interview went well. Announced the pregnancy."

"You did?" She questions, perching herself on the counter stool with wide eyes. "Seems a bit early compared to Arlo's announcement."

Managing as best he can with one free hand, Harry retrieves a bowl from the cabinet and serves himself a heaping mountain of spaghetti. "Just came out if m'being honest," he shrugs, settling into the stool next to her with Arlo still glued to his lap. "'sides it's different this time. He was my first baby and I was scared."

He doesn't realize that she's fallen silent until he's slurping back noodles and she doesn't scold him. Curiously, Harry rotates just enough to look at her. Y/n is staring at him, eyes big and moony when he mumbles a suspicious "wha'?"

"You were scared?"

Swallowing down his food, he nods. Her intent gaze brings a blush to his cheeks and he has to drop his eyes to peer down at Arlo. "Y-yeah. Didn't know if he'd like me as his dad, ya know?"

Harry's never said those words out loud, now that he's come to think of it. Whenever something's pertained to Arlo, Harry was always the positive reinforcement, the one reassuring y/n about them stepping into parenthood. He never really told her how much it scared him because he didn't want to scare her.

"I-I didn't know that," she mumbles. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, lifting his gaze from Arlo to y/n. "Because I wanted to be a good dad. Ya know, like the kind that can kill spiders and scare aware bad dreams.....Just wanted to be strong I guess."

He doesn't say it, but he knows she's picked up the fear he won't acknowledge. He doesn't want to be his dad. His father was great but the sad thing is, everything great about him was brought out by alcohol. Des needed that poison to combat his own fears and insecurities, and Harry doesn't want to be like that too. He doesn't want to leave his kids the same way he was left.

"Being scared doesn't make you weak Harry."

She leans over to press a tender kiss to his jaw, belly brushing against his side, and he thinks about those words for the remainder of the day.

Crouched down, Harry steers the shopping cart with one hand and guides Arlo along with the other one. By the way he's trudging along, Harry knows Arlo is getting tired of walking. It's good for him to practice though, so Harry leads him along for another few minutes before scooping him up in one arm.

"Did so well bug." Harry compliments, pecking Arlo's cheek. The toddler curls up into his chest, yawning. It's a bit difficult steering the cart with one hand but Harry manages, steadily making his way up and down each aisle. He gets baby cereal for Arlo, a couple bags of puffy hot Cheetos to stash in the cabinets, and he's stocking up on y/n's latest craving (spaghetti-o's and meatballs) when a familiar face rounds the corner.

Zayn is pushing a cart filled groceries, eyes scanning up and down the shelves and Harry curses under his breath. The last person he wants to see right now is Zayn. Last time they had a run in he said something that bothered y/n and Harry never wants anything to bother his girl.

In an attempt to hide, Harry pulls his hood up over his head, shrinking into his pullover and craning his neck to not make eye contact with his old friend. Grabbing a few cans of the fake pasta y/n is living off of, Harry sets them in the cart and quickly walks down the aisle. A man who looks a few years older than Harry moves towards him, stepping around Zayn and in front of Harry's cart.

"Excuse me," the man stops him, gaze dropping to the boy against his chest for half a second before regretfully meeting Harry's eyes. "m'so sorry to bother, didn't notice the little one-"

"It's fine." Harry cuts off, glancing at Zayn to make sure his back is still to them. It is and Harry relaxes a bit at that, but his curiosity grows. "How can I help you sir?"

The man smiles, grateful. "I just wanted to tell you that m'son and I are big fans and we're excited for your fight this weekend."

Harry knows he has fans, he's run into a few around the city but they're usually teens and kids that want an autograph. He's never had a grown man approach him about his career and it's odd. Flattering, but odd.

"Thanks man. I really appreciate your support." Harry says sincerely, smiling. The man nods in response, taking a step away from Harry. He moves to leave but stops last minute, turning back to Harry.

"Congrats on the baby news too." He says quickly, almost shy or embarrassed. Before Harry can even thank him, the man is rushing out a "have a good day" and then he's moving down the aisle.

Confused, Harry stands there for a moment trying to figure out what happened. He knew announcing the new baby would bring more attention to him in the media and he's not surprised that that man, who's clearly a fan, had already heard it. He is surprised that the man seemed almost scared to admit to Harry that he knows.

"Harry?"

Fuck.

He looks up, meeting the golden eyes that could only belong to Zayn. Harry doesn't even bother trying to smile at his old friend as he stands in front of Harry's cart. A lady maneuvers around them, murmuring a soft "excuse me sir." Harry scoots his cart over, smiling apologetically.

"How have you been man?"

Harry's gaze returns to it's impassive expression, glancing over Zayn's too-bright presence. "I've been good." Harry responds, moving Arlo to his other arm when he starts to lose feeling in his fingers. The movement draws Arlo out of his nap-like state, the toddler now noticing Zayn standing in front of them. Immediately his face scrunches into a look of annoyance.

If Zayn notices, he must not care because he smiles at Arlo, teeth dazzling. "That's good to hear. Congratulations on the baby, by the way! Saw the article up front. S'amazing!"

Article? Harry lips are just starting to form his question when his phone rings, the tune specific to y/n. "Sorry, gotta take this." Harry says in Zayn's direction, digging into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He hits answer before Zayn can even respond.

"Hi darling."

Harry wiggles Arlo into the basket. "Hi H. You still at the store?"

He pushes the cart down the aisle, not caring that he's left his old friend hanging. "Yeah I am. What's up"

The sound of a running faucet comes through the speaker. "Forgot to add yogurt bites to the list. Arlo ate the last of 'em last night and ya know how he is if he doesn't have any before bed."

Harry snorts, steering towards the baby food aisle. Arlo has fallen in love with yogurt bites and they've become his snack before bed. Harry thinks he shouldn't be having them every night and he'd tried to tell Arlo that two nights ago, but Arlo is a stubborn thing. He screamed his head off, ignored Harry's attempts at giving him fresh fruit instead, and then only calmed down after y/n nursed him.

"I'll grab 'em darling. No worries." He assures, tossing a couple bags of the bites into the cart. "Anything else?"

"Do we still have the old flower vases from our wedding in the garage?" She asks.

"Umm, I think so. You expecting flowers from a secret lover or something?" Harry jokes, eyes catching on a pack of bibs hanging in the aisle.

"Not unless you've got a trick up your sleeve Styles." She retorts.

He tosses a pack into the basket. "Buy you a whole flower shop if that's what ya want darling." Arlo grumbles from the baby seat of the cart, tiny fingers coming up to play with the rings on Harry's fingers that are locked around the steering bar.

"Don't worry about that, we've got enough flowers." Y/n laughs and he can hear her moving around the house. "Three bouquets just arrived with congratulations cards."

"What?"

"Guess the baby announcement was well accepted." She says. "We're getting lots of flowers for it."

Pushing towards the checkout, Harry frowns in confusion. "Got stopped by a fan today for the same thing. Can't believe it's such a big deal."

"Well you're more known now than when we were having Arlo." She reasons, and Harry hums his agreement. He passes the self checkouts, freezing when he spots numerous copies of his face on the ends of the aisle.

"Holy shit," he breathes, not even thinking about the innocent ears before him. Y/n gasps through the phone, scolding him for his language. "Sorry darling, s'just I'm bloody plastered all over the grocery store."

He reads over the cover of the sports magazine. It's got a big photo of him in the ring, gloves held up to his chin and jaw tight around his mouth guard. Next to it is a photo of him and y/n leaving a big fight awhile back. She's got her head down, hand snug in his as he leads her along. And written in bold yellows is "Harry Styles Expecting Baby #2 As He Prepares for Biggest Fight Yet!"

"They put me on the front page." He tells her, not bothering to flip open the article before he's quickly moving away from the display. "Why would they do that?"

When he did that interview, he thought it'd be a small, breezy section in the magazine. If he had known he'd be getting stopped in the grocery store and flowers sent to his house he wouldn't have said anything. As previously mentioned, he's a private guy, so having this detail projected in a way he wasn't warned about makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's alright Harry," y/n says reassuringly, knowing that he's become anxious at the publicity. "No harm done. It's just flowers bub and as long as we've got those vases in the garage, everyone will survive."

He chuckle weakly at her joke, picking an aisle so he can quickly checkout and go home. "Don't go digging around for them by yourself, don't need ya falling and getting hurt. I'll help ya when I get home."

"Aw my hero." She coos, and he knows she's teasing but it still makes him blush. God he loves her.

"Those bloody things are making my nose itch." Harry grumbles, aggressively rubbing the palm of his hand into his burning nostrils. He glares at the bouquet of peonies on the dresser, a gift from y/n's co-workers, and moves towards the bed.

Y/n is propped up against the headboard, a pair of his pajama bottoms on her legs but her shirt has been abandoned on the carpet by the bed. Arlo is attached to her hip, mouth latched to her nipple and she's stroking through his soft hair while he breastfeeds. Harry's heart throbs in his chest, warmed by the sight of his wife coddling their baby, and he's so fucking in love with her he's anxious to get Arlo into bed so he can have his way with her.

"I can't just throw them out, H." She sighs, pulling her gaze from the television to his pouty face. He huffs, running the damp towel in his hand through his hair one last time before haphazardly tossing it towards the closet. Kneeing his way up the bed, he curls into y/n's side and smiles when she tucks her arm around him.

"Stroke my hair too?" He mumbles, peering up with puppy eyes and she giggles before threading her fingers through his hair too. Arlo gurgles around a mouthful, bright green eyes opening to look at Harry. He worries for a moment that Arlo is going to get fussy and kick him away, but the toddler just blinks at him sleepily.

"Tha's ma boy." He coos fondly, squirming a hand over to pat Arlo's full tummy. Y/n giggles and continues to stroke his hair, Harry watching Arlo slowly be soothed to sleep. "Lemme get him to bed darling."

Grunting, he pushes himself up from the mattress and too his feet. Y/n transfers Arlo to his awaiting arms, swiping at the milk that dribbled out of his snoring lips and onto her skin. Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Wanna have a shag when I get back?"

A shocked laugh bursts out of her, Harry's face lighting up at the sound as his heart swells. He was trying to be a bit silly, not enough to have her eyes crinkling like that, but he's happy she finds him funny.

"Sure baby." She breathes, still grinning. His stomach flutters, excitement bubbling in his belly and he nods quickly before moving across the room.

Arlo stays cuddled into Harry's neck as he flicks on the nightlight in the nursery and adjusts the blankets in the crib. Theo watched Harry from his bed in the corner, sleepy puppy eyes following his every move. He lays Arlo down, gently shushing him when he store and tucks Bunny into his side. With a peck to his head and a quiet "good night bug," Harry partially shuts the bedroom door and rushes back into the bedroom.

Y/n has already kicked off her bottoms, leaving her naked on their sheets and Harry groans as he works to catch up with her. His shirt is playfully tossed at y/n's grinning face, Harry laughing as he wiggles out of his sweats. Naked as the day he was born, Harry jumps onto his knees at the bottom of the bed.

A laugh bubbles out of y/n when the whole bed shakes under his weight, clearly amused at how excited he is. She must be just as excited though because she quickly leans forward to cup his face, attaching their lips and bringing him back down to the pillows with her.

"Wanna be on top," he mutters into her mouth, ghosting his hand down her tummy and tickling his thumb over her clit. "f'that's ok?"

"Mmm," she hums, happily "too tired to top anyway."

Harry seals their lips together again, using his knees to spread her thighs a bit further apart for him. Her palms smooth down his sides and around to his back, a breathy moan interrupting their kiss courtesy of his fingers. Harry utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging her hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against her side. She lifts, and he settles it under her lower back and bum to prop her up. Luckily for him, he's had a lot of practice getting around a baby bump for a shag.

Settling between her thighs, Harry giggles when she wraps her legs around his hips and tugs him closer. His body hovers over hers, love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through her folds, groaning at how slick she's become.

"Don't even have to try anymore do I?" He teases with a wolfish smile, capturing her lips just as she rolls her eyes. Giggling, he leaves soft kisses across her cheek, heading towards the base of her jaw.

"S'the baby's fault honestly." She argues, her fingers disappearing into the damp locks sticking to the back of his neck.

He hums, smirking against her skin. "Is it?"

With a small tug she's pulling him back up to her mouth. "Yeah. Gets me revved up all the bloody time. I don't know what you're putting in there mister but it's exhausting."

Harry laughs quietly, nipping at her bottom lip. "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take care of ya. S'my problem after all, isn't it?"

Y/n nods, biting back a grin as Harry grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling her. Chest to chest, Harry smiles at the feeling of their stomachs pressed together as he guides the head of him into her slit.

The sigh that puffs out of her chest sends a zip of pleasure up his spine, as if she'd been partial without him and the pure relief of just having him in her is all she could ever want. Harry hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey she is for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have her this desperate for him and his touch.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He pulls his hips back, breath stuttering when he easily slips forward again.

Y/n moans softly, dropping one hand to the small of his back as if guiding him. "So so good H." She confirms in a whisper, her voice tickling his ear and he squirms with a small laugh at the sensation.

Harry's soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between them and the one sleeping down the hall. Even the kisses he places on her jaw and lips are tender, small brushes between their confirmations that he "feels so good" inside her and she was "made for being wrapped me huh?" And Harry thinks nothing ever been truer. Her arms were made to hold him, her hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and her heart was made to completely consume his.

Y/n reaches her high before him, rolling her hips up to try and quicken his but he maintains his sensual thrusts, stroking her temple as she trembles and gasps, clinging to him in every way possible. There's something about how quick she falls apart for him when she's pregnant and how utterly earth shattering it is for her, that it completely obliterates any sense of stamina Harry's ever had. He couldn't care less when he follows shortly after, grinding down into her heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in her walls. She's the one stroking his temple this time, and he knows she's watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes.

Maybe it's the lingering anxiety that washed over him at the grocery store, but when y/n kisses him and gently nudges him off of her so she can go pee, Harry's desperate as he grips her hand and pouts, practically begging when he asks "can I get back in ya after? Just to fall asleep darling?"

Of course she nods, brushing sweaty curls from his forehead to soothe him and just like that he already feels lighter. He never has to sorry with her, because they were made for loving each other.

"Oh fuck!"

"Would you stop being so loud! It's 8 in the morning!"

"Can't help it, darling."

Harry tightens his hold around y/n's thighs, dipping his tongue back into her slit and groaning loudly despite the warning she's already given him this morning. She tugs on his hair scoldingly, drawing a pained hiss out of him. Harry brings his teeth up to her clit, nibbling in retaliation. A pained hiss of her own leaves her lips, cut off by a soft moan as he soothes his tongue over the spot.

Grinding her hips up into his mouth, Harry can't help but push his own into the mattress and a deep groan escapes him as he does so. Huffing, y/n scolds him again for being too loud when they've got a sleeping child one room over.

"Stop yelling at me so I can make you cum." He purrs, lips brushing over her clit. Their eyes meet over the curves and dips of her body, Harry smirking when she raises a prodding eyebrow at him. He kisses her thigh just once, lapping his tongue through her slit and he's just reaching her most sensitive spot when the beginning stirs of Arlo waking up break through the baby monitor.

Simultaneous groans leave both their mouths, this time of frustration. Harry pouts, knocking his forehead on y/n's hip bone and shaking his head.

