#shush it’s already thursday where i’m at but it’s still wednesday some place in the world—

[deus-ex-mona]

same energy

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Chapter 8

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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It’s the next Wednesday when the Foster Bitch climbed the stairs up to Techno’s room. Knocking on the doorframe twice, she entered without waiting for an answer.

“Tommy hasn’t been to school all week, and the school called about unexcused absences.” She frowned at him. “You share a room with him, and don’t you drive him to school? Where is he?”

Techno threw his earbuds on his bedside table. “No idea Ma’am. I haven’t seen him since you sent him to pick me up from the station last Thursday. He woke up early and took the bus. I figured he was mad at me and at Tubbo’s. Dream’s been suspended for the incident, so I couldn’t exactly ask him.”

“Don’t you have his number?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

“Yes. But you confiscated his phone two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be taken aback for a second. “Shouldn’t you have Dream’s?”

“That’s for work. Like I said, I thought Tommy was at Tubbo’s. I didn’t think anything was wrong.”

“Mr. Richmon is in the kitchen.”

Ranboo’s dad. “Oh fuck.” Techno rolled out of his bed. He honestly would rather stay on his phone, but she was clearly offloading this on him, and Techno was going to make sure Tommy still had friends. Going to Ranboo’s was the best dinner Tommy ever gets. He doesn’t eat that much when he’s over, because he’ll just vomit it up, but the leftovers he takes back last the two of them a good week. Tommy may not want to be a bother and use up their resources, but Techno knows that he thinks of those leftovers as paying Techno back for everything he does.

Techno rushed down the stairs, jumping two at a time. The old stairs creaked as his feet hit their tops, the planks bending under his weight. In a moment of hesitation Techno stopped suddenly, sliding a little on his socks. He took a moment to collect himself, before making his way into the kitchen.

“Mr. Richmon,” greeted the Foster Bitch appearing next to him. “This is Techno, he’s probably the closest person to your son as Tommy hasn’t been around lately.”

“We’ve crossed paths,” Techno said, straightening his tee-shirt collar.

“Parent teacher interviews, was it?” Mr. Richmon asked, sending a little glare to the Foster Bitch and offering Techno his hand.

His grip was firm, but Techno’s was comparable. “What brings you here?”

“I haven’t seen my son since Friday.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been calling him in absent for a prolonged family issue, but I am well aware of the company he keeps.” Mr. Richmon kept his tone light, but the accusation is heard loud and clear as he pulls out a chair for himself.

Techno tips his head in understanding. “His friends aren’t that bad,” he defends. “But I understand your concern with Tubbo and Purpled’s brothers.”

Mr. Richmon gestures to Techno, “And Tommy’s.”

“I’m not Tommy’s brother. This is a group home. We aren’t related,” he dismissed immediately. “The other guys are blood though.”

Both the Foster Bitch and Mr. Richmon gave him weird looks at his comment.

Techno took them in stride. So what? He knows he’s lying to himself more than he’s trying to convince them. “I can ask Dream and Punz if they know anything,” Techno suggested. “I assume you don’t want to be seen with them?”

Mr. Richmon nodded. “Of course not. This place is dingy enough.”

The Foster Bitch looks affronted, but Techno shushed her with a look. “I’ll try to find your son, but might I recommend going to the police.”

“The less the police know the better,” Mr. Richmon said like it was a mantra of his.

Techno nodded, already trying to figure out how he was going to deal with this. He was the getaway driver who did his homework. Sure he knew a few things, but he didn’t have any street skills. He remembered the purple hoodie at the gas station; he might have wanted to stay oblivious, but he knew who he saw.

Techno and Mr. Richmon left the house at the same time. They got into their respective cars and they drove in opposite directions. Techno headed to Punz’s place--might as well check if they were there. Techno honestly doesn’t know why he had Punz’s key on his lanyard, but due to it he didn’t bother needing to knock.

“Techno’s here!” he shouted; can’t ever be too careful at the mercenary’s house. He doesn’t hear anything back, and since anyone who could possibly be here would shout back in greeting, he assumed that the place was empty. But it doesn’t hurt to check around.

The thing about Punz and his profession is that he had to keep tabs on his targets, and the way he practiced and kept his skills sharp was by keeping tabs on his close associates. Therefore, he normally knows when people plan to stop by.

Techno walked into the living room and found a sticky note on the family computer. “Initiation collateral. Alive,” he reads.

Techno moved the mouse and the screen opened up to an article on one of the dark web sites. “New Las Nevadas Member: Merc. Punz’s Baby Bro.” He quickly scrolled down to the cover photo: open white van doors with Purpled and Tommy grappling on the ground, Ranboo and Tubbo nowhere to be seen. “Shit.”

As he skims the article he pulls out his phone and calls Dream.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Tommy’s for sure not sleeping at your place is he?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“For sure? Is everything okay?”

“No. Is Tommy there?” Techno pressed.

“No, and Tubbo hasn’t checked in with me for a while.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Techno lifted his shoulder, trapping the phone there so that both of his hands were free. He scrolled back up to see the picture again, confirmation that it was, in fact, real. He let out an unsteady breath, and shook out his hands.

“Why? What happened?” Dream’s voice picked up anxiously. “Did you hear something?”

“Yeah. So did Punz.” Techno took a deep breath. “Did he tell you anything?”

“I haven’t spoken to Punz in about a month,” Dream said.

“Mr. Richmon came by the home asking for his son.”

“The kids aren’t at Ranboo’s?” Dream asked, concern hardening his tone.

“Nope. Purpled’s on the news. The way that you’re on the news.”

The line was silent. “Fuck.” The sound of something breaking echoed down the line. “That’s. Bad.”

“Hope its ransom.”

There was a rustle on Dream’s end of the line, as if he was moving something. “Fuck. I’ll look into it. What did Purp get into?”

“Las Nevadas.”

“Fuck. Purpled. Why? What did Mr. Richmon say?”

“That Ranboo was missing and that he came to me because you and Punz live in too much of a shithole for him to visit.”

“I don’t live in a shithole!”

“This place is dingy enough, were his exact words.”

“Ouch.”

It’s been a week. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy were thrown into the same room. It’s objectively a nice room, but a prison is still a prison no matter how lavish the cell. The beds were really comfortable, but it was barren besides them.

They don’t see Purpled again, instead Fundy Soot is the one to bring them their three meals a day. You’d think that one could never get sick of pizza, but eventually--especially with the mood so sour--there comes a breaking point.

“Did someone order a meat-lovers?” The door opens and Fundy is inside the room with three cardboard plates, two slices on each. “Your dinner is here.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy said digging into his slices.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Fundy smiles vindictively. Sue him, he hates babysitting duty. “Who’s gonna shut me up? Your brother?” he asks, looking at Tubbo. “That little amateur couldn’t do anything. Petty thieving is the highest form of sin you know?” Fundy said like he was reciting something.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy repeated, noticing how Tubbo froze.

“You too? What’s your brother going to do? He’s just the fucking getaway driver. He can’t help you. Big Brother Techno Blade isn’t as strong as you think he is, little Tommy.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tommy shouted. “Techno may be friends with Dream, but he’s not doing that shit.”

“Didn’t you pick him up from the station? You’re lying to yourself. You know that Techno is in with Dream.”

“No he’s not! And don’t you have something better to do with your time? College or some shit?”

Fundy chuckled humourlessly. “The faster you eat, the faster I’m out of your room.”

Tommy glared and shoved a whole slice into his mouth.

“No one’s coming to save you,” he taunted.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. We sent the ransom video,” he said moving onwards. “Instead Mr. Richmon hired Techno and Dream for free. Seems Daddy doesn’t care about his son enough to save you immediately.”

That’s the point that Tubbo broke. Tubbo could take a verbal bashing; Tommy would be pissed if he attacked on his behalf; but Ranboo? Ranboo was the most innocent here and didn’t need familial jabs.

Tubbo lurched from his bed and swung at Fundy Soot, sending him down to the floor. “Where the fuck is your big brother? He fucking failed you if you had to get dragged in the life style to survive.” Tubbo punched Fundy again after he was down. “Where is he huh? At least my brother managed to keep me out of this shit.”

Tommy rushes over to pull Tubbo back. “Shh. Shh. We can’t afford this. He's top dog here.”

Fundy laid on the floor, arms out and protecting his face.

“We’re done eating,” Tommy growls. “Get out.”

Ranboo, thoroughly shaken, picks up the plates and puts them in Fundy’s hands, standing in between the two groups so Fundy couldn’t retaliate. If any of them needed to come out of this looking pretty it’s him: the rich boy.

[pamgkrthwrites]

Flame of Healing | EraserMic x Reader | Chapter 5 - Back Off

Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: Angst, crying, reveal, shouting, soulmate au

Word Count: 2064 

Taglist: @stargazingaloneatnight​

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. The image below is of one of the character mentioned in today’s chapter. Be warned, Shouta yells at reader in this chapter.

Cover by @pamgkrthart​

The week had passed slowly. Tuesday, Shouta came in to get paperwork from you so his agency could report it correctly, Wednesday came and many people were celebrating Hizashi’s birthday and on Thursday, Ms Joke saw you in the morning and was teasing you about your chose to avoid your Soulmates.

But today,

Today was Friday.

Which meant the Anti-Soulmate group meetings.

The group was named Heart’s Desire for Wronged Souls. Its leader was a man who divorced his soulmate who he was three kids with for an older woman who rejected her soulmate. The group is a mix of many things, counselling for soulless, counselling for rejecting soulmates, parties, get to gathers, and the main event, dating centre for “wanting souls”. 

They started to label people who rejected their soulmates as “rejects”, and started to be rejected by people around them.

You were more than glad Ms Joke didn’t go around confessing what she found out about you, and that all she did was simple teasing.

But you were happy the day was done and sighed in relief as you closed your apartment door, dropping your bags to the floor. You crash onto your couch and let out all the stress in your back with your quirk.

“Time for some stress release.” You sighed as you got yourself ready for that afternoon of fun activities.

---

Shouta and Hizashi eyed the building from one across the road, watching and counting everyone who entered. Shouta tried to make himself fancy looking and Hizahi tried his best to not look like himself.

“I like it when your hair is tied back, Shou.” Hizashi flirt as he watched his partner.

“Get back to work, ‘Zashi.” Shouta shushed him as he continued to watch the people down below.

Hizashi puffed as he leaned onto the wall and watched. “Why did we get assigned to do this mission? Don’t they know I am the last hero who would want to do it.”

“Which is probably why they chose you. You had your 21st the other day so the doubt that I’m not your soulmate might be there. It could also be you don’t like me and have doubts about the relationship but as a Pro Hero you have to keep up the idea you are happy with me-”

“Shou stop please you’re concerning me.”

“What if that’s why we haven’t met her yet, Hizashi?” Shouta turned to Hozashi. “She must have seen you at the very least name us as soulmates and figured it out, yet she hasn’t come looking? What could possibly be the reason-”

“Shouta shut up.”

“Hizashi I-”

“No look!” Hizashi grabbed Shouta’s face and made him turn to look at a girl walking towards the building.

“What on earth is she doing here?” Shouta asked he stared down at the girl walking into the building.

“Why is M/N L/N here?”

---

“Chase Saito!” You greeted the young man.

Chase Saito was the son of the founding member. Even tho he was 24 he already had built a massage medical Company that sold to Japan, China, Korea and Australia. 

Chase and you had on and off flirty relationship. He seemed to always start them and you would end them if he got too creepy. He was respectful when he crossed the line and would back off until you were okay with him again.

You two may not have clicked all the time but the small relationship you two had would work out with effect. 

“L/N!” He smiled as he walked over to you in a fancy suit. “I saw you on the news healing that hero! I didn’t know your quirk could do that.”

His voice was like honey to the ears, sweet and smooth that attracted bees and butterflies, yet also wasps and flies.

The reason for that effect on people was his Quirk, Ease. He can ease people around him, making them calm. He was easy to be around, and only after you walked away did you realise how sticky and annoying he can be, just like honey.

Annoying people aren’t bad to be around, they just had moments, moment about them they didn’t know about or couldn’t change about themselves. Sometimes they were too much and you can stay away and they are usually respectful about it, sadly because it has happened to them so much.

Chase may have been annoying sometimes, but he was a good person, and he goes towards those people as well. He always called people by their last name in public, that’s what he had to do as a public figure. He didn’t mind people calling him by his first name. He spent half his life in England so he used to it.

“If I had known you had a healing quirk I would have used my quirk to convince you to join me!” He smiled brightly as he made his way over to you and a respectful distance away.

“Ha, yeah. I don’t like advertising my quirk.” You blushed in embarrassment. “People used me during my childhood for having a regeneration quirk.”

He looked shocked at your response. You didn’t really talk about your childhood to him or anyone there.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that.” He said with full honesty. “Your quirk is designed to be used by others but that doesn’t mean people have the right to use you as an object.”

You felt small at that moment.

You don’t know what you feel.

Happiness or grief.

Oboro said something similar when he first started to get to know you too.

This wasn’t Oboro in front of you though, this was someone else.

Someone who even fully understood staying away from one’s soulmate.

His short honey-orange hair shaping his face defining his features. You look Chase deeply into his dark green eyes. They reminded you of Hizashi-

Your blood turns cold once that names crosses you.

Even In a place like this, you can’t avoid the bitter truth.

Chase noticed the changes in your face and wore a worried face.

“Hey, are you-?”

Hands grip you by both shoulders and pull you away from Chase.

“Are you harassing her, reject?!”

Everyone goes dead silent and you feel anger rise within you.

“What the fuck you say?” You snap your head to the tall man.

To say you were shocked to see Shouta glaring down at Chase would be an understatement. 

Where his hands where on you burnt your skin. You wanted to fall into his body and wrap your arms around him. Looking up at him trying to protect you gave you butterflies and pushed a blush onto your checks.

So forcefully pushing him off of you with harshness not just hurt him, but hurt you, and the way he looked down at you with shock also hurt.

“Chase isn’t harassing me, Asshole!” You yelled at him. “You’re just being a dickhead who wants to shame us for not choosing our soulmates!”

The shock and hurt on his face hurt you. It hurt knowing you were hurting him.

Why was he wearing a fancy suit.

You felt your eyes burn as you held your ground, seeing him hurt.

You wanted to cry.

You needed to leave.

You rushed passed Shouta and headed towards the exit fast.

“M/N! Please wait!” Shouta spoke and went to move to go after you.

“M/N?” Chase said softly. “But her name is Y/N…”

Chase may have spoken softly, but Shouta still heard him and froze.

Shouta snapped his head around. “What did you just say?!”

Chase was too scared to respond to from the harsh tone, but Shouta didn’t really need him to respond. His reaction was enough.

Shouta moved back around to chase after you.

M/N L/N was Y/N L/N this entire time, she was just hiding from them.

---

This was supposed to be your off day, your relaxed day.

Not your hot soulmate insulting your friends-

What did you just say?

You puffed as you walked down the street to the train station, only to hear running footsteps coming for you. 

You quickly grabbed pepper spray from within one of your pockets only to hear Shouta.

“You lied to our faces!”

You stopped and turned around.

“What are you talking about?” You asked as you made it clear you were putting away your weapon.

“You knew who we were, didn’t you?!” He huffed and puffed. “Oboro told you and pushed you yet you still gave us a fake name! You even hid our names on your wrists, don’t you!”

You were shocked that he figured it out. Chase must have corrected him on your name and it clicked in for Shouta. 

You stared at the angry hurt Shouta, tears threatening to leave his eyes.

You did this to him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?!” He yelled at you as he walked close to where you stood. “What is so wrong with us you had to hide from us? Why don’t you love us?!”

“Love you?!” You glared at him as tears threaten to leave your own eyes. “I do love you! I love both you! I watch everything you two do! Sometimes I regret hiding I’m not going to lie, but you two were happy and have been happy without me this entire-”

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT!” He yelled in your face as tears ran down your face. “We ask ourselves all the time why we haven’t found you! We are a public figure and Hizashi is very public about having two soulmates so we knew you were hiding, but we didn’t know it was for this long! All we ever do is wonder what type of person you are! What your life was like! But no, you found out through Oboro and fucking hide from us since!”

You two both glared at each other. Your names were burning at the skin. Your high emotions were hurting both of you and your soulmate marks. 

You were both crying at this point as you glared at each other. Were faces were so close yet all you could both feel were each other’s names on your wrists.

Shouta held your face in his large hands and rested his forehead onto yours. You both sobbed.

“Please… Just give us a chance…” He asked in a soft voice filled with sobs.

You cried into his hands as you pulled up your arms to wrap around him. He pushed your head into the crook of his neck and rubbed your back as you sobbed onto his shoulders.

You never felt so warm in your life.

“The last time I saw you cry your hair turned into fire.” Shouta admitted.

You remember that day, the day he told you Oboro died. You sniffed and rubbed your eyes onto his fancy jacked. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Your just as emotional as Hizashi.”

You two stood there for a couple of minutes before you heard footsteps approaching.

You felt Shouta tense up and you gripped his tighter as you hid your face.

“Shou, where are you-?” You heard Hizashi’s voice and you tensed up. 

You could feel Shouta’s arm move as he silently talks to your third half. Even if you are trying to not pay attention you hear a small gasp from Hizashi at one point and Shouta’s arm made a motion with his arm that got Hizashi to stop.

Silence falls and Shouta breaks apart from you. 

“We are going to drop you home, but we will be having a discussion in the morning.” He says with a stern voice.

You hesitantly nod your head. Shouta puts his hand on your back and leads you to their car.

Hizashi and Shouta continue to have a silent conversation with you right there only for it to end once you enter into their black car.

“Address.” Shouta says with a stern voice, you answering softly.

The car ride to your apartment was awkward, but you couldn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach from the hug earlier. 

Shouta leaves Hizashi in the car as he walks you up to your door and leans on the door frame once you enter.

“I will tell Hizashi what happened and in the morning we will be discussing how we will proceed.” He says as he looks down at you. “Don’t run off, Y/N.”

[jeogiyall]

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐭; 𝒌.𝒅𝒚

❥ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗒! 𝖽𝗈𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗑 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

❥ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾; 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌-𝗍𝗈-𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅

❥ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟻.𝟺𝚔

❥ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

❥ᴀ/ɴ: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗆𝗀!! 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖽-𝖻𝗈𝗒-𝗐𝗁𝗈'𝗌-𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗅𝗒-𝖺-𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗂𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾. 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍!! -𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

—

While it’s not what most people in your position would say, you love working at the family business. It helps that your family business is your mother running a beauty salon while your father is it’s sole electrician (because no one, and I mean no one, should trust that man with their hair,) rather than something boring like a law firm. But it’s also just fun; you get to style intricate updos for dinner parties, control the radio, listen to church ladies gossip. Sometimes if it’s really busy, your mother will let you take over manicures. 

“That’ll be thirty dollars, mam!” Your voice chirps to Dottie, your Wednesday afternoon regular. She tries for a minute to get into her purse, then puffs out ‘oh hell’ before dropping her palms (with still wet fingernails) onto the counter. You think that if she hadn’t done this hundreds of times before that it’d be startling, but she has. Which only makes it funny.

“Just put it on my tab, okay dear?” There’s a smile twinging on her words as she toddles towards the door, eyes scanning over the nail polish for any chips. Another laugh falls from your lips, mixing naturally with the one sounding from your friend who’s busy holding the door.

“Have fun with the grandkids this weekend!” You shout to the regular customer, who only holds up a thumbs up. Donghyuck swoops into the store like a fleeting breeze, pushing himself up into the familiar spot of your checkout counter. If your mother were here you’d tell him to get off. Since she isn’t you hand him a lollipop from the candy bowl and ruffle his curly black hair, “That new shampoo is really working for you, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” He answers before popping the sucker into his mouth, “How’s Dottie today?”

“Insane as ever, you know she went parking?” The boy laughs lowly, shaking his head while playing with the sleeves of his leather jacket, “Hyuck I’m not kidding! Her and Joe, they went out parking last Thursday and she told me all about it!”

“Aren’t they nearly sixty?” You nod in response while bringing a new magazine to the lady sitting under the hair dryer, who’s two blinks away from sleep until you drop the book into her lap. She accepts and thanks you with a smile, letting you know that she’ll be out in a wink before beginning to flip through the glossy pages.

“Yes! I told her that they’re acting like some crazy kids, but I guess that it’s kind of sweet.” Donghyuck, while more sensitive than nearly every boy you know, gags at your remark, “Carry on all you want, you know that I’m right.”

“Whatever, the boys and me are getting milkshakes if you wanna come.” What follows is a conversation that happens at least three times a week, always ending with ‘you know that I can’t,’ and ‘square.’ You don’t mind having it though, it’s sweet that he thinks to invite you.

“You know that I can’t.” The boy rolls his eyes while pushing off the counter and moving towards the front door, briefly holding it open for a customer who’s desperately trying to hide her roots.

“Square.” He whispers before singing out his usual, “See you in homeroom.” And then you’re alone. But it’s okay. Because unlike most people in your position, you love working at the family business.

