#she’d be our number one customer

[loveshotzz]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

My Favorite Customer

Summary: You’ve been buying weed from your new dealer for a few months now. Always leaving it in your mailbox while you’re at work, you two never cross paths until one Friday night when you come home early.

word count: 3k

Warnings: None really besides some kissing at the end. This just a little meet cute with our favorite weed dealer. (Not meant to be a series, just a fluffy one shot) mentions of weed obviously.

A/N: I missed Eddie and this idea came to me based off my real life of buying weed from my weed man for over a year. Have yet to come face to face with him, but there’s always weed in my mailbox when I need it lol. For my twin @boomhauer and thank you @superblysubpar for helping me find my Eddie voice again.

Lifting up the lid of your mailbox, the smirk that tugs at your lips can’t be stopped when a fresh bag of weed sits inside, his usual hand written note attached making your face hot. You look both ways before snatching the eighth quickly scuffling back into your apartment like you were hiding a pound of cocaine and not just enough green to last you a few days.

It had been like this for a while with Eddie. You’d call him up by the number given to you from Robin who swore up and down that he was the best.

You remember thinking his voice was cute the first time you heard it, and you started to wonder if he thought the same after the third call. A flirty edge hidden behind his words every time he’d pick up and realize it was you.

“Ahhh my favorite customer.” He’d tease starting to get these calls multiple times a week.

It wasn’t your intention to never meet Eddie, it’s just how it always seemed to happen. That first time you talked he could hear the desperation in your voice. The stress from the move here and starting your new full time job fresh out of high school, he could tell you needed to relax. Rattling off times he could come by, none of them ever lining up to match with yours.

“You got a mailbox or somewhere I could stash it?” He finally gave in after exhausting almost every other option.

“You’d do that?” You couldn’t help but be embarrassed by the obvious excitement in your voice and he just laughed.

“If the money’s there sweetheart, why not?” The nickname made your heart skip a beat biting your lip to try and hide your smile.

You don’t even know what he looks like.

So this is how it started playing out after that, you’d call with your order and he’d make you blush every time he’d kick the flirting up to ten.

Instantly comforted by his mellow voice, you found yourself looking forward to those few minutes so much that you weren’t sure if the amount you were smoking was from stress or from just wanting to hear his voice again. Then he started adding little notes to your deliveries and now you were almost positive it was the second.

His sloppy handwriting started appearing on each bag with the word ‘favorite’ always scribbled at the top.

Cheeks heating up the first time it showed up, you couldn’t stop trying to imagine what he looked like. Too scared to ask Robin, you knew she’d just follow your intrigue with a line of questioning of her own.

Settling for the vague faceless man you’d conjured up in your clever mind. You let the memory of his voice be the thing that secretly encouraged the movements of your fingers between your thighs every night.

—

Friday morning had you waking up with a smile, your stash low enough to do the thing you’d been thinking about since you hung up the last time. Taking a deep breath you dialed his number that you now had completely memorized. It only rings three times before his voice fills your end of the receiver.

“Is this who I think it is calling me this early in the morning?” The grin in his voice is evident when he answers.

Shuffling your feet nervously, the smile on your own face was starting to make your cheeks hurt.

“Do you always answer the phone like this?” You wonder if he can hear yours too.

“Only if I know it’s you.”his tone sends a shiver up your spine, legs pressing together on their own accord.

“And how’d you know that it was me Eddie?” You draw out his name sweetly, silently squealing when you hear the hitch in his breathing from it.

“Because sweetheart, you’re the only one who calls this early for weed.” catching the way he almost whispers the last part, you hear a gruff voice in the background.

“Boy if you don’t leave soon!”

“Sorry, is that a problem? I just wanted to catch you before it was too late.” The urge to crawl in a hole is strong as you slap your palm on your forehead.

Your eagerness to talk to him becoming more than obvious, the man yelling at him in the background definitely wasn’t helping your new bashfulness.

“Pshh are you kidding me? I love it. Get to start the morning off talking to my favorite girl.” He lays his response on thicker than syrup. Your palms start to sweat noting the way he didn’t say customer for the first time.

Your embarrassment subsides for a split second before the voice from before cuts in again.

“If I get another call that you were late again, boy I swear to -“

The line shuffles on the other end and all you can hear is the sounds muffled arguing before another loud rustle, his voice returning with more irritation in it than you’d ever heard before.

“You want the usual?” He’s short when he answers and you know it’s not supposed to be directed at you, but you can’t help but squirm.

“Y- yeah if that’s okay?” You didn’t mean to give yourself away by stumbling over your words, but when you do Eddie makes a quick recovery.

“More than, listen you have a good day at work today Sweetheart. I really gotta go, but check your mailbox when you get home.” Hanging up before you get a chance to finish saying goodbye you hear Eddie yell “I”m leaving alright?!”

——

Work was exceptionally slow for a Friday night, the unexpected thunderstorm that rolled through killed any possibility of a dinner rush. Cutting you less than half way through your shift, your giddy excitement couldn’t be contained. Friday evenings had become non-existent since you started at Enzo’s. So when the opportunity to actually have one came around you couldn’t turn it down. Stopping at Family Video on your way home, Robin helped you pick out something she swore was good while you did your best to ignore the eyes her friend Steve was giving you.

Strumming your fingers against the steering wheel while you listened to Kiss a little too loud, the heavy rain turned into something less than a light drizzle as your tires splashed through puddles. Planning out your evening alone you didn't even think of what this could mean as you pulled into your parking spot hours earlier than normal.

Too caught up in trying to land the notes to I Was Made For Loving You, you didn’t see the van parked in front of your small complex. Head in the clouds with the possibilities of the night mixed with your bad habit of looking down when you walked, you didn’t see who was right in front of you. The sound of the voice you’d been daydreaming for months about cuts through your mumbled singing. Stomach dropping to the floor when you hear

“Son of a bitch.”

Freezing in place, your eyes slowly trail up towards your front door. Standing at almost six feet tall was a curly haired metal head. Mumbling profanities as he struggled against the lid of your mailbox, his jacket looked caught on something. Broad shoulders covered by a battle vest adorned with a giant Dio patch, you still couldn’t see what his face looked like as he struggled with the sleeve of the leather jacket beneath. Taking in his ripped black jeans and scuffed white Reebok’s, your heart was already threatening to beat out of your chest. If his face was cute, you knew you’d be fucked.

A few more violent tugs of his arm, he finally breaks free as your mailbox creaks dangerously close to coming unhinged off the brick wall. His zippers jingle as he shakes out his wrist, flipping up a ring clad middle finger he chuckles proudly to himself before turning around. Big brown eyes meet yours like a deer in headlights, so cute they punch the air out of our lungs.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Brows furrowed under messy bangs his eyes go from your stunned face down to the keys in your hand with your VHS tape before he takes in your frame. Catching the way they linger just long enough to still be polite. He meets your shocked stare as something clicks in his head. A dimple filled smile pushes past his plush lips, yours threatening to do just the same at the sight.

“Eddie?” Surprised you were able to get his name out of your mouth, his face seems to light up even more as his suspicions were confirmed.

“That depends.” Rocking on his heels he crosses his arms over his chest “Favorite, is that you? Cause boy, you’re even cuter than you sound.”

Blood rushing to your cheeks hearing your nickname in person like this, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth at his compliment.

“That depends.” Looking up at him from under your lashes the dimples in his cheeks deepen at your response.

Twirling one of his curls over his lip, you notice all of his rings “What if it’s your favorite weed dealer?”

Cuter than anything you could have conjured up in your mind you were silently scolding yourself for not meeting him sooner. Straightening your shoulders a little you take a few strides closer to him, watching as his eyes don’t try to hide as they take all of you in.

“I’m sure you call all the girls that, but yes it’s me Eddie.” Smiling bigger than you can help, it’s his turn to take a couple steps closer.

“Nah, that nickname is just for you sweetheart.” Standing close enough to catch hints of corner store cologne trying to cover up cigarette smoke, everything about him made your brain short circuit. Looking down at the movie in your hand his eyebrows raise in disbelief before meeting your eyes again. “Alien?”

“Robin suggested it to me for my unexpected night off.” Flipping it over in your hand to read the back, you could feel his stare on your face rather than on the tape. “Ever seen it?” glancing up at him, he doesn’t try to hide what he was actually looking at.

Nodding, he grins down at you “Buckley’s got great taste.”

Catching the double meaning in his words an electric current that could light up all of Hawkins dances between your bodies. Static vibrating from your fingertips, you couldn’t stop the sigh that slipped between your lips.

The raindrop that hits you between the eyes is jarring, you blink fast before more start a slow and steady decent splattering all around. Raising a large hand up to try and shield his curls he looks annoyed that Mother Nature was cutting his time short.

“I hate to deliver and dash sweetheart, but I don’t wanna keep you in the rain.” Doe eyes taking in your face like he was trying to commit it to memory he moves to step around you.

Panic rises and constricts around your chest as you watch his retreating form, biting the inside of your cheek you work up enough courage to do something you’ve never done. Make the first move.

“Doyouwannwatchitwithme?” Words jumbled together and almost yelled as they fell out of your mouth, your mumbled nonsense stops him dead in his tracks. Turning around, having his full attention like this was making it even harder.

“Come again princess?” The new nickname threatens to send you six feet under when you feel your knees shake. Clearing your throat you gather whatever confidence you can muster under the intensity of his stare.

“Do you want to come watch this movie with me?” Using it as a makeshift umbrella you start walking backwards towards front door “I actually just got this pretty good shit delivered you should try it.”

The smile that breaks across his face is infectious, feeling it in the way your lips stretch so much it makes your cheeks hurt.

“Oh yeah? I mean if you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, that guy’s got the best shit in town sweetheart.” The laugh he pulls from you, he swears it makes your face glow. “I’d be honored favorite, I thought you’d never ask.”

—-

Your living room lays in a blanket of haze from two joints successfully smoked, touches lingering more and more as you two passed them back and forth. Half way through the movie you were giggling through cupped fingers leaning into him as you both sank deeper into the cushions of your couch. His bad jokes and over the top commentary kept you both laughing with shoulders pressed together for support. Neither one of you making any effort to move when you both finally calm down.

Peeking at him from the corner of your eye, you were mesmerized by how handsome he was this close. Your stare following the curve of his round nose to the fullness of not one but both his lips, a light sheen coating them from being freshly licked. The sharp planes of his jaw lead you to the thickness of his neck, catching the silver chain that disappears into his shirt.

Time is an illusion in your foggy brain - especially under his spell, losing yourself trying to remember every curve and scar on his face you stare long enough to to get caught. Chocolate eyes connecting with yours, the corners of his lips tug up and like looking in a mirror yours do you.

“Hey favorite”quiet enough for just you to hear, there’s a soft rasp in his voice from all the smoking.

“Hey Eddie”biting your bottom lip, his eyes watch the way your teeth scrape across the silk of it.

Leather creaking loud enough to hear over the sound of the movie and the rain outside, he drapes his arm over the back of the couch. The dip pulling you deep into the warmth of his chest.

“Is this okay?”for the first time you see a hint of nervousness in his eyes as he tries to read the expression on your face.

Nodding you slide a tentative hand up his chest feeling his muscle twitch under your palm, looking up at him you repeat his own question.

“Is this okay?”

His hand reaches up to cup the side of your face, the weed helping you melt into his touch as the pad of his thumb traces your cheekbone. Searching your eyes for any sign of protest he nudges his nose with yours. The heat of his breath fans across your parted lips as your eyes flutter closed completely overcome by him being this close.

“Sweetheart, if I’m reading this wrong please tell me now.” Your top lip brushes with his bottom when he asks the question and you think you might combust if you don’t close the gap.

Tilting your head just enough to get what you want, your lips move together like it was something they’d been doing for years. Each lazy drag setting your skin ablaze.

Swiping his tongue against your bottom lip he quietly asks you for more. Granting him access to something you’re sure you’ll never deny him, you don’t hesitate to let him deepen the kiss.

Tongues meeting each other in the middle, they battle for dominance as your fingers find their way into the thickness of his curls. Tugging slightly, you smile into the kiss when a groan erupts from deep in his chest.

With the rest of the world long forgotten, the two of you stay like this for longer than you can keep track of. Hands exploring curves and grabbing hips, it almost becomes too much when you nip his bottom lip.

Eddie’s the one who breaks away reluctantly when the need for oxygen becomes too much, and his body starts to react a little too strongly to your touch. The screen on the TV had gone blue long ago when the movie ended, leaving your dark living room in its pale bright light. The coloring of it all hitting his face just right.

Nudging his nose with yours he leans his head back against the cushions of the couch. Chocolate eyes looking at you through half closed lids, a lazy smile spreading wide across his kiss swollen lips.

“We should probably stop, and I should probably go.”jutting his bottom lip in a pout he catches the disappointment you try to hide flash behind your eyes. “Not that I want to, I just actually had other stops that I was supposed to make tonight, but it’s not like I was going to say no to you inviting me to hangout.”snorting like that was the craziest thing he could ever imagine, his face lights up when he earns a laugh from you.

“Yeah, I’d be pretty pissed if I was them.” Using his chest to try to push yourself up with your hands, he stops you from getting too far. Collecting your lips one last time, he only lets you pull away enough for your noses to stay touched.

“Besides having a few more drop offs, I’m hoping the next time I kiss you like that is after you let me take you on a date?”catching the nerves in his voice, you couldn’t actually believe he thought you’d say no.

“Bold of you to assume there’s going to be a next time.”raising a brow you do your best to remain straight faced as he narrows his eyes at you.

He brushes his lips lightly against yours again before asking “there’s not?”

Giving in almost instantly you add pressure pushing yourself closer, chuckling as he pulls away, you stop trying to fight the smile that’s threatening to spread across your own face.

“Fine, you caught my bluff.” Huffing in mock annoyance, this time he lets you push yourself up.

It still takes another thirty minutes for Eddie to work up enough willpower to get off the couch, your easy conversation and pouty soft lips making it a near impossible feat.

More stolen kisses and stumbled words fill the empty space on the walk to the front door followed by even more before he finally goes. Sweet just like the nickname he gave you, he couldn’t wait to make you his.

——

taglist: @munsonology @munsonmunster @elthreetimes

[navybrat817]

Sweet and Strong

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You stop by the parlor to drop off some treats. Word Count: Over 2.3k Warnings: Fluff, flir-ting, slight insecurity if you squint, slight feels (it's me), Tess is a real one, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) Graphics talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Bucky edit - Nix, Moodboard - yours truly A/N: More Hottie and Sugar from my Sin on Skin AU.❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby , so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You did your best not to let your mind wander during the work day, but Bucky hadn’t left your thoughts since he dropped you off at your place. A dopey smile formed on your face more times than you could count. The tattoo artist was your dream come true. Someone who looked like they could destroy everything in their path, but treated you with such care.

And he said yes to a date with you.

How does a man like him exist?

“Careful,” Tess said, nudging you to the side so she could take a cookie from the case. “Keep making that happy face and it’ll get stuck that way.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you smiled, making sure there were no customers looking as you typed a quick message to Bucky on your phone.

“Hope you have a good day, Hottie.”

After a moment, you cringed and put the device away. Though Bucky gave you his number after he dropped you off, you didn’t message him immediately. Waiting until today was better because enough time had passed, but was the text too casual? Not casual enough? Was it clingy to message him before you had your date?

Why am I overthinking this?

“If you’re smiling because of Bucky, it’s a very good thing. Especially after what he did to help you. I think he should get a permanent discount,” Tess said, making you raise an eyebrow when you didn’t detect a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“We talked about this,” you gently reminded her when she pouted, a look that told you she was still upset. “Please, stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

When Tess heard that Richard ambushed you after closing, she beat herself up for not being there. You assured her it wasn’t her fault that your ex showed up. She was thankful you were okay and that Bucky, and everyone else in the shop, stood up for you. She also added that if she saw Richard sniffing around the place that she’d kick him in the nuts.

Bucky assured you he wouldn’t come around and you believed him.

“I’m just sorry I didn’t see him get put in his place. Been a long time coming,” she said, a bit of mischief back in her eyes as she leaned against the counter to smile at you. “And I’m bummed I missed that kiss.”

“Why did I tell you about that?” you asked, your cheeks hot as you recalled the moment Bucky’s lip touched yours. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel him kissing you again. The memory made your heart swell.

As if on cue, your phone went off.

“Day’s better now that I’ve heard from you, Sugar. Can’t wait for our date. Planned something special.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you reread the message and hugged the device to your chest. You weren't sure how many women Bucky dated or how many special dates he planned before you. The thought of it being a high number didn't make your stomach sink as you expected. What mattered was that the two of you were taking a chance on each other.

And even though you technically asked him out, he took the time to plan something for you. When was the last time a guy did anything remotely nice for you without expecting something in return? Why had you settled in the past for less than what you deserved?

“You told me because we’re best friends,” Tess answered with a smirk when you looked her way. “Is that him?”

“Yeah, it’s him,” you smiled, showing her the message. “I wonder what he has planned.”

“Whatever it is, you better give all the dirty details when he dicks you down. And not to be graphic, but I bet he eats pussy like-"

“Tess!" you groaned, praying the nearby customers weren’t listening. But, god, if you hadn’t thought about what he’d be like in bed. He’d be so good to you. “Let’s try and be professional.”

“Professional, my ass. I’m not the one flirting with the hunk or making eyes at him every time he steps into the shop,” she pointed out.

Fair.

“And, look, I’m not saying you have to get laid on the first date, but I am saying you have to let him in your pants at some point,” she said, laughing as you tossed a towel at her face.

You laughed, too, and wondered just how the night would go. If you put out on the first date, would he think you were easy? If you waited too long, would he move on? You were overthinking again, but you couldn't help it. You really liked him.

He likes me, too, so I must be doing something right.

“What do you get out of it if I let him in my pants?” you asked curiously.

Tess placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “I get to keep seeing you happy, which you have every right to be."

"Thanks," you smiled, a wave of fondness crashing over you. The two of you saw each other go through many ups and downs of life. She deserved the world and it meant a lot that she wanted that for you, too. "Is it too much if I run some treats over for him? Especially since I just texted him?"

Bringing a small selection of baked goods for Bucky and the guys would be a small way to thank them for defending you. Deep down, it was also an excuse to see him before your date. You hoped it wasn't too obvious.

"The guy has visited the shop for all of your shifts since he first came in. So, no, it isn't too much if you surprise him and send something his way. He might like it."

"I'll be quick," you promised, selecting some of the best treats from the case, including one with little hearts.

"Take your time. Jill and I can handle this," she smiled as if she sensed your giddiness. "Go treat your man."

"He isn't my man yet," you teased.

But I'm already his girl.

"Yeah, he is," Tess winked, giving you a gentle nudge. "Now go."

It didn't take you long to cross the street to the parlor and thankfully you didn't drop the box. You hoped you looked decent. Well, as much as you could during a work day. At least you had a cute apron on.

"Hi! Welcome to Sin on Skin!" Jake said as you walked through the door. "Sugar! It's you!"

You held back a laugh when his voice echoed. "Yeah, it's me," you smiled, holding up the box. "I wanted to drop these off Bucky and the rest of you, if that's okay?"

"You brought us food?!" he asked, leaning on his arms to look over the counter. "Hold on. Lemme grab him."

"You sure? If he's with a client…" you trailed off when Jake dashed away from the counter.

You took a moment to look around again, your gaze settling on an intricate flower tattoo. Seeing the place without the fear of your ex following you made it even brighter than before. Like your shop, it was expressive and inviting. Bucky likely put as much love into it as you did with yours.

"That was my first piece."

You tore your gaze away from the wall to find Bucky beside you, a dopey smile back on your face. There was only a small amount of space between you and your heart raced as you looked him over, the large man clad in his usual tight shirt and jeans. He had his hair pulled back and you resisted the urge to tuck a few strands back that came loose.

He would manage to look sexy as hell with latex gloves on.

"It's beautiful," you said honestly.