"I told you Styles." Y/n teases, stroking through his hair for a second. He can't even think of a rebuttal before Arlo is calling out softly for her, and she's pushing up from the bed to get dressed.

"Take care of that while I take care of this." She calls as she disappears through the door, snickering softly and leaving him there desperate for her. But then again, when is he not desperate for her?

Hey man, hope I'm not being a bother. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink Friday or something?

-Z

Harry stares at the message, wondering why Zayn would sign it when the Instagram handle is clearly him. He also wonders why the hell Zayn is trying to hang out with him now.

It's a sunny day, the air outside relatively warm for March so Harry slipped a sweater on Arlo and brought him out to the backyard to play. They're sat in the grass, Arlo between his legs as they teach Theo to play fetch. Arlo's gotten good at tossing the chew toy himself, so Harry used the free time to start clearing out the congratulations messages he's received on Instagram.

"What's the matter H?"

Harry locks his phone, tilting his head up and squinting into the sun as y/n stands over them. She's got a bowl of puffy hot Cheetos in her hand, cradling them as if they were a precious gem as she settles into the grass with them.

"Nothing," he mumbles, pecking her temple when she leans into his side. "just got a weird text from Zayn. He wants to hang out."

Crunching through a chip, she hums. "Did you know he lives here?"

She lifts up a Cheeto, offering it to him. Harry gladly takes it between his teeth, pulling it from her fingertips and crunching down on the puffy chip. Swallowing, he shakes his head.

"Ran into him at the store once around Valentine's Day," she says, eyes watching Arlo dig his stubby fingers into the dry grass. "Was trying to talk to me about you I think but your son threw a fit and I was too busy to care honestly."

"Really?" Harry asks, perking up at the idea of Arlo throwing a tantrum to keep people away from y/n. That's the only time he'll agree with such actions. "Taught him well then haven't I?"

Rolling her eyes, she elbows him. "If you're son grows up to be rude I'm going to kick your ass Harry Styles."

Laughing, he steals a chip from her, locking his phone and dropping it to the grass. Arlo, interested in the device, crawls over to pick it up.

"Wouldn't expect anything less darling." He says, reaching over to swipe his phone to the camera so Arlo can snap random pictures.

"What are you going to do about Zayn then?"

"Suppose I should see what he wants, yeah?"

Y/n shrugs but Harry can read the look on her face easily. She's always silently encouraged him to face things that need mending or fixing, and his past with Zayn is one of those things.

"S'done then," he laughs, pinching her side affectionately. "I'll figure out why he's so obsessed with me."

She laughs, throwing her head back and scrunching her nose in the way makes him want to stare at her forever. "Think it's that one he's obsessed with. Look how cute he is."

Harry follows her line of sight, smile growing at the sight of Arlo making faces at himself in Harry's camera.

So bloody cute.

"Are we gonna be besties? I think we're gonna be besties." Niall states, swinging an arm around y/n's shoulders. He's on his third beer of the night already and Harry hasn't even made it to the ring yet. Y/n just laughs, continuing to maneuver tape around Harry's fingers but he's not as kind.

Casting a glare at the Irish man, Harry calls out to Gemma. "Get your leprechaun off of my girl before I use him to warm up."

Niall isn't really phased by the words, only pouting softly at Harry's steel gaze but Gemma is quick to rush over and pull Niall up from the couch by his hand.

"Come on babe, let's go find our seats." She coos to him, sending Harry an apologetic smile. He waits for her and Niall to turn their backs before chuckling softly. Y/n pinches at his wrist.

"Be nice to Niall. I really like him."

"Oh you really like him, huh?" Harry huffs, nudging his knee against hers. She rolls her eyes, giggling when he slips his free hand around her waist and pulls her into his lap. "Please tell me how much you really like Niall darling." He requests, shoving his face in her neck and playfully biting at her throat and shoulder. Just as he'd expected, she giggles and squirms, Harry having to wrap her up in a bear hug to keep her from sliding right off his thigh.

"Harry! Stop!"

He laughs with her, moving up to bite at the apples of her cheeks and her nose, growling as if he were a rabid beast. His freshly taped knuckles ache under the tightness of the wrap as he grips her flailing legs but he ignores it in favor of listening to her laugh.

"I like you more! I swear!" She shouts between laughs, wiggling a hand free and gripping the back of his neck. Pleased with her words, Harry pants out a laugh before sealing his mouth to hers.

"Tha's good because I like you more than Niall too." He mumbles into her lips.

"You like me more than you like everyone." She chuckles, stroking her thumb along his jawline. Harry's eyes shine with delight, proud that she knows her place in his heart, but he still teases.

"Mmm almost darling. Quite like my son, ya know that?"

She rolls her eyes but looks at him fondly, pinching the meat of his cheek. "Cute," she murmurs, "now go get ready for your fight baby. Want everyone to see my husband's gonna be the national champion."

Her words bring a rush of blood to his cheeks (and his cock if he's being honest), but he nudges her onto the couch next to him. "Just need two more wins." He whispers in her ear, pecking her temple.

Just two more wins.

There's good fights and there's bad fights. Everyone knows that. But not everyone knows that there's good wins and bad wins. Harry's experienced a few of those bad ones. Wins that he probably shouldn't have gotten because he certain his opponent had landed more punches and the judges miscounted. Or it was clear the other fighter wasn't into it and let him win.

Harry thinks tonight is his worst win ever.

The fight had been good. Trinsky, tonight's opponent from New Jersey, was short and stocky but strong. Harry was quicker than him though so they'd gone back and forth for a few rounds. Nothing two rough, just enough punches to have bright red welts on his torso and an ache in his jaw.

He fought through it though, fueled by the sounds of y/n and Niall cheering for him. Win this fight and he's onto the championship match. So he went at it with all he had left, charging Trinsky just as the man knocked his fist into Harry's temple.

It felt like a lightning bolt of pain zapped through his brain, shaking his core and causing his feet to stumble. Trinsky slid to the right as Harry crashed into the ropes, blinking furiously as the room around him spun. He was still in a daze as his body moved on its own, quick enough to uppercut his left fist into Trinsky's chin. The man crumbled to the mat, out cold, and Harry's dizzy head brought him down as well.

There's cheering and an announcement of his name, declaring Harry the winner but he can't seem to focus on it. Trinsky is being moved from the ring by his team, Harry falling to his bum on the mat as he rips at the velcro of his gloves with his teeth.

The room is coming back into focus, someone is calling him from the side of the ring but he doesn't recognize the voice so it goes ignored. He gets his hands free, rubbing his fingers into the tender spot on his head and wincing. He needs to take some Advil and ice it.

Harry climbs to his feet, a bit disoriented as he ducks under the ropes to leave. He knows he's got a team here somewhere but his mind can't seem to recognize what they look like or how to find them.

"Man, what are you doing?"

He turns, confused to find two men watching him like he's grown a second head. Harry feels like he knows the warm brown eyes of the taller man but he's not sure from where. Smiling uncomfortably, he motions behind him.

"I n-need ice or something." He says, excusing himself with a shrug and turning back to the locker room. He doesn't like the way his stomach twists or how his chest is telling him he knows those men when he couldn't even tell you there names right now. His heart thunders in his chest, panic seeping in and he's desperate to find something or someone that'll just help him out.

"Harry baby," she says calmly, a hand rubbing up his bare back comfortingly. "you okay?"

Y/n appears at his side, head tilted so she can meet his nervous gaze. Almost immediately he latches onto her hand, shaking his head. Her eyebrows crease, lips frowning as she reaches to cup his cheek.

"What's going on H? What's the matter?"

"M'head hurts," he answers immediately. "I-I think I forgot my team."

A trembling breath leaves his lips, tears stinging behind his eyes when he sees the concern on his wife's face. She brushes her thumb over his temple, the one she knows got hit the hardest, and then brushes a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead to place a tender kiss there.

"Let's get you to the locker room babe."

He follows like a lost puppy, trailing behind her through the back hallway and into his locker room. Y/n closes the door behind him before anyone else can enter, twisting the lock. Harry sits in the closest chair, fiddling with the tape on his fingers as he tries to calm down.

"Do you want to talk to me bub?" Y/n asks quietly, pulling up a seat directly in front of him. He nods, lifting his gaze from his hands to her face.

"I don't know what happened. It's like I got hit in the head and everything got shook up." He explains, frowning. He hates the way this feels. Hates that his body is screaming at him to just remember but his brain refuses to accept the message. "I know them, I know I do but s'like their names and stuff are just gone."

Y/n inhales sharply, biting nervously at her bottom lip. Harry's not even sure what to say and that makes him feel so much worse. He doesn't even feel like he has a concussion, not really. Everything else is still there, still in the forefront of his mind. His wife, his boys, Anne and Gemma. And he faintly remembers sitting at bars with one of the men from his team, remembers crashing on his couch late at night. But the soul of those memories are gone.

"I'm gonna get you some painkillers and water okay babe? Then we'll figure out what to do."

He nods, smiling wetly when she kisses his forehead. Watching her move around the room to gather water and whatnot, Harry wills himself to just think. He knows these men, he's just gotta focus on it. A memory stands out, one of the three of them in a car on a road trip. His trainer is driving, his manager in the passenger seat and he knows this is a trip for a match. A recent match too because he remembers saying goodbye to Arlo and y/n, kissing her swollen belly before he went.

Y/n returns to him with a bottle of water and a couple pills, watching him cautiously as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to just think. Recalling conversations from the car, remembering the screen in the front of the vehicle that reads Connected to Liam's iPhone. Liam. Almost instantly Nick's name floods his brain again and he feels his whole body tremble with relief.

Harry takes the medicine, gulping it down and slumping into his seat. "Nick and Liam," he finally murmurs, voice thick. "I couldn't remember darling. They were right in front of me and I couldn't remember their fucking names."

A silent tear trails down his cheek, Harry sniffling as y/n wipes it away with a tender touch he's only felt from her. "Its ok Harry. We'll figure out what happened. At least you remember now baby." She tried to comfort, but Harry's heart still aches.

"What if-" he peers up at her through wet eyelashes. "what if it had been you? Or Arlo? Or all three of you? What if I-"

He can't even finish the thought before he's shaking his head, more tears slipping down his cheeks and jaw. What would he have done if he'd looked at y/n and not remembered her name? Not remembered the beautiful son they created? Or the one she's growing now?

"It wasn't Harry," she stays sternly, cutting into his spiralling thoughts. "it wasn't and even if it did happen, it wouldn't change a thing. You're not getting rid of us."

Trying to smile, he nods and takes a deep breath. He trusts her, more than anyone, and he's never known someone that fights as much as she does. He knows, no matter what, that she'll always have his back.

#sweet as honey #harry styles #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #one direction #harry styles au #dad harry #boxer harry #cute #smut #daddy harry styles #sweet as honey talk

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nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You��re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#i don't love this but here it is!!!#one day i'll like the stories i write #kevin hayes imagine #kevin hayes x reader #kevin hayes fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #sour

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kk095 · 3 years

Text

Alyssa in Trauma

*hey everyone! I wanted to try writing a story with original, recurring characters with more of a 1st person perspective. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!*

It was a slow weeknight in our small community ER. It was just me, the head veteran nurse Nancy, nurse Ashley, nurse heather, and Dr Lindsay. The 5 of us were doing our part holding down the ER that night. We had a few minor cases- a kid who sprained his ankle skateboarding, back pain in exam room 2, and one of our frequent fliers in exam room 3 for who knows what this time.

A little after 8pm, the nurses station gets a call from dispatch. I can see Nancy nodding and responding to the voice on the other end of the phone, but I couldn’t initially make out what was being said. After the brief call, Nancy looked at me and gave me a rundown of the situation: “listen up everyone. We have a 26 year old female involved in a single car crash, possible chest and abdominal trauma. She’s hypotensive and tachycardic, and EMS intubated her on scene. ETA is 5 minutes.”

All of us quickly sprung into action at that point. I ordered the nurses to prep trauma room 1 and gather whatever supplies we may need for this particular case. While the nurses were getting things ready, me and Dr Lindsay put on a yellow trauma gown and a fresh pair of gloves. “make sure we have some unmatched o-neg, FFP, and platelets. And make sure surgery and radiology are on standby for us.” Dr Lindsay told the team, to which nurse Nancy nodded.

The following few minutes came and went quickly. We could hear the sound of the ambulance’s sirens grow louder and louder as it approached the hospital. The trauma room was quiet- the calm before the storm I suppose. We knew the patient was in rough shape, but we didn’t know what exactly to expect. Regardless, we were prepared for whatever was going to be thrown at us.

The ambulance pulled just outside the ERs main entrance and the medics wheeled the patient into the hospital and into our trauma room. To our surprise, one of the medics was performing CPR on the patient upon arrival. “26 year old female, restrained driver in single car MVC. Blunt chest trauma, lost vitals en route. Down 4 minutes, shocked ×2, meds ×1. PEA on the monitors.” The lead medic told us while the other delivered deep, violent chest compressions. “ok, let’s transfer her on my count. 1… 2… THREE!” I called out.

The patient was now on the table and under the overhead light. I looked down at the battered young woman lying on our table. Her name was Alyssa. She’s a 26 year old blonde with blue eyes, with a pretty face and a chubby build. She was just driving home from work when she swerved to avoid hitting a kid that ran out into the street, oblivious to Alyssa’s car, but slammed her car into a light post in the process.

Once Alyssa was on the table, the medics left the room and we began running our trauma code. Nurse heather resumed chest compressions, nurse nancy was ambu bagging, and nurse ashley got the next rounds of epi and atropine ready. Dr Lindsay and I decided to order some tests: STAT trauma labs, a chest x ray, and a FAST scan. After ashley injected the next round of meds, she drew the trauma labs while Dr Lindsay got the ultrasound machine ready. While that was going on, I set up the portable x ray for the chest x ray. The chest x ray showed sternum and rib fractures associated with CPR, but nothing else noticeable. Dr Lindsay then performed an echo. “oh boy, look at all that blood in the pericardium. Massive cardiac tamponade.” She said, shaking her head looking at the ultrasound monitor. “let’s do a pericardiocentesis.” She continued. “I disagree. She’s already in cardiac arrest and that’s a huge tamponade. I think we need to do a thoracotomy.” I responded to Dr Lindsay. “I don’t know Dr Kenny, I think we should do a pericardiocentesis and see if her condition improves. If not, then we do a thoracotomy.” Lindsay replied. “I don’t think we have time to wait. Thoracotomy is the way to go here.” I said, standing my ground. There was a pause for a moment. “I agree with Dr Kenny.” Nurse Nancy said, breaking the silence in the room. Nurse Nancy has been an ER nurse for over 20 years and she’s seen it all, so everyone trusted her judgement when she spoke up.

Dr Lindsay and I looked at each other for a moment and nodded in agreement. “Ok, let’s get a thoracotomy tray set up please.” Dr Lindsay ordered. Once the order was made, Ashley and I began setting up the proper equipment. Meanwhile, nurse Heather kept performing deep, strong chest compressions on Alyssa. The patient’s chest caved in and her belly bounced outwards. Her eyes were half open, staring blankly above while one of her arms dangled off the side of the table, bouncing in sync with each individual compression.

