#she tracked down his colleagues! nobody uttered a word!

[thedeadthree]

@ lhysa when she st*bs her former beloved for murdering in the fade her FORMER former late beloved….. ✨😌

[taeescript]

29+1 (Part One)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother. 

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard) 

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)

𝔴𝔠: 3.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?). 

𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts.  𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive. 

part two

Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something. 

In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?

So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down. 

You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say). 

“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?” 

An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects. 

“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.

“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.

The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made. 

“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”

Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.

Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”

Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.

“Enough about me, however, how about you?”

“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”

You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.  

“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.

And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…

“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”

Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.

“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”

“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”

You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”

“What are you doing there?”

Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”

“Or sleeping!” someone quips.

You don’t join in when they all laugh.

“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.

A hushed silence befalls everyone.

“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”

His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”

Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.

She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”

Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.

Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.

Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.

Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.

“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.

And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.

The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.

He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.  

“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”  

                                                            - Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.

Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.

He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”

The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.

“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”

Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.

He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.

“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.

You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.

“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”

He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.

Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.

Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.

“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.  

The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.

Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.

“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”

Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”

You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.

“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.

Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”

You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.

Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.

A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.

“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.

As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.

“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.

Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”

“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.

“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Want me to come visit you?”

You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.

“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”

There is a pause.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”

You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”

“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”

“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”

Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.

The child is crying much louder now.

“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”

There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”

“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.

With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.

Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.

He knew he had given you an impossible task.

“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”

There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.

The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.

“Mr. Kim.”

His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.

Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.

“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”

Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.

“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.

His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”

So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.

“Sir?”

“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.

Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”

“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”

“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.

“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”

There is no response.

“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”

“Ah,” she says.

He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”

There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.

“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.

Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.

“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”

Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”

“Two.”

“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”

This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“What?”

“Put your name on Google.”

Seokjin does as he is told.

There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.

“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”

A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.

[navegandoaciegas]

California Bound.

Pairing: Bucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, yandere, homeless!bucky, stalking, home intrusion, obsession, loneliness, sad!bucky, disturbing thoughts, dubcon? This is a dark fic.

Words: 4k

Summary: You’re so lonely and isolate in this city that if you died your neighbours wouldn’t even notice, your colleagues wouldn’t care and your boss would probably be pissed that you didn’t put in your two weeks notice before you went to hell. Bucky is tired of being alone and invisible and he knows you are too. He knows you can mend each other's’ hearts. 

A/N: set after CA:TWS. I’m not a native speaker so forgive me for any mistakes. Please let me know what you think and like and reblog if you liked it :) feedback is always appreciated!

In the unstable state of his scattered mind he can vividly recall a woman in a red dress. 

Some memories are long gone, some are fragmented, and although the lines of her face have been blurred by the passing of time and decades of electrocution, her plump red lips are permanently burned in the back of his brain.

When he closes his eyes, sometimes, he can still see her smile. 

Only she’s not smiling at him.

She’s smiling at Steve, his brother, his friend, his mission. 

Not even seventy years of brainwashing and torture could get rid of the sadness that filled him when she walked past and ignored him as if he wasn’t there, as if nothing else in that room existed except for Steve.

In his memory she doesn’t see him, and nobody has since. 

Perhaps it’s in that moment that he became no one, in that moment he was condemned to an existence of pain, loneliness and invisibility.

He’s a ghost that haunts the dirty streets of Philadelphia, crouched behind the dumpsters of dark alleys, begging the ones who sneer at him for spare change in train stations, lurking in the shadows to pickpocket the rich passerbys of the city.

  The hormone suppressants HYDRA forced on him are wearing off.

He can feel himself slipping, his most primal instincts violently surging back after 70 years of being repressed. His brain goes haywire when he catches sight of a pair of legs clad in a short skirt, the blood draining from his brain and travelling straight to his cock, and he wills himself to restrain his urges.

Modern women are so pretty, and they wear so little clothes. They don’t see him, of course, but he sees them. 

He sees those tight little dresses, those high heels, those long lashes and bright lips.

In another life he could have been like one of the rich boys he often spots outside of clubs, well dressed and well groomed, and maybe those pretty girls would have fawned over him too.

But not in this life.

In this life he’s been alone for 70 years, and his loneliness consumes him so intensely that some nights, when the cold is unbearable and the streets are empty, he wishes he hadn’t been born at all.

In this life he doesn’t shower and shave for weeks on end, and his hair is so greasy and matted that even if he wasn’t in hiding he’d have to wear a baseball cap anyways. When he looks at himself in the mirror he barely recognizes the handsome soldier in a blue uniform he saw at the Smithsonian. The man who stares back at him in the mirrors of soiled public restrooms has deep frown lines on his forehead, dark circles under dull eyes and a patch of white hair on his beard. Only the startling blue of his eyes has stood the test of time.

Those pretty girls wouldn’t spare him a second glance.

 He’s tired of the loneliness that plagues him. He just wishes to be seen.

He wants someone to look at him, really look at him, in anything other that pity or disgust. He wants someone who could hold him at night and take care of his battered soul.

He wants a companion to spend his time with, someone he could talk to; when was the last time he uttered a single word? When was the last time someone touched him tenderly?

You’d think after all he’s been through that being alone would be a walk in the park in comparison, but the emptiness that eats him alive is the most unbearable torture he’s ever been subjected to. It took HYDRA 20 years to break him, it only took the loneliness a couple of months.

  He just wants someone.

Someone who sees him.

And you do. You see him.

 He’s hunched over in a recess in the wall of an alley, violently shaking. The ground beneath him is frozen, the strong winds are like a slap in the face and the heavy-duty winter jacket he was able to steal isn’t doing much to protect him from the harsh weather. Maybe he won’t survive tonight, he almost dares to hope.

He’s still crying when he spots a pair of crisp white sneakers coming his way, and he looks up. He’s seen you around a couple of times, you’re one of the pretty girls who short circuit his brain.

You’re wearing a bright yellow winter jacket and black jeans. You look young, but he can’t tell how young. People nowadays age different than they used to back then. You’re probably way younger than him, although he has no idea exactly how old he is; he was 27 when he went to war, how much has he aged? How young is too young for a man with no age?

The light of the lamps behind you diffuses a soft halo around your body. You shine on your own light, brighter than the sun; you’re an angel so beautiful, so perfect that he doesn’t know if you’re a figment of his imagination.

You crouch down and hand him a bunch of blankets and a warm cup of something, maybe tea? When he grabs it his fingers brush against yours and it sends a jolt of electricity down his spine. He expects you to grimace in disgust at his touch, but you don’t. You smile.

You smile at him.

Suddenly he doesn’t feel the cold anymore, he only feels the warm tingling in his stomach. 

He smiles back, or at least he tries. He hasn’t smiled since World War II, as Nazis didn’t give him a lot of reasons to, to be honest. 

And just like you appeared, you’re gone in a heartbeat.

But he can’t simply let you go like that, so he resolves to summon back the Asset’s stealth and gets up to follow you.

That night when he closes his eyes the smile he sees belongs to you.

-

   They say even your worst day only lasts 24 hours; too bad your worst day has become your worst year so far.

They also say when you reach rock bottom the only way to go is up. They lied about that too.

Somehow today you’ve been scraping the bottom of the pit you’re in and have dug yourself even deeper than the lowest you could get.

You want to say your day can’t get any worse than this, but you know there’s always room for worsening.

The feeble March sun shines through the clouds and you’re dreading the flight of stairs that awaits you since your landlord categorically refuses to have the lift fixed. By the time you get to your door you’re exhausted and can’t wait to shower the day away and lounge on your couch.

 You open up the door to your apartment and get inside in a rush, only to stop dead in your tracks when you notice something is off about your home. There’s an eerie stillness about the open space, and maybe you’re going crazy but it seems like some of your things are not where you’d left them.

Apparently you just unlocked a lowest level to rock bottom.

It takes you a couple of seconds to register it, but when you do the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your brain screams danger at you.

There’s a smell inside that is not yours. It’s the strong, manly smell of sweat, and it wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant if it weren't for the fact that you live alone and don’t usually have men over.

 You never think it’s going to happen to you until it does.

You took self defense in college, you carry pepper spray with you, you always thought if you were in danger you’d be able to defend yourself, or at least bolt away.

They never tell you that fear is paralyzing. They don’t tell that the anticipation of pain roots you on the spot, that your legs feel like they’re made of lead and all you can do is wait for the impact to come. They don’t tell you that the dread that chills the blood in your veins can break the most primal of mechanisms humans have, and the fight or flight response you were counting on to save you abandons you too

When it happens, you don’t even hear it coming; there’s a prickle at the base of your neck and, before you descend into the darkness, two arms envelope you, and you feel the ghost of a kiss on your shoulder.

-

  You try to peel your eyes open when a hand delicately caresses your cheek and lingers on your lips. Your eyelids are heavy, your head is pounding like you’re having the worst hangover in you life and your whole body is aching. You want to speak, you want to shake that hand away, but you are unmoving. 

It reminds you of the medicine induced hallucination you used to have, which were an inconvenient side effect of the same prescription drugs that were supposed to help you sleep. It feels like a sleep paralysis, minus the demon sitting on your stomach. 

-

 You’re slipping in and out of consciousness when you hear it. There’s a voice speaking.

You suppose whoever it belongs to is talking to you. You strain your ears and will yourself to concentrate real hard, despite your brain pulsing in your skull and threatening to burst out.

The voice definitely belongs to a man, and whoever he is, he sounds very soft spoken and polite. Too bad he broke into your house and drugged you.

“So pretty, so perfect for me.”

“We won’t ever be lonely anymore, I promise you that.”

“...cleaned up real good for you...”

“...can’t wait for you to wake up.”

It’s all you can make out in your drowsy state. He peppers your forehead and the crown of your head with soft kisses. There’s two strong arms holding you. You fall back asleep.

-

  The sun shines brightly through the curtains of your bedroom and you want to flip the universe off for lining up the morning rays directly onto your face, and yourself for forgetting to draw the blinds.

You almost cuss yourself out for being yet again late for work when the events of the previous evening rush back to you. You wake with a jolt and you feel terror enveloping you when you see him. 

Fear grips your throat and you want to scream, you want to thrash about and punch him, and yet all you can do is look at him with wide eyes.

You feel your chest heaving but it’s almost like it doesn’t belong to you, it’s not happening to you, it can’t; you breathe but the air won’t reach your lungs. 

The man detects your distress and sits next to you. He carefully reaches for your hand and places on his chest, over his heart.

You are immobile.

You hate yourself for it. You wish you could do something about this but your stupid brain refuses to cooperate.

“Calm down baby, I’m not here to hurt you.” says the guy who gave you morphine. “Concentrate on my breathing, ‘kay? Inhale, hold your breath- good, now exhale, and again.”

He guides you through a breathing exercise that suggests you it may not be the first time he’s had to calm himself or others from an almost panic attack. The steady beat of his heart calms you down.

“Don’t cry, please.” he pleads with you.

You’re back at it again with the inappropriate thoughts for someone who’s been kidnapped and might get killed in the next few minutes, but you can’t not think how handsome your captor is.

He’s got dark hair gathered up in an elastic at the nape of his neck. His jawline is sharp and his cheekbones high. His eyes are the bluest you’ve ever seen, his lips look soft and pink and his nose is small and cute for a man so chiselled and intimidating.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” he tells you, and smiles almost shyly at you.

There’s a look on his face that should reassure you, because it means that you won’t die today, but it can only mean you’re doomed to something maybe worse than death. 

His expression is tender, like you’re the most precious thing in the world. He seems so affectionate, so loving, that for a moment you wish this was real, you wish your former partners would have looked at you so devotedly.

He takes your hand in his again and traces soothing pattern with his thumb. 

Finally you seem to snap back to reality.

“Who are you?” You manage to squeak out. Your throat is on fire, and you’re grateful for the water bottle he hands over to you.

He frowns and seems to think about it until he manages to mumble a “My name is Bucky.”

He hesitates over his name like it doesn’t really belong to him.

You’re puzzled as to why you’re so calm. You’ve never been a feisty one, that’s true; you spent your life conforming to rules, you always complied to orders because you like to be praised and you hate to disappoint. As a child you feared punishments, being grounded, the look of dissatisfaction on your parents’ faces more than anything else in the world.

But you never imagined you’d be striking a conversation with the intruder in your house like it was an everyday occurrence. 

It only takes a look to understand that you can’t outrun the guy, nor overpower him. He’s built like a bulldozer and his biceps are bigger than you. He said he wouldn’t hurt you, and as absurd as it sounds you believe him, but it doesn’t mean you’d come out unscathered if you tried to fight him.

Maybe you could outsmart him? Comply until he trusts you and then take off?

“I’ve been watching you.”  Oh shit . “You saved my life.”

You can’t stop the remark from escaping your lips. “A thank you would have sufficed, you know, no need to kidnap me and all.” 

You weren’t feisty, sure, but that didn’t mean you weren’t a snarky bitch.

The guy chuckles, and it seems like his own amusement surprises you both alike.

“Two months ago, back in January. I was freezing to death. You came and gave me blankets and tea. It warmed me enough to survive the night. I knew back then you were perfect.”

Oh, God . The one time you decided to be a good citizen and gave the blankets you hogged in your cubicle at work to the homeless guy that was always crouched in the back alley of your office building, then one you’d see when you sneaked out the back to smoke on company time.

You almost don’t recognize him. 

“You’re just like me in a way. I saw you so sad all this time, you hate your job, you’re always alone. I saw you cry because you feel so lonely. I know that it feels like. I’ve been alone for so long.” He whispers the last part softly, and your heart clenches because it’s true, you’re so damn lonely, but you can recognize the loneliness in his eyes too. He cradles your face in his hands. “But I promise you won’t be alone anymore. You got me now.”

“I don’t know- I-I don’t even know you. Please just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Please don’t hurt me.” You start to plead with him and your words get swallowed by the sobs that shake you. Your heartbeat picks up again. 

You know fear now, the real one, but it pales in comparison of the one you feel when the implication of his words starts to sink in.

He just smiles at you. 

“What do you want?” you manage to whisper.

“You. We’re going to be happy I promise. I read the notes on your phone where you wrote you wanted to travel, remember that?” You nod weakly, recalling the depressive entry about how stuck your boring life is and the bucket list of all the places you’d want to visit.

“We’re going to travel, I’ll take you wherever you want. Just don’t leave me please, be with me.”

You almost ask with what money since you’re homeless my guy, but then a thought strikes you.

You won’t miss your boring life the moment it will slip away from you; you won’t miss being stuck alone in a city you despise doing a job you hate. You won’t miss the homesickness. You won’t miss berating yourself for accepting a job immediately post grad in a city on the other side of America, just because you were scared of being left behind, of being that one person who ends up with no job after college and has to move back to their parents house.

Maybe, had you stayed in your hometown, or accepted that other position in Austin, maybe this shit wouldn’t have happened to you. You’ll never know.

He pulls you into a hug and you’re so startled your crying subsizes. 

He shushes you and coos you while rocking you in his arms. “It’s okay baby, I promise you’re going to like it, you don’t have to worry about a thing, I got it all sorted out for you.”

You’re shocked.

He pushes you down on the bed and as your mind elaborates the worst case scenario possible and as you’re on the verge of another panic attack, he simply envelops you in his arms and puts his head on your chest. 

You’re stunned again.

Almost on instinct you wrap your own smaller arms around his shoulders and he sighs contentedly. You’re so touch starved and desperate for affection that even hugging your stalkers feels kinda nice.

You haven’t touched anyone and no one has touched you in such fondness in almost a year. Hook-ups don’t count. 

You’re so lonely and isolate in this city that if you died your neighbours wouldn’t even notice, your colleagues wouldn’t care and your boss would probably be pissed that you didn’t put in your two weeks notice before you went to hell.

 Lost in thought you only notice he’s about to kiss you when it’s too late.

At first he hesitantly pecks your lips, and then he’s trying to pry your mouth open with his tongue. You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you part your lips.

