#so! the plan is to set the alarm fifteen minutes early so i still have phone time AND

[elibeeline]

In an attempt to crawl out of this depressive pit, im gonna wake up even earlier than i already do so i can actually do the things i need to do before i go to work

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ wrapped in red ] j. drysdale

day five of malia’s christmas fic marathon

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) surprises Jamie with his Christmas gift early when he gets back from a rough east coast roadie at four in the morning

warning(s) : smut ! oral (m receiving), p in v penetration, unprotected sex (pls be careful), whining, light hair pulling, use of pet names during sex

author’s note : this is me trying to catch up w the schedule lmaoo anyway … enjoy (even tho i definitely got a little carried away with it. i was having a moment and let the moment take over)

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The horn sounds through the TV, signaling the end of the game. The Ducks lost to the Devils at the Prudential Center 4-2, and it was Jamie’s first goal back after missing nearly 30 games. He probably isn’t feeling the best right now.

Yet she knows exactly what would make him feel better. She's sure he will appreciate his Christmas gift a little bit early. She's been excited to give it to him since she got it right after he left for the road trip that has kept him away for a week.

Now might be the perfect time since he might need to relax a little bit. She knows her boyfriend so she knows exactly how to help him relax after a rough roadie. She even tells him that she'll wait up for him to get home so she can surprise him.

ʚ jamie baby ɞ - 10:29 pm flight doesn't leave until midnight so you don't have to stay up for me. i won't home until 4. pls don't be up until 4 in the morning, baby. i'd feel so bad

i love you and i'll see you when you get up in the morning, okay ? i won't be good company when i get home and i don't want to ruin your mood

Her plan doesn't change from Jamie's texts. All it does is tell her that he really isn't in a good mood after the road trip. She can take a four hour nap and be fine by the time he gets home. She needs to be wide awake for when she gives him his gift.

The gift also needs a little prep so she'll sleep until three, drink a cup of coffee to wake her up, then get ready to give Jamie his gift.

She's pretty sure his mood will change real quick, especially since he's been gone for a week. They both are a little desperate at this point.

An alarm is set for three in the morning to give her an hour to do what she needs to do. She only needs an hour to prepare the gift. A cup of coffee, a shower, a shave, hair, makeup, and a small snack isn't going to take more than an hour.

For her nap, she wears one of Jamie's Ducks hoodies because they're insanely comfortable. She sends Jamie a text that says goodnight and for him to have a safe flight.

(Y/N) is shaking with excitement as she lies down in their shared bed for her four hour nap. The look on Jamie's face when he sees what he's getting for Christmas is the only thing that causes her to fall asleep.

The sooner she falls asleep, the sooner the alarm will go off and the sooner Jamie will be home.

She dreams of his reaction.

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A screaming alarm wakes her from her light sleep. It's still completely dark outside and there's a dim light coming from her phone while the alarm goes off. She turns it off and sits up with a stretch.

(Y/N) feels very refreshed though, and she definitely needed the little nap if she is to make it through the night. She allows herself a few more minutes before she goes and makes a cup of coffee.

While the coffee brews, she tracks Jamie's flight. They haven't landed early so she can still definitely pull off the surprise. The team plane is scheduled to land in a half hour. Then it's baggage claim and a fifteen to twenty minute drive to their apartment in Anaheim.

After coffee and a few pieces of toast with strawberries and Nutella, (Y/N) takes a shower. It's a full shower. She shampoos, conditions, shaves all necessary areas, washes her body, and exfoliates her face.

All while Taylor Swift is playing from the Bluetooth speaker on the sink counter.

(Y/N) loves listening to Miss Swift while she showers. Sometimes she listens to it while showering with Jamie, and he gets very into it. That's Trevor's doing though. Trevor is a bigger Swiftie than she is. Sometimes.

It's quarter to four when (Y/N) gets out of the shower. She checks to see where Jamie is and finds he's still at the airport. His location says he's outside though so he's probably headed to his car. She needs to hurry up if she's going to pull this surprise off.

She wraps herself in a towel and secures it under her arms so she can do her hair and light makeup. She blow dries it until it's pretty much straight then runs the straightener through it a couple of times to make sure there is no wave or curl to her hair.

She puts foundation under her eyes to hide the circles that have formed and all over her face to hide any blemishes. She puts on red lipstick and does a natural smokey eye look.

When she looks at Jamie's location, he's on his way home. There are about ten minutes until he's going to be walking through the door and she still has to go get the actual gift out of the closet. She curses to herself and makes her way back into their bedroom after disconnecting her phone from the speaker and turning off the light.

Inside a box in a closet is the gift. It's a red lingerie set that she tried on once when she was with Jamie. He said he really liked it so when he left for the trip, she went back to the store and bought it.

The sleepwear lingerie is made of lace and mesh. The cups of the nightgown part of the set is made of lace and is practically see through. Below the cups is completely see through. A matching mesh G-string will be worn underneath the sleepwear.

(Y/N) looks in the full length mirror against the wall and finds a hot, confident version of herself. Usually she doesn't dress like this, but it's Christmas so she figured it could be Jamie's gift since he liked seeing this set on her.

Somewhere in the apartment, a door softly opens and shuts with a nearly silent click. She makes a beeline for the bed and turns on the lamp beside the bed so Jamie gets a very good look at her when he opens the bedroom door.

There is a sigh and footsteps that are getting closer and louder. She tries to lay on the bed in a way that Jamie will get a good view of her as soon as the door opens. She has just decided on a position when the door slowly begins to open.

Jamie sticks his head into the room and looks right at the bed. His eyes immediately widen and the door swings completely open. His jaw has dropped to the floor and he nearly drops his bags on the ground.

"I- what-," he stammers. She smiles as he tries to find the words. "I don't understand what's going on here. (Y/N), I thought I said not to-"

"Wait up for you?" she finishes. "I didn't. I woke up at three so I could get ready to surprise my boyfriend since he hasn't been home in a week." She allows her eyes to travel up and down Jamie's body. He's tense but it's hard to miss how tight his pants have gotten at his crotch area. "Maybe put him in a better mood because he seemed very cranky after the game."

He shifts his weight between his legs before he drops his luggage by the door. "I am," he tells her. "I mean, I was. I don't think I am now." His eyes travel over her body. "Holy shit, baby."

She slowly gets up off the bed, making sure to show off every part of the set. Jamie's cheeks get red as he watches her walk up to him. She smiles when she is standing in front of him. "Merry Christmas," she says to him. "Decided to give you your present a little early. You said you liked this on me so I went and got it to wear for you on Christmas but then you had a rough road trip. Surprise."

Jamie's quiet, but she can see that he's trying to hold back. His hands are shaking, itching to touch her. "I don't know what to say," he tells her. "Fuck, (Y/N)."

"How about you don't say anything?" she suggests. Her fingers grasp at the collar of Jamie's game day suit jacket. Slowly, she pushes it off of him and he shivers despite wearing long sleeves under the jacket. "How about I help you relax? Let you enjoy seeing me in this while I suck you off. Promise you won't rip it?" He immediately begins to nod.

His eyes are on her fingers as she works on unbuttoning his shirt. She untucks it from his pants to finish unbuttoning it and her eyes meet his. "I wish I could come home to this after every roadie," Jamie softly admits. "I think I'd score a hat trick if I knew this was waiting for me at home."

(Y/N) undoes his belt without looking at what she's doing. It hits the ground with a soft thud. "I'll see what I can do," she replies. "Maybe if you get a hat trick then I'll be waiting for you like this when you get back." Slowly, she sinks to her knees. She is so thankful that the room has carpet. Her knees are definitely grateful. "I'll be waiting on my knees like this for you."

A soft whine passes Jamie's lips when she pulls his cock out of the confines of his suit pants. "Fuck," he groans as she takes him in one of her hands. She presses soft kisses to his hipbone, trailing closer to his dick.

She licks the bright red tip and swirls her tongue around it, collecting the drop of precome that has already formed. She looks up at him as she takes him in her mouth. Jamie sighs and puts his fingers in her hair to probably keep himself upright. She takes as much of him in her mouth as she can then begins to move her head.