* 

It’s a week and a half later when Kim Doyoung walks into the store, all long legs and scuffed sneakers. When you see the sleeves of his leather jacket you just assume that it’s Donghyuck coming to get the latest gossip on your favorite Wednesday regular.

“Well Dottie didn’t tell me much this week, but I heard it from a birdie that she and Joe were picnicking on Wednesday. Right after I did her nails too! They’re orange this week to match her favorite church dress.” You don’t even look up, simply rambling on while scribbling in the margins of your biology notebook. It makes something warm blossom in the boys chest.

“Is that so?” Instantly, your eyes shoot up at the voice that is definitely not Lee Donghyuck. It’s lower, smoother. Like the feeling of hot tea burning a trail down your throat on a cold morning. 

“Oh dear, I am so sorry! I-I just saw the jacket and thought that you were-”

“Hyuck?” He finishes for you, one elbow coming to rest on the checkout counter. Doyoung, you notice, is not a particularly large man. He’s tall enough, sure, but the set of his shoulders is rather petite along with the width of his waist. His face looks like a babies. Despite this fact, there’s still something intimidating about the boy, “It’s Doyoung. M’here to pick up an order for him though, I think he said it’s shampoo?” 

“Yes, I have that right here. Why didn’t he come to pick it up, i-if you don’t mind my asking?” The boy puffs loudly at your question, dropping cash on the table that’s clearly been crumpled in Hyucks front pocket since he placed this order.

“There’s a sock hop tonight a few towns over and he’s getting ready. You know how he is.” There’s a moment of quiet as you hand him his change, your eyes finally settling on the boys face long enough to remember. It takes two seconds for you to decide that he’s the first truly pretty boy that you’ve ever seen. Three to decide that you like boys pretty over anything else, “I have an extra seat in my car if you’d like to join.” 

And while the thought is tempting, driving through town in Doyoungs iconic cherry red convertible with the top down and your best friend in the back seat, all you can think of is your mother. How this is her first time going to bridge club since she opened the store four years ago. How she finally trusts you to do more than sweep up the aftermath of haircuts. How she’s counting on you right now.

“Not tonight. Another time?” For a brief moment your eyes lock, and there’s something there. You can’t reach out and touch it, hear it, you can’t even smell it. But you both know that it’s there, you both feel it. Crawling up your arms like a ladybug and leaving goosebumps in its wake, you feel it.

“Okay princess, I’m holding you to it.” Before you have the chance to tell him that you hope he does, he’s gone.

*

It’s an early Friday evening when you see Doyoung again. He’s in the library, which is surprising enough, but then he takes the seat next to you and the entire world stops.

“Stopped by the store, but your pops said that you’d be here.” Your eyes bulge so hard at the statement that Doyoung is amazed they’re not exploding. Honestly, you are too.

“You met my father?!” Your voice raises at least three octaves, causing the lady up front to shush you. It sends a hot flush to your cheeks and Doyoung thinks that he’d do anything to see it again.

“We’re not talking about that, we’re talking about how it’s Friday night and you’re trying to spend it at the library.” He does that thing again, the thing where he makes you feel so intimidated and small. It’s not in a bad way, like the boys in your honors classes. It’s also not in a good way like when your father hugs you after a long day at school. It’s something in between, which leaves heat in your stomach.

“I-I have biology homework-”

“You have all weekend to do that, we’re going out tonight.” He stands up and extends a hand out to you, the other one already flipping his keys. Panic is rising in your chest as your mind races to find any possible excuse.

“My parents would never agree.”

“Your dad already said yes.” If it weren’t for your heart is trying to beat out of it’s cage then you’d fixate on how weird it is that Doyoung has already met your dad.

“I’m not dressed properly.” His eyes take in your dress, baby blue with white accents, before one of his eyebrows quirks. It’s a blatant lie, the both of you know it. This has been your favorite dress for years.

“Stop being ridiculous and just come with me.” You’re going to say yes. Doyoung is in front of you wearing a green flannel and jeans that hug his waist so perfectly, and you’re going to say yes. But you have so much to do, and work tomorrow.

“I just can’t tonight Doyoung, I’m sorry.” His eyes soften slightly as your nose buries back into the textbook. You’re so focused that you barely even notice him sitting back down in the seat across from you, “What are you doing?” He looks at you quizzically before leaning in close enough that his black hair tickles your cheek.

“Why don’t you wanna go out with me, princess?” If Doyoung himself wasn’t enough to make you blush, the sheer boldness of his words definitely was.

“I-it’s not that I don’t want to.” Hot blush rises to your cheeks as each syllable catches on your tongue, “I just can’t.”

“Why?” You’re going to tell him that it’s because boys like him ruin girls like you. That girls like you shouldn’t want to be ruined as badly as you do.

“Because I have homework.” A heavy silence settles in the space between your bodies, only faltering when he decides to fall back into the green plastic chair with a sigh.

“Alright then, I’ll help.” You’re three seconds away from saying something snarky before he speaks again, “I’m not kidding, I was really good at this!” His eyes are wide and there’s a smile playing on his lips (nothing like his normal smile, so cool and collected. No, this one is warm all over. Like your mothers chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven.) You think that the fluttering of your heart is ridiculous, then that you’re in absolutely no position to deny him.

The two of you stay cooped up in the library until the streetlights outside flicker on and the librarian is all but kicking you out. Doyoung is surprising, to say the least. Where you thought that he’d be rough and abrasive, he is kind. Where you thought the feeling of his hands on your bicep would be laced with callouses, it is soft. Where you thought that Doyoung was intimidating, or even scary, he is gentle. There’s a brief moment when your hands touch and you think that he’s going to keep it there. He doesn’t, which would be more disappointing if you hadn’t seen the pink blush on his face. 

“You don’t even need my help, princess!” Doyoung jokes as you walk out of the library, one of his hands carrying your books while the other holds the doors open. 

In a moment of boldness you take the textbooks and respond, “I know,” then press a short kiss to the high point of his cheekbone, “but having you was fun.”

The weight of you stays on Doyoungs shoulders until he falls asleep that night.

*

No one really knows when Doyoung assimilates into your life, you just know that it happens quickly. In the span of a month sporadic visits turn into him dropping into the salon every day, leaning on the counter and making you blush until your mother gives you a task. Some days he brings Donghyuck too, which are days where absolutely nothing gets done.

Today’s not one of those days, though. It’s only your mother, you, and Doyoung who smells of petrol and rosemary. Thanks to the light Monday crowd, your friend has spent the last three hours distracting you with anything that isn’t work. The distractions range from mindless chatter about his friends down at the car shop (which he apparently works at, but you’re not sure how that’s possible seeing as he spends all of his time flirting with you or going out,) intense stares glued onto the perky bow of your work apron, delicate hands playing with all of your pencils up front. At one point your mother jokes that she’s going to get him a uniform and put him to work.

But then it’s time to close, and your mother is carrying multiple gallon jugs of hair color at once, and Doyoung can’t just watch. He can’t just watch as the bags set deeper beneath her eyes and her soft laughter fades off into sleepy grumbling. After turning on the small radio by the hair dryers on he grabs two bottles from her hands, offering up a gentle smile.

“I’ll help (Y/n) close up.” Your mother sighs loudly, Doyoung watching as her shoulders relax for the first time since he arrived. She gladly surrenders the jugs and pinches his soft cheek.

“You’re a good boy, Doyoung. Don’t let (Y/n) go too crazy.” Something bubbles in your stomach as you overhear the conversation. It’s not your mother teasing you, no. That’s a common occurrence in your household. It’s the sudden realization that your mother is right, that Doyoung is good in every sense of the word. He’s kind, and patient, and attentive, and so painstakingly good.

“I can’t make any promises.” His voice floats through the air like song lyrics, creating a harmony with the sound of the front door closing and the radio crackling in a way that tugs at your heart strings, “Looks like it’s just you and me, princess.” 

“When are you going to stop calling me that?” You ask while moving towards the boy and taking the heavy jugs from his hands. Well, trying to at least. He presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose (an action that’s become casual between the two of you, like a secret handshake that you can only share with each other,) before you can actually fully take them.

“Never, now tell me where these go?” You grumble out something about the top of the cabinet, which isn’t even right, while getting the broom from behind your spot at checkout. You start to sweep, but before you can get too far with that there’s one hand undoing your apron and another taking the broom.

“Doyoung, what are you-” He doesn’t let you finish before flashing wide eyes at you. It’s a look that you didn’t think he could make, lips puckering into a pout while his eyebrows furrow cutely.

“Let me help.” The plea is soft, yet spoken in a way that tells you he’s not going to compromise, “You’ve been working all afternoon, so let me help now.” His chest is pressed up against yours, and he’s holding your apron, and his lips are so close to yours that if he leaned in just one extra inch... Who are you to say no to that?

Letting someone else work isn’t all that bad, honestly. You have time to dust off the register, empty out the tip jar- which are all things that usually go forgotten until the next days opening. You’re about to reorganize the nail polish out of sheer boredom, but then a certain red color catches your eye and before you know what’s happening you’re receiving a manicure. From yourself, but it’s a manicure nonetheless. 

“I like that color.” Doyoung comments while materializing in the seat across from you. If it weren’t for the soft humming that he’s producing, you would have probably jumped, “Matches my ride.” A soft giggle slips past your lips as you admire your already painted hand.

“Now that you mention it, I guess it does.” You move to finish your non dominant hand, falling into a comfortable kind of silence with the boy across from you. Similar to face kisses, this has become something normal for the two of you. Quiet that was once filled with awkwardly heavy breathing and sweaty palms is now occupied by understanding. This silence doesn’t expect anything, but will accept it gladly. Like Doyoungs humming, or the sound of your foot tapping rhythmically beneath the manicure station. It doesn’t have to be quiet, it doesn’t have to be loud, it just has to be comfortable.

“What does nail polish feel like?” If anyone else had spoken, you’d regard it as breaking the peace. But it’s not anyone else, it’s Doyoung and he’s only added.

“Like nothing, I guess, but also a bit heavy? It feels tacky even after drying.” You’re about to put the cap back on the bottle and really close up for tonight, but before you can process what’s happening two of Doyoungs fingers are cradled in the palm of your hand and he’s staring at you with a gentle smile.

“Show me.” It’s an odd request, I mean who’s really that curious about how nail polish feels? But Doyoung is so precious like this, and his hands are obnoxiously soft. With two swipes of the newly wetted nail polish brush, his pointer and middle fingers are adorned with glossy cherry red. It almost matches the shade on his cheeks, “You’re right, it is kinda heavy. Pretty though.”

“Y-yea.” You choke, eyes gluing to the soft curve of his lips, “Pretty.”

If Doyoungs friends make fun of him the next day for showing up to the shop with a dumb grin and two cherry red fingernails, he doesn’t tell you about it.

*

Doyoung is sweet with you. When you’re hard at work he brushes stray hairs off of your forehead, he brings in new records to listen to every Wednesday. Your favorite thing is when you walk out after closing and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. Doyoung is very sweet. With you.

But there are other people. Like the boys from the school across town who exclusively wear their hair up in a quiff and like to drive by your school during football games. The boys who smoke cigarettes and always have busted up knuckles. You’ve even seen Donghyuck with the same knuckles, groaning each time that they grazed anything. You know that Doyoung isn’t sweet to everyone. You know that Doyoung gets into fights. You just didn’t know that he looks like this afterwards.

“Evening, princess.” The boy grumbles while sauntering into the parlor thirty minutes after closing. You remember thinking that it was weird when he didn’t show up after class let out, smelling like rosemary and wearing a grin. Now you think that he looks heartbreaking with a small cut on his cheek and purple blossoming over the curve of his neck.

“Doyoung, what did you do?” You question, hands immediately dropping the tips you were counting and instead covering your mouth. He only grumbles and shakes his head dismissively, leaning down in front of you in a way that says he’s not going to tell you, “You don’t get to do that, Doyoung. You don’t get to show up like this and not tell me what happened.” Another groan generates from the base of his throat. There’s a red cut there, you notice.

“I didn’t do anything, it was those greasers from across town.” It’s not clear when your hands take purchase on his face, or when his eyes glass over with tears that you thought were impossible, “It hurts.” Something about those words feels so intimate, like he’s taken off the leather jacket and the tough facade and shown you what he really is. Shown you that he’s just a boy. 

He thinks that you saying, “I’ll fix it,” shows just as much about you. 

You exit to the bathroom while Doyoung pushes himself onto the checkout counter, hissing loudly when his raw palms connect with the metal top. That pain feels stupid compared to actually having the cuts cleaned out.

“Hurts like a bitch.” He grunts as you press a cold rag onto the hollow of his throat, voice taking on a low tone that makes your cheeks flush.

“I’m sorry.” An arm comes up to wrap around your waist as he lets out a deep groan, holding onto that spot as though it’s a tether. It shouldn’t make your heart flutter the way that it does. Doyoung is against you, and he’s squirming ever so slightly whenever your hands move, and he’s letting out the most beautiful sounds, and it shouldn’t make your heart flutter, “It’s clean, I-I’m gonna bandage it now...” Doyoung pulls his head back so that you can fully see him, then nods gently.

“Go ahead.” He’s going to kiss you. His lips are less than two inches away from your lips, and you really really think that he’s going to kiss you. He tilts his head back in a way that exposes every delicate line and curve, including the thin red one that you want to make better more than anything, “Patch me up, princess.” Your thumb smooths over the bandage once it’s down, and he keens into the touch. It makes you genuinely smile for the first time since he walked into the store, “I love to see that.”

“You do?” You question, connecting your eyes with his mocha brown ones. 

“I do.” His free hand comes up to caress your cheek, but the mental image of him shuddering as your skin swipes over his fresh cut is enough to keep your hands where they are. 

“Never get in a fight like this again and I’ll smile for you for forever.” His eyes take you in, flushed expression, red cheeks, your face resting in his hands. You flash him another gentle smile, and he doesn’t even have to think about his answer.

“Consider it done.”

*

It would be difficult to sum up Doyoungs relationship with your family, but a good place to start would be that he’s your dads best friend. And also your moms favorite child. Also your crush, in the most destructive way possible. With Doyoung you don’t care about homework, or who wants their nails what color, or the spot of dust that you missed while cleaning. All that matters is his sweet scent and the way that he laughs.

Which is exactly why saying no to him is so hard right now.

“C’mon princess, just let me take you out.” The boy begs for the thousandth time, voice taking on a more flirty tone than the past three asks. Your cheeks flush pink while you look down and busy yourself with anything else.

“Doyoung please, I’m busy!” As soon as the word leaves your mouth your father is wrapping an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the skin of your temple the same way that he does after school or a busy weekend.

“Busy with what, sweetie pie?” His voice has always been one of your favorite sounds. It’s low and kind, and so comforting that it hurts.

“The store, I can’t leave mom alon-” Before the words are even finished the woman in question is standing next to Doyoung, ruffling his hair affectionately and casting a smile to you.

“We’re covered, sweetie pie. You ankle biters go have some fun!” Doyoung grins the way that he only does around this quartet before gripping your arm from across the counter.

“B-but I’m scheduled to work tonight.” Everyone locks eyes, then lets out a loud sight in almost perfect unison.

“When’s the last time you’ve taken a night off?” You think for a minute, then hold up three manicured fingers, “Three weeks without a break is bonkers (Y/n!)”

“She doesn’t mean weeks, mam. She means three months.” Your mothers jaw goes slack as your fathers eyes widen. You think that no one’s looked this shocked since Donghyuck caught on fire in tenth grade chemistry. 

You’re out the door and buckled into your favorite boys convertible in less than a minute. No one seemed to be too worried about your persistent screams of ‘Wait, I’m still in my uniform!’

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll let you change.”

“My aprons gonna get dirty.” You huff, silently praying that Doyoung won’t notice the red of your cheeks. Obviously, that doesn’t happen.

“Now your nails and your face match my car.” The comment comes back to haunt you when you’re staring into your closet, hating absolutely every piece of clothing in sight. There’s something in the back of your mind, though, something that makes your heart flutter. The thought of leaving your house in a dress that’s been worn twice (a dress that was really just bought for fun) and watching Doyoung smile the way that he does when you’ve done something out of character... It’s enough to make you sing.

The dress is a fluffy thing, with nearly three layers of tulle beneath it’s skirt. White polka dots are scattered around the red fabric, and the silhouette finishes with a sweet heart neckline. It’s very not you. You’re not the girl who puts on pretty red dresses and goes out with boys who drive convertibles. You’ve always wanted to be her, but you just aren’t. You’re the girl who spends Friday evenings doing homework in the library. The girl who likes working at the family business.

But then there’s Doyoung. A boy that you’re nearly dating, who’s not ruining you. No, he’s helping you step into yourself, the way that you do into a red dress with white polka dots. 

When you come out of the front door the boy in question physically chokes. It makes your freshly painted lips spread into a genuine, carefree smile.

“Do I still match the car?” He nods fervently in response, eyes going as soft as butter, “Good! That’s what I was going for.” For the entire drive he keeps a hand on your thigh. 

There’s a solid ten minutes where you don’t think that he’s actually going to take you anywhere, just leave you to be paraded around town and whipped by the wind. It’s a short lived concern though, because after the third ridiculous back road he’s pulling into the lot of your local park (a cute setting, complete with a wooden castle and a petite duck pond.) 

“Doyoung, what exactly are we doing here?” You question as he helps to hoist you out of the car. The question isn’t met with an answer, only him holding up a finger while popping the lid of his trunk. You’re not entirely sure what you’re expecting to see, but you are entirely sure that it’s not what you do see.

Because Doyoung is standing in front of you wearing jeans with a rip that starts right above his knee and extends to the bottom of his shin. There’s ink black hair swooping over his forehead, there’s a cut on his cheek, there’s a leather jacket hugging his shoulders. There’s all of that, then there’s also a picnic blanket in his hands and two paper bags from your local diner in his hands.

“I’m very glad that you said yes.” He says finally. You think to yourself that you are too.

He leads you to the duck pond, carefully laying the blanket over damp grass before guiding you to sit on it. If it were any other day you would force him to let you help, but each time you try to assist he swats your hands away. Part of you wonders if it’s to repay you for taking care him last week. The other part of you knows that it’s just because he’s Doyoung. He’s feeding you french fries and laughing too loud at every story that you tell because he is sweet, and attentive, and real. Because he’s Doyoung. 

“Tell me more about your parents.” The boy exhales while falling backwards onto the picnic blanket. He looks so beautiful like this, relaxed with his hair fluffing out in every direction and a natural grin creeping onto his lips. It makes you want to sit here and talk to him stories for forever.

“Where to start?” You chuckle, pushing up onto your elbows so that you can see Doyoungs cute listening face, “They met in high school, got married at eighteen and nineteen, had me about three years later... I remember when mom opened the store they fought a lot, but they’ve never been bad. I always knew that no matter how loud they shouted or how rude they were that I’d always find them dancing together in the kitchen after dinner.” His lip quivers a bit before quirking into a smile that verges on laughter.

“Dancing in the kitchen?” Your shoulders shake with a giggle as he moves to push hair away from your eyes. Something inside of you wants to stay like this for forever.

“Yea, they started doing that when they first got married. Dad says that it’s just something that they do, but I think it’s because he loves her too much to go a day without it.”

Doyoung is going to tell you that he feels the same. It comes out as “Would you like to dance?”

A month ago you would’ve laughed it off and mentioned that there’s no music, or that you’re in public. Now you spring up from the blanket with his hand in yours, and dance carelessly. In public, to no music, hand in hand with Kim Doyoung.

It’s all playful, just lingering touches and childlike smiles. He laughs under his breath, then out loud. The sound alone draws you in like a sirens call, leaving you nestled up in his arms as if it’s the last place on earth. You look up at him with a giggle, he looks down at you with an exhale, then the two of you are crashing your lips together as if it’s what they were made to do.

His lips are chapped, and palms feel soft where they’re cradling your cheeks, and his hold is gentle while still being firm, and he’s never going to let you slip through. He’s kissing like he’s never going to let you slip through his fingers.

When his hands grasp the smallest part of your waist to pull you close, every last bone in your body turns into jelly. This kiss feels like the universe is falling into place, like with each subtle movement from his dry lips he’s correcting a problem that you didn’t even know you had. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you think of forever. That makes you want forever.

“Doyoung?” You breathe heavily while pulling back to rest your forehead on his. The hair on his forehead feels just as soft as you’d imagined. 

“Yes?” He looks at you with wide eyes that bore into the very core of your being. For the first time, it’s okay that someone sees that.

“Please never stop kissing me.” The boy in front of you chuckles lowly before pressing another kiss to your lips. It’s softer this time, leaving your chest with a feeling that’s like sunshine on your skin. When he pulls away you nearly whine, which would be more embarrassing than you even know how to express if the boy against you wasn’t equally as needy.

“You can count on that one, princess.” He smooths his thumb over your cheek, lightly grazing the corner of your mouth as he does so, “You can count on that.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

that thing with feathers

[Wing AU]

[Tour]

Word count: 3000

TW: Vomit

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

Monday was when it all began, Howard believed. She hadn’t been the first to realize something was wrong, but it was the first day that things started happening.