He’s uncertain on how to move around, like he doesn’t know how to kiss or he’s forgetten how, he has absolutely no idea where to put his hands, and it’s honestly kind of awkward.

You imagine this is what it’s like to kiss a middle schooler.

He pulls away and blushes. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

You’re stunned yet again.

He’s not apologizing for stalking you, breaking in and drugging you, but because he’s a bad kisser?

He slants his mouth against yours again, this time more forcefully than before. And after almost choking you when he pushes his tongue so deep it would have reached your tonsils hadn’t you had them removed, he seems to get the gist of it, or maybe the muscle memory kicks back in, because even if you won’t admit it to yourself, it feels nice.

You feel sick and twisted but it’s good to have someone desire you, touch you so tenderly, kiss you so passionately. The guys you use to entertain yourself in your solitude never kiss you while they fuck you into oblivion. You forgot how comforting the weight of a warm body on yours is.

You don’t push him away until you feel your t-shirt rip.

His hands explore your body ignoring your pleads to stop.

He’s nowhere and everywhere all at once. One hand squeezes your ass and the other kneads your breasts while he leaves open mouthed, hungry kisses down your throat, until he reaches the soft skin between your neck and clavicles and starts sucking in like a man possessed. You automatically jerk forward and buckle your hips until they touch his and he lets out a groan that travels straight to your already dripping core. 

You hate yourself for it, but you’ve never been this aroused.

You hate yourself for giving in so effortlessly, for being so damn weak, so damn lonely.

It’s mortifying how easy you’re making this for him. 

Your mind tries to will your body to push him from you, but instead of shoving him away your hands grab his shoulder and pull him closer.

You hate yourself because when he dips his hand in your soaked panties as he suckles on your nipple, your body doesn’t even try to protect you. 

You’re at his mercy as he pushes his long fingers through your folds and smears your arousal around, before dipping them inside.

“All this for me, pretty girl?” 

Cocky bastard.

He moans in your mouth as he grinds his hips on your leg and you feel the extent of his manhood. 

“So pretty, so perfect, so good for me.”

It shouldn’t feel this good, but again you’ve been a slut for praise since you came out the womb. You moan and whine in pleasure and he’s clearly very proud of himself for being the one who elicits these sounds from you. His thumb finds your bud and massages it, sending jolts of unadulterated pleasure down your spine.

You’re trembling under his touch. Your legs are shaking, toes curling, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning louder what you ever have. You can feel the familiar tightness in your core that precedes an orgasm, but you need more.

“Please Bucky, please. Faster.” you whine, ashamed of yourself for pleading like that. 

You’re so lost in your own pleasure you don’t notice the look of hunger that crosses Bucky’s face at the mention of his name. He never thought he’d be able to give you so much, he never knew his hand could bring anything other than pain and destruction, but his name sounds so sweet on your tongue.

“Cum pretty girl, cum all over my fingers for me, I know you can.”

And you do. You cum so hard your vision goes black for a second as you lose yourself to the pleasure that travels from your core to the rest of your body.

You’re floating, so dazed that you barely notice he’s undressed you and taken off his pants. When you feel something prod at your entrance, you look down in horror only to find him already lined up with you.

He’s got the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, and it’s so big, so thick you’re scared he’s going to rip you apart. He doesn’t give you time to react before he’s slamming inside of you.

The scream that rips out of you is animalistic, and he stills.

“God you’re so tight, clamping down on me.” He grunts in you ear as he sets a slow pace.

The pain soon subsides and gives place to more pleasure than you’ve ever felt in your life. He picks up the pace when you stretch around his girth painlessly, and rolls his hips around.

“So good for me.”

“Mine, only mine.”

“My good girl.”

“Taking me so well.”

“Gonna fill you up so good.”

“Fuck, you feel incredible.”

Your pussy clamps down on his cock with each praise he grunts in your ear. You’re so overstimulated and he’s so vocal that you feel like you’re about to burst when you cum again and again for what feels like an eternity, before his movements become sloppier and messier.

You cum once more when he swells inside of you, and you feel the tell-tale sensation of fullness when he fills you up with his cum.

He collapses on you, panting. 

You’re both satisfied and spent.

He kisses you once more, on your lips, and it’s so sweet and tender that you almost cry because you know deep down you couldn’t take one more day of solitude.

His voice is deep and hoarse when he speaks again.

“How ‘bout we start with California?”

[moos-cow]

Soulmate Prompt #27 (The longer you are apart, the sicker you become until you two confess)

Pairing: Jonah Clemence / Reader Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1,028 Warning: Tiny spoiler for Jonah's route (well isn't everything out of the bag already by now?)

ACHOO! 

Your sneeze reverberated in your head as you fell back down on the plush cushions of your bed. An exasperated groan followed, escaping your lips from underneath the warmth of the duvet. 

"You know this isn't something that medicine can cure, right?" Kyle languidly states as-a-matter-of-factly from the foot of your bed, clearly exhausted from convincing you otherwise.

"Believe me, it can." You snarkily reply between sniffs and puffs to the visiting Red Army doctor. "I just need a stronger dose, that's all."

"No, you don't. I can’t place you on stronger meds. It's been 3 days, and you're just getting worse.” He sighs in resignation, “That’s it-- I'm calling Jonah."

"NOOO!" You object from under the covers. "That Queen of yours is the very reason why I'm sick! I mean, who in his right mind would call for a picnic date in the middle of a storm?!"

"No- but, yes, that is exactly my point! Look, he is also the only one-"

Suddenly, the bedroom door flew wide open, stopping the doctor in his tracks. Clad in his crisp uniform, an extremely worried-looking Jonah stepped into your room without any prior warnings. "Alice! You didn't respond to any of my letters, nor did you show up to our-”  his rapid-fire lecture came to a sudden halt at the sight of his red-headed colleague. “Kyle? What are you doing here?" 

"Medical house call." you smugly reply in Kyle's position, your head peeking through your sky blue sheets. "What are you doing here, Jonah? Wait, how-- did they let you in?"

"I'm the Queen of Hearts, of course, they'd let me in! But that’s not important now. What on earth happened to you, Alice? You’re a mess!"

Kyle could only run a hand through his already disheveled hair in utter frustration at the scene playing before him. "She's sick, and she's not getting better," He informed his superior.

"What do you mean 'she's not getting better' ?" Jonah sauntered to your side of the bed and placed his hand on your feverish forehead. "This was the rain, wasn’t it?" he spoke in a low voice, a frown gently painted over his delicate features.

"Obviously. Also, this lady is 'not getting better' because her doctor won't give her a stronger medicine." You scoffed at Kyle. 

"I already told you, it’s not the-- Ahh! Geez! Fine. I'll give you your medicine, but only after you two have talked." without waiting for any reply, Kyle turned around and walked out the door, closing it shut behind him. 

You were left alone with Jonah in the silence of your bedroom, occasionally sniffing and clearing your throat. “You should go, Jonah.” You huffed as you slid back down on the cushions of your bed, turning away from the Queen and pulling the duvet up to your nose. “You can’t afford to get sick, too.” 

Faint ruffling of clothing could be heard from behind you, followed by light footsteps walking across your bedroom floor. You hesitantly turn, only to see a familiar white and red jacket hanging from the chair, and its owner walking in and out of the bathroom. “What are you doing?” You ask, sarcasm dripping from every word. Your face unconsciously scrunched up to a little pout.

“Since I’m here now, I might as well babysit you myself.” He ever so haughtily replied as he returned to sit by your side with a small basin and towel in hand. “Come on now, turn,” he ordered while squeezing the excess water from the towel to prep it to be placed across your forehead.

“Babysit?” Your eyes widened in disbelief as you pushed yourself up slightly to sit and look him dead in the eyes. “I'm not a child that needs constant supervision, Jonah.”

“I never called you a child, Alice. Besides, you should’ve known better than to have gone all the way out and into the rain like that.” 

“Speak for yourself. You should’ve known not to wait under the rain for hours on end until you were practically and positively drenched from head to foot. You could’ve gotten sick!”

“I could’ve-- but I’m not the one currently in bed with a high fever!” Jonah scoffed then placed his hands on your shoulders and nudged you back down onto to the bed, “Now, please! Lay down, rest, and let me take care of you!”

“And why should I?!” you instantly retorted, pushing back on his hands to stay seated.

“It is my duty and responsibility as your soulmate, that’s why!” 

“You-- Wait, what did you say?” You stuttered, frozen in your seat, dumbfounded.

“You can be really infuriating sometimes, Alice.” he scowled then looked away. A blush started to spread across his cheeks as his scowl turned into a pout. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

“I- I did. But,” Your words, albeit barely audible, seemed to come out on their own volition when you mumbled an answer to him. 

“Good! I don’t have to repeat myself, then.” he shifted his gaze back to preparing the damp towel for your head while you sank back down into the bed and looked away in utter embarrassment. 

A soft knock on the door was followed by a young soldier’s intrusion with some freshly brewed tea both you and the Queen of Hearts. His presence instantly reminded both of you of how loud your voices were during your short exchange. All you could do now was to hope that nobody heard your bickering.

Minutes felt like hours as the amicable silence passed. You shifted to lay on your side to face your quiet companion, your soulmate, subtly studying his delicate features and refined movements as he read your book and sipped his tea. For the first time in three days, your breathing has finally evened out, and your fever reduced, almost to a breaking point.

“Hey Jonah,” you softly called to him through your fatigue-laced voice.

“Hm?” Honey-amber pools lift up from the text in hand to meet your gaze, “Oh good, you look much better now.” he calmly comments and lets out a sigh of relief. He took the damp towel from your head and patted the area dry with a new one. 

“Hey,” Amidst your obvious struggle to keep yourself awake, you quickly flashed him a warm smile. “Thank you.”

“Well-- Anything for you.”

[rintarous]

try again — a. ryuunosuke

SYNOPSIS | realizing nothing has changed between you and your ex, you thought it would be better if you two would just try again.

GENRE | ex to lovers!au, fluff, angst??

A/N | first piece for bsd omfg im shaking fr,,, takes place around dead apple time lmfao hhhhhh kyoka doesnt exist in this sooo ur ability is demon snow???? fuck i hate this so much lmfao also p.p.s this is my gif teehee ++ ty mal for beta-reading this HAHAHHA i will now [rest] after posting this cs i am: shy good day

“hurry up and go!” you hissed at atsushi who was struggling to turn off the safety on his gun while you were trying to fend off demon snow. atsushi lets out a yelp as he fumbles with his gun. before atsushi could pull the trigger, demon snow was shoved away by no one other than your ex, akutagawa ryuunosuke. 

akutagawa stands up from the ground with a huff. “akutagawa!” atsushi exclaims, aiming his gun towards the boy. akutagawa clears his throat, making brief eye contact with you. you stared at him with an uneasy expression on your face. it has been awhile since you last saw the boy you once loved.

“what a pathetic weapon” akutagawa deadpans, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “no pea shooter is going to have an effect on her” he emphasizes the last word, her, motioning to rashomon who seemed to have a mind of its own just like demon snow. just as rashomon struts in, you felt demon snow’s presence behind you.

before anyone could attack, the weretiger has pounced on rashomon, sending it to the other side of the street. “how amusing.” akutagawa comments, “let’s see who comes out on top” an amused smile on his face watching his ability take on his proclaimed enemy’s ability. 

“now isn’t the time for that!” atsushi interjects. as the two was about to start bickering in the middle of an ability battle, demon snow takes this chance to make a move on you. you easily blocked her katana with your knife just in time. 

“there should be a secret passage nearby for the mafia brass!” you managed to let out. akutagawa scowls, knowing you were right. “tsk. let’s go, jinko” he calls out to atsushi as he runs towards the restaurant. atsushi looked like he was deep in thought. whether or not to follow akutagawa or help you with fighting your own ability. 

“hey-” “just go! i’ll be there, i promise!” you cut him off, knowing how long he decides to make a decision. you manage to shove demon snow far back but she was quick on her feet. “all right..” atsushi then follows akutagawa. 

you bought yourself some time after sending demon snow flying. you immediately run towards the restaurant that had a secret passage and swiftly maneuver around the bar, barely managing to get inside the elevator and just before demon snow could get you, the doors closed. 

“phew” you huff, catching your breath. “tsk, how weak” you hear akutagawa comment. the air was thick and stuffy. it’s almost like you couldn’t breathe. it was pitch black in the box too, making the situation far more worse for you and akutagawa. you wanted to avoid him as soon as possible but with the given situation, you can’t. 

“this emergency passage was built in case for a gifted attack. the fog won’t reach us here” akutagawa states. hearing his voice again sorta made your heart ache. you truly missed him being around you at all times. 

“what is that fog?” atsushi asked. “dragon’s breath” you hear akutagawa reply.  you focused your attention on the buttons in front of you, not wanting to hear anything. trying to clear your head and getting a hold of yourself. you’re not gonna let some stupid boy change that. your mission is how to get your ability back and that was it. 

“y/n,” akutagawa calls. you felt your breath hitch hearing your name slip off his tongue like that. it felt like home to you almost. “with neither of us having abilities, you could finally kill me just like what you said that night” he says. emphasizing on the word ‘that’; reminding you of that painful night you’re sure you’ll never forget.

the night you two broke things off. the night you never thought would come in a million years. 

you didn’t utter a word and continued to stare at the buttons in front of you. akutagawa tilts his head to the side “what’s wrong?” he taunts. “don’t you have a score to settle with me?” his words laced in venom but you knew better. he was testing you. he was testing if you had the guts to kill him. 

atsushi scoffs, “y/n-chan doesn’t think of you anymore!” he butts in. akutagawa felt his heart drop when atsushi mentioned that. ‘have you moved on from me?’ was a question that asks himself repeatedly. his feeling of hurt instantly changed into anger. how dare this nobody speak for you.

“want to end this while we don’t have our abilities?” akutagawa challenges him. “stop right there” you interrupt the two boys, standing in between the two of them so they don’t start lashing out. you sent a look at atsushi before turning to akutagawa. “cut to the chase. do you know how to get our abilities back?” 

akutagawa lets out a chuckle. ‘what was so funny?’ you thought to yourself. “that’s the first thing you say to me in months?” he then clears his throat once more, “but yeah. i know a way” 

“what is it?” atsushi exclaims once more. “defeat the ability, it would come back to the owner” akutagawa shrugs. he looks at you then to atsushi, “are you that uninformed?” he rolls his eyes. you stare at his face for a bit. your heart racing as it seems like all your memories with him are crashing down on you. did you miss him this much? 

“what is your plan?” atsushi’s question bringing you back to reality. “the same as ours” you respond knowing akutagawa well. akutagawa hums, “i’m going to shred shibusawa’s organs and end his life” akutagawa swears. “why? is there any other way to save yokohama?” he asks the question towards atsushi. 

“we won’t kill!” atsushi declares. “that’s not what the armed detective agency does” he continued. akutagawa lets out a sarcastic laugh. “how funny.” he laughs, “you really are something, jinko” 

“y/n understands what this job is all about” akutagawa suddenly looks at you. you two make eye contact and for a second there, you see his eyes soften at the sight of you. you quickly look away to hide the blush that was now forming on your cheeks. “she’s a former port mafia, after all” he sighs, remembering his golden days shared with you.

“i left the mafia to see the light of day, we talked about this already” you spoke, “i left the mafia to join the agency” you take a deep breath before looking at atsushi dead in the eye. “but the mafia killings are different from the agency’s. there’s a difference” you say.

akutagawa can’t help but smirk a little at your statement. knowing you were at his side rather than his enemy and your colleague. “y/n-chan…” atsushi stares at you in disbelief. “this wouldn’t have happened if dazai-san didn’t join the enemy side” akutagawa claims, “i’ll be the one to kill him.”

atsushi yanks out his gun and aims it at akutagawa. you don’t know what came over you but in one swift move, you jumped right in front of your ex boyfriend, shielding him from atsushi. akutagawa stares at you for a moment. ‘you still haven’t changed one bit’ he thinks to himself.