"Thanks. She's a good friend and still a client of mine. So is her husband," he smiled gently. "I'm glad you stopped by."

"Me, too," you smiled back, holding up the box in your hands. "I just wanted to say thanks again to you and the guys for sticking up for me. It isn't much, but I hope you all enjoy them."

"Oh." A slight frown formed on his face when you handed him the treats. "You know you don't have to give us these, right? We didn't do it expecting you to give us anything in return and I'm sure as hell not going to let anyone speak to you the way that prick did."

You furrowed your brows a bit, even as you nearly swooned at his protectiveness. Had you upset him? "I know I don't have to," you said, clearing your throat. Why did the thought of them defending you just for being good guys make you emotional? "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Was this a bad idea?

You let out a breath when he smiled again. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you didn't feel obligated," he said, touching your arm. Even with the glove, the touch sent heat between your thighs. "It's a very sweet gesture, Sugar. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you said, satisfied that he wasn't unhappy with the small gift. "And I'll admit. I also stopped by because I wanted to see you before our date," you added.

"You did?" he smirked, bringing warmth to your cheeks as you nodded. "While we're admitting things to each other, I've been watching the door and hoping you'd stop in. I even dreamt about you when I took a nap."

"No, you didn't," you giggled, a sense of power and elatedness filling you that his pull to you was that strong.

"I swear. I don't think Steve will let me live that down" he chuckled. You wondered what exactly he dreamt about. Was it passionate? Intense? "Can't get you outta my mind. And, frankly, I don't want to."

Oh.

You didn't think he could make your heart beat any faster, but he continued to surprise you. There was no shame or timidness in his tone or his stare. It was steadfast and true, like he wasn't afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve with you. If he could be vulnerable and open with you this way, you could do the same in return.

Go big or go home, right?

"I can't stop thinking about you either," you told him, proud that your voice didn't waver.

"You can't?" he whispered and you suddenly didn't like the box between your bodies. It made him feel too far away.

"No, I can't," you whispered back, gazing into his blue eyes. "I waited to text you because I didn't want it to be too soon. And even though I don't know where you're taking me on our date, I already have the perfect sundress laid out and ready to go."

"You can text me as much as you want. I don't care what time of day," he assured you before his eyes lit up mischievously, like he knew something you didn't. "And a sundress is fucking perfect, but no asking for hints about our date"

"Not even a little one? Please?" you asked, giving him what you hoped was a cute pout. You didn't actually want him to tell you because you wanted him to surprise you, but you hoped you looked enticing.

Bucky slowly licked his lips and shook his head. If he was trying to look hot, he more than succeeded. If he wasn't, did he have any idea what that teasing motion of his tongue did to you? "I'm tempted to tell you and I'm very tempted to kiss you right now, but no. No hints. I need to stay strong."

I'm very tempted to kiss you, too.

"Fine, Hottie. I'll be good," you teased, pouting again. "For now."

Bucky moved the box beside him so he could step closer, his eyes darker than before. "You wanna be good for me?"

Yes, sir.

"Yes," you answered, leaving out the "sir" that echoed in your mind and shivering as he continued to stare. Before you could say anything more, you noticed that the shop had gone quiet. You leaned over to look past Bucky and giggled when you saw the crew staring, taking you out of the moment. Steve and Hal both had knowing smirks on their faces, but no way could they have heard your conversation. "Hope you enjoy the treats!"

"Oh, we will," Hal winked. "What about you, Bucky? You gonna enjoy your treat?"

"Get back to work!" Bucky called back before he smiled disappointedly. "Speaking of, I should, too. I think my client gave me enough of a break."

"Yeah, I need to get back," you said. You didn't want to leave Tess and Jill hanging. "I hope you have a good rest of the day."

"You, too," he said as you went to the door. "Be good for me until I see you again."

Fuck.

"Only if you're good for me," you smiled over your shoulder, catching his surprised smirk before the door shut.

You took a breath, allowing the breeze to cool you off. Maybe a cold shower would do a better job. You smiled as your phone went off, expecting a teasing text from Tess. It caught you off guard when "Mom" popped up.

Well, that can't be good if she's texting me. God, did she somehow hear about Richard? The last thing I need is a lecture.

Instead of opening the message, you tucked your phone away. You needed to get back to work and you had a date to look forward to. You wouldn't allow your mom to sour your mood because Tess was right.

You had the right to be happy.

No ruining this upcoming date, mom! Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[kamotecue]

dancing with your ghost ꕥ a. russo

pairing: alessia russo x reader

summary: based on dancing with your ghost by sasha sloan. it’s been years since you and alessia had broken up, you had met on the youth teams.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

the blue eyed striker couldn’t get her mind off of you, despite no longer being together, you were the only thing that occupied her mind, besides football. alessia had met you when you both represented the youth levels. you had captained both the under 17’s and under 19’s youth level.

she realized that she had a tiny yet huge crush on you, when you mentioned that you were going on a date. she didn’t like it, of course.

you always held her hand, she’d scramble to get your kit bag whenever you were both done with training. you would cuddle in the middle of break, resting your heads on the duffle bag that you brought. she’d trace patterns along your exposed arm, you’d hum at her words while listening to what she’s saying

yelling at the sky, screaming at the world

you didn’t know, that she’d yelled at the sky after the break up. you guys were teenagers, young and in love. yet it was also a reckless decision because you didn’t know if you could maintain the long distance relationship, leading to the break up.

she screamed at the world, why’d you have to go away. she played for the tar heels, and you played for yale. it was always a dream to play for the senior lionesses, however you didn’t get called up.

baby, why’d you go away?

she wasn’t the only one that wanted to know about your whereabouts—the whole football world did. you were quite a well known prodigy, even until now the lionesses that play on the senior team still gets asked about you.

alessia would avoid talking about you because it pained her, ella would notice and ask the press to not bother with the questions relating to you.

i’m still your girl

she didn’t want to be anyone else’s really, she just wanted to be yours, hence she’s still your girl. no matter how many times her teammates set her up on a blind date, it never worked because it wasn’t you.

holding on too tight, head up in the clouds

on your first anniversary, you had given her a small gift. it was a white bear that had your last name and jersey number, it was customized. not only that but there was a recorded message, you just needed to press down on the chest—and it would play a message only she knows.

looking up at the clouds was something both of you loved to do. after training during the youth levels, you’d lay on the pitch, staring at the sky. she’d look while you would stare at her, she is the most beautiful girl that you’d ever seen.

heaven only knows, where you are now

no one knew were you were, only your parents did. but they never disclosed anything to the outside world, only close friends and family knew.

how do i love, how do i love again?

you were her first and greatest love, she kept asking how does she love again, when her heart was still hung up on you.

how do i trust, how do i trust again?

you were the only person she trusted with her heart. the way you’d occasionally check up on her, how you showered her with love, treating her how she deserves to be treated.

i stay up all night, tell myself i’m alright

alessia would stay up all night, telling herself that she’s alright. that everything is fine, in reality it wasn’t. because she misses you, and it haunts her everytime.

baby, you’re just harder to see than most

there have been rumors about you, the french head coach had called your parents a few times, but it was said that you rejected it and nobody knows why.

i put the record on, wait ‘til i hear our song

before you had broken up, you gave her your most prized possession. it was a baby blue record player, family heirloom as your parents would say it.

can’t help falling in love would play every time you two were together. she’d step on your toes as she didn’t know how to dance. she was the clumsiest of the pair. occasionally, knocking down a vase or two.

every night i’m dancing with your ghost

she’d dance in her apartment, the song you two played would be heard in the background. she would dance with the bear in her arms, hoping and wishing that it was you. it was to fill out the ghost of you.

every night i’m dancing with your ghost

[to the anon who requested this, sorry for the delay and i hope you like it.]

[thebirdandthebee]

Mighty Fine (18+)

Just a little slump-buster ft. our favorite aviator. Taking requests for TGM and The Bear in my inbox. Smut ahead. Painfully pining Rooster. 18+ only! This is not edited, so please excuse any glaring issues.

Title: Mighty Fine Caroline, see, Caroline - all the guys would say she's mighty fine WC: 3716

The Hard Deck was not in a poor financial state – in fact, since Penny took it over five years ago, she’d done better business than the establishment had ever logged.

Sure, some positive changes, listening to customer feedback and stocking just the right kind of beer helped. But Penny knew that for the past year, there was specifically one woman who helped bump sales big time.

And tonight, a Friday night ahead of the fourth of July, Penny knew they’d hit record numbers.

The leggy brunette flitted about the full bar – packed asses to elbows – with a smile that held a secret and lashes longer than a summer afternoon.

Caroline was all perfume and warm skin. A promise of what could be behind a beauty mark and cherry gloss.

Tonight she’d tucked her white tank into a pair of cutoff shorts and knotted an American flat bandanna around her neck, the tip of the triangle teasing her cleavage. The low-slung cowgirl boots did nothing to interrupt the long lines of her legs and she trusted them with each pivot she needed to make through the crowd.

When her attention landed on you, it felt like you were the only person in the room. She knew how to work a crowd. A small gallery assembled to watch her re-stock the tray of cherries – one of her favorite snacks throughout the night.

“Caro, sweetheart,” Penny called, topping of a lager pour.

“Penny, my love,” Caroline countered, popping the tabs on three ciders.

“Can you let me these men live for one night?” Her boss teased, nipping at the fabric around her employee’s neck.

“I can’t show my love for America the beautiful?” Caroline replied with a wink. Penny laughed with a shake of her head.

Caroline had started at the Hard Deck last summer, asking for a few weekend shifts – the ones no one else wanted to take in order to enjoy their own weekends – since her classes for UCSD ran from Tuesday through Thursday.

“Rent’s due this week, Pen!” Caroline called as she ducked under the counter, greeting her adoring audience as she head to the stockroom to grab a crate of Sam Adams.

Rooster entered the bar that night with his hopes high and his buddies trailing close behind.

He’d had his sights set on Caroline for months. A squeezed shoulder here, a bat at his biceps there and he was hooked. Sometimes he felt like a cartoon, floating behind her like a cherry pie on its way to cool in the open window.

“Oh Rooster, you’re so fucked,” Fanboy commented, catching sight of the brunette wonder first. She was pouring a line of shots across the bar top, handing them out to a group of sailors who wished she was their treat instead. Taking a clear glass for herself, they all clanked their shots before tossing them back.

Penny didn’t mind if Caroline drank on the job – she was a grown woman who knew her limits who could always use working as an excuse to get out of it.

“Here’s trouble,” Caroline announced, “G&T, Fanboy?” She asked as they saddled up to the bar – their first stop before heading back to the darts.

“Please,” Fanboy grinned, basking in the glow of her attention.

“A rum and Coke for Coyote, Hefeweizen for Phoenix and porter for my Rooster,” she listed off, gathering glasses and stationing herself over the beer taps. “That sound right?” She asked with a tilt of her head, locking eyes with Bradley.

“Perfect as always,” he replied, his honey brown eyes melting into hearts.

“Ladies first,” Caroline simpered, handing Phoenix her beer, “then, we go in order of beauty,” she added. “Fanboy,” she passed over the gin and tonic, “Coyote,” she listed next, giving his rum and Coke a swish, “and, last, but certainly not least, Rooster,” she pulled the tap of the porter, leaving just the perfect thin band of foam at the top.

“You trying to break my heart?” Bradley asked, leaning over the bar, willing her to lean in closer.

“I gotta keep you humble, Rooster,” she replied, pushing his glass toward him, “because I know they don’t call you that due to the size of your ego,” she said, turning on a heel to attend to the other side of the bar while Jimmy grabbed the trash to bring out back. Though she tossed a wink over her shoulder that made his upper lip tremble beneath his mustache.

“When you going to let me buy you a drink?” He called out, voice nearly blending in with the buzz of the bar. She shook her head with a laugh, focusing on the task at hand, but they both knew she heard him.

Rooster joined his friends back at the darts. The Fourth of July weekend was guaranteed chaos at the ‘Deck – not too unlike Homecoming weekend at UVA. Bradley loved the liveliness of it all. However, it meant that Caroline’s attention was pulled every which way except his.

“I just think if I could get her alone for 10 minutes…” he said, eyeing her hopefully as she moved about the establishment.

“Rooster, give it up, she’s way out of your league and half the bar in here is hoping she’ll go home with them tonight,” Coyote said honestly.

“You’ve been drooling over her for months,” Fanboy agreed, “it’s getting pretty pathetic.”

But Rooster was more confident than ever. He knew they’d be great together – he just had to show her.

A little time passed, they took up a game of darts and after not too long, Caroline found herself making a sweep for empty glasses.

“Another, Phee?” She asked Phoenix, who nodded with a smile.

“We’ll do another round,” Coyote supplied. Caroline stacked up empty glasses, swinging around the space, aware of Rooster’s eyes on her as he leaned against the side rail that ran the length of the back wall.

“Grab your glass?” She asked, matching his posture against the drink rail, her open hand effortlessly clasping a tower of glass. Rooster pushed his empty toward her, a little downturned twitch of his mustache giving him away. “Why so glum, Rooster? It’s the Fourth of July,” she said, a little pout on her lips that made his stomach flip. “Have to imagine it doesn’t get better than that, huh?”

“What’s it going to take for you to have a drink with me?” He asked. “You know I’m eyein’ you up every time I come in here,” he elaborated.

“Maybe,” Caroline began, “I don’t want to have a drink with you at my place of work?” She suggested lightly. “But if you invited me to Buzzards, your odds would be a lot better,” she shrugged. “Thanks for the glass, Rooster, you can pick up a fresh one in 10.”

Caroline flitted away, making her journey back to the main bar with two tall stacks in her hands, gracefully hip-checking the counter to step inside.

“Maybe you do have a shot after all?” Phoenix asked, raising her brows as she turned back to the game of darts at hand. Bradley’s eyes tracked her as she moved about, pouring beers and mixing cocktails, his eyes zeroing in as she popped a maraschino cherry into her mouth before doing the same to a young, blonde sailor on the other side of the bar.

He wiped the back of his mouth off, crossing the room and heading over to the piano, his first initial plucks of the keys enough to clue a patron in to pull the plug on the juke box.

He cleared his throat as the intro grew stronger and louder, some already recognizing the tune.

“Where it began, I can’t begin to knowing,” he crooned. “But I know it’s growing strong.”

A few cheers rang out.

“Was in the spring, and spring became the summer, who’d have believed you’d come along?”

Caroline’s attention pulled over to the far wall, it now impossible to ignore with half of the bar singing Neil Diamond.

Hands, touching hands Reaching out, touching me, touching you

“Sweet Caroline!” Rooster belted, “good times never seemed so good!”

The crowd sang back, fists being pumped in the air.

So good! So good! So good!

“I’ve been inclined to believe they never would,” he focused his attention back down on his hands, but he could feel the brunette’s stare on the back of his neck.

Caroline shook her head, topping off another drink before grabbing a tall one and making her way through the crowd, which was packed near the piano as he carried on.

One, touching one

“Reaching out, touching me, touching you,” Rooster remained as focused as he could when he felt a paper-light touch travel across his the span of his shoulders, followed by a full beer being set on the top of the piano.

“Okay,” Caroline grinned, “you’ve got my attention,” she said, her arm resting across the top of his back. “So what are you going to do with it now that you have it?”

“The Deck is open until 11 – Buzzards is open till one, meet me there when you’re done?” He asked.

“I’ll be there,” she agreed, running her hand up his spine to squeeze the back of his neck. Rooster could barely keep playing as he nearly twisted his head all the way around to watch her walk away.

Buzzards Bar was different than the Hard Deck – younger, louder, and for Rooster, much less likely to run into his superiors. Sure, lots of sailors and aviators ended up there, but it wasn’t a dedicated bar like their usual haunt. Without the uncertainty hanging over his head, he really loosened up and had fun with his buddies at the Hard Deck, but they didn’t join him a Buzzards, opting to go find some fireworks instead.

It was 11:45 and Caroline hadn’t shown up yet, at least that he could see. He grabbed a round of drinks, another beer for him and a dirty Shirley for Caroline. If nothing else, he knew she loved cherries and this could be a pretty safe assumption.

Keeping a barstool warm near the back, Rooster’s gaze scanned the growing crowd on the dance floor. He could feel the air shift as Caroline approached the table, dressed in her same little outfit, bandanna around her neck like a little pack of goodies he’d like to unwrap. However, an unfamiliar man, who was standing just a bit closer to her than either of them liked, was closely trailing her. He was obviously trying to carry on a conversation with her over the loud bass of the music and she couldn’t be less interested.

Without effort or hiccup, Caroline waltzed right up to Rooster, standing between his legs that were angled outward on either side of his body, his feet on the bar of the stool. She leaned up against him, her elbows on resting on his thighs with her back to his front. Rooster’s arm immediately looped around her body, resting just below her neck, spanning across her chest.

The man immediately got the message and backed off, but she remained snug in his embrace when he walked away.

Caroline tipped her head back to look up at Rooster.

She knew she had a reputation as a flirt. It was silly to be a bartender and not take advantage just a little bit of what God gave her. But she loved Rooster’s attention. He was safe, simple and straightforward. He didn’t play games and treated her with respect.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she smiled, sending the breath rushing from his lungs.

“Happy Fourth,” Rooster said, using his free hand to offer her the cocktail.

“Mm, cherry – how’d you know?” She asked, taking a sip through the small black straw.

“Watchin’,”he replied, missing her warmth already as she put a little space between them, standing with her back to the dance floor.

“You watchin’ me?” She asked innocently enough, elbows on the high-top table. It took everything in him to keep his eyes on her face and not her cleavage that was winning the fight against her little white tank top.

“Hard to look away,” he said, taking a drink of his beer. “Though I think this is the most time you’ve ever spent looking back at me,” he added.

“Then you’re not as observant as you think, aviator,” Caroline said, setting her drink down reaching for his hand, pulling him off the chair and leading him into the throng of bodies. “Because I look at you plenty.”

Rooster was so surprised and exhilarated he wasn’t sure where to put his hands right away as she leaned back into him, moving her body to the beat of the song.

Cause great scenes might be great But I love your bloopers

“Rooster, relax,” Caroline purred as he ducked his head down to be closer to hers – his height difference over her apparent. She reached back, taking his hands in her and placing them on her body – one on her ribs and the other just inside of her hips. “You got me right where you wanted me.”

And perfect's for the urgent Baby I want forever

Caroline’s hands drifted up to cradle the back of his head, her back arching in the slightest. And while Bradley Bradshaw was a man of morals, they were mostly forgotten as he lowered his mouth to Caroline’s neck.

Caroline, don't you see that I want you to be mine?

“You request this one?” Rooster asked, his mustache ticking her in a skin, which immediately went to her nipples, hardening them beneath her tank.

“Just lucky I guess,” she breathed, rolling her head to the side to give him a little more access to her skin.

“I think luck follows you around,” he said.

“It must if you’re here with me,” she replied. Rooster didn’t even justify her comments with an answer. If she thought she was lucky because he was there with her, she wouldn’t begin to comprehend the amount of times he’d dreamt of this moment.

“Rooster?” She asked, threading her fingers through his hair, giving it a little tug as a test. The groan in her ear told her all she needed to know.

“Caroline,” he huffed out an exhale.

“I don’t want the rest of that drink,” she said, looking up to lock eyes with him. “I want you to put me in that big blue truck of yours and take me home.” Rooster felt his heart skip hard enough that it shot him with adrenaline.

“Honey, lead the way,” he replied, sober as a judge.

She’d seen the blue Bronco pull up to the Hard Deck a hundred times – it was as much a calling card of Rooster’s as his mustache or Hawaiian shirts. Now, she was thrilled to be inspecting the inside, her back to Rooster’s side with his arm draped over her shoulder again as she made the most of the bench seating.

Leading Caroline by the hand from the car to the house, she gladly stepped into his bachelor pad.

Rooster was just grateful that Bob was out of town for the weekend.

“Roommate?” She asked, walking along the picture rail in the family room – something Bob put up. It was mostly his stuff, anyway.