  “Oh my god,” Anne groaned, rubbing her temples. “She has been crying ALL MORNING. WHY WON’T SHE SHUT UP?”

Cleves laughed slightly at her frustration. “Who knows at this point,” She said.

  “So much for rehearsals,” Jane muttered.

  “Who cares?” Maggie piped up. “We don’t need her!”

There were a few scattered agreements, but Aragon just frowned. She quietly slipped out of the room and followed the sound of crying until she found the source.

The girl inside was the definition of an eyesore. Her wings were a mess, with the outsides being the sleek green-blue of a bee hummingbird and the insides being a smooth expanse of skin and membrane like on a Honduran white bat. Golden brown barn owl fluff was ruffled on her chest and stuffed in her big yellow bat ears. Tiny white, deer-like antlers peeked out from her forehead and red-orange crest feathers were folded back against her head.

She was a hybrid, but everyone just called her a freak.

There were feathers everywhere, red and green and blue and golden brown all clashing horribly together on the floor. Joan was slumped against the wall, bawling her eyes out, shielding her weird body with her strange wings. Her head snapped up when Aragon cleared her throat, and Aragon could see that she was missing several feathers on her cheeks and inside her ears.

  “Why are you crying?” Aragon asked.

Joan sniffled. “I’m sorry,” She whispered.

  “That’s not what I asked.” Aragon said. She stepped closer, peering at the girl below her. “Are you molting?”

  “I-I don’t know,” Joan answered, her voice hoarse from crying. “It hurts…”

Aragon furrowed her eyebrows. “It does?”

Joan nodded and then wrapped her wings around herself again to sob. She looked absolutely pathetic.

  “I don’t feel good,” Joan mumbled. 

  “Well, a lot of people feel that way when they molt,” Aragon said with a light chuckle. She stopped laughing, however, when Joan sobbed once more. She frowned. Something was seriously wrong with this girl.

  “Joan?” Aragon knelt down in front of the hybrid. “Are you alright?”

  “No,” Joan whispered. “M-my stomach--it hurts.” She looked up from her wings, and her eyes glowed with tears, “S-something’s wrong, Catherine.”

  “Maybe it’s just a premature molting,” Aragon said dismissively. “I once had one of those and it--”

  “It’s not!” 

Joan’s voice was so shrill, like a barn owl screeching, that it made Aragon jump slightly.

  “It’s not! Something--something is wrong, Catherine! I don’t f-/feel good/! Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I do,” Aragon said. “Calm down, okay? I believe you.”

Joan whimpered feebly. She reached out, grabbed tightly onto Aragon’s sleeve, and whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”

------

Tuesday.

Joan’s fingernails felt like they were shooting out of her fingers. They only stopped hurting when she grated them against a solid surface. Jane dealt with the sound it made when they were sitting together in the rehearsal room waiting for the others to arrive until she couldn’t anymore and politely asked her to stop. Joan obeyed.

Twenty minutes later, Joan started again without even realizing it. 

Jane doesn’t say anything this time.

------

Wednesday.

Joan felt itchy and achy all over. First, it started at the plumage over her chest she accidentally made it bleed when she scratched desperately, then it spread to other parts of her body until it felt like she had rolled in poison ivy. 

  “Uhh... Joan?” Howard said during show preparations that day.

  “Yes?” Joan replied.

  “Are you okay?” 

Joan blinked at her. She lowered her hand from where it had been itching her neck for at least five minutes straight. The marks it made glowered a seething pink in the open air.

  “Yes.” She said again.

  “Joan has fleas,” Anne said helpfully. 

  “I do not have fleas.” Joan growled as she scratched behind one of her ears like an itchy dog. 

She didn’t have fleas, but there was something under her skin, making its home in her body. She wanted to claw her flesh open and rip it out, and such a lust for that violent alternative scared her.

------

Thursday. 

Fangs are growing in over the teeth that are already there—flat teeth, normal teeth. Those have to go. 

Her joints ache from kneeling on the cold hardwood floor of her bedroom; even the thin cloth of her pajamas dress did not dispel the chill.

The scales don’t come in right, growing into her skin, itching and scratching. She raked her long, hooked nails over her ribs until she ripped her shirt and drew blood and pus.

Feathers bristled beneath her flesh, as itchy as the scales.

There are bruises on her wrists and wasted biceps, purple and yellow. No fault of anybody- her skin has become so delicate that even the gentlest bump against a surface left a mark.

Fever chills, seizures, blood from her bitten tongue, staining her blankets and drying in a crusty mess on her face.

She hid in her room and told the director over the phone with the most human voice she could muster that she would not be turning up to work that day.

———

Friday.

After the show, everyone got out of the theater as quick as possible to get to the dinner they all had planned. Howard lingered behind for a few minutes to find something she had left, which allowed her to see the one other person still remaining inside the building.

Joan leaning against the wall with her head pressed firmly against its surface, eyes squeezed shut. Her ears were pinned back against her scalp and the feathers on her tightly folded wings were broken, messy, and in disarray. Most of the green-blue color, which usually looked quite beautiful, was splotched with baby down and ugly fledge feathers. Her chest plumage looked a lot patchier than usual.

  “Joan?” Howard circled around in front of the girl, keeping her own wings tucked in close. If this was Drop Feather, then she certainly didn’t want to touch Joan. “Are you alright?”

No answer besides a tiny twitch of one of Joan’s ears.

  “Joan? Love? Can you hear me?”

Howard noticed that Joan’s cheeks have an odd color tinting them. She also noticed her eyes are kind of glassy when she pried them open and she’s…hot. Like, fever hot. Howard bent closer and set her hands on the girl’s shoulders to steady her, and she could feel her shaking slightly. Joan opened her mouth and panted like a tired animal, and her teeth looked really sharp. Glinting.

Joan reached out and gripped her arms for some kind of grounding, and her nails started tearing her sleeves. 

  “I think something is wrong with me,” Is what Joan whispered hoarsely right before she went unconscious in Howard’s arms.

------

There’s an unconscious girl in Howard’s bed and claw marks on her neck and back.

The rumbling, fire breathing sky was pouring out rain, and the wind was howling as if the city was falling beneath its elemental talons. Raindrops that had to be as big as oranges pattered against Howard’s bedroom windows loudly, making her worry that they may break, but she quickly turned her attention to the bigger issue at hand. 

Joan looked like death itself. Her skin was paler than usual, except for her cheeks, which were dark red from fever. Her face was soaked in sweat, plastering tendrils of damp white-blonde hair to her forehead. She was breathing harshly and blinking her eyes rapidly, fighting to keep away black spots from her vision—or maybe it was to keep back tears. 

  “Joan, can you hear me?” Howard called out. She sat down on the side of the bed, carefully brushed back Joan’s sweaty bangs, and placed a wet cloth on her forehead. Doing so elicited a small noise of relief through grinding breaths and feeble whimpers. “What happened to you?”

  “I don’t--I don’t know,” Joan panted. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment, but she forced them back open. “I-I’m sorry--”

  “Shh, shh,” Howard shushed her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. No need to apologize. I’m not mad.” She tentatively reached out and rubbed behind one of Joan’s ears, earning a hoarse sigh of contentment. “I think you may be molting, honey. But since you’re a hybrid, your body doesn’t really know what to do with all the different genes. The old feathers and scales still hanging on could be making you feel ill.”

  “Oh,” Joan whispered. “Wh-what do I do?”

  “I’ll give your wings a nice brushing,” Howard said. “Then, if you’re up to it, maybe you can take a shower to try and wash any old scales off. The hot water may help.”

Joan nodded. “Thank you, Katherine…”

Howard smiled warmly. “No problem, sweetheart.”

But there was a problem. Two hours later when Howard was cooking dinner for herself and Joan, since they had both missed the plans with the others, and Howard heard heavy thumping coming from her shared bedroom with Anne. When she ran in there, she found that the window was wide open and Joan was nowhere to be seen.

Howard flew after the girl immediately, beating her wings through the rain and swooping low over the ground until she finally found her.

Joan was over a pigeon she had apparently killed, the smell of its blood and flesh and guts a putrid perfume. What exactly did Joan think she was doing? Her jaws ripped at the feathers covering the body, its insides exposed to the cooling rain that continued to drench their bodies.

  “Do you know what you’re doing? Don’t you dare!” Howard yelled, running up to her.

Joan turned and, lowered on her legs, growled insanely at her figure. She spread her wings like an owl did when it was angry, ruffling her feathers, and Howard halted mid-step, backing away a few paces. The girl had become deranged or something. Her eyes said that alone--glazed and wide and blown way out of focus.

Then, Howard realized, this all may have been caused by Joan’s conflicting instincts as well. Being a hybrid didn’t just make molting difficult, it made the emotions that came with molting difficult, too.

  “Stop that right now! You’re not like this! This isn’t you!”

Joan ignored her presence and dug her mouth back into the flesh. She tore at all her shard dragon teeth and bat fangs could reach, feasting upon the dead bird with a passion that scared Howard. How would she ever….

  “Joan, do you understand what you’re doing? You have to stop right now. If you don’t, you’ll just be a monster, just like the one people saw your kind is.”

Howard didn’t mean for her words to come out like shards of glass, but maybe the harshness of her tone would make Joan realize what exactly she was scarfing down and bring back her regular avian mind.

It didn’t.

No, instead, Joan snarled like a wild dog with rabies. She flexed her claws in the dirt before rising up to her feet. She may have been scrawny and shorter than Howard, but with her feathers all puffed up and her mouth covered in blood, she was quite intimidating. Even in the dull, grey lighting of the rainstorm, her eyes still glinted with the ferocity and hunger of a feral beast.

For a long moment Howard wondered who she was even looking at anymore. Was that Joan? Or was it the mutated beast? Had she lost herself to the creature within? It seemed that way, with her claws primed for blood and her jaws dripping with gore.

And yet? She held out her hand. She held back a flinch as blood dripped to her fingers and palm, held tight Joan tight to her body even when she thought she would be eviscerated for it. She held Joan’s face, held her breath, and held tight to all the courage she could muster.

The mutant she was clinging onto let out a long, inhuman snarl that vibrated Howard’s rib cage as she was pressed against the thing. Hooked, barbed black claws raised up and hovered mere inches away from her back. She felt blood and drool and maybe some foam drip onto her head and run in gooey trails down the back of her neck.

Her neck.

Fear poured through Howard when she realized how easy it would be for her to meet the same fate from her first life, but she did not let go.

The deadly talons flexed, just barely tore the fabric of her shirt, and then fell down limply to the mutant’s side.

Joan, and Howard was sure now that it was still Joan, pressed her head to Howard’s chest, horns bumping into her collarbone, flicking her ears back and then drooping them in a deeply anguished gesture. Her wings fold in tightly to her back and her feathers resettle. 

Howard gently stroked one of her quivering hands over the top of Joan’s head. She murmured to her softly and it doesn’t matter how softly she spoke because she knows Joan will always hear her.

For a long time, avian and mutated stayed tangled in an embrace. 

  “Are you all right?” Howard finally asked. The rain is beginning to lessen its brutality as it lashed against their bodies.

Joan did not respond. Instead, her face became rather pale, which was impressive given that she was already ghost white. More concerned than curious, Howard raised a hand as if to draw her attention up to her eye level. However, in that moment, Joan buckled to the opposite side, a line of vomit splattering from her lips. She sank to her knees, clutching her stomach. As she rocked herself, Howard placed a hand against her forehead.

  “I’m not feeling that great,” Joan gurgled through cringing lips.

  “Oh, sweetie. You’re not kidding.” Howard said, “Must have been...”

She stopped because Joan retched again, so she most likely didn’t want to be reminded of what exactly she had done in her feral instinct state. It didn’t help that her mouth and hands were still wet with blood, gore, and goop from marred pigeon. Joan vomited once more.

  “I’m just gonna...sit here for a moment.” She panted.

  “That’s alright.” Howard assured her, rubbing her back and quickly pulling her messy hair out of the way. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. Just get it out.”

She was trying. She was trying really hard but it came to a point where her body felt like it didn’t need to throw up anymore and was ready to start feeling normal again. But she wasn’t ready. She became so desperate to purge the bird flesh from her stomach that she shoved her claws down her throat just to make herself vomit again.

  “Joan!”

Howard grabbed both of her wrists. Joan was crying, struggling to breathe over an oncoming panic attack that’s taking over her mind, just like the instincts had.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s over now. Nobody is going to hurt you, I promise.”

Joan whimpered and shook her head as tears spilled over.

  “Other people aren’t going to be the ones doing the hurting.”

Howard stared at her in disbelief as she sobbed below her.

  “It’s like I was hallucinating,” Joan started softly, “I couldn’t control myself anymore. I smelled meat and thought I saw something, so I went after it. Howard, I was hunting it.”

Joan put her head in her hands and shook it miserably. Her ears drooped and she wrapped her wings around herself to hide her body.

  “Oh god, Katherine, I’m a monster. Just like everyone says!”

  “Don’t say that.” Howard said firmly, “You are not a monster.”

  “I chased the people I thought I saw,” Joan whispered hoarsely, “I chased them to the ends of this city and they ran from me. They were scared of me.”

  “You won’t be like that.” Howard assured her. “It’s alright. I promise. It was just your instincts, sweetie. It’s happened to Bessie before.”

  “No,” Joan croaked, shaking her head. “No, no it’s…s’not alright, is it? For you to be--”

  “Joan, honey,” Howard interrupted softly with a sigh.

Howard cupped Joan’s cheeks and the poor thing flinched, like she thought her neck was going to be snapped. Instead, Howard lifted her chin until the girl made eye contact with her.

  “Whatever you’re going to say, save it.” She said. “There’s no use, because you’re not going to get rid of me.”

  “But--”

  “But nothing.” Howard stopped her. “If you think this is going to be the defining factor that ends our friendship, then you must be crazy.”

Joan blinked up at her, eyes sparkling. “I-I…” Her words caught in her throat for a moment. “I’m your friend?”

Howard’s heart simultaneously broke and melted. “Of course, sweetheart!” She said, sliding a hand back to scratch behind one of Joan’s ears. Joan cooed happily and leaned into her touch. “Of course we’re friends!”

  “I’m--I’m happy that we are,” Joan said shyly.

The little hybrid curled against Howard, nuzzling into her like she was her mother bird. Howard smiled down at her, wrapping her up in her fluffy wings.

  “We’ll get through this, Joan. I promise.”

  “I’m just-- I’m so glad you’re okay,” Joan whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if I--”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Howard answered definitely. “I’m okay and you’re going to be okay too, darling. You’ll see.”

Maybe, just maybe, one day Joan would be able to see herself the same way Howard saw her. But for now, with the help of Aragon, who would surely want to pitch in once she was told about the incident, the best thing that could be done with Joan was to raise her right and teach her about her mutated body, since nobody else seemed to ever care enough to do so. Starting with molting.

[oddcoupler222]

I remember a while ago you had a prompt fill where Margaery ran a radio show and Sansa fell in love with her voice. Is it rude if I ask what happened to it? It was so good!

not rude! I took it down, to reshop it into a longer oneshot, perhaps, but i’m really preoccupied right now with editing TWW so… I’ll post it again! 

——

It wasn’t like Sansa was… in love with… a woman she’d never met - because that would be crazy. And if anything, Sansa was more than cautious when it came to her heart these days.

Maybe that was why crushing someone from a talk show was easy.

It might have also had something to do with the fact that Margaery was kind of perfect. Of course, Sansa didn’t know Margaery personally; she wasn’t crazy.

But Margaery always seemed to know what to say; she was hilarious, she was frank, she seemed to have all of the knowledge in the world and when she didn’t, she sure as hell still sounded confident.

She’d first stumbled upon her show when she’d moved to King’s Landing two years, blindly following her heart and her boyfriend Joffrey across the country. They’d had a big fight, one of their first actual fights that had scared Sansa, and when she’d been walking downtown to calm herself (because, in retrospect, living with Joffrey like that had been such a terrible idea) - feeling a bit lost and a lot lonely - she’d ended up sitting on a bench across from the King’s Landing Chronicles.

And fatefully, really, staring up at the billboard that had the picture of a woman’s smirk emblazoned with the words The Margaery Monologues.

She’d started listening later that night, and had been drawn right in.

There were Thursday night politics - where the show had begun four years ago, when it had begun as a political talk show of sorts. Until, that is, when Margaery had absolutely gone off on one of the candidates running for Prime Minister -

(“I’m sorry,” heaving sigh, “You know I pride myself on thoroughly discussing all of the issues from every angle. But are we all just going to fucking pretend he is even a viable candidate? My gods, I feel like I’m taking insanity pills every time I hear someone say his name as if it should be said anywhere other than a prison roll call.”)

- and instead of getting her fired, her twenty minute rant had been what had gotten her personality recognized and the show catapulted into it’s seedlings of prominence.

There were Margaery Morning segments - the once a week broadcast that Margaery did Monday mornings at 8, where she functioned mostly as an acerbic news anchor while simultaneously peppering in amusing stories and diatribes about morning commutes and coffee shops -

(“and I never want to hear a word against that little place on the corner of Fifth and Vine at the base of Aegon’s High Hill again. Their chai latte is amazing - also, sorry to the very cute girl who had to work behind the counter with the jackass this morning.”)

There were Guest Star Tuesdays, where Margaery featured a whole number of people in a mix of both conversational/interview tone. It could be politicians, it could be authors, it could be a handful of actors who had appeared, business owners. Sometimes it was members of Margaery’s own family or her friends. Whoever it was, it was always fun. It always felt like somehow, Sansa was a part of their conversation.

(she suspected that was just a quality Margaery had.)

There were Listener’s Choice segments on Wednesday, and those were her absolute favorites. The topics ranged all over the spectrum. From requesting personal stories about Margaery - which they always got, but even more so on Wednesdays - to relationship advice and anecdotes, to book/movie/show reviews… the sky was the limit.

(“So, everyone, after tonight’s terrifying discussion about the state of mostly hetero relationships, I’m going to leave you with this: if someone treats you poorly, you can always do better. Don’t stay with someone just because you’re worried about being alone.” a beat, lighter, joking tone, “And - this one for the ladies out there - if men are disappointing you, there’s always women,” quiet chuckling, “Okay, okay, before I keep going on, remember to send in questions, comments, and stories to be addressed on next Wednesday’s show. Until next time, darlings.”)

She didn’t know if it was pathetic to admit that some of Margaery’s commentary and advice about relationships were the things that had given her the courage to walk away from Joff when things had gotten really bad. Actually, truly, scarily bad.

(“I know it’s not always easy to walk away from a bad situation – and yes, if we all recall from my many tales, I’m not one who often indulges in relationships. But for Scared Without Support, you wrote here that you need that extra step to walk away: I’ll be that extra step. Don’t walk - run - from this asshole. With police protection, if necessary. I’d offer my own services there, too, but I’m afraid my virtues lay with beauty and brains rather than brawn.”)

It may be pathetic, but it was true.

… and okay, it might have also had something to do with the segment that aired at midnights on Fridays - Margaery After Dark - where she talked about all matters pertaining to sex.

That was a relatively new segment; it had been added only two months ago, and the when time she’d listened to the first segment, Sansa had realized after laying in bed with her earbuds in, listening to Margaery’s voice as she’d talked about sex - (sex toys, positions, funny stories, seductive stories. Tales about her own sexuality and experiences but most specifically, Margaery ending her show by expanding on what being with a woman was and how it felt and her favorite parts of being with women, her voice a notch lower than it usually was)

It wasn’t until it had ended that Sansa realized she’d laid shock still for an entire hour, that her heart was beating fast, her cheeks were flushed, and that between her legs… well, she was more than a little aroused.

She was doing better now than she had in years -

After leaving Joffrey six months ago, she’d stayed with Shae, the older but protective woman who’d worked with her at the library, who had offered to maim Joff several times. But she finally had her feet steadily under her.

And her own apartment, that she was able to pay for with her part-time work in the evenings at the library (that she would hopefully be able to quit soon) and the fact that some more prominent people had started hiring her for her side job - baking cakes, pies, tarts, cookies… all sorts of goods, from home - thanks in particular to Shae’s fiance who worked at the capitol building.

The only thing that was messing her up, really, was her gods damn neighbor. Her next door neighbor who seemed to operate at a completely different schedule than she did. And Sansa knew that waking up at 4 or 5 (it was usually perfectly timed for her to listen… or re-listen to Margaery’s show from the previous night) in the morning to get through her current baking orders was not typical, and she always did her best to keep her noise level down.

(there had been a few instances where she’d certain things or, the first time she’d flambe’d and hadn’t realized exactly how sensitive the smoke alarm was, so - well, that had been a process that she was sure her neighbor didn’t appreciate. but she tried)

Her neighbor had no such qualms - he/she/they, who knows, as Sansa hadn’t run into them even after over a month. But whomever they were often came in late. Late enough that Sansa was often in bed. Sometimes with what sounded like friends? Groups of people laughing and chatting. Music being played. Sometimes bringing decidedly loud female company (that was how she’d realized that their bedrooms shared a wall).