“i’m not letting you kill dazai-san!” atsushi yells. “and i’m not letting you kill him either” you snap back at atsushi. “y/n-chan.. why?” atsushi questions. from behind, akutagawa smiles and he was almost ready to hug you right there. “just.. don’t kill him. that’s my job” you dismissed. 

before atsushi could say anything the elevator doors opened. akutagawa moves around you, not missing the chance to at least touch you in any shape possible. his touches still have that lingering feel to it and leaves you behind with atsushi in the elevator. “we’re not going with you” atsushi claims. 

akutagawa doesn’t say anything and walks towards more into the darkness. the elevator dings, ready to close the doors when you put your hand over it and rush to akutagawa. “i’m going with him” you tell atsushi. “eh?!” 

in the end atsushi tags along with you. you walked beside akutagawa with atsushi trailing behind you. “y/n-chan, why are you following him..” you hear atsushi dread . “it’s simple. he has information” you look back at atsushi, “he’s a powerful asset and we both have the same goal” you say, turning your attention to akutagawa. 

akutagawa watches you from his peripheral vision before noticing the familiar cellphone dangling on your neck. “you still have that cellphone your mother gave to you?” he asked. you don’t say anything and walked faster. “mother?” you hear atsushi ask.

akutagawa stops in his tracks and faces atsushi, “you haven’t even been told about that?” rolling his eyes, akutagawa turns his attention back to you. “oy, wait for me” he calls to you, picking up his pace to walk next to you. atsushi can only stare at the two of you with a million thoughts running in his head. 

“what was the shortest route again?” you ask akutagawa beside you. “0505” he answers back. you hummed and continued to walk beside him. “i see you still haven’t changed” akutagawa starts, “i figured you would be an entirely different person by now” he shrugs. you bit your lip, not knowing how to respond. “you’re still the same y/n i know” you hear him utter under his breath. 

“that’s cause i still have unfinished business with you” you blurt out. unable to hide the truth anymore. you wanted him back more than ever and meeting him again just proves it. 

akutagawa shuffles closer to you and grabs your hand. “when this fiasco is over, how about we try again?” he proposes quietly. only loud enough for you to hear. you squeezed his hand, a tiny gesture that means a thousand words and makes his heart race over and over again. 

[whathappenedtomyweekend]

It’s Just A Spark Ch. 9 - Night Shifts

Gobber couldn't believe his eyes. What had originally started as a casual glance out the window had spiralled and now consisted of him staring down at the sight on the street in front of the fire department in parts fascination and parts complete and utter disbelief.

There he was, his colleague who might as well be his own son, the boy with the gapped front teeth and the scraped knees, the young man who was so busy reading that he forgot to eat sometimes, and the man who had told him, only a few months ago, that if his fate was to become an old cat lady it would be fine with him - beaming at the young woman facing him. She had blonde hair, tied up to a ponytail and was dressed, similarily to him, in sports clothes. They were still talking as they came to a halt in front of the building, both smiling at each other.

And of course, Gobber knew that this was Astrid Hofferson.

He watched Hiccup - Hiccup - grin down at her and gently press his lips to her cheeck (Gobber almost had a heart attack), then shortly hug her and turn around to walk up to the building, still grinning from ear to ear.

Well. Gobber remembered the first time the young woman had set her stove on fire. He remembered the exact expression Hiccup had had on his face and the way his eyes were flickering to the side when he'd mumbled something about his ears only being "this red, Gobber, because we were just near a fire, it was hot in there" after they had already been outside again for at least five minutes.

Gobber tried to act normal as the door opened and closed with a click.

"Morning!"

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up to work!"

Hiccup placed his phone and headphones onto his desk, ducking away from Gobber's prosthetic arm.

"Sorry, I got held up."

"Yeah, I could see you getting held up alright - in the arms of a certain young blonde, I believe?"

He watched Hiccup's cheek flush and laughed, giving him an enthusiastic pat on the back.

"Was about time, boy! You were one arm and three cats away from becoming me."

Hiccup snorted, "Yeah, right. Don't think having a girlfried will deter me from adapting that lifestyle."

There were not many things you could get past Gobber without noticing. And words, no matter how fast- or low-spoken were definitely not on that list.

"Girlfriend now, eh?"

"I, uh - I mean - oh, man."

Hiccup looked at him, a bewildered expression on his face as if he'd only realised this for himself just now, his hands already flying up to his hair.

"Ooh my God, Gobber, she's my girlfriend. She's my girlfriend," he repeated as if this alone had been something he had never thought to actually be possible.

"Oh, boy," the older man chuckled upon seeing Hiccup's disbelief change to surprise to complete and utter joy.

"Astrid. Hofferson. Is. My girlfriend."

"Yeah, how'd you do that? I'm surprised you're able to hold up a conversation with that vocabulary you've got yourself, boy."

Hiccup had not really thought about this earlier when Astrid had accompanied him back to work instead of his apartment, but now, standing in front of his locker next to the bathroom, his only options for the monthly meeting with the mayor and comissioners a crumpled-up old shirt with Toothless' handiwork at the hem and gym shorts, he regretted not having stopped by at his apartment prior to this.

The young man uttered a curse on his breath but knew he didn't really have time to explore any further options.

So he quickly grabbed the shirt, returned to the bathroom and pulled it over his head, stepped out of his towel and put the remaining clothes on.

He couldn't wait until this day was over. The morning run had energised him, but a nine-hour response-shift ahead and a two-hour meeting were already pretty high on the list of things that would use up that energy.

Thinking about said run - or rather, its aftermath- , however, sent his heart spiralling and made him grin at his reflection in the department's bathroom mirror.

She'd said yes. To being his girlfriend, essentially. Or had she? Had she misunderstood him and had only agreed to an extended status of "just dating"?

Oh, God. Suddenly Hiccup didn't feel all that confident anymore.

"Okay," He leaned on the edges on the sink and stared at his ruffled, still wet-haired reflection. "Stop it. Get it together. Just ask her tomorrow, just to clarify."

Yes. Just to make sure they were on the same page.

His thoughts went - in an effort to take his mind off the question of their 'status' - over the preparations left to be made for their date. He'd have to sweep the flat over before 15:30, and clean the bathroom thoroughly. Also maybe dust off the shelves. Get something to wear - oh, no. He remembered his last confrontationnwith his wardrobe situatuon.

This was their fifth date.

He was out of shirts.

Shit.

"Hey, Gobber, you ready to-" Hiccup broke off when he saw Snotlout at his desk, waving at him.

"Yo."

Hiccup stepped in further, furrowung his brows in confusion.

"Where's Gobber?"

"Went to get lunch."

"What? The meeting's in five minutes, and we're already running late! When did he leave? Did he say anything about when-"

"Woah, take it easy, cuz," his cousin interrupted him lightly and spun his chair around. "Gobber's been late to these meetings since they exist."

Hiccup exhaled and chuckled, sitting down next to the dark-haired man.

"Okay, true. How's your morning been?"

"It was okay. Pretty chill. I took Hooky out for our morning walk - did you know Fish is out of town?"

Hiccup's head perked up. "He is?"

"Yeah, the café's all closed up."

"Huh. No, he didn't mention," Hiccup leaned on his desk and squinted his eyes at his cousin. "He usually always lets us know."

"Maybe something urgent came up and he's not ready to talk about it yet?" Snotlout wondered aloud and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "I hope he comes back soon, I could kill for a plate of his waffles."

Hiccup smirked. "He'd kiss you again if you told him that in person."

He knew his cousin would never admit it if he asked, but it was quite obvious, even to Hiccup. Snotlout himself blushed, grumbling,

"It happened once, okay? And it obviously didn't mean anything to him, since he never brought it up again. SO," he pushed himself back and reached for his water bottle, fiddling with the lid with some degree of suppressed fury. "I'm not going to either."

"Alright, sorry."

His cousin sighed, his mood lightening up again. "It's okay. Just don't … tell him."

"You have my word."

"Speaking of which, you finished up those reports from last night?"

Hiccup chuckled. "Yup. I'm back on track." His cousin smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Despite being 'busy'?"

"Shut up."

He laughed. "Come on, nobody ever tells me anything anymore."

"Good," Hiccup shot back indignantly but grinned. "I'm not really keen on all of Berk knowing about it."

"So what's 'it'?"

"Honestly? You think I'm that unattentive?"

"When you're drawing, yeah."

Something about the smirk that was plastered on his cousin's lips seemed fishy to Hiccup. He did not like this grin.

"Scott," he drawled. "What did you do?"

His cousin's grin widened. "Oh, I did nothing. I just *sat* there. Listen, all I'm sayin' is, that maybe you should pay more attention to who else is in the room in the evening."

Hiccup blushed immediately as he remembered being in the common room in the evening, reading until he had absentmindedly started sketching - a pair of eyes, grey on paper but blue in memory, lips, just slightly parted, outlines of a face - "Oh, God," he spluttered. "I - it wasn't - I mean."

Snotlout laughed and nudged his cousin's shoulder. "Hey, I'm not judging."

He offered Hiccup an amicable smile and grinned when his cousin slumped his shoulders and returned the smile.

Who'd have thought? Seven years ago he'd have never even dreamed of sharing the same job with Hiccup and spending most of their shifts together, let alone having normal, amiable conversations and sharing jokes.

Gobber's voice from outside interrupted the dark-haired man's thoughts.

"Come on, Hiccup, we're gonna be late!" Gobber suddenly shouted from the hall, making Snotlout laugh and offer Hiccup a fistbump.

"Alright, I'm coming, just - stay where you are!" Hiccup shouted back rolled his eyes at his cousin, who only grinned and shrugged.

"Alright, I think we're done here, everyone. Dismissed," Stoick Haddock concluded and closed his folder, nodding at the men seated around him.

Hiccup sighed inwardly. The monthly check-in was something that had to be done, he knew that, but these meetings could be both lengthy and boring.

He'd tried to excuse his attire and had only got a few amused looks and some raised eyebrows; 'Could've been worse,' Hiccup thought and got up. At the sight of his father gathering up his files he remembered his post-meeting-agenda and quickly tapped his father's shoulder, lowly asking, "Dad, can I … talk to you for a sec?"

"Of course," Stoick nodded at the other men and led his son off to the side. "Excuse us."

His eyes met Hiccup's expression. The young man leaned in and murmured, "Hey, Dad, listen, um. I need you to do me a favour, please."

His father raised his eyebrows but Hiccup didn't fail to notice the faint smile playing on his lips. He sighed and inhaled deeply, shortly raking a hand through his hair.

"Oh man, I can't believe I'm actually saying this - Dad, I need a shirt."

"You need a … a what?"

His father looked at him, speechless. Hiccup nodded sharply and elaborated, "Yes, a shirt. Any colour, I just need - listen, Dad, Astrid is coming over tomorrow and I've run out of shirts, and I can't just wear the same over and over again, so - please. I just need a shirt or two, button up or down, you decide, I'm desperate."

To his suprise and utter mortification, his father let out a whoop of laughter, starting him and the other men in the room.

"She's really got you bedazzled, aye, son?"

"I - what?"

"I thought I'd never see the day you'd ask me to help you with your shopping!" his father bellowed, still laughing. "Oh, this is great, son, I've been waiting for this my whole life-"

"Dad, don't you think you're … overreacting, a bit-"

"-and I will not waste this opportunity. Consider your wardrobe situation saved."

With this he strode past him, muttering something about "my boy's finally getting his life together" and "wrapped around his finger, completely head over heels", leaving an abashed Hiccup and chuckling collegues behind.

"Well, you did it," Gobber laughed and patted his back, making Hiccup stumble forward involuntarily. "he will not rest until he's got you a month's worth of clothing."

Hiccup groaned. "What have I done, Gobber?"

"Made him the most excited I've seen him in years, you did," Gobber smiled, his expression gentle now. "Come on, let's get back to the department, lover-boy."

"Please don't call me that."

"Romeo?"

"Tragic death and stupid as fuck."

"That a yes?"

"No."

It hit Hiccup like a bolt of lightning. He'd forgotten to fill up Toothless' bowl when he'd left the house this afternoon.

"Shit. Shitshitshitshit," he spat through gritted teeth as he frantically searched for options. He couldn't leave the department now, he was the only one in.

Okay. What else? Call someone. It was at times like these Hiccup wished his entire support system wasn't built on people working in the administrative departments.

And Fishlegs was out of the city.

Then it dawned on him. The only person he could hope to be home.

His hands had already picked up his phone and clicked on the number.

"Hiccup?"

He exhaled. "Oh, thank God. Astrid, do you - do you have time? Are you at home?"

Her answer was hard to make out over the background-voices and music.

"I'm on my shift, why?"

His heart sunk.

"Okay, nevermind then-"

"Hiccup? Hello - hang on, I'll go outside, just give me one sec."

The noise faded.

Her voice got clearer as she grumbled, "You'd think people'd wait for a Friday 'til they hit the bar."

He chuckled. "I'd honestly love to be somewhere else right now, so I can't blame them."

Astrid snorted and finally there was nothing blocking out her voice anymore. "Trust me, you don't wanna be here. Anyways, what's up? Something wrong? You never call this late."

"Oh - yeah, I actually … Astrid, can you do me a favour?"

She didn't even hesitate and her answer let a wave of warmth and affection wash over him.

"What do you need and where should I be?"

"At my apartment. Or rather, first here and then my apartment."

Astrid furrowed her brow, for a second asking herself if this was some kind of disguise for something else but quickly discarded that thought as Hiccup continued quickly, "I forgot to feed Toothless when I left today and I locked everything, so he can't go out to hunt. Could you pick up my keys and feed him, please?"

She hummed. "Yeah, of course."

Hiccup sighed and smiled. "Thanks, I really owe you one."

Astrid laughed breezily and was apparently making her way back inside. From what he could hear, Pink's 'Raise your glass' was playing and people were screaming.

"No problem," he heard her say over them. "I'll think of something."

He chuckled and leaned on his desk.

"You have until tomorrow."

"Oh, so now there's a deadline for favours?"

"Only for that one."

She laughed again. "Well, maybe it's a project that can't be done overnight."

"Am I still talking to Astrid or Ms Hofferson who just pulled the ultimate teacher-joke on me?"

"Both. Hang on a second."

The sound was muffled since she seemed to be pressing the microphone against herself to block out the sound, but he still heard her distinct voice shout, "Heath, can you tell Al I'm taking my break? Be back in 45."

Another voice answered, loud but friendly, "Sure, don't worry. Gotcha, Stellar!"

Stellar?

The sound was back in its full intensity and so was her voice.

"Alright, I'm heading out. Be there in ten."

"Okay. See you."

Astrid smiled up at the sky. "You know, this isn't even a favour I'm doing you. You're doing me one."

Although she had called it multiple times, Astrid had never been inside the fire department of Berk before.

It looked a bit intimidating in the dark, and she only saw one big window with lights on inside. She squinted her eyes up and into the darkness and registered movement.

A slim figure approached the window, waving at her, chasing a smile across her lips as she waved back. Hiccup's sillhouette disappeared.

Astrid herself made her way into the building and up the staircase to the second floor, where she was greeted by a dark hallway.

A door was pried open, a small ray of light emitting from the crack.

"Astrid?" His face was stuck out of the open door.

"Hiccup? Why's it so dark in here?"

"We're saving up energy."

He was leaning out of the door, supporting his weight by the frame.

Astrid smirked and came to a halt in front of him. He didn't move, just stayed with his eyes fixed on her.

The young woman felt a weird sensation rushing through her stomach as she remembered her dream from a couple of nights ago, which had started just like this, opening a door and -

"You wanna come in for a sec?" he asked and interrupted her thoughts.

Astrid nodded, smiling. "Let's make the workplace situation even."