“You know Bob?” Bradley asked, tracking her movement as he stepped out of his shoes.

“Bob the sweetheart is your roommate?” She asked, looking over her shoulder, eyes dilating in the slightest as she took in the view. Rooster with his big shoulders, broad chest and handsome face – honey brown eyes focusing entirely in on her.

“Bob the sweetheart?” He asked, a small quirk to his lips.

“Bob the sweetheart, Bob the puppy dog…” she trailed off. “Pen and I have many nicknames for perfect Bob.”

“I think I’ve heard enough about perfect Bob,” Rooster said, advancing her like a predator stalking its prey.

“Want me to tell you what we call you behind your back?” She asked, a glint in her eye as he scooped her up with one arm, holding her tightly to his body as he carried her back to his bedroom.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“We – well, more like just me, because Penny babies you,” she screamed as Rooster gave her ass a hard squeeze. “But I,” she leaned in close, whispering into his ear, “I call you Oh My God Rooster,” she giggled, tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue. “Want to know why?” She asked.

“Tell me,” he said, kicking in his bedroom door.

“Because I always knew one day you’d make me say,” she fisted his shirt in her hands and tossed her head back, “Oh my God, Rooster!” She moaned, quickly gasping as he dropped her on his unmade bed.

“That shit isn’t fair,” he pointed an accusatory finger down at her before reaching for the fly on his shorts.

“Why not?” Caroline asked with a tilt of her head as she leaned back on her elbows.

“Because ever since you started at the Hard Deck, you haven’t given me the time of day,” he crawled over her on the bed, sealing his mouth over hers.

“I was avoiding you, I’ll admit,” she smirked, hips lifting as he began to pull her shorts off. “I knew as soon as this happened,” she paused, lifting his chin up to kiss her once more, “there’d be no going back.”

“You didn’t want to be my friend?” He asked, running his nose down her jawline as he reached behind her, pulling off her tank.

“Oh Rooster, we’re going to be much more than friends,” she purred, unhooking her bra. She reached for her little bandanna, but he stopped her.

“Leave it on, cowgirl,” he said, licking his lips. Stunned, he found himself down on the mattress, Caroline swinging a leg over his body to land gracefully on his hips. She pulled her bra down her arms and tossed it somewhere into the darkness – Bradley’s bedroom illuminated by the bright light of the moon through his window. He thought his tongue might roll out of his mouth like a yoyo.

“Does that make you my bucking bronco?” She giggled, reaching behind her to give his erection a quick, firm pump.

“Jesus,” he hissed, all the air leaving his lungs at once.

“Just Caroline,” she grinned maliciously.

“Why don’t you get up here and let me find out how sweet you are, Caroline,” he cajoled, tipping his chin up. The brunette threaded her fingers through his hair as she settled over his mouth, a long, low moan drawn from her lips as he licked a broad, flat swipe up the seam of her sex. Rooster’s hands slid around her sides and up to her lower back holding her body tight against his face.

“You’re never allowed to shave that mustache,” Caroline panted, followed by a high-pitched whine as she felt his whiskers against her clit. “Right there,” she mewled.

Rooster was a generous lover and apparently had a voracious appetite.

“Jesus Christ, Rooster,” she shivered as one of his thick fingers teased her entrance, circling her slowly as his lips cradled her clit. She could feel each and every one of his taste buds against her. “Roo, please,” she panted, “I want your cock.”

Bradley lifted her, a squeal on her lips as she landed back down on his abs. She couldn’t help but smile broadly at his wet mouth.

“If you smile at me like that again, I’m going to fucking marry you, Caroline,” he threatened, absolutely captivated by her.

She untied the bandanna from her neck, reaching down to cover his eyes and tie it loosely behind his head.

“Then don’t look, because I think I’m going to enjoy this a lot,” she said, smiling just the same as she lined up his cock and slowly sank down on it.

“You’re amazing,” Rooster crowed, “God you feel so good,” he said, hands resting on her soft thighs.

“You’re big,” she huffed, “like shit, Rooster, how do you have such good posture?” She asked, making him bark out a laugh. She settled herself all the way down and squeezed him on an upswing, making his abs flex as he tried to keep from busting immediately.

Leaning down, while still riding him smoothly, she pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek, tracing the line there with her tongue. He jumped as she dragged her teeth against his jawline, biting him gently while rolling his balls in her palm.

“Caroline,” he sounded worried, “I-fwa,” he lost his words as she did it again.

“Want me to stop?” She asked innocently enough.

“Don’t you dare,” he grunted while she tweaked his nipple.

“I can see it now,” she giggled, the action sending a ripple of pleasure down his spine. “C-a-r-o-l-i-n-e,” she twirled a finger across his pec.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” he promised, a sweat breaking out across his brow.  He could feel her fingernails just grazing his happy trail as Caroline circled her clit, wanting to meet him at his level.

“Rooster?” She asked, and he could hear the breathlessness in her voice.

“Caroline?” He countered, his face screwed up in conversation.

“Cum,” she commanded, finding her own euphoria, setting him off just moments later, thrusting up into her as he rode out his orgasm. Caroline grinned, pushing off his blindfold to reveal his beautiful face again. “Hi gorgeous,” she greeted, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

“What did I tell you about that smile?” He groaned, palming her ass in his hands.

“I know the consequences of my actions,” she sighed dreamily. Climbing off of Rooster, she wandered her way into the bathroom, cleaning up and grabbing the T-shirt that was slung over the bathroom door before pulling it on.

Rooster was sure he was delirious as she joined him back in the bed, hiking a leg over his hip and throwing his comforter over both of them.

“Rooster?” She asked, sparing a glance over at his alarm clock, which was flashing nearly two in the morning.

“Caro-line,” he sang back.

“I want my eggs scrambled in the morning,” she said, eyes closing gently as she curled up on his chest.

“Yeah? And what would you like to eat?” 

[jjmaybankshousekeeping]

burden - jj maybank

summary - jj always feel like a burden to his girlfriend when she has to clean him up after he gets into a fight.

warnings - fluff, angst?

word count - 804

a/n - sorry if this isn't the best, i've never wrote anything like this before, but i'm trying my best. also, this ended up being a lot longer than anticipated, but oh well.

post number - 1

reader - she/her, fem!

add yourself to my taglist here

after a difficult eight hour shift, at the local walmart where she worked,  yn made her way back to the château, the place where she practically lived at this point. it’d been a busy night, with multiple new customers coming in every minute or so, and then piling onto the register, that she was working on, five minutes later. given that she was the only one working on the registers after six pm, it was a very stressful night.

but she could forget all about that and relax once she got back to the château and could sleep all of the stress away.

once yn got to the château, she went straight into the spare bedroom, which her boyfriend had claimed as his own, expecting to see him in bed already, either waiting for her or already asleep. mildly surprising yn, jj was nowhere to be seen. however, she didn’t worry; instead she assumed he’d gone out to smoke, or for a late surf or walk.

she climbed into the double bed and immediately melted into the soft mattress. she leant against her silky, white pillow to check on her unread messages that she’d gotten since last time she’d checked. while reading her messages, yn saw a blonde haired boy enter the room in the corner of her eye. she didn’t remove her eyes from the screen as she assumed that jj would just join her in bed momentarily, which he did. 

jj climbed underneath the duvet and moved over to where yn was sitting, before he dug his head into her stomach and snuggled up to her.

“hi, baby.” she said softly, still not looking away from the screen, running her hands through his soft blonde hair, “where’ve you been?”

“got caught up at the club.” jj mumbled into his girlfriends shirt, which previously belonged to him.

“hm?”

he repeated himself, “caught up at work.”

“your shift finished at eight… it’s on. what kept you there for so long?” yn asked, growing slightly suspicious, finally looking at jj.

“nothing, don’t worry.”

“jj..” her tone changed. yn knew when something was wrong with her boyfriend.

“it's nothing.”

yn tugged jj’s hair softly, to make him look at her. his face was covered in small cuts and bruises, and he had a crimson liquid dripping from the largest cut on his face, which sat just below his right eye. yn took jj’s face in her hand.

“baby.. what happened?” she ran her thumb across his cheek.

“nothin- it’s nothing.” he brushed it off.

“jj, don’t lie to me. what happened?”

“nothing. me and rafe just sorta got into it at the club. don’t worry about it.” he pushed yn’s hand off, before going to his own side of the bed.

“why? did he say something again?”

jj sighed, knowing there was absolutely no way she was letting it go, “he said something about me being your bitch, and about how i’m a pussy when you’re not around. i-” his voice got stuck in his throat, “i just lost it. i’m so sick of him. he treats us all like shit because his daddy has money and ours don’t.”

by this point, yn had noticed the tear rolling down jj’s face, and his voice breaking in between words. she wiped the tear from his face, “please don’t cry, love.”

“sorry- he just really gets to me.”

“i know. let’s just get you cleaned up, and we’ll talk about it in the mornin’, yeah? i can tell you’re tired.”

“i’ll be fine. let’s just go to sleep.”

“jj, these could get infected. they need to be cleaned, baby. please just let me help you.”

“it’s fine.”

“jj-”

“i said its fine!” he snapped, shocking yn slightly, “i’m sorry- i’m just sick of burdening you all of the fucking time. every time i get into a fight, there you are; having to clean me up like i’m a fucking child! you’re probably so sick of me.”

“jj maybank, don’t you dare think that again.” she cupped his face, “jj, you are my boyfriend, you are not a burden to me in any way whatsoever. the fact you would even think that hurts me a little.”

“sorry. but rafe isn’t wrong. everytime i fight, i come running to you for help-”

“you don't come running to me.” yn interrupted, “i help you because i want to help you, and i like helping you. that’s what girlfriends are for.”

“right. i know that, but he gets in my head.”

she smiled at him softly, “well don’t let him. his opinion means fuck all.”

he chuckled, “i love you, yn”

“I love you too, jj.” she pressed her lips against jj’s cut ones, softly, making sure not to hurt him anymore than he already was, “now let's get you cleaned up.”

[blueshistorysims]

June 1923, London, England

It seemed as if Wilhelmina and Jack’s party had awoken some sort of hedonist spirit within him. Any previous attempts he’d tried to make with his duties as a peer were forgotten—not that it mattered anyway, most people in the House of Lords disliked him regardless. The Ritz became his home base, splitting his time between the hotel and the house of various friends, both old and new. 

Within three months, he was sure that he’d nearly tripled the number of people he’d had sex with, which Giselle and Francesca had mercilessly teased him about, but it had many advantages, and it seemed like with every new person he shared a bed, he received two invitations to social events, whether it be parties, dinners, soirees, etc. Being around people with similar tastes and interests also allowed him to find suggestions and people read the work he’d done in person, not just via letters, and by the middle of June, he felt that his translation and commentary of The Epic of Gilgamesh was good enough to be sent to the publishers and editors.

Giselle, on the other hand, after months of slaving day and night in her sewing room as Francesca handled sales and customers, it seemed that their little boutique was taking off, and most women living in Central London were seen wearing some of her designs. 

Shortly after opening one morning, a woman dressed finely walked into the shop, inquiring for a party dress. Francesca, who still setting up their latest model, looked surprised. No one came this early in the morning.

“Good morning, ma’am, how can I help you?”

“Um, is Miss Walsh in?”

“Oh, yes, she’ll be down in a moment or so.” She chuckled. “She likes to sleep in.”

The other woman smirked as she looked around. “A friend of a friend recommended this place, and I can see why now. These are lovely.”

Francesca beamed with pride. 

Giselle stepped out from her sewing studio, looking surprised that they already a had customer. “Oh, good morning, I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No, of course not. Miss Walsh?”

“That would be me.”

She sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you. I’m attending a party, and I was hoping to get a dress. I was told you do custom designs for customers.”

“Yes, um we can head back for measurements now if you wish, Ms…”

“Lady Lyton.”

Francesca’s eyes widened. The Countess of Lyton was their dress shop! Giselle looked less impressed, only giving Francesca a side glance. “Oh, I’m sorry, your ladyship, I wasn’t aware.” She turned to her partner. “There’s a countess in our dress shop.”

“We’ve had a duke.”

“Your brother doesn’t count.”

The Countess raised a brow. “Walsh… Your brother is the Duke of Feldsbury?”

“Yes. Have you met him?”

“I first met him at a party two months ago—we are mutual friends with Mrs. Jack Porter. He’s a bit of a Casanova, but he's handsome, very intelligent, and makes delightful conversation.” She smirked. “My husband, on the other hand, finds him impertinent.” 

Francesca snickered. 

“That sounds like my brother. …He was forced to accept the title and its responsibilities when not even being aware of it until after the war, so he cares very little of what society thinks of him and will likely do everything in his power to dredge the name of the late duke.”

The Countess nodded. “Well, I never liked the late duke.”

“Well, back to your request, your ladyship. When is the party?” Giselle asked, grabbing her notepad and pencil.

“Four days from now.”

Giselle frowned. “And you want a custom dress?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but a custom design and pattern would at least take me two weeks, my lady.”

Lady Lyton sighed. “Oh. I see.”

“Well,” Francesca interrupted, gesturing to the dress she’d just set up, “I saw you admiring this, and Miss Walsh only finished it yesterday. There is no other dress like it, and tailoring at most only takes a few days if we do measurements now.”

Giselle nodded eagerly. “Yes, and if you wish, I could add some extra embellishments if desired, and it could be ready to be picked up the morning of your party.”

The Countess looked impressed. “You ladies know how to work a deal.” She glanced at the dress. “I will be telling everyone I know about the Duke of Feldbury’s sister and her delightfully modern dress shop.”

Giselle and Francesca couldn’t help but beam. 

[sabraeal]

Friends With Amenities

[Read on AO3]

“I-I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Shirayuki’s fingers curl against the counter; the only thing keeping her upright as her blood abandons everything below the knee and rushes to her head. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

The concierge points one long nail toward her screen, angled firmly away from the customer side of the counter, eyebrows bumping up against her hairline. “Well, ma’am, it says here that you’re booked for the deluxe king suite, complete with master bath, full kitchenette, and picturesque views of the old quarter.”

“No, I— I’m sure I said two queens.” She’d only made the booking two weeks ago, fingers trembling as she read the number off the department’s travel card, double- and triple-checking that the reservation had been for two adults in two separate beds. “Very sure! I even have the email—”

“Oh yeah, of course.” Nails clatter as the woman waves her hand, unconcerned. Sweat prickles along her spine, and oh, what Shirayuki wouldn’t give to tap into some of the reserve of calm. “But it looks like you were selected for a free upgrade! That means that not only are you welcome to partake in our continental breakfast, but that you also have access to our—”

“But one king is still less than the two beds I asked for.” It’s not as if there’s a problem sharing with Obi— over the past year, she’s probably spent more nights in his bed with him that she’s spent in her own alone the last three— but that’s all…incidental. Something that happens when she agrees to just one more episode, or lets him work on one last slide as she starts in on her bedtime reading. But agreeing to this—

That would be on purpose. A plan to share space. Two bodies beneath the covers touching.

“Can’t you just put me back in my old room?” The bitten ends of her nails carve painful crescents into her palms. “If you upgraded me to a king suite, that means there was a double queen you left empty, doesn’t it?”

The concierge grimaces, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this conference has got us booked to the gills. If there was a double queen available, it’s been booked out now.”

“But…” Her eyes sting, and ugh— this is a silly thing to to care about. Pedantics, really, when they probably would have ended up curled up on the same bed anyway. But that doesn’t stop the pressure building in her nose, or the hot, helpless tears hanging at the end of her tear ducts. “Why?”

“Ah, I’m not sure of the…er… selection process when it comes to these upgrades, ma’am.” The concierge pointedly looks down at her screen, uselessly wiggling the mouse. “Maybe it was random, or maybe they looked at your reservation and saw something about it that made them think you might have…hm…wanted one bed at a better price point…”

“What would…?” Her teeth snap shut around the question. The double queen was cheaper than a single king; even a couple might look at the price points and decide the extra bed wasn’t a deal breaker. Two people with the same address—

But they didn’t have Obi’s address, or hers. Just the department’s card, and two names, one male, one female.

My point is, you’re in a hotel filled with people who won’t find it intimidating that you can mark a turtle migratory pattern on a map just by looking at its skull. Yuzuri’s shrug is seared onto the back of her eyelids, so casual, like like the logic of work hookups is obvious. What happens at conference stays at conference.

“I’d like to”— speak with your manager perches right at the tip of her tongue, threatening to tip over, to cause a scene, but a deep breath scuttles it before she can founder— “ask if there’s any other rooms available?”

The concierge casts her the sort of side eye Yuzuri could only dream of, but she keys in the request anyway. “The honeymoon suite? That comes with—”

Shirayuki slumps. “I’ll take the deluxe king.”

*

It’s not hard to find Obi— he’s hovering at the edge of the bar, as promised, the entire impossible length of his legs unfurled between seat and floor. There’s the barest hint of tanned skin where his shirt has begun to roll up, and—

And it’s just her luck that Yuzuri’s already there, curled around her drink like her smile’s curls around the straw, watching her watching him.

“There she is!” she calls out, one hand swinging out in invitation. “Suzu’s already searching for swag on the expo floor. I was gonna wait for you, but it looked like things were getting heated down at your end of the counter, so I thought I’d leave you to it.”

There’s an edge of her tongue that could lash out, could cut with a real wry thanks— but it blunts when she considers just what sort of help Yuzuri would have been with one bed on the line.

A dimple furrows itself between Obi’s brow as he sets down his glass, the plastic gator at the bottom bobbling between layers. “Everything all good, Doc? I can go over and cause a problem if you need some—”

There might be no way to guess this cocktail’s composition— some kind of juice, probably, maybe with champagne for bubbles, or vodka for a kick— but whatever it is, it’s certain better than trying to explain all this sober. Shirayuki reaches out with both hands, completely ignoring the suggestion of straw or stirrer, and takes a full gulp.

It’s almost disappointing how little it burns going down. It does taste good though.

Obi lifts a brow. “That bad, huh?”

She takes a breath, running a hand over the back of her mouth before she tells him, “We’ve only got one bed.”

*

“Aw, come on, Doc.” Obi shifts his bag over his shoulder, biceps flexing to redistribute the weight, and haah, it would be nice to get a little warning if he was going to make himself so dangerous to look at. “How bad could it be?”

Her suitcase rolls too close, nipping her heels halfway to the door, but even that can’t keep her from rolling a glare his way. “You know better than to say something like that.”

“I know, I know, but I’m just saying— bed as big as that, we’re practically in different zip codes.” He shrugs, and oh, he might be playing casual, might be pretending that all this hits him like water off a duck’s back, but Shirayuki doesn’t miss the stiffness of those angles, the way tension hampers every twitch. “I could go full starfish and you’d still have to ship international to get to my fingers.”

She snorts. “I think you underestimate just how much limb you have.”

“I think you mean rippling muscle.” He flexes one in demonstration, close enough that she catches the nutmeg and bergamot of his deodorant. “Unending plains of gains. The heartland of hulk. The absolute breadbasket of—”

“I didn’t realize we were talking about Mitsuhide,” she hums, too innocent, swiping her card in front of the door’s scanner.

“Hey—”

The door swings open, and all his planned protests elide into a heartfelt whistle. “Wow, when they say upgrade, they mean upgrade.”

“I guess so…” The double queen had been just a room with beds, two chairs and a table thrown into a corner to give somewhere else to sit— plenty of room for two people who were used to navigating the same space— but this…this is practically an apartment. The stumpy entryway leads right into the living room, small kitchen to the right and bathroom to the left.

Obi saunters past her, dropping his bag on the sectional— a full couch plus chaise— and hooks his hands on his hips. “Damn. This TV is bigger than ours!”

She clucks her tongue on habit, flushing when his grin. “We’re not here to watch TV.”