I picked up a 10 blade scalpel off of the thoracotomy tray while Ashley splashed Alyssa’s chest with betadine. While heather kept delivering chest compressions, I made a quick, decisive incision in the 5th intercostal space starting at the sternum. I extended the incision laterally across the young woman’s bare chest. Ashley retracted Alyssa’s large, d cup left breast to give me room to continue the incision. Once I extended the incision past the breast, I continued across to the mid axillary line, just a few inches shy of her left armpit. I had to make a 2nd incision I the same general area to separate the underlying fat and tissue. Once the tissue was adequately separated, I placed a rib spreader into the incision area and began twisting the knobs, forcing the young woman’s ribs apart. A loud popping and cracking sound filled the already hectic trauma room from Alyssa’s ribs being forced apart.

After her chest was adequately opened, heather stepped away, stopping CPR. I took my scalpel and made a vertical incision into the pericardium, performing a pericardiotomy in order to release the tamponade and deliver the heart. After cutting the fibrous lining of Alyssa’s heart, there was a collection of thick, gooey, coagulated blood that came out. Ashley suctioned away the coagulated blood, only for my line of sight to be filled with a large amount of fresh blood. “what a mess.. let me take a look.” Dr Lindsay said, forcing herself into my position, reaching into Alyssa’s exposed chest cavity. While Lindsay was sorting things out, I placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect bloodflow to the heart, lungs, and brain- a common practice during ER thoracotomies to limit damage elsewhere and to potentially buy the patient time during the resuscitation.

Ashley suctioned out the blood that obstructed the line of sight, revealing Alyssa’s motionless heart. “starting cardiac massage.” Dr Lindsay called out. She wrapped her hands around Alyssa’s motionless heart, placing her thumbs on the left ventricle. She then began squeezing the heart, pushing her thumbs in an upwards motion in the process. “1… 2… 3… come on hun…” Dr Lindsay said, looking down at Alyssa, as if she was trying to convince her patient not to die. Lindsay continued internal massage while nurse Nancy stood at the head of the bed ambu bagging. “let’s get another dose of meds in. Hopefully we can get a shockable rhythm that way.” I called out to the team. Nurse heather went over and got the meds and injected them into the patient’s IV line. Meanwhile, Lindsay continued internal massage. “something doesn’t feel right. Her heart feels almost empty.” She said to me. “let me take a look.” I replied, inching my way closer. Lindsay continued internal compressions while I probed around in the young woman’s chest, trying to see if I can figure out what her injuries were. While I was examining the area, her heart began to fibrillate in Dr Lindsay’s hands. “ok! She’s in v-fib. Let’s get the internal paddles and charge to 20.” She called out.

Nurse Ashley charged the internal paddles to 20 joules, and handed them to me. Everyone backed away from the patient while I placed the paddles around Alyssa’s weakly fidgeting heart. “ok. Everyone… CLEAR!” I called out, delivering the shock. A dull, wet thump was heard from the shock. Alyssa’s torso flopped and her breasts jiggled in response to the jolt of electricity. “no change. Let’s shock again at 30.” I called out. Once the paddles were recharged, I lowered them back into the 26 year old’s chest, and delivered the 2nd shock. Alyssa’s toes curled at the other end of the table in response to the shock, showing off thick, silky wrinkles throughout the soles of her size 10 feet. “No change Dr Kenny" heather tells me, shaking her head while looking at the monitor. “ok. Let’s recharge the paddles to 30 and shock again.” I ordered. Nurse ashley recharged the zoll internal paddles to 30j and handed me the blood stained paddles for the next shock. Everyone backed away before the shock, knowing what was coming. This particular shock caused Alyssa’s torso to jolt sharply on the table, but v-fib persisted. “Damn it… still v-fib. Let’s push another dose of meds and shock again. This time we should shock at 40.” I told the team. Once again, we recharged the paddles, lowered them into Alyssa’s chest, and shocked her again. The same dull, wet thump was heard. Alyssa’s lifeless body twitched sharply on the table in response to the more intense shock, but her heart stopped in its tracks after that shock. “shit. Asystole on the monitor. Resuming internal massage" dr Lindsay called out, acting decisively.

Dr Lindsay reached hands back into the young lady’s chest and began pumping her heart manually. “1… 2… 3… come on Alyssa…” Dr Lindsay said to herself, thinking out loud. Alyssa’s heart felt flaccid and empty in dr Lindsay’s hands. There was a definite contrast between feeling Alyssa’s warm heart and her cold, clammy skin. Her complexion faded rapidly, and her beautiful blue eyes remained half open, with a blank expression on her face.

Dr Lindsay messaged Alyssa’s heart for several minutes to no avail. “let’s push another round of meds. And dr Kenny, how about you take over internal compressions for me? Maybe you’ve got the magic touch.” She said with an undertone of sarcasm. I nodded and took over compressions for my coworker. I reached my hands into Alyssa’s chest. I looked down and saw her heart motionless in my hands- something that’s odd to see in a previously healthy 26 year old. I started pumping her heart with my own 2 hands, desperately trying to bring the young woman back. But I knew the odds grew less and less likely as time went on. “hey, we’re out of FFP. Should I get another unit?” nurse heather asked us. “no honey, let’s hold onto it for someone we can actually save. You know how fast that blood bank can empty out on a busy day.” Nurse nancy replied, implying that Alyssa was pretty much a goner. “She’s young though, we should keep trying at least a little longer.” I said to the team, trying to improve morale.

I massaged the patient’s heart for several minutes to no avail. We maxed her out on meds in that timeframe, and nurse nancy noted that Alyssa had fixed and dilated pupils. At that point, I held compressions and the monitors went flat. “alright… does anyone object to calling this code?” I asked everyone in the trauma room. I was met with silence and a couple people shaking their head “no.” I then nodded and said “ok. Time of death, 20:46. Thank you all for your efforts.”

Nurse nancy detached the ambu bag and shut Alyssa’s eyes for the final time. Nurse heather switched off the flatlined monitors and began removing the EKG electrodes from the patient’s bare chest. I removed the thoracotomy equipment from the patient’s body, while dr Lindsay started removing her gloves and trauma gown, walking out of the ER feeling defeated. Nurse ashley removed all the IVs and started filling out the toe tag. On the blank tag, she wrote: “Collins, Alyssa. DOB 8/26/95, DOD 10/3/21, time of death 20:26, cause of death: Blunt SVC dissection. After filling out the tag, she placed it on the big toe of Alyssa’s left foot. The tag tangled in front of her soft, wrinkly soles while a sheet was placed over her battered body. At that point, I began to remove my equipment and head out of the room. Nurse nancy and nurse Ashley then wheeled the stretcher out of the trauma room to transport alyssa to the hospital morgue while heather stayed back and cleaned the trauma room and prep it for the next patient. It’s never easy losing a patient, but it’s par for the course when you work in trauma. We have to compose ourselves and move on to the next patient.

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comehomeducklings · 3 years

Text

Present [Part 1] (Obsession)

A/N: Please don't copy, redistribute, and/or post my work on this site or any others. This has taken my time and creativity to come up with the story's characters and plot.

Also, I swear my writing gets better. It's a little rough right now but I'm planning on rewriting them.

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1943 ~ 6th year

No sound above whispers could be heard throughout the great hall. The food on the table hasn't been touched by a single hand. The very thought of eating churning all our stomachs. Not during these times. Our heads turn every now and then, afraid of what might sneak up behind us. The death of Myrtle and others has shaken the entire school. A murderer is among us, trust is such a foreign concept now.

Dark purple eye-bags lay beneath every single student's eyes. No one is allowed to go home for the holidays. They aren't allowing us to leave, we are stuck in this cloud of darkness and uncertainty. No owls are supposed to be sent out. As the head girl, I'm responsible for every student's life and responsibilities. I have to know where everyone is at all times. It gets tiring at times, but necessary nonetheless.

A nightly routine consisted of all my dormmates huddling around each other. No sleep would come to us all night. We wouldn't move from the same spot until light shown from the windows. Our beds are all pressed together in the farthest corner of the room from the door. Our wands never leaving our hands in case of danger. Every little sound made from the outside provoking us. Even to the point of going mad. Potions used to stay awake, slowly wearing off as the morning arose. No sleep, we can't afford that luxury anymore.

I would leave the dorm to wait at the portrait for our assigned house professor to come. They would tell me it was safe for everyone to head to the great hall to get breakfast. As soon as they were done I quickly went to everyone's dormitory to wake them up, if they even slept at all. I would then inform them that it was safe to step out of their dorms. After everyone got situated I would have the students form a line and lead them towards the great hall. 1st-3rd years would occasionally hold the folds of my robes. Fearing that when they blink I would be gone. Leaving them alone to deal with the dangers that lurk in the school.

Not once have I lied about how they are going to be all right. That would be cruel. These students don't seek pathetic nurturing words, they want a protective force watching over them. So many clubs and activities have been canceled. Hogsmede and quidditch proving as a prime example. No one complained though, quidditch players too afraid to even step out of the castle's walls even if they were allowed.

Back to the present, I hold my good friend's hand as she slightly shakes from anxiety. I can see it in her eyes, the doubt of making it alive eating away at her brain. The spark once present in her shiny green eyes being blown out. Amelia, her name being. She's been biting her nails again, to the point where it had bled. This can be backed by the dried-up blood that is present at the tip of her finger's nail.

A booming voice can be heard, "You are now being dismissed to head to class, your houses head girl and boy will be assigning the group you'll be heading off with."

First period has been removed from every perfect and head's schedule. During this time we search the whole castle for any wanders. We make sure everyone is where they are supposed to be. If someone got lost or went to the wrong class we escort them to where they need to be.

After every class, students have a limited amount of time to get to their next lesson. Although, perfects and heads get more time to make sure everyone is where they are needed quickly. Then we hurry to our class after scanning the halls swiftly.

The once safest school of the wizarding world giving birth to the dark ages. More bodies have been found littering the schools. Most of them not found until their ghosts appear before us. Every single one not knowing how they died. Like the murderer is invisible upon meeting the victim. I originally suggested it could have been done by poison. When the bodies were checked, no traces of poison had been traced.

Professors have been waiting for the person who is responsible to slip up, to give us a clue. I don't think that will happen though. The process of these killings has been too thought out and well planned. I wouldn't be surprised if these mass killings have been planned months before, even maybe years. I've been talking to the ghosts to try and gather all details, even the potentially useless ones. When our headmaster made us heads keep tabs on everyone, the killings stopped for a short amount of time. It was like the mastermind was creating a way to best us, to get past the "little inconvenience." It didn't take long for them to find the weak parts in the plan.

What we have got though, is that every single student killed has been a muggle-born. A classic case of an unfair stigma around the poor wizards and witches. They never were able to catch a break. Amelia, one of my close friends in the friend group. She's a muggle-born, hence the shaking of her hands. I've been keeping a closer eye on her, she doesn't leave my side. She comes on my patrols so I can keep her in my sights, with of course the permission of the teachers. There are only two times that I can not watch over her. Those two times are covered by my other friend Devyn, a pure-blood. She also helps keep her safe, not letting her go anywhere by herself. The two times are because she's in two different classes than I am. One of them being a study hall.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

"Professor, how will this class help us now? Reading teacups for predictions should be the least of our worries right now," a student at the back of the room exclaims.

"The said predictions could lead us to the future before it happens. Our worries lay exactly what will happen in the future. If anything, this is one of the most important classes we'll take this year," I say, continuing to read the teacup.

"Precisely, thank you. Now go back to studying, I'll be coming around to view your interpretations."

My tea leaves look more like a blob with a cross going through them. A weirdly shaped blob. I already know there is a cross, but what about the blob? I tried shaking it a little, looking at the leaves from different angles. I already crossed off a club, falcon, and the sun. It could be an acorn, but I see a slight hole in the blob.

Could it be...

"A skull that is." I jump at the sudden voice near my ear. My teacup almost falling from my grasp.

"Pardon, a what?"

She points towards two holes in the blob, one of them I just mentioned, "I saw you already found one hole, there's the other. How it's shaped could be a little difficult to see since the cross is through it, but it's there."

The professor takes the cup from my hand and lays it on her desk. Some of my classmates look at me in curiosity, but they soon lose interest and go back to their own tea leaves.

A cross and a skull, that sounds about right to how my school year is going so far. I scan my book to see exactly what they mean.

A skull, danger in your path.

A cross, trials and suffering.

"What d-did you find?" A Hufflepuff boy to my right asks.

I don't want to scare the poor boy, he's already frightened enough as it is. If my future got around to the school, everyone would start being concerned about me. I'll barely get any of my duties done if I didn't already get it taken away for my safety. Last thing I need right now is even more panic.

"Nothing much, the future is still a little foggy."

"That's, um, good. I couldn't really read mine either," he chuckles lightly, almost seemingly forced.

Our professor claps her hands together, "Class is dismissed, read up about your predictions if you haven't already. No homework today."

I gather my books and push in my chair. Right before I could reach the door where other students are waiting, the teacher stops me.

"I'll have to tell the headmaster about this, I shouldn't keep it a secret."

"No, please don't. If you must, only tell Albus. I can't have this messing anything up, I'll become vulnerable."

The professor looks around the room, her eyes wandering franticly. I'm sure I am asking a lot from her. I really need her to keep this a secret.

"Oh alright, you're my best student. I just would hate to see anything happen to you. I'm informing only Albus to see if he can keep an eye on you."

"Thank you so much, I swear I'll be careful." A huge weight is lifted off my shoulders. I can't be worrying about my future when I have to worry about everyone else's.

I leave the classroom and start heading to my next class. Potions have always been one of my favorite classes. Mixing a bunch of toxins into a pot is a specialty of mine. I'm quickly scanning the halls for any wanderers, making sure everyone is at class. My feet take me to Potions in a hurry. I don't want to miss much, trying to make the class as informational as possible.

"You shouldn't be running, you still have 3 minutes of checking the school."

It's always him, I even tried changing routes to avoid him. His idiotic smirk, thinking he actually did something. All he did is waste my time and train of thought.

"I'm allowed to run Riddle, it's not a rule. I already checked the halls I was assigned, did you?" I really have no energy for this.

Tom peers down at me, somehow still wearing that infamous smile. Eyes bright, filled with mischief and knowledge.

"I have, double-checked as well. I'm sure you only checked once. Such irresponsible actions, I still wonder how you nabbed the head-girl spot."

I choose not to answer, not giving in to his baiting. Does he think I'm that stupid? That easily bothered by a simple test of my patience.

"You could have just said you wanted to walk me to class Riddle. No need to be shy with me."

"Shy, a concept I would not know of. Might as well bring you to class, since I'm heading there myself. Wouldn't want you to be in danger, since you consistently prove you can't handle a simple check of the hallways."

"I told you Tom-"

"Once is not enough, you should know that by now," he interrupts me, feigning a sudden serious facade on.

We start heading towards Slughorn's room. I'm a little behind his figure. Mostly looking down to make sure I don't step over his feet and fall. He sometimes walks with me, very confusing if I may say. Hating my skills, probably still hates me. You can often find us arguing if we are ever partners in class together. The usual game we play, how many questions can we get right by the end of class. Last time he won by one point, my sour mood not helping the atmosphere.

"You look rested, more than me at least," I smile tiredly. My whole body slightly sagging forward from exhaustion. He looks as proper as someone could be. His skin is a little pale though, brighter than usual. Almost like he was sick, his eyes look darker too. More sunken in, the shape of his skull more prominent. His looks still annoyingly well presented.

"Yes, you do look rather tired. I see other things have prioritized above your looks."