He laughed and led her inside. The building itself wasn't that big, but the headquarters seemed pretty spacious. There were only three desks inside with multiple screens, and by the wall stood an unsafe-looking plank bed.

"Welcome to my job where we get Sicca Syndrome and a bad back trying to sleep on these," he joked and ran a hand through his hair.

Astrid sat down on the plank bed, wincing as it squeaked and bent violently, making him laugh as he sat down next to her.

Without giving herself much time to hesitate, Astrid leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do we have enough time for me to ask you what your day looks like?"

He chuckled and gently wrapped his arm around her, trying not to let on that he was shaking slightly, thankful she still had her eyes closed so she wasn't able to see his blush.

"Maybe. We could save that conversation up for tomorrow, though."

She opened her eyes and moved to get up, but Hiccup tightened his grip around her shoulders and grinned lopsidedly.

"That wasn't me trying to tell you to immediately get up. It's …" he hesitated, his blush deepening. "It's, um, really nice sitting like this. With you."

Astrid chuckled lightly and leaned back into him, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck.

"You're really trying to outdo yourself today, huh?"

Her voice was muffled against his skin, her breath sending sparks down it.

"Is it working?"

Astrid grinned against him. "Yeah."

The young man laughed and tried to calm his heart yet again. To think that only sitting with her head on his shoulder, her lips making direct contact with his skin when she spoke was enough to turn him into a flustered mess. And they hadn't even KISSED yet.

"I'm beginning to regret this."

He froze, his heart dropping immediately. Regret what? This? Her decision from earlier? Being alone with him? Out of a sudden? Somehow?

Of course, his logical side knew better than that and patiently waited for Astrid to continue - his worry got the better of him.

"Why?"

"Because now going back to my shift is going to be really fucking hard."

'Oh. Oh, thank God.' He exhaled and relaxed again.

"Why?" he repeated, feeling stupid.

Astrid closed her eyes again. "Because I'd much rather be here and spend the night with you than going back."

Aaaand there it was. His pulse was sky-rocketing. And she was so close she might actually hear. His blush had deepened even more.

Astrid continued after a pause, "Or you know, I could just crash at your apartment and cuddle with Toothless."

He rasped out a laugh. "If you let me in tomorrow."

Astrid opened her eyes and pursed her lips to hide her smile.

"We'll see."

Hiccup really wanted to kiss her. He wanted to so bad it almost hurt.

Yet, there was something holding him back - the question from earlier. But he didn't want to bring this up now. Especially not since-

"Speaking of Toothless, I should probably get going now."

"Oh, y-yeah! Uh," he uncurled his arm from around her and jumped up, stumbling towards his desk. "Let me just … find the key … uh. Should've probably done that earlier."

"Let me help. I've got a knack for finding things."

She joined him at the desk and grinned when he shot her a short, amused glance.

"You do?"

"Oh, yeah. I found you, so that's one."

Hiccup chuckled and watched her pull out his keys from underneath the printed draft of the day's report and hold it up in front of him, grinning smugly.

"And you say I'm trying to outdo myself?" he muttered, making her laugh.

"Well, now we're even."

He shrugged and grinned. "True. You remember the direction?"

Astrid nodded, leaning against the desk.

"Good. Ah, and uh, mind the door, it always gets stuck, so it's a bit hard to open. Just, uh, throw your entire body weight againt it. At least that's what I do."

She nodded again and smiled up at him. "Jot that down. Anything else? Where's the food?"

"Second left cupboard by the window on the floor. You know, the one with the scratches?"

She snorted as she remembered which one Hiccup was talking about - and it seemed like he was either very forgetful or had a cat that loved to eat.

"Alright, got it."

"Thanks again, Astrid."

Somehow they had ended up facing each other, his hands on her arms.

Hiccup's gaze fell down on his hands and his first instinct was to let go, but Astrid smiled and put her own hands on his arms, squeezing lightly.

"You're welcome. But - by the way, where's everyone else?"

"Oh, Gobber's already home and Scott went for a quick nap down in the living area. He complained that my typing was too loud for him to sleep."

She snorted. "Well, at least you've got the place to yourself, right?"

His hands subconscuiously had wandered to her waist.

"I'd rather not. But I'm a bit picky about the company."

"That so?"

He hummed, his eyes dropping to her lips ever so shortly. He looked like he was almost going to lean down and kiss her - but there was something in his eyes Astrid knew well by now.

Hesitation. Something was holding him back.

Astrid smiled and pulled back slightly.

She'd give him time.

Until then … she stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek.

"I'm gonna get going now. Don't wanna keep Toothless waiting."

She grinned up at him and was relieved when he returned it.

"Yeah."

She turned to leave but was held back by his voice softly calling out her name.

"Oh, and … Astrid?"

She hummed, turning around, already halways out the door.

With a few steps he had closed the distance between them. His eyes were warm as he gently wrapped his fingers around her left wrist, tugged her closer and pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Astrid's eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

"Stay safe tonight," he whispered, his lips barely grazing her skin before he pulled back.

Astrid opened her eyes again and was met with his open expression and small smile.

She returned it tenfolds and whispered back, "You too."

Then she turned around and took the stairs downstairs.

Fires and people had a lot in common, but most people could be either reasoned with or at least punched (which was her own interpretation). Then again, her boyfriend was not the type to underestimate a thing like a fire.

Astrid stopped, her hand on the doorhandle. Boyfriend. She'd thought 'boyfriend'.

The air was a tinge colder when she stepped outside, but still had the distinct warmth of a summer night.

Well, he was, wasn't he? It was what he'd asked her this morning, wasn't it?

Astrid smiled to herself and maybe the sky, Hiccup's keys clinking in her pocket.

This was a very girlfriend-thing to do, after all.

[eternaljouska]

Wishing on the Well - Lee Seokmin

Pairing: Seokmin x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,061

Notes: College starts kicking in, people, I don’t know what to think. Let me know what you think about this, though.

He’s there again. Meaning: another coin out of his pocket and into the wishing well. But you should know.

It was your first late day ever, on your way to the stop right outside the complex for Bus 218 heading to the mini-park where the bakery you worked at was located, you heard him before you saw him. His voice had taken your breath away, or maybe that’s just the little run that you did. But his voice might as well do. It’s mesmerizing, you’d noticed, once you’d come to accept that arriving five minutes earlier than most of the employees was certainly not late at all—although the thought of Mrs. Park baking since early six forty-five alone didn’t sit well with you.

The others would arrive around seven, thirty minutes before open hours, but you’re used to taking the six-thirty bus and arriving five minutes before the owner of the bakery even did. But then, tapping your feet as you wished the bus to come ahead of the schedule, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the considerably tall guy standing in front of the wishing well, singing after he threw his coin away as if his vocal cord wouldn’t work unless he did so.

You’d found yourself taking the six-forty-five bus since then.

The day after you’re late, you had come extra early to the bus stop. And yet, unfortunately, it’s the bus turn to be late. It was ten minutes later, exactly at six-forty, no bus at sight, but he was. He strolled down from the opposite street of your complex’s and stopped right in front of the wishing well, an abandoned, shallow well, which was probably older than your mother. People had agreed not to cover the mouth of the wall. They cleaned it up a bit from the wild grass and moss around it, even went as far as hanging a bell from the pulley where the rope’s used to be. From that day onwards, a lot of people had come to ring the bell and throw a coin, whispering their wishes to the brand new wishing well. That’s what he did, you observed. Ringing the bell, throwing out a coin, and bringing his hands near his chest, his eyes tightly closed. But he did something nobody else did. He sang.

He would sing a whole song and then leave. That went on for more than a week, which was why now you couldn’t take your eyes away from the shrinking wishing well as your bus drove away from it. You were reluctant to even step into the bus in the first place, keep halting on your steps and peeking around it to look for him. But that was until the driver honked you from your thoughts. You didn’t see him that day.

He’s still absent on the next day. You’d skipped six-thirty and six-forty-five bus and opted for the later seven-o’clock bus, which earned you another question from your employer. Mrs. Park had questioned you the first two late days, but she didn’t mind it because she’s been trying to make you quit coming too early for work since you received no extra cash for that. She was actually happy that you’d come about the same hours as your colleagues. But now that you’re officially late and walking sluggishly through the back door, mellow eyes and downturned lips, the first thing that passed through her mind was that something’s wrong. She asked you exactly one question in the hope that it’d help clear her worries away, but the impact was the contrary. You answered her with an I’m sorry and then proceeded to the locker room and worked all through the day as if nothing had happened.

You’re losing sleeps these past two days. And you admitted it was crazy, but you just wanted to see him once again, hear him once again, only to make sure that he’s okay. It’s crossed your mind. Maybe whatever it was that he’s wishing for was already granted, that’s why he didn’t visit the well anymore. Maybe the well could actually grant wishes after all. Maybe. And you’d take that chance, however slim that was. And for that, you’re standing in front of the wishing well at six-thirty, letting the loud bus drove away behind you and buried the sound of your wish as you threw your coin and closed your eyes.

“Hey!” someone called out, interjecting your solemn moment. “You’re the bus stop girl!” The man had spoken with so much enthusiasm that when you finally turned around, it surprised you to see him freezing on his track to put his hand behind his neck with what seemed like an embarrassment blooming red on his ears. However, putting it like that was only undermining the shock running through your veins. Yes, you’re the bus stop girl. But he only knew that because he was your—no! the—wishing well guy.

“Um, hey,” he said, the volume of his voice so much lower than before now that he’s talking from only a few feet away from you. “I’m sorry. For… the nickname. It just came out. You’re always watching me from the bus stop, that’s why.”

“No, I’m not!” you chirped, making him laugh in response, a sound which as it turned out, had a tremendous effect on your nerves.

“Yes, you are. You always sit on that bench”—he pointed at your regular bench, a big smile still sitting on his face—“from before six-thirty, I think, and you don’t even get in after the first bus arrived. You always jump on the second one. If you’re not watching me you would’ve taken the first bus or come later to the stop.”

“That’s not true! I wasn’t- I wasn’t here yet for the first bus. It’s not- How- how could you know? You’re not here before six-forty,” you argued.

“I’m… I’m not here before six-forty? Now how do you know the exact time I’d be here?” The man only chuckled when you couldn’t muster up a swift reply for him.

“You- you yourself are always here throwing coins and making wishes and then singing as if you have too much money from singing in the park or something and decided it’d be wise to donate some to the wishing well. What even were your wishes, huh?”

The big grin on his face only grew, lifting his cheeks and forming crescents with his eyes. Frankly, it was amusing for him to see how your tone and expression made a slight turn and became more aggressive. He could imagine hearing the gears shifting in your head, changing their strategy from defense to offense. He put away his thought and finished it with a small chuckle before he relented with his teasing manner to answer your question. “Ahh, there’s only one. I was… wishing to win this singing competition.”

“What?! Why?” you exclaimed, utter disbelief took over your face in an instant. “You don’t need to wish it! Your voice is amazing!”

He shot you a ghost of a smile and waved your words away. “Ah, no, it’s not amazing. It’s okay, I think. But, thank you. It’s not really- um, anyway, it’s your first time making your wish here, isn’t it? In the last two weeks that I was here, I’d never seen you throwing coins.”

You frowned at his attempt to brush away your compliments and change the direction of your conversation from him and his voice. “Um, yeah,” you mumble in a pout, eyes staring up at him as if they’re searching for signs or explanations or whatever. But then his question almost knocked you off your feet.

“What were you wishing for?”

“Oh, that!” you squeaked. Your hands rushed to cover your mouth at the sound of your high-pitched voice and tried to swallow down your nerves, blush creeping rapidly on your cheeks. “I, um, you- uh, no! It’s… nothing! Yeah, it’s nothing!”

“Me…?”

“No! Well, ugh, kind of? I mean, you hadn’t been here for the last two days, so… I…You know, um…”

The man took a step closer and leaned forward with a raised brow. “So you wished I’d come?”

“Well, um, yeah, maybe, something like that.” You lowered your head to hide the furious blush on your cheeks, and yet you couldn’t help but raised it up again at the sound of his laughter.

“Those two days, I was at Ilsan. The final competition was held there.”

“Oh? So that’s the competition you’re talking about? How’s the result? Did you win?” you urged him with your question, the previous abashment quickly washed away by your excitement.

He nods timidly. And you gasped, eyes growing wide as you let out a squeal and jumped up and down, hands grabbing for his to make him jump with you. The man followed suit and let out a series of small laughter that deformed his eyes into permanent crescents—at least, until you stopped jumping, for you remember there are dough waiting for you to be baked in a certain bakery on the park.

“Hey, are you free? Today?”

“Hm?” he mumbled in surprise. “Me? Today? Yes, why?”

“You wanna go to the bakery I work at? I’ll make you something. A little celebration for the winner!” you enthused, hands still holding onto his without actually being aware of it.

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do that.”

“Come on… this is the least I can do after watching your free solo concert for days. What do you say?” You peered at him with a big smile on your face, but when he didn’t say anything right away you continued, “Come on! You don’t wanna miss the second bus, it’s gonna make me late 15 minutes more than the usual.”

“Wait… So you’re late because you’re watching me sing?”

You dropped his hands and brought yours behind your back, hiding your fiddling fingers from him. “Well…”

“Well…?” he probed, his tone still thickly coated in amusement.

“Well, let’s- let’s just go to the bakery, shall we?” You forced a smile on your face and grabbed his hand once again to guide him to the bus stop.

“Hey,” you start meekly after you both settled on the bench in slightly awkward silence.

“Hm?”

“If… if you won the competition, why’d you come here again today?”

“Ahh, that, I, uh, I wanna wish for the courage to finally talk to you.”

Hearing his honest admission, you’re caught off guard, and you knew for a fact that your cheeks were burning red because of it. So without any clear idea of what you’re doing, you jumped from your seat and rushed to stand beside the stop sign, half-shouting, “The bus is here! The bus is here.” Although, it was only three minutes later that the bus actually made its appearance known.

You spent your whole ride shaming yourself for everything that you’d done in front of him—mainly because of the bus is here predicament. You swore to God, you’re only good at making yourself look strange. And strange enough, you’re quite thankful for every of your self-cursing and self-blaming that you did on the ride since apparently, it distracted you from the real problem that you had sitting beside you and saved you from another disconcerting situation.

You didn’t walk side by side. You came out of the bus first. Then he followed you from behind and kept on doing so until you reached the bakery’s door and opened it for him. It’s making you all the more self-conscious, but one look at him, you’d see that he also had no idea on how to carry himself around you.

It was a pleasant surprise for Mrs. Park to see you walk in with a guy. And within two seconds, she’s finished connecting the dots and knew for sure the reason behind your unusual behavior lately. It must’ve been him. So when you entered the kitchen to take over, she let you, for she could already guess what your intention was.

You presented him a platter of various mini berry scones approximately forty minutes later, and the relief that washed over you seeing him sitting still on his table was simply unimaginable. While baking, you’d imagined him sneaking out of the bakery and choosing not to see you ever again. But now that you saw his eyes lit up at the sight of you—or maybe the pastries—you’re again reminded on how he came to the well to wish for the courage to talk to you.

“Hey, I’m sorry for making you wait,” you said as you placed the pastries on the middle of the table and asked for your friend to help with the water.

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind.”

Honestly, he did mind. Because evidently his thought was toxic, and forty-minute waiting time was almost enough to kill him on the spot. But of course, he couldn’t tell you that, just like how he couldn’t tell you the three syllables of his name, Lee Seokmin. From the second that he blurted out the nickname he had for you at the wishing well, Seokmin believed that he’d be a disaster. After seeing how you reacted to him, though, somehow his confidence built up enough that he encountered no significant issues in talking to you.

He’d found you adorable, and the warmth enveloping his heart had made words and teases come easier. But whenever silent fall between you and him and he was left with his own thought, he couldn’t get past the fact that he wanted so badly to introduce himself properly and ask for your name. All this while, the conversation had been about him, but he wanted to take over and be the one who’d ask you questions instead.