Giving blowjobs has never been something she's been particularly good at, but Jamie has helped her improve her skills since they've gotten together. His reactions and the sounds that come from his mouth let her know if she's doing a good or bad job.

Even if she were to give the worst blowjob in the world right now, she is pretty sure that Jamie wouldn't care.

He's already barely here.

One thing she knows drives Jamie crazy is when she hollows out her cheeks and lightly sucks. She tries it once and Jamie's hips buck forward. (Y/N) knew that was going to happen so she relaxed her throat so he wouldn't choke her with his dick. Jamie lets out a soft groan that's mixed with a whine. Her hands fly to his thighs to let him know to relax.

"Keep doing that and I will come a lot sooner than we would both like, (Y/N)," he warns her. She looks up at him through her eyelashes and sees how flustered he is. His cheeks are bright red and his bottom lip looks like it's been gnawed on. "Fucking eyelashes. Fuck."

She smiles as best as she can around him.

Despite the carpet, her knees do begin to hurt. She glances up at him before pulling off his dick. There is a little bit of lipstick on his hipbone where she kissed him. She smiles and looks up at him.

Jamie slides one of his hands around to the back of her neck and puts his fingers in her hair. She stands up and Jamie drags her in for a filthy kiss. She hums against his lips and pushes the unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. He lets the fabric fall to the floor around his feet.

"Love being on my knees for you," she mumbles between kisses. "I wanna ride you though."

A whine comes from Jamie's throat after her comment. She smiles and turns them so she can push Jamie onto the mattress.

The kiss breaks and he falls onto his back with a grunt when she pushes him in the direction of the mattress. She pulls off his shoes and socks before pulling his dress pants off. Jamie scoots backward further onto the bed as she pulls off his pants and boxers together.

Jamie's eyes are wide when she crawls on top of him. She straddles his waist and cock. Jamie's hands run up and down her thighs for a second as she leans down and kisses him. This kiss is hungry since she has gone a week without kissing him. She's missed the feeling of his lips against her. It drives her nuts every time he goes away for more than a few days.

There's a light pressure over the G-string that she's wearing under the sleepwear. A soft moan comes from her throat as Jamie's thumb circles her clit over the mesh.

He breaks the hot kiss and she rests her forehead against his. "As hot as this is," Jamie begins to say. "I need to be inside you so either take these off or move them to the side because I'm minutes away from coming and I don't want to make a mess of your new outfit."

(Y/N) quickly sheds the lingerie set until she's completely naked. A smile forms on Jamie's lips before he sits up and attaches his lips to her jaw. Her fingers are in his hair. When he hits the sensitive spot right under her ear, she lightly pulls. His thumb is back on her clit and she whines.

Needing relief, she grabs his dick and lines herself up with him. He looks up at her and she kisses him. It's a softer kiss than the kisses they've already shared tonight, but he licks into her mouth and it intensifies.

Slowly, she sinks down onto him. There's a familiar pressure as he fills her up. "Fuck, Jamie," she mumbles against his lips.

"Feels so good around me, baby," Jamie tells her. "Fuck."

It's only seconds later when he's completely inside of her. Jamie's hands find her waist and she bites at his bottom lip before pulling away.

Their eyes meet and Jamie begins to roll her hips against his. Her lips part and soft pants pass them. Her hands fly to his jaw and she holds on like it's life or death.

It feels so good to be like this. It's rare that Jamie lets her take control in bed but she loves it. Even now, he still has some control while she's riding him. His hands are on her waist and helping her move.

She puts her hands on his chest and pushes him back onto the bed. His head hits the pillows and she speeds up her movements. Rolling turns into bouncing on Jamie's dick.

The room is filled with the sounds of the bed squeaking beneath them and skin on skin. She's letting out quiet moans as she throws her head back and enjoys the feeling of Jamie moving in and out of her at her own pace. Jamie even lets out a soft noise or two.

"Riding me so good," Jamie tells her. "Riding me like the good girl you are. Fuck, baby."

His words alone are enough to make her come, but she holds back until he comes first. He's the one that needs to relax so she's focused on his pleasure first. She'll come when he comes.

Then his thumb is back on her clit and she isn't sure how much longer she can go.

"Want you to come first," she pants. "Jamie."

Jamie pulls her down into a kiss full of tongue and teeth.

She's so close. Her legs are shaking and sore from doing all the work. Her clit is so sensitive and she's worried she'll come.

"Fill me up," (Y/N) says against Jamie's lips. Even her voice is shaky. "Wanna feel you come inside me. Please."

A groan and a whine pass Jamie's lips as he finally lets go. He comes inside of her as soon as she comes back down on his cock. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to play with her clit and it's not long after that when she comes.

White paints her vision and she comes with Jamie's name on her lips. She throws her head back for a second before she collapses onto his chest.

She isn't sure that she's ever came that hard in her life. Her body is spent and her breathing is labored.

When she comes to, she's laying on the bed and the bathroom light is on. Jamie appears from the bathroom with a cloth and he begins to clean her up. She can feel his come running down her legs and it's a little uncomfortable until he wipes it away.

"That was the hottest thing I think I have ever experienced," Jamie admits to her. "I'm so fucking lucky."

"Now I have to get you a new Christmas present," she mumbles. Her voice is already slurred with sleep.

Jamie throws the cloth towards the laundry basket and climbs back into bed. He covers them both with the blanket that will need to be changed in the morning.

"I think that was the best Christmas present ever," he softly tells her. "You can worry your pretty little head about it in the morning. Right now, we're going to go to sleep and sleep in then I'm going to return what you did tonight by fucking you when you wake up."

Oh, she should be wrapped in red more often if this is how Jamie is going to react. Maybe next she can wear one of his Canada jerseys with nothing on underneath and see how he reacts to that.

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[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 1

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family's restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn't see coming--one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn't sure they'll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Author's Note: I forgot how much I absolutely loathe writing summaries LOL but anyways! First chapter is here, let me know if y'all vibe with it. I had fun writing it and if you wanna see more, let me know! (And now I have to figure out if I remember linking everything on my blog since I haven't posted my writing on Tumblr in forever. . .)

Chapter 1

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Isla Carrera’s pleading is in vain as the engine of her car sputters out of life, and there’s just enough juice left for her to pull over onto the side of the dirt road so she’s not stranded in the middle. Her grip on the steering wheel remains tight as she sits in silence, staring out onto the dark road only lit up by the two beams of her headlights. The small silver lining, if there is one, is that she knows exactly where she is, just a little ways away from a row of houses on Figure Eight. But right now, she’s surrounded by trees on a road that has no street lamps, the sky a blanket of black above her. 

Her groan cuts through the silence, eyes squeezing shut as she rests her forehead against the steering wheel. She should have just slept over at John B’s house like her sister, Kie, decided to. But Isla’s covering another waitress at the restaurant early tomorrow, and she didn’t want to run late again or else her parents would rip her a new one. Kie’s shift wasn’t until later in the afternoon, so her sister was in no rush to get home. Now here Isla is, with a car that won’t turn over, still a fifteen minute drive away from her house.

“Fucking great,” she mutters, making sure her hazards are on and her phone is in her pocket before getting out of the car. 

Though she knows nothing about cars, Isla pops open the hood and uses the flashlight on her phone. If she’s being honest, it all looks like a bunch of mechanical junk she has no idea how to work her way around. She’s not sure why she even bothers, so instead of wasting time, she unlocks her phone to find the number for a towing service.

A rumble of a car engine catches her attention, the kind that makes an annoying popping sound, and by the time she looks up and around the open top of her hood, she sees two guys hopping out of an old Ford truck. She vaguely recognizes them. Just by the look of them, they seem to be a couple of years older than her—and clearly from The Cut. Not that it matters, since her best friends are from the other side of the island, but not all of the people from The Cut are fond of those from Figure Eight, and vice versa. Isla and her sister, though they belong on the more privileged side of the island, prefer the freedom of The Cut. 

None of that exactly matters right now, though.

Music cranks out of the car, but Isla can’t pay it any mind as unease creeps into her stomach when both sets of eyes land on her. 

She’s a girl alone in the middle of a road at night, so Isla is immediately on high alert as the guys make their way towards her, slow but confident in a way that makes her feel like a prey. I don’t like this. 