This man, the audacity of this man. The only reason I'm not at the top of every class. Our number 1 student count being evenly split. I have to bite down on my tongue forcefully to not say anything back. I'm too tired to truly come back with anything witty, so I choose to save myself from the embarrassment. Instead, I slightly step on his robe on the ground causing him to trip up a little.

He quickly sends a warning glare my way and then continues walking. I smile slightly, knowing even if it was petty, it was worth it.

Riddle doesn't even hold the door for me when we walk in. Causing it to slam dangerously close to my face.

"There you two are, I was afraid you weren't going to make it," Slughorn exclaims excitedly. "Turn your textbooks to page 246, we are going to learn how to make a Polyjuice potion!"

I glance at Tom, his eyes only focus on the words before him not realizing my gaze is on him. I wonder if he'll make this a competition as well. Knowing him, as well as me, anything but competition is out of our character. He looks up catching my eyes, I tilt my head. Trying to silently communicate from afar.

His head turns to Slughorn, then back to me. He nods his head and that's all it takes for both of us to come to an understanding. Whoever can answer the most questions, and create the best potion gets bragging rights.

I don't intend to lose.

#tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #lord voldemort #hogwarts #wizard #post wizarding war #enemies to allies #enemies to lovers #angst #oc #poc #Oc is any race #horcrux #moldy voldy

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thegirlonpeetamellark · 4 years

Text

Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done.

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me.

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight.

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it.

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket.

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six.

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins.

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.”

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?”

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words.

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down.

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense.

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room.

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do.

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him.

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!”

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN.

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another.

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.”

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap.

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now.

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?”

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.”

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls.

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.”

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her.

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother.

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet.

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears.

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is.

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep.

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile.

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm.

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests.

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms.

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances?

“Are we all done, doctor?”

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence.

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively.

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks.

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.”

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece.

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file.

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality.

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit.

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.”

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays.

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy.

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat.

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth.

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits.

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them.

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat.

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury.

She opens the door fully and glares at him.

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses.

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy.

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits.

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut.

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely.

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone.

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.

What. The. Fuck.

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen.

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him.

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides.

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family?

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have.

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

#everlark #the hunger games #everlark fanfiction #court81981

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mitsmebinch · 3 years

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The Dumbest Shit in the Weirdest Places: White Sands Edition

Sometimes, I am terminally confused by the sheer ridiculousness that is New Mexico, as a concept. Chaco Canyon aside, there is so much dumb shit to get up to in New Mexico. Maybe it’s just that my GPS had an aneurysm after I accidentally dropped it in a puddle right outside Raton, but it refused to send me the normal way to any destination I chose.

For example: White Sands Missile Range. At first you’d think, Mits, why are you at a missile range? And I would agree with you on that line of questioning, there are very few reasonable explanations as to why I was on an active missile range. My reason happens to be one of them, however: the 75th anniversary of the Trinity Test - the culmination of the Manhattan Project and the first nuclear explosion in the history of mankind.

Some fun facts about the Trinity Site: It is only open for a few hours two days a year, it remains radioactive to this day, and google maps has absolutely zero navigation data for its entirety. Yes, there is a pattern to my shenanigans. So anyway, I wanted to go and get irradiated - I was sitting in line for the gates to this - again, ACTIVE - missile range to open for the day. As I got closer, I noticed a sign that read ‘ENTERING ACTIVE TEST RANGE. AREAS POTENTIALLY CONTAMINATED WITH EXPLOSIVE DEVICES. STAY ON THE ROADS. DO NOT DISTURB ANY ITEMS. IF ITEMS ARE FOUND CALL POLICE XXX-XXX’. Cool and also normal, I’m just going to head into this area with zero knowledge of where I’m going. I got my ID checked, told the man with the very large gun as sweetly as possible that I was here to see the Trinity Site, and was told that I needed to go straight until I saw someone wave me to the left.

Cool, cool, that’s an easy order to comply with.

If you have an attention span longer than a goldfish.

So anyway, I think I was about thirty minutes down this road before I realized that I was actually supposed to be looking for someone waving me to the left. I started scanning the rather flat landscape, but quickly lost track of what I was doing for another fifteen minutes before I remembered, once again, I was supposed to be looking for someone waving me to the left.

It was at this point that I became worried I had missed the person and was just driving down a road I was not legally allowed to be on, but I felt a certain amount of assurance that since I hadn’t blown up, and no one was shooting at me, I was probably in the right place.

Thankfully! After another five or ten minutes I finally saw a car with flashing lights and a guy standing just outside waving at me to turn left. So I turned left, and not too long after found myself at the Trinity Site. It was truly amazing, some of the original artifacts like ‘Jumbo’ or a post WWII casing that resembled the Fatman. The obelisk in the center of the detonation field was exactly 100 feet below where the original Gadget had been deployed, the tower it had been atop completely obliterated save some spikes of metal sticking out from the ground. All around, you can hear geiger counters going off as a few national park personnel explain how trinitite, the expensive, radioactive glass found only here, was created. And of course, a lot of people with very large guns.

After I walked the entire crater, read all the placards, got my picture taken by this older gentleman (Who I in turn took a picture for), I walked back to the parking lot. I got that itch again, that feeling like I should probably know more about where I was when I clearly did not.

So I went over to one of the big men with big guns and said in my sweetest ‘I am a very dumb but fragile tourist’ voice, “How do I get out of here?”

He said he didn’t know, and that I should go and ask a slightly smaller man with a big gun a few feet away. So I walked over, and repeated the same question. I got a very curt “Go out that way,” and a finger point to a direction I had not come through. “To go back to the main gate?” I asked, because I knew there were two roads into the Trinity Site. “Everyone goes that way.”

Hmm. Okay, sure, not going to argue with someone holding a gun that weighed a third of my body weight. I thanked him, got back in my car, and went to head out the direction he had pointed. I stopped next to the gate of the parking lot, where a guy with - you guessed it! - a big gun told me to continue straight until someone flagged me down.

I nodded, and got on my merry way. And I continued to zone the fuck out for about twenty minutes before I saw flashing lights, and a wave to turn right. More time to zone out, hurray! I was driving for about thirty minutes before it dawned on me that I might have missed something once more. Oh well, since I hadn’t blown up, and no one was shooting at me, I was probably in the right place. It took about an hour to return to the gate I had come in through, and was let out into the wild wild west of New Mexico - my next destination, the famously named Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.

#white sands #white sands missile range #trinity site #trinity test #trinitite #driving #guns #pew pews #just general dumbfuckery #again another story that is 100% true because I am a dumbass #traveling #dumbest shit in the weirdest places

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jesus-otaku · 3 years

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Title: Peculiar Familiarity (part 6)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Marichat

Word count: 2241

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

A long-overdue update for a giveaway prize for @kwiibi-blog. I feel so bad about this just sitting in my folder for so long. (I typed this part up like 2 years ago during the time I was away from Tumblr and completely neglected to post it.) I really hope the long wait has been worth it.

I mentioned this when updating the fic on AO3 so I’ll mention it here as well: I am no longer nearly as active in the ML fandom as I used to be. There is so much fandom salt and drama that it has been hard to find the same initial joy I had for creating ML content. Most of my writing lately has been for original projects rather than fanfic. But because I hate leaving things incomplete, and I think everyone reading my fics deserves to get the endings they’ve waited for, I am trying very hard to regain my lost motivation. My goal is to at least wrap up the multi-part fics I started, even if I don’t necessarily write the other fics I originally had planned. Any questions about this can be directed to my ask box!

“Something about Marinette was off tonight. Something beyond the mess of deciding whose hand he was going to kiss.”

________________________

“You've been keeping secrets from me, Princess,” Chat Noir sang as he dropped through the trapdoor into Marinette's room.

She whirled away from her desk to look up at him, and her face was white as a sheet. “S-secrets? What secrets?” Her lips were twitching up in an attempt at a smile, but it was very obviously fake. “I—I'm not keeping any secrets, don't be silly! I mean, why would I not have told you that I was—I mean—that is, if I was—I mean—nope, no secrets here!” She broke into nervous laughter. “None whatsoever.” Then, hesitantly, she asked, “Why do you say that?”

Chat was a little taken aback. That was a much more…intense reaction than he had been expecting. He climbed down the loft ladder to join her at her desk. Leaning on the desk with one hand, he replied, “You never told me you and Ladybug were in touch with each other.”

Marinette gaped at him. It must not have been what she had thought he was going to say, because some of the color slowly started to return to her face. “That's—I—you never asked.”

“No,” he agreed, “but when you said I should talk to Ladybug about the whole hand-kissing thing, that—you could have just told her yourself.” It would have spared him a lot of embarrassment, that was for sure.

She fidgeted uncomfortably. “I think it was better that she heard it from you,” she replied. “Otherwise it might have made it seem like you were avoiding her.”

He hesitated. She did have a point there. And embarrassment or not, his conversation with Ladybug had cleared up a miscommunication he hadn't even realized they'd been having. “Still,” he said, “you could have at least said something.”

“You never asked,” Marinette countered. She leaned forward, propping her hands on her knees. “So, um, what did I—I mean, Ladybug say? About the hand-kissing thing, that is?”

Chat gave her a thumbs up with a smile. “She gave it the all-clear. Hand kisses are now exclusively yours, Princess.”

She grinned back at him. “Lucky me. But that wasn't exactly what I meant.”

He frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I never said you had to ask her permission,” she pointed out. She folded her hands in her lap. “I just said you needed to tell her you were going to stop kissing her hand. Did she say anything about you stopping?”

Great. Not only was Ladybug going to kill him by asking about his relationship with Marinette, now Marinette was going to kill him by asking about his relationship with Ladybug. He was so, so doomed. “She said I didn't have to,” he answered slowly, watching her to see her reaction. “She would have been okay with me kissing both your hand and hers. But I didn't want to do that to you after saying I would make it a you-and-me thing only.”

All of the color had returned to Marinette's face now, and if it hadn't been for the fact she had been so white just a minute ago, he would have thought he saw a dusting of pink on her cheeks. He quashed it instead as the act of an overactive, hopeful imagination. She'd been so pale that the natural flush of her face probably just looked overly pinkish by comparison. “Thank you,” she mumbled. A little clearer, she added, “It means a lot, you know. That you would change your dynamic with Ladybug just for me.”

Feeling suddenly very embarrassed, Chat looked around the room at just about everything except for Marinette. His eyes locked with the little black stuffed cat that perched on the shelf above her desk. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You don't have to thank me for anything. It's not like things are going to change between me and Ladybug, not really.” But then he remembered that odd look of resignation that had been in Ladybug's eyes last night, and he had to wonder if things wouldn't change even the tiniest bit. She'd almost seemed upset.

As if she could read his mind, Marinette asked, “Are you sure about that? We—You two seem pretty close.”

“We're still going to be friends,” he replied, hating that word—friends—just a little less than he would have expected to. His friendship with his lady had always come first, no matter how badly he wanted to be something more. That priority had somehow become clearer the more time he had spent with Marinette. He waved a hand dismissively, as if her concern were a minor one. “A little thing like kissing your hand won't change that.” Oh, but that look in Ladybug's eyes last night…

A tiny smile made its way onto her face. “Ladybug is really lucky to have a friend like you. I would've been a lot more worried about things changing than you are.”

He braced his baton against the floor and leaned forward on it. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me, then, Princess. Since you're friends with her, too.” God, what was coming out of his mouth? He was going to be the end of himself, pursuing a conversation like this. But still, he couldn't stop himself from continuing. “I'm sure if you sing my praises, she'll reconsider my romantic advances.”

The statement startled a laugh out of her. “Okay, I take it back,” she giggled. “She's lucky, but she's not that lucky.”

Well, ouch.

Even though he knew Marinette meant it only in good fun, and that she would never intentionally say something to hurt someone else—out of all the people he'd met, she was one of the most well-attuned to preventing akuma attacks—her reply stung. So much so that his heart may as well have physically ached. The amusement he'd allowed to creep onto his face was gone in an instant. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Her expression dropped into horror. Had she not realized what she was saying? “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like that—I was just—you're great, but—um, you and Ladybug are—we're—I mean—ugh, I don't know what I mean anymore.” She buried her face in her hands, and there was a definite pink tinge to her cheeks now beneath her fingers.

Something about Marinette was off tonight. Something beyond the mess of deciding whose hand he was going to kiss. He was stunned it had taken him this long to realize it. Chat Noir tucked away his baton and went to kneel in front of her chair.

“Hey, Princess,” he coaxed softly. She peeked out at him from between her fingers. That much, at least, was encouraging. “What's wrong? Forget about me and Ladybug for a second. Did something happen?”

Her eyes scanned his; for what, he wasn't sure. Slowly, her hands slipped away from her face, and she set them back in her lap. She sighed as if resigning herself to something. Her gaze dropped to the floor between the two of them. “It's just—well, I have this…friend. And he's a great friend, don't get me wrong,” she added hastily, before he could have even thought to comment. “I'd trust him with anything, no matter what.��

“But…?” he prompted. There was obviously a “but” coming.

She gave a halfhearted sort of shrug. “I don't know. It just feels like things are…weird between us right now.” Her eyes were still glued on the floor as she began twisting her fingers around each other in her lap. “Like he's…I don't know, distant?”

He hoped she wasn't talking about him as Adrien. He'd done his damnedest to get closer to her, to make her feel more comfortable around him, to see at least some inkling of the way she acted around Chat in her interactions with Adrien. Those attempts had so far only ended in more pronounced stammering and occasional awkward laughter. It wouldn't have entirely surprised him if she was referring to him as Adrien.

He just really, really didn't want to be the one she was referring to.

Marinette seemed to take his pensive, anxious silence as a sign to continue, because she kept talking. Almost like she couldn't stop herself. “And I guess I just can't help wondering if maybe there's something that I did, or if there's something else going on in his life that I don't know about, or if he's just sick of hanging out with me.”

Chat took one of her hands in his before she could wring her fingers white. Her eyes finally snapped up to meet his again. “If he's sick of hanging out with you, then he's an idiot,” he said, with far more feeling than he had originally intended to put into his sentence. “You're amazing, Marinette. Anyone would be lucky to call you their friend.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I know I am.”

That tiny little smile made its way back onto her face, just enough to lift the corners of her lips out of miserable worry. So gently that he almost thought he imagined it, she squeezed his hand back. “Thanks, Chat Noir.”

Kneeling there with her hand in his, he almost kissed her hand before coming to his senses and shooting her a wink instead. Even with both her and Ladybug's permission, he couldn't just go around kissing her hand willy-nilly. “Anytime. It's a knight's sworn duty to protect his princess, even from her own self-doubt.” The comment made her smile spread wider, and the weight of worry lifted from his chest.

And it was strange, how much this reminded him of another time, with another girl, begging her to believe in him and in herself when she hadn't thought she could be enough.

Then Marinette was getting to her feet, her hand was sliding away from his, and the moment of familiarity was gone. “So,” she said, “are you up for being walloped at Ultimate Mecha Strike 3 tonight?”

He wanted to say yes so very badly. Wanted to prove that he'd meant what he'd said, that anyone who didn't want to hang out with her was an idiot. But curse it all, he had a photo shoot tomorrow morning at eight and he would never hear the end of it from his father if he showed up at his photo shoot with anything less than a full night's rest.