“Right, we’re here to get some billionaire to sign off on saving turtles,” he says agreeably, even as he flicks it on, scrolling through the guide. “But while we’re not doing that, I bet this thing gets all the channels. I wonder if HBO still plays porn after midnight…”

“We’re here for a conference,” she reminds him, taking the two steps up to a set of folding doors. “And hopefully finding Eisetsu Rugilia among the attendees.”

“Right, but they don’t have lectures and two am, so—”

“Obi.”

He holds up his hands. “You’re right, Doc. Two am is when all these billionaire babies have their parties. I won’t have time for” — he squints at the text stretching across the screen— “Damon’s Seed when I’m already living my own Eyes Wide Shut.”

She stares at him, blank. “You know I don’t get that reference.”

“I know.” One shoulder lifts; the most aggravating of his shrugs. “It’s funnier that way.”

With anyone else she would let it drop— woodland fairy creature she may be, but she didn’t begrudge her childhood a moment of sunshine— but with Obi she huffs, fitting her fists around the door’s knobs, informing him, “One day I’m going to watch all these movies, and then you’ll have to find some other source of entertainment.”

“Believe it when I see it, Doc. Believe it while I see it.”

“You will. After I finish my thesis, I’ll have plenty of time to”— the doors whip open, a more dramatic entry than she planned, and—

And her whole brain narrows onto a single, “Oh.”

“Wow.” Obi’s breath catches far too close to her ear. “Now that’s some bed. I think we might lose you in the pillows.”

Her jaw works, managing a single, “Um.”

“Oh hey!” Obi peers around the jamb. “Look, there’s more room! That’s pretty…”

He slinks past her, all sinew and swagger, and—

And nearly stumbles, all his words peter down to a “Woah.”

*

“A jacuzzi?” Yuzuri groans, head sinking into her hands. “You guys got a jacuzzi?”

“A jacuzzi tub,” Shirayuki corrects numbly, the stem of her Shirley Temple twisting between her fingers. “Not a…a hot tub or anything.”

“Big enough to be one though.” Obi’s hand brushes over his shoulder, contemplative, before settling back on his drink. “Probably could fit the whole lab in there if we didn’t mind getting cozy.”

Izuru tilts her head. “Oh, like…naked?”

As brazen as Obi can be, even he chokes. “The lab tub party would definitely have a bathing suit dress code.”

“Oh.” She sighs, disinterested. “Disappointing.”

“Where’s my free upgrade?” Yuzuri leans back, head tipping over her chair in despair. “I want a jacuzzi.”

“Maybe one of your hookups will have one, if you’re lucky,” Kazaha drawls, flipping through his copy of the conference directory. It’s not quite phone book sized, but it is intimidating, filled cover-to-cover with people not much older than her but far more accomplished. Only a few hours ago, she might have questioned her place here, whether she would ever contribute enough to the field to even get an abstract in the door, but—

But right now she’s still stuck on the full bathroom, visible from the bed. Except, of course, the toilet. That, thankfully, is tucked away in a smaller closet. But still, shower and tub and bed with nothing but a change in flooring to separate them.

Yuzuri can never know. “I don’t want to take a bath in some guy’s tub! Like god, how would that even be relaxing?”

“The sex could be interesting,” Izuru offers. “Just like a hot tub.”

“No, we’ve been over this!” Yuzuri waves a hand, as if that might be enough to shoo the idea away from the table. “You need preparation for water sex. Lube, for one. A plan, for another. Insurance, since at best you’re going to crack your head open, and at worst, you’ll end up at a gynecologist.”

Suzu blink. “Worst?”

“There are things that can happen to a vag that I’d rather be in a coma for.” She gives Shirayuki a pointed— and completely unnecessary— glance. “Trust me.”

Obi simply raises a brow, sipping from his straw. “You didn’t bring lube?”

“That’s not the point.” Yuzuri rolls her eyes, flicking a ribbon of blonde over her shoulder. “If I’m taking a bath, it’s going to be with bubbles and salts and no less than four jets, all alone.”

“But he could wash your hair.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, oddly concerned. “That’s nice isn’t it? I liked it when then did it at the salon…”

“It is nice, Suzu, but it’s also intimate, and if I’m just looking to— ugh.” Her hands fly up in the air. “Never mind. No jacuzzi sex, end of story. Now what are you going to do about the one bed situation?”

“Y-yuzuri!” Shirayuki sputters, hoping her cheeks are only half as red as they feel. “That’s— that’s not important.”

“I think it’s important,” she hums, smirk wrapping around her straw. “Entertaining, at least.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Obi huffs, settling back in his chair. “There’s enough bed for the population of Luxembourg. Me and Doc could both be on that thing and not be within shouting distance.”

Yuzuri swivels in her seat, glaring at Shirayuki across the table. “It’s so unfair you guys got that room and you’re not even going to f—”

Suzu clears his throat. “Not to state the obvious but…doesn’t this room have a couch or something?”

*

“The program says G7,” Shirayuki murmurs, lingering over the letters printed at the head of each aisle. “Which I think should be down over here, if— Obi, are you all right?”

He might have dogged her heels through the doors of the exhibition hall, but Obi’s lagged behind as she navigates through the field of half-empty tables, only a handful of posters properly displayed. He grunts, adjusting the half dozen canisters on his back. “Well, it is kind of a burn to have Suzu have to remind me couches exist. I mean, I would know, wouldn’t I? Done plenty with only two feet of cushion—”

“I meant with the posters,” she sighs, doubling back to lift a few from his shoulders. “I can’t believe they sent us to set up all of them.”

“I can.” Obi smirks, leaning the rest against the table. “It’s our punishment for getting the best room. And for not— how did Yuzuri put it?— using it to its fullest.”

“W-well, you’d think they’d have a little more professional pride in displaying their work.” The caps on the canisters put up a fight— Shidan had said they might after they came off the plane, something about pressurization and vacuums and other physics concepts she only had a casual acquaintance with through undergrad— but Shirayuki’s happy for the excuse to be doing something when she adds, “You can if you want to, you know.”

One of Obi’s posters pops open with all the subtlety of gunshot. “Uh, want to run that by me again, Doc?”

“I just mean if you wanted to brings someone back and…er…take advantage of all the…amenities…?” She strives to be casual, to be cool, like it’s none of her business what he might get up to unattended. Like she hadn’t bitten her nails clear down to quick under the covers when he was out with Haki’s friend, slinking home well after midnight. “Just let me know.”

“Me?” he coughs. “Really? And just what would you do?”

She shrugs her shoulders, striving for the kind of calm Obi exudes on an everyday basis. “I’m sure Yuzuri wouldn’t mind some company.”

One of his eyebrows creeps to a skeptical altitude. “If she isn’t taking advantage of her own amenities.”

“O-oh, well!” She shakes her head, trying to look anywhere but at him. “She won’t take anyone back to her room, so, uh, that might be even better, if you think about it. Someone using it, at least.”

Air hisses out through his teeth with no hint of his usual humor. “Listen, Doc, really, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not really…” He shakes his head, one hand scrubbing at the bristle in back. “I mean, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not in the market for…”

He hesitates, eyes narrowing. “Ryuu?”

Shirayuki blinks, tracing his gaze under the table, to where Ryuu is curled up, travel pillow under his head. He shrinks further into his pillbug position, managing a bleak, “Hi.”

“Hey there, big guy.” Obi crouches, folding his arms over his knees casually, like people hang out under tables all the time. “Me and Doc were just out here putting up the posters. What’s up with you.”

“Not much.” He shifts, blue eyes searching both their faces before he admits, “They lost my reservation.”

Shirayuki squats down beside him, brow drawn. “Excuse me?”

“They don’t have a record of my transaction in their database,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against the soft microfiber of his pillow. “Even the manager tried. But it looks like even th payment didn’t go through. They think it might be because I’m not— well, an adult is supposed to make the reservation, and I was the only one in the room, and with no legal guardian…”

His nose wrinkles, mouth pursing mulishly before he blurts out, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay with us.”

It takes a moment for Shirayuki to realize it’s not her voice saying the words, but Obi’s. He glances at her, and anyone else might be looking for permission, but there’s only confidence there, so certain that she was only a slip of the tongue behind him, that they were single in purpose, and—

And it’s stupid it took her until graduation to realize that this is what she’s been wanting.

“Really?” Ryuu perks, head lifting off the pillow.

“Of course.” Shirayuki knows better than to reach out, to try to comfort him through something as offensive as touch, so she just smiles instead, hoping her sincerity shines through. “We’d be happy to have you.”

He glances between the both of them. “You’re— you’re sure it’s okay?”

“Why not?” Obi says, casting her some rueful side eye. “Now that we know we have a couch, we’re made of room.”

Ah, that’s right. The couch. The couch Obi was going to sleep on…

“Guess it’s a good thing that bed could fit a small country,” Obi mutters, getting to his feet— and then freezing. “Can I help you?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Shirayuki scramble to her feet, but if the voice isn’t familiar, the man who speak with it is even less so. “You’re part of Shidan Weise’s lab, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She brushes off her skirt, trying to look somewhat presentable. Like a colleague, instead of someone who spends conferences crouching under tables. “We were just setting up for the poster session. Is there something…?”

“Ah, no, no. I’m not here about the posters.” The man smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. “My name is Shuu Grately. I’m here to tender an invitation.”

Obi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Invitation?”

“On behalf of Eisetsu Rugilia.” One corner of his mouth hooks, humorless. “He would like you to come to his dinner tonight.”

[asahicore]

espresso macchiato - sjh

part 1 of the coffee mini-series // prompt 72 of the��100 kisses list, accidentally bumping noses

pairing. coworker!junghwan x fem!reader

synopsis. It’d only been a month since Junghwan had started to work with you at the coffee shop, but your crush on him was already threatening to make itself known. It took a broken espresso machine and a cute accident for you to find out that these feelings might not be one-sided.

genre. winter au, coffee shop au, fluff with a side of fluff and extra fluff, noona!reader (just one-year age gap tho)

word count. 2.2k

a/n. i said two seconds ago that i would post this tomorrow but i already changed my mind. i had so so much fun writing this so i hope you will too while reading! i tried to make it as cute as possible... just cute cute cute... super excited to write the rest of the series. no promises but i'll try to do like a double update next weekend with part 2 of this and part 2 of hey heeseung !! ok i know nobody reads these but as always lmk what u think pls and thank u bye bye <3

winter.

You should’ve known that nothing good could come out of having such a cute coworker as So Junghwan.

The moment he’d stepped into the coffee shop, announcing himself with a big smile as the new barista, you had to keep yourself from freaking out. Somehow, all the ugly things that came with being a barista hadn’t tarnished your dream for a coffee shop romance. No amount of spilled coffee and rude customers could stop you from wishing a handsome guy would stride in and sweep you off your feet.

But now that said handsome guy had finally strode in, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Because it wasn’t enough for the handsome guy to just be handsome, he also had to be charming, and kind, and funny. And tall. Very, very tall. If at first his face alone had been enough to destabilize you, soon, it was his contagious boyish grin, the sound of his laughter, the way his hands worked the machines that made your heart beat faster than it should. You’d even started to like the fact that he called you noona - at first, you chided him for it, arguing that you were barely a year older than him, but he insisted, and you didn’t have a choice but to get used to it.

As with most bad things in your life, you blamed your manager. Got a cold? The manager insisted on turning the heating all the way up this winter, and your body has gone into shock every time you’ve had to go back into the cold outside. Missed a deadline? The manager asked you to take over someone else’s shift that one day you had planned on writing your essay after procrastinating for two weeks. Liked the new barista? The manager made you responsible for his training, because “you’ve been here for so long” (two years) and “you’re one of our best” (ten time employee of the month, thank you very much) and “you have the most overlapping shifts with him, anyway.” No problem, boss. No problem at all, you’d said, and you had meant it, until Junghwan walked right from your dreams and into the coffee shop on a bright morning in early December.

The first few weeks, it was easy to lie to yourself that it was just due to Junghwan being practically perfect that you felt like this - anyone with eyes and an attraction to men would react the same way. Or so you thought, until you talked to your coworker-turned-bestie, Jayoon.

“I don’t know, I think he’s kinda dorky.” Your friend had simply shrugged when you asked her about the newbie. You’d been trying to be as nonchalant as possible, but your interest in him was obvious. But then she’d seen your appalled expression, and tried to backtrack slightly. “I mean, super nice and all, just not my style. He’s all yours,” she’d added with a wink.

You realized you had a proper crush on him when a customer wrote her number on the receipt and left it for him, and the jealousy you felt upon seeing the slight blush that spread across his cheeks was too much to ignore. Something you had noticed about Junghwan after a month of working with him was that he could dish it but not take it. When it came to grabbing something you couldn’t reach from the top shelf for you, telling you your hair looked cute that day, or making a little heart on top of the latte you desperately needed when you worked the opening shift together, he was a pro - but if you so much as called him cute or patted his head, the boy became a stammering and blushing mess, akin to the clueless female lead of a high school romance anime.

Seeing someone else have that effect on him was no fun. You wanted to run after the girl and lecture her about disturbing coffee shop employees when they’re trying to do their job, but you knew you just wished you had as much guts as her to shoot your shot with Junghwan.

“Look, noona, a girl gave me her number,” he said, gloating and holding the small piece of paper for you to see, when a random two p.m. rush had subsided. “She even drew a heart.”

You scoffed, turning away and pretending to be busy rearranging the syrup shelf so he wouldn’t see the glare in your eyes. “You look so happy,” you commented moodily. Great job hiding your crush, Y/N, you thought.

“It is pretty flattering.”

You turned your head to look at him. He’d taken a few steps closer to you and was now resting his back against the counter, palms flat on the surface behind him to hold him up. His smile had gotten even wider, that idiot. You squinted your eyes at him. “So, are you gonna call her? Or text her?”

“No,” he’d answered right away, and the lack of hesitation took you by surprise. “There’s someone else I like.”

The words had already made your breath hitch in your throat - but as if he was intent on killing you, Junghwan started walking right towards you, only stopping when he was towering over your shorter frame. He crumbled the receipt in his hands and threw it in the trash can that you happened to be standing in front of, his eyes never once leaving yours. He beamed down at you, that familiar, puppyish grin that lights up his whole face, and, as if nothing happened, walked to the register to take the order of a customer that had just arrived.

It took at least a full minute for your breathing to return to normal.

-

Junghwan was a quick learner. He mastered the espresso machine and latte art in record time, remembered recipes to specialty drinks easily, and didn’t panic when someone ordered something he’d never made before. He also wasn’t scared to ask for help, and you’d soon grown used to his questions, tone ranging from simply curious to downright alarmed. Noona, do I add cocoa powder on top of a cappuccino? Noona, what’s the difference between a regular latte and a latte macchiato? Noona, why the hell does this person want their chai to be dirty?!

So when he called out, Noona, I think the machine’s broken, you hadn’t thought anything of it at first. Luckily, it was reaching closing time, and not many people came for a caffeine fix at seven in the evening, so you could easily deal with the machine. 

You headed to where Junghwan was crouching, glaring at the espresso machine as if that would magically fix it. You shook your head at him with a chuckle and told him to scooch over. Either in an attempt to tease you, or because he genuinely wanted to know how to repair it, Junghwan followed your every move, very, very closely. He stood and bent over the machine along with you, checked the water and coffee bean levels along with you, made sure the tubes were properly cleaned along with you. But in the end, it was just that the tube that poured the espresso had come somewhat loose, and so the machine beeped in warning every time one tried to make coffee.

“Look, it’s no big deal, just that the tube came loo- Oh!”

Junghwan had been looking at you as you explained the problem, but the two of you were crouching in front of the counter, so close together that when you turned your head to look at him, your noses had bumped into each other. You’d both leaned back in surprise at the same time, eyes widening and heat spreading to both of your faces as you peered at each other, astonished. But then, Junghwan’s face broke into a grin, and a chuckle escaped his lips, then another one. You burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, the fact that you had to keep quiet because of the few remaining customers in the shop making it even harder to stop giggling.

When after a few minutes, you managed to regain your senses, a wave of shyness hit you - even if for just a split second, you had been close enough to Junghwan for your noses to touch, even, perhaps, for your lips to touch. And thinking about kissing Junghwan was not good for your heart.

A silence settled between the two of you, and you were thankful for the music playing softly and the chatter of the customers that filled the otherwise quiet coffee shop. You could barely look at Junghwan anymore and found him quickly averting his gaze as well every time you dared a glance at him, as if the same realization had hit him.

Fifteen minutes later and you could finally close. You and Junghwan said “bye” to the last customers, then started cleaning the store and preparing it for tomorrow’s first shifters in unusual silence - normally, you’d spend an hour joking around, chasing the other with a mop or spraying water on the other’s face, but today, not a peep could be heard from either of you. You didn’t know what to make of it, but at least, it meant you were done half an hour earlier than usual.

Shivering, Junghwan watched as you hurriedly locked the doors to the coffee shop, wanting to put your gloves on as quickly as possible. It was so warm and toasty inside that stepping outside was like being pushed into a bath of ice water. You were about to start walking to the bus stop, as you always did with Junghwan after the closing shift, but he stopped you.

“Noona, your scarf.” He stepped in front of you and reached out to tighten your scarf, even though it was already snug around your neck. Immediately recalling the proximity you’d been in not even an hour earlier, all you could do was look up at him, mouth slightly agape in surprise. When his eyes met yours, a small grin bloomed on his lips. He kept his hands on your scarf, holding gently there.

“What’s wrong with it?” you asked in a quiet voice, looking down at your scarf so Junghwan couldn’t see your flustered reaction - but something prompted you to meet his eyes once more. 

His grin got wider and unconsciously, you started smiling too. “Nothing,” he admitted, then finally let go of your scarf, and you released a breath at the same time. You followed as he started walking towards the bus stop, hanging your head low so he couldn’t see the smile on your lips. Just like you, his hands were buried in his coat pockets, but you were itching to reach out and grab one of them. You couldn’t stop wondering what his reaction would be.

Then, he sighed contentedly. When you looked up at him, he was smiling too, looking straight ahead of him. The cold had already bit at his cheeks and nose, staining them bright red, and there were slowly melting snowflakes covering his hair. You thought he’d never looked so handsome. It was almost painful, tearing your gaze away from his face.

“It’s so cold, you can see your breath,” he suddenly said, and you laughed. Not because what he’d said was particularly funny or interesting, but because it was such a relief, hearing his voice after long minutes of silence.

“Yeah,” you simply replied, giggling when your gazes met for a brief moment.

When you reached the bus stop, you sat down on the bench while he stood, tracing figures in the snow with his foot. Your heart swelled ten times its size and you couldn’t stop smiling as he wrote your initial, a plus sign and his initial, then encircled them in a heart. You shook your head at him but it made you unreasonably happy.

“Too cheesy?” he asked, smiling so wide that the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“No, I love it,” you replied, giggling, but you meant it.

He sat down next to you, kicking your shoe with his, and you both giggled at nothing. Too soon, his bus came. 

“Noona?” he called out as he stood up, walking towards the bus door. You said nothing but raised your head, waiting for him to go on. “You know how I said there’s someone I like?”

This time, you said nothing because you couldn’t speak. Your heart stopped beating, anticipating his next words. You meekly nodded.

The bus doors opened and he slipped inside, turning back to look at you, that boyish grin you love so much still on his lips.

“It’s you.”

The doors closed and Junghwan headed to a window seat, waving happily at you as the bus took him away, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

When your shock faded, all that was left was happiness. Junghwan’s sudden confession filled you with a warm, honey-like feeling that settled comfortably in your heart, in your bones, everywhere. The cold January air couldn’t cool you down.

You didn’t stop smiling for a second the whole way home, and you’d never been so excited for your next shift.

permanent taglist: @k-ingzo @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 (ask to be removed/added!) © asahicore on tumblr, 2023. please do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works. feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

[iboatedhere]

peaches from the June prompts -OR- endless freckles from the Summer List. AU! 🙏🏼

Xx

They’re only three weeks into the season before Alex declares that the man that sells peaches and honey three booths down and across the aisle from him is a real fucking problem.