In fact, the only interaction they’d had was somewhat passive aggressive (Sansa had left a tray of cookies outside of her door her second week in, with a note, “Hi! I’m Sansa, your new neighbor in 12B. Sorry you weren’t around when I knocked, it would have been nice to meet you. So, I’m sorry this might sound rude/weird, but is there a chance you could possibly try to keep it down at night? I have early mornings for work. Enjoy the cookies!”) -

and in return she’d received an empty plate back, with a prettily scrawled note (decidedly feminine but she wasn’t making any assumptions), “Hello neighbor, the cookies were delicious. And I would personally appreciate it if your alarm clock didn’t go off so early and if there were no more fire alarms before dawn. I keep late nights (sometimes) for work. I’m sure we’ll cope. 12A.”

So. She’d done her best to keep quieter in the mornings, and she thought she heard a bit of a difference in her neighbor’s guests coming over less frequently, and the female company seemed to also be happening a bit less frequently (though there was a burst of laughter from the other side of the wall and a lot of shushing, the night after she’d left the note, which had somewhat made her feel mocked, but. Oh well).

She didn’t meet her neighbor until almost two months after moving in. Running late to do a consult for a client who wanted Sansa to potentially make a cake for a bachelorette party, and after that she would have to essentially run to her shift at the library, she’d left her apartment, clutching a batch of tester cupcakes in a carrier.

And slammed right into the woman leaving the adjacent door, the cupcakes falling to the ground, hearing her own, “No!” leave her before she could stop it.

She was already bemoaning her cupcakes, because she definitely did not have enough time to redo those! Before she turned to her neighbor, and she could only stare in horror at the way the cup of what seemed to be steaming hot black coffee streamed down the woman’s white blouse as her exclamation, “Gods damn it!” seemed to echo down the hall.

Her cheeks burned at the realization that she was just - staring at her chest, her very ample chest, as her shirt stuck to her like a second skin, and her stomach flipped, even as apologies started rolling off of her lips, “I’m - I’m so sorry. I’m so -”

Everything died on her lips, though, the moment her gaze climbed higher and higher and…

No, she wasn’t in love with a woman she’d never met, but she’d certainly looked at the icon for her podcast to recognize the quirk of soft looking lips (though in the icon they were smirking rather than decidedly scowling) -

It was as though she was having an out of body experience, really. Because she could hear the blood rushing through her ears, as she slowly tracked her eyes higher than that recognizable mouth…

And took in Margaery’s face for the first time. Margaery’s absolutely stunningly gorgeous face, and Sansa was just - frozen.

Until that voice snapped her out of it, “Of fucking course today of all days,” Margaery murmured, tugging at her shirt in agitation, voice just as smooth and alluring - even pissed - as it was over airwaves, before golden eyes snapped at her, “Hello? Are you okay?”

Her voice was short, now, clearly a snap, because Sansa had been standing there for almost a full minute not saying anything.

Her heart was in her throat though, her stomach dipping low and, “I - y-eah?” she barely managed to squeak out.

Margaery quirked an eyebrow at her like she was a moron (she knew she sounded like one, though) before she sighed, and checked her watch, before she rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I don’t have time for this. I have to go. Seven hells,” was muttered under her breath, before she took off down the hallway.

Margaery - Margaery - disappeared down the hall with a flourish of glossy, curled light brown hair and the linger of intoxicating perfume.

And Sansa was left standing there, with her cupcakes mushed down at her feet, also running late, her cheeks flushed, heart pounding and -

Well if she wasn’t positive that she’d had an actual crush on Margaery before, there was just no doubt about it now.

And if she really wasn’t sure about it then? She would have been later that night.

When, after returning home and changing into her pajamas, still somewhat reeling from her day, there was a knock on her door.

Where Margaery stood, with a bottle of wine and a small smile on her face, “Hello. I’m your neighbor, 12A, Margaery. It’s nice to meet you.”

That smile was almost dizzying to see in person - the voice was even more so.

“Uh, hi? Hi. Hello,” her eyes widened at herself, “I’m -”

“Sansa, yes - I remember the cookies,” her smile turns wry, “I wanted to apologize for earlier today,” she gestures to the wine, “If you’d like to have a glass  together.”

She clenched her hand around the doorknob, because her heart stopping and her mind screaming YES didn’t seem like the most conducive way to not scare her.

She had to clear her throat, “Um, I - you don’t owe me an apology,” is what came out. Really it was a loaded statement on her part - she owed a lot to Margaery, inadvertently. Not that the other woman knew it, but still, “I mean, I did ruin your shirt. And I’m sorry. Again.”

Margaery waved her hand, her eyes going warm in a way that Sansa - well she could have only imagined Margaery’s eyes looking like that for the last year, “Well, I also caused you to drop whatever creation you had in your carrier and I’m sure it was delicious. And unlike you, I didn’t have the good grace to apologize earlier because I was a bit of a bitch and in more than a bit of a hurry.” She quirked an eyebrow, “Besides, Thursday nights, I typically have my brother and best friend over for some drinks and a bit of catching up, but I was hoping you’d like to join me tonight?”

That was how Sansa found herself sitting with Margaery, on her own couch, pleasantly flushed from the wine, an hour later. They’d covered multiple topics from their original… issues (“I should also apologize while I’m here for my late nights. Though I stand by the fact that your early mornings can also be a killer,” she’d winked and Sansa was completely charmed, “But I think we’ve gotten a decent rhythm down in the last few weeks.” - and they had.),

to light conversation about how they’d found their respective apartments (and Margaery’s eyes were alight with sympathy when she’d tried to skate over the Joffrey topic), until they’d landed on jobs, and -

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re a baker; I truly ate all of your cookies myself within a few days,” Margaery sighed, almost dreamily. “I almost asked for more at one point when I was a bit stressed out, but I figured we didn’t have that rapport yet.”

“You can ask whenever you want,” slipped out, and she flushed, before she cleared her throat, “But I’m not a full time baker, yet. Just, a little home thing. One day, though.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she took another sip, before adding, “I host a little broadcast radio show of sorts, out of the Chronicle; I had a meeting with the executives earlier, which was why I was so - you know.”

This was where Sansa should have said, “Actually, sorry to be weird, but - I know. I listen to it,” or even, “Oh, that’s why you sound familiar, I’ve heard the show a couple of times.”

Instead, she blushed and gulped down her wine, before toying with the base of the glass, “Oh! Well, that’s, um, cool.”

Margaery gave her a smile and her stomach twisted so tightly she almost exploded.

Somehow, it became a thing.

Margaery started knocking on her door every Thursday - no longer ever really hosting her brother and friend, saying that they instituted a date night together - and she’d come in with a bottle of wine, and they’d talk. Way later than Sansa typically stayed awake, to be entirely honest. But it was like she couldn’t tear herself away.

… and sometimes she came over on Saturdays and sporadically throughout the week, too.

If she thought she’d liked Margaery just from hearing her on her show, her in person was so much more. Her smiles were bright and infectious, her laughter even more so. And it was so strange, because she was the same person she was in her podcast, but also - so much more.

She sometimes sat with her while she baked, or Sansa taught her how to make simple recipes, and Margaery looked incredibly adorable with a look of overt concentration as she got a bit of flour on her cheek.

Some nights, she would come over with her laptop and say she was doing “research” for work, and would murmur under her breath as she browsed the internet and made some notes for what Sansa could only presume was her next segment.

And they just… talked. About everything. Sansa told her about Joffrey for real and how she’d been in a terrible situation, stuck with him and terrified, and Margaery, with a fierce look in her eyes, wrapped her in a hug that Sansa could have melted into for probably her entire life. If anything, Sansa knows she’s truly, for real, in love with Margaery when Margaery’s next segment is an unplanned show on domestic abuse, complete with call-ins with a licensed therapist, and an impassioned, emotional speech.

Margaery told her about how close she’d been to her grandmother growing up and how she’d wanted to just make her proud, and that when she’d started her show it had been hard because it was really the first time she’d truly disappointed her -

(”I just don’t know if I want to fight to affect change if that means I’ll have to bite my tongue my entire life to do it,” she’d told her one night, voice softer than normal. And Sansa assured her probably too quickly, that her voice and opinions made her who she was and she desperately didn’t want her to change that).

The Margaery Monologues almost seemed like a double edged sword now. Because she felt guilty, almost, listening religiously - unable to stop herself - while Margaery had no idea.

(she felt very guilty, when, after a particularly in-depth and charged Margaery After Dark, she’d been unable to refrain to touching herself, listening to Margaery’s voice. She’d attempted to just sleep, but had tossed and turned, just hearing Margaery as she’d talked about what turned her on and - well, it had been a show based around female masturbation and Sansa ended up coming listening to Margaery talk about touching herself “Women are complicated, pleasing us takes practice. And most of that practice begins on ourselves.” And she’d paused after, heart pounding, when she’d realized that she was not quiet at all, and all she could do was hope that Margaery hadn’t yet gotten home and heard her)

But it was also almost better in a way, now that she knew Margaery as a person. Because Margaery as a person was so amazing and beautiful and even smarter, even funnier, even more witty, and charming and everything - that getting more of her through her show was just like an added bonus.

The worst part, really, worse than her guilt even was this -

“Yes, thank you for your nosy questions as we discuss relationship goals this Listener’s Choice Wednesday - I will end this segment by saying that I do indeed have my sights set on a very lovely woman.”

That comment came two months into their budding friendship. And it was almost like a punch in the stomach. The mentions of the mystery woman continued through the following weeks -

“She’s ridiculously gorgeous, like you would not even believe.”

“No, we aren’t together, but here I am like a pining fool. I’ve never been this kind of person before, and now - what the hell is wrong with me? Should I be asking you guys for advice now?” (that had actually lead to a great Listener’s Choice Wednesday in which Margaery had largely spoken to listeners comments and engaged with them through a life stream)

“For the first time in my life, I’m worried about making a move. Typically I would have no problem, even if she’s presumed straight. But there’s something about her that I just can’t stand the thought of scaring off.” (okay, and Margaery was just so - sweet? It hurt in good and bad ways).

Especially because Margaery never spoke about Dream Girl - the object of Margaery’s affection had developed a nickname last month - to her, to Sansa. She never brought home any women anymore, at least not that Sansa knew of. And she didn’t mention dates, but in fairness, Sansa didn’t really ask, either.

“For tonight’s After Dark segment, we’re going to discuss fantasies,” Margaery spoke smoothly, her voice sliding through Sansa even as her stomach seemed to tingle, and guilt guilt guilt but she couldn’t stop herself, especially when Margaery delved into aspects of her own fantasy -

“And when bringing up fantasies, personally? It’s impossible for me to not bring up voice. Ironically, I’ve actually never been something that overtly turned me on, but… Dream Girl,” a deep-throated sigh, “We all know she’s gorgeous - well I do, and you all know my thoughts - but it was her voice that just, pulled me in. A little deeper in tone, especially when she’s concentrating or being thoughtful, and it just clings to certain words in a way that can make me instantly wet.”

Desire and jealousy, and she couldn’t stop listening.

“Honestly, at this point, one of my fantasies is for her to tell me exactly what to do. I want to watch her and hear her tell me how to touch myself, for her to touch me and tell me exactly what she is thinking, feeling.”

Torture.

“And, gods, in such a twist of fate, I heard her while she was touching herself. It’s happened a few times. That voice, moaning and whimpering and - I guess that is the delicious torture of living next door and sharing a wall with the object of your affections.”

Everything stopped, her breathing was heavy, and - she could only stare at her ceiling. Hearing things, she must be -

“Truly, all I can say at this point is that my true fantasy is to go next door and make her make all of those sounds myself.”

Sansa yanked out her earbuds, breathing heavy. 

And she did the only thing she could think to do -

She found herself outside of where it all began: Margaery recorded inside of the Chronicle building. She was lucky Margaery had brought her by there a few weeks ago after they’d had lunch, because the security guard had remembered her and let her inside.

She was in her pajamas, with her hair looking rumpled as hell, she was sure, and she could only hear in her head all of the doubts (maybe somehow she’d dozed off and thought Margaery referred to her as Dream Girl? What if she’d misunderstood somehow?) but she was ignoring them because she couldn’t stop herself -

Especially when she tapped on the glass with her shaking fingers, and she saw Margaery cut herself off, surprise taking over her features, before she said something into her mic, before she opened the door -

“I listened to you,” she confessed, her head buzzing and she couldn’t let Margaery get a word out first, “Your show. For months. I - I’d just moved here, and I was so lonely and you made me feel not alone. And I liked you, I just - I liked you the whole time? But I couldn’t tell you that, when I realized we were neighbors because I didn’t want you to think I was some sort of crazy person?” Even though now she was showing up like a crazy person…

“And so I listened in secret and never told you every time we hung out, but I just I liked you so much. Then you - tonight - you said… what you said… about sharing a wall,” gods  she only just realized that meant Margaery had heard her touch herself - thinking about her, though she didn’t know that.

She didn’t know which one of them moaned when Margaery surged up, her hands sliding through Sansa’s hair to press their mouths together. All she knew was that it was the best she’d ever felt, and she didn’t know if her mouth would ever stop tingling like this.

Especially when Margaery pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’d say this ranks fairly high in the fantasy department, too.”

(when she listened to the show the next day, still dazed and amazed, and realized that Margaery hadn’t paused it when she’d appeared, she realized it was both of them who’d moaned)

[shawnsorangeglasses]

The Opposition - Part 3.1

3.1k words

Shawn is a tightly wound, Type A law student in college. For the most part, he has his life figured out and planned to the minute. Then comes Caroline, a charming Type B and his unlikely equal.

thank you all for being so patient. ...

It's Wednesday. Shawn fears the closer he gets to Friday, the less motivated he is to crash the frat party. This morning, Caroline sent him a text riddled with lowercase letters and several typos to discuss the plan. He's meeting her in front of the library a few hours after his first class. On Mondays and Wednesdays, it's ethics and his third criminal law course in the afternoon. Tuesdays and Thursdays is legal writing and criminal behavior. He loves the work, but it’s nice to do something else, even if it is scheming.

He walks by a group of senior women on the way. They smile and wave flirtatiously, but he keeps his eyes low and walks faster. They laugh.

Caroline is waiting for Shawn on the back of the library's lion statue, conducting her hands to music only she can hear through her earbuds. Of course that's where she is, Shawn thinks to himself. Her sweater, the one from last night, is tied around her waist. She doesn't notice him at first because the song is up at full volume. Bright yellow socks are the only vibrant color she's chosen to wear today in an otherwise plain ensemble.

"You're not supposed to sit on those," he tells her.

Her head snaps around, "Oh, it's just you. Where's Harry?"

"Theater club until 6 PM."

Caroline grunts and groans, rolling rather ungracefully off the metal beast. "How the hell am I supposed to sit through this without him?"

"I'm sure you'll manage." Shawn leads towards the double doors, but a tiny hand latches onto his elbow, stopping him short.

"Can't you just tell me right here in the sun? It's freezing inside."

Shawn taps his heel on the pavement impatiently. "I suppose we can go to the old greenhouse out back."

Caroline cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, he's taking me out back. How scandalous."

"Relax, it's not in use anymore and half the windows are smashed. It's the furthest thing from romantic.

"She circles him, "Uh huh, sure it is."

"It is."

Shawn takes her down a path that’s gone undisturbed for a long time. The greenhouse is obscured by a wall of untamed trees and shrubbery. The only entrance is a gate overrun by vines and ivies. Shawn unlatches the lock and its rusty chain falls limp with a clang.

"After you," he says, permitting Caroline to enter first.

"Are we allowed back here, Mr. Rulebook?"

"This is the only rule you'll ever find me breaking."

Caroline gazes up at the quaint structure in all its decay and ruin. Branches extend in and out of broken windows. She can just make out a misty rainbow in the fog at the very top of the roof. Ironically, it’s probably the prettiest part of the campus she’s seen so far.

"How'd you find this place?"

"Ms. Attie brought me here my first semester. It used to be kind of panic room for me, but I haven't needed it lately."

She takes two steps forward. "Is it safe?"

"There's broken glass and exposed wires everywhere, but you're smart enough. I think you'll live."

“Aw, you think I’m smart?”

He has to smile at his slip up. “I think you’re adept. Don’t get a big head.”

Shawn pats her shoulder and moves ahead. Caroline jogs after him, trying to keep up with his long strides in the tall grass.Inside are only vague reminders of what the greenhouse may have looked like before the wilderness reclaimed it. All kinds of weeds have pushed through the ground floor. Unchecked foliage has made the once spacious house small and humid inside. Caroline picks up one of the few plants that are still in a solid pot, then sets it back in its dust ring.Shawn stops at the iron staircase leading to a platform above.

"This way. Attie said the steps are too corroded to be safe, so we have to use the ladder."

The ladder leans against the second floor ledge with cinder blocks at its feet to keep it in place. It goes straight up into a sunnier ledge, closest to the ceiling. It's the only part of the greenhouse with all the windows still intact. Caroline again goes ahead of him, but loses her footing on a loose rung. Shawn's quick to catch her, grabbing onto her hip. He doesn't let go until she's regained her balance, and even so his fingertips linger on her midriff.

"Any other surprises," she huffs.

"I don't know, maybe? It's been a while."

She smirks down at him, then continues to climb. Each step, she tests the rungs with a few taps before proceeding. Shawn is trying to keep from looking, but she's right there above his head, in shorts. He concentrates on his own steps.

Caroline's feet patter around the platform. "Hmm, I don't know Mendes. This looks pretty romantic to me."He's about to protest again until he makes the top of the ladder. A picnic is set up on one of the metal tables, but clearly abandoned. Shawn sighs.

"Harry must have been here recently with some guy or girl, most likely showing off." He can feel Caroline's eyes on him. "Which is not why we're here, for the last time."

"Alright. Did he leave any non-perishables?"

Shawn sifts through the picnic basket's contents. Every single bag is torn to shreds. "No, looks like the raccoons came through— oh wait, there's a jar of raw honey."

"I call dibs."

"You can have it," Shawn chuckles. "Harrison keeps our kitchen stocked with the stuff."

She takes the jar, holding it up to the sun. "Why did we come here, again?"

"Going over the plan."

"Oh yeah."

Caroline hops up onto a shelf in between two flower bushes, securing her jar of honey at the bottom of her bag. Sun spills shafts of light on her hair, making them a rich brown around the edges.

"The party's on Friday and I know I'm your plus one. We definitely shouldn't stay too long though. What's our out going to be?"

"I could get 'sick' or 'too drunk' and you have to take me home."

"That could work. I say we try to avoid attention altogether though. Kate knows I don't do parties and I won't know how to explain myself."

Caroline pokes a fern and its leaves retract. "Just say you're doing research on college party scenes and how they affect academic accomplishment or something."

"That's...actually a good idea."

She flips her hair and shrugs. "I know."

"Okay, don't get cocky." Shawn nibbles on his thumb. "I guess we're ready?"Caroline tilts her head at him. "You don't sound ready."

"I am very nervous, yes."

"Well don't worry. Just think of it as extreme eavesdropping."

"There's still so many margins of error," he mutters to himself. "Argh, this is why I hate parties. I have no way of actually preparing for this. What if something stupid happens? What if the cops show up? Cops always show up in the movies. Listen to me, comparing real life to the movies-”

"Hey," she slides down from the shelf and puts two hands on his shoulders. Her inky brown eyes penetrate his own. "Don’t spiral. That's why I'm coming with you. We can always improvise. It's gonna be fine. In the name of love, right?"

Shawn takes a deep, shaky breath. She'd been saying this to him since Monday. In the name of love. But Shawn isn't even positive he loves Kate, whatever that means. She just makes him tingly all over. All girls make him a little nervous once they show an interest in him. It isn't even all about love at this point. He just wants everything to go back to normal.

"Right," he says anyway. "In the name of love."

"Okay then," she gives him shake and lets go. "How much time do you have?"

Shawn checks his watch. "About two hours."

"Wanna go eat?" …

The dining hall is flowing with students coming and going. All the major groups have found their respective tables for the hour. Caroline seems to know at least a few people in every clan they pass by on the way to the kitchen, and every person is happy to see her or has some inside joke to share.

"Uh Caroline," Shawn taps her shoulder, "What exactly is your major?"

"I don’t know yet. I really like everything. Why?""

You just seem to know...well, everyone."

"Oh, I had psychology last year. Between surveys and case studies, you kind of meet people. And I made mine so they could be interesting and fun, so they’d come back."

Shawn gazes at a few of the people they passed. Music majors, science majors, even the business majors knew Caroline. A few are looking in his direction. Most people know Shawn from the mock trials because they get published in the school newspaper. His serious reputation has preceded him for quite some time. So naturally, they'd be curious as to why he's suddenly at breakfast with Caroline.

"Everybody's staring," he tells her in a hushed voice.