That was why his eyes were busy going back and forth from your face to the pastries, which made you giggle and commented, “You can dive in.” He admitted that the thought of diving into those pastries was tempting and greatly distracting, but that was not all that’s on his mind. He was busy collecting praises in his head to start a conversation with you. Truthfully, he’d been doing that since you left him on his table alone. Nobody else was in the bakery, only some of your colleagues, giving him polite smiles. Seokmin’s gaze had swum around the room, noticing little details that perhaps could be a conversation starter. But now that you directed his focus to the pastries, he’s certain that he didn’t have the power on earth to kill the spark in his eyes and prevent himself to actually dive in.

Maybe he should start with the pastries first and foremost.

At that time, you would even say that his eyes burned from the intense excitement he projected at your permission. And you could feel the fire transferred to your eyes and spread to your whole body when he said in delight, “This is really good! Mmph, like, really, really good! I knew from the smell alone it’s going to be fantastic, but this is phenomenal!”

As you laughed and sheepishly thanked him for his praises, you remembered the time earlier when he’s the one on the end of your praises. “Hey, why were you acting strangely after I complimented you?”

He cleared his throat for a second before he chugged on his water. “Ahh, it’s just, I’m not that good. I still need to work harder on my voice.”

“Aye, you’re too hard on yourself.” You sent him a disapproving look, but he wasn’t even looking at you to notice it. “You wanna know what’s not that good? These scones I made you.”

He whipped his head up to shoot you one horrified look. “What? No! This is extremely delicious. I told you, this is phenomenal. They’re phenomenal! I could eat these for the rest of my life.”

“Liar,” you scoff. “I wouldn’t believe that if you don’t believe how extremely delicious your voice is. I could listen to that for the rest of my life.”

“Aye, you’re too nice. And, what even were you saying? Delicious voice?”

He brushed you away with his chuckles, but you’re not giving up, even though you couldn’t stifle your defeated sigh. “So you think you won the competition because of the well? And if that so, then my meeting you is also the well doing? And not because you are—hey, wait! You didn’t actually make the wish! The courage wish! But you’re here, all fine with talking to me. No stutters, no nothing. Courage is okay. See! You don’t need the wishing well at all…” you let your words drifted, for when you’re about to say his name, you realized that you had not a single idea.

“Seokmin,” he supplied, a small smile budding on his lips. “Lee Seokmin.” And somehow relief and pride rushed within his system at the major accomplishment of saying his name aloud to you, even if you’re the one who had to pull it out of his lips—even with his lack of ability to lead the conversation or ask you of your name in change. But at least, he could draw a smile out of you. Maybe he should just see how things were going and let the time trickled comfortably.

 “Seokmin”—you nodded several times as if considering the weight of his name on your tongue—“I like your name. And I like your voice. And, I’d really like it if you’re more confident about it. Then it’d be phenomenal.” You moved your eyebrows up and down before you both burst into laughter.

Yes, maybe seeing her eyes crinkle, or hearing her tinkling laugh, or savoring her berry scones were more than enough. Maybe, this was more than enough for now.

When your laughter quieted down, he gifted you with the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen—or at the very least, at that moment he made any other smile seemed insignificant. He stared at you for a few seconds before muttering, “Thank you, um…”

“Y/n.”

“Thank you very much, Y/n. I- I, um, I like your scones,” Seokmin said before falling into a fit of nervous laughter.

And this time, you swore in your heart that sometimes, being embarrassing was worth it after all.

[robronsecretsanta]

Fanfic: beautiful husbands

Four strangers who are forced to bear witness to the undeniable bond between Robert J Sugden and Aaron Dingle. At Christmas.

And then one who’s no stranger to it at all.

Merry Christmas, Kate @lesfemmesdangereuses. Thanks for being completely awesome <3

Word count: 4,127

1.       Karen.

Karen’s a hard-hitting business woman; she prides herself on her reputation as a bit of a ball-breaker, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let herself get distracted by the gruff looking man lingering in the background of the scrapyard whilst she tries to hash out the back end of this haulage deal with Robert Sugden before the country grinds to a halt for the Christmas break.

She pretends not to stare through the window of the portacabin; pretends not to notice the way that the flurry of snow is settling ever-so-cutely on his bed of gel-free curls as Robert tries to negotiate with her over mileage of some sort and discount rates for repeat business.

She pretends not to notice the wedding ring he’s sporting either.

���Like what you see?” Robert asks, cutting through her thoughts.

It’s then she realises she’s been caught staring, and she coughs to try and regain her composure as she sees a mixture of – what is that? – pride? Fury? Whatever it is, it’s plastered over Robert’s face.

She frowns at him, and attempts to ignore her indiscretion by reeling off a few of the numbers in the contract to distract him away from having to admit that she might have noticed the fit man outside.

It’s Robert that’s distracted now, though, as she poses a question on interest rates and expenses and she’s being met with no response.

He’s staring out of the window when she looks back up at him; staring at the same man that she was transfixed by moments earlier.

“He is beautiful, though, isn’t he?” Robert utters, almost as if he can’t stop the words from leaving him, as if it’s some kind of reflex reaction whenever he sets his eyes on him.

Karen follows his gaze, and sees the way that Robert watches the man in the scrapyard with utter devotion etched into his features; a softening to the hard-faced businessman she’d been negotiating with seconds earlier.

“He’s easy on the eye,” Karen admits with a little wariness, unsure she wants to cross the line between business and her personal life, but unable to stop herself becoming slightly intrigued by this sight of Robert Sugden: Serious Businessman in way she’d never seen before.

He’s soft, and smiling, and she thinks it’s slightly unnerving if she’s being honest with herself, but she needs this deal so she decides to entertain this slightly strange turn of events regardless.

“My beautiful husband,” Robert adds, eyes still fixed firmly on the way the hi-vis vest the man is wearing is getting ever so slightly snowier with each second that passes.

Karen rolls her eyes then, realises not only has she lost her chance with the fit guy outside who it turns out has Robert Sugden as a husband, but also that she seems to have lost Robert Sugden’s attention for what could turn out to be the whole afternoon.

Before she can sigh loudly enough to snap Robert out of his daze, Robert’s brushing past her like she’s barely even there, and the door of the portacabin is opening as the husband walks in from the cold.

“I missed you,” Robert smiles as he wraps his arms around the man he married.

“I’ve been out there half an hour,” the husband smiles back, tone full of affection and a little amused at the way Robert is clinging to him as soon as he walks into the portacabin.

“You’re cold, Aaron,” Robert comments, rubbing his palms up and down his husband’s snow-speckled jacket; pushing his nose up against the sharp cold of Aaron’s red nose.

Karen rolls her eyes in the irrelevant background in which she’s still sitting.

“It’s snowing, idiot,” Aaron mentions, as if it isn’t obvious.

“Well let’s get you home to warm up,” Robert insists as he intertwines his own fingers with Aaron’s; playful suggestion in his tone making it quite clear what his methods of warming his beautiful husband up might entail.

It’s then that Karen decides to intervene and remind Robert of her presence, calling out to him just as he’s got a smile on his face as wide as his husband’s, about to shove him out of the door and follow him home.

“The deal, Robert?” she asks, insistently and with a little disdain.

Robert stops in his tracks, her voice jolting him back to the present; his mind having wandered to a few hours in the future and how he’d most likely have his husband all to himself all afternoon.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” he stutters as she looks up at him expectantly, paperwork still scattered over his desk from before his interest in their meeting got abandoned at the sight of his own husband. “What discount did you want?”

“30%, as well as exclusive – ”

“Yes, fine, sounds good,” Robert agrees without hesitation, eyes flickering between Karen, the paperwork, and Aaron as he gets into the driver’s seat of his Porsche.

Karen’s taken aback by that. She’s not going to admit it out loud, but she’d been concerned that Robert Sugden could have been the one to break her 100% record when it comes to getting what she wants in business.

It seems all he needed was a little distraction.

“I’ll sort the paperwork and get in touch when it’s sorted, then,” she agrees, collecting together her things and rushing out of the portacabin as Robert ushers her out into the snow.

“Yes, great,” he agrees as he hurriedly shakes her hand. “If you don’t mind, I have somewhere important to be,” he adds, as he rushes to get into the car with Aaron.

Karen watches the Porsche speed off down the dirt track, its occupants clearly unwilling to let the adverse weather slow them down.

“Yes, your beautiful husband,” Karen whispers to herself with a smirk on her face, as she gets into her own car to drive home and celebrate.

The beautiful husband that has probably just cost you about £30k on this deal, she laughs to herself.

Of course, she can’t know he’s worth infinitely more than that.

::

2.       Greg.

Greg’s been here before. In fact, he can almost feel the déjà vu thrumming through his veins as he stands, back to the bar, elbows resting on the perspex surface behind him as he lets his eyes travel shamelessly around the room, looking for someone new. He can see familiar faces - guys he’s had in his bed before, and others who’ve yet to know that pleasure - but there’s nobody new; nobody who’s caught his attention quite in the way he’s after. He’s about to give up the game - despite the fresh bottle that his long suffering wingman has just put down beside him - until the door swings open and in walks a face he doesn’t recognise; one he hasn’t seen before. He stands up straight at the sight of him, watches as he walks in somewhat uncomfortably with a group of people far more into their surroundings than he is. He’s tall, blond, fair skinned. He’s wearing a suit that makes him stand out unintentionally. He’s obviously a business type, and Greg wonders whether he’s been brought to the village against his will by what appears to be a group of colleagues. He catches Greg’s eye - just for a second - as he scans along the bar, deciding on his drink. Greg’s interested, immediately. He coughs, nudges his friend to his side and nods in the blond’s direction, his intentions clear. “Him?” Steve scoffs to the side of him. “That’s Robert Sugden.” Greg shrugs like that’s supposed to mean something to him, but of course his friend the accountant would know him, Leeds is a small city after all. “Well Robert Sugden’s gonna find himself back at mine tonight,” Greg grins with his usual sense of determination. Steve rolls his eyes before leaning back down on the bar. “Good luck dragging him away from his husband,” he comments. “You’ve got no chance.” Greg ignores the comment. It’s not like he’s let something like a spouse stand in his way before, and he’s used to getting what he wants. He sets his sights for the night, and it’s only after an hour passes that he realises he’s getting nowhere. Robert’s not even so much as  glanced in his direction again, and he appears to be having something of a good night despite missing out on Greg’s advances. Greg’s learnt from Steve that he’s something of a big name in the world of sales, and that none of the men he’s out with tonight are his husband. It looks like it could be a Christmas party of some sorts. He can’t quite work out why the usual tactics aren’t working for him. It takes him another half an hour before he decides to give up, calling it a night as he feels the sulk setting in, uttering his apologies to Steve as he makes his way out of the bar. He’s at home less than ten minutes before he’s getting restless. And more than that; he’s curious. Who’s this husband that’s got someone like Robert Sugden so well tamed? He taps into his Instagram, clicks on the search bar and types in the name of the man occupying his thoughts. The account comes up straight away, and Greg recognises the blond in the picture, kissing the cheek of a gruff looking man who’s looking suitably unimpressed with the attention. Greg’s relieved the account isn’t private, and he finds himself losing the next hour of his life scrolling through the copious filtered photos as he gets increasingly more perturbed at the state of the captions on every picture. There’s a lifetimes worth of disgustingly happy memories on there, each one captioned with some soppy status about soulmates or husbands or how he’s the luckiest guy in the world. There’s one from the day before, where Robert’s smiling broader than Greg had seen him smile all evening in the bar, as the husband stands in the background frowning, wearing a ridiculous looking Santa hoodie. rsugden86 Hubby’s not a fan of his early Xmas present, I think he looks quite fit though #theone #christmaswithmylove #luckiestguyintheworld #ivegotathingforsanta #him There’s another one of the husband in the snow, facing away from the camera, snow topped trees in the background, sunlight creeping through the branches behind him in what Greg expects Robert thinks is an especially artistic shot. rsugden86 Could life be any more perfect? #thehusbandinthesnow #beautiful #nofilter #him There’s a particularly sickening one of the husband asleep, sheets pulled up to his chest, peaceful expression on his face. rsugden86 Luckiest guy in the world to wake up to this every morning #mybeautifulhusband #neverthoughtidgetthislucky #him There’s another of the two of them, a close up selfie where Robert’s grinning from ear to ear, and the husband has one eyebrow raised like he’s amused with something. It looks like booze was involved somewhere, and there’s no caption, just the standard #him. He scrolls far enough back to get to the wedding anniversary, and it’s a picture of the two of them, stood side by side in their suits, arms around one another as their heads are turned to look onto one another’s eyes. The husband is sporting a rare smile, eyes soft and looking more in love than Greg realised was even possible; even he thinks it looks like the kind of love that only exists in fairy tales. rsugden86 Three years since I locked this one down, for real this time. Never thought I’d get the chance to be this happy again, but every day he surprises me with how much more I fall in love ❤ #happyanniversary #bestdayofmylife #messedupforever #myoneandonly #luckiestguyintheworld #husbands #theone #him Greg wants to be sick in his mouth. There’s loads more of the two of them with a younger girl too, those finished off with a #family, and Greg thinks it looks like the kind of nuclear family he couldn’t ever aspire to want. The husband is fit, he’ll give him that, and it’s pretty obvious to Greg now why he got no luck at the bar. Still, it makes him shudder to think that someone could be so ridiculously in love with another person, to the point where he wouldn’t even notice someone like Greg giving him the eye across the bar. Each to their own, he guesses, as he slams his phone down on his bedside table and rolls over to sleep, an unfamiliar ache in his chest. He won’t admit that he spends the night dreaming of a love as great as the one Robert Sugden’s clearly found.

::

3.       Chris

Chris is going to make this the last pickup of the night. It’s almost 1am, and he’s worked the last seven nights in a row, but it’s not like he’s in a position to turn down the Christmas party fares when he’s got three kids expecting a visit from Santa in a few days’ time. It’s a long trip, taking him from the centre of Leeds out into the sticks of Emmerdale, but it should be quite an earner and he won’t end up too far from home. There’s a knock at his car window, and a blond man the other side of it. “You for Dingle?” the man asks as Chris winds down his window. He nods and unlocks the doors, and the blond man beckons over another man stood outside the kebab house, finishing off his donner meat and chips and chucking the polystyrene tray into the nearest bin as the blond opens up the door and ushers the brunet inside the back of the cab before stepping in himself. “Emmerdale, please,” the brunet slurs as he shuffles across to let the blond get in beside him. “It’s gonna be forty quid,” Chris advises them, because he can tell they’ve had a drink and he doesn’t want an argument like the one he had last Saturday with that couple who didn’t have enough to pay him. “Cash up front,” he adds, with a hint of an apology.

“Give him the money, Rob,” the brunet mutters as he clicks in his seatbelt. Chris watches them in his rear view mirror, intrigued by the familiarity between them; how comfortable they are in one another’s presence. He sees the blond - Rob, he assumes - look over at the other man with a smirk, as if he’s going to put up a fight about being ordered to pay for the taxi for the both of them. The other man smiles back at him, and chuckles as he grabs Rob’s wallet from his hands. He sifts out two twenty’s and hands them to Chris in the front seat, giving him their postcode along with it. “Cheers,” Chris says as he takes the money and sets up his satnav before putting the car into gear, but he gets the impression the men in the backseat are too preoccupied to pay him any attention. “Never been a cheap date, have you?” the blond remarks playfully, earning himself a shove on the shoulder.

Chris watches them flirt with each other through his rear view mirror; glances away as he sees them both lean in and he knows what’s coming next – he doesn’t need to watch.

He supposes he’d rather have a couple all over each other than an annoying group trying to make awkward conversation with him, or even worse a single drunk who starts heaving every time he takes a bend a little too sharply.

Still, he glances back in his rear view mirror, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen a couple quite so all over one another as these two.

He can hear it, which he thinks is the worst – there’s some kind of mumbling, and then the smack of lips, and he’s sure he hears a weird slurping sound coming from them at one point.