“I wish I could stay,” he said, trying to infuse as much regret into the words as possible. Her smile still dropped. He cursed the name of photo shoots everywhere in his head. “Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement with my bed. I've got someplace I have to be early tomorrow, and I need my cat nap or I'll never make it through the day.”

Her nose scrunched up in distaste at the prospect of getting up early during a weekend. “On a Saturday?” she asked incredulously. “That just sounds like some form of torture.”

Chat grinned. At least they were of the same mind on that point. “It probably will be, but a commitment is a commitment. I'm a cat of my word.” He stood and began to back his way towards the ladder to the trapdoor. “I can come back tomorrow night,” he added hopefully. He didn't usually visit two nights in a row, but since this visit was so short, maybe… “And you could wallop me then.”

“Bring plenty of fighting spirit, because I've been practicing,” she replied, smiling once again. He was struck for the hundredth time by how very familiar the teasing tone of her voice was, and not because he had heard it from her so often now as Chat. When he took another step back towards the ladder, she asked, “Aren't you forgetting something, Chat Noir?” Her smile had turned impish.

It took him an embarrassingly long moment of staring to realize what she was referring to. By the time he had put two and two together, she had already stepped closer to him and offered her hand. “Oh. Right. How foolish of me.” He took her hand in his and couldn't help marveling at how well their hands fit together. Almost exactly like his and Ladybug's did.

But Marinette wouldn't push him away from the gesture, not tonight and not in the future. That wasn't who the two of them were together. Marinette wasn't Ladybug, and he was a little bit of a different Chat Noir when he was with her. Not as flirty, not as hopeful, not as self-aggrandizing.

If he thought about it, maybe he as Chat Noir acted the way he wished he as Adrien could act with Marinette.

Minus the hand-kissing, of course.

He pressed his lips to her hand, lingering just a moment longer than was really necessary. Her skin was warm beneath his touch, and there was the faintest scent of the bakery clinging to her. It almost made him not want to pull away.

He did still have to get up early in the morning, though, so he forced himself to straighten and release her hand. She had already agreed that he could come back tomorrow. This was only goodbye for a day. He'd survived longer than that without her before. Chat swept her a bow. “Until tomorrow, Princess.”

Her smile spread into that glimmer of sunlight that had nearly made his heart stop last time. It almost made his heart stop again now. “Until tomorrow, Chat Noir. And thank you.”

#drabble #drabble prize #kwiibi-blog #miraculous ladybug #marichat #otp #miraculous fanfic #peculiar familiarity

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devnicolee · 4 years

Text

The Chosen Ones (8)

A/N: Enjoy! If you read chapter 7 like shortly after it was posted, the council scene was originally in Chapter 7 but I moved it here because that chapter was too long. So you may have already it read the first section.

This is the last chapter - I am really sad to end this series :( but I might do an epilogue or something if anyone is interested. I have been writing this for literally a year so thanks to everyone who liked and commented and read a chapter here or there. I appreciate it!

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 6,000 words

Pairings: M’Baku x OC

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Asha fidgeted nervously, sharing anxious glances with M'Baku as they waited with bated breath for her brother to enter the council meeting. They arrived back in the Golden City with mere minutes to spare before the meeting, two herbs in her pocket and a video of the garden. Shuri chastised them for giving her an ulcer during their long absence. However, she couldn’t hide the deep sigh of relief as the pair rushed through the tall gold trimmed throne room doors with triumph and hope in their eyes.

Asha scanned the council circle, passing by M’Baku’s reassuring eyes, to connect eyes with Elder Shani. Far from her usual contempt, her eyes were filled loathing and disgust. Instinctively, Asha felt herself starting to wilt like a dying flower. But something in her pushed back, forcing her to sit up straighter and send a pointed, cold glare back at the woman. Never again would someone else’s disdain silence her or force her to cower.

Their staring match only ended when the double doors entered. They all rose from their seats, saluting T’Challa as he walked to his seat, as cool and calm as ever. They did not have to wait long before he started speaking, getting right to the point of this meeting.

"I have called this meeting because much has changed in the last 36 hours, many things revealed about the Panther Tribe. Many have questioned my fitness to be king in light of these revelations. A lesser man would sit here and defend these lies but I cannot. They were an error in judgement, an error that was not my decision to start but could have,” he sighed, “Should have been mine to end once I became King. I did not. And for that, I am sorry. A king that cannot admit his failures is no king at all, only a tyrant. I know Elder Shani has lobbied many of you, encouraged you to demand a new challen-“

Elder Shani jumped up from her seat, her disrespect toward the throne on display as she cut the King short. "That is right! He is not fit to be King! Not while you and your family hid this abomination.” Her finger wagged in Asha's direction, forcing all eyes toward the young woman. She sat up a bit straighter, noting the looks of fear from some, the admiration from others.

"You expressed no qualms with our secrets when you were blackmailing my sister into an engagement with your abusive son, when it suited your needs. I have forcibly removed you from this throne room once, do not make me do it again. Sit down," T'Challa threatened, his voice low and menacing.

The elders of the Mining and Border Tribes shared a concerned look. They had taken the time to listen to Shani's pleads, and agreed with her in many ways. But they were quickly realizing the error in taking her words as the only truth.

"Now. I could plead my case, preach to you all about why I am fit to wear the crown of King and hold the mantle of the Black Panther. However, this conversation is not about me or my fitness. It is about our country's distrust and hatred toward the more powerful... the chosen among us... the Wakandan like my sister." He offered Asha a small smile before continuing, "Prior to today, Wakandan's future was in a precarious state. Prior to today, the mantle of Black Panther was to die with me. And if we went through with today’s challenge, the centuries-old legacy would die today. That is just one of many reasons why Elder Shani’s desires are so short sighted. However, Bast... and Hanuman, it seems, have other plans. Asha, a powerful and chosen member of this family, and Lord M'Baku, have breathed new life into our dying future."

"What do you mean?" Elder M’Kathu inquired, leaning forward with interest.

"I shall allow my sister to show you." T'Challa nodded at Asha, giving her the cue to pull the bright purple herbs from the pouch in her lap. They attracted everyone's eyes, captivating everyone with their glistening light.

The throne room filled with exclamations of shock, joy and excitement.

"How is this possible?" He asked in amazement. "N’Jadaka burned all the herbs."

"He burned all the herbs we knew of, yes. But there is another garden hidden on the edge of Jabariland. Bast led Lord M'Baku and I there. There are enough herbs on the top of that mountain to sustain the Black Panther for hundreds of years," Asha explained.

"Without my sister, without this gift Bast bestowed upon her, we... this country would have been lost. Without the Jabari so many of you despise, we would have been lost. Bast led the first Warrior Shaman to the herb years ago to save us from tearing ourselves apart. Today, she led Asha and a Jabari there to do the same. Together, two people, who represent what so many fear, opened a door that our failures shut forever.”

He stood up, pacing behind his chair as he spoke.

“That is bigger than me, it is bigger than Elder Shani, and it is bigger than our ignorance. Her campaign against me is rooted in hatred, hatred for a people who just saved our country. I ask you to vote against a new challenge, not because it suits me, but because we have the opportunity to build a new Wakanda. A Wakanda built on love and mutual respect for all of Bast's and Hanuman's people, not on the unstable foundation of distrust and prejudice.” He paused. “Now Elder Shani, I believe you have a proposal to raise for our vote. I await you all’s judgement and decision.”

Her brother’s passionate monologue was met with silence, silence as Asha watched each person introspectively think about the future they wanted, the Wakanda they wanted.

Elder Shani stood up once more, clearly unmoved by this new discovery or her brother’s passionate speech unlike everyone else in the room. It seemed she was committed to dying on this hill and was more than willing to do so alone. “This boy speaks of a new Wakanda, a new order. Wakanda prospered for hundreds of years before King T’Challa and it will do so after him. He does not think the way we do, he does not respect our traditions and so, he should not be King. I raise the motion to invoke a new Challenge Day, so we may have a King that will respect our traditions.”

“The motion is on the floor. Elder Shani, how do you vote?” Asha’s heart raced, praying that her faith in Elder M’Kathu and Elder Olabisi was not misplaced, that her brother’s words had swayed them to choose progress over hate. Asha felt Shuri’s hand grab hers and squeeze it tightly as they listened.

“Yay.”

“Lord M’Baku?”

“Nay.” Unlike his girlfriend, who was clearly filled with nervous energy, M’Baku seemed annoyed and bored with this whole spectacle, simply ready for this to be over so they could officially move on with their lives.

“Elder Kwame?”

“Nay.” Nakia’s stoic and quiet father responded swiftly with a nod to his daughter who sat beside the Queen Mother. Asha’s already racing heart seemed to beat even harder as they reached the two undecided Elders, the two that had the potential to change the fate of her family forever.

“Elder M’Kathu?”

A beat.

“Nay.”

Despite wanting to jump up and praise Bast, Asha maintained her composure, they all did. T’Challa offered the older man a head nod as a silent thank you for his support before finishing the roll out of obligation. For good measure, Elder Olabisi also voted against the motion, effectively leaving Elder Shani on an island alone.

“Thank you, thank you all. I believe together we can build a stronger Wakanda. Thank you for believing in that future as well. This meeting is now adjourned and I will see everyone at the King’s Exhibition.”

The room stood and saluted him, all except Elder Shani and her son who swept from the room as soon as the final word left T’Challa’s mouth.

At the official end of the meeting, Asha immediately walked to her brother and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“I am so glad I didn’t ruin everything,” she whispered in his ear, finally letting out that sigh of relief she had been holding in. She felt as if that weight finally evaporated from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he emphasized, pulling back to look at her. “You could never ruin us, Asha. You are the best of us. You saved us and for that, I could never thank you enough. You both,” he motioned for Shuri to join their group hug, “are the best sisters I could ask for.”

Asha broke apart from her siblings, giving space for others to congratulate her brother, and walked toward M’Baku. He stood, in the now-repaired window she destroyed, staring down into the heart of the Golden City, which was bustling with activity and life as everyone prepared for the coming festival.

She stood beside him, looking out at her home with something other than envy and heartache for the first time. Hope. They stood in silence for a bit, the chatter of Asha's family fading away as they slid back into their own small world.

"Thank you, M'Baku. T-this would not have been possible without you, without the Jabari. Thank Bast you decided to concern yourself with the drama of us lowlanders," she teased.

He chuckled, his brain conjuring that moment on the fields of the Great Mound, deciding to play along with her game. He remembered exactly how that conversation went… he would never forget it. "Well, it seems you all continue to need us to save you."

She turned briefly and smiled at his profile, leaning against the window. "Yes... it seems we do. Wakanda is forever in your debt. Perhaps she will find a way to repay you one day." She added, stealing his line.

A tug at her arm brought her close to him, the space between them evaporating. He cupped her face, uninhibited love and adoration passing between them. Her signature sparks immediately encircling the couple as he stared down at her, the love of his life, the woman he felt Hanuman destined for him to be with until the end of his days.

“She led me to you and now I am forever in her debt,” he whispered as his lips captured hers, the audience of her family mere feet away from them mattered little. The two kissed deeply for a few moments before a wolf whistle caused them to break away.

Asha laughed as she looked over and saw her entire family, minus her mother, staring at the couple with shocked and excited grins. Shuri continued to cheer loudly before her brother pinched her and ushered her out of the throne room. He winked at her before allowing the doors to slam shut and giving them some much-needed privacy.

“Come to Jabariland.”

“What?”

“Later this week. I-I need to head back tonight and you should spend time with your siblings. But come to Jabariland for a few days, spend some time together where you aren’t almost dying and I am not having to save that brother of yours.”

Asha mulled it over in her head. Though she figured her brother would be slightly annoyed at her absence from some of the festival events, she yearned for the private and uninterrupted time with M’Baku. She had not truly rested in the last 4 days, had not taken a real breath. There, they could finally do that together.

“I would love to.”

****

“Nakia!” Asha smiled as she threw some more clothes in a bag and beckoned her friend into her bedroom. She eyed Nakia and the medium-sized gift bag in her hand suspiciously as one of her closest friends sat down on her king-sized bed.

“What is that?” Asha asked, gesturing toward the bag as she pulled a dress off the hanger.

Nakia smiled slyly, “We will get to that in a second. First, I just wanted to see how you were doing. The last few days… weeks, years frankly, have been tough for you.”

Asha smiled and reached across the bed to squeeze her future queen’s hand. Nakia was the big sister she didn’t have but always hoped for. And she knew she would be the perfect queen for them all.

“I am good, Nakia. Fantastic, actually. I got what I wanted, T’Challa’s position and title are safe. Everything is good now.”

Nakia nodded but Asha could see the speculation in her eyes, the look that called her positive attitude into question.

“Yes. All of that is true. But look at what it took to get there? Your father died, you watched your brother get murdered, you endured verbal abuse from all sides, you almost died… twice, according to M’Baku. I’ve seen enough of this world to know a happy ending doesn’t mean the road to them wasn’t paved with trauma and pain. It’s just… I’ve seen what happens when people don’t address what it took to get them what they wanted, what it cost them. I don’t want that for you, nor does your brother. Just, if you ever want to talk, let me know?”

Asha bowed her head, she didn’t like to think Nakia was right. What mattered most, in her mind, was the fact that they were ok now. But she could not ignore all the tragedies littered throughout her life, the scars they left. She couldn’t pretend like those wounds of her chains healed just because she escaped them.

“You will be my first call, I promise.” Asha came around to sit on the bed next to her. “Thank you for being here for me.”

Nakia smiled and squeezed her hand. She pushed the bag toward the young girl. “Always. Now onto the fun part of my visit. This is for you.”

Asha grinned brightly as she excitedly tore the tissue paper out of the bag and pulled out several pieces of lingerie, her grin fading slightly with shock.

“Nakia,” she whined. “What is all this??”

“It is for your trip. Essential wear.”

“’Essential wear??’ N-Nakia, I d-don’t think we are going to get there yet.” She let the skimpy Burgundy lace fall back into the bag, laughing lightly.

“Maybe you won’t, but maybe you will. Look, I see the way Lord M’Baku looks at you - he is ready to rip those clothes off your body every time you’re in the same room. He wants to show you the might of the Jabari, FIRST HAND!” Both girls laughed at her callback to M’Baku’s epic entrance at the battle on the Great Mound. “And if that is what you want, you should.”

“I am sure my brother does not know about this part of your visit,” Asha mused.

“No, he doesn’t,” Nakia admitted. “Because it isn’t his business, or mine, to be frank. I just wanted you to be prepared if you decide to travel down that road. Essential wear for the journey.”

She threw Asha a wink before leaving her to mull over her thoughts. Asha didn’t understand her own hesitation. Perhaps she was just overthinking it. The cave… it was spur of the moment, natural, intimate and unexpected. All their best moments were just that… unexpected. They produced magic when she didn’t have time to analyze or second guess, when she just lived in the moment with him. And here she was overanaylzing and second guessing. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the gift bag as she thought. Nakia was right; M’Baku wanted her and she wanted him, desperately so. She pulled each piece of lingerie out, eyeing each one with speculation. They left little to the imagination but they were gorgeous. She slipped both into her suitcase.

Just in case.

****

“Try not to destroy the palace while I’m gone eh?” She implored as she gave Shuri a hug outside.

Shuri, who looked like someone had just stolen her pet panther, nodded sadly. “You’ll call me tomorrow right? Make sure they haven’t turned you into an anti-vibranium fanatic?”