"Well yeah, it's me standing next to you," she said much louder, already having read the room.

Shawn has noticed the physical contrast of him Caroline before. His lean and broad figure just barely towering over her stocky, compact build is something to behold. They couldn't be more different.

"They might also be staring because of your face," she says as she makes a beeline for the pasta trays.

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Literally nothing. That's why they're staring, genius."

Shawn squints at her. "You have very interesting way of paying me compliments."

She gives him a tender pat on the shoulder. "What are friends for?"

He has to admit to himself, she is entertaining without trying. The honesty that comes with Caroline's words is refreshing. The few girls he's come across in the past hardly ever say what they mean or feel. Kate was one of them.

"Let's sit over there," Caroline nods at a small corner table well lit by a wall of windows. Empty booths are scarce in the cafe. A few feet away from that spot is Jared Price with a handful of law majors. Shawn grabs Caroline’s arm and pulls her behind a wall next to the vending machines. Without meaning to, he’s pinned her into a corner.

“What the hell’s your problem,” she snaps. “I almost dropped my pasta.”

“Shush,” he hisses.

It’s only been a few times that a guy has had Caroline on the wall in this fashion. Shawn’s approach is, of course, in no way romantic and definitely clumsy to say the least. Though she knows it’s probably not intentional, she can’t help but feel the tiniest impulse to misbehave right now.

Shawn’s still tensed up and peering around the corner. She takes a peek. There’s plenty of people to look at and her heart was kind of hoping to see Kate floating in between some of the tables. No one seems to fit the description Shawn’s given her in recent conversations. In fact, his panicked eyes are completed transfixed on a table surrounded by what look like carbon copies of him.

“Must be a law thing to dress like the dean,” she says. “Don’t you want to talk to your kin?”

“Not necessarily,” Shawn says with a shake of his head.

"Well, do you mind," she says looking him up and down. "I'm kind of stuck between a vending machine and a... well, a hard place."

A harsh blush seeps into Shawn's face and neck as he realizes the position he's put them in. Caroline holds her takeout box of food close to her chest in one hand and pushing back on his abs with the other. A wry, all-knowing smile pushes her dimple deeper into her cheek. Shawn bolts backwards.

"S-Sorry, I wasn't trying to-,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping his thoughts would gather up easier that way. “I'm not- I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry."

"No worries Mendes," Caroline pats his chest. "If I have to pinned against a wall by anyone, I'm fine with it being you."

Shawn shields his face with his hand, which is already starting to get clammy and prickly. "Why do you have to make everything so weird?"

"It’s only weird in your head, Shawn. Come on.” She nods in the direction of the other exit, away from the law school table and the rest of the cafe. “We can go eat on the lawn.”

She trots over to the double doors. Her thick messy curls bounce on her shoulders in a manner that's almost teasing. With one backwards shove, she pushes the door open, making room for Shawn to follow after her. He unbuttons his collar, then trudges through the uncomfortable air he’s made for himself. It amazes him how nothing else in the room changes after an encounter so awkward.

The outdoors presents a hot and dry midday heat. As nice as it would be to sit in the air conditioning and eat, Shawn would rather sweat than be stuck arguing about the ethics of this assigned case with Jared Fucking Price.

“Right over here,” Caroline says.

She’s pointing towards one of the few crepe myrtles on campus in the middle of a green lawn. The tree is still young, so it’s shade is small and requires them to sit close if they want to cool off. She’s already made herself at home on the petals scattered at its roots. In any other setting, this whole picture would seem staged, but Caroline looks like she belongs there more than anyone. Shawn takes this brief moment waiting for her to sit down to observe again. Another nuisance of a sensation settles in his gut. He dismisses it as a hunger pain.

He crouches down at her side stiffly. Even in such limited space, he maintains the usual respectful distance. The shaded parts of the grass are soft and cool beneath his palms. Shawn expected to just eat in silence since that’s usually what happens when he’s out with someone other than Harrison. Every time he’s met with Caroline in the past few days, she’s allowed the silence to happen. Now, she’s practically itching to talk.

“So,” she sighs, “are we gonna talk about what that was?”

“I already said I was sorry. Please drop it.”

“Not that,” she sighs. “You totally ghosted your friends the law majors’ table. Why?”

It almost slips out, how much he hates Jared and his elitist herd of followers. Caroline has this way of talking that makes you forget you have secrets. It’s for this reason that he bites his lower lip and chooses his next words carefully. The law department is already a tough enough crowd without them knowing he doesn’t enjoy their miserable company.

“I didn’t ghost anybody worth calling a friend.”

“Oh,” she says, light and flippant in her tone.

“Oh what?”

“It’s just a little cold,” her eyes skirt around his face. “Even for you.”

“You don’t know them, Caroline.”

She throws her hands up. “Hey, I get it. That law department is quite the dickhead factory.”

He shakes his head, well aware that she was throwing him into that lot. “Touchè,” he mutters.

“You always this distant with peers?”

“Do we have to talk about it?”

“No. We don’t have to talk about it,” she eventually says, and she almost sounds sad when she does. “But Shawn, we’ve had these meetings for a few days now. I get that you don’t talk much, but it’s kind of weird not knowing you at all by now.”

"Funny. I believe I've said more about myself in the last four hours than I've told anyone in the last year."

It’s one of those jokes that Shawn thinks is funny at first until no one laughs. It’s even worse in a conversation with only one other person.

“How generous of you,” she deadpans. For the first time since they’ve met, she sounds genuinely irritated with him.

He looks around the environment as if he’ll find something to talk about there. Nothing appears of course and Caroline is still quietly pulling weeds from the grass. Quiet was the intention, but not if it meant her shutting down. He leans back on his hands in the mulch and dirt to stretch his legs out into the sun.

“I wanted to be a musician, you know.”

Caroline’s ears perk up. “That’s...random.”

“Guitar and piano was as far as I got. Long time ago.”

“Were you any good?”

“I was told I was good. I always thought I could’ve been better.”

She snorts, “Yeah sounds about right.”

“Obviously, I changed my mind. Got into debate and ethics in high school.”

“Is that what changed?”

He nods. “So many times the system gets it wrong and sends innocent people to prison. It’s insane, I mean, the amount of laws we have overlapping and changing everyday would surprise you. No scenario is ever so thought out. Not to mention ethics aren’t always in black and white. I could talk for hours about the-”

Shawn grinds to a halt when he finally notices the smile slowly breaking his face. Caroline’s given him her full attention. Somehow, he’s leaned in closer to her, like he does every time he goes on a tangent.

I’m getting carried away,” he sighs.

“No, it’s wonderful,” Caroline cooed. “I’ve never seen you so happy.”

He cocks his head to one side. “Nobody likes a rambler.”

“Guess that makes me the biggest nobody of all.”

She shoulders his arm, rocking him slightly. Shawn’s ears start to burn. He looks down. Caroline’s sweater sleeve has ended up in the mulch somehow. He carefully picks it up, pulling the wood chips gently from the threads before setting neatly onto her thigh. She doesn’t say a word while this is all happening. In fact, she watches his movements intently. He’s going to ask and she wants to be ready.

“I have a question,” he says. “The other night, when you came back to my room for your sweater, why were you— well I thought you were, I don’t know. Maybe I was seeing things-”

“Bawling my eyes out?”

A faint grimace flashes across Shawn’s face.

“I’m not touchy about it,” she assures him. “Short answer is that it belonged to my mom. Then Dad gave it to me when I graduated high school.”

Shawn steals a look at her and she’s smiling softly. “Can I have the long answer?”

Caroline leans back. “It’s a real sob story,” she says loftily. “I’d hate for you start feeling sorry for me.”

“Please, ‘sorry’ is the last thing I’ll ever feel for you, Caroline,” Shawn quips

“Shawn,” says a familiar voice. “Shawn Mendes?”

Shawn looks up and to his disappointment finds Jared Price standing over them casting a condescending shadow at their feet. The other law majors aren’t far behind, coming closer to their spot under the tree. ...

taglist:

@tnhmblive @rulerofnocountry @matchamendes @damselindistressanu @gxccicoffee @yoelleex @5-seconds-of-mendes @darling-shawn @imaginesofdreams @nervousaroundmendes @hiyabich @sinplisticshawn @peterbrokenparker @sauveteen @allaboutthatdrummer @particularnarry @shawnwyr @1am9root

[jennifersylvesters]

how to trick someone into loving you ( part two - the beginning )

Synopsis: You would’ve been content with never interacting with Tom Holland. With his loud personality and questionable behavior, you planned on avoiding the dumb jock for all of your university days. But when he proposes a way for both of you to get what you want, how can you say no? Pairing: uni!Tom Holland x reader Word Count: 3.3k~ Warning: none?? A/N: time to dive into more dumb shenanigans. this picks off right where part one left off. still don’t have photoshop on this new laptop, so the header’s the same lmao. like y’all already know, feedback is always appreciated/welcome ~ 

“So you ready to start?”

There was an eagerness in Tom’s face as he expectantly grinned at you. As much as you appreciated the enthusiasm, you weren’t about to drop your plans to begin teaching him. You had other work that needed to get finished, and you couldn’t just focus on an acquaintance when you had other priorities. Or, well, in this case he was a new partner. Could you even call him that yet?

“Uh, no.” You told him that you still had to get coffee, trying to adjust to the day. After all, he caught you at the moment you were running errands.

He let out an “ah” before nodding his head understandingly. So when you began walking, you weren’t expecting him to follow. You definitely weren’t expecting him to talk to you about his future plans.

“You don’t have to follow me” you pointed out, hoping he would take the hint.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Apparently not.

So you were subjected to Tom’s ramblings, only half listening as he spoke about his grand schemes. He blathered incessantly, excited about potentially doing well in a course but more excited to help you.

Even though tuned him out as best as possible, you couldn’t ignore him pointing out your terrible flirting skills. It took all your restraint not to toss the coffee in his face and quit the agreement. You’d do fine without dating; Tom would not do alright with a failing grade.

But you didn’t want to back out on the potential hope just yet. After all, it hadn’t even been a full day; backing out so quickly would be quite sad. Things were bound to get better with him, right?

Still his ramblings drove you up the wall. In order to have him leave you alone, you suggested swapping numbers and discussing these schemes more in depth later. He agreed, calling your idea brilliant. Safe for now.

Or so you thought. It turned out that Tom loved texting and made it abundantly clear by messaging you constantly. You didn’t use your phone that often, so the bombardment of texts were overwhelming to say the least. He texted you about everything, even things that weren’t related to your plans.

tom: are you going to josh wagner’s party tonight? No. You weren’t friends with that jock.  tom: did you do the ethics homework? Obviously.  tom: if you did, will you let me copy your answer? Absolutely not. tom: do you think that fish in those restaurant tanks know they’re gonna be eaten? You had no idea. This wasn’t what kept you up at night. tom: have you done the bird box challenge? haz says only idiots do that but i think it’d be fun to do it. so if you’ve done it then i think it’s okay if i do it. That’s not how life works, Tom.

He exhausted you when he wasn’t even physically around that it almost made you block him. When you finalized plans about your study sessions happening the next week, Tom seemed to calm his excessive texting. He was now aware that the two of you needed to get down to business.

True to his word, he brought you an apple that Tuesday afternoon, boasting about how only the best students did such a feat. You tossed it in your backpack, more concerned about getting the study portion done.

The two of you met at the library on the third floor. It was the quietest place in the building, a perfect place for the two of you to study. Rarely did anyone frequent that section so you assumed there wouldn’t be any hindrances. Boy were you wrong.

Despite starting off with high energy, Tom got easily distracted. When you would explain a certain concept, his eyes would wander around to anywhere but the information on the page. He would glance out the window where students ambled about, visibly wishing to be in their shoes instead of stuck inside. Tom’s eyes would glaze out when you repeated yourself that you needed to snap for him to pay attention once more.

You reminded him to focus, tapping the page with your pen. You could only hold his concentration for so long before he would distract himself with something, anything else but learning.

At one point he began dozing off as you rattled through key points that would most likely be on the next quiz. When you looked up, it took you a second to realize what you were currently witnessing.

“A-Are you sleeping right now?” you questioned, confused if he really was sleeping or if that was his studying face.

“Ethics” he murmured out, obviously in a daze. He clearly hoped that if you asked anything, that would be the right answer.

“Oh. My. God” you gritted through your teeth. You slammed the book shut, causing him to jump.

You began packing your bags, over this whole thing. If he didn’t care, why should you?

“I’m sorry!” he apologized repeatedly, wanting to stop you from packing but knowing not to touch you in your heated mood.

“Look-” you huffed, stopping and turning towards him. “If this is gonna work, you have to care. It’s gotta be just as important as basketball.” He made a face clearly indicating that nothing could ever beat his favorite sport. You scowled as you tossed your book into your backpack.

“Stop! Wait!” he pleaded as he took hold of the last book you needed to pack. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just...It’s so boring!”

You eyed your book in his hand, wondering if he would let it go if you yanked it from him. It was a paperback, and you worried that he might hold onto it tightly. If that ripped, you were out fifty dollars. So you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Listen, this is gonna sound harsh. But just drop the class. Obviously you don’t care about it so it shouldn’t be a big deal.” you advised him.

“No, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.” His grip tightened on your book, refusing to look you in the eyes.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, okay?” He looked so frustrated, slumping in his chair. You could hear him muttering under his breath how you would never understand. Maybe you couldn’t. It always felt that with enough focus and determination you could accomplish anything. The same couldn’t be said for him.

Taking a seat back down, you watched him carefully. This wasn’t the normal overly confident Tom you were used to seeing. This wasn’t the carefree charmer that irked you constantly. It was an unsure boy who struggled to concentrate and understand difficult material.

“Look, you don’t waste any time on the floor during your games, right?” you asked him softly. He responded with a small nod. “Okay. Well then think about studying like that.” He didn’t look up, but you knew he was listening. “You have to give it your all when you’re here with me. You only have a certain amount of time to get everything done, and you can’t waste it spacing out. Every second counts, Tom. If you waste it, you don’t get that time back.” He nodded again, this time finally looking up at you.

“That was a cool reference.”

You shrugged, acting as if it wasn’t a big deal. But you wondered if that’s all you needed to do to get into this kid’s head.

Despite not knowing much about basketball, you attempted for the remaining time to break down theories and founders that he might understand.

“So Plato’s kinda like Kobe?” he suggested. You didn’t know, but he seemed excited about the possibility. So you shrugged your shoulders and said sure.

“Ko-be!” he hollered, cupping his mouth to project his call throughout the library. You slapped your hand over his mouth, hoping that no one would shush the two of you or kick you out.

“You can’t yell in a library” you hissed.

“Oh, right” he replied muffled through your hand.

It wasn’t a great session, but as you explained things to him he actually paid attention. You watched as he took notes, sometimes tapping his notebook indicating for him to highlight key points. It was interesting watching him concentrate, trying his best to understand the material.

By the time the two hours you set up were over, you were mildly impressed. You weren’t sure if he would retain the information, but at least he was trying.

Both of you packed up your bags and headed out of the library. As he pushed open the door -  letting you exit first before letting it close on its own - you stopped at the entrance. You told him how he was making good progress and he beamed.  

“Well, see you on Thursday then.” You fixed your backpack strap on your shoulder before shoving your hands into your pockets.

“See you tomorrow!” he called out, waving at you as he headed off. You stared at him curiously, unsure if he understood how time worked. There were only two scheduled study sessions: one on Tuesday and the other on Thursday. Did he forget that the next day would be Wednesday? You sighed, assuming his spaciness got the best of him.

Except when you returned to your dorm after classes the next day, Tom was leaning on your dorm room door. He texted as he hummed to himself, tapping his foot to a certain rhythm. Hearing your footsteps, his head popped up from his phone and he smiled wide.

“Oh, good! You’re here!” he chirped as he tucked his phone away. “You ready?”

“We-We’re not studying today?”

He chuckled, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “‘Course we are” he insisted. “We’re studying Luke.”

You didn’t like the way he phrased that, shrugging his arm off you. When you questioned what he meant, he just rolled his eyes and informed you to follow him.

The two of you headed to the quad, spotting Luke sitting at one of the tables by himself. Once Tom spotted him, he pulled you behind some bushes and peered over the hedges.

“This is sketchy” you pointed out. Rather than debate you on this, he just shushed you and waved you to do the same.

“Okay, what do you see?” Tom asked. You looked at him suspiciously, unsure of where he was going with this. “Don’t look at me. Look at him. Tell me what you see.” It was rare for Tom to be this serious, instructing you to focus. Turning back to Luke, you squinted looking for certain details.

“Well, he’s wearing that greyish blue shirt that really brings out his eyes” you commented, unaware that you were slipping into a dreamy daze. “He didn’t gel his hair today which is surprising because he almost always-”

Tom slapped his forehead listening to you ramble off superficial details about your crush.

“No, Supposedly Smarty-Pants” he shook his head. “I’m talking about what you actually see. What is Luke doing?”

“He’s drinking coffee?” you suggested. Was Tom seeing something you weren’t?

“Yes, but you’re not…” he paused to rub his temples, irritation building up in him. “Y/N, you’re not actually paying attention.”

“What am I supposed to be seeing then?” you snapped, hands resting on your waist.

“Can you tell me what brand of coffee he’s drinking?” You shrugged. “Can you tell me what he’s writing?” Another shrug. Tom shook his head once more, sighing exasperatedly. You weren’t sure where he got the nerve to act so high and mighty, and you were one step away from smacking the daylights out of him.  

“Y/N, you have to pay attention.” That was rich coming from him. “Luke isn’t drinking Starbucks” he stated as if this was a monumental game changer.

“So?”

“So that means that he’s not into the generical crap.” You chose not to correct him, letting him continue. “The Starbucks on our campus is literally down two dorm buildings from here, but Luke decided to go to The Java Lava. That means the dude decided he’d rather go to some local joint off campus with better tasting drip than the more convenient places.

“And he’s not just writing, Y/N. He’s like, focus writing.” You raised an eyebrow, confused by what he meant. Tom rolled his eyes, persisting in his spiel. “That means whatever he’s writing is probably something important.

“This could go one of two ways, Y/N. Either he’s just happening to work hard on something he really likes or he’s working hard on something that’s boring as hell and doesn’t wanna do.”

Tom turns back to the sandy blond, still scribbling in his notebook furiously. “From the looks of things, it’s choice number two” he surmised.

You couldn’t help but gaze in astonishment at Tom. For someone who had idiotic tendencies, he was a lot smarter than you gave him credit for. He pinpointed certain details about Luke you never would’ve noticed.

Maybe Tom didn’t realize it himself, but his observation skills were amazing. You assumed that’s how he got those girls into bed, picking out specific details to make them feel special and important. You wondered if there was a way to get him to apply it with studying.

“So now’s the perfect opportunity to strike. Let’s go say hi” he announced as he stood up, confident smile gleaming.

“Wait, what?”

There was no time to argue because the next thing you knew, Tom grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards your crush. You were freaking out, trying to figure out how to simultaneously murder Tom while also not doing it where Luke could see. Despite repeatedly sputtering “no”s and “bad idea”s, Tom was stronger and didn’t care about your terrified protests.

“You have to practice” he stressed, yanking your arm as your dug your heels into the ground.

“Oh, hey!” Tom called out casually as he paused in front of the blond. Luke looked up, hair messily covering his eyes. It was such a good look that you wished you could take a photo. “You’re uh-” he paused, snapping his fingers as if he was trying to remember.

“It’s Luke” the other boy replied, smiling politely.

“Right! God, I am so sorry about that. My bad, dude” Tom apologized, shaking his head. “We actually went to Kyle Donahue’s cabin winter break. I mean, there were a lot of people there but I’m pretty sure we met.”

“Did we?”

“Yeah, played beer pong against you and Mitchell Wissou. Crushed you guys” Tom laughed. Luke rolled his eyes playfully, clearly finding this all in good jest.

“So what’s up, man? Can’t be as bad as Lennon when he slipped and fell on the slope” Tom slid into one of the opening seats. Luke reminisced about that winter break, joking with Tom about someone getting slushied while you stood stiffly watching their conversation.

Tom was waiting for you to take a seat, but you were frozen in your spot. Even with mild irritation in his eyes, he forced a smile onto his face. “Hey, have you met Y/N?” He gestured with his head for you to take a seat.

You waved your hand, indicating you were fine to stand.

“Oh, yeah. I think I’ve seen you around” Luke recalled. Either he genuinely didn’t remember your fall, or he was being polite. It didn’t matter; you were just grateful he didn’t bring it up. “You can take a seat” he offered. So you pulled the chair out and sat down, legs pressed together tightly with your hands on your knees. Your tension was obvious, but Tom was determined to make you look good.

“Y’know, Y/N’s been helping me with our ethics course. Guess she’s been so busy studying that she sometimes forgets to go out” he joked.

“Well, you guys are welcome to come to Devin McNamara’s party on Friday if you want. The more, the merrier” Luke suggested.