He rolls his eyes as he tries to keep his attention fixed on the road ahead of him, but as much as he tries, something keeps drawing his eyes back to the pair of them. As he passes under one street lamp he sees the glint of a wedding ring, and he smiles to himself for a second as he thinks about when him and his wife first got married; how they used to snog in the back of a taxi, too.

Not quite as hungrily as this, though – not quite as if their entire lives and the future of mankind depend on the pair of them connecting lips and tongues and losing one another in the sensation of it all.

There’s hands travelling places Chris isn’t sure he wants to know about, and there’s shuffling around in the seats behind him as there’s a chorus of moans in between kissing sounds, and Chris is thankful that it’s dark enough that he can’t fully tell what’s happening back there.

He wonders if they’ll stop for breath at any point, but it doesn’t seem to happen, and he resorts to turning the radio up after a short while so he doesn’t have to listen to it any more.

They don’t appear to notice, and they’re almost on the approach into Emmerdale before he hears the kissing turn to heavy breathing instead, and he glances into his rear view mirror and sees the flashes of them with each street lamp they pass under; lips finally torn apart from one another as they lean their foreheads against one another, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” Chris hears one of them say, and he glances away as if he feels like he’s intruding in on some private moment; despite being sure neither of the men in the back of his cab were even aware of his presence, let alone bothered by it.

“Shut up, softlad,” the other one replied, in the kind of soft voice that only lovers know.

“You love me, too,” the blond asserted, and Chris could hear the smirk covering his face without having to glance in his mirror.

“You know,” the brunet answered, a sudden sincerity to his tone that had Chris swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“I know,” the blond replied, and then there was the smack of lips together again, until Chris jolted to a stop in front of the address they’d given him earlier, coughing to announce their arrival.

“Cheers, mate,” they both grinned as they made their way out of the back of the cab.

Chris watched them both walk away, hand in hand, neither of them able to walk in a straight line, as they pulled each other close at the same moment and fell onto one another’s lips again.

He reversed away as he watched them open up their front door and walk inside. He glanced back only to see one of them being slammed up against the glass panel of the front door as it closed behind them.

He realised he could only feel sorry for their neighbours – they weren’t getting much sleep tonight, he was sure of that.

::

4.       Fiona

Fiona’s only got one hour and twenty minutes left of her last shift before Christmas.

That’s eight lots of ten minutes.

Probably sixteen more customers.

She can handle that, and then it’s Christmas, Christmas, Christmas all the way.

It’s Christmas Eve, and that means it’s the busiest shopping day of the year in Waitrose, and that means at least the first six hours and forty minutes of her shift have sped past.

She’s getting a little tired of the constant beep from the checkout till, though; and even more so of the constant loop of Christmas music that she’s been forced to listen to since October. She’s tired of the stream of excitable kids lingering through her checkout aisle and the stressed parents that come alongside them.

She glances up and looks at the line waiting by her till again, and it’s as long as it’s been all day, but the sight of two of the men in her aisle make her readjust in her seat slightly. One’s blond and fair, suited up, taller than the other with cheekbones for days; the other’s shorter and scruffier, all hoodie and jeans and a playful scowl on his face.

The scruffy one’s picking up handfuls of random things out of the trolley and strewing them haphazardly on the conveyor belt, and the blond one’s getting more and more worked up with each new handful, instructing him to put things on in their correct order and to line them up neatly.

“It’ll make it easier to pack them up once they’ve been scanned,” he insists, rearranging the several different boxes to create a little more order on the conveyor belt, as the scruffy looking one looks up at him like he’s lost the plot. “Bread at the end, else it’ll get squashed,” he adds.

Fiona notices the wedding rings, then, as she finishes off taking the payment for the couple in front of them in the queue.

They continue to bicker as they make their way through the till, disagreeing on which things should be packed together in which bags; the blond unpacking and rearranging and re-packing everything that the other one does, until he takes a step back and looks up at Fiona.

“I’ll just let him do it all, then,” he shrugs unapologetically as Fiona smiles back at him. “And he can pay, too.”

“Ignore my sulking husband,” the blond one addresses her now. “He’s been a scrooge all day.”

Fiona thinks she doesn’t want to get involved, just smiling and nodding at the pair of them as she continues scanning all of the items through – pretending not to get a flush on as she beeps through the condoms and lube in amongst the Quality Street and cheese selection – and she wonders whether they must argue like this all of the time.

She can’t know it’s their version of foreplay; although she gets a hint as they walk away from her till after paying, and sees the blond one slapping the other one on his arse, then being dragged into a kiss as they walk away with the trolley full of turkey and all the trimmings.

Looks like they’re going to be seeing in Christmas Day the best way, she thinks to herself.

And she’s not wrong, of course.

::

5.       Olivia

Liv?

Well, Liv’s more than used to it.

She recognises the scene as soon as she walks in the door, and she feels the dread build up inside of her as she realises what’s happening.

She’s got a couple of uni mates staying with her for New Year’s Eve, and they’ve been down the pub for the afternoon meeting Gerry and Gabby, and Liv’s more than a bit annoyed that her brothers seem to have forgotten all about her visitors and instead have spent the afternoon getting carried away with themselves.

Again.

It’s the candles they’ve left lit - placed precariously around their living room - and the sounds of some sort of slow music coming from the iPad on the coffee table that really gives them away.

She could curse herself when – just as all her mates pile in through the front door – she unwittingly turns the music off, only for the sound to be replaced by unmistakeable noises coming from upstairs, and Liv wants the ground to open up and swallow her.

“Not again,” Gerry sighs with a roll of his eyes.

Liv’s slightly more frustrated and embarrassed, whilst her uni mates seem to break into a round of amused laughter.

“It’s not as funny when you’ve lived with this for years, believe me,” she snaps, ushering everyone else back out of the front door. “Back to the pub, this’ll be out of bounds for a few more hours, at least,” she adds.

“Hours?” one of her uni mates questions, suitably impressed.

Gerry and Liv look at one another with a knowing glace.

“Hours,” they both confirm in unison.

They’re both all too well aware how long that goes on for, after all; that’s what happens when you live with Robert and Aaron Sugden Dingle: The Most Grossly In Love Couple to have ever graced the planet.

She can’t help but smile to herself a little as she closes the door behind her on the way out, though.

Of course she’ll never admit it, but it is kinda cute, really.

[wellyfullofale]

beautiful husbands

AO3 link here for the Secret Santa fic I wrote for the wonderful @lesfemmesdangereuses​

Summary: Four strangers who are forced to bear witness to the undeniable bond between Robert J Sugden and Aaron Dingle. At Christmas.

And then one who’s no stranger to it at all.

Word count: 4,127

Original Secret Santa post here

1.       Karen.

Karen’s a hard-hitting business woman; she prides herself on her reputation as a bit of a ball-breaker, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let herself get distracted by the gruff looking man lingering in the background of the scrapyard whilst she tries to hash out the back end of this haulage deal with Robert Sugden before the country grinds to a halt for the Christmas break.

She pretends not to stare through the window of the portacabin; pretends not to notice the way that the flurry of snow is settling ever-so-cutely on his bed of gel-free curls as Robert tries to negotiate with her over mileage of some sort and discount rates for repeat business.

She pretends not to notice the wedding ring he’s sporting either.

“Like what you see?” Robert asks, cutting through her thoughts.

It’s then she realises she’s been caught staring, and she coughs to try and regain her composure as she sees a mixture of – what is that? – pride? Fury? Whatever it is, it’s plastered over Robert’s face.

She frowns at him, and attempts to ignore her indiscretion by reeling off a few of the numbers in the contract to distract him away from having to admit that she might have noticed the fit man outside.

It’s Robert that’s distracted now, though, as she poses a question on interest rates and expenses and she’s being met with no response.

He’s staring out of the window when she looks back up at him; staring at the same man that she was transfixed by moments earlier.

“He is beautiful, though, isn’t he?” Robert utters, almost as if he can’t stop the words from leaving him, as if it’s some kind of reflex reaction whenever he sets his eyes on him.

Karen follows his gaze, and sees the way that Robert watches the man in the scrapyard with utter devotion etched into his features; a softening to the hard-faced businessman she’d been negotiating with seconds earlier.

“He’s easy on the eye,” Karen admits with a little wariness, unsure she wants to cross the line between business and her personal life, but unable to stop herself becoming slightly intrigued by this sight of Robert Sugden: Serious Businessman in way she’d never seen before.

He’s soft, and smiling, and she thinks it’s slightly unnerving if she’s being honest with herself, but she needs this deal so she decides to entertain this slightly strange turn of events regardless.

“My beautiful husband,” Robert adds, eyes still fixed firmly on the way the hi-vis vest the man is wearing is getting ever so slightly snowier with each second that passes.

Karen rolls her eyes then, realises not only has she lost her chance with the fit guy outside who it turns out has Robert Sugden as a husband, but also that she seems to have lost Robert Sugden’s attention for what could turn out to be the whole afternoon.

Before she can sigh loudly enough to snap Robert out of his daze, Robert’s brushing past her like she’s barely even there, and the door of the portacabin is opening as the husband walks in from the cold.

“I missed you,” Robert smiles as he wraps his arms around the man he married.

“I’ve been out there half an hour,” the husband smiles back, tone full of affection and a little amused at the way Robert is clinging to him as soon as he walks into the portacabin.

“You’re cold, Aaron,” Robert comments, rubbing his palms up and down his husband’s snow-speckled jacket; pushing his nose up against the sharp cold of Aaron’s red nose.

Karen rolls her eyes in the irrelevant background in which she’s still sitting.

“It’s snowing, idiot,” Aaron mentions, as if it isn’t obvious.

“Well let’s get you home to warm up,” Robert insists as he intertwines his own fingers with Aaron’s; playful suggestion in his tone making it quite clear what his methods of warming his beautiful husband up might entail.

It’s then that Karen decides to intervene and remind Robert of her presence, calling out to him just as he’s got a smile on his face as wide as his husband’s, about to shove him out of the door and follow him home.

“The deal, Robert?” she asks, insistently and with a little disdain.

Robert stops in his tracks, her voice jolting him back to the present; his mind having wandered to a few hours in the future and how he’d most likely have his husband all to himself all afternoon.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” he stutters as she looks up at him expectantly, paperwork still scattered over his desk from before his interest in their meeting got abandoned at the sight of his own husband. “What discount did you want?”

“30%, as well as exclusive – ”

“Yes, fine, sounds good,” Robert agrees without hesitation, eyes flickering between Karen, the paperwork, and Aaron as he gets into the driver’s seat of his Porsche.

Karen’s taken aback by that. She’s not going to admit it out loud, but she’d been concerned that Robert Sugden could have been the one to break her 100% record when it comes to getting what she wants in business.

It seems all he needed was a little distraction.

“I’ll sort the paperwork and get in touch when it’s sorted, then,” she agrees, collecting together her things and rushing out of the portacabin as Robert ushers her out into the snow.

“Yes, great,” he agrees as he hurriedly shakes her hand. “If you don’t mind, I have somewhere important to be,” he adds, as he rushes to get into the car with Aaron.

Karen watches the Porsche speed off down the dirt track, its occupants clearly unwilling to let the adverse weather slow them down.

“Yes, your beautiful husband,” Karen whispers to herself with a smirk on her face, as she gets into her own car to drive home and celebrate.

The beautiful husband that has probably just cost you about £30k on this deal, she laughs to herself.

Of course, she can’t know he’s worth infinitely more than that.

  ::

  2.       Greg.

Greg's been here before.  In fact, he can almost feel the déjà vu thrumming through his veins as he stands, back to the bar, elbows resting on the perspex surface behind him as he lets his eyes travel shamelessly around the room, looking for someone new. He can see familiar faces - guys he's had in his bed before, and others who've yet to know that pleasure - but there's nobody new; nobody who's caught his attention quite in the way he's after. He's about to give up the game - despite the fresh bottle that his long suffering wingman has just put down beside him - until the door swings open and in walks a face he doesn't recognise; one he hasn't seen before. He stands up straight at the sight of him, watches as he walks in somewhat uncomfortably with a group of people far more into their surroundings than he is. He's tall, blond, fair skinned. He's wearing a suit that makes him stand out unintentionally. He's obviously a business type, and Greg wonders whether he's been brought to the village against his will by what appears to be a group of colleagues. He catches Greg's eye - just for a second - as he scans along the bar, deciding on his drink.  Greg's interested, immediately. He coughs, nudges his friend to his side and nods in the blond’s direction, his intentions clear. "Him?" Steve scoffs to the side of him. "That's Robert Sugden." Greg shrugs like that's supposed to mean something to him, but of course his friend the accountant would know him, Leeds is a small city after all. "Well Robert Sugden's gonna find himself back at mine tonight," Greg grins with his usual sense of determination. Steve rolls his eyes before leaning back down on the bar. "Good luck dragging him away from his husband," he comments. "You've got no chance." Greg ignores the comment. It's not like he's let something like a spouse stand in his way before, and he's used to getting what he wants. He sets his sights for the night, and it's only after an hour passes that he realises he's getting nowhere. Robert's not even so much as  glanced in his direction again, and he appears to be having something of a good night despite missing out on Greg's advances. Greg's learnt from Steve that he's something of a big name in the world of sales, and that none of the men he’s out with tonight are his husband. It looks like it could be a Christmas party of some sorts. He can't quite work out why the usual tactics aren't working for him. It takes him another half an hour before he decides to give up, calling it a night as he feels the sulk setting in, uttering his apologies to Steve as he makes his way out of the bar. He's at home less than ten minutes before he's getting restless. And more than that; he's curious. Who's this husband that's got someone like Robert Sugden so well tamed? He taps into his Instagram, clicks on the search bar and types in the name of the man occupying his thoughts. The account comes up straight away, and Greg recognises the blond in the picture, kissing the cheek of a gruff looking man who's looking suitably unimpressed with the attention. Greg's relieved the account isn't private, and he finds himself losing the next hour of his life scrolling through the copious filtered photos as he gets increasingly more perturbed at the state of the captions on every picture. There's a lifetimes worth of disgustingly happy memories on there, each one captioned with some soppy status about soulmates or husbands or how he's the luckiest guy in the world. There's one from the day before, where Robert's smiling broader than Greg had seen him smile all evening in the bar, as the husband stands in the background frowning, wearing a ridiculous looking Santa hoodie. rsugden86 Hubby's not a fan of his early Xmas present, I think he looks quite fit though #theone #christmaswithmylove #luckiestguyintheworld #ivegotathingforsanta #him There's another one of the husband in the snow, facing away from the camera, snow topped trees in the background, sunlight creeping through the branches behind him in what Greg expects Robert thinks is an especially artistic shot. rsugden86 Could life be any more perfect? #thehusbandinthesnow #beautiful #nofilter #him There's a particularly sickening one of the husband asleep, sheets pulled up to his chest, peaceful expression on his face. rsugden86 Luckiest guy in the world to wake up to this every morning #mybeautifulhusband #neverthoughtidgetthislucky #him There's another of the two of them, a close up selfie where Robert's grinning from ear to ear, and the husband has one eyebrow raised like he's amused with something. It looks like booze was involved somewhere, and there's no caption, just the standard #him. He scrolls far enough back to get to the wedding anniversary, and it's a picture of the two of them, stood side by side in their suits, arms around one another as their heads are turned to look onto one another's eyes. The husband is sporting a rare smile, eyes soft and looking more in love than Greg realised was even possible; even he thinks it looks like the kind of love that only exists in fairy tales. rsugden86 Three years since I locked this one down, for real this time. Never thought I'd get the chance to be this happy again, but every day he surprises me with how much more I fall in love ❤ #happyanniversary #bestdayofmylife #messedupforever #myoneandonly #luckiestguyintheworld #husbands #theone #him Greg wants to be sick in his mouth. There's loads more of the two of them with a younger girl too, those finished off with a #family, and Greg thinks it looks like the kind of nuclear family he couldn’t ever aspire to want. The husband is fit, he'll give him that, and it's pretty obvious to Greg now why he got no luck at the bar. Still, it makes him shudder to think that someone could be so ridiculously in love with another person, to the point where he wouldn't even notice someone like Greg giving him the eye across the bar. Each to their own, he guesses, as he slams his phone down on his bedside table and rolls over to sleep, an unfamiliar ache in his chest. He won't admit that he spends the night dreaming of a love as great as the one Robert Sugden's clearly found.