Asha laughed, “Yes I will call you tomorrow, I promise. Don’t look so glum, I will be back in a few days.”

“I know, it is just hard to say bye to you. I am usually begging for this one to get out of here.” Asha laughed as T’Challa clutched his imaginary pearls in faux offense. “But you are the constant of our triangle. It’s not the same without you.”

Asha’s nose wrinkled, shocked to see her sister so despondent about her leaving. She glanced at T’Challa, whose face was also a bit crestfallen but he did a better job of hiding it.

“Come on guys! I’m gonna be gone for a few days, a week tops. I have to come back… all my clothes are here,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. Her joke only earned her small chuckles much to her dismay.

“Would you want it to be permanent, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you want to live in Jabariland? With M’Baku?” T’Challa asked, already knowing the answer even if she didn’t yet.

“I hadn’t thought about it honestly. Maybe, one day.” Under her siblings’ knowing stares, she amended her statement. “But M’Baku and I are trying to go slow, take our time. We have been dating for two days, I doubt he is redecorating the Lodge for me yet.”

T’Challa and Shuri shared a knowing glance that didn’t go unnoticed before ushering her toward the plane, a sudden 180 turn from their original despondent looks. “What was that look for?”

T’Challa smiled, “Nothing. We just think you are underestimating the speed of the Jabari. Have fun sister. Try not to burn Jabariland down while you are there,” he winked.

“Too soon, brother… too soon,” she chuckled before waving them goodbye as the Talon ramp closed and the plane sped off.

****

“M’Baku! It was foolish to think you could redecorate your quarters in three days,” N’Danna reminded him as the man rearranged furniture and put new things he got at the market out. “I thought she had been here once, I am sure she likes it just fine.”

M’Baku scoffed, “I do not want her to like it. I want her to want to live in it. I spoke to T’Challa to learn a bit more about her, things she liked. I picked up a few things from being in her office but he gave me some other ideas. I commissioned two new paintings from her favorite artist but those won’t be here until her next visit, Olabisi was able to make her flowers again,” he pointed to the red-orange tipped roses on the bedside table, “I put them on this side of the bed because… well, does liking sunsets mean you also like the sunrise? I have only slept with her twice so who knows if she is a morning person. Oh but T’Challa said she really doesn’t need much sleep so… Oh look at these… I just got them carved.”

He rushed to the bag by the door and pulled out a box that contained wooden panthers and rhinos. He laid them on the coffee table in his lounge area, excitedly looking from them to N’Danna like a child showing off a new toy.

“You have been inside the mind of a woman, you think she will like them?”

“Relax brother. She will love all of it, they are… cute.”

M’Baku nodded, taking some of his older carvings down and sliding the animals into their place, putting one by her side of his bed. Just as he was examining the room, looking for another thing to move or switch out to expel his nervous energy, Kide popped his head in.

“The Talon is approaching, my Lord. About 5 minutes out.”

M’Baku nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously. He nodded at N’Danna to walk with him toward the landing outside the Lodge.

“Oh N’Danna, I need one more favor.”

N’Danna rolled his eyes before they bugged out of his head, his chief’s passing thoughts cueing him into the favor before the words left his mouth. “A-are you serious? M’Baku? So soon?”

M’Baku sighed, it didn’t feel too soon to him. “I have known since the moment I first spoke to her. I do not need to see anything else. I-I do not need anymore time. And I don’t think she does either.”

N’Danna stood and pulled the man into an embrace. “Congrats. I will get everything squared away for you. Don’t worry about a thing. Just spend time with your girl.”

The two men shook hands before N’Danna took off in the opposite direction and M’Baku headed to greet Asha.

This time when Asha stepped off the plane and into the fresh snow of Jabariland, it felt totally different. She was still nervous but not in the anxiety sort of way. It was nervous excitement filling her belly. She didn’t have to wait long before M’Baku rushed forward and swept her into a tight hug.

“I have missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she whispered, kissing his lips.

Their hands joined, her fear of burning him long gone and almost forgotten. She felt sort of out of place as she walked, soldiers saluting her and M’Baku as they strolled through the Lodge.

“I hope you do not mind but I was hoping you would stay in my quarters this trip. But I had your room from your last visit set up for you, should that make you more comfortable.”

Asha smiled, appreciative of the sweet but unnecessary gesture. Where ever he was, that’s where she wanted to be.

“Your quarters are perfect, thank you.”

And thus started, what Asha could only describe as three magical days with the love of her life. M’Baku spent half of the day working, during which a guard would take Asha down to the market. She spent most of her time chatting with Olabisi, who told her thrilling tales of the Jabari and The Chosen, stories Asha imagined she would have read in that book, had she ever gotten past the first page. She explained all the different powers the Chosen in the tribe had now: flight, chlorokinesis, elemental control like Asha, mind reading, telepathy, invisibility… they were as diverse as they were powerful. She offered book recommendations for Asha, which she immediately went and found in the Lodge’s library.

After, she just roamed the market, under the watchful eye of one of M’Baku’s guards. She stopped at every merchant asking them every question she could think of about their work and life in Jabariland. She sat and watched the wood makers carve Jabari wood and knobkerries. Every day she met someone new, learned something new, and basked in the beauty of Wakanda’s most plentiful resource: her people. This is what she knew she was missing her whole life. This was her freedom, to be among her people. No one was afraid of her here, no one cared about her powers. She watched all day as Chosen used their powers to help get things done faster and more efficiently, assistance that was not only accepted but appreciated. Asha thought back to her conversation with her brother, about potentially living here permanently. And she knew, in her heart, she could… that she wanted to. Jabariland was starting to feel more like home than the Golden City ever had.

After leaving the market and shops, she would meet M’Baku for a late lunch and then he would take her to his favorite spots around the Lodge and mountains. They would hike each evening, catching the sunset at a spot, Asha giddy like a child at every single one. Her third night, he even had a picnic set up waiting for her at the end of their hike.

“How was the market today?” M’Baku asked as they walked back to his bedroom after returning from their hike.

“Amazing as always. I met this man, he said he has been carving Jabari wood since he was 10. He made the cutest rhino figurine for me - I am going to give it to Okoye. He was so nice and just told me about all the different things he carves and all the Jabari symbols, what they mean. Oh I met the Chief Fisherman and his husband at their shop. They were so sweet, told me all about their daughter who, apparently, wants to be an engineer like Shuri. I will have to tell her, maybe on my next visit she can come and meet her? Do you think she would like that? I think Shuri would be really excited.”

M’Baku smiled brightly, listening to her go on and on about the Jabari, all stories he already knew as Chief but there was something about hearing her say it. The excitement and passion for the people she was meeting… she sounded like she born for the title of Queen of Jabariland.

“What? Am I rambling? I am rambling, aren’t I?” She asked as she noted the look on his face.

“No, no not at all. I just like seeing you like this. So excited about the people here.”

“Well, the Jabari are the first Wakandans I have had a conversation for longer than five minutes with. To be among the people, learn their names and their stories? There is nothing better. I didn’t realize how much I was missing, how much joy it brings. Thank you,” she stretched her body and kissed him gently on his lips.

In lieu of responding, he just wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in deeper for a long, passionate kiss. After a few moments, they broke apart, Asha muttering that she wanted to take a shower after such a journey. The hikes still didn’t seem to bother M’Baku, but Asha always felt like she had endured a rigorous workout afterward.

M’Baku shook his head slightly. He understood and respected her desire to go slow. But that wasn’t making it any easier. He wanted her so badly it hurt. But he wanted her to be ready.

After her shower, Asha stood in his mirror, giving herself a pep talk as she examined the dark red lace lingerie on her slender frame in the mirror. Though there was always something she could find wrong, aside from the blemishes she could not get rid of in 5 minutes, even she could admit that she looked good… sexy even. She whispered confident words to herself before opening the bathroom door. His back was to her as he stood, looking out his window. Her walk faltered for a minute, her confidence fading fast as she realized she would have to actually get his attention.

He wants you. You want him. You can do this.

“M’Baku,” she whispered. He turned around slightly at the sound of his name, doing a double take as he realized what exactly covered her beautiful frame.

“Usana,” he breathed quietly as she had literally stolen his breath and ability to speak. He had never been rendered speechless by a woman before, usually he had that effect on them. But here his goddess stood, more beautiful than anything he had seen on this Earth. His eyes studied the smooth brown skin peeking through the triangle cut outs of her bra and panty set, studied her so closely as if he had to commit her to memory.

“You like it, my love?” She teased, his inability to form words fueling her confidence as she walked toward him, her fingers trailing up his biceps once she was in arm’s length of him.

“Who wouldn’t? You are a vision, sithandwa sam” He whispered back before gently grabbing the back of her thighs and hoisting her up. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his midsection as he carried her to his bed. She quickly found herself laying on her back among the mountain of soft white furs covering his bed. He stared down at her for a moment, soaking in her beauty. This is how he always wanted to see her… wild and unreserved.

He leaned over and kissed her deeply before creating a path of kisses down her body. Her body and mind knew his end destination, her quiet squirms begged him to make the journey there faster. But he didn’t care, he wanted to take his time… watch her come undone piece by piece. His mouth explored her soft, supple skin, kissing or gently biting every available and exposed inch. Soft moans escaped her lips, a sensual symphony to his ears.

“M’Baku, please,” she begged as he placed soft kisses everywhere but where she needed it most. Asha’s eyes clenched shut in anticipation and her hands gripped the furs on his bed as his lips finally reached the promise land of her sensitive bud. Her back arched slightly as he sucked on her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. His thick finger entered her, curling immediately into her g-spot, increasing her pleasure tenfold.

“Fuck… M’B-Baku… don’t stop, please,” she begged. Unnecessary words because stopping was the furthest thing from his mind. He was doing Hanuman’s work, pouring all the love and adoration she missed out on in her life into her, showing her what it meant to be worshipped and adored as she deserved. He had no intention of stopping that important work. Hell, he could do this all night.

Asha’s eyes clenched shut as she rode the waves of passion and pure ecstasy his mouth and hands were providing. His eyes never left her face as he devoured what was now his favorite meal, each moan, groan, and plead for mercy or more spurring him on. Her thighs clamped around his head as he pushed her farther up the mountain of desire. He inserted a second finger in her as she grew louder, signaling that her orgasm was near.

It didn’t take long of his expert ministrations for Asha to feel that snap that led to the most life-altering orgasm of her life, years of self-pleasure paled in comparison. She let out a continuous stream of praise and curse words as she road the waves of bliss.

“That’s it, come for me my queen. Hanuman, you are beautiful.”

He emerged from between her legs, immediately kissing her deeply. The smell of smoke caught both of their attention at the same time, pulling them out of their own little world of pleasure and passion to find smoke rising from the comforter. A large black patch of burnt fur now staining his white fur blanket. Asha quickly removed the smoke from the air before hitting herself in the forehead, embarrassment and frustration quickly sliding onto her face.

“I am so sorry, M’Baku! Ugh, I h-have never done this, especially without the rings. I-I didn’t know that would-“ He captured her lips to shut her up, laughing lightly.

“It is just a blanket, my love. I have five more just like it in the closet. And if we burn all of those, I can get fifty more made. Take a deep breath. I do not care about that.”

She nodded, laughing lightly before recapturing his lips. There he was again, pulling her back from the cliffs just as she was about to tumble down with such ease and care. Her anxieties and frustrations melted away as he kissed her, her hands drifting down toward his pants, preparing to pull them down.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to do this.”

His breathy whispers in her ear made her want him even more, despite the content of his words.

“I want you. I want this.” She offered him an encouraging smile before he stood up and pulled his pants and boxers off. Her voice hitched and eyes widened as she took him in. He was more than she could have ever imagined… in every way. The bed dipped as he climbed back on top of her. Every second felt like cruel and unusual punishment as she waited, every pleasure sensor in her body begging and pleading to be catered to.

She gasped as he pushed into her, her body wholly unaccustomed to being stretched this much before. It was painful, as she expected, but she could already feel the pleasure brewing underneath… the pleasure that made getting passed this uncomfortable part worth it. He kissed her softly and whispered sweet nothings into her ears as he slowly slid into her. She was thankful he was a thoughtful and gentle lover, her mind briefing thinking about the bullet she dodged with Hasani, who wouldn’t have cared how painful the experience was for her.

It didn’t take long for the pain to quickly fade into earth shattering, mind-blowing pleasure as M’Baku started his slow and steady strokes into her. His dick curved right into her g-spot, forcing moans and words of love and adoration at the end of every stroke.

“How does it feel, my queen?”

“F-fuck, M’Baku,” she panted as he rocked into her, slowing picking up the pace as her moans grew louder and her orgasm approached. “Feels… so.. g-good. D-don’t stop.”

M’Baku’s never-ending stamina meant that stopping wasn’t in the cards for him anytime soon. Through orgasm after orgasm, the couple spent the evening completely enthralled in passionate love-making. His quarters soaked up the screams and moans of the princess of Wakanda as they transitioned between positions and he took her to places she never knew possible. She lost track of the orgasms he pulled from the depths of her soul throughout the night. She was completely spent by the time M’Baku came and rolled off her.

She shifted to her side lazily to watch him walk to the bathroom, eyes half closed. “How are you not exhausted?”

“The might of the Jabari,” he called from the bathroom. When he returned, he sat down next to her and cleaned her up with a warm wet towel before climbing into bed. She shifted to lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

“My princess?”

Asha looked up from her spot curled up in an oversized arm chair in the library to find Kide looking at her. After last night, she didn’t really have the energy to walk around the market today and M’Baku had a long day of meeting so she opted to stay in the library and snuggle up by the window to read.

“Asha will do just fine,” she reminded the young guard as she slide her bookmark in place.

“Asha, Lord M’Baku has asked that I escort you to your spot on the west mountains. He will meet you there. The carriage is waiting outside.”

Asha’s nose wrinkled at the break in their tradition of hiking to the various spots together but she let go of it rather quickly. She imagined that the only reason he would break their tradition was for some sort of surprise. And while she had no earthly idea what it could be, she certainly didn’t want to ruin it by messing up his plans.

She followed Kide outside, one foot in the carriage before an idea struck her.

“Kide?”

“Yes?”

“C-could we maybe get there a different way?”

Kide’s eyes widened before a smile graced his face. “Are you sure?”

“Well, the last time I tried it… I almost died? So I figure I could use the practice?”

She wasn’t sure if her black jumpsuit, while insanely cute, was functional for flying. But she decided not to let that stop her. She looked up to find Kide already circling her head, waiting for her.

I can do this. I can do this. She chanted before pushing off of the ground. She wobbled a bit before finding her balance and propelling herself higher into the sky next to him. The cold air whipped against her face as she flew behind Kide, slightly lower than him, around the mountains. She looked down and she could see everyone walking around below them, the occasionally hand pointed up or waving at them as they flew past.

The higher they climbed up the side of the mountain, the more her eyes watered. However, she continued to push forward. She followed close behind Kide, circling the clearing she knew too well before diving behind him to land. The first thing she heard was applause when her feet touched the white snow. She turned to find M’Baku sitting on a rock, waiting for her, a bright smile on his face.

“Thank you, Kide.”

“Any time, my princess.” He turned and walked back to the guards waiting on the snow-covered road by the carriage. She turned her attention to M’Baku, noting the nervous look in his eyes, the way his hands fidgeted with his fur collar.