“We might swing by” Tom shrugged, nudging you with his knee underneath the table so Luke couldn’t see. Definitely progress.

Tom began making small talk with Luke, asking about certain details that you didn’t even know. Apparently Luke was an amazing snowboarder who had two dogs which he loved dearly. When he spoke about them fondly, Tom encouraged Luke to show you photos of them. You couldn’t help but awe looking at the cute golden retrievers.

It wasn’t just that Tom helped you figure out new facts about Luke, but he was actually bringing you into the discussion. He would slip you into the conversation at certain points, all somehow making it seem natural and effortless.

Before you knew it, you were finally relaxing and joining in on the conversation; it was as if you all were good friends.

You were caught off guard when Tom checked his phone and gasped. “Ah, shoot! I forgot I have class right now.” You stared at him quizzically. Why did he try to wingman for you when he had class around the same time?

“I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?” He pushed out of his chair and waved, rushing off towards one of the lecture halls.

And then it was just you and Luke. The nerves were starting to come back again until you remembered what Tom went over with you earlier. You asked Luke what he was working on, both out of curiosity and to see if this would carry the conversation.

He sighed, telling you how he was taking a political science course which was absolutely killing him.

“Oh, I think I took that course last year” you noted, scooting over to look at his notes. Sure enough, you had taken that class and passed with flying colors. It had been difficult - not nearly as difficult as the ethics course - but you managed to figure it out. “I can help you if you want?” you nervously offered.

“Really? That’d be awesome of you!” he grinned. And for the first time, Luke was actually paying attention to you. The two of you spoke for a little longer just enjoying trivial discussions. He only stopped when his phone beeped.

Luke apologized, letting you know he needed to head off to class. Ripping out a piece of paper, he handed it to you along with a pen. “You mind giving me your number so I can text you about studying?” Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as you scribbled your name and phone number for him.

Throwing his backpack over his back, he gave you a final wave before heading off. Giddiness filled your body, excited by the possibility of him texting you soon.

“See, I told you it would work!”

You yelped, jumping slightly upon hearing Tom’s voice. He slid into an empty seat looking at you excitedly.

“I thought you had class, Tom!” He burst into laughter.

“Nah, man. I just said that to give you one on one time with him.” This news startled you a bit. It turned out that Tom was more strategic and a better wingman than you ever could’ve imagined.

“You did such a good job!” he praised you, slapping his hand on your shoulder and lightly squeezing it in support.

“Thanks.” You couldn’t help but give a small grin. After all, none of this would’ve been possible without his expertise.

“Your welcome. I mean, you gotta work on loosening up. Cause you are like, super uptight and terrified and stuff. But this is a really good start!” You blushed, somewhat proud of the work you accomplished. “Starting to trust me now, right?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Maybe a little bit, Holland.” You held up your fingers, showing how you only trusted him a smidge.

“I’ll take it. We gotta go back to your place to figure out what we’re gonna do for Devin’s party.”

So as Tom threw his arm over your shoulder, you let him as the two of you walked back to your dorm. Turns out Tom might be more useful than you originally presumed.

tags list: @sleepybesson, @tomhaz | @almostrosadiazz, @tomshufflepuff | @acceptance07, @blurryshit, @hollands99, @josierosie, @littlestyles, @lumineshawn, @mystxrieux, @nedthegay, @popculturetrash15, @redheadedicequeen

[hopeisour4letteredword]

Puppy Love Ch1

Summary: Yuri has somewhere between two and four children, depending on your definition of "child," a dog, two jobs, and a too-small apartment. Reconnecting with his estranged best friend wasn't supposed to be on this week's to-do list.

Link to AO3 in the notes.

It starts like any other trip to the vet. Repede whines pathetically as they pull into the parking lot, but obediently—if sulkily—trots along at Yuri’s heels. Yuri shepherds him into the lobby and checks them in at the desk, then slumps into a chair in an examination room to wait for a vet tech. Repede wedges himself under the chair between Yuri’s calves.

What a big baby.

Yuri has his phone out, absentmindedly tapping at a game. It’s mostly to keep his hands busy while he mentally outlines his week. He has to get groceries at some point, but fucked if he knows when he’ll have time for it. He’s pulling double shifts through Thursday. In between the café and bartending, he has to pick Karol up from lacrosse practice and make dinner. Friday he doesn’t have bartending, but Rita’s got her latest robotics tournament on Friday, so that’s no good. And anyway, they won’t make it to Friday with their current stocks. They’ve barely got the food to make it through Wednesday.

Maybe Judy—? No, Judy has her own bartending and waitressing jobs to worry about. There’s always Estelle, but frankly Estelle sucks at grocery shopping. They’ll end up with basic staples and nothing else. Rita and Karol are already threatening mutiny if Yuri packs them any more egg sandwiches in their lunches. He can’t trust Estelle to shop for real ingredients.

Shit. Maybe he’ll squeeze it in after Repede’s check-up. He was hoping to catch a nap before his bartending shift, but it looks like he’ll just have to suck it up.

“Hi, is this R—oh my God, Yuri?”

Yuri almost drops his fucking phone onto Repede, his head shooting up at the familiar voice. “Flynn?”

They stare at each other like deer in the headlights for a long, terrible moment, before Flynn coughs awkwardly and steps fully into the room. “Hi, so we’ve got Repede here for a check-up today, right?”

“Theoretically,” Yuri says. “If we can get him out from under the ch—“

Repede has fully emerged from under the chair and stands in the middle of the room, watching Flynn suspiciously.

“Aww, hey there,” Flynn says. His eyes crinkle up with an irrepressible smile as he crouches to offer Repede his hand. Yuri’s heart hiccups in his chest. He’s still stupidly beautiful when he makes that dumb face. “You know, I wondered when I saw the name ‘Repede’ on the schedule, but I convinced myself it wasn’t...”

“Well, surprise,” Yuri says, letting the words come out sharper than he means to. Flynn raises an eyebrow while Repede licks his knuckles warily. The little bastard usually hates the vet, what is he doing? Does he remember Flynn? It’s been like three years. He’s a dog. He’s not even supposed to be able to remember he chewed up Estelle’s shoes last night. Or is that just about associating actions with human displeasure? “It was us.”

“I can see that.” Flynn tickles Repede under the chin. “Alright, buddy, let’s get you on the scale, huh?”

Repede whuffles sadly but allows Flynn to weigh him. Afterwards, as Flynn does a respectable job of concealing the medical feel-up as affectionate patting, he cocks his head in Yuri’s direction.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Yuri shrugs, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Congrats on, you know. Vet school. Presumably.”

Flynn beams. “Thank you. It was incredibly generous of Dr. Oltorain to offer me a position here while I’m still pursuing my studies.”

“Something something valuable career experience.”

“You never change, do you?” Flynn snorts. He gives Repede’s ribs a final squeeze, then makes a few notes on a clipboard.

“Nope. Same old me.”

“What about you? What are you up to these days?”

“Eh, this and that. Helping out Hanks sometimes. Odd jobs. Accidentally acquiring roommates. The usual.”

“Accidentally—?” Flynn frowns at him, then sighs and shakes his head. “You’ve been picking up strays again, haven’t you?”

“Not the kind you’re thinking of,” Yuri says, wistfully imagining how much goddamn simpler his life would be if he had four mangy dogs or cats instead of four unruly teenagers in his house.

“Real roommates, then? Tell me they’re at least paying rent.”

“I got like a fifty-fifty success rate on that one.”

“Yuri!”

“What? Anything else would be child labor.”

“Child—“ Flynn pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Let’s keep going with the check-up. What are you feeding him? How often?”

They go through the rest of the checklist, Flynn scribbling away at his clipboard. Finally, he clicks the pen and tucks the clipboard under his arm.

“Okay, you two sit tight for a few minutes and Dr. Oltorain will be right with you.”

“Sure.”

Flynn leaves the room. Yuri waits thirty seconds to make sure Flynn isn’t going to duck back in because he’s forgotten something, then drops his head into his hands with a loud groan.

“What the fuck?”

Of course Flynn works at his vet now. Of fucking course. He was just starting to feel like his life might be on the right track. It was time for something to go wrong. Repede noses against his hands until he drops them, then hauls himself into Yuri’s lap.

“You’re way too big to be doing this in this tiny ass chair,” Yuri says, doing absolutely nothing to get him down. Repede licks his cheek, narrowly missing the corner of his mouth. “Augh, gross, I know where you put that tongue.”

Despite his bitching, having a lap full of dog is making him feel a little better. Repede’s fur is silky under his hands, and every bony joint jamming into tender parts of his body is something to worry about that isn’t Flynn.

After a few minutes of cuddling, Raven sticks his head into the room. “Heeey, who do we have here?”

Repede’s ears flatten against his skull. Yuri rolls his eyes. “Hello to you too, old man.”

“The disrespect,” Raven sighs, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him. “So, our buddy Flynn didn’t find any issues, so it looks like we just gotta do the quick run-down and get your boy here his shots. You know the drill.”

“Yeah.”

Yuri manhandles Repede back onto the floor and nudges him towards Raven. He growls. Raven barks out a laugh.

“Come on, pupper. Don’t be like that.”

“I hope you know that a little part of my soul dies every time you say that word,” Yuri says. Raven smirks at him.

“That’s why I keep using it.”

“Screw you.”

“Who, me? When you’ve got my perfectly good vet tech to ogle?”

Motherfucker, he knows. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” Raven says. He strides over to Repede while Yuri holds his dog in place. “Alright, doggo, it’s only gonna take a minute.”

The second he gets his hands on Repede, Repede gives them a full speech on how much he hates it. Yuri tries to shush him with gentle murmurs and stroking along his back, but the growling and whimpering don’t stop as Raven pats him down.

“Poor boy,” Raven says. “If I hadn’t been seein’ him since he was a pup, I’d think he had some kinda vet trauma.”

“He does, he has to see you every time,” Yuri snaps. “That’s enough to traumatize anyone.”

“God, you’re grouchy today,” Raven says. He croons softly as he tries to pry Repede’s jaws open to look at his teeth. Repede makes angry muffled sounds. “I thought maybe seeing our favorite golden boy would soften you up, but it did the opposite, didn’t it?”

“Who told you, anyway?”

“What, about you and Flynn?” Raven snorts. He still can’t get Repede’s mouth open. At least there’s no warning nips happening. Yuri almost had to go out and get a muzzle for Repede, solely for the vet, after their last visit. He wouldn’t really bite Raven, not on purpose, but it’s enough to make everyone involved nervous. “I knew Niren, kid. He used to talk you two up all the time.”

Yuri shifts uncomfortably.

“Anyway, so does Flynn, for that matter. Can’t get him to shut up about you.”

“Yeah right,” Yuri says, under his breath.

“If you start calling me a liar I’m gonna get Judy and Estelle involved in this conversation,” Raven says. He gives up on Repede’s jaws. “And then you’ll have to talk about your feelings.”

“Just fucking try me,” Yuri says. “I’ll tell Judy to talk to you about Alcoholics Anonymous again.”

“I’m glad we can have these objective, professional conversations during your check-ups,” Raven says, wincing as he rises from his crouch. “Ugh, my knees. Hold on, I’m gonna see if Flynn can get this guy to open up for us.”

“Try not to collapse on your way there, old timer.”

“Respect your elders, you brat.” Raven goes to the door and sticks his head into the back again. “Scifo! I could use a hand over here. And bring the vaccinations for Repede Lowell on your way, please.”

“I’ve never heard you use the word please before in my life,” Yuri says. Raven partially closes the door and mouths shut up at him. A moment later, he steps aside and lets Flynn into the room.

“I need your strong young hands,” Raven says. He plucks the vaccines from Flynn’s hands and jerks a thumb towards Repede. “Our friend here isn’t too fond of having his teeth checked.”

Repede whines and sticks his head between Yuri’s knees.

“Nobody’s doing anything to your mouth,” Yuri says, exasperatedly. He ruffles Repede’s ears. “You know nobody’s doing anything to your mouth. Just let them look and it’ll be over with.”

Repede whuffles sadly. Flynn comes over and crouches next to Yuri, scratching Repede’s back.

“Hi, buddy. You gonna let me see your handsome face?”

Repede lifts his head and rests it on Yuri’s thigh, giving Flynn a baleful look. Flynn reaches out to stroke his muzzle. Yuri tries very hard not to have a heart attack with Flynn’s hand so close to his groin.

“C’mon,” Flynn murmurs. “S’okay, bud. You’re okay. C’mere.”

Repede shoves his nose against Yuri’s abs, whimpering some more.

“No, you have to be a big boy,” Yuri says, pushing him back. Repede transfers the baleful look to him, then turns and tries to shove his nose into Flynn’s abs instead. Unfortunately for him, Flynn catches him by the face instead, holding him in place so Raven can come back across the room to join the party.

“Here we go,” Raven says. Flynn gently pries his mouth open. Repede—what the hell, Repede lets him. He growls again when Raven tries to reach for him, but only makes sad noises at Flynn. “Alright. It happens like this sometimes. I’m going to need you to expose his gums for me.”

“Okay, Dr. Oltorain.”

One side, then the other, then Raven waves a hand so Flynn releases Repede’s jaw. Repede immediately jerks away and hides against Yuri again.

“No problems lately, correct?” Raven asks Yuri. “No odd behavior, changes in eating habits?”

“Same as alw—“ Yuri pauses and actually thinks about it. “...The kids might have been sneaking him more people food.”

Flynn gives him a scandalized look. Raven just chuckles.

“Karol, huh?”

“Estelle keeps trying to buy his love,” Yuri says. To Flynn, defensively, he adds, “I’ve tried telling her not to.”

Flynn is busy mouthing Estelle at him questioningly.

“Well, his weight is steady, so I wouldn’t worry about it excessively if you haven’t noticed any behavioral or digestive issues,” Raven says. He makes a few notes on his clipboard. “Try to limit it, of course, but no cause for alarm. Make sure the kids know which foods are toxic to dogs. Teeth looked good, so I don’t think it’s time to start planning dental cleaning yet. We’ll get him his shots and you’ll be all set. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Raven says, and hands a syringe to Flynn, taking a large step back. Flynn startles comically.

“Dr. Oltorain—?”

“He’s more comfortable with you—it’s safer for everyone involved. As I said earlier, it happens this way sometimes. I’ll be right here on standby, but I don’t think you need coaching.”

Flynn dutifully preps the shots the same way Yuri’s been watching Raven do it for the last three years. Yuri knows the drill, too, and carefully gets Repede into the most comfortable headlock he can. Repede, desperately convincing himself it’s a regular hug, wags his tail nervously. He yelps when Flynn lays a hand on his hindquarters and presses the needle against his flank. He devolves into fretful whimpers against Yuri’s chest.

“I know, I know,” Yuri mumbles. “Hey, shh. Come on, you’re fine. Shh. This is better than getting rabies, huh? Shh. I know. It’s okay.”

“Fortuitous timing to have found a vet tech he’ll put up with,” Raven says, handing Flynn the next vaccine. “Since we’ve got all his core boosters this time.”

Repede licks frantically at Yuri’s neck. Yuri presses his forehead to Repede’s apologetically, petting his shoulder blades.

“This is karma for eating Estelle’s shoes,” Yuri tells him. Maybe if he makes jokes he’ll stop feeling so guilty. He doesn’t want Repede to get sick, dammit. He needs these shots. They’re good for him.

“Ah, yes, the terrible punishment of not getting parvo,” Raven says, wryly. Flynn shakes his head as he readies the next vaccine, circling around to Repede’s other flank.

“If he’s being destructive, he might need an energy outlet. Try to get him more exercise.”

Yuri physically bites back the urge to tell Flynn not to tell him what to do. Who’s he to show up back in Yuri’s life out of the blue and tell him he doesn’t know how to take care of his own damn dog? Raven frowns.

“Let’s avoid the accusatory advice, Flynn.”

“Sorry,” Flynn mutters, ducking his head. Three down, one to go.

“And speaking of Repede’s exercise, I’ve added a vaccine for Lyme disease to his annual set.”

Make that two to go. Yuri grimaces, mentally adding another $15 to the bill. “Okay.”

“You hike a lot?” Flynn asks.

“When we’ve got the time,” Yuri says. It isn’t as often as he’d like. Mostly they have to stick to jogs and on-leash community parks. They can get away with frisbee on the lawn by Karol’s school if nobody has sports practice, and Karol has started throwing balls around for Repede with his lacrosse stick every once in a while. Maybe Yuri will start detouring to local parks on the way home from Karol’s games and Rita’s tournaments.

Flynn gives Repede the last shot and pulls back with a sympathetic pat. Repede crawls forward, forcing his way into Yuri’s lap and tipping them both over so Yuri lands painfully on his ass on the hard tile floor. Yuri scoffs at him, but lets him curl up on top of his thighs.

“German shepherd mix who thinks he’s a lapdog,” Raven says, watching them with an expression that Yuri is going to pretend isn’t fond, thank you very much. They’ve both got reputations to uphold. “You spoil that mongrel.”

“If you think this is bad, wait until Judy figures out how to fit him into a bag so she can take him on train trips,” Yuri says. Repede huffs pitifully, dropping his muzzle onto Yuri’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me all about it. You suffer so much. Really awful of us to make sure you don’t die of preventable diseases.”

“Take your overgrown puppy and go get some rest, Lowell,” Raven says. He collects the empty syringes from Flynn and carefully disposes of them in the sharps bin. “You look like you’re running on fumes.”

“I gotta settle the bill first,” Yuri grumbles. He pushes Repede out of his lap and heaves himself to his feet. Maybe they’ll be waiting until Friday for groceries after all. He might need to wait for his next paycheck after this. He tries to do the math in his head, bank account minus vet bill versus typical grocery restock.

“No, you don’t. Don’t even think about it.”

Yuri narrows his eyes. “What’s that, old man?”

“Yuri!” Flynn hisses. “You can’t talk to Dr. Oltor—“

“There’s no bill,” Raven says. He makes a shoo motion with his hands. “Judy won’t let me tip her at the Myorzo anymore.”

“You tip her like 300 percent. It’s kind of creepy.”

“Well, she’s a good bartender. Anyway, I have to contribute to your rent somehow.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Yuri!”

“Kid,” Raven says, looking Yuri straight in the eyes. “You have five people and a dog in a two-room apartment, and you’re still bringing Repede to the vet. The least I can do is offer positive reinforcement. Besides, if I bill you for making sure one of Lambert’s pups doesn’t get rabies, Niren is going to—pardon my language, Flynn—he’ll fucking haunt me.”

“Dr. Oltorain!”

“I said pardon my language! Anyway, I don’t need those nightmares.” Raven waves a dismissive hand at Yuri again. Yuri grits his teeth. The old bastard really isn’t going to budge. “Get out of my clinic.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Yuri mutters, clipping Repede’s leash back on. “Once we stabilize.”

“Take your time,” Raven says, mildly. “Seriously, though, get out. I have other clients to deal with.”

He disappears through the back door. Yuri turns on his heel, not meeting Flynn’s eyes, and has a hand on the doorknob when the back door swings open again.

“And I better not hear from the receptionist that you tried to harass them into letting you pay!”

“For fuck’s sake—I wasn’t gonna! I won’t! Jesus Christ.”

The back door slams closed again. Flynn makes a breathy sound that might be laughter.

“I didn’t realize you and Dr. Oltorain were so... familiar.”

“He passes through the bars Judy and I work at a lot,” Yuri says, grudgingly. It’s not the whole story, but it’s what Flynn’s getting out of him. “And he’s been Repede’s vet since he was a puppy.”

“Judy’s your... girlfriend?”

“What? No. No.” Yuri drops his hand from the doorknob to run it through his hair, laughing a bit in disbelief. “Judy? No way. We’re roommates. Used to be coworkers.”

There’s a weird beat of silence. When he glances back, Flynn is chewing on his lip indecisively. “Can we... can I give you my new cell number? I’d like to catch up sometime. I missed you.”

Sounds fake, but okay. “Sure, I guess.”

“And I’d love to meet your roommates,” Flynn adds, terribly earnest.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Yuri says. He can already imagine Flynn and Rita’s tempers clashing. “But we can, I dunno, text or go out for drinks or something.”

“Coffee?” Flynn suggests. Yuri gives him a weird look. He hastily adds, “I just... don’t know if we should risk getting drunk together again quite yet.”

“Whatever,” Yuri says. If Flynn doesn’t even remember he’s an affectionate drunk, not an angry drunk, that’s... It hurts, a little. It hasn’t been that long since they were joined at the hip. Flynn is a little bit of an angry drunk, but as far as Yuri can remember, he’s never held up a temper too long when Yuri’s that friendly and relaxed. Yuri fishes his phone out of his pocket and tosses it to Flynn. “Put your number in, then.”

Flynn gives him a hopeful smile as he complies. When he hands Yuri’s phone back, he lingers with a feather-light touch to Yuri’s wrist. “I’ll talk to you soon, then?”

“Uh-huh.”