Alex has been attending the Barton Creek Farmers Market for as long as he can remember, sitting on a stool while his abuela sold agua fresca and horchata in the summer and Mexican coffee and hot chocolate during cool fall mornings.

She’d let him help when he got a little older, taking money and making change, filling cups with ice, and squeezing fresh limes.

He loved being there and spending time with her. She had this way about her, treating first-time customers like old friends and regulars like family. She loved to make people smile. She loved the community. She loved Alex, kissing the top of his head and slipping him twenty dollars, a life-changing amount when he was six, for his hard work.

Then he got older, and other things took precedence. Studying, sports, and girls…he didn’t have the time or desire to get up early on a Saturday morning and sit beneath a tent in one hundred-degree heat.

She said she understood and that he was becoming his own person and finding his path. There were no hard feelings. He still loved her, and she loved him, and he’d still get twenty dollars in a card sent to his dorm at UT at the end of the season.

Abuela passed the winter before he graduated college, and a few weeks after graduation, he got a call from the market organizers asking if he’d be taking over her booth.

“What kind of guilt trip is that?” Alex asked June afterward, tipsy on tequila in his small post-college-pre-job apartment. “She put me down as a contact, she knew that they’d be calling. What am I supposed to say, never mind, let my grandmother’s beloved business fucking rot?”

“I wouldn’t say it exactly like that, but yeah,” June had said. “You’re not under any obligation to continue.”

“If I don’t, then who? You? Dad?”

“No one,” June said. “Sometimes things just end. It sucks, and it’s sad, but it’s the way things go. You should tell them that she loved attending and being a part of the market and that our family appreciates the offer, but you’re not in a place in your life where you can make that kind of commitment. Simple. They’ll understand.”

Alex shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I already told them I’d be there. The market starts in two weeks.”

That was five years ago.

Now, Alex lives in an understated but pricey loft downtown. He works at a law firm that offers enough pro-bono work that he doesn’t feel like his soul is dying and contemplates going into politics each time a politician does something stupid, which is almost all the time. He dates and hangs out with his friends, and every Saturday morning, from nine to one, he sells drinks to market-goers behind the Barton Creek Mall.

“You’re going to cut your finger off.”

Alex looks down at the cutting board where his index finger is dangerously close to the paring knife he’s using to slice strawberries.

“Told ya,” Nora says from her perch on the stool.

“Fuck,” Alex says as he puts the knife down.

“Please don’t swear,” June says sing-songs through an over-the-top smile as she passes a family with three small kids their watermelon agua frescas. And please don’t cut your finger off.”

“Yeah,” Nora agrees, “the hot paramedics aren’t even working today, so it would be a total waste.”

“Not that he would care,” June says, “he’s been staring at Henry for the past three hours.”

“I have not,” Alex snaps, “and how do you know his name is Henry?”

“Because we’ve actually spoken to him instead of staring at him like a big creep,” Nora says.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?” Alex asks.

“I am. I crunched the numbers. Did you know that raising your prices by just ten cents increases your earnings—.”

“No, no,” Alex interrupts, “I don’t want to know, I don’t care. I’m not in it for the money.”

“Everyone is in it for the money,” Nora deadpans. “Even rich lawyers. Hell. Especially rich lawyers.”

“I’m different. This is how Abuela Lina and I’ll continue to do it this way, too.”

“Yeah,” June says, “he’s not here for the money. He’s here to pine from afar over Henry.”

“Would you please shut up,” Alex begs as June and Nora cackle.

“Just go talk to him,” June says.

“And say what? Hey, I work at the booth over there, and I’ve been trying to count the freckles across your nose for weeks now?”

“Oh, yikes,” June says.

“Down bad,” Nora adds with a shake of her head.

“I hate you both,” Alex tells them.

“Just go and bring him a drink,” June says. “Tell him that it’s hot and that you thought he might need it, and don’t you dare come back here without his number.”

“What if he doesn’t want to give me his number?”

“Then you move on and stop mooning over him.” She shoves a cup into his hand. “He seems like a pineapple kind of a guy.”

“You know what they say about pineapple, right?” Nora asks, and Alex grabs the cup and steps out of the booth so he doesn’t have to listen to her.

The peach guy—Henry, apparently—works at Fox Family Farm, or at least that’s what the pale yellow banner with a minimalistic sketch of a fox, its tail curled around a full peach basket, hanging on the front of the booth says.

He’s taller up close, blonder too, and when Alex hovers just a few feet away, he’s shocked at how blue his eyes are.

It’s like he was created in a lab to specifically become Alex’s problem. His very hot problem.

“May I help you?” Henry says in a British accent.

Alex nearly drops the drink.

“Fuck,” he swears as he scrambles to grab it. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure you did anything wrong.”

“Right, this is for you,” he says, setting the cup down before he almost drops it again. “I work at the booth over there.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Henry says, waving at June and Nora, who are crowded close together to watch.

Alex steps into Henry’s line of sight, blocking them.

“I just wanted to introduce myself since it’s obvious I’m the only one who hasn’t.”

“Technically, you still haven’t done that.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Henry.”

“Yes,” Alex says, “I’m aware.”

Henry smiles wide and bright, and Alex guesses that at least two dozen freckles are dotted across his nose and cheeks.

“Can I ask,” Alex starts, “what the hell are you doing in Texas?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that my grandmother passed and left me a peach orchard?”

“No.”

Henry hums. “A shame. Maybe I can take you to dinner and convince you.”

“Wow,” Alex says, “I was sent over here just to get your number.”

Henry grabs a pen and a scrap piece of paper. “I can give you that as well.”

[hannahmanderr]

DP Shiptember Day 1 - Catching Feelings... Again ~ "Quick, kiss me!" ~ Gray Ghost

Summary: She didn’t even bother to look up from her work. “Who’d you tick off this time?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” He pressed his back flush against the counter. “She started it!”

Her eyebrow hitched upward. “Who started it?” (takes place after my oneshot Glow)

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

If there was ever one benefit of working a grimy minimum wage job in a town like Amity Park, it definitely had to be the opportunity to see some wild situations. At a place like the Nasty Burger, these situations seemed even more prevalent. 

Kat would swear up and down that a portal had decided to open itself smack dab in the middle of the grill one night during the dinner rush, resulting in half a dozen hamburger patties falling into the void of the Ghost Zone, a backup in the drive-through, and one strongly worded Yelp review from a visiting tourist. 

Irving Burns allegedly had to pull Nasty Sauce from the public after rumors began to swirl around town that Phantom had blown up a ghost with a single packet and teenagers came in droves to take handfuls of sauce packets for the so-called “Nasty Sauce challenge” (Mr. Lancer himself had confiscated dozens of packets on school grounds). 

One day, the Nasty Ned mascot costume simply got up and walked itself out the door and into Lake Eerie. That story had made headlines on Channels 4, 6, and 7. The costume was never recovered. 

And of course, the family of blob ghosts living in the dumpsters out back loved to cause problems of their own, namely swooping in and stealing customers’ fries like swarms of seagulls.

Valerie became used to these strange events long before her coworkers did. She probably ended up stopping a fair number of shenanigans before the public became aware of them. Even after her father forbade her from bringing her trackers to work, even after she learned the true identity of her number one target and stopped hunting him, the drive to keep the city from devolving into too much chaos was strong. 

Still though, if she had to learn to accept one thing, it was that chaos loved Amity Park and Amity Park loved chaos. No one could go long without encountering at least a little bit. That had been a lesson she’d learned a few days ago, when Danny Fenton, her rival turned crush turned ex turned enemy turned crush again, took her behind the Nasty Burger itself (because where else would it be?) and shown her something wild enough only for Amity Park. Something strange. Something beautiful.

In just those past few days, she began to expect the unexpected. She’d nearly expected the horde of ghost squirrels raiding the cafeteria storage the other day to turn rabid on her, but then memories of the soft, cool touch that blob ghosts had left on her fingers and arms crossed her mind. And she, Valerie Gray, the self-proclaimed huntress of Amity Park, retracted her guns and set to help the squirrels find the industrial size canister of peanut butter they’d been looking for.

The squirrels had shown up outside her window the next day offering a trash-covered everything bagel from the bakery a couple roads down. It had been such an endearing display that she made a show of “eating” it in front of them. They’d enjoyed it.

And the day after that, she’d been chasing down the Box Ghost when they passed over an intersection and a tiny boy escaped his mother’s hand-hold and toddled into the street to follow them. She hadn’t been fast enough to get there before the next speeding car got there, but the Box Ghost had dropped the stack of boxes he’d insisted on maintaining throughout the chase to grab the little boy and turned them both intangible before depositing the boy safely back on the sidewalk.

Valerie had stopped short of sucking him into her thermos to ask him why abandon the boxes. Why go against everything he was supposed to be?

“My kid is about his age,” he’d told her shyly. “I just did what any other parent would do.” That answer had been so stunning she’d simply lowered the thermos and told him to get the boxes home to his kid. But in retrospect, it made sense, didn’t it? Ignoring the complexities of how ghosts had kids in the first place, who was to say parental instincts didn’t transcend the line between life and death?

So no, perhaps she couldn’t put a stop to all the chaos that plagued Amity Park. Perhaps some of it still made no sense. But maybe, just maybe, if she could keep her eyes peeled and watch for the unexpected…

Maybe the chaos could begin to form itself into a wild, beautifully intricate harmony.

Apparently, not even all the anticipation in the world could prepare her for Danny Fenton to come barreling into the Nasty Burger during the afternoon lull and launch himself through the counter to cower by her feet.

To her credit, she barely reacted. She didn’t even bother to look up from her work. “Who’d you tick off this time?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” He pressed his back flush against the counter. “She started it!”

Her eyebrow hitched upward. “Who started it?”

Before he could answer, the front doors exploded inward.

Instincts kicked in, and Valerie dropped behind the counter beside Danny to avoid the flying shrapnel. A gust of hot wind blew over them. Despite the heat, a chill crept up her spine. She didn’t need her tracker or to see Danny’s breath fog to know a ghost had decided to make itself known.

“ Where is he? ” a shrill voice screeched. Valerie glanced over at Danny, who had gone pale at the sound of the voice.

With a glare, she silently jerked her head towards the front. Seriously?

He responded with a helpless shrug and a shake of his head. I swear it’s not my fault!

“I know you’re in here, my darling!” the voice called in an angry sing-song. “You can’t run from love!”

This time, both of Valerie’s eyebrows hitched upward. “ My darling? ” she hissed as quietly as she could.

Danny flailed his arms wildly. He at least had the sense to keep them from flailing past the edge of the counter. “ She’s crazy! ” he hissed back.

By that point, the few other employees on shift had emerged from the kitchen to see the commotion. Out of the corner of her eye, Valerie could see Tatiana, the sweetheart dishwasher, peering from around the corner, whispering furiously into her cell phone. No doubt to the city’s emergency ghost line. 

Taylor, the shift supervisor, wasn’t anywhere near as timid. “Can I help you with something?” they drawled with a voice Valerie knew they only reserved for the most frustrating of customers.

“Where are you hiding him?” the ghost said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I know he’s in here, I can smell him!”

If possible, Danny turned paler.

“I have no clue who you’re talking about, ma’am,” Taylor said. “If you wanna buy something, that’s fine, otherwise I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. You’re disturbing other customers.”

Valerie nearly snorted. Not that there were other customers at the moment, but if there had been, “disturbing” probably would have been an understatement. 

She stole another glance at Danny, who had screwed his eyes shut and seemed to be concentrating on… something. She couldn’t tell. Still though, seeing him so oddly terrified…

Without thinking, she laid a hand over one of his clenched fists. One of his eyes popped open, first flicking down to look at their hands then back up to peer at her. She offered a tiny smile, and his shoulders relaxed marginally.

“All I want is my sweetheart!” the ghost was saying, her voice still dripping with a faux sweetness. “He thinks he can hide from me, but he’s mine !”

Taylor frowned and rolled their eyes. “Of course. Of course��. The one time I get the afternoon shift I ask for, and some crazy ghost decides to show up.”

Another gust of hot, dry air blew over Valerie’s head. She and Danny cringed in sync. Taylor was a perfectly chill person and all, but they had a habit of being a little too blunt. And bluntness did not exactly work well when ghosts were involved.

“He’s mine !” the ghost screeched. “If you won’t tell me where he is, then maybe I should persuade you through… other means . I’ll gladly rip you apart limb by limb until you talk.”

Taylor’s frown melted into concern. “Wait, wait, I didn’t -”

Several things seemed to happen at once.

Valerie caught sight of Danny’s other eye popping open, and she instantly recognized the determined twinkle in his eye - the same one that Phantom got when he was about to dive headfirst into a situation he probably shouldn’t. Under her hand, she felt his muscles tense, ready to spring into action.

At the same time, Taylor’s eyes widened until they nearly popped out of their head. Valerie felt it as the ghost surged forward, her fury following her in a cloud of heat and debris from the destroyed entrance. 

In that moment, Valerie had a number of thoughts. The first of which was simply that Danny Fenton needed to stop getting himself into these situations.

The second of which was that none of them, Danny included, probably got paid enough to deal with these sorts of things.

The third of which was that there was no way she was about to let some possessive ghost steal away the boy who had single handedly changed her world more than once, the boy who had waited for her with such patience and such kindness, the boy who had kissed her a few nights ago and shown just how much he cared for her through the golden light of a dozen blob ghosts.

And so before Danny could jump up on his own, she seized his wrist and pulled him up herself.

“Ex-cuse me?” she shouted, jamming her free hand onto her hip. 

And just like that, Valerie Gray found herself staring down a cheerleader.

The sheer surprise from the ghost being a cheerleader of all things nearly caused her to falter, but she managed to catch herself in the nick of time. Granted, it was truly a ghostly cheerleader, with pom-poms and hair of fire, fangs protruding from her perfectly red lips, and arms almost twice the normal length, but it was still a cheerleader nonetheless.

The ghost did not do as well at hiding her surprise. She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned her fiery red eyes towards the pair. Her eyes landed on Valerie first, then…

“There you are!” she exclaimed, and Danny squeaked, gripping onto Valerie’s hand for his half-life. “Why did you run, my love? I was only going to make our relationship official . Just a little bite! It wouldn’t even hurt!”

Something snapped in Valerie, and she pulled Danny closer to her. “What are you talking about, your relationship? He’s already taken, thank you very much.” Even as she spoke the words, her heart pounded.

This was so not how she would’ve liked to go about this.

Danny whipped around, his blue eyes boring into hers and his mouth gaping wordlessly. “I’m what ?” 

“Who’s this now?” the cheerleader asked. She bared her fangs and narrowed her eyes in Valerie’s direction.

Despite the new wave of intense heat that blasted her, Valerie remained resolute. “I’m the girl who’s about to kick your sorry butt if you don’t leave my Danny alone!” 

Her words hit her a second too late. She could only pray her blush would be written away as redness from the heat and not embarrassment.

“ Your Danny?” the ghost hissed, her voice an ominous growl. “Some pitiful, silly human thinks she can take my love away from me? From me ?” She began to laugh hysterically. “You have no idea who you’re messing with, girlie. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all.”

“Come any closer and I’ll show you the fury of a woman scorned.”

The cheerleader’s face melted into a sinister grin. “I was gonna tear this one’s arms off and use them for toothpicks,” she said, nodding towards a terrified Taylor, “but I’ll gladly start with you instead!”

Valerie had no idea what possessed her the moment the ghost lunged towards her and Danny. Maybe it was the sheer mental exhaustion from having her world turned upside down over the past few days. Maybe it was little more than a moment of panic. Maybe it was the burning drive to prove herself to this she-demon and show that no one would come between her and the people she loved.

(She’d dwell on that last bit later.)

She turned to Danny. “Quick, kiss me!”

Danny tore his eyes away from the cheerleader. “Wait, what ?”

And because she didn’t have time to try and convince him or tell him her plan (not that she had one), Valerie flung her arms around his neck and pulled him in close.

The moment their lips touched, something akin to a spark erupted between them, creating an audible crackle in the air. 

Or maybe that was just the ghostly edge to the cheerleader’s shriek of pure rage.

Valerie liked to believe it was the former. 

Whatever it was, the effects were instantaneous. She had her eyes closed tightly as she kissed Danny, but she could feel as the heat that had been flooding the two of them stopped abruptly, almost as if Danny’s naturally cool presence had been amplified to create a barrier around them. The change in temperature was soothing against her irritated skin. Judging by the way Danny relaxed into her embrace, the change felt just as nice to him.

“Whoa, whoa!” Taylor shouted from behind them. “Keep it PG, jeez .”

Behind her closed eyelids, Valerie rolled her eyes. Overdramatic much?

At some point, the cheerleader’s incessant shriek became too much for her ears to handle, and she broke the kiss. Still leaned in close, she put her lips next to Danny’s ear. “Thermos?” she whispered.

For a moment, Danny just wavered in place, staring with a dreamy, unfocused look in his eyes. “Huh?”

She thwacked him on the shoulder. “Focus, Fenton!”

“Oh!” He shook his head. “Right! Uh, thermos! Yes! Not, uh… I’m just - um…” He peered past Valerie’s shoulder to where Taylor stood. “Just… don’t let them see, I - er…”

She watched in amusement as he clumsily patted his pockets, then reached beside him. His hand disappeared into thin air for a moment before reappearing with a Fenton Thermos.

“A literal pocket dimension,” he whispered with a goofy grin. The thermos nearly slipped from his grip, and he flailed to catch it. 

Valerie was faster. She snatched the thermos out of his loose hold. “Yeah, no pocket dimension can make you any less of a dork.”

“Maybe, but I’m still your dork.”

Her face burned red, but she still managed to point the thermos at the still-shrieking cheerleader and suck her in. “A dork who let one kiss distract him that badly,” she threw back, handing the full thermos to him. “And put that back in your ‘pocket’ before you drop it.”

“I’m not gonna drop it!” In spite of his protest, he slipped the thermos back into the empty space. “See?”

“Wow, congratulations on doing something your average toddler can do and not drop something.”

“Aw, you noticed?” He flashed her a wide, impish smile. “Do I get another kiss for that?” he asked with a wink.

Valerie hummed and turned back to the cash register. “I don’t know. Do you have a decent explanation as to why there’s some ghost girl chasing after you?”

Danny opened his mouth and froze with a finger in midair. “Uh… Okay, wait, listen! There’s a perfectly good explanation for this. I didn’t start it, I swear! She saw me fly- er, walking around and just pounced on me!”

“Mhmm.” She struggled to hide her laugh as she put on her best disinterested face. How was it that Danny Phantom, who had managed to elude her for years and fend off powerful ghost after powerful ghost, could end up struggling this much?

And how on earth did it manage to be the cutest thing ever?

“Valeriieee,” he whined, tugging at her shirt sleeve. “Please! I promise! I’m not cheating on you!”

“I didn’t know you two were together.”

Both of their heads whipped around to see Taylor leaning against the counter and shaking their head. “Or that a ghost that hot could be that terrifying.”

Valerie paused. “Wait, hot like, hot ? Or, like…”

Taylor shot her a glare. “Not. Another. Word. You do you, and I’ll do me. I could say plenty about your choice in partner.”

“My…?” She turned to Danny, matching blushes painting their faces. His endless blue eyes stared back at her helplessly. Something in her chest throbbed faster and faster, and she couldn’t help the smile that grew on her face.

“Yeah,” she said. She took his hand and squeezed it. “He’s definitely mine.”

The look on his face shone even brighter than it had a few nights ago under the light of the blob ghosts.

Taylor’s eyes bounced between the two of them. “Good for you, then, I guess. He can’t stay behind the counter, though.”

[bitchinbarzal]

I thiiiiiink we need an update on ivy saying that she'll never wear rangers colours or jersey. surely she has to show support for sasha somehow. or if it really goes against her belief system, maybe a custom islanders jersey with Sasha's name and number on the back? trying to find a loophole for our girl 🫶🏼🫶🏼

“I’m not wearing it! They’ll hang me from the rafters of UBS!”