He didn’t say anything as he approached her, holding out his hand. She immediately placed her small one into his. They stared out at the horizon, the sky starting to fill with the oranges and yellows of sunset.

“Asha…”

She quickly turned her attention back to him, facing him as their fingers interlocked.

“I-I had this whole speech written out b-but seeing you here… I just… I am in love with you, Asha Udaka. My love for you has only grown stronger and deeper since the moment you walked into my throne room filled with grief and pain. And since then, I have witnessed you step into your power, into who you are and demand acceptance from the people who would deny you with the power and grace of a Queen. I don’t know what Hanuman has for my future but I know I want you in it… I need you in it. I don’t need anymore time to know you are the love of my life. We have proven that our love can melt away even the toughest of hardships, that this… w-what we share is unlike anything else in this world. And I know you will make a beautiful and compassionate Queen. And so…”

Asha expelled a shaky breath as M’Baku spoke. She had a feeling she knew where this was heading but she wouldn’t dare let herself believe it until he said the words. She watched as he pulled two wooden bands out of his pocket. The tears streaming down her face obscured her vision slightly but she knew exactly what those meant. Her mind called back to one of the many books she had read over the last few days, one detailing the engagement tradition of the Jabari. The dark brown wooden bracelet was the standard tribe engagement band, engraved with Jabari symbols that represented the future they would build together. But the gold one, reserved only for the tribe’s chieftess, carried a small inscription chosen by M’Baku.

“Will you marry me?”

“Y-yes, yes! 100 times yes,” she whispered immediately. She didn’t need to think about it, didn’t need more time. Her love for M’Baku… she knew nothing like it in this world. And here he was, offering her a future she thought she would never get to have. “I love you so much.”

Her hand shook slightly as he slid the bracelets onto her arm and wrapped his arms around her. He peppered her face with soft kisses as she laughed, pure joy radiating off them. They only stopped when Asha heard cheering from around them.

“What is th-“ she turned to find all the important people in her life emerging from the trees. Shuri was the first to rush toward her, running into her like a small train as she always did. Her crying intensified as she hugged her sister and looked at T’Challa, Nakia, Okoye and all the Dora behind her.

Shuri released her and T’Challa wrapped her in a tight hug, wiping away the tears that streamed down her face.

“D-did you all k-know about this?”

“We may have had an idea or two. Congratulations, Asha. T-this is truly amazing.”

Asha shared hugs with everyone as they offered her congratulations, before returning to M’Baku’s side. The guards brought out rum from the carriage for the group to toast, passing cups around for each person.

Asha felt as though her heart was so full it may burst at the seams, her happiness almost overwhelming.

“Lord M’Baku, if I may? A toast!” T’Challa called out, raising his glass. “To my younger sister, Asha and Lord M’Baku. I don’t know if I have ever met two people more destined for each other than you. We are so happy for you, you both deserve the world and I know you have that and more here. Congratulations and here is to many more sunsets together.”

Asha’s smile could have lit up all of Jabariland as she listened to her brother. They toasted and drank rum as they watched the sun fall below the horizon together. Asha nestled herself into her fiancé’s side as she looked around at the people she loved and who loved her immensely. Bast was right, Asha’s life was overflowing with love and her future with hope. She couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it surrounded by M’Baku, T’Challa, Shuri, Nakia and Okoye… the people she loved most in this whole world. Their journey had been long and rugged, but every step brought her to this summit. And it was worth it.

****

Tag List: @destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @jellybean531 @skysynclair19 @ashanti-notthesinger @gloriousgam3r @archivistofwakanda @leahnicole1219 @mygirlrenee @dramaqueeenamby

#m'baku smut #m'baku x reader #m'baku imagines #T’Challa fan fiction #black panther fanfiction #Black Writers #black writer #m'baku x oc

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch. 118

Winding down to the end of 2020, when there will be an announcement regarding the story. No worries: I’m not stopping at the end of the year!

First, thanks for this chapter go to: @zommbiebro for Jokul, @wildforestferret for Hannah, @baelpenrose for Alistair and being an amazing Beta Reader/writing partner, and @raven-fae for originally giving me the NERVE to start posting this so long ago. I never imagined that a one-off response to a writing prompt would become so much!

Housekeeping stuff: I updated the Master List and the page links over the weekend (whew), and also finished all the chapters that will post through the end of the year! Much excite, so relief.

Rushing between appointments, I was trying to multitask by looking over one of the files for the cooking class volunteers. Quiet beeps in the back of my mind should have reminded me to watch where I was going as I kept setting off proximity warnings in people I nearly ran into. I was so focused on my task that I ignored the mutters around me of how rude I was being, until the alert suddenly started getting louder and louder, practically screaming before I snapped out of my trance and stopped walking.

In front of me was a familiar set of broad shoulders, and just past him was a wall that I nearly ran us both into. “Conor, what are you doing?” I asked, started to see him seemingly just staring at a wall and humming away.

He turned toward me with a grin, dropping a kiss on the top of my head in greeting. “I didn’t realize that was you,” he answered. “I heard someone coming, but figured they would either turn or rather run into me than the wall.”

“And why are you staring at the wall?”

“Wasn’t staring,” he corrected. “I was working on this.” He stepped aside with a flourish, revealing one of the wall-tanks set up throughout the Ark for Else. Soft yellow motes drifted in the tank, evidence of Else’s continued breakneck evolution. However, this tank had something new in it…

“You put snowflakes in there?” I asked, confused.

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “When Sam, Derek, and I started putting out the Insert Winter Holiday decorations this week, Else got curious and asked what we were doing. Derek explained - he talks to them better than I do - and they wanted something in their habitat, too, like we have.”

“And you decided on snowflakes?”

“Else picked that, actually. They are very curious about snow, since they developed… well, here, where there is no weather…”

“I guess that is fair.” Suddenly, I felt rude for talking about Else like they weren’t present. I still hadn’t gotten in the habit of speaking directly to them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you…” I cringed a little inside.

Is okay, Else replied. We are not offended. Will we see real snow one day?

I thought about it. “Probably? Von has atmosphere, and the nights are long enough that the temperature probably gets really cold. It may have the right conditions for snow.”

Many humans think snow is beautiful. We would like to see snow.

“You and me both, buddy,” I admitted. “I love it.”

Conor shuddered. “No thank you. You can keep your cold mush.” Checking his databand, he groaned. “I have to get going. See you later, Else.” He dropped another kiss on my head. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he promised.

“No bruises?”

“No bruises.”

I smiled before jumping to check the time myself. “Shit,” I swore softly. “Else, I gotta go, too. I have an appointment five minutes ago.”

Humans can time travel?

“I wish,” I muttered, practically running to get there on time. I prayed that Alistair kept Hannah busy while I raced to our interview.

I showed up breathless and dishevelled, but only ten minutes late. Great first impression you’re giving, I scolded myself as I tried to get my hair somewhat more tidy and catch my breath. Straightening, I scanned my datapad and entered my office.

Hannah was nodding seriously at something Alistair was saying, and all I could do was pray he wasn’t telling her some embarrassing story about me. Both of them looked up as I entered, and Hannah approached me to shake my hand. “Hello, Sophia! Or should I address you as Councillor. I’m not entirely sure…”

“Sophia is fine,” I reassured her. “Did Alistair explain why I asked you to meet with me today?”

She shook her head. “No, we were just talking about Zachary’s work with Councilor Ranganathan.”

“That is part of it,” I agreed. “Zach is one of several people who Pranav is mentoring, hoping to build a pool of candidates to fill his position in the future. I asked you to meet with me to see if you would be interested in doing the same, with me?”

Her eyes widened. “You want me… to learn your job?”

“I assure you, it is much safer than I make it look.” I tried to sound confident, but was already bracing for her to reject the position.

“It’s not that - “ Wait, what? “I just. Do you really think I could?”

“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could do it,” I assured her, somewhat dumbfounded. Recovering quickly, I pushed on. “I want to be clear - this is an elected position, so there is no guarantee that you would be my successor. The goal of the mentorship is to help you decide if you even want to do it, at all, along with ensuring that the Ark has the opportunity to choose between people who definitely know how to do the job. And more importantly, want to do the job.”

Alistair picked up from there. “In the Before, if you remember, many elections were decisions based on which candidate would do the least harm, rather than the most good. The Council is trying to change that.”

She nodded in understanding. “So there would be other people you are mentoring?”

So far, so good. “Hopefully three, yes.”

“Will you be working with us at the same time?”

“If all three of you accept, I am hoping to work with each of you one day per week individually, and the rest collectively,” I confirmed. “More specific than that, I will meet with all of you to explain once I know who has accepted. But I wanted to extend the offer in person, so I can answer any questions you may have.”

Hannah nodded again. “Would we be working the same hours you do?”

I was very glad Alistair and I already thought that part through, along with Tyche’s input. “Initially, no. You would only work half of my shift, and what half would be at my discretion. However, this would be considered your job allotment, so you would not have to worry about any schedule conflicts. The only reason I will be deciding which half of my shift you work is because it may change due to Council meetings that you may not be privy to, or if there is nothing beneficial to your learning happening during the other half.”

“Why only half?” She asked.

“Councilors generally work double shifts,” Alistair advised her. When her eyes widened again, he continued, “In my experience, as her assistant, she will never ask you to work as much as she does, but she is very insistent that if she is not working, neither are you.”

I shook my head at him. “What he isn’t explaining is that there are also often large gaps in my day when I have no appointments and no paperwork to go through. So being in the office for sixteen to twenty hours sounds grueling, but I am rarely here the entire time. That’s just the window when people are allowed to set appointments, or when the Council can convene outside of emergencies.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “I was honestly about to walk out until you explained that a bit better.”

I leaned over to Alistair and hissed. “People skills!”

“Professionalism…” he murmured back.

Hannah smiled at our antics. “Another question: What exactly do you do?”

I groaned, and Alistair smirked at me. Jokul had been so right on that point that it wasn’t even funny. “Since Zach is shadowing Pranav, I’m going to assume you know how the parts about voting in Council sessions works, right?” She nodded. “Okay, so that’s the big part that most people know about. They vote on an issue, their votes go to their representative Councilor, who votes on their behalf, short version. On a day to day basis, each Councilor is responsible for heading up everything on the Ark in a certain field. For me, that’s any large scale events, staffing, or major adjustments to how people are able to live their day-to-day lives. I have one assistant,” I gestured to Alistair, “and an Administrator, my sister Tyche. She handles all of the small staffing concerns, because she is amazing at it.”

“So… Insert Winter Holiday, the annual Food festival…?”

I nodded. “Along with the gravity changes, the day cycle changes, the proximity alerts, creating and maintaining quiet rooms, finding people to back fill gaps caused by large projects or initiatives, large scale announcements to the ship, et cetera.”

“That’s… a lot…” She bit her bottom lip in concern.

“Really, it’s a handful of major events each year, plus the daily stuff. And I work really closely with the other Councilors, largely because once most projects are past a staffing point, it falls under their jurisdiction to execute.”

Slowly, she nodded. “Okay…” After a moment, she nodded much more firmly. “Okay, I’ll try it.”

One down, two to go, I cheered in my head as I resisted the urge to scream with joy.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #aliens #original science fiction #science fiction #scifi #apocalypse #learning to live #hfy #earth is space australia #original writing #my writing

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mitsdriveswhere · 3 years

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The White Sands One

Cool, cool, that’s an easy order to comply with.

If you have an attention span longer than a goldfish.

Thankfully! After another five or ten minutes I finally saw a car with flashing lights and a guy standing just outside waving at me to turn left. So I turned left, and not too long after found myself at the Trinity Site. It was truly amazing, some of the original artifacts like ‘Jumbo’ or a post WWII casing that resembled the Fatman. The obelisk in the center of the detonation field was exactly 100 feet below where the original Gadget had been deployed, the tower it had been atop completely obliterated save some spikes of metal sticking out from the ground. All around, you can hear Geiger counters going off as a few national park personnel explain how trinitite, the expensive, radioactive glass found only here, was created. And of course, a lot of people with very large guns.

So I went over to one of the big men with big guns and said in my sweetest ‘I am a very dumb but fragile tourist’ voice, “How do I get out of here?”

#the dumbest shit in the weirdest places #travel #travel story #road trip #new mexico #white sands #white sands missile range #trinity #trinity site

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

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🍂 Never Too Late (Best Jeanist / Tsunagu Hakamada)

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Family, Slice of Life, Halloween, Autumn

Word Count: 3,884

Pairing: Quirkless Reader x Best Jeanist

World: Boku no Hero Academia

Prompt: [x] “You answer the door when I’m trick or treating and at first you say I’m way too old to be doing this but somehow I convince you to come out and join me.”

Author’s Note: This was written for the “Sweater Weather” collab over at the BNHA Sanctuary discord server. You can find the masterlist post [here] – make sure you check it out to read the other awesome entries for this collab! Thank you very much @pluviophile-imagines for hosting this collab. Happy Autumn everyone! For reference, I picture [this] and [this] for him out of costume. I tried finding the original creators and couldn’t, so if you know please let me know!

October 5th, 10:20 am 🍂

October had finally arrived, bringing with it a slew of brisk weather and a kaleidoscope of vivid oranges, reds, and browns. This was your favorite time of year, a time where you got to fully enjoy yourself, free of the shackles of adulthood. It felt so freeing, as if you were once again a child, ignorant of the ways of the world and just wanting to have fun.

Your eyes scanned the walls, lined with all manner of costumes. The back wall was dedicated to the top heroes, of course, the right wall featuring the usual suspects – cats, witches, zombies, even minions. The opposite wall was dedicated to characters from shows and movies.

Despite having been thinking this decision over for months, you still weren’t sure what you wanted to dress up as. There were just too many choices!

‘Maybe a pirate? Pirates are pretty cool. Ah, but black cats are a Halloween staple!’

After spending more time than you cared to admit, you eventually settled on a black cat pirate – which was just a pirate with black cat ears, a tail, and whiskers drawn on your face. With your costume now acquired, you left the back of the store to fill the basket with various decorations and as many different types of candy that you could find.

Satisfied that you couldn’t fit anything else in the basket, you headed for the front to check out, excited to get home and start decorating.

October 29th, 8:10 pm 🍂

“Ne, Katsuki -” you paused in the doorway of his bedroom, giving him a sheepish smile when multiple pairs of eyes turned to you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had your friends over.”

“Try fucking knocking next time,” Katsuki grunted angrily but his tone lacked its usual bite. “What do you want, Y/N?”

“Oh, right! I was going to ask if you wanted to go trick-or-treating with me!” you chirped happily, clapping your hands together.

“Like hell I want to do that dumb shit! I’m not a damn kid anymore!”

“A-Ah, right…” your expression fell but you tried your best to keep your smile intact. You should have known that he wouldn’t agree. Seeing this made his resolve falter but he was in front of his classmates and refused to show weakness to them. If he gave in to you, they’d never let him live it down.

“I’ll go with you!” Kaminari’s hand shot up into the air, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Like hell you will!” Katsuki snapped, smacking the blonde on the back of the head. “You’re a damn adult, you shouldn’t even be doing something so stupid.”

“Yeah…” your smile fell an inch, knowing that he was right. Was it really so wrong? Just because you had passed over into adulthood, you weren’t allowed to have fun? To relive the best time of your life?

“Come on, Bakugo, I bet it’d be fun!” Kirishima commented from across the table.

“Yeah!” Mina agreed, sending you a smile.