Yuri beats a hasty retreat to his car, where he immediately slumps into the driver’s seat to let out a loud, plaintive groan. Repede stretches forward from the back seat to lick at his shoulder reassuringly. Yuri gives himself another thirty seconds to wallow, immobile, in self-pity, before he snaps his seatbelt into place and turns the key in the ignition.

Life goes on, Flynn or no Flynn.

[writers-leir]

soulmate!joshua

i know i’ve been mia for like a while and i’m sooososo sorry i promised to update earlier since i came back from china but i got lazy and then suddenly i was moving into res and ;;;;im so sorry;;i hope this makes up for it

okoKokOKOK SO

soulmate!joshua!!!

cool cool so basically in this au world everyone receives a compass on their 13th birthday

and it’s supposed to point towards your soulmate no matter what

like if you pass them on the street it’ll go crazy for a bit but then point back and be like ‘hey bud you missed them’

and of course there are those stories you hear of how person A is on the plane going somewhere and suddenly their compass goes crazy cause person B was on a plane going in the opposite direction

or the ones about how someone’s compass starts going crazy,,,,,and just doesn’t stop cause their soulmate had passed or something

and absolutely no one knows where these compasses come from like people have stayed awake all night just to try and catch the person

but when they open their mailboxes the next day the compass is there,,,,,even if no one walked by

and oh god if that didn’t scare you half to death as a kid

it was basically the perfect scenario for a horror movie,,,,,,except for the fact that everyone got one, no matter what

when you get yours you instantly do what every other kid did when they got theirs,,,,,,,,you walked in the direction your compass pointed

and,,,as most other people who do that,,,you don’t find your soulmate (you later meet a friend who actually found their soulmate that way,,,,,but that was only cause her soulmate happened to be her neighbor’s middle son)

your parents helped you make the compass into a necklace

you wear it on you everywhere; to school, to outings with friends, even to dates

and you always wore it facing you, so that anyone who saw it would just believe that it was a simple necklace

the only people who actually know you wear it on you are close friends and family,,,,,,cause you just find it so tiring when people ask about it,,,,,which they always do once they see you wear it as a necklace

you’ve heard all the comments

“oh, you are so dedicated to your soulmate! that’s so sweet” or “i see you haven’t found your soulmate yet” or even “you’re never going to find a date if you keep parading around with it”

and you’ve become tired of explaining why your parents went through the trouble of making it a necklace,,,,,,,,it’s because your dad lost his and the only reason he found your mom was cause she asked him to not move,,,while she walked in a circle around him

and you,,,,definitely are not as brave and straightforward as your mom so you didn’t want to risk it

meanwhile,,,,joshua, as an idol, is not allowed to have his compass on him

after debuting, each of the members wrote their names onto the back of the compass in permanent marker,,,,,,and then handed it to their managers

while most idols aren’t allowed to take it out of their bags in public places,,,,there were some whose companies refused to let them even hold onto it

some are lucky enough to have met their soulmate before debuting (and joshua really doesn’t mean to feel jealous but wonwoo literally walked into a bookstore and came back with a soulmate three months before they debuted)

they were only allowed to have their compass when they returned to their dorms,,,,,which seungkwan and mingyu both took advantage of and regularly snuck out to get a drink and hopefully bump into their soulmate if they were lucky enough

none of the other members actually believe that they’ll bump into their soulmate,,,,,,until they come back one day and seungkwan has one extra phone number in his contacts

since seungkwan no longer has any reason to sneak out at night, mingyu starts asking the other guys if they wanted to go with him (even though seungkwan had felt really bad about it and said that he could still go out)

seungcheol rejects his offer, saying that he has to make sure the dorms don’t burn down when vernon decides that he’s hungry and wants to eat instant noodles

minghao says he would rather leave it up to fate,,,and says he hopes one day his soulmate will attend a fanmeet

when mingyu turns to joshua, the only other person in the room, he figured that joshua would also say no,,,,but it was worth a try right?

to everyone’s surprise,,,,,he says yes,,,,,,,,,

and at first he was a bit confused on what mingyu and seungkwan did during their adventures

but then he finds out that they just went to different cafes at different times of the night,,,,and they always got something to eat or drink (it was a good way to find the good cafes too)

it’s not like they weren’t trying to find their soulmates,,,,,,they just,,,,,kinda let fate run its course

and joshua can’t say that he’s at all disappointed because mingyu took him to the small cafe on the second floor on the corner,,,,,and he was extremely surprised with how nice it was

the cafe only opened at night, for the students who needed a place to study,,,because everyone knew that trying to study at your own place almost always ended up not working

the cafe was designed really nicely, with beige walls and hanging plants, and a bookshelf pushed to one side with beanbags and sofas for reading

and all the items on the menu were good too

the takeout cups were all different, made from recycled paper and cardboard

they were of different colors, and also had cute prints and drawings on them (the baristas had plenty time on their hands most of the time before exam season, so they liked to draw on the cups)

and even if you ordered to stay at the cafe, the foam art is always so cute and unique

joshua ends up really really liking the cafe so he decides to go back there every few nights when they’re not busy

and while he hasn't met his soulmate yet,,,,,he’s not that worried he’s just there to get a drink and snack and enjoy the quietness of the place

the baristas already knew mingyu from when he went with seungkwan so they’re kinda shocked that joshua went this time,,,,,and eventually they get used to it

so,,,,you’re a broke student,,,and uni isn't cheap so,,,,somehow you have to find a job, right?

and since your classes are always in the morning and afternoon, you have to find a night job

and!!!the cafe just so happens to be hiring

your shifts are fine, they’re nothing too extreme

you get to work at 8 and then leave at 2 tuesdays, thursdays and fridays and then wednesdays you have a 5-11 shift since your last class ends at 2 in the afternoon

the staff are all super nice, they’re always helping you out if you don’t know how to do something

and the manager also lets you have breaks if the cafe isn’t busy along with the breaks that you already have throughout the shift

you’ve noticed that the cafe attracts two general types of customers

the first ones are,,,,like you,,,,stressed students who need coffee to continue studying through the night

and the second ones are night owls who enjoy the peace and quiet the night offers compared to the bustling chatter of the day

unfortunately, you’re not allowed to wear your compass during the shift due to certain rules

one day when you’re doing an 8-2 shift you notice two people walking in wearing hats while the cafe is empty

you’re working the register so you take their order and their name and you,,,,,swear that you’ve heard the names joshua and mingyu somewhere but you just can’t put a finger on it

it’s only when your coworker tells you that they’ve been coming in less often, probably because they’re busy with recordings and practices, etc.. that it clicks,,,,where you’ve heard the name before

they were from the new group,,,,seventeen,,,,and you’re about to ask your coworker about it when she lifts a finger to her mouth, shushing you, and winks

you glance over every now and then because,,,,those are idols,,just sitting at the cafe you were working at

and you notice them whispering to each other, mingyu is gesturing with his hands while joshua shushes him every few seconds

you don’t have your compass on you so you don’t see it go crazy when joshua and mingyu walked in, before pointing directly at joshua

but,,,,they notice,,,,and mingyu’s trying to get joshua to go talk to you but he’s not having it because you have not had a reaction and that obviously means you aren’t his soulmate

this goes on for a few weeks, every time it quiets down in the cafe during your shift, joshua and mingyu walk in, order their drinks, sit down, and whisper to each other while gesturing

and every time before they leave joshua sends you a smile and a small wave and you,,,,,don’t understand the meaning of that but you smile and wave back because your parents raised you better

one day though, mingyu has enough, because he just can’t understand why joshua would not want to go talk to his soulmate when they’re right there

so he walks up to the counter and asks your coworker where you are

you’re actually on break, so you’re in the back checking your phone, messaging your roommate to ask her if she wanted anything from the cafe since she had an exam coming up

your coworker comes in and really excitedly pulls you by the arm and you’re like what,,,,do you want,,,,?

a minute later you’re standing in front of mingyu, with the counter separating you two and you only just realize how tall he is

mingyu’s grinning and bouncing like an overexcited puppy when you ask him what he needs, were the drinks not to their satisfaction? did you accidentally make the wrong thing?

he points to joshua and straight up says “he’s your soulmate”

and you’re kinda like hahhaha,,,,,funny joke,,,,,and mingyu frowns at this so he asks you where your compass is

you tell him the rules state no one is allowed to have their compass on their person while working, and you’d need permission from your manager

and,,,of course your manager says yes because this is joshua he’s the sweetest boy in the entire world no one can say no to him,,,,even if it’s indirectly

you grab your compass and as you’re walking out behind the counter you realize that you’re shaking because oh my god you were going to meet your soulmate and he’s joshua he’s an idol

joshua looks just as nervous if not even more and it makes you kinda laugh a little

and so the both of you put your compasses on the table face down, deciding to flip it over on a count of three

and you don’t think you’d ever be able to describe the feeling you got when you both turned your compasses over,,,,,and they were pointing to each other

of course mingyu makes joshua walk around you once, and then makes you walk around joshua once just to be 100% sure

and even before you’ve checked,,,,you and joshua already know that you’re soulmates

joshua asks you when your shift ends and you tell him that you have another hour before you can leave

but your manager (along with the rest of your coworkers who have been listening from behind the counter) tell you to go home already and get to know your soulmate a little bit

and joshua’s super sweet about it

he asks if you would be okay with him walking you home and of course you say yes!

you quickly grab a black coffee for your roommate (she was pulling an all-nighter) before grabbing your coat and leaving with joshua

mingyu’s already left for the dorms, and so you’re left walking with him alone

but it’s not awkward in any way

you both fall into conversation pretty easily, him asking you about your studies and you asking him about his work

when you arrive at your apartment you ask for his number,,,,and he sort of pouts because he wanted to ask you for your number first but )): it’ll do )):

you go into your apartment super excited and hand your roommate the coffee (she raises an eyebrow at how you’re so excited and why you’re home early but doesn’t question it) before jumping onto your bed and looking at the contact number that you had just saved

and joshua is doing the same as he enters the dorms, ignoring the knowing looks and winks that the rest of the members send him

the next day, as you’re leaving for a family lunch, you put your necklace back on, but this time you have it facing outwards

and when your aunt tells you (again) that you’ll never find a date if you do that, you tell her that you don’t need to anymore, and that you’re extremely happy with your soulmate

(you leave that lunch almost more satisfied about the shocked looks on your family’s faces than when you tell the story to joshua later that night)

[dreamhao17]

Black Coffee / Wonwoo x Reader AU

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2,186

Description: AU where Wonwoo is a quiet stranger that comes into (Y/N)’s cafe every morning and sits by the window, engulfed in his writing. (Y/N)’s curiosity brings them together in unexpected ways.

Monday, May 28th.

“One black coffee, please.”

You looked up at the customer quizzically. “Will that be all for you today, sir?”

He nodded curtly.

“That’ll be $2.85.” The man shuffled through his messenger bag for a few moments, returning his gaze to you with a five dollar bill in hand. “Keep the change,” he said blankly. His voice was deep and monotone, and for a moment you were at a loss for words as he gently placed the bill in your palm.

He was already turning away, reaching back into his bag, when your senses returned to you. “Uh, name for the order, sir?”

“Wonwoo,” he answered, barely making eye contact as he pushed up his round glasses and turned again.

You stared blankly at him as he weaved through the array of empty tables to a stool by the front window.

“I mean, easier for me,” your coworker Jeffrey commented, shrugging nonchalantly as he turned to prepare Wonwoo’s request.

You set the thought of the stranger aside as you yawned and checked the clock on the back wall for the time.

7:12.

You’d been there since 6:00 and were supposed to be there until noon. You sighed, stretching your arms towards the ceiling, scanning the room to see if there was anything to keep you entertained. Nothing too interesting. You turned your attention to the black coffee guy.

Your gaze easily rested on him, and you studied him with hazy 7 o’clock-in-the-morning type interest. His silky black hair covered his eyes from the angle you were looking at him, although you could tell they were deeply focused on the notebook in front of him. He was writing intently, his black sweater rolled up to the elbows, and he paused every once in a while to drum his pen against the table and gaze out the window at the light traffic passing by. He was rather handsome, you thought, albeit maybe a bit awkward. You wondered what was so interesting that he had to write so intently about it at 7:12 in the morning.

After about an hour, Wonwoo shuffled his papers back into his messenger back, pushed his chair in, and promptly left. You didn’t even notice him leave, but when you noticed his chair empty, you had a small tinge of regret you hadn’t asked what he was writing about.

Tuesday, May 29th.

“One black coffee, please.”

You glanced up. The same guy from yesterday.

“Will that be all for you today, sir?”

He nodded curtly.

“$2.85.”

He handed you a five dollar bill again and said nothing.

You watched him curiously as you put the bill in the register, and he stared back at you.

“Wonwoo?” you asked.

He nodded, and gave you a soft smile as you handed him his receipt.

You smiled back as he headed for the same spot that he had sat in yesterday.

Just like yesterday, you watched him write.

And just like yesterday, he left, and you didn’t ask what he was writing about.

Wonwoo showed up again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. The two of you got into such a rhythm that he didn’t even need to order anymore. He’d just hand you five dollars, you’d smile at each other, you’d make him his black coffee, and you’d stare at him and wonder what he was writing about.

Thursday, June 7th.

“Good morning.”

You jumped as you were awoken from the trance you had fallen into while scribbling stars on a stray napkin by the register.

“Oh, hello,” you said, smiling broadly when you noticed it was Wonwoo. “The usual, I presume?”

He hummed thoughtfully and scanned the menu above your head. “Actually… what do you recommend?” You were taken aback and feverishly racked your brain for something decent to spit out. “Well, my personal favorites are our masala chai and-”

“I’ll have that,” he interrupted.

You paused. “Uh, okay. That’ll be-”

He handed you a five dollar bill before you finished.

“You know you could get something else with that five dollars. Maybe a croissant or…”

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”

You shrugged, handing him his receipt. “I tried.” His naturally serious demeanor broke as he giggled, and your heart rate picked up at the sound. He lingered by the counter for a moment before heading to his usual spot, unloading some notebooks you hadn’t seen him with before and some post-it notes.

After he had settled and Jeffrey made a snarky comment, an idea came to you. Maybe if you took his order to him, you’d finally have an excuse to peek at whatever he’d been writing so diligently over the past week.

Jeffrey was about to yell out the order when you shushed him aggressively.

He furrowed his brows. “What? I was just-”

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna take his order to him.”

Jeffrey deadpanned, and you fumbled for an excuse. “I was just gonna bring him a muffin or something, since, you know, he always pays extra.”

Jeffrey laughed. “You have a crush on black coffee guy, don’t you? Oh my god.”

“SHUT- I mean, no, no, I do not have a crush on black coffee guy,” you argued, scowling disapprovingly at the kid.

He spared you an exasperated look and stepped out of the way. “Well, if you guys get married, I have licensed rights to say ‘I told you so’ for the rest of your miserable lives.” You ignored his comment as you carried Wonwoo’s masala chai and surprise blueberry muffin as gracefully as you could manage across the café.

“I hope he likes blueberry muffins… but who doesn’t like blueberry muffins?” you thought anxiously as you approached his table. “People with gluten allergies don’t like blueberry muffins…”

Your doubts were forced aside when Wonwoo finally looked up. “Oh!” he exclaimed.

“Hi, I, uh,” you cleared your throat and placed the cup and the muffin on the small bit of empty table space, “I just thought I’d bring you a muffin, since, you know, you always pay extra, I, uh, hope that’s okay.”

He grinned brightly, setting his pen down. “Of course that’s okay. Thank you so much… um,” he paused, glancing down at the name tag on your apron. “(Y/N).”

Relief rushed over you as you smiled back at him. “Ask him what he’s writing,” you told yourself. “Now’s the best time, just ask him.” You found yourself walking away before you got the chance.

But you snuck a glance over his shoulder… only to find whatever he was currently working on was written in Korean.

“Dammit,” you mumbled to yourself as you made your way back behind the register with Jeffrey.

He leaned over on the counter beside you. “Sooooo did you-”

“I will kick your ass.”

He didn’t ask any further questions.

Friday, June 8th.

Wonwoo ordered a masala chai again, and you didn’t ask what he was writing.

Saturday, June 9th.

Wonwoo ordered a masala chai and a blueberry muffin… and you still didn’t ask what he was writing.

Sunday, June 10th.

Wonwoo came in with a tall, handsome friend named Mingyu. Wonwoo ordered a black coffee to-go, and explained that they were surprising a friend for his birthday and had to make a fairly long drive and would be staying there overnight. You didn’t remember what Mingyu ordered.

Monday, June 11th.

No Wonwoo. You were very, very bored.

Tuesday, June 12th.

Wonwoo returned and told you he had a great time at his friend’s surprise party. You “jokingly” told him you missed him and he laughed. He ordered a black coffee. You didn’t ask what he was writing.

Wednesday, June 13th.

Wonwoo came at his usual time again and ordered a masala chai.

He stayed later than usual today.

You usually let Jeffrey take over the register a little after 8:00, and you’d clean up the early morning customers’ tables.

You were doing exactly that while Wonwoo was still writing away. You wiped down the table next to his and smiled. “Feeling inspired today?” you asked him.

He jumped and pulled his notebook closer to him. He glanced back at you. “Huh?”

“I just mean, you’ve been here for quite a while,” you told him, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

“Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said distantly, glancing out the window. He looked back at you nervously. “I should probably get going.”

You managed to get a glance at his notebooks before he shoved them all in his bag, and noticed one was labeled with something in Korean, while the other simply read Poetry.

You watched him hustle out the door with a curt nod in your direction.

You sighed, pushing his chair in and wiping down his table, just like you did with all the rest.

Thursday, June 14th.

Wonwoo was late. Really late.

You supposed he could just be busy. He could have a doctor’s appointment, or be seeing a friend, or maybe he just bought his own coffee machine and was writing at home instead. “Or maybe he’s tired of you and your masala chai and black coffee.”

Although there were a multitude of logical reasons for his absence, you couldn’t shake it.

“Maybe I should just ask him out and get it over with?” you thought, and you sighed. You knew you wouldn’t have the courage. You still hadn’t managed to ask what he was writing. A date seemed out of the question.

Poetry. Was he really writing poetry the whole time?

You scribbled stars on a stray napkin and hummed to yourself.

You didn’t know a whole lot about poetry, but you liked Sylvia Plath and Shel Silverstein alright and thought you might be decent at it.

Your hand drifted across the napkin.

Quiet stranger,

Why do your eyes watch the world through the window so carefully?

You paused, tapping your pen against the table just as Wonwoo did.

What do they see,

I wonder, and shall they ever share their secrets with me?

Not bad… but definitely not good either.

Does your heart sing,

As your feelings fill your pages with unrequited beauty?

Eh. You’d revisit that one. You thought deeply, fishing your brain for another line when a deep voice broke your concentration.

“One black coffee, to-go, please.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Wonwoo’s voice and violently brushed the napkin off to the side.

“Oh! Uh, yeah! One black coffee.” You grabbed the five dollar bill from him and avoided eye contact as much as possible.

“To-go,” he said.

“To-go,” you confirmed.

There was a silence as Wonwoo waited by the counter for his coffee. You continuously avoided his gaze, although you were acutely aware of its focus on you.

“I had a big project due today, my final paper,” Wonwoo explained. “Which is why I wasn’t here when I normally am.”

You looked up at him and attempted to calmly hold his gaze, but your heart rate still hadn’t steadied. “Cool,” was the only thing you managed.

He didn’t respond.

He took his to-go black coffee and grabbed a few napkins from the bin, nodding in your direction with a polite smile before heading out.

You sighed in relief as the door closed behind him, and looked down at the counter to return to your napkin. Except…

Shit. Wonwoo took the napkin.

Friday, June 15th.

You had considered calling in sick to work today. You had really considered it. However, you knew you’d worry about your damn poem napkin whether you were at work or not, and you figured you’d rather be paid through your worrying than not.

So there you were. 10:00. And still no sign of Wonwoo.

You scared him off.

You wish you could say you weren’t pouting all day, but you were definitely pouting.

11:00. No Wonwoo.

You returned to scribbling stars on a napkin when a voice interrupted you.

“One black coffee, please.”

It was Wonwoo.

He seemed happy, but completely unphased. Maybe, he hadn’t seen the napkin after all?

You went through the motions, and by noon, Wonwoo had finished his coffee and was getting up to leave.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Wonwoo called.

“Yes?” you answered nervously, your throat tightening.

“I think you left something on my table,” he said, and before you knew it, he was out the door.

With Jeffrey nowhere in sight, you were safe to desperately scramble to Wonwoo’s table.

Your mind panicked as you noticed your poem napkin and a piece of notebook paper. With shaky hands, you picked up the paper and read it through.

Constantly I find myself

Thinking of what I could say

If the time was right

But words, in great amounts

Become empty

So instead of spilling

Shells of my thoughts

I will simply look at you

And hope you know

Words were never my strong suit anyway.

You read the poem ten times over.