Alarm bells are ringing in her head as one of the guys in cargo shorts and a tank top shoots her a slimy grin. “Car trouble, sweetheart?”

Isla’s muscles tense. Yeah, nope. Not good. “Uh, no, all good,” she says, forcing some of that confidence into her voice that Kie is an expert at wielding. 

The other one with darker hair hidden under a baseball cap asks, “You sure we can’t help?” His grin is anything but charming. “We’d be more than happy to help.”

They don’t stop their approach, and Isla’s mind begins running through different scenarios, her pulse beginning to quicken in panic she’s trying to keep at bay. There’s no one around to help, and she can’t depend on another car passing by and stopping to help—if they even would. She doesn’t want to lock herself in her car while she calls her dad or friends for help; the idea of sitting trapped makes her heart squeeze with dread.

“You can stop right there.” She doesn’t want to give into the fear that’s slithering through her veins, but she can’t stop the words from escaping her mouth, the crunch of the dirt beneath their shoes too daunting to ignore. 

Her hand inches towards her back pocket where she had stashed her keys, fingers closing around the small can of pepper spray she’s got hooked in there. Isla has never had the unfortunate opportunity to use it before, but the vibes she’s getting right now—first time for everything. 

“What’s the matter?” the first guy asks with a taunting tilt of his head, neither of them stopping their pace. “We’re only here to help.”

Yeah, fucking right. “Stop.” Her heart is pounding in her ears, taking a few steps back.

Creepy guy number two exchanges a look with number one. “See that, Dyl? Little Miss Kook looks a little scared.”

Oh, screw this. Isla refuses to stick around and find out what’s going to happen, and she doesn’t at all feel guilty when she juts her hand forward and presses down on the top of the small can. Her aim is a little off, so she only manages to spray the first guy—Dyl. The sound of his shriek of pain cuts through the air, and he stumbles back and spits out curses as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The second guy freezes in surprise, looking between Isla and his friend, but she doesn’t stick around to see what he’s going to do next. Instead, Isla turns and makes a run for it, making sure to press the button on her FOB to lock her car as she bolts down the dirt road. She can hear the guys yelling over the sound of the breeze rushing past her ears, fear fueling more power to her legs as she nears a neighborhood street at the end of the dirt road. Isla isn’t sure if they’re following her, or if they’re even going to, but she doesn’t pause to find out. 

She runs and runs, her lungs beginning to burn, as she rounds a stone wall with greenery growing through the cracks that closes in a property—only for her vision to go black for a split second when she collides against something.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Scratch that—make that someone, because instead of falling back on her ass, a strong pair of arms wrap around her waist to keep her from tumbling down. The grip is tight and secure, and a delicious aroma of what seems to be earthy wood tickles her nose. “What the hell are you—Isla?”

The sound of her name being spoken in that all too familiar voice clears Isla’s head, and she pulls back enough to look up into the startling blue eyes of Rafe Cameron. Her pounding heart seems to slow down a fraction, and she’s not sure what to make of the mild relief that calms down her frazzled nerves because this is Rafe Cameron. Sure, he might not be as bad as those two freaks, and he’s one of her close friends’ brothers, but he’s still the same guy that has gotten into more than a few fights with her best friends. That being said, she shouldn’t find as much comfort as she does being in front of him. 

Her breathing is heavy, pulse throbbing uncontrollably. She only barely registers her hands gripping his forearms, like it’s grounding her as she takes in Rafe’s expression. His eyebrows are furrowed together as he looks down at her, his height towering over her five-foot five frame, and there’s more confusion than worry in his features, unsurprisingly. Her heavy breathy makes her privy to the scent of nicotine, glancing down to see a half used cigarette now laying forgotten on the ground. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe repeats. Isla hears the familiar thread of annoyance in his voice, but she can’t bring herself to give a damn. 

She lets go of him like he’s electrocuted her, taking a step back and forcing him to let go of her, too. It takes everything in her not to acknowledge the way her skin burns where his had touched hers. “Going for a run, what does it look like?” she snaps back, though her voice trembles on her breath. 

Rafe’s expression deadpans, though he arches an eyebrow under the dirty blonde bangs that frame his forehead. “Looks like you’re scared,” he states. 

“I—” Isla gets cut off by the familiar sound of a car engine rumbling, the popping kind, and the breath locks in her throat as she glances over her shoulder. “Fuck,” she breathlessly mutters, catching sight of the headlights creeping up from around the corner on the road. She’s not sure if those guys are looking for her—though, she wouldn’t be surprised given that she pepper sprayed one of them, and her pulse quickens again in panic with the need to hide away.

“Wait—are you running from someone?” Rafe questions, and Isla looks back at him to see his gaze pointed over her head, right where the noise of the car is coming from. A car that sounds to be approaching too close.

“You’re asking too many questions,” Isla returns hastily, stepping to go around him. “I need to go—”

Rafe lets out an exasperated huff, and if she had all her wits about her, she’d snap at him. But instead, surprise slams through her when Rafe’s hand wraps around her bicep, his grip firm but not tight as he mutters, “Come here.”

Before Isla knows it, she’s being dragged through the gate of the Cameron estate, disappearing onto the property right when the car turns the corner. Her heart launches to her throat when Rafe suddenly turns her, and she’s being pressed against the stone wall, soft leaves pressing to her back in contrast to the hard surface.

Isla’s eyes widen when Rafe’s body presses against her, the air rushing out of her lungs as her gaze snaps up to meet his. “What are you doing?” she asks, her words a mere breath.

He seems surprised by his own actions, lips pursed and that muscle in his clean shaven jaw pulsing almost as quickly as her own heart. Can he hear the thundering, feel it? “Just—stay quiet,” Rafe grits.

Part of Isla wants to push him off—the part that sounds a lot like her friends. But fear wins out, keeping her in place, as she hears the car creep along in front of the gate of the Cameron property. 

Rafe’s eyes silently tell her to remain quiet and something tightens her stomach—something other than fear—and it startles her enough to flick her gaze to the left, towards the vine wrapped gate. She can see the headlights slowly passing by, and she prays that these guys aren’t stupid enough to trespass private property.

Then again, they were ready to do God-knows-what to her, so who the hell knows?

The thought alone sends her heartbeat accelerating all over again, panic settling in her bones hard enough to rattle them. Isla’s hands fist at her sides, eyes squeezing shut as she leans her head back against the wall. How the hell had her night taken such a freaky turn? And how is it that Rafe Cameron, of all people, is the one to help her out?

Suddenly, the mid-May night doesn’t feel as warm as Rafe’s body; he isn’t close enough where his body is completely pressing into hers, but she can feel the soft material of his shirt fluttering against the bare skin of her stomach, thanks to her crop top. Isla can feel the heat of his skin seeping into hers, which makes her heart thunder with something other than panic, and she’s not entirely sure what the hell to do with that.

“Relax—they’re gone.”

His voice is low and gruff, a tone that makes goosebumps pebble her skin even in this warm weather. Isla opens her eyes with a sharp exhale and her brown eyes immediately find Rafe’s blue, her throat tightening under his scrutinizing gaze. True, she can’t hear the engine anymore, the headlights are also gone, and Isla tries to even out her breathing while nodding slowly. 

Rafe’s eyes rake over her and shouldn’t she feel unsettled about that? About how close he’s standing to her? But it seems like all of her unease has been used up from evading those weirdos, so Rafe Cameron being her rescuer doesn’t annoy her as much as it normally would. 

“So what was that about?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

Isla’s throat works, dragging her gaze back up at him. The lamps spaced out along the wall light his face, casting shadows along his sharp cheekbones. He’s so handsome—the thought crosses through her mind quickly, and though she would never admit it to her friends, she can’t help but find the truth in it—as insane as it might be.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Isla finds herself saying, lifting her chin in a small act of defiance.

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches into a ghost of a smirk, and through the light reflecting in his eyes, she can see them dancing in amusement. “Given that I just saved your ass, an explanation would be nice.”

Isla scowls, all thoughts of his stupidly good looks vanishing. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I had it under control.”

It’s a lie spoken through her teeth, and Rafe can see that. “Yeah, looked real under control when you were running for your life,” he replies dryly, eyebrows rising. But then his expression flattens out, eyebrows furrowing together once again as he says, “Seriously, Isla. What gives? What the hell was that about?”