You shook your head, giving them a soft closed-eye smile. “It’s alright. Katsuki’s right, you’re not kids anymore! Whatever you guys choose to do on Halloween, please be safe!” You turned on your heel and left the room before anyone could say anything else.

Mina frowned at the closed door before turning to the ash blonde. “Your sibling is so sweet! You shouldn’t be so mean to them, Bakugo.”

“Just shut up and do your damn homework!” he snapped, vermillion eyes narrowed at his notebook as he crossed his arm across his chest. A small pool of guilt was settling within his gut, but he pushed it back just as he always did.

October 31st, 9:30 pm 🍂

You checked the clock as you adjusted your costume in the mirror. It was getting late and most of the kids had already returned home, their parents not wanting them out too late. You honestly felt nervous about going out trick-or-treating, not knowing how people were going to react. The negative part of your brain was telling you that it wouldn’t go over well.

So what if you were an adult? You just wanted to have fun for one night! To forget that you were quirkless and sheltered. To forget how unfair life had been.

Trick-or-treating reminded you of simpler times when your brother was more manageable and kind and was still friends with Izuku. You remembered fondly how your friends would always complain because you had to take the two out trick-or-treating instead of hanging out with them, but you didn’t mind. It was fun for you – plus Katsuki looked adorable as a werewolf and Izuku as a pumpkin.

Now they were both teenagers. Even if they did still want to go trick-or-treating, they would certainly rather be with friends rather than you. They didn’t need you to look after them anymore. They were heroes in training, after all, and you were just a quirkless adult trying to keep it together.

Shaking your head to rid yourself of the bad thoughts beginning to form inside your mind, you forced yourself to smile before stepping out of your room and down the stairs.

Masaru, your father, was just shutting the door after handing out candy to some kids. He smiled when he noticed you. “Heading out, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “Yup! How do I look, dad?”

“Gorgeous, as always!” he pulled you into a hug before pecking your forehead. “Be safe and don’t stay out too late, okay?”

“Okay~” you tried to hurry out the door before your mom realized that you were leaving the house, but she seemed to have a sixth sense about such things. Just as you tugged the door open, she came waltzing out of the kitchen.

“Y/N!” she cried, making your shoulders tense up as you turned slightly. She stood just inside the doorway, her brow furrowed. “You’re really going to go trick-or-treating? You’re too old for this and you…”

“And I’m quirkless and weak,” you finished for her, lips formed into a thin line. “Yeah, I got that, mom. You feel the need to remind me every day.”

“That’s not…” her vermillion eyes landed on her husband and she scowled. “Masaru, tell them that they are too old for this!”

“Honey,” he spoke softly, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Y/N isn’t hurting anyone, they’re just enjoying the season. Go on, Y/N. Have a fun night, sweetheart.”

You sent him a grateful look, ignoring your mom’s sputtering as you quickly slipped out of the house, slamming the door behind you.

The air outside was moist and cold, wind whipping through the trees and robbing them of their leaves. The ground was littered with them, each one a vibrant shade of orange, brown, or red. Despite the sky being covered by clouds, the bright light of the full moon managed to break through in streams.

While the streets were mostly empty, there were still several groups of kids scattered about, talking and laughing loudly. You decided it would be best to leave the neighborhood since most everyone knew who you were. You worried about them complaining to your parents. You already caused them so much trouble, you didn’t want to bring anymore onto them.

October 31st, 10:49 pm 🍂

As the night wore on, more and more people turned their lights off to indicate that they were no longer giving out candy or that they had run out. It was getting hard to find people still participating and most of the kids had given up by this point, deciding to hang out in the cemetery or return home.

‘I haven’t even been out that long, but… I guess I should head home so mom doesn’t end up hurting dad trying to come looking for me,’ you sighed, about to turn around when a light caught your attention from the end of the street. ‘It’s the only house on this street with its lights on. I guess one more can’t hurt!’

You steeled yourself, walking down the dark street toward the house. The street lamps were spread far enough apart to leave darkness between them, the bulbs dull and flickering as they tried to die out. The only decoration on the house was a cute little sign on the door of a pumpkin covered in glitter. The words Happy Halloween were stitched on the top in what looked to be jean fabric.

You had visited quite a few houses and had procured several different types of candy into your bag. Most of them, surprisingly, hadn’t given you a second thought when you knocked on their door. Others just gave you the stink eye but said nothing. There were a few, though, that had given you a stern lecture or cussed you out before slamming the door in your face.

For the first group of people, you believed you had just gotten lucky because you had walked up with or behind a group of kids and they most likely just assumed that you were with them. With no more kids around, though, you couldn’t exactly pull that stunt.

Taking a breath, you brought your hand up, rapping your knuckles on the wood. A minute or so passed before the door was pulled open, revealing a tall, thin man. His blonde hair was swept over his left eye and he wore a tan-colored turtle-neck sweater with a pair of blue jeans. He looked so… familiar, but you couldn’t quite place who he was.

You put on a bright smile, holding up the bag. “Trick-or-treat!”

He quirked a brow, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. “You’re a bit old to be trick-or-treating, don’t you think?”

Your smile didn’t falter because you had expected this already at every house. “Last time I checked, there was no age limit on having fun. I’m not breaking any laws, either. Now, if you don’t mind sir, please give me candy or tell me to leave.”

His blue eyes observed you for a moment, a spark of amusement within them. “Tell me, is it really so fun to do this?”

“I think you,” you nodded. “It reminds me of simpler, happier times. Maybe I’m stupid for trying to cling to that each year, but I’ll be damned if I give up now.”

His gaze locked with yours, softening at the pained look within your eyes. You hid it well, but he was trained to pick up on such things. He pushed away from the doorframe, stepping back inside the house to grab the candy bowl before holding it out to you. “Take what you want. I doubt any other kids will be coming around.”

“Thank you,” you offered him a smile before picking out a few pieces of your favorite candy. “Have a good night.”

“Wait a moment,” he held up his finger before disappearing into the house. When he returned, he was shrugging on a black jacket. “Let me walk you home.”

You quirked a brow as he pulled the door closed, sliding the key in to lock the door. “It doesn’t seem very smart to let a strange man know where I live.”

“That’s true,” he chuckled, keys clinking as he slipped them into his pocket. “Allow me to walk you to your neighborhood, then.”

“What a gentleman,” you smiled softly, beginning down the street with him at your side. “With that kind of attitude, you should be a hero.”

Amusement flickered through his eyes, lips twitching upward. “Hm, I hear being a hero is quite dangerous, though.”

“Yeah…” you turned your gaze to the ground, feeling a frown come to your lips. “That’s what worries me about my brother becoming one. It’s his dream, though, and even if I said anything about it, there’s no way he’d listen. He’s such a hard head.”

“I’m sure he’ll be a great hero one day.”

“He definitely will.”

Silence settled over the two of you as you made it back toward your home. As you passed by another street on the way, you suddenly paused because most of the houses on this street were still lit up and decorated to the nines. Several groups of older kids were making their rounds around the cul-de-sac.

“Ne, sir, do you want to experience trick-or-treating?” you grinned at him, excitement dancing within your eyes.

Blue eyes flickered from your own to the cul-de-sac and back. There was something about the innocent, pure gleam within your eyes that made it hard for him to say no. And it’s not like he had anything better to do with his night. “Sure, I’ll give it a try.”

“Great!” Without much thought, your hand slid into his, tugging him toward the first house. He didn’t understand why, but his heart started to pick up its pace upon feeling your warm skin on his despite the cold weather outside.

October 31st, 11:30 pm 🍂

Katsuki paced around his room, narrowed eyes darting to the clock every few minutes. Where the hell were you? The neighborhood was dark, the neighbors no longer handing out candy and no kids had come by in the past thirty minutes. You should have been home by now, so why weren’t you?

He could hear his mother in the living room pacing back and forth as she loudly voiced the thoughts within his head. The regret that was pooling within his belly from the other day was now getting worse as worry clawed at his insides. What if you had been captured by a villain? His eyes widened at the thought and he tore out of his room, feet stomping down the stairs.

“Katsuki! Where the hell are you going?!” Mitsuki shouted, pausing her pacing to look at her son. “It’s late!”

“None of your business, hag!” He snapped back, flinging the door open.

“At least put on a jacket!”

But he was already out the door, slamming it behind him as he took off in search of you. His heart was thundering in his chest and he could only hope that you were safe. If something had happened to you, he’d never forgive himself for not being there to protect you.

November 1st, 12:00 am 🍂

You giggled as you fell onto the swing, watching the blonde as he settled down beside you. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled softly at you, crossing one leg over the other. “I have to admit, it was more fun than I expected it would be.”

“See~? I told you!”

He chuckled, poking you in the forehead with a slim finger. “So humble.”

You grinned, sticking your chest out. “One of my best qualities!”

“Did you have the night you were expecting?”

“No,” you shook your head, tilting your head back to look at the sky. Some of the clouds had cleared up, allowing more of the moon to shine down on you. “I never expected to meet such a nice person and convert them to the ways of trick-or-treating.”

He propped his chin up in his hand, smiling warmly at you as his eyes slid across your face. With the moonlight shining down on you, you looked so magical and he briefly wondered if you might actually be a witch. It would explain why he felt such a strong connection to you after only having just met you. He most definitely wanted to see you again.

“You never told me your name.”

“You never told me yours, either,” you grinned at him before holding out your hand. “Bakugo Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

His eyes widened at your last name. The image of his first meeting with Bakugo Katsuki filled his mind and it was almost laughable. There was no way such a sweet and kind person could be related to someone so loud and angry. He refused to believe it was anything other than a coincidence.

You tilted your head curiously. “Is something wrong?”

“No, sorry. You just reminded me of something.” His hand slid into yours, his skin ice cold from the wind. “Hakamada Tsunagu. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Y/N.”

Your cheeks warmed at the way he said your name. It was like honey flowing from his lips and you could definitely get used to hearing it.

November 1st, 12:10 am 🍂

Katsuki huffed as he ran down the street, eyes snapping from one side to the other as he desperately searched for you, calling out your name. He didn’t care that his voice was cracking or that the cold was turning his skin numb.

He was running past the park when he caught movement from the corner of his eye, head snapping around to find the source. Relief flooded him when he saw you walking away from the swings with a smile on your face. Without a second of hesitation, he rushed toward you, screaming out your name as if he hadn’t seen you in years.

Your eyes widened at the familiar voice of your baby brother. “Katsuki, what’s – oof.” His body slammed into yours, arms tight around your body as he buried his face in your neck, holding on to you for dear life. Your heart picked up speed, feeling your nerves begin to fray. Had something happened? “Katsuki -”

“Where the fuck have you been?!” he barked angrily, tightening his grip on you.

“Y-You knew I was going out tonight…” you gently rubbed his back. “Did you forget?”

“No I didn’t forget, dumbass!” he huffed, fingers digging into your back. As badly as he wanted to pull away so he could scold you properly, he was too afraid that you would see the worry and the fear lingering within his eyes. He hated feeling vulnerable, especially around you. He was supposed to be strong, a hero that could keep you safe no matter what. “It’s almost one in the morning!”

“Is it really?” your eyes widened and you understood why he was acting so worried. “I must have lost track of time, I’m sorry, Kat.”

Tsunagu didn’t know how to feel about the sight before him. He felt frustrated that Bakugo Katsuki was, indeed, related to you. He felt amused by how Katsuki was acting, surprised to see something other than plain annoyance within the boy. He also felt a bit sad knowing that his time with you had come to an end.

“You better be sorry!” When Katsuki felt like he had enough control over his emotions, he finally pulled back, keeping a firm grip on your shoulders as his narrowed eyes bore into your own. “You’re going to pay me back for this.”

You smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head. “I will, I’m sorry.”

“Great, now let’s go home -” he had grabbed your hand, turning toward the entrance of the park when he finally spotted the tall blonde whom he had failed to notice in his relief to see you. His eye twitched, a shitty look coming onto his face as he pointed his finger in the man’s face. “What the fuck are you doing with my sibling?!”

Tsunagu sighed, putting his hand on his hip. “Still as tactless as ever.”

“Wait,” you glanced between the two, blinking curiously. “Do you two know each other?”

“No!” Katsuki snapped, beginning to stomp away but you didn’t budge, turning your gaze to the taller male.

“Tsunagu? How do you know my brother?”

“You’re on a first-name basis already?!”

His blue eyes met yours and his expression softened. “I’m the hero he interned with after the sports festival, Y/N.”

“Don’t you dare use their first name, you bastard!!” Small explosions went off on Katsuki’s palm but the older male just rolled his eyes at him, more focused on how you were taking the news that he was, in fact, a pro hero.

Your eyes widened. “Oh… oh my god. You’re… you’re…”

He smiled warmly, his voice soft. “The number three pro hero, Best Jeanist. At your service, Y/N.” he reached for your hand but Katsuki smacked it away, putting himself between the two of you.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re planning with my sibling, but you can forget it!” Katsuki tugged on your arm. “We’re going home, Y/N!” But you still didn’t move, staring wide-eyed at the tall man before you.

Now you understood why he looked so familiar and you wanted to smack yourself for not realizing it on your own. You had treated him so normally, as if he were just some average person. He isn’t an average person, though, he’s a great and powerful hero, one that had looked after your brother once upon a time.

Tsunagu shifted, his lips tugging down. It was subtle, but he could sense the change in the dynamic between the two of you and he didn’t like it, taking a step closer to you. “Y/N -”

You suddenly bowed, eyes screwed shut. “I apologize for being so flippant with you, Best Jeanist. I didn’t realize who you were.”

He reached for your shoulders and noticed Katsuki reaching for his arm. He was feeling annoyed now, tired of the boy interrupting him and getting between the two of you so he activated his quirk, the threads of his jeans unraveling to bind the younger Bakugo in place. He growled from beneath the cloth, struggling to break his binds.

Your eyes shimmered with wonder as you saw his quirk in action, taking note of the small holes that allowed you to see the milky skin of his outer thigh. You felt your cheeks heating up again when his hands rested on your shoulders, lithe fingers gently squeezing your skin beneath the costume.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Please don’t change how you act around me just because I’m a hero.” His eyes were so sincere and warm as his hand slipped up to your cheek, smiling at the warmth he felt there. “I may be a hero, but I’m still a person. I really did enjoy my time with you tonight.”

“I did, too,” you responded softly, offering him a smile before glancing at your brother, who was still struggling against the fabric. “We really should get home, though. Our mother’s going to have a fit…”

“Of course,” he reluctantly released the boy, dodging backward when Katsuki tried to attack him with an explosion.

“Katsuki!” you scowled, grabbing the back of his shirt without any hesitation, tugging him backward before locking your arm around his neck. “Don’t be so disrespectful!”

“Che, whatever,” he scoffed, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugged you toward the entrance of the park. You let him for a few paces before you stopped, turning to look back at the blonde that hadn’t moved.

“Are you coming, Tsunagu?”

He gave you a surprised look. “You want me to?”

“Well, you did say you were going to escort me home,” you smiled, biting your lip in thought before finding the nerve to say the next thing you wanted to. “Besides, you need to know where I live if you’re going to pick me up for our date tomorrow.”

His eyes widened a fraction before he chuckled, easily closing the distance with his long legs. You held your hand out to grab his, fingers lacing together. Katsuki grumbled loudly, aiming insults at the blonde as the three of you headed to the Bakugo household, but neither of you were paying attention to him.

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