And then you read the phone number at the bottom ten times over, next to where he added:

I thought you’d never ask. :)

[schreibfeather]

Dreams Of Today - Chapter 5

Characters: Haley Potter (femHarry), Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Rating: T Genre: Friendship/Romance, Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn Chapter: 5 Summary: Number one: Malfoy was a git. Nothing new there. Number two: He was an arrogant, annoying, little ferret. Number three: He used every chance he got to humiliate her and – and… that wasn’t right. Last year… at the Yule Ball… he had been acting surprisingly nice toward her. To be fair, Malfoy had also spent a big part of that night annoying the hell out of her… but… he’d also been… really sweet.. … Sequel to Songs of Yesterday. Haley Potter still has nightmares about that night at the graveyard. But is the nightmare really over? Luckily she has her friends to keep her from worrying too much. Her friends and… a certain Slytherin that is really bad at pretending he hates her.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |  (link to masterlist)

5 – A Hopeless Case?

(3rd week of September - Wednesday)

DRACO

She was sitting at his table again. The nerve of that girl! Well, he wasn't going to let some little girl steal his table. Draco squared his shoulders and took a seat at his favourite table in the library, not bothering with greetings. He certainly wasn't going to make his presence known first. The girl could do that.

"Did you come to get lost in your thoughts again? Or are you actually going to work today?"

Draco crushed his teeth together angrily. Nobody was allowed to talk to him like that! He was going to ignore the girl. Right. That was the best idea. But would she actually leave him alone if he signaled that he didn't want to talk? He should have brought a book. He'd definitely bring a book next time. This was a library after all! Or sit somewhere else? But no, this was his table! She could go sit somewhere else!

"So, did you make up your mind?" Lovegood inquired.

"About what?" Draco asked, before mentally slapping himself. Damn it, he had acknowledged her. Now she probably thought he wanted to talk.

"Well," she mused, playing with her necklace – wait were those Butterbeer caps? "about your thing for Haley Potter."

Draco looked around in alarm. Had someone heard her? He felt the urge to shush the Ravenclaw but he was sure she would just ignore it. She tended to always say what she wanted to anyway.

He settled for glaring. "Could you try to keep your voice down? I'd rather not have people find out about this matter by accident."

"Sure thing," Lovegood said cheerfully, "so should we use a secret name or something?"

Draco didn't think he was expected to answer that.

"Don't worry," the girl said, "I'll come up with a good one!"

"I'm sure you will," Draco muttered darkly. Was it possible to get used to her antics? He really hoped he wouldn't have to find out. He also wished she wouldn't always stare at him with her big marble-like eyes. It was unnerving.

"If you ask me," – Who exactly asked you? – "there are really only two options. Well – three, if you consider melodramatic pining an option. But who would do that?"

Me, Draco, thought defiantly, and it's not melodramatic but – but – totally dignified and – and selfless.

"Oh. I know that look," Lovegood said with her head tilted to one side in a thoughtful manner, "You're considering your pining as honourable and selfless, aren't you?"

"Good point. I forgot about the honourable part," Draco agreed, before actually registering her words. "Wait – how did you know? Do you know Legilimency?" It was a truly horrifying thought. But she wouldn't, right? She was only a fourth year…

"Like the Wampus cats? I had a dream about a Wampus cat once. It told me to come and find it. But dad was against it because I was still so young. They live aaaaall the way in North America you know?" She informed him, drawing out the a.

"Right." It was best to leave it at that.

"Like I said, two options," the girl continued, as if she hadn't just completely went off-topic, "You can either forget about your lion, move on with your predetermined path and forever regret that you didn't even try; or you could," she made a dramatic pause there, like she was about to present him with the most clever solution in the world, "take a chance and then… who knows? It might work out, it might not. But at least you'll have one less regret."

She watched him expectantly. It seemed almost like she wanted to hear his decision right this moment! What even was he supposed to say? It wasn't like she had told him something new. He had come up with similar thoughts himself after all the time he'd been spending thinking about his situation. Wondering if it was even all worth it. Was his family worth making himself unhappy over? Was his infatuation with Potter important enough to risk ruining his relationship with his family?

And if he did take a chance, would it even matter? What if Potter didn't… if she didn't return his feelings? And what if she did? Draco buried his face in his hands in frustration.

He'd never find out if he gave up now.

"Oh, it's Haley! Should I wave her over?" Lovegood suggested.

"What? Where? No, stop it! Are you crazy?" Draco looked up in time to see the Ravenclaw's hand sink to the table. There was a slightly disappointed frown on her face.

"Fine, I won't," she conceded, "but don't call me crazy."

Draco felt bad. It looked like he had really hurt her feelings. So what?, a voice in his head said, It's not like this is the first time you hurt someone's feelings. It's fun, isn't it? But for some reason it didn't feel as satisfying as it used to. Being mean and all that.

What was wrong with him? Was he going soft? Did he actually care about the fourth year? Draco decided it didn't matter either way. He had heard people calling the girl Loony behind her back. And, well… she was kind of loony but she was also sort of his ally. She knew his biggest secret. So he'd make an exception. For now.

"I won't," he said simply. The girl nodded. Then she looked at something to her right.

Draco followed her gaze and well… he wouldn't say his heart stopped but… it kind of did exactly that. And something was definitely fluttering inside his stomach.

How was it possible to feel this much just because of a stupid Gryffindor? But it wasn't just any normal Gryffindor that was leaning against a shelf a few rows away from them. It was Haley Potter and she was leafing through a book absently. And her glasses were sitting low, almost on the tip of her nose. And she was wearing her hair in a ponytail, making her whole face visible. It was like a silent invitation for people to take a look at her. But what was that? A lock had gotten loose from her ponytail and now… now it was just hanging there, taunting him. Wasn't she going to tuck it back behind her ear?

"Where are you going?" Lovegood asked all of a sudden.

"Where am I go-?" Draco blinked. Why was he standing? He didn't remember getting up!

Lovegood was raising her eyebrows at him in amusement. This was so embarrassing!

"I was just – ah, that's the book I was looking for!" He exclaimed, reaching for a random book in front of him to cover up his state of… what was it? Delirium? Craziness? Temporary loss of sanity?

Without meeting the Ravenclaw's eyes he sat back down slowly. What was he supposed to do? Maybe it was too late to turn back… Maybe he was already too far gone… He didn't know. He simply didn't know what he was supposed to do.

"Do you," Draco whispered slowly, "do you think it's too late?"

Luna waited quietly, while he proceeded to sort out his thoughts. It had only been yesterday when he'd last talked to Potter. Inside that empty class room. He had wanted to stay away from her but wasn't this a sign, that he couldn't? Even if he tried not to get involved with her, he always found himself in front of the raven-haired girl again.

"I don't know… how much longer I can take this. Always watching and wondering from the distance," Draco admitted, "Do you think… is there a chance that it could actually end well?"

He heard the hopefulness in his own voice. Damn, now he had allowed himself to actually hope.

Luna frowned at him. "I can't actually see the future, you know? But maybe we could ask Professor Trelawney!"

With a thump, Draco's head fell onto the table. He groaned. What had he done to deserve such an unreliable ally?

…

HALEY

After Care of Magical Creatures on Thursday Haley had decided to stay behind and try to get some information about Hagrid's whereabouts from Professor Grubbly-Plank. But to her disappointment Grubbly-Plank had been of no help in that department. Instead she had instructed her to put away the tables they had needed for their Bowtruckle sketches.

She was standing in front of the tables, wondering which spell was the best to get the work done in the quickest way.

"Do you need help?" A voice asked from somewhere behind her. Haley turned just in time to see a tall figure emerge from behind a tree. This was unexpected. What was he doing here?

. . .

DRACO

Potter had stayed behind after Magical Creatures. Again. After everyone else had left, she had asked Grubbly-Plank when that oaf Hagrid would be back. Draco wondered what was so great about the guy. Well, aside from his size. Ha ha.

From his spot behind a tall tree it was hard to understand exactly what they were saying but from the looks of it Potter didn't find out anything new. Instead she was left to clean away the tables. Draco almost snickered. It was kind of amusing. You could almost see the wheels turning in her head, as she tried to figure out how to go about putting away the tables. Maybe he should go and help? Or was that a bad idea? She probably wouldn't let him help. And what would he say if she asked him why he was bothering in the first place?

"Do you need help?"

Draco froze. There was another person near them. Who was it? Somewhere to his left, Draco saw a boy approaching. Had he been hiding behind a tree as well? He was walking toward Potter now.

It was a Hufflepuff from their year. That muggleborn that had been petrified in their second year. They were talking but he couldn't hear the words clearly. Potter was laughing about something.

It was a lovely sight. But she wasn't supposed to laugh with that stupid Hufflepuff! She wasn't supposed to laugh in front of any guy that wasn't him!

It's not like she'd ever laughed like that around you in the first place, Draco thought.

He kicked the tree in front of him angrily. The pain made him hiss. This was stupid.

Potter looked in his direction for a second. He quickly hid his face behind the tree again. Had she heard him? Damn, if she came over now…

But the Hufflepuff was stopping her. And with a hand on her wrist at that!

Draco felt like kicking the tree again. Or punching it. Or burning the whole blasted forest down. But then he'd probably die. Together with Potter and the sodding Hufflepuff. Who wanted that? If he had to die together with Potter he didn't want any old muggleborn present as well. People didn't call him melodramatic for nothing. He wouldn't burn down the forest today. Instead he settled for closing his eyes and trying to calm down.

Huh? He had opened his eyes again and it seemed that had been enough time to make the tables disappear. Potter and the Hufflepuff were making their way back toward the castle it seemed.

It was easier to understand the words they were saying now.

"Thank you, Justin," Potter said, in a voice that was way too sweet for the occasion. Come on, Potter!, Draco thought furiously, That guy is a Hufflepuff! And his parents are muggles! There's no need to thank him for helping you get rid of a few tables!

"It was no problem," the Hufflepuff replied. Well, duh! She could have done that by herself, you idiot!

"Oh," the Hufflepuff had stopped walking all of a sudden. Potter had stopped as well.

The git was reaching for Potter's face. What was he doing? Draco was so afraid, he'd miss something, that he didn't bother properly hiding behind the tree anymore. If one of the two glanced in his direction, they would spot him at once. But he didn't care about that.

The Hufflepuff was pulling a leaf out of Potter's hair.

"Here, there was a leaf in your hair," he said, with a chuckle. Captain Obvious, are we?, Draco thought spitefully.

"Oh, um… thanks, I guess," Potter whispered. Don't thank him!, Draco wanted to yell.

"So… why did you help me in the first place?" She asked. That was something Draco wanted to know as well.

"I um… actually I…" stammered the idiot, "I… I really like you."

What. Was Draco going crazy? Was the Hufflepuff insane? Why did the world hate him so much?

The Hufflepuff put his hand on Potter's arm and looked right into her eyes, that were impossible green and impossibly wide.

"I've liked you since second year actually… You know, after I found out you weren't the Heir of Slytherin," the git chuckled, "I felt really bad about that for a long time… All the mean stuff I said behind your back… well…"

Potter finally showed a reaction at that. Her eyes weren't as wide anymore and she shook her head slowly. Was that a rejection?

"But you already apologised for that."

"I guess… Still... I wanted to make sure you knew that I'm really sorry about that."

"It's fine, Justin. Really," Potter reassured him. She even smiled at the stupid boy.

She had never smiled at Draco like that. They were looking at each other for a moment that felt like it lasted for hours.

"So…" The Hufflepuff said. Well, words weren't really his forte it seemed.

"So…" Potter echoed. Could this conversation get any more awkward?

The Hufflepuff cleared his throat. "Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"

Oh no, he did not just do that!

"I…" Potter started to answer but the stupid Hufflepuff interrupted her,

"Look, you don't have to answer now. Just… think about it, okay?"

Potter looked like she wanted to protest. It wasn't the first time that Draco wished he knew what the girl was thinking. Then again, perhaps it was better that he didn't know.

"Okay," Potter whispered and made Draco's heart sink like a stone that was trying to reach the bottom of the Great Lake. "I'll think about it," she added.

Wait… That meant, she hadn't said yes. Yet. But she hadn't said no either.

"That's enough for me," the boy answered. Helga Hufflepuff would be proud.

They had another moment where they both smiled at each other awkwardly. The moment was definitely awkward. Draco refused to believe anything else!

"Should we get back to the castle?" The Hufflepuff asked. Potter nodded and just like that they made their way back over the school grounds without a care for the boy that felt like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. There was nothing for Draco to do but watch Potter leave. Again. He was sick of always watching. How was this fair? How was he supposed to just stand there and watch as a mere Hufflepuff went and did the exact thing he had been wanting to do for a year? He had told her he liked her. Just like that. He had ask her on a date. Just like that. Just like… Damn it all!

He punched the tree angrily, not even registering the way his skin broke due to the impact.

Draco sunk against the tree in frustration. What would they be talking about now? Would Potter accept the Hufflepuff's invitation? He remembered something Lovegood had told him not too long ago.

"She won't be waiting for you to make up your mind forever."

"I remember how disappointed many guys were last year, when she accepted Michael Corners' invitation to the Yule Ball."

It almost looked like she had been right. It was too late…

But he is a Hufflepuff, he doesn't deserve her, Draco thought. Do you deserve her then?, a treacherous voice whispered in his head. Half a year ago Draco wouldn't have hesitated to answer that question with a haughty yes. Now, he wasn't so sure about that. And that scared him.

"I'm not going to lose against a Hufflepuff," he whispered defiantly.

Could he really be someone that deserved to be with the girl who lived?

I am a Malfoy, he thought, and Malfoy's never back down from a challenge. Draco made a decision and he didn't plan on giving up before he'd reached his goal.

HALEY

For a tiny moment she had thought it had been Malfoy who was offering to help her. But it hadn't been him. Of course not. It had been Justin Finch-Fletchley. A Hufflepuff in her year. And she really had no reason at all to be disappointed at the sight of him. He had helped her clear away the tables with a simple Bannishing charm. She had laughed then because it had been such an obvious charm but sometimes even the most talented magicians thought in a too complicated manner.

And then she had heard a noise. But Justin had reassured her that it had probably just been a Bowtruckle or a Kneazle or something equally harmless.

And then… he had confessed that he liked her out of the blue. Haley had been stunned into silence.

He had even asked her on a date! And what had she done? She had said she'd think about it!

Now the poor boy was left to hope for a thing that was probably never going to happen. Why are you so sure about that?, asked a voice in her head as she watched Justin's profile pensively.

They were on their way back to the castle. Justin was talking about something or another but Haley was too lost in her own thoughts to properly listen to him.

Well, for one she didn't like him that way. Not yet, the voice replied.

And aside from that… Haley didn't know why the thought of Malfoy crossed her mind just then.

He was nothing more to her than a nuisance. Why was she thinking of him in that moment? She couldn't possibly still be holding on to the memory of that night at the Yule Ball? It was time to close that chapter of her life once and for all. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to do just that. Justin was nice. He seemed to genuinely like her and he wasn't too bad on the eyes.

Wasn't that enough? As she looked at him once more, he caught her gaze and smiled gently.

It didn't make her heart pound faster or make her feel butterflies in her stomach.

But maybe it was okay that way. She certainly had enough drama in her life already.

When Haley returned the smile she tried to ignore the feeling of unease that was spreading all over her stomach.

…

[sending-the-message]

A Child's Intuition by amcma10

This story I'm about to tell is something I've been trying to shake for the better part of 15 years. All names changed for privacy reasons. Had it not occurred on that fateful day and been witnessed by my sister I would have thought it to be a horribly fashioned creepypasta. However, given the events that transpired I had no choice but to take the words from my sister Shelly's mouth as the God's honest truth.

It was late summer back in 2002 and my sister Shelly was down on her luck having just been fired from her bank job. It was a complete misunderstanding but never the less she was terminated after cashing a series of bad checks from a former acquaintance. At 22 and living on her own in an apartment complex in the shittier part of Monroe NC she had to come up with a quick solution for her financial dire straits.

By happenstance she was at a gas station when she noticed a flyer on a cork board near the front entrance. "Child Care Giver Needed ASAP with weekly pay. Call for details. Must pass background check." There were several small strips at the bottom of the flyer with a phone number attached and undoubtably the flyer must have just been placed because none of the strips had been torn off. Shelly loved kids and figured it would be an easy gig and even easier money. She tore off a strip and immediately called the number as soon as she got home.

Shelly phoned me later that afternoon bouncing with excitement. She told me all about the flyer, how she had called and spoke to a very sweet single young mother who desperately needed someone to watch her three year old son while she worked second shift as a nurse. I listened intently as she rolled off the basics, pay was 350/week, nice location as it was a newer subdivision about 15 minutes from where she lived. She could start the following Monday as it was Thursday and Cora the child's mother had already made plans with her Aunt to watch her son until then.

I'm not gonna say I wasn't a little skeptical. I mean, a young single mother who worked in healthcare was willing to let a virtual stranger watch her only child? I know people get desperate but even with a background check there are still way too many crazy folks out there who slip under the radar. At least with Shelly she would be getting a decent babysitter free of any violent criminal offenses. I congratulated my sister on finding employment so quickly though I wondered how long this gig would last and prayed the little boy wasn't a holy terror.

The following Tuesday Shelly called me around lunch time as I was a stay at home mom at the time and told me all about her first evening on the job. "The house is super cute and Brayden is an absolute sweetheart!" She rambled on a bit about how he only eats chicken nuggets and drinks more chocolate milk than is probably healthy and loves building block towers and watching Bob the Builder. Shelly said that his bedtime is 8 o'clock and after a bath and a few readings from the same book he drifted off and the rest of the evening was spent straightening up and watching tv. "Piece of cake" Shelly exclaimed.

I was relieved and ecstatic for my little sister and hoped this would be a long term opportunity even if it lacked any real benefits. All seemed well for about a month.

It was a Wednesday night in mid September when my phone rang about 9 pm. I ignored my husband's protests and shushed him when I pushed the talk button. "Mandy? Oh thank God you answered! I'm seriously freaking the fuck out." My husband stared at me while I wide eyed listened to what Shelly was frantically trying to relay.

Apparently the evening had been quiet and uneventful until a little after 8 that night. "I had just gotten Brayden to sleep when all of a sudden he starts screaming at the top of his lungs!" Shelly spoke, her voice quivering. "I thought he had fallen out of bed or had a nightmare but that wasn't it at all." Shelly said he was standing in the middle of his bedroom staring up at the ceiling screaming. When Shelly rushed to his side he pointed up with tears in his eyes and started repeating "mama" over and over. "Sweetie, mama's at work" Shelly told him trying to relieve his panic.

"Mandy he started shaking violently and his little eyes rolled back in his head, I mean, he looked like he was having a grand mal seizure." Shelly took a deep breath. "I went to call 911 and then it's like the kid just snapped out of it. His eyes were still teary but he smiled and asked if I could read him a story." I thought about it for a few seconds before asking if he had a medical history of seizure disorder. "Nope, the only thing Cora said was that he's prone to ear infections but hasn't had one in almost a year." I thought about my own daughter Bella and then asked if she had checked his temp. "98.5, perfectly normal."

I chewed on my inner cheek and asked if she called Cora at work. "That's the fucked up part. Her coworker stated she left work over an hour ago complaining of a headache!" I began to understand Shelly's predicament. The hospital that Cora worked at was less than half an hour's drive from the subdivision. Maybe she stopped by the drug store to pick up some things I wondered aloud. "Possibly, but I'm getting a weird vibe here."

I told Shelly to calm her nerves and to keep me updated. Shelly reluctantly agreed she was probably overreacting but that she would call me in the morning.

The shrill ring of the phone awoke me a little after midnight. The voice on the other end of the line was unintelligible. Between snorts and sniffs and gasps I finally understood "she's dead". My mind raced as I sat up in bed, my husband rustling around before sitting up himself. He cursed about my dumb ass sister calling at all hours but I held my hand up.

"Slow down Shelly, take a deep breath." At that Shelly did seem to slow her breathing and told me what happened.

"I waited until a little after 10 and then I started to worry. Brayden was still asleep but I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Even if Cora stopped at the store or rode by a friends home she would have at least called to say she had gotten off early and to let me know when to expect her. I turned on the news and saw a breaking news story about a single car accident with a female occupant that had been thrown from the car and died at the scene."

I sucked in my breath knowing what was coming next. "The officer on scene said they were trying to piece together what happened and that it looked like the car had swerved to avoid something in the road and ended up hitting a utility pole. Alcohol did not appear to be involved but the investigation was still ongoing. "It was her car Mandy, I recognized the sticker in the back glass. What am I going to do? Brayden is still sleeping and I don't know anyone to contact besides the neighbors.

"I'll be right over" I told her. After explaining the situation to my husband and chastising him for being a jerk I made the 45 minute drive over to Cora's. An officer had just arrived at the home as well. From what we gathered the accident occurred shortly after 8pm around the same time Brayden started screaming and pointing at the ceiling calling "mama." Luckily Cora's aunt's number was located and she came to get the young boy, I can only imagine how heartbreaking that must have been. I swear though, that child knew the moment his mother's soul left this earth. It still gives me the heebie jeebies..