“Just—some fucking weirdos, I don’t know,” she huffs, frustration from this entire ordeal bubbling to the surface as she rubs her hands up her face and runs her fingers through her hair. “I—Can you back up?” she asks hastily, forcing a glare. Rafe, surprisingly, simply presses his lips together and raises his hands in defense while taking a couple of steps away from her. Isla is no longer embraced by his warmth, by his scent, and there’s an unexpected tug in her chest that she ignores. “My car broke down on that dirt path behind the road. I was trying to figure it out when these guys pulled up and, I don’t know, shit got weird so I made a break for it.”

Rafe frowns as he listens to her, and Isla shakes her head, rubbing the back of her neck. “I need to get back to my car,” she says.

“Seriously?” Rafe asks, scoffing. “You’re gonna go back when some freaks are looking for you?”

Isla glares at him, not at all appreciating him talking to her like she’s stupid. “My wallet’s still in my car. I need to grab it if they haven’t fucking broken into my car already.”

She moves past him to head to the gate, surprised to hear his footsteps as he easily catches up to her. “What, you’re gonna walk back?” When Isla glances at Rafe, he’s looking at her like she’s insane. No sign of the contempt he normally saves for her and her friends, which is slightly unnerving. “After you were just running from some freaks? You do realize how much of a bad idea that is, right?”

She shrugs even as the unease from before returns at the idea of running into those guys again. “I need to get my wallet,” is her meek response.

Rafe lets out a breath, running his fingers through his hair and Isla briefly frowns at herself at the way her gaze seems to run to the flex of his bicep. And the way her stomach fucking flutters because this is Rafe Cameron. The only fluttering her stomach should be doing where he’s concerned is one tinged with nausea.

Rafe then fixes her with a stern look. “Come on,” he says firmly before walking down the driveway of his house.

Isla blinks out of whatever stupor she was in and glares at his back—and at the demand he left her with. She scoffs, hands splaying in annoyance until she realizes he’s headed straight for his motorcycle. Her shoulders drop, rooted on the spot as she says flatly, “You’re joking.”

Rafe is already pulling out a helmet—scratch that, two helmets—and looking at her, once again, like she’s an idiot while she glares at him. At least there’s that bit of normalcy. “This—” He holds up both helmets in each hand. “Is better than you walking back to your car by yourself. Let’s go.”

Isla’s disbelief only intensifies. She doesn’t walk over to him, doesn’t take the proffered helmet. Instead, she exhales sharply and crosses her arms over her chest, asking, “Why are you helping me?”

Rafe has the gall to look annoyed by her question, arms resting at his sides. His gaze locks with Isla’s, but she doesn’t shy away from it as he eventually drops his head back with a groan before looking back at her once more. “Listen, contrary to your and your friends’ popular belief, I’m not a complete dick.” Isla can’t help but scoff and roll her eyes, cutting her gaze away from him in doubt. He cannot be serious. “I wouldn’t want either of my sisters to be fucking chased by some losers, so just think of this as my good deed of the month, alright? Now will you please take the damn helmet and get on the bike?”

Frankly, Isla feels like she’s just stepped into an alternate reality because, seriously, when was the last time Rafe Cameron ever did anything nice for her—if ever?

But as much as Isla’s pride is begging for her to tell him thanks but no thanks and turn and walk back to her car, fear still resides in the pit of her belly, waiting to strike. She hates to admit it, but Rafe is right. It’d be dumb of her to walk back alone at night after what just happened. Maybe she could call her sister or one of her friends, but that would just add unnecessary time to all this, and Isla just really wants to get home. So, fine; maybe she can accept Rafe’s offer to drive her to her car, and then from there maybe she can call an Uber home and call a tow truck from the safety of her bedroom.

Rafe holds out one of the black helmets in impatience, and Isla purses her lips as she pushes herself to walk over. She does her best not to admire the sight of him next to his bike, something she never would have done before tonight. Maybe this whole freaky situation has loosened some screws in her brain.

Isla all but snatches the helmet out of his hand, though a part of her feels as though it’s just for appearances’ sake to keep up her usual attitude around Rafe, and tucks her dark hair behind her ears before pulling the helmet on, the visor still up. She tries her best not to think of the weight of his gaze on her as she fiddles with the straps on her chin to secure the helmet, but she’s unable to get it right, fingers trembling despite herself.

“I got it,” Rafe says, and Isla freezes when he gently bats her hands away and steps up to her, using his finger to push at the bottom of the helmet so she can tilt her head back enough for him to see the straps. The heat of his body greets her once more and she’s silent as she feels him secure the straps, breath hitching quietly when the backs of his fingers brush against her skin. 

He’s done within seconds, but it sure as shit feels longer as she remains standing there, watching him pull on his own helmet. Isla watches silently as Rafe gets on the bike, wondering how she got here, and he says, “Hop on.”

Isla has ridden on the back of JJ’s bike plenty of times, so she gets on with no trouble, though she does have to grip Rafe’s shoulders in order to do so. They’re broad and firm under her hands, and she mentally chastises herself for even thinking about his stupid shoulders. When she’s settled behind him, her legs framing his, Isla’s heartbeat picks up at the sudden proximity, her front against his back. 

She’s sure she’s barely breathing when her skin warms because there’s barely any space that exists between them, and when Rafe tells her, “Hold on or risk flying off,” she can’t decide if she wants to smack him upside the head or beg for the ground to swallow her whole.

Sliding the visor down, Isla inhales deeply and quietly before winding her arms around Rafe’s waist, teeth gritting together because if her friends saw her now, they definitely would believe she’s lost her mind. The fact of the matter is, right now all she can seem to focus on is the solidness of his stomach against her arms and how fucking good he smells, which is confusing and overwhelming and everything in between.

The motorcycle’s engine roars to life, and seconds later Rafe is kicking off the kick-stand and they’re riding down the driveway and onto the road. She had told him her car stopped on the dirt path behind the actual road, separated by trees, and that’s all Rafe seemingly needs to know as he takes them in the right direction. The breeze as they go feels good against her, cooling her heated skin down and she would never admit it, but riding on the back of Rafe Cameron’s bike has a somewhat calming effect on her.

The tension that had tightened her muscles since her encounter with those other guys melts away, and the rapid thumping of her heart has nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with the thrill of this moment. Maybe it’s ill advised, but it seems to be exactly what she needs as the night air mixes with Rafe’s cologne—or maybe he just smells like that in general?

God, she’s getting too weird about this.

Soon enough, her car comes into view and Isla is relieved when there seems to be no sign of those guys. Rafe stops the bike right next to her car, and another sigh of relief escapes her when she sees that her car doesn’t look damaged. Swinging her leg over, she uses Rafe’s shoulders as leverage to get off the bike, trying not to think too much about the loss of his body heat as she reaches for the helmet straps. 

They’re easier to undo than they were to strap, and she lifts the helmet off, one hand already flattening her dark hair as Rafe holds his hand out for the helmet. As she unlocks the car, Rafe asks, “How’d you manage to outrun them?”

Isla leans into the driver’s seat, reaching for her tote bag in the passenger seat. She digs through it for a moment, taking stock of her wallet, lip gloss, lip balm, and the few other things still safely inside. “I pepper-sprayed one of them,” she answers as she pulls out and straightens. 

When she turns to look at Rafe, whose helmet’s visor is up, she sees the smirk that curls at his mouth. How does a sight that made her want to knee him in the stomach before make her feel kind of weak kneed right now? Did those guys really freak her out so much that now down is up and left is right? “Nice,” he murmurs, nodding in approval. Jutting his chin towards her car, he asks, “You gonna call a truck?”

Isla shakes her head. “When I get home,” she says, pulling out her phone. 

Rafe nods as he holds the helmet out once more. “Alright, let’s go.”

Isla pauses, gaze flicking up from her phone screen where the Uber app is open to look at him. Arching an eyebrow, she asks, “Uh, go where?”

He mirrors the arched eyebrow look. “I’ll take you home,” he says as if it’s obvious when it very much isn’t.