 ::

 3.       Chris

Chris is going to make this the last pickup of the night. It's almost 1am, and he's worked the last seven nights in a row, but it's not like he's in a position to turn down the Christmas party fares when he’s got three kids expecting a visit from Santa in a few days’ time. It's a long trip, taking him from the centre of Leeds out into the sticks of Emmerdale, but it should be quite an earner and he won't end up too far from home.  There's a knock at his car window, and a blond man the other side of it. "You for Dingle?" the man asks as Chris winds down his window. He nods and unlocks the doors, and the blond man beckons over another man stood outside the kebab house, finishing off his donner meat and chips and chucking the polystyrene tray into the nearest bin as the blond opens up the door and ushers the brunet inside the back of the cab before stepping in himself. "Emmerdale, please," the brunet slurs as he shuffles across to let the blond get in beside him. "It's gonna be forty quid," Chris advises them, because he can tell they've had a drink and he doesn't want an argument like the one he had last Saturday with that couple who didn’t have enough to pay him. "Cash up front," he adds, with a hint of an apology.

"Give him the money, Rob," the brunet mutters as he clicks in his seatbelt. Chris watches them in his rear view mirror, intrigued by the familiarity between them; how comfortable they are in one another's presence. He sees the blond - Rob, he assumes - look over at the other man with a smirk, as if he's going to put up a fight about being ordered to pay for the taxi for the both of them. The other man smiles back at him, and chuckles as he grabs Rob's wallet from his hands. He sifts out two twenty's and hands them to Chris in the front seat, giving him their postcode along with it. "Cheers," Chris says as he takes the money and sets up his satnav before putting the car into gear, but he gets the impression the men in the backseat are too preoccupied to pay him any attention. "Never been a cheap date, have you?" the blond remarks playfully, earning himself a shove on the shoulder.

Chris watches them flirt with each other through his rear view mirror; glances away as he sees them both lean in and he knows what’s coming next – he doesn’t need to watch.

He supposes he’d rather have a couple all over each other than an annoying group trying to make awkward conversation with him, or even worse a single drunk who starts heaving every time he takes a bend a little too sharply.

Still, he glances back in his rear view mirror, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen a couple quite so all over one another as these two.

He can hear it, which he thinks is the worst – there’s some kind of mumbling, and then the smack of lips, and he’s sure he hears a weird slurping sound coming from them at one point.

He rolls his eyes as he tries to keep his attention fixed on the road ahead of him, but as much as he tries, something keeps drawing his eyes back to the pair of them. As he passes under one street lamp he sees the glint of a wedding ring, and he smiles to himself for a second as he thinks about when him and his wife first got married; how they used to snog in the back of a taxi, too.

Not quite as hungrily as this, though – not quite as if their entire lives and the future of mankind depend on the pair of them connecting lips and tongues and losing one another in the sensation of it all.

There’s hands travelling places Chris isn’t sure he wants to know about, and there’s shuffling around in the seats behind him as there’s a chorus of moans in between kissing sounds, and Chris is thankful that it’s dark enough that he can’t fully tell what’s happening back there.

He wonders if they’ll stop for breath at any point, but it doesn’t seem to happen, and he resorts to turning the radio up after a short while so he doesn’t have to listen to it any more.

They don’t appear to notice, and they’re almost on the approach into Emmerdale before he hears the kissing turn to heavy breathing instead, and he glances into his rear view mirror and sees the flashes of them with each street lamp they pass under; lips finally torn apart from one another as they lean their foreheads against one another, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” Chris hears one of them say, and he glances away as if he feels like he’s intruding in on some private moment; despite being sure neither of the men in the back of his cab were even aware of his presence, let alone bothered by it.

“Shut up, softlad,” the other one replied, in the kind of soft voice that only lovers know.

“You love me, too,” the blond asserted, and Chris could hear the smirk covering his face without having to glance in his mirror.

“You know,” the brunet answered, a sudden sincerity to his tone that had Chris swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“I know,” the blond replied, and then there was the smack of lips together again, until Chris jolted to a stop in front of the address they’d given him earlier, coughing to announce their arrival.

“Cheers, mate,” they both grinned as they made their way out of the back of the cab.

Chris watched them both walk away, hand in hand, neither of them able to walk in a straight line, as they pulled each other close at the same moment and fell onto one another’s lips again.

He reversed away as he watched them open up their front door and walk inside. He glanced back only to see one of them being slammed up against the glass panel of the front door as it closed behind them.

He realised he could only feel sorry for their neighbours – they weren’t getting much sleep tonight, he was sure of that.

  ::

  4.       Fiona

Fiona’s only got one hour and twenty minutes left of her last shift before Christmas.

That’s eight lots of ten minutes.

Probably sixteen more customers.

She can handle that, and then it’s Christmas, Christmas, Christmas all the way.

It’s Christmas Eve, and that means it’s the busiest shopping day of the year in Waitrose, and that means at least the first six hours and forty minutes of her shift have sped past.

She’s getting a little tired of the constant beep from the checkout till, though; and even more so of the constant loop of Christmas music that she’s been forced to listen to since October. She’s tired of the stream of excitable kids lingering through her checkout aisle and the stressed parents that come alongside them.

She glances up and looks at the line waiting by her till again, and it’s as long as it’s been all day, but the sight of two of the men in her aisle make her readjust in her seat slightly. One’s blond and fair, suited up, taller than the other with cheekbones for days; the other’s shorter and scruffier, all hoodie and jeans and a playful scowl on his face.

The scruffy one’s picking up handfuls of random things out of the trolley and strewing them haphazardly on the conveyor belt, and the blond one’s getting more and more worked up with each new handful, instructing him to put things on in their correct order and to line them up neatly.

“It’ll make it easier to pack them up once they’ve been scanned,” he insists, rearranging the several different boxes to create a little more order on the conveyor belt, as the scruffy looking one looks up at him like he’s lost the plot. “Bread at the end, else it’ll get squashed,” he adds.

Fiona notices the wedding rings, then, as she finishes off taking the payment for the couple in front of them in the queue.

They continue to bicker as they make their way through the till, disagreeing on which things should be packed together in which bags; the blond unpacking and rearranging and re-packing everything that the other one does, until he takes a step back and looks up at Fiona.

“I’ll just let him do it all, then,” he shrugs unapologetically as Fiona smiles back at him. “And he can pay, too.”

“Ignore my sulking husband,” the blond one addresses her now. “He’s been a scrooge all day.”

Fiona thinks she doesn’t want to get involved, just smiling and nodding at the pair of them as she continues scanning all of the items through – pretending not to get a flush on as she beeps through the condoms and lube in amongst the Quality Street and cheese selection – and she wonders whether they must argue like this all of the time.

She can’t know it’s their version of foreplay; although she gets a hint as they walk away from her till after paying, and sees the blond one slapping the other one on his arse, then being dragged into a kiss as they walk away with the trolley full of turkey and all the trimmings.

Looks like they’re going to be seeing in Christmas Day the best way, she thinks to herself.

And she’s not wrong, of course.

  ::

 5.       Olivia

Liv?

Well, Liv’s more than used to it.

She recognises the scene as soon as she walks in the door, and she feels the dread build up inside of her as she realises what’s happening.

She’s got a couple of uni mates staying with her for New Year’s Eve, and they’ve been down the pub for the afternoon meeting Gerry and Gabby, and Liv’s more than a bit annoyed that her brothers seem to have forgotten all about her visitors and instead have spent the afternoon getting carried away with themselves.

Again.

It’s the candles they’ve left lit - placed precariously around their living room - and the sounds of some sort of slow music coming from the iPad on the coffee table that really gives them away.

She could curse herself when – just as all her mates pile in through the front door – she unwittingly turns the music off, only for the sound to be replaced by unmistakeable noises coming from upstairs, and Liv wants the ground to open up and swallow her.

“Not again,” Gerry sighs with a roll of his eyes.

Liv’s slightly more frustrated and embarrassed, whilst her uni mates seem to break into a round of amused laughter.

“It’s not as funny when you’ve lived with this for years, believe me,” she snaps, ushering everyone else back out of the front door. “Back to the pub, this’ll be out of bounds for a few more hours, at least,” she adds.

“Hours?” one of her uni mates questions, suitably impressed.

Gerry and Liv look at one another with a knowing glace.

“Hours,” they both confirm in unison.

They’re both all too well aware how long that goes on for, after all; that’s what happens when you live with Robert and Aaron Sugden Dingle: The Most Grossly In Love Couple to have ever graced the planet.

She can’t help but smile to herself a little as she closes the door behind her on the way out, though.

Of course she’ll never admit it, but it is kinda cute, really.

[stories-and-sails]

Spelling Test

Based on a Tumblr prompt that I have since lost track of: You are a witch working at McDonald’s. There is this one colleague you secretly hate so you cast a curse that slowly destroys the thing they love the most. Months pass and nothing has changed, but you are starting to get sick.

I suppose it’s a stereotype, but I didn’t expect to run into that many Republicans working at the homeless shelter. I mean, I didn’t have any presuppositions about who would be actually staying in the homeless shelter. I carefully schooled myself away from assumptions about the clients. My colleagues, on the other hand…

He showed up in the middle of September, wearing a freshly pressed dress shirt and, of all things, a red tie.

“Are you lost?” I asked politely. 

He laughed. It showed a lot of very square white teeth. “No. At least, not physically. This is my first shift. Are you Gana?” Before I could respond to any of this, he continued. “Herb said that you’d be the best one to show me around, because nobody knows this place like you.” He winked, and I bristled. What exactly had Herb told this cut-out doll of a Yuppie about my history? 

“Yes,” I said, and before I got anything else out, he interrupted again. 

“Are you going to give me the tour?”

I did, and there were whole stretches when I was able to get out useful sentences like, “This is the staff bathroom,” or “Here is where we fill out incident paperwork,” but mostly I learned all about Daniel Bellview. I will summarize, because I do not wish to subject anyone to the same irritation I experienced in listening to his life story. 

Daniel had recently graduated from Dartmouth. He was taking a (third?) gap year from finding a real job. (I didn’t know you could call it a gap year after college, but it seemed like Daniel made the rules.)

His father was John Bellview, Congressional Nominee

His father thought that having a kid working at a homeless shelter would make him seem more sympathetic, especially given that one of the measures he supported would cut funding to social programs like Meals on Wheels

Daniel was more than happy to help with anything that would benefit the Grand Ole Party. And hey, he might learn something working here, right? Anything’s possible. 

In the kitchen that evening, as we oversaw the church group that served on Friday nights, I confided in a co-worker I actually liked, Angela. “He’s just so--Republican.”

She gave me a guarded look. “What is that supposed to mean, Gana?” 

Which is to say, of course, that she was secretly Republican this whole time, and I had to spend the next five minutes trying to try to make my words less offensive. Daniel’s presence in the shelter had already made me a terrible person. 

That night with my Sisters I was able to dump the whole story without any apologies, and they were righteously angry on my behalf. I could always count on them to see things my way. 

At the age of fifteen, after I got to know the homeless shelter downtown better than almost everybody, I found my family. They didn’t seem to think it was alarming that when I tried the spells from Harry Potter, they actually worked. Haile and Dora were clairvoyant, Amber could work magic the way I could, and Yajaira was simply very good at keeping us all organized and financially solvent. This was the most baffling kind of magic to me. 

Amber, predictably, offered to hex Daniel Bellview into a roach. (This sickened me a little bit, because she had a thriving colony of Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches in her bedroom, and probably a quarter of them had started out as men who did something she perceived as unforgivable.) (Only two of them had done something that was truly horrible. That left five men-as-cockroaches in her room that had been irritating but not evil. They had been cockroaches for between one and five months, and I was starting to get antsy about whether she was ever going to return them to normal.) I passed on turning Daniel into a roach. 

Haile offered to read something of his, if I could get it home, and Yajaira just told me to eat my dinner and give it time, because I always needed time to warm up to people. 

Warm up to Daniel. Unlikely. 

Over the course of the next month, my teeth began to wear down from the pressure of clenching them all the time around my ever-present co-worker. Herb told me to be nice to him, because, “We need him to like us. And to think that the shelter is a good thing. He has a good relationship with his dad, and we can use all the help we can get.” 

But Daniel was not an easy person to be nice to. At least, not for me. The girls who worked in the front seemed to find him charming because he was a snappy dresser and backed his inane comments with a dentally-privileged smile. He was particularly cheerful (he would tell anyone who asked) because his father was doing so well in the polls, and there were only weeks left until election day.

But I tried to be nice to him, or at least helpful. “You know, you sound like an idiot when you ask kids where their dad is.”

He blinked. There was a moment of surprise before he recovered his Smarmy™ smile. “Okay. What am I supposed to say?”

“You can ask them if they’re here with anybody, or if there’s anybody they need to get in contact with. I know your dad is perfect, but a lot of the youngsters here don’t have both parents in their lives, or their here because their parents aren’t doing stellar at the whole parenting gig.”

“Wow,” he said. “Thank you. Herb was right, you really have a feel for this.” 

I scowled. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide my past from Daniel Bellview, or anybody else for that matter. From the glazed look on Daniel’s face half the time, I wasn’t sure he even saw the people who stayed here as people. I didn’t want that expression pointed my way.

But it was even worse to keep wondering what he knew. So. “I spent a lot of time here when I was growing up. Ages twelve to fourteen. I mean, it wasn’t home, but I was here more than anywhere else.” 

Okay, so he hadn’t known. He looked insultingly stunned. “You?”

Wow, it was the shortest sentence I’d ever heard him utter. And he was actually waiting for a response. I didn’t owe him anything, so I nodded and handed him a bucket of disinfectant water. “Hard surfaces,” I said. “Go.”

Amber was sympathetic in her usual way. “I know another spell you can try,” she smiled, “If you don’t want to turn him into a cockroach.”

“I’m listening,” I sighed. 

“Katastrepe agapate. It destroys what they love the most.” 

“That’s horrifying,” I answered immediately. I didn’t want to kill his dog, or sister, or the thing that he probably actually loved the most, himself. “That’s worse than roaches.”

“It doesn’t do death,” she promised, waving away my primary concern. “Usually. And you can put in a spellsafe so he can undo it if he stops being terrible. Besides, election day is only a few weeks away, and I have a guess about what he loves the most.”

I just didn’t want to take any chances. I mean, gods and stuff, if I harmed a pet I would never be able to live with myself. 

“Daniel,” I started casually. 

He already looked startled. “Daniel? I thought I was Bellview.”

Dammit. He was right, I had never addressed him by his first name. I tried to avoid names all together with him. “What would you say you love the most?”

“Wh-what makes you ask?” 

“Just, you know, conversing with my co-worker. Trying to get to know you better.” So convincing, Gana. 

He maneuvered a smile back into place. “Other than my own reflection?” He laughed like he was making a joke about himself, or maybe a joke about the way I thought of him. “Probably, the values that make our country so amazing. Virtue. Independence. Innovation. Things like that.” 

I was sure that a spell couldn’t harm Virtue, and besides, that sounded like code for “my dad being a senator.”

“What about you, Gana?”

“Huh?”

“What do you love most?” 

He had gotten slightly better at waiting for me to answer things, but this took an exceptionally long time for me to answer. “I think--I think it might be this place,” I finally said. 

He nodded. “I can see it.”