“Babe I’m literally in the playoffs you can’t seriously not wear my jersey?” Sasha looked at her like she was crazy.

They ended up in a huge fight, how Ivy was making this an issue when it wasn’t one. That their dads didn’t even play anymore so it didn’t matter.

“You don’t get it! My dad was a freaking idol on the island, they retired thirteen and everything!”

“Well Ives don’t freaking come then! If you can’t put aside this stupid thought to support me I don’t want you there!” Sasha storms out of her apartment leaving Ivy wondering if he was right.

Ivy grew up around taking sides. Her mom worked for the devils while her dad was the golden boy of Long Island, they constantly fought over which jersey to put her in but they never let it get to this point — was she missing something?

She called her mom, explained the situation and her mom only chuckled

“Baby we didn’t care about which jersey you wore, although I’ll admit our retros were better but you hated the colour red. We were just excited you loved hockey! Maybe the rangers is a different obstacle to tackle but your dad isn’t going to be mad. This is your life now, not ours and who knows maybe when he hits the market your dad will give him a call to come to the island now he’s in management and all that and you’ll be back in orange before you know”

Ivy showed up at Madison Square Garden that Tuesday wearing a jersey — a red, white and blue jersey with Zegras and the number 11 on the back.

Youngest goalie to record a playoff shut-out. Ivy could feel the happiness radiating off of the ice and she was just happy for him.

Making her way down to the tunnel she waited for his never ending media availability to be done so she could talk to him. Watching on the TV in the room.

“So Sasha you broke Jake Ottinger’s record of youngest goalie to record a shut out in the playoffs! How are you feeling?”

He’s sweaty and smiling “It’s-it’s amazing I don’t have words I just, I love this team and I love the fans”

“We noticed you had a special guest in red, white and blue tonight” the interviewer says, the picture of you panning up on the screen “Your girlfriend, Ivy wearing a rangers jersey for the first time this season i think… reckon she had some good luck in that jersey for you?”

Ivy could see the tears collecting in Sasha’s eyes as he looked at the screen “I didn’t know… I didn’t know she’d be here tonight or wearing that so I’m kinda surprised but yeah she’s gotta wear it all the time now I guess”

“Well thanks for your time and congratulations!”

He changed quickly out of his kit and into clothes before seeking out Ivy, hoping she’d stayed.

He found her where she always waits for him. When she saw him she did a twirl “Like it?”

“I love you Ivy” he announced before walking up and lifting her off the ground into a kiss.

“This isn’t about my dad anymore Sash, this is our lives — our team”

[laventadorn]

rough draft of two nje ch 15 scenes

so rough you could exfoliate with them! feel them strip the dead cells right off and leave your skin glowing and healthy*

*results not guaranteed

i've had an ass-kicking cold for the past four days; as in, it's kicking my ass. while i wait to breathe normally again, have some... more draco pov? idk why it's so easy and fun to write him -- maybe because i'm not emotionally invested in him and he's kind of a wet rag.

Harriet leaned over the bar, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“You did not tell me,” she said in a low voice, “that it was this many people.”

“Well, I – didn’t know they were going to be this. Numerous,” Hermione said (squeakily). 

“They must’ve told their friends,” Ron muttered. “I swear we were just talking to prefects in our year–”

Asteria patted Harriet on the back. Her hand might’ve been shaking a little (or a lot). Harriet didn’t blame her one bit – instead of a few prefects, all the Gryffindors in their year had turned up – Dean, Seamus, Neville, Lavender, Parvati and her sister Padma with her; Ginny and the other girls on the Gryffindor Quidditch team; Fred and George; that Luna girl from the train; a handful of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws from their year who Harriet only knew in the most general way from sitting classes with them for five years; and, most surprisingly, Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang. At the sight of this many people trooping in to discuss her teaching them defense spells, Harriet had considered faking poisoning to get out of it – surely in the Hog’s Head it would be believable that she could’ve accidentally picked something up, even if it was just a long-term growth on her butterbeer bottle. 

In the end, the most she’d done was woodenly excuse herself and hunker down at the corner of the bar. Hermione, Ron, and Asteria, who’d been sitting in increasingly loud silence as the number of attendees grew, had scurried after her.

“Should we make a break for it?” Ron asked in a low voice. “I see a door behind the bar there. Probably leads to the yard.”

Harriet took off her glasses to scrub her hands over her face. Then she hooked the ends back over her ears with a sigh. “No . . . we’re already here. Anyway I’ve made more of a prat of myself in front of a bigger number of people.”

“You won’t make a. Prat of yourself,” said Hermione firmly. Asteria nodded vigorously, though she looked about to faint.

The barman gave a soft snort, like he didn’t agree. He seemed sort of familiar, but Harriet couldn’t place him. He was rubbing a dirty glass with an even dirtier rag, and she got the sense the only reason he hadn’t told them to bugger off was a disinclination for speaking to customers. 

“How can you say that, after knowing me all these years?” said Harriet to Hermione; she patted Asteria on the arm. “I make a prat of myself hourly. All right, let’s get this over with.”

Fred and George were handing out dusty bottles of butterbeer to the five-times-larger-than-Harriet-would’ve-preferred group that had overtaken a couple of tables to one side of the taproom. As she approached, all eyes pinned on her, and she almost made a break for the back door after all. She realized it was one thing to make a prat of herself spontaneously and quite another to get up in front of a bunch of people prepared to make a prat of herself. 

“Er,” she said. 

#

Draco breathed the open air in Hogsmeade. The best thing about it was that it was currently Pansy-free. 

Actually, he’d been having some good Pansy-free time lately. She was so fired up with this Inquisitors business, she’d stopped resembling a human-shaped growth on his arm. Prefects had to follow certain guidelines, but Umbridge’s Inquisitors had more leeway to properly abuse power. Draco hadn’t really known Pansy would have the initiative, but she’d proven quite good at conjuring up random infractions to inflict on people; other Houses were leaking points in small but significant totals. He was sort of impressed, but if she wasn’t careful, she was going to wind up with a head full of leeks when somebody snapped and hexed her. 

He’d also seen her scheming a lot with Daphne, probably to get back at Potter. He’d heard Tracey warning Daphne off – “You don’t want Potter as an enemy, don’t you remember?” – but he hadn’t said anything to Pansy. Aside from the fact that she wouldn’t listen, it wasn’t his business to make her smart about it. Besides, if she was busy crafting Potter voodoo dolls in dark corners, she wasn’t clinging on to him. 

Yes, he had a lot of time to himself lately. It was . . . rather quiet. 

Really, he wasn’t sure he liked it. His mind tended to go places that were dark and full of shadows. 

And yet talking to people was so much work these days. They hadn’t been – where he’d been.

(Wasn’t it pathetic? He was fine now. Why should he still struggle to fall asleep in the dark because it was dark?)

He was drifting down a side street when he saw something peculiar: Asteria and Potter meeting up with – Granger and the Weasel. 

He edged behind a street lamp, but he was far enough away that they didn’t spot him. But he couldn’t be too careful: Gryffindors might be oblivious as a fence-post, but Asteria had been better taught in Slytherin. And he’d noticed her tall form and fair hair. 

Asteria was hanging back a little behind Potter, who seemed to be making introductions, if the way Granger was smiling and Weasley giving a cringingly awkward wave was any indication. Asteria sort of twitched at them. Well, she could be cringingly awkward too, even if she was enormously good-looking and of much better breeding than the Weasel.  

They didn’t linger long after these first hellos, but headed off down the street. Potter still kept herself between Asteria and the others, as if providing a shield. 

Still edged behind the street-lamp, Draco reached up and touched the brooch he always wore on his lapel since his mother had given it to him - a Black family heirloom that activated a concealment spell with the right trigger. A quick check in a dusty shop window showed a nondescript wizard, not suspiciously plain, but unremarkable, standing in his place. 

Off he went after them. They stopped one street over and, after a brief pause in which Potter traded looks with her cronies, headed into a dingy building that Draco recognized from his third year, but had never ventured near since. 

The Hog’s Head? 

He almost turned to make a very dignified exit in a very opposite direction . . . but he reminded himself that the barman wouldn’t recognize him like this; his mother did not pass on useless trinkets. And besides, if Potter and cronies were about to get tossed out on their ears, he wanted to see.

The bar was the same as he remembered: filthy, low-class, poorly lit. The same candles stuck to the dirt-encrusted tables in their own wax; the same bay windows that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the goblin rebellion of 1612; the same floor you couldn’t see for all the grime and sawdust. The same bartender. . . 

You are not Draco Malfoy; you are a gormless nobody named Deacon Pines. 

He took a seat at the bar. The barman glanced at him with a sardonic gleam in his eye.

“Firewhiskey sour,” said Draco, with an accent that made him sound like Potter. 

The barman stared at him a moment longer with a gimlet eye, but made the drink and shoved it over. Draco held a single sip in his mouth, trying not to cringe. How his father could drink these. . .

Potter was sitting in a corner, easily visible from his seat at the bar, talking in low tones with Granger and the Weasel. Asteria sat at her side, content to be ignored, but looking round the room. He had actually never had call to observe her this closely or at leisure: she almost always faded from notice, and she seldom spent time in places around loads of other people. But shielded from notice beside Potter, she didn’t seem as jittery as usual. 

Then her eyes widened. Draco couldn’t help looking over his shoulder, and almost spat out his mouthful of whiskey.

A whole troop of people were marching across the threshold. The barman even dropped his scowl of suspicion to gape at the amount of Hogwarts students now cluttering up his taproom. Draco hunkered down at his spot at the bar – he wasn’t Asteria, shaken up by somebody looking in his mere direction, but he didn’t fancy being noticed by this crowd of Slytherin-haters when he was alone and unallied.

He glanced up; Potter had come to the other end of the bar, and was leaning over it like she wanted to brain herself on the edge. Asteria was patting her on the back. Granger and Weasley seemed to be attempting some pep talk. 

Draco suddenly had a vision of himself having a minor wig-out in the corner, and Crabbe and Goyle trying to offer advice while Pansy rubbed his shoulders. He almost swallowed a burning mouthful of his rancid drink. As if Crabbe and Goyle would care enough to think of something to say – or be able to, even if they did. As if Pansy would be able to get over herself long enough to be soothing. 

He couldn’t hear the conversation, but after a moment Potter straightened up, face resigned, and turned back to the slack-brained crowd. What was she nervous about? 

“Er,” she said eloquently. 

All right, so maybe she was nervous because she had the public speaking skills of a puffskein. 

She darted a look at Granger, who moved up next to her. 

“Thank you for. Coming,” said Granger in that stop-start way she had these days. “Well, we – put together this meeting for – people with concerns and – questions about. . . some recent things.” She swallowed; Potter, arms folded, shifted her stance a bit so that her shoulder was touching Granger’s. Granger’s chin came up a little. 

“And because we need to learn Defense and certainly there’s no – proper teacher this year – ”

“Hear, hear!” said one of the heinous Weasley twins. A titter went through the group. 

“I take it you’re worried about passing your O.W.L.s too?” asked one of the Ravenclaw swots. Behind Granger and Potter, Weasley rolled his eyes. Draco would never agree with the Weasel, who was barely literate, but Merlin’s beard, did Ravenclaws ever shut up about grades?

Granger was answering that question when a blond Hufflepuff from their Quidditch team – Zanius or something – interrupted her with a nasally voice:

“I have a question.”

Potter raised her eyebrows at his tone, but said, “Yeah?”

“Why’d you bring her here?” He pointed behind her – at Asteria, who went bright red. “Everyone’s seen you palling around with a Slytherin, but to just waltz in here together – how do you know she’s not a spy for that Umbridge?”

Asteria shrunk in on herself. Weasley scowled at that wart Zanius, but everyone else held their breath, as if waiting to see how Potter would handle this. They’d surely been wondering the same thing.

“Asteria is my friend,” said Potter coldly, but the look in her eye blazed, even in the smoke-stained light. “If you don’t trust your friends, that’s not my problem – nor is who I choose to be friends with any of your business. If you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”

Asteria looked up at her, and if those weren’t stars in her eyes, Draco wasn’t a Malfoy. Zanius’ mouth hung open a little, before he turned a dull read.

“It was just a question,” he muttered. 

“Right,” said Potter, with sarcasm so good a Slytherin wouldn’t have been ashamed to use it. “Glad to answer it for you.

“So,” she continued into the weighted silence. Her nerves appeared to have been tempered in the fire of Gryffindor righteousness; she no longer looked like she wanted to leap over the tables and run out the door. “If anyone has any real questions – ones about blokes called Voldemort, or anything you actually came here for – now’s the time.”

The Weasley twins traded raised eyebrows. Several people looked impressed, a couple like it was their turn to want to scurry out the door. Draco certainly wouldn’t want Potter looking at him with that eye – it reminded him more than a little of the barkeep’s when he’d nabbed a third-year Draco asking for firewhiskey, or McGonagall’s when she found Crabbe doing unspeakable things to a mouse in class. 

“Is You-Know-Who the one who hurt Hermione Granger?” asked a sweet, soft voice – Draco thought her name was Loony Lovegood. Pansy made fun of her sometimes. Pansy said she was a nutter; Draco thought dotty. Her earrings looked like orange radishes, making her an even worse dresser than Potter.

Potter looked at Loony in silence for a moment, that militant light dimmed. Granger put her hand on Potter’s arm. 

“Yes,” she said simply. “Harriet saved my life.”

Murmurs shifted through the crowd like wind through the treetops. Draco looked down into his disgusting drink. 

What would that be like… murmured a voice in his mind. 

What, being captured by the Dark Lord? Granger’s a Mudblood, and she was only taken because she’s Potter’s best friend, so she made the best bait. Your family is loyal. . . you’ll be safe.

But Potter had gone to rescue her – somehow . . . and had gotten her out. 

What would it be like. . . to have a friend like that?

[saucy-sassy-sparkly]

Pursuit of Happiness

1: Meet the Littlemans

Pairing: Chris Evans x Kat Littleman (OFC)

Summary: New England political daughter Kat Littleman is constantly showing up for her mother’s campaigns, playing the part of the perfect daughter in the perfect, American family. When her paths cross with Chris Evans while he canvases DC to build out ASP, she’s forced to face some truths about herself, her family, and her future.

Word Count: ~7k

Warnings: Chris is a bit of a horndog. Lots of swearing, alcohol, sex talk, politically charged topics, chaotic families

Note: Despite spending a lot of my formative years in and around DC, I know absolutely nothing about politics or how things work on The Hill. This also runs the risk of dipping into some political topics (hopefully not heavily, but certainly some commentary and references). If that could trigger you, please avoid this.

Series Masterlist

1: Meet the Littlemans

“It’s navy blue with a hot pink luggage strap around it.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the agent’s voice was distant as she sorted through the lost luggage around her, “it isn’t here. I’ll add you to our list. Can I get a name and phone number?” She didn’t even bother to force a smile at Kat as she returned to her computer and started to click buttons, presumably opening up the never-ending list of people whose luggage had been lost by United Airlines.

Kat rattled off her name and number, muttered a quick “thanks” to the agent who had already turned to the next customer, and wrestled with her tote bag over her puffy winter jacket. She shuffled through the hubbub of Dulles baggage claim and made her way to the sliding doors and the waiting arrivals pick-up.

The doors wooshed open and the blustery November air hit her straight in the face, sending her hair flying around her and sticking in her chapstick. Kat stopped abruptly to rummage through her bag and find her beanie, yanking it firmly on her head, and returning to scanning the waiting cars for her father’s huge SUV.

After pacing the sidewalk to the end of the waiting cars, Kat finally reached for her phone in the back of her jeans pocket and groaned when she realized she hadn’t even powered it back on. Being the rule-follower she was, if the flight crew asked that you turn off devices, she dutifully turned all of her devices off and sowed them for the flight. In the chaos at baggage claim, she’d forgotten to turn it back on.

As the screen lit up in her hands, she saw the missed calls and then texts from her father. Or rather… her father’s assistant, Ted. Why a former NFL tight end turned garden fanatic even had an assistant was unfathomable to Kat, but nonetheless she put the phone to her ear and listened to Ted’s voicemail.

“Hi Kathrine, it’s Ted. Ted Brown, Tim’s–err– your father’s assistant that is. I’m calling to let you know that your father tried to pick you up when your flight was scheduled to arrive, but once he learned it was delayed, he came back to the townhouse. He sends his apologies and looks forward to seeing you tomorrow at the gala.”

Clicking over to the texts and finding herself unsurprised to have four texts from Ted, all with the same general message and one with a link to the Uber app (thanks, Ted), and even one from her father that read: Sorry KitKat, Giants/Cowboys game was kicking off!

“For fuck sake, Dad…” she muttered before shoving her phone back in her pocket; Kat then turned to the taxi stand and was grateful there were several waiting. She poured herself into one, gave the driver her hotel address, and sank back into the seat to start doing the math:

It was currently 8:37p. By the time she got to the hotel, checked in, and to her room, it would be at least 9:15p– after a 12-hour travel day that should’ve only been 4 thanks to snow just about everywhere she was exhausted and would likely pass out after shoveling in a granola bar and water bottle from the mini bar. She had to be at a brunch with her mother at 10a Ambar, then was expected to pop over to the townhouse and visit with her father before going back to the hotel to get ready for the gala at 7p. That left her about four hours to find a black tie gown– not to mention something to wear to brunch, clean underwear, and makeup– to replace the one that was lost in the bowels of Dulles International Airport.

She fired off a quick “finally made it, talk tomorrow” text and watched the snowflakes hit the window of the cab and the lights of downtown rush by as the car took the slick streets way too quickly. But, Kat was too tired to care. She’d arrived at the airport with plenty of time for her preflight ritual: a cup of overpriced coffee and 40 minutes to read a smutty novel. She’d watched the big red “delayed” letters flash up on the departure screen once, then twice. After the fourth time, the gate agents stopped giving excuses over the intercom and just started to apologize.

Her flight finally boarded only to sit taxing for another 45 minutes before taking off for the less than two-hour flight. The 7:15p landing had then become an extra hour between waiting for the luggage carousel, discovering her bag was not coming and then hunting down the missing luggage desk.

Tim deciding to bail on pick-up and have his assistant call for him– that was the most consistent part of her day. Tim Littleman was, first of all, the opposite of his name. He was 6’4 but claimed to be 6’6, and had filled out since his professional days when Kat was a kid, but he was still fit and trim for a man in his late 50s. Tim also loved his kids but he loved football just a little bit more, even after being out of the game for years, it wasn’t a surprise– although always a disappointment– when he picked a football game over a drive to the airport with his youngest child.

Kat paid and tipped the driver and tumbled out of the car and into the infamous Watergate Hotel– her mother’s favorite spot to put Kat up for the night when she visited. Mallory always insisted it was to make life easier for Kat; as a 31-year-old, she’d obviously want her privacy from her parents when she was visiting! Over the years, Kat had stopped rolling her eyes or even bickering with her mother and had instead accepted a free stay in a balcony suite overlooking the Potomac River.

As expected, she passed out almost immediately and woke up with a start to her alarm sounding at 7:45a. The morning passed in a blur, sprinting to the nearest Zara for a quick brunch outfit to meet with Mallory and several of Mallory’s WASPy DC friends, then back to the hotel to shower and change, then back out again for brunch where her mother barely interacted with her and then headed back to her office while Kat went to the townhouse for coffee with Tim to discuss the prospects in his greenhouse garden back in Connecticut, and then back out shopping again. With only an hour to spare, she’d found a dress and pumps for the black-tie gala– an event to raise money for some important cause her mother only vaguely mentioned in her email requesting Kat’s attendance.

She was actually quite pleased with the last-minute find feeling confident when she’d examined herself in the mirror, and it fit all of Mallory’s qualifications which were: black tie appropriate, black or navy, and tasteful.