“No thanks. I can Uber,” she answers, already putting her home address in.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as he remains sitting on his bike. “You’re just full of bad ideas tonight, aren’t you?” he says. Isla’s eyes narrow, irritation sparking through her as he splays his arms out to gesture to the road they’re on. “You’re really gonna wait out here on a dirt road, with no street lamps, in the dark for an Uber when I’m offering you a ride home right now?” Before she can respond, he carries on, “On the same stretch of road, mind you, that you just got harassed on?”

The irritation intensifies, and Isla’s expression twists into a glare as she snaps, “What’s it to you, huh? You already did your good deed of the month. We’re not friends, Rafe. I don’t need your help.”

Even with the helmet on, she can tell he’s clenching his jaw, eyes hard as he sets them on her. The look makes her chest burn in a way that’s not all unwelcome, and that alone should be a sign that she’s losing it. “We may not be friends, but you’re my sister’s friend, alright? Sarah would kill me if she found out I left you out here by yourself. So stop being so fucking stubborn and get on the damn bike, Isla. I’m taking you home.”

She presses her tongue to her cheek, shoulders bunched in frustration while Rafe glares at her, his own impatience radiating off of him in waves. Sarah has told Isla how stubborn her brother can be, and while Isla doesn’t know Rafe well, she knows him and has dealt with him enough to know he isn’t budging on this. So, with a huff, she snatches the helmet once more, ignoring the protests in her head that sound suspiciously a lot like her friends as she pulls the helmet on. 

She manages to get the straps this time and gets back on the bike, her bag securely hanging off her shoulder as Rafe starts the bike again and Isla swallows silently as she wraps her arms around his waist once more. Every part of her is warm where it touches him, and as he drives, she tilts her head back, practically begging for anyone listening to get her to calm the hell down.

Seriously—how the hell did Rafe Cameron become her would-be hero of tonight?

Luckily, her house is a ten minute drive from the Cameron house and Isla allows him to pull up to the front of the house, since Kie isn’t home and has no chance of peeking out her bedroom window and seeing Isla getting off Rafe’s bike. He parks the bike and Isla lets go of him almost immediately, hopping off the bike and undoing the straps of the helmet under her chin.

Rafe is already looking at her by the time she gets the helmet off, his blue eyes visible since the visor is lifted. With a close mouthed, saccharine smile, Isla all but shoves the helmet into his hands. “Thanks for the ride. Let’s never do this again.”

He scoffs as he shakes his head, but the smirk on his face is apparent. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Isla rolls her eyes and, without another word, turns towards her house. She’s on the front porch and fishing keys out when she glances to the right and sees Rafe still parked there, seemingly watching her. Her stomach does a stupid, weird flip as she unlocks the door and shoos him. “Go away,” she hisses, even though Kiara isn’t home and her parents wouldn’t care that Rafe dropped her off—hell, her mom would be thrilled, honestly.

Even from this distance, she can just picture Rafe’s arrogant smirk as he lifts a hand in a two fingered salute before revving the engine of his bike, and Isla clenches her jaw as he speeds off, the roar echoing down the block. Exhaling sharply, Isla shakes her head and walks into her house, shutting the door behind her just as she hears footsteps approaching her.

“Where have you been?” her mom asks, not demanding but more concerned.

Isla smiles sheepishly as she faces her mother. “Yeah, about that. . .”

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part thirty-four: "The Ex Encounter"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your Sunday morning coffee date certainly doesn’t start off as you’d planned.

Or

An uncomfortable run-in with an ex causes tension between you and Matt.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 3.1k

a/n: This is a light angst installment, friends! Who's ex do we run into? Read and find out! You can find the list of all of these installments on tumblr here as well! Enjoy!

The smell of freshly roasted and ground coffee beans surrounded you as you waited in line at the coffee shop. Hands fidgeting with your purse strap, you glanced down at your pocket. For a moment you debated on not checking your phone and just continuing to wait, but then your overthinking mind forced you to slip your phone out of your pocket and glance at the screen. No calls or messages from Matt still. You sighed, slipping the phone back into your pocket. He was supposed to have been here ten minutes ago to meet you, but you figured you’d give him a little longer before trying to call him. Maybe his alarm wasn’t set for this morning or he’d gotten slowed down by the mid-morning foot traffic.

Absently, you chewed your thumbnail as you stared vacantly ahead, beginning to wonder how many minutes you had spent standing in lines ever since you’d moved to Hell’s Kitchen. The number was probably something that would leave you appalled. Then you began curiously people-watching the coffee shop patrons seated at the tables. A few were here in groups or pairs, but even for it being a Sunday morning, a handful of people were alone at a table staring at a laptop screen or typing furiously on a phone.

With a sigh, your mind began to drift as the line moved forward, wondering what was taking Matt so long. Usually he was the one who arrived ahead of time for your coffee dates. You found yourself internally contemplating calling him–how early would be too early to check in with him?

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you slipped your phone out of your pocket again. He was fifteen minutes late now. And there still were no messages or calls from him. Shoulders sagging, you pulled up your contacts and searched for Matt’s name, but abruptly halted, brows furrowing when you swore you heard someone calling your name behind you. And then you heard it again–your full name. Confused, your hand lowered as you spun around behind you towards the voice.

Your eyes instantly grew wide. It was your ex, the guy you’d dated shortly after you’d moved to Hell’s Kitchen a couple of years ago. You had met him at another coffee shop quite a few blocks over–one you intentionally had steered clear of after your breakup to avoid an awkward, emotional run in with him. Eventually you’d found other coffee shops you preferred, including this one, and you’d forgotten all about the one that had always been his go-to spot.

But now, there he was, staring at you with a warm, familiar smile on his face as he gazed down at you. You awkwardly smiled back, greeting him politely in return.

"It's been so long since I've seen you!" he exclaimed. "What, like almost two years now?"

Nervously you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and nodded, shooting him a tight lipped smile. "Yeah, uh, something like that I guess?" you answered. 

Honestly, after you'd gone through your usual breakup routine–crying a lot, drinking a little, binging some really bad television–you'd moved on. And then ran into Matt a little while later and spent a year pining over him before somehow dating him. 

"You still work at The Bulletin, right?" he asked. "I often read your articles. They're amazing. You've always been a great writer."

You followed the line forward, now the next in line to order. And you were still wondering where the hell Matt was. "Uh, yeah, still there," you told him. "Didn't work my ass off all that time to just leave it," you half-joked.

Your ex laughed. Hard. As if somehow what you'd said was far funnier than it was. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously at him.

"Yeah," he said when he recovered, nodding. "I remember how much you were always out chasing stories. Sort of was our downfall, huh?"

"Yeah," you agreed, smiling a little awkwardly. 

Discussing the cause of a breakup with an ex unexpectedly years later was certainly strange and a little weird. And also not particularly how you planned to spend your Sunday morning.

Turning back around, the woman before you finished ordering and stepped aside. You greeted the barista and quickly ordered your and Matt’s lattes. You figured you could grab the coffees and a table and call Matt if he still hadn’t shown yet. After you paid, you stepped out of the way, glancing back down at your phone in your hand as you waited for your order. Still nothing from Matt as you looked at the screen.

With a rough exhale you pocketed your phone, attention focusing on the baristas behind the counter making various coffees. A moment later something caught your eye out of your peripheral. It was your ex; he’d come to stand beside you, waiting for his order, too. He smiled down at you again when you glanced at him. Internally you cringed–you did not feel like playing catch up with your ex.

“You won that Pelman Award recently, didn’t you?” he asked.

You nodded your head, eyes returning to your drinks being made. “Yeah, I did,” you replied.

He lightly nudged your arm with his hand, your eyes drawn to the place where he’d touched you. You stared at it for a moment, wondering what the hell that was about.

“Congratulations, that’s a big deal, isn’t it?” he questioned.

“Uh, yeah, it is. Thank you,” you replied, eyes slowly making their way back up to his face. 

“Hey so,” your ex began, his tone changing a bit as he leaned a little closer, “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab coffee sometime? Like we used to?” He laughed lightly, shooting you a smile as he shrugged a shoulder. “Feels sort of like fate bringing us back together over coffee, right?”

The barista behind the counter called out your order and you gratefully spun on your heel, grabbing both cups of hot coffees in your hands. This was uncomfortable and you desperately wanted to find a way out of the entire situation. Gathering your courage, you turned back to face your ex with a tight smile, both coffees in hand.