With three weeks to go until elections, I cast the spell with Amber over a toothbrush that Daniel kept in the staff room. “Katastrepe Agapate.” The silly spellsafe I put over it was that, of course, if he wanted to protect the thing he loved, it was going to have to be Twue Wuv’s Kiss. If things started going bad for a pet or secret sister or something, it should be easy for him to undo. And if it really was his reflection, it should be pretty amusing. 

Over the next weeks I waited for the scandalous news to hit and the GOPs poll numbers to crash, but instead:

Congressional Nominee John Bellview climbed several points in the poll after doing a special appearance at my very own place of employment and making A Very Generous Donation.

Several Democratic candidates fell into traps of their own making and dropped in the polls.

I wondered if Daniel was secretly just a terrible Democrat, and my spell had backfired.

Daniel and I fixed five showers and a toilet that had been out of service for over a month. I asked him how he knew plumbing, and he reminded me that this was his third “gap year.” I told him that he couldn't indefinitely call his life a gap year, and he said that it made his father feel better about him not embarking on his eventual journey toward a doctor/lawyer/CEO.

Daniel also asked 35% fewer stupid questions, like he actually heard me when I told him he was being stupid.

Daniel thought I was starting a game by asking him what he loved best, and so every shift together, he would have a new question, like “If you were a constellation, which one would you be?” and “If you could speak any five languages, which ones would you choose?” Some of the questions were more serious, like “What is your biggest regret?” He always listened to my actual answers, which was at first more than I expected of him, but I started to get used to the listening and the honesty. 

 He did not cease to be irritating, but I started to understand when he was being ironic and when he was simply being stupid. There were measures of both.

I almost wished I hadn’t done the spell.

Especially since I could figure out what it was affecting. He gave no hint that anything was wrong away from work, and everything at work was fine. 

The stress and guilt of possibly destroying something I couldn’t even identify was making me miserable. Clumps of my hair started coming out in my brush.

I took this final problem to Yajaira, who combed her fingers through my hair and came away with more fine strands of hair than I wanted to part with. “Maybe you should take some time off work, Gana. Either you’re not eating right, or you’re stressed out.”

She was right. I was stressed. I stayed home from work for the first time in a year and helped Yajaira with the quiet magic of bulk-cooking vegetarian meals and storing them in the freezer. In the middle of stirring a pot of soup and chanting, “Double, double, toil and trouble,” to double the recipe without having to increase the ingredients, the periphery of my vision went dark, and my knees buckled. I was left on the ground, clenching the wooden spoon.

“Dios,” Yajaira cried, dropping to my side with half an onion still in her left hand. “Gana, I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“I’m just tired,” I whispered. “I was trying to do magic, and I haven’t been sleeping well.” Maybe the agapate spell was taking a little bit of my magic at all times, and that was causing my exhaustion. 

“Doctor.” Yajaira responded firmly. 

“Please not for this, Yajaira. Can’t Dora just take a look at me and see what’s wrong?”

Yajaira seemed annoyed by this and called Dora to come home from school to take a look at me. (Dora was a fifth grade teacher. Being a fifth grade teacher sounded exhausting, but being a psychic fifth grade teacher seemed like actual hell. Dora seemed to enjoy it.) 

I napped on the couch like a sick kid. In some corner of my mind, I could remember being five and six and having a place where people had given me a warm water bottle to hold when I had a fever and putting orange juice on a tray by me as quickly as I could drink it. I could also remember being dead on my feet from some flu I’d caught on the street and dragging myself to the shelter, where they found a room to quarantine me and flu medicine that I could never pay for and didn’t have to. It was funny how the state of being sick made me feel like I could reach out and touch those other sick versions of me throughout my own history. 

Amber arrived home just a few minutes before Dora and force fed me the soup I’d been making, but when Dora got home, she brushed Amber out of the way and started inspecting me. “It’s good you let me take a look at her first, Jai. This is a spell.”

My eyes snapped open, winced, and closed again. “What kind of spell? Who could--” I’d met some others like me in the past couple of years, but it wasn’t like we had a rival gang of witches living on the East side. I couldn’t see why anyone would target me.

“Gana, I don’t understand. It’s you. The spell is from you.”

Gods or something dammit. 

It took a lot of explaining and answering uncomfortable questions, which I could only do between bouts of fortifying soup and closing my eyes to rest. “Amber, are you sure this spell doesn’t cause death?”

She looked horrified. She’d taken off her giant glasses and was cleaning them on the edge of her cardigan rather than meet anyone’s eye. “I told you it’s usually not a death curse. You did use a spellsafe, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I sighed. And what an easy, convenient spellsafe I’d chosen. “A kiss.”

At this, Amber shoved her glasses back on her face and stopped looking miserable, and Yajaira sighed, “Is that all? Somebody go get the boy.”

I struggle to sit up. “No, no, no. Definitely not him, here.” 

Dora looked at her watch. “It’s still the middle of your shift. If I drive you in, do you think you can take care of it?”

I felt sick. It was difficult to know if the feeling came from dreading the conversation that would have to occur or if it was the superbly stupid spell. “I blame you, Amber,” I shouted as Dora bundled me out the door. 

If I thought it was awkward explaining the situation to my sisters, it was nothing compared to facing Daniel. Could I have lied about the situation? Probably. I did not love lying to people, and I just did not have the emotional and mental capacity to do this right now. 

“Wow,” he greeted. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” I returned. “You are terrible. Mostly. Will you kiss me?”

That got a look out of him that I hadn’t seen before. His eyes went round and bulgy, and he choked out, “What?”

“This is going to take forever to explain, but I do...spells? I do spells. And stuff. And I did a spell on you to destroy whatever you loved the most. Which I specifically asked you about, by the way, and you lied. I thought we were being honest with each other. So now I’m very ill, and look terrible, as you mentioned previously, and in order to fix it I need a kiss from you.”

“Oh,” he said, “That’s embarrassing.”

“Yes,” I said, “But I’d rather deal with it than continue to pass out in the kitchen.” 

“I meant for me,” he corrected, that now-familiar mockery of a smile on his face. “You know I always think of myself first. I didn’t plan for you to find out like this.”

“How would you possibly have planned for me to find out like this?” I snapped. 

“Point. But also the reason I wasn’t honest with you when you asked me about the object of my affections. It seemed like an inopportune moment to spring my feelings on you.” He shrugged. I had never seen him look uncomfortable in this particular way. 

“It seems you don’t have to worry about it, because I’ll find a far less opportune way of finding out.”

His laugh sounded tin, and then looked around to make sure we were alone in the room. “You know this is also a terrible thing to do?” 

“Oh, yes. I could probably have this conversation a lot better if I wasn’t on the brink of collapse, but I’m very sorry and feel like an idiot and promise not to let my irritation get the best of me in the workplace. I feel very bad about it and not solely because it’s nearly killing me.”

“It certainly communicates where I stand,” he laughed without any joy behind it, and then leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. 

I’d watched his lips as they smirked and schmoozed and I had never once imagined them pressed against mine, and at the moment that seemed like a terrible oversight. I made a soft, happy noise against him, and it startled him into tugging away. 

I instantly felt much better, although it was still impossible to tell if I was relieved that the conversation was over, or if the curse was broken, or if it had just been a really nice kiss. 

He whistled and turned away to find something to do with his hands. “Hope that helped, colleague of mine. Now I need to go--I don’t know--drink something strong.”

“You’re still on shift,” I pointed out. “And I am too, I guess, since I’m no longer sick.”

Having found nothing else to do with his hands, he just looked at them. They were not clenched, but they kept making tight little motions at each other. “I can ask to be transferred to another shift. I’m not ready to leave yet, but you don’t have to see me.”

“I don’t have to see you?” I frowned. “You’re the one who should never want to see me again. Like you said, that was pretty terrible. I’m sorry.”

“And also like I said, that gives me a pretty clear answer regarding how you feel. As if you’d ever left any real room for doubt. A little bit of distance would probably be good for your health.”

I don’t know why it caused such a pang of regret to hear him say this, but I felt an undeniable urge to make it better. “Having you around was pretty good for my health today.”

There was a sad little cousin of a smirk on his face. “There’s that, at least.”

“I think you should hang around a little longer. It takes me a notoriously long time to warm up to people. Give me a chance.” 

He looked at me closely. “Are you sure? You’re not still fevered? I’ve heard my kisses can be intoxicating.”

What a dumbass. “I’m sure.”

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

Vinay Forrt lends grace and appeal to an endearing Everyman- Leisure Information, Firstpost

http://tinyurl.com/y5ya2q3a Language: Malayalam In one of many earliest seasons of the enduring American TV sitcom Mates, Chandler Bing’s gang learns that he has a 3rd nipple. Many episodes later, Chandler hesitates up to now a girl with a picket leg however overcomes his mindblock solely to seek out himself rejected by her when she feels grossed out on discovering what he calls his “nubbin”. The boisterous comedy of Mates is a world away from the sublimeness of Thamaasha, however that episode in Chandler’s life got here to thoughts with good motive as I watched Sreenivasan Masha’s first assembly with Chinnu on this new Malayalam movie. Sreenivasan is a soft-spoken school professor with a fancy about his untimely baldness, Chinnu is a supremely assured teenager who’s conscious of individuals’s perspective to obese girls however doesn’t permit anybody to eclipse her sunshine smile. He is aware of what it’s to face prejudice, but whereas talking together with her on the telephone at some extent when she is a stranger to him, he unwittingly reveals his personal bias (Minor spoiler forward) when she guides him to the spot the place she is ready for his or her rendezvous, and he replies: “However I see solely a fats woman standing there.” Sreenivasan crumbles with embarrassment on realising that the girl on the opposite finish of the road is the very lady he simply casually labelled, when she replies quietly: “That is me.” (Spoiler alert ends) Vinay Forrt with Divyaprabha in a nonetheless from Thamaasha Thamaasha doesn’t let anybody off the hook simply, it doesn’t paint its sweetly likeable hero as a sufferer with out blemishes, and it feels extremely actual. Debutant director Ashraf Hamza’s movie stars Vinay Forrt as Sreenivasan Masha (instructor), a socially awkward, shy Malayalam prof who’s anxious to be married however can not discover a lady who will settle for him, baldness and all. On the recommendation of his buddy Raheem (performed by Navas), he decides to hunt out a bride among the many girls he meets professionally and socially. In the meantime, his household’s efforts to discover a match for him proceed. His stumbling makes an attempt to get a spouse result in amusing encounters with Gayathri Instructor (Divyaprabha), Safiya (Grace Antony) and Chinnu (Chinnu Chandni). Collectively produced by Malayalam cinema stalwarts Sameer Thahir, Shyju Khalid, Lijo Jose Pellissery and Chemban Vinod Jose, Thamaasha is the antithesis of the type of business Indian cinema that’s filled with crass wisecracks about weight problems, shortness, baldness, pores and skin color and different chopping private remarks. This movie is about people who find themselves the targets of such merciless comedy on display screen and in actual life. Thamaasha is reportedly a remake of the 2017 Kannada movie Ondu Motteya Kathe directed by Raj B Shetty. It’s a tribute to the unique, which obtained wonderful evaluations when it was launched, that the Malayalam adaptation is heartwarming, humorous, clever and weird. That Thamaasha has some extent to make is obvious proper from the beginning, however removed from being a lecture, it’s a nice slice of life in up to date Kerala and a  character examine of Srinivasan and Chinnu, providing moments of nice humour together with its worthwhile classes. Sameer Thahir’s camerawork is as considerate as the general tone of the movie and as unassuming because the main man. The standard of cinematography in Malayalam cinema as an entire is high notch and a continuing aching reminder of the magnificence of God’s Personal Nation for these of us who reside elsewhere. As an alternative of sweeping panoramic views and excessive aerial photographs that deliver out the luxuriant greens, blues and reds of the pure panorama, Thahir opts for comparative smallness of scale and fewer acquainted sights, managing to showcase the attractiveness of Sreenivasan Masha’s environment even whereas retaining the movie’s intimate really feel. Hamza’s writing of the protagonist and Chinnu are impeccable, and the 2 actors reside their characters as if that is who they’ve all the time been. FTII graduate Vinay Forrt’s most high-profile efficiency until date was as Malar Miss’s suitor Vimal Sir in Alphonse Puthren’s 2015 blockbuster Premam. Within the tiniest of elements on this month’s megaproject Unda, he managed to make a mark. There’s one other function that doesn’t get talked about as a lot within the media, however I completely loved his flip as a hot-headed policeman in Shanavas Ok Bavakutty’s Kismath (2016). Each iota of appearing excellence he has achieved up to now recedes into the background within the face of his utter genius as Sreenivasan Masha. The Everymanness of Sreenivasan, the Malayaliness of him, the diffidence, the clear coronary heart, the traditionalism that exists contiguous to his fashionable considering in some issues, the way by which he metamorphoses right into a passionate being when discussing a literary textual content within the classroom – it’s unimaginable to put a finger on precisely what he does to embody every of those points of his character, as a result of he does it with a subtlety that ought to make its method to cinema research texts. Chinnu Chandni and Vinay Forrt in a nonetheless from Thamaasha The discover of Thamaasha is fairly newcomer Chinnu Chandni who has performed satellite tv for pc roles in different movies however is pushed to the foreground – deservedly so – with this one. Bless you, Ashraf Hamza for envisioning her display screen namesake as a vivid, confident, optimistic lady, but not turning her into the manically energetic however hole, bubbly cliché of a heroine seen advert nauseam in business Indian cinema. The actor offers Chinnu depth and maturity with out diluting her cheery persona in any means. The solid member who’s let down by the screenplay is Divyaprabha taking part in Sreenivasan’s colleague Gayathri. She is nice to the extent that she is allowed to be by the writing of the one character that’s given such quick shrift by Hamza’s creativeness. (Minor spoiler forward) There’s a second within the movie the place Sreenivasan drops her like a sizzling brick for causes I can’t go into. Whereas his hesitation to proceed his affiliation together with her is in line with who he’s, the movie’s full disinterest in her thereafter is disappointing. It’s as if she is irrelevant as soon as she is off the male protagonist’s radar, by no means thoughts her personal feelings and opinions on the scenario. That she isn’t completely unaffected by his behaviour is implied by a fleeting expression on her face when he later mistakenly performs a voice message from one other lady whereas she is inside earshot. (Spoiler alert ends) This passage in an in any other case charming movie is a tragic pointer to the unlucky fact that though Malayalam’s ongoing parallel cinema motion does provide girls many robust roles in distinction with the marginalisation of girls in mainstream megastar-driven  tasks, this motion too predominantly tells tales of males from a male standpoint and equality of illustration is but to be achieved even on this comparatively enlightened house. Among the many remainder of the supporting solid, Grace Antony is spot-on as the article of a mighty misunderstanding in Sreenivasan Masha’s muddled head. As soon as the confusion surrounding her is sorted out, should you rewind her efficiency you will notice how correct she was in each body. Navas is a firecracker because the hero’s greatest buddy. I felt barely uncomfortable although with the scene by which his character introduces his spouse to Sreenivasan. The equivalence being implied there between her, Chinnu and Sreenivasan is the one level of overstatement within the movie. Hey, we obtained it already. Why underline it with a thick pink pen? Arun Kurian’s brooding depth works nicely for his function as Sreenivasan’s handsome youthful brother. The rationale why Thamaasha works so nicely is as a result of its messaging is couched in amusing, endearing, relatable realism. There are a number of strains and moments that linger lengthy after the final credit score has rolled off the display screen, however my favorite of the lot comes from Raheem who turns an outdated stereotypical notion on its head when he means that the best way to a girl’s coronary heart is thru her abdomen with these words, “If served properly, there are solely two issues nobody can flip down, Mashe – affection/love and meals.” In per week when a Hindi film has resurrected one of the vital repugnant stalker lovers Telugu cinema has ever created, that is such a delicate, refreshingly non-aggressive assertion by which to recollect this genteel pattern of Malayalam cinema. Score: 3.5 All photos from YouTube. 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