Kat used the polished metal reflection of the elevator doors to check herself one more time, smoothing down the black fabric and tossing her hair over her shoulder. The sound of the event met her ears before the doors slid open: laughter, clinking glasses, and quiet music. When she stepped out onto the plush carpet, she saw several familiar faces immediately and offered small waves and smiles while she studied the sea of people for one of her parents.

“Kathrine,” a perfectly manicured claw wrapped around Kat’s bicep signaled Mallory before she pulled her daughter around and closer to the nearest wall, “what are you wearing?”

“Hi, Mom, you look nice,” Kat deadpanned, bracing herself for impact as she took in her mother. Mallory was dressed in a perfectly tailored champagne number that was likely her typical Ralph Lauren. Her hair was pulled back in a tight French twist and she looked every bit the upper-crust Connecticut woman she was.

“This is highly inappropriate,” Mallory reached up and started to play with Kat’s hair, pulling it over her shoulders.

“I have no idea how to respond to that,” Kat bit back her urge to tell her mother that her dress looked like a wedding gown.

“Kathrine, this is just… it is far too sexy for this event.”

“This is the best I could do on short notice.”

“Short notice! You’ve known for months,” Mallory hissed at her daughter, dropping her voice so the women standing near them wouldn’t hear.

“Mom,” Kat huffed, “I told you at brunch that United lost my bag. I had to go out and get this today.”

“Right, right,” she waved at her daughter, still reaching out to maneuver her hair. “Well there is nothing we can do now,” she sighed and finally gave up before pushing her shoulders back.

Behind her was a ballroom full of political powerhouses– senators, congresspersons, aids, donors, and all the other powerful DC folks who liked to gather in rooms together and remind each other how important they are. Mallory had been working her way up the political world for years, starting on the Board of Education in Kat’s hometown (not that Mallory Littleman would’ve ever sent her children to public school, even in their wealthy town) and now just after her second election as a state senator. Hence, Kat’s summons to attend as part of the senator’s loving family. Kat hated these events… but showed up anyway.

Mallory huffed and dropped her hands to her hips, squaring her jaw at her daughter. “Don’t bring up your job.” This was a common command; never ever talk about work. Kat nodded dutifully.

“Yes ma’am.”

“And don’t mention your… that you… the…”

Kat cut her off and failed to contain her eye roll this time, “I won’t let anyone know that we’re not the perfect family.”

“Thank you,” she said curtly, still eyeing her daughter’s dress.

“Did that hurt,” Kat laughed, looking at the tight expression on her mother’s face after displaying gratitude for her daughter.

“Do not sass me, Kathrine. Tonight is a big deal. I need it to go well.”

Kat sighed, “yes ma’am,” and neglected to bring up the fact that Mallory said that for every political event to which she dragged her daughter.

Mallory ignored her, “you know who I need you to talk to?”

Kat nodded, “I was briefed by your aids. Which, by the way, I would’ve preferred to do with you than your 19-year-old college interns.”

“I mean they are hired to take things off my plate.”

“Where’s dad, Senator Littleman?”

“Kathrine,” Mallory’s tone was warning as she turned back to Kat, “please behave.”

“Promise, Senator, now I’m going to find Dad,” Kat pushed past her mother and started to move through the room, listening for her father’s loud laughter. Despite his faults, he was the far easier parent to be around. He was easy to talk to and could entertain a crowd: the perfect way to disappear in one of these large functions was to stand near Tim and let him relive his glory days to people who just oohed and ahhed appropriately in hopes that he would end up writing them some kind of donation check.

She spotted him across the room regaling a group of men. As she passed by familiar faces, she greeted them politely, engaging in small talk when necessary, and pushing her way closer and closer to Tim. When he caught a glimpse of her, his face split into a grin and he threw his arms wide, stepping between the men surrounding him, “There’s my KitKat!” He wrapped her in a hug, smothering her in his heavily applied Polo Blue. When he kissed her cheek and draped his arm over her shoulder, he turned back to the group, “Gents, this is my beautiful daughter Kathrine.”

Kat reached out her hand to shake with the shortest of the group, who introduced himself as Mark, “Kat is fine, it’s nice to meet you.”

Exchanging quick greetings with the other two, Joe and Chris, Tim quickly charged back in control of the conversation before she could say more, “Sweetheart, these boys are trying to get me to spend some money on them.”

Mark, or maybe it was Joe, jumped in with a laugh, immediately changing the narrative to describe the new political platform they were developing, but Kat had essentially stopped listening. She was too busy batting her eyelashes at Chris. He stood almost a head taller than her, his shoulders filling out his navy tuxedo in the most delicious way. His perfectly styled hair, his relaxed stance with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a beer– how refreshing; no one in DC admitted to liking something as lowly as beer, much less a Sam Adams.

He’d had been the last to introduce himself and their hands had lingered while Chris’s blue eyes blatantly trailed slowly down her body. She’d felt a blush rising in her cheeks when his eyes met hers again and a very brief but very smug smirk crossed his features.

Slowly he returned his focus to his colleagues and let them continue to explain their new venture, glancing at Kat now and then, who got caught staring back almost every time. She had to force herself to stare at Joe and Mark while they spoke, feeling Chris’s eyes trail over her skin.

As soon as she’d approached, Chris’s eyes had been immediately drawn to the skin of Kat’s thigh exposed in her dress. Most of the room was filled with an older crowd, the younger women in the room choosing much more conservative dresses for this event. Kat’s choice, with her shoulders, a hint of cleavage, and all that leg made Chris practically salivate. He’d been back and forth to DC for the last several months as he, Joe, and Mark tried to build a following and convince the political world to work with them; each time he was surrounded by women in pantsuits or blazers. The young aides usually wore their outfits slightly tighter, but it was still the same variations of cream, navy, and red work dresses… not that it had stopped him from spending some time getting to know a few of those women.

When the three men had entered the ballroom this evening, he’d been prepared with their usual speech, ready to network and subtly beg for support. He hadn’t been prepared to be adjusting his pants at the sight of this woman’s tight ass when she turned to hug her father. Chris didn’t even bother to scold himself; they’d been working all weekend, and more importantly, Kat’s eyes were drawn to him too.

Kat recognized Chris, albeit not immediately, but after several minutes of making eyes at each other while the people around them talked, it clicked into place that she’d seen some movies that featured his washboard abs and perfectly cut pecs. She watched his reaction when she tossed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her skin (and bumping her father’s hand, which briefly ruined her moment before regaining composure); his eyes moved across her collarbone and up her neck, settling a steady gaze back on her.

No one was paying attention to them anyway. Joe and Mark were chatting away and Tim was listening the best his ADHD and slightly narcissistic brain allowed him.

“Well boys,” Tim finally said, both literally and figuratively jolting his daughter back to reality with a shake of her shoulder, “that is a truly terrific pitch, but I’m the wrong one to give it to. Just didn’t have the heart to stop you. My wife, Mallory, is the politician in the family.”

As if summoned, Mallory’s voice called over Kat’s shoulder, “there you two are,” in a huff and appeared at her daughter’s side, putting more distance between Kat and Chris. Tim remade the introductions of the group and Kat didn’t miss the way Chris’s eyes stayed on her, not Mallory, when the three of them once again began to explain their idea.

This time, Chris did most of the talking, Joe and Mark only offering occasional additions, but he continued to flicker his eyes to Kat. Kat found herself more impressed; she’d assumed he was the Hollywood buy-in to get politicians' attention, not part of the actual brain power. She listened to him, adding her own questions as her mother did the same, and watched him get more and more animated as he rattled off what seemed to be a heartfelt passion project.

He finally paused when Joe took over explaining the technical side to Mallory and Kat allowed herself to look back at his stupidly handsome face; he lifted his beer towards her and raised his eyebrow, silently asking if she wanted a drink.

Kat started to nod when a well-dressed staff member approached and invited them to find their seats, dinner was being served. Chris spoke up before the group separated, “I’m going to grab another drink before I go to the table, can I get anyone anything?” He looked pointedly at Kat who started to speak when her mother spoke for her.

“What a lovely offer, but Kathrine and I don’t drink. Tim?” She turned to her husband, letting him give Chris his drink order, before wrapping her hand around Kat’s arm and pulling her away from the group towards the clusters of tables without a goodbye.

“Kathrine, don’t even think about it,” she hissed, staring at the place cards on a long table and searching for theirs. She reached across Kat, snatched all three off the table, pulled Kat towards table 4, and continued, “I knew this dress was too much for tonight.”

“What are you talking about, Mom?”

“I saw the look on your face and that boy's. Don’t you dare.”

They’d reached the table and Mallory immediately dropped Kat’s arm, circling to say hello to their companions. Kat tucked herself into the nearest chair and immediately moved for the bread basket, perking up when she discovered the rolls were still warm. Mallory perched on the chair next to Kat, still in conversation with another one of DC's most powerful people whose name Kat could never remember… nor ever tried to.

Tim joined them shortly, sliding into the chair on Mallory’s other side and calling a loud, “see you boys later,” and toasted them as Joe, Mark, and Chris walked away. Kat’s eyes flickered up to catch Chris’s, offering a coy smile to his nod.

“That is what I’m talking about,” Mallory was back in her ear, using her butter knife to gesture at Chris’s broad, retreating back.

“Mother, relax, I just smiled at him.”

“You think I was born yesterday? That was not just a smile.”

“You do realize I’m 31 years old, right? And it is perfectly acceptable to smile at a man or even, god forbid, flirt with him.” Kat’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she spread her napkin on her lap.

“I don’t care how old you are, you reflect my campaign and my values every time you’re seen with me. If there are pictures of you kissing Captain fucking America, it is a direct reflection of me.”

“Literally no one cares who your adult daughter kisses.”

“You don’t think it comes up every election? You don’t think that you and your brother and… Do you know how much of my staff it takes to be sure that our family doesn’t get our business blasted across headlines?”

“I wish you realized how much America did not care about my sex life or Ben’s,” Kat reached for her ice water and sipped slowly, wishing it was a vodka tonic, and glanced at her mother’s furrowed brow, “Careful, Mom, your Botox doesn’t like when you frown.”

Mallory huffed and leaned away to start speaking to Tim, whispering frantically at him and casting sidelong glances at Kat. Kat, however, leaned back in her chair and allowed the woman next to her– a Congressman from Minnesota’s wife– to share all of the details of the grandchild her daughter was expecting. Kat had to bite her tongue while she listened to the several-minute monologue about how silly she found it that some people wouldn’t want to buy gender-specific baby clothes anymore. She let the woman talk, as she did most of these people, and let her mind wander, only staying focused enough to offer the occasional, “you don’t say” or “wow, that’s incredible.”

She truly loathed these events. She’d lost track over the years of how many she’d shown up to, how often her mother trotted her out like a prized pony to amplify her mother’s strong family value platform before being sent back home to her normal life. Each time it came with an all-expenses paid plane ticket and hotel, several– usually public to avoid real conversation– visits with her mother, at least one major political fundraiser/gala/rally/etc., and then a quick and once again public goodbye from Mallory before the whole ordeal was over.

Kat knew she could stop coming, stop being hassled by her mother and used as a pawn, she knew that she could and certainly should stop saying yes and start saying no. Ben always reminded her that no was a complete sentence.

Ben.

Ben had stopped coming to these the second he moved out of the house, right about the same time that Mallory and Tim–mostly Mallory– had refused to acknowledge that Ben might not actually be the preppy, lacrosse-playing womanizer he was bred to be and was instead questioning all parts of his identity. He’d moved to Vancouver for a job, and met a wonderful man, Kevin, who Kat adored and had never looked back.

Kat missed him terribly, even after almost 10 years of living several time zones apart, and looked forward to their annual September trip together. They’d meet somewhere each year to celebrate their birthdays… four days and four years apart… together, often surrounded by other people they loved but never ever with their parents.

Kat couldn’t actually remember the last time the four of them shared the same air. It had to have been a holiday while Kat was still in high school and Ben was home from college for a break. She knew that he occasionally emailed Tim or exchanged a quick phone call, but that Ben hadn’t spoken to their mother since the day he’d graduated from college. At their celebration dinner, he’d handed her a check and said, “I won’t owe you anything ever again,” and flown to Canada the next morning. Kat had been devastated but she knew what it was like for Ben to grow in their house. She knew the best thing for him was to put the Canadian Border Patrol between him and Mallory.

Ben was her rock, one of her favorite humans, and her constant reminder that she was a pawn in Mallory’s system and needed to get out before people started to think she actually supported their mother’s platforms. That thought pulled her back into the conversation with the Congresswoman’s wife just in time to force a cheerful, “hurry back!” when she’d told Kat she needed to use the ‘little girl’s room’ and scurried off.

Kat took the moment to enjoy the silence and scanned the room. The sea of tables was tastefully if subtly decorated in muted tones and low centerpieces on each table to allow for conversation. There had to be at least 50 tables, each holding anywhere from 10-12 guests, all various members of wealthy DC society. The majority were politicians and their donor friends; a perk of donating thousands of dollars to a cause was getting to attend other functions for free as a ‘thank you for your support’… only to be expected to write a check at the end for whichever cause the evening endorsed.

Five tables away, she found Chris’s gelled hair and sharp jawline in profile while he laughed at something the woman next to him said. She allowed herself the moment to admire the imperfect slope of his nose, the way his smile showed all his teeth, and the way his biceps were visibly flexing even under his jacket as he lifted his fork to his mouth.

“He is very handsome, I’ll give you that,” Mallory leaned closer to her daughter, who had been actively ignoring her mother trying to catch her eye, “but do not embarrass me tonight, Kathrine.”

“And what would be embarrassing for you, Mom?” Kat sighed and looked at her mom.

Mallory paused, glancing at her husband who was deep in conversation, and back at Kat, “if you did something inappropriate with him.”

Kat grinned slyly, knowing how much her mother hated these kinds of conversations, “what do you consider inappropriate?”

“You know what I mean,” she huffed.

“I’m not sure that I do. Could you explain it to me?”

Mallory sighed heavily and waggled her finger, “do not go home with that boy.”

“He seems to be all man,” Kat countered, her eyes traveling back to Chris just to spite her frustrated, demanding mother. He was rising from the table and gesturing to his tablemates, seemingly taking drink orders.

“Kathrine Marissa Littleman,” Mallory’s voice dropped low and Kat knew she’d hit a nerve, “I do not need any gossip because of you, there has already been enough talk about everything else in our family.”

“There hasn’t been anything to talk about for years, Mom, please give me a break. I’m a grown-up.”

Mallory shot her one last look and stood from her seat, moving around behind Kat and towards an empty seat at the other side of the table to start working the room now that she’d finished her meal– it didn’t matter to her that no one else had.

Kat reached into her clutch and rifled around for a pen, finding one at the bottom, and slid her place card towards her. She folded open the thick cardstock and write inside it, closing it back up and slipping the pen back in her purse before whispering, “back in a bit,” to Tim, who waved his acknowledgment, and she moved through the room to the bar.

Chris leaned on the bar in front of her, chatting with the bartender as he gathered the drinks for Chris’s table. She took a deep breath and stepped beside him and ordered a vodka tonic from the other barkeep; her voice caught Chris’s attention, who leaned on one arm.

“Kathrine,” her name in his deep timbre sent a chill down her spine and a warmth filling her belly.

“Christopher,” she countered, throwing a smile over her shoulder at him.

“I see that ‘we don’t drink’ thing was bullshit,” he nodded to the drink she now took a deep swallow from.

“Just another politician making things up.”

He gathered the drinks from the bartender– another beer for him, a wine for one of his tablemates, and a scotch for Joe, and turned to her– “Gimme a second. Don’t move.”

Kat nodded and watched him strut away; she toyed with the place card in her hand. She flipped it open, looking at her handwriting on the inside, and looked back up at Chris, who was just arriving at the table. Throwing her shoulders back, she followed after him, coming up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I thought you were waiting for me,” he said quietly, dipping his head low to talk to her.

“I changed my mind,” she smiled and slid her hand down from his shoulder, briefly across his bicep, and to grip his large hand. She squeezed, pushing the cardstock into his hands, and turned gracefully on her heels. She moved slowly, knowing he was watching her, and swung her hips ever so slightly as she made her way across the room to the exit closest to the elevator.

She entered it alone, letting the doors slide shut and giving her a chance to take a deep breath, and another gulp of her drink before the doors were opening again on her floor.

In her room, she finished off her drink and mixed a new one from the minibar, and then moved across the suite to stand at the sliding glass doors. Her heart was pounding in her chest with both anticipation and anxiety, knowing she could be stood up, but hoping she’d read him right. Several long minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. Kat took her time to cross the room, finishing off her second drink on the way, and pulling the door open to Chris standing, both hands in his pockets, on the threshold.

“Hey you,” his crooked grin melted any nerves she had and she reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into the room; she shut the door after dropping the “do not disturb” sign on the handle and turning to face him.

“Drink?” She started to move around him towards the mini bar but he used their still connected hand to pull her to him.

“Maybe after,” his boyish grin was gone and replaced with a sexy smirk; he held their hands to his chest while his other hand reached up to her shoulder, pushing a few strands of hair off her neck. His fingertips trailed along her clavicle before coming to rest at the back of her neck and leaning towards her.

He slotted his lips over Kat’s, the kiss hovering for a moment in sweetness before his tongue swiped at her bottom lip and the movement shifted. Kat stepped closer to him, allowing his tongue to swipe against hers and pushing her chest into his while his hands covered all the planes of her body, squeezing her hips and her ass, trailing gentle touches up her arms and into her hair to hold her to him and continue the needy kiss. She slid her hands up his body and tugged at his bow tie, feeling grateful for making out with Miles Sharpton at cotillion who taught her how to untie a butterfly knot. Once it fell around his neck, she slid her arms under his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. Chris let it hit the floor and stepped away from it to push Kat– one hand on her hips, the other still grasping her neck— towards the dresser.

The backs of her thighs bumped the large wooden piece and she let herself lean against it while he pressed into her, his mouth now trailing her neck and his hands grasping at the back of her dress, pawing for the zipper. Kat pushed his chest away from him, his lips pulling from hers with an audible suction noise, and she panted to catch her breath while her fingers worked their way down the buttons of his shirt. Each one she popped open exposed more of his chest, undershirt, and, to her surprise, a smattering of dark ink that made her mouth water.

She leaned forward and kissed the exposed skin, while she continued her journey down to his belt. Kat tugged his shirt free from his pants and glanced up at him through hooded eyes to find him watching her. Chris’s hands were rubbing her shoulders, raising goosebumps on her skin and sending a fire straight to her core.

Her hands hovered on his belt buckle, slowing the momentum of the last several minutes but giving neither of them pause. Chris watched her, licking his lips and trying to decide which way he wanted her to come first. “Don’t stop now, baby,” his voice had dropped dangerously low and he cupped her chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb along her bottom lip, “or I’m going to take over.”

Kat blushed deeply but held his gaze; she felt her panties dampen even more with those few words and she finished unclasping his belt, whipping it out of the loops dramatically and winking at him when he chuckled. Slowly, agonizingly slowly for Chris, she popped the button of his trousers and then slid the zipper down, holding his eyes and watching his Adam’s apple subtly bob.

Keeping her eyes glued to Chris’s, she slid her hands under the waistband of his pants, still over his boxer briefs, and rubbed slowly down his length, then back up, then back down again, reaching all the way through to briefly caress all of him before dropping her eyes to see the hard bulge that seemed to just keep growing under her hand. When Kat looked away, he took the opportunity to close his and open his jaw, letting out a low groan when she squeezed him back and forth, teasing him, knowing that he wanted her lips on his cock but she wouldn’t give it to him just yet.