“I’m actually seeing someone,” you told him, watching as his smile fell. “Have been for a bit. I’m waiting for him to show up–” your ears caught the sound of Matt’s cane and you internally screamed in delight as you glanced towards the coffee shop entrance to find him standing there with a slight frown, “–and he actually just got here.” You cleared your throat awkwardly, trying to figure out how to run away from this uncomfortable situation faster. “So uh…have a good day?”

Cringing at how weird that was, you quickly made your way around the line and over towards Matt who was waiting by the entrance. Of course you knew he knew exactly where you were, but for the pretense that he was just a blind man without extra senses, he was pretending to be waiting for you to approach him. 

“Hey, Matt,” you greeted him brightly despite the sour look on his face. “Already got your coffee. Should we grab a table?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, tone a bit off.

You frowned but offered him your arm which he quickly grabbed. Without a glance towards your ex, you led Matt through the shop towards a vacant table near the window. You set the coffees down as Matt pulled out a chair.

“So what was the delay this morning?” you asked curiously, lowering yourself into the chair across from him. “Normally you’re here before me.”

“My watch broke,” he said.

You slapped a hand to your forehead remembering how he’d told you about that the other day. He’d been in a rush to get into his Daredevil suit and completely forgot to take it off. Someone had smashed it with a broken pipe under his suit–and you weren’t too thrilled to be picturing someone hitting your Matt with a broken pipe when he’d told you.

“Couldn’t find my phone for a bit to figure out what time it was. I apologize,” he finished stiffly.

“No need to apologize, Matt,” you said quickly. “I was just wondering. I almost called you–”

“But then you got distracted,” he cut in, tone slightly bitter.

Eyes narrowing at him, you tilted your head curiously to the side. He was still frowning a little beneath the dark lenses, his lips thinned a bit. As he brought his coffee to his mouth, you saw one of his fingers tapping rapidly along the wood table. He also wasn’t quite looking in your direction. Which meant Matt was…frustrated? You knew him well enough to usually gauge his body language–or rather, you’d stared at him enough over the year and a half you’d known him to be able to gauge it. 

“Something else happen this morning?” you asked nervously. “You seem…upset.”

His jaw tightened noticeably, one of his hands rubbing along his forehead roughly. His finger was still tapping anxiously along the table beside his coffee cup. 

"Maybe you should be with someone like him," he muttered. 

Matt's voice was so quiet you had to strain to hear him over the noise in the coffee shop. Your brows drew together as confusion washed over you once you’d registered what he did say. You also felt a jolt of nerves shoot through your body immediately after.

"What?" you asked him carefully. "What are you talking about?"

"Your ex," he answered simply. 

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, brain trying to catch up to what Matt was saying. He must have overheard that entire interaction with your ex. Immediately you shook your head, pushing your coffee out of the way and leaning forward towards Matt across the table. His covered gaze was still focused away from you, the muscle in his cheeks twitching.

“Matt, I wasn’t flirting with my ex if that’s what you’re thinking,” you told him earnestly. “That was an incredibly uncomfortable and unfortunate encounter. I haven’t even thought about that guy in years.”

“Judging by the fact that I can practically feel him staring at you still,” Matt ground out, “I’d say he’s definitely thought about you.”

You opened your mouth, about to respond with a comment about how you couldn’t control what your ex did or didn’t do, but then quickly shut your mouth again. This wasn’t like Matt. You’d seen him jealous before, that night when you’d been hit on at Josie’s and you’d been far more cordial to that guy than you’d just been to your ex. Matt had practically wanted to fuck you in the hallway in front of the bathrooms because of it, not give you the cold shoulder. No, he was acting weirder. Angrier.

But the anger wasn’t at you, was it?

“This…isn’t really about my ex, is it?” you asked hesitantly.

“What do you mean?” he questioned back, his focus shifting to his coffee cup.

“You’re angry,” you answered him slowly. “Or frustrated. And you’re taking it out on me but you’re not actually mad at me, are you?” Licking your lips nervously, fingers drumming along your own coffee cup, you recalled what he’d just said about how you should be with ‘someone like him.’ Leaning forward a bit more, you whispered, “Did…me running into my ex dredge up all those fears I know you have about me leaving you?”

He flinched, gaze still focused downwards. Your face fell as he remained silent. Clearly that was a yes. Sliding your hands across the wooden table, you grasped onto his own hands firmly.

“Matty,” you whispered, “stop whatever self-deprecating train of thoughts that are going through your mind right now. Focus on me.” The corner of his lip twitched further downward as you continued. “Hey, I love you. I’m not going to leave you and–”

“But maybe you deserve someone who can handle shopping at a grocery store without having to wear noise-reducing ear plugs,” he cut you off, his tone still bitter. “Or someone who can catch a flight to Chicago when you visit your family for the holidays. Or doesn’t lose track of time and end up leaving you waiting for them because they’re blind and their options of telling time are so limited. Someone who isn’t out at night doing what I do and making you worry.”

Your jaw dropped as you blinked rapidly, trying to process everything he'd just thrown at you. "Matt, what–"

"You deserve better than me," he said sharply. "Someone normal who leads a normal life." His jaw tightened visibly. "It's only a matter of time before you realize it," he muttered.

Eyes narrowing, you squeezed his hands a bit harder. “I deserve someone who makes me happy,” you countered firmly. “Someone who loves me and treats me with respect. Someone who challenges me to step out of my comfort zone and knows how to make me comfortable enough to do so.” You leaned forward onto your elbows, drawing his hands towards you. “And I already have that with the compassionate, intelligent man sitting across from me right now, the same man I spent a year daydreaming about asking me on a date. Even after discovering your nighttime hobby of Rooftop Surfing.”

His head shifted just a bit, his covered gaze rising from the table towards you finally. The corner of his lip twitched again, though this time faintly upwards at yet another ridiculous name you’d come up with for what he did.

“I don’t care that your senses make certain situations difficult other than the fact that I hate how difficult those situations are for you,” you continued earnestly. “I wish I could find ways to make things easier for you. But Matt, I don’t mind that you have to wear noise-reducing ear plugs to make some places more bearable–that’s why I got them for you in the first place. And I don’t care if I can’t really ever fly in a plane again–personally I hate flying. I’m looking forward to our little winter road trip to Chicago for Christmas,” you admitted. There was a sting of tears in your eyes as you barreled forward. “And I’m sorry things in this world aren’t more accessible and functional for you, like clocks, for example–but I don’t have an issue with any of your senses, heightened or otherwise.” Your hands gripped Matt’s tighter as the words continued to spill out of you. “Yes, I worry about you when you go out at night, but you’re a goddamn superhero ,” you harshly whispered. “What you do is incredible. You are incredible. And you’re–you’re–” you paused, biting your lip, your heart thumping heavily in your chest, “–you’re like my other half, Matty,” you whispered nervously.

His hands squeezed yours back instantly at the admission, the expression on his face completely changing in the blink of an eye to something far softer. “Sweetheart–”

“So don’t,” you continued, shaking your head roughly, “do that thing where you try to tell me what you think is good for me, Matt. Don’t try to push me away because you’re over here tearing yourself down and thinking you’re some sort of burden, or that you’re not good enough, or that you’re bringing me down. Because Matthew Michael Murdock all you’ve ever done is help raise me up since the night I met you. And I have never once regretted staying for that drink despite how fucking embarrassed and nervous I was that whole night. Not a number far enough away from one, right? We’ve always said that for a reason.”

Breathing a bit heavily, you quickly turned your head, brushing your cheek against your shoulder to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen in the heat of the moment so you wouldn’t have to release your death grip on Matt’s hands. When you focused back on him before you, there was a smile on his mouth that was only getting wider by the second. After a few moments of him just silently staring back at you with a massive smile on his face, you began to feel a little self-conscious about the long-winded rant you’d just gone on and heat rose up to your cheeks.

“What?” you asked him nervously.

“I was just thinking,” he answered slowly, leaning towards you, “about how I owe Katy a lifetime supply of those yogurts she likes for forcing you into that uncomfortable situation.”

You snorted out a laugh, Matt’s warm chuckle accompanying the sound. He leaned even further across the table towards you, the smile still on his lips as he managed to untangle his right hand from your firm hold. Immediately he grabbed your chin, drawing you towards him.

“Don’t you dare think I’m not going to kiss you for saying all of that, either,” he murmured.

Your eyes closed just before his lips landed on yours. For a long moment you forgot that the pair of you were sitting in a busy coffee shop. All you could focus on was the faint taste of his usual vanilla latte on those perfect lips and how much you loved the feel of them every time they were kissing yours with so much love.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth rose just a fraction, placing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose that had you briefly giggling. His lips remained curled up in a smile as he sat back in his chair. And as you sat back in your own seat, drawing your coffee cup to your lips, you decided you never wanted to have a coffee date with anyone else ever again. You wanted Matt to forever be your coffee date.

Instantly your heart sped up at that thought, your mouth going dry despite the sip of coffee you’d just drank. From across the table, Matt’s head very slowly tilted to the side as he studied you curiously behind his own cup of coffee.

“What was that spike in your heart rate for?” he asked softly.

Trying to wet your lips, you shyly answered, “Just thinking about how much you mean to me.”

He smiled again, that little dimple returning to his cheek. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said, giving your other still entwined hands an affectionate squeeze.

“I love you, too, Matty,” you quickly replied.

But your heart only beat a bit more wildly in your chest, Matt’s covered gaze dropping down towards it curiously.

“Now I’m wondering exactly what you’re thinking about,” he mused quietly.

“And I’m sure glad you don’t have mind-reading abilities,” you teased back with a nervous laugh.

Because you sure as shit weren’t going to tell him you’d just now started mentally sounding out how your first name sounded with his last name.

[tgmsunmontue]

Come on baby light my fire… 2/2 (or 7/7?)

Hangster. 3k. Explicit. Apartment fire alarm at 1am featuring Jake in his underwear and Bradley with kittens.

All six potential endings are included in one post below. If you'd rather read them as separate chapters you can check out AO3 where I posted it first for once.

PART ONE (on Tumblr)

OPTION A

                Jake looks down at the sleeping man, so tempted to curl up back in bed with him. But he’s got to go and figure out how to get back into his own apartment. Most importantly though is he wants Bradley’s number, and he knows his own. He grabs Bradley’s phone, carefully grabs his hand and presses his finger to the fingerprint reader and sure enough it unlocks. There’s a photo of a couple as the background but he’s more interested in adding himself as a contact. He does so quickly, his name followed by a little flame, night cityscape, cat emoji, then an eggplant and some droplets because he’s hilarious and he’s pretty sure Bradley will think he’s funny.

                He sends himself a couple of messages, basically with all the details of where he’s gone and that he has no plans for the rest of the day and will come back to the apartment if he can’t locate Javy at the gym, or message him as soon as he’s in his apartment and has access to his phone again. He rifles through Bradley’s bag, a little perturbed by the number of Hawaiian shirts he finds, but pulls out a very worn US Navy t-shirt that has a very retro feel. None of it is what he’d usually wear, but all of it is better than being naked. It’s bad enough that he’s going to have to be barefoot and he wonders whether he could really chance taking what look like Bradley’s only pair of shoes. Screw it. He’ll be back soon enough.

                He laces up, the shoes a bit too big, then jogs the two blocks to where Javy prefers to go to the gym, glad it’s not further. It’s still at least another fifteen minutes before he usually starts, but Jake can’t risk him being early and missing him. But he is a man borne of military routine and walks up about a minute before Jake expected him.

                “Javy! Hey!”

                “Man! What are you wearing?!”

                “It’s a long story, well, actually, it’s not that long. My apartment building had a fire alarm, I left without my keys but I was only wearing my underwear. Hooked up with this guy who is fucking scorching hot –”

                “But has terrible taste in clothes.”

                “He’d make this work, trust me. Anyway, I need you to get my spare key.”

                “I’m not skipping my workout for you…”

                “Yes you are, in gratitude for me not waking you at two in the morning in my underwear to give me my spare…”

                “And I’m sure you were really suffering with the scorching hot guy. Your story is truly heart wrenching.”

                “Come on!”

                “Fine, here, take my keys, go and grab yours, then you can return your spare and my keys back to me. Deal?”

                “Yeah, good plan. I probably shouldn’t have both sets on me.”

                “You think?” Javy says dryly and Jake gives him the finger.

                After agreeing to take Jake’s car to make it all much faster he gets through the logistics of getting to Javy’s, grabbing his spare keys and then back to his apartment. Lets himself in with a sigh of relief and immediately goes to his phone, ignores all the other messages and clicks on the new messages and clicks Add Contact. He enters in Bradley, following it with a cat emoji and then three little flames. He’s not going to forget who Bradley is in a hurry. He doesn’t bother changing, needs to return Javy’s car and keys and then come back again. As he’s walking back he sends a message, nerves fluttering in his stomach.

>>I have keys, my phone and am heading back to my apartment. 5A. Want to come over?

>>On my way.

OPTION B

                Jake rolls his eyes, of course Bradley’s phone is dead. Ah well, he can go old school. There’s a pen and paper on the bench and he quickly writes down his name and number, along with his apartment number and a hope to see you soon. Leaves the piece of the paper smack center in the middle of the kitchen counter where it can’t be missed. He pulls on his underwear, then rifles through Bradley’s clothes and pulls out some sweat pants and a t-shirt. Okay, this is going to be a mortifying experience however slightly less mortifying than if he went out in just his underwear. Also less likely to result in any indecency charges.

…            …            …

                Bradley looks at the little pieces of paper and his heart sinks. He’s pretty sure that it’s a note, now ripped to shreds and missing pieces, the kittens having wrecked havoc on the little piece of paper, now scattered around like soggy confetti. He picks up one of the pieces and it’s definitely got a number on it. What number, he has no idea, it could be an apartment number for all he knows. He freezes, realizing that he’s not going to be thwarted by two baby cats. He knows Jake’s name and that he lives in this apartment building. Eight floors, six apartments on each floor. That’s forty-eight handwritten notes, minus six because he doesn’t need to do one for Hilary’s apartment or any of her neighbors, because surely Jake would have mentioned if he’d been on the same floor. That’s something you’d mention right?

                He finds some paper, making sure it’s a decent size because the last thing he wants is for Jake to somehow miss his note in return, that just makes him look like an inept love interest in a romcom. He’s in charge of this. His hand starts cramping around the thirtieth message but he keeps on, then pulls on some clothes, not caring what he’s wearing. He takes the stairs down to the lobby, eyes up all the little mail slots and then just starts posting a handwritten note in each one. Stands back and looks. Right. Now all he has to do is wait for Jake to contact him.

                The entire day goes by and he refuses to panic. Not everyone checks their mail everyday, he might even have to wait a couple of days, although Hilary is returning tomorrow and he’s meant to be going and staying with Nat for a couple of nights before his next deployment. But Jake will still get his number. He just has to want to use it.

…            …            …

                He should have gotten Bradley’s number.

                It’s been hours and Bradley hasn’t sent him a single message.

                Would it be weird to go and knock on his door?

                Yes. That just seems a shade too desperate. He can act cool.

…            …            …

                Jake frowns at the piece of paper, the only thing in his mail slot and he’s only check it because he’s walking past. A note. A handwritten note.

                Hi, I’m looking for Jake. This is Bradley. Please contact me.

                And then a phone number and he grins at it, because he’s going to get some answer now, multiple answers he suspects, because his number of questions has just doubled. He enters the number into his phone as he walks, presses call and holds the phone to his ear.

                “Hello, Bradley here.”

                “Hi. It’s Jake.”

                “You called! Hi…”

                “Hi… any particular reason you’re leaving me a handwritten note and not just using the technology available to us?”

                “Because I didn’t have your number. The cats, they ripped it to shreds and I just… had to figure out a way of contacting you.”

                “Smart and good looking. If you knew which apartment was mine why didn’t you just come knock on my door. I would have let you in.”

                “Ah… I put a note in every apartments mail slot.”

                “Of course you did…”

                “Well, sitting around outside waiting for you to enter or exit the building seemed a little stalkerish.”