She continued her work, flicking her eyes back up at him and taking in the way his chest heaved and his eyes fluttered when she stroked him in just the right away. All this response and everyone still had their clothes on…

After more minutes of this agonizingly slow tease, Chris groaned and dropped his head to press his forehead into Kat’s and growled, yanking her upright and twirling her around. “It’s my turn to tease, Kitty Kat.” The impulsive nickname made Kat’s heart skip a beat but she shoved down that feeling and leaned back into his strong chest. He held her in his arms, one wrapped around her stomach, the other reaching towards her zipper, dragging it down slowly and his hand on her stomach pulled the fabric of the gown down just enough to expose her breasts. Both of his hands slowly slithered up her body to cup them in his palms, rolling her peaked nipples between his thumb and forefingers while he kissed her neck.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded between open-mouth kisses; one of his hands dropped her breast and used it to push her hair off her neck and expose her other shoulder, licking a stripe from the nape of her neck to her earlobe and planting a kiss behind her ear. Kat’s eyes flew open, surprised to find that he’d positioned them in front of the dresser mirror where his eyes were watching her reflection.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of her breasts exposed and being palmed by his large hands, Chris’s face kissing all across any exposed skin he could reach, all while never breaking eye contact. He leaned his weight into her and she felt his hard cock against her ass; she pressed her hips back into him, grinding against him and letting out a moan before closing her eyes again to enjoy all the sensations.

“Open,” he said again, his tone leaving no room for question. He pulled his lips away from hers and he stood to his full height behind her– even in her heels she was still inches shorter than him, “I want you to watch yourself.”

Kat nodded, not knowing what else to do and allowing herself to melt entirely into his embrace and his command.

His right hand left her breast and moved tantalizingly across her sternum, her stomach, and to the thigh-high slit in her dress. Chris bent forward slightly to pull the fabric up and allow him access to her lacy thong. He bunched the dress up the best he could, pushing as much fabric out of the way to expose her in the mirror and trace a finger along the top hem of her panties. His left hand still played with her breast and now, she grasped his right forearm, bracing herself against him and using her left hand to reach behind her and hold onto his hip.

Chris traced the edge of her thong again, dipping his finger under the elastic and then back out multiple times before finally sliding his hand all the way down to cup her core. He groaned into her ear as his pointer finger swiped through the wetness between her legs, “all this for me, Kitten?”

“Please,” she whimpered, bucking her hips against him in anticipation.

He hummed in agreement, nuzzling into her hair and pressing his finger into her entrance, slowly pumping in and out at a painfully slow pace. Kat dropped her head back on his shoulder, obediently keeping her eyes open to watch his hand move in the mirror. His thumb found her clit and pressed against it, moving just as slowly. She rolled her hips, trying to find more friction, more pressure, more anything, but he stilled his movements and tutted, “not yet, Kathrine.”

She whined and pushed her weight against his chest, nudging her nose against his neck and pressing messy kisses to his jaw. Her reward was a second finger pressed inside of her, slowly making a come hither motion while his thumb started to increase the pressure and pace on her clit. After more minutes of playing with her, he leaned in to kiss her lips muttering against her, “you ready, baby? You going to come now, sweetheart?” as he continued to increase the intensity and Kat’s hips moved to meet him. He pulled away from her lips, removing his hand from her breast to gently but firmly grasp her chin and turn her to face the mirror again, “watch, baby, c’mon,” he grunted, his hips now joining the fray, “c’mon, Kat, come for me, baby.”

Kat let out a strangled, semi-pornographic moan when her orgasm hit her hard, her ears ringing and her whole body shaking in Chris’s arms. He slowed his rhythm, working her over the edge and through the intensity, giving her a moment of reprieve while he kissed her shoulders, her neck, her cheek, and pulled her lips to his to give her a long, wet kiss.

“Do you have a condom,” she muttered against him, ready to feel him inside of her the moment his fingers slid out. He released her with a quick kiss, stumbling in his pants that were still undone and sagging toward his tuxedo jacket. He fished in for his wallet while Kat studied herself, still trying to catch her breath.

Chris appeared in the mirror behind her again, his hands falling to her hips and pulling the fabric of her dress up quickly. She helped him, letting the dress bunch at her hips, her breasts still exposed and now her ass as well. He stepped back from her and she watched him in the mirror.

He was palming himself in his shorts, one hand still on the curve of her hip and she arched her back slightly, giving him a more full view of her. Chris glanced up in the mirror to find her smirking; he stopped palming himself to tuck both thumbs in the waistband of her thong and drag it down her legs, helping her step out of it and tossing it somewhere in the dim room.

Still, on his knees behind her, his hands traced up her calves, the back of her knees, her thighs, as he rose to stand and smacked her ass, watching her flesh bounce. Feeling impatient, she wiggled at him, arching her back even deeper. He chuckled, “you’re ready for me, pretty girl?”

He met her eyes in the mirror and she bit her lip, nodding and watching him drop his boxer briefs. From her place in front of him, she didn’t have a good view but she listened to him snap on the condom and then mewed when he rubbed the tip of his cock through her arousal.

With one hand on her hip and the other pushing her neck to lean her closer to the dresser, he pushed into her without warning, causing Kat to cry out at the stretch. He stilled, kissed her shoulder, and waited for her to nod before he started a steady, deep rhythm, hitting the soft, spongy parts she so desperately craved. The salacious sounds of his hips meeting her ass, his grunts, and Kat’s sighs and moans filled the room quickly while he pounded into her, the pace ever increasing. Kat fumbled with her dress, trying to get to her clit. Chris moved his hand from her waist, still keeping one on her neck to hold her steady, and licked his fingers before reaching around her hips and quickly building another steady rhythm on her clit. Over and over again he thrust into her, circling her clit and groaning into her neck.

“C’mon, Kat, come for me again, let go, Kitten,” he growled while her velvet walls squeezed him tight, “I can’t hold on, come, baby,” he babbled, rocking his hips while her hips pushed back against him, chasing her release. It hit her quickly, making her legs shake and then wobble, struggling to support her weight. Chris finished with a moan drilling inside of her and draping his body over hers that was slumped against the dresser. He planted kisses on her shoulder, her neck, and then down the top of her spine before gently helping her come upright. Kat turned in his arms and slid into the dresser, letting her back lean against the mirror and lazily tugging her gown to cover her breasts just enough.

Chris snagged a few tissues from the nightstand and handed her some while he cleaned up and disposed of the condom in the trash can by the desk. He tucked himself back into his briefs and came to stand between Kat’s useless legs. He leaned forward and planted his palms on the dresser beside her legs to kiss her lazily, their tongues swiping at each other and showing no urgency.

Finally, Kat pulled back and reached up to push his hair back in place the best she could. “Your business partners will wonder where you went,” she whispered, giving him an out.

He raised an eyebrow at her, “what about that drink?”

“Next time,” she shrugged, sliding off the dresser knowing there would be no ‘next time’ and moving towards her shopping bags for the zip-up and leggings she’d bought today. Once they were in her arms, she turned back to Chris still standing there, pants around his ankles, and looking confused. “I’m going to take a shower,” she pressed up on her toes and kissed his lips once more before crossing in front of him and stepping into the large bathroom.

[the-present-is-a-gift-au]

Chapter 3: In Which Fuel is Added to Fire

Twig had to get a job eventually, but none of the openings in Verdant Village worked with her expertise. Technically she could start another apprenticeship— maybe learn carpentry under a nearby watchog who was looking for workers, or figure out how to cook using something other than a single vegetable grilling strategy by working as a apprentice for the restaurant run by that one tangrowth— but none of them sounded particularly appealing. Lucky for her, she came across an idea when she set up a small stand to sell some excess loot from mystery dungeons she didn’t need. The items were all gone in a flash, and Twig made a pretty penny for what was absolutely useless to her. After all, what was she going to do with a rollcall orb when she didn’t have any teammates to explore with? 

Thus began a little business operation inspired by the Kecleon Market back in Treasure Town. She’d go dungeon crawling, pick up as much loot as she could carry, keep what she could use, and sell the rest. As a nod to the Guild, she let frequent customers know they could contact Chatot about any inquiries on starting an exploration team or apprenticing within Wigglytuff’s ranks, and gave discounts to exploration teams that passed through the area when they showed her their explorer badges. It was nice. It gave her the excuse to keep exploring, and she made more than enough money to keep from digging into her savings— as extravagant as they were, she didn’t want to live above her means. 

That was how she found herself in Mount Travail— it was one of the closer dungeons with better loot, so she would make longer trips to it every so often to stock up on the rarer items you could find there. It was a simple, routine trip that she set off on. Honestly, it wasn’t even like she had brought her larger bag to stock up on things more intensely. She just wanted to get some fresh air and be productive doing it, so she’d slung a smaller bag over her shoulder and hiked up to the mid-section of the mountain where the mystery dungeon had formed for a nostalgic grocery run. 

She found an apple that was the size of Lyra’s head and nabbed it to give to her on her way home. Their chats had calmed down once Lyra ran out of questions to ask her, but the kid still loved to hang around Twig and show off her homemade exploration gear. Twig tried not to think too much on how her enthusiasm despite her timidity reminded her of Azurill. How old was he now? Gosh, she felt old… She needed to send him and Marill a letter. 

She was halfway through the dungeon when she felt it— a weird sort of prickling itch traveling up and down her spine. She shrugged it off. Maybe she’d been lingering too long in the dungeon and it was getting ready to blow her out of its turf? No problem, she could pick up the pace. She’d already gotten everything she needed— orbs and bands, a few baubles that she could send back to Croagunk as a thank-you for not stealing her teeth or anything during her apprenticeship, and a number of foods she could stick in her stock pot back home and make a stew out of— so she could make a beeline for the exit. 

She entered the next floor.

The feeling didn’t dissipate.

It got worse.

She felt like something was behind her, but everytime she looked, the most she saw was an occasional pokemon sizing her up from the sides of the path, and never approaching. The space behind her was always empty. Nothing was there. No one was there. Yet the sense of paranoia still nipped at her mind, and she couldn’t shake the unease that it filled her with. Something was off, and she couldn’t figure out why. 

Or at least, she couldn’t figure it out until she turned a corner and spotted him. She didn’t scream, surprisingly, but she did leap about three yards away in a panic.

Darkrai lurked deep within a grove of trees, almost entirely concealed by the trunk of one oak and a cluster of tall ferns, looking just as startled as she felt when their eyes met. 

[r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e]

(kiki's delivery service! au)

“She should’ve been back hours ago,” Steve said, for about the hundredth time. He peered through a crack in the blinds out into the dark street like a creep. Nothing, still. They’d closed up the bakery as usual, to dissuade any potential customers, but had kept the lights on so that Max would know they were awake and waiting for her, so that she’d use the key they’d had made (This is for me?” She’d said, so shocked her eyes had gone big in her face and she'd looked exactly as young as she actually was) to let herself in and tell them how her first delivery had gone, whenever she finally fucking got back.

“You’re right,” Eddie agreed, joining Steve at the window, cinching up the blinds fully with a sharp jerk and squinting out into the dark. He’d tried to placate Steve for the last few hours, perched behind the counter with a book while Steve paced in endless circles (“This is her, like, witch adult rite of passage, we can’t treat her like a kid, and she’s so smart, she’s okay,” he’d said, watching Steve wear a groove in the shop floor.) But since the sun had gone down he’d gotten just as restless as Steve — clearly stuck on the same page in his book for the last hour, tapping out endless rhythms on the counter, fiddling with the radio. 

“What should we do?” Steve said, getting frantic all at once now that Eddie had finally agreed with him, running his hands through his hair. “Do we call the police? No, I know, I know, they wouldn’t be able to fucking do anything,” he finished, seeing the look on Eddie’s face. 

“We have the lady’s number, right? The one who asked her to do the delivery?” Eddie said, going behind the counter, opening all the drawers and ruffling through Steve’s very meticulously organized inventory notes and sales receipts and client records; Steve literally couldn’t care less, in that moment. “Maybe we can call her and she can call the house she was delivering to and tell us if she made it there —“

“Right right yes,” Steve said, finding Ms. Kelly’s number at last and going over to the phone and carefully beginning to dial, heedless of the fact that it was 10pm, when Eddie slapped first his back and then his arm and then the heavy receiver right out of Steve’s hand. “OW,” Steve started —

“She’s back, look, c’mon,” Eddie said, pulling at Steve, and through the open window Steve could finally see Max, just touching down, tucking her broom under her arm, Heathcliff the cat perched on her shoulder. 

“Oh thank god,” Steve said, twining his fingers with Eddie’s, and they pulled the front door open and ran out into the street to meet her. 

“Oof, hey—” Max said, when Steve collided with her, wrapping her in a hug. 

“Thank god you’re okay, what the heck happened,” Steve said, pulling back so that Eddie could get his own hug in, running his eyes over her — messy hair, a rip in her dress, but back safe, all in one piece. 

Max lit up. “It was crazy,” she gushed, while Heathcliff wound around her shoulders; Eddie started steering her inside. “We got hit by this huge gust of wind, and the toy cat fell out of the basket and I lost it, and then these crows tried to attack us, but the crows were friends with this nice girl who lives in the woods named Robin, who’s a writer, she’s so cool, and she fixed the real toy while Heathcliff pretended to be the toy, and—”

“Whoa, Red, hang on,” Eddie said, laughing, pushing her upstairs. “I think I’m gonna need you to slow down and start at the beginning—you want some hot chocolate? Steve?”

“Yes,” Steve said, following them up the stairs, knowing Eddie would be able to hear the please spike mine with our strongest liquor in his voice. “Meanwhile, I think we ought to get you a radio to take with you on deliveries, just in case this happens again — maybe one of those nice young nerds you made friends with can help? What’s his name? Lucas?” Steve said, faux innocent, while Max whipped her head around and glared at him.

“He’s not my friend, he’s a total stalker,” Max started, and while Heathcliff the cat wound around her ankles yodeling for milk and she went off on her tirade against the club of preteen boys who’d been trying to befriend her all week Steve just smiled at Eddie, over her head. Eddie looked back at him, just as fond and relieved and overwhelmed. We’re not her parents, Eddie had said, earlier, gentle with it, and Steve knew that — really, he did, that she had a family somewhere, that most likely Max was just passing through their lives, that they had no real claim to her. But, Steve thought, searching in the cupboards for the marshmallows he’d hidden away earlier that week, as long as she was here, with them, for however long that actually was, he’d make sure they were her port in the storm, the solid ground she needed, in order to kick off and zoom away on her broom, climbing higher and higher, up into the clear blue sky. 

[the-himawari]

A3! Troupe Event Translation - Sunny Blanc (11/11 Epilogue)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

my treasure

Homare: Here comes the tea.

Izumi: Thank you very much. Phew~… I’m glad the run of your 9th performance wrapped up smoothly.

Tasuku: The stage was set in a flower shop this time, so I heard it was a big hit with our female guests for its gorgeous appearance.

Tsumugi: We received lots of flowers as gifts. There were a good number of guests who gave us peonies to match the contents of the play.

Homare: Our dorm is all the more gorgeous for that as well.

Azuma: Speaking of peonies, it’s wonderful that Tsumugi’s grandma remembered Flower Park.

Tsumugi: Yes. She recalled right away when I showed her my pictures the other day… She said she’d love to go again after so long. I think we’ll go and take pictures together next time.

Izumi: Yeah, it's good to leave a record like that so that you can remember it later.

Tasuku: —Isn’t it about time for our wrap-up party?

Azuma: Shall we head to Journey after we finish our tea?

Hisoka: Ah…

Tsumugi: What’s the matter?

Hisoka: I ran out of marshmallows…

Izumi: Those are the marshmallows you bought at the World Market, right?

Hisoka: I’m totally out…

Azuma: The event isn’t over yet, so I’m sure you’ll have another chance to buy some.

Hisoka: —.

Tasuku: Don’t tell me you’re planning to go right now?

Hisoka: I can’t get them anywhere else except that market… I’ll head to Journey straight after buying them.

Tasuku: Don’t fall asleep while eating the marshmallows.

Tsumugi: May I come with you? I don’t think it will take that long.

Hisoka: …Sure.

-pause-

Hisoka: Thank God they had some left…

Tsumugi: I doubt you’ll run out for a while if you buy this much. We were able to purchase some decorative flowers for Journey too, so how about we start making our way over there?

Hisoka: Yeah.

Tsumugi: You know, I didn’t expect to hear you say you wanted to buy flowers. That made me happy though.

Hisoka: Maybe it’s because I was working at a flower shop for a while…

Tsumugi: If you don’t have the habit of decorating with flowers, then you don’t usually go out of your way to pick them up, huh?

Foreign boy: 《Hey, mister. So we meet again, huh? 》

Hisoka: 《Ah…》

Tsumugi: Do you know them, Hisoka-kun?

Hisoka: We got acquainted the first time I came to the World Market. He’s someone who knows my family.

Tsumugi: I see.

Foreign boy: 《That reminds me, I had a particular customer who knew Misha the other day. 》 《While we were making small talk, they mentioned they knew someone from the town I used to live in. As it turns out, it was Misha!》

Hisoka: 《…Eh? 》

Foreign boy: 《They said they used to go to the candy shop all the time. What an amazing coincidence that we could cross paths in such a faraway country, huh? 》

Hisoka: 《I see…》 (The fact that there’s a customer from the candy shop isn’t strange. But to meet them by chance in a place like this…) (I’ll let Chikage know, just in case…)

Foreign boy: 《Oh right. Have you come up with anything you’d like me to draw? 》

Hisoka: 《Ah… I haven’t thought of anything. Sorry. 》

Foreign boy: 《No need to apologize. You don’t have to force yourself! 》

Hisoka: 《What kind of paintings do other people request…?》

Foreign boy: 《It really depends on the person… But I get asked for family, relatives, and friends quite often. 》 《Everyone says they want to preserve a snapshot of their loved ones as they were in that moment. 》

Hisoka: 《Family…》 (Come to think of it, Director told me she wanted to meet August…) 《Hey, do you remember Misha’s face? 》

-pause-

Izumi: After all, I think we have to consider our organization on-site from now on.

Tasuku: I agree. It’s necessary to relay things like that to those outside our own theatre too. It’s an issue Veludo Way as a whole should think about.

Izumi: Exactly!

Homare: UuUh… *hic*, flowers are just so beautiful… We simply cannot compete with the art that’s brought forth by nature…!

Azuma: There, there.

*door opens*

Tsumugi: Sorry we’re late.

Guy: Everyone is drunk already.

Tsumugi: Ahaha… I can see that.

Hisoka: …Here you go, Guy.

Guy: These are?

Hisoka: I thought it might be nice to decorate the shop with flowers… I chose them with Tsumugi.

Guy: I see. They look beautiful. Thank you.

Izumi: Ah, Tsumugi-san, Hisoka-san. You two sure are late.

Tasuku: Was it crowded at the market?

Tsumugi: We had an important purchase to make.

Hisoka: …I have something I’d like to show all of you.

Homare: …Something you wish to show us?

Hisoka: This…

Azuma: This person is…

Hisoka: Someone… who looks like August.

Tasuku: Huh?

Izumi: It’s not August himself, but a look-alike? Is that what you mean?

Hisoka: …I asked an artist who knew August to draw his face if he remembered it. But in the end, it was a long time ago, so it was hard to reproduce without a picture… The details might be a little off… But I wanted to introduce my family member to everyone. To all of you who kept me by your side without question since the time I lost my memories and had no idea who I was myself… And to Director too, because you said you wanted to meet August…

Izumi: Hisoka-san… thank you. Thank you for introducing your family to us…

Homare: I am overjoyed that I get to gaze upon the face of Hisoka-kun’s precious family.

Azuma: I see, this is how he was. I feel a bright and kind vibe from him.

Guy: Even if you’ve forgotten the details, I am certain his personality and aura will remain in your memories.

Tasuku: Even though it’s a bit different, someone close to him will probably recognize him if they see this picture.

Tsumugi: Still, I think creating something tangible like this will serve as a trigger to connect to a precious memory.

Hisoka: …Yeah. (…I’ll show Chikage later, too.) (I’m sure he’ll be fussy about the details though, like, “this part’s off, this part’s off too, and this part should be more like this.”)

Homare: Now then, what do you say to another toast? To August-kun and to celebrate the success of our 9th play dedicated to August-kun—.

Tsumugi: Cheers!

Hisoka: Cheers.

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