                “Yes. So… not playing hard to get.”

                “Definitely not.”

                “Good. So I can assume you’ll say yes if I ask you out to dinner?”

                “Why don’t you go ahead and ask.”

OPTION C

                He knocks on the door, a little disappointed that Bradley hasn’t sent him a message, is surprised because he’d kind of thought they’d connected on a level that was maybe, hopefully, more than just sexual. The door opens and it’s not Bradley answering, but a woman his age, looking very comfortable in too-big sweats and hoodie. His stomach starts souring, twisting into unpleasant tightness.

                “Hi. Uh…”

                “Are you looking for Bradley?”

                “Ah, yeah. Sorry to have bothered you. He just helped me out the other night,” he flushes, hopes whoever this woman is doesn’t read too much into the helped me out aspect of the sentence, because he hadn’t meant it as an innuendo.

                “Oh, yeah, he was just kitten sitting for me while I was out of town. Do you want his number?”

                He sucks in a sharp breath, the relief sharp and instant.

                “Do you have it?”

                “Of course I do, he’s a college friend. And I’m assuming you’re the hot neighbor who he was annoyed at me about not warning him about?”

                “Jake. My name’s Jake.”

                “Nice to meet you Jake. I expect an invite to the wedding…”

                “Well, he didn’t message me, so maybe don’t plan on that…”

                “Oh, yeah, I found little shreds of paper, so if you tried leaving a note that was a no-go…”

                “What?”

                “Orea and Cracker. They shred paper. I think I found a couple of pieces. Floated my theory past a very forlorn Brad Brad and he said it was maybe a possibility. Here, take his number and go put your man out of his misery…”

OPTION D (Version I – fits within TGM events)

                Pete frowns, because he hasn’t seen that shirt in years. Maybe literal decades, and now that’s a scary thought for other reasons. But he’d swear that that man is wearing Goose’s old Navy shirt, old sauce stain down the front and everything. Bradley had taken it when he’d left, had always used it as a pyjama top and it had always made Pete smile to see, the memories still bittersweet of the dinner shared with friends. He needs to know.

                “Ah, excuse me. This is going to be an odd question, but I just need to ask. Where did you get that shirt?”

                “This one? Ah, funny story actually… I ended up locked out of my apartment in the middle of the night due to a fire alarm and this guy helped me out. Said I could borrow anything, cause did I mention I was only in my underwear? Anyway, I left before he woke, and I’ve never been able to return it to him…”

                “You couldn’t go and knock on his door?” Pete asks, because something isn’t adding up.

                “Well, I almost did, but then I saw this woman leaving and decided it was maybe best not to rock any boats.”

                “Oh. Hmm. Well, I’m pretty sure he’d like that top back. It belonged to his father. He usually sleeps in it…”

                “You know him?”

                “Bradley? Yes. You want his number?”

                “I… sure.”

                “Okay. You just can’t ever tell him who gave it to you, okay?”

OPTION D (Version II – only ending where Mav and Bradley have a relationship)

                There’s a guy staring at him and it’s starting to annoy him a little. It’s even starting to border on a little creepy and he gives him the side eye. Instead of it putting the guy off it has the opposite effect and he’s now walking over, about to make fucking conversation of all things while Jake is just trying to work out.

                “Where did you get that t-shirt?”

                Okay, that wasn’t quite what Jake was expecting. Maybe a sly comment on his form, or body… not the almost threadbare shirt he borrowed from Bradley and has never been able to return. Also this guy is old enough to be his father, he’s not familiar enough with the brass on base to not give this man the potential respect he deserves.

                “Sir?”

                “Where did you get that t-shirt?” he repeats.

                “Uh…” Jake looks down at the shirt, and it’s the one he’d taken a couple of weeks ago from his night with Bradley. “From a guy.”

                “A guy.”

                “Yes sir.”

                “Sorry, I’m Captain Mitchell. I… Wait… your middle-of-the-night fire-alarm underwear-guy!”

                “Excuse me sir?”

                “I believe we have someone in common, and he’s going to want that t-shirt back. It belonged to his father.”

                “You know Bradley? I went looking for him, but there was this woman at the apartment.”

                “His friend Hilary, yes. He stays at her apartment whenever she’s out of town to look after her cats.”

                “Oreo and Cracker.”

                “Yes. Who I believe are to blame for shredding the note you left.”

                “What?”

                “They found tiny pieces, some of it chewed up. Not enough to make anything out of it. Trust me, I’ve heard this lamented to me far too many times in the last couple of weeks to not be very familiar with it all. Your first name is Jake isn’t it?”

                “Yes sir. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.”

                “Of course you are. I’m picking he has no idea you’re navy, because this would have gone a lot faster if he’d mentioned that.”

                “No sir, we didn’t exactly swap life stories.”

                That gets him a raised eyebrow and smirk and Jake flushes, not really sure who Captain Mitchell is to Bradley, but if what he says is true, then Bradley does want to see him again. That’s a swoop of positive feelings after a couple of weeks of feeling rejected.

                “Right. Stand just there. I’m going to take a picture and send it to Bradley, tell him I found his shirt… he was just as sad about the shirt as he was about you.”

                Jake blinks, the guy is taking his picture before he can even say anything, Jake doesn’t even know if he was smiling, probably looked like a stunned rabbit. He glances over the shoulder and the man, this Captain Mitchell, is cropping his face out of the picture completely, thumbing out I found something that I believe belongs to you, and pressing send before Jake has time to even think of asking for Bradley’s number.

                “Can I get his number?”

                “How about you come home with me and you ask him for yourself, hmm?”

OPTION E

                Jake wakes slower than usual, warmer, and he stetches and then freezes when something grabs his foot. His brain registers then, kitten and he smiles into the darkness, memories coming back and yeah… this is definitely a preferable way of waking up.

                “Mornin’…” Jake says, sliding his body over Bradley’s, naked skin sliding against his and he’s glad they’re both naked.

                “Mmm… Hi. Why are you waking me up so early?”

                “Well, I realized one of the few ways of getting my spare keys is to hunt down my friend who has them. And he goes to the gym early.”

                “Ugh. This early? Is there any way we can get your friend’s number which does not involve us getting up right now and doing a manhunt across the city?”

                “It’s not exactly the city, just two blocks.”

                “Is he listed anywhere as your emergency contact that we can ring and ask for it?”

                Jake opens his mouth and immediately shuts it. There is someplace he can ring which would maybe give him Javy’s number, or at the minimum pass a message on.

                “Actually, yeah. Well, they might not give me the number but they’d pass a message on for me.”

                “And can we ring them later?”

                “Yeah, we can definitely do that later…”

                Worst case, he can always try catching Javy at the gym tomorrow instead.

…            …            …

                Later, after another heavy make out session in bed, messy and leaving Jake wanting more, he takes Bradley’s offered phone and thumbs open the keypad. He’s going to ring the HR line for military service people, because there are surely people in worse positions than him that call up asking for weirder and wackier things than an emergency contact number. Even if Javy isn’t exactly his emergency contact, they can ring him and give him Bradley’s number. As he enters in the number he sees various contacts pop up and then;

                “Why is the number for the Military HR service line programmed into your phone?”

                “Because I'm a commissioned officer.”

                “Oh shit! Me too. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.”

                “Ha. Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Wait… Bradley Bradshaw. You know Javy. Coyote. He flew with you.”

                “Coyote is your emergency contact?”

                “Well, he’s the guy that has my spare keys…”

                “Well, I already have his number. I was planning on meeting up with him later actually.”

                “Of course you were. Bradshaw. He was right.”

                “What?”

                “You are exactly my type.”

[indecentpause]

Find the Word Tag

tagged by @winterandwords to find the words food, water, air, and warmth! thank!

from In the Lion's Teeth, which you can read in full on Ao3 or Wattpad! this story is from Pascal's POV!

cw: drugs, mental illness, psychosis, hallucinations

food:

The sky is in a constant state of dim grey, regardless of the time of day, and it's colder than it was last year, the snow is heavier, the winds angrier, so you stay inside, working and tinkering and programming, ripping out and reconnecting wiring and screwing pieces together, only leaving your room to get to one of the many campus workshops when you need more specialized equipment, like soldering irons. You're only outside for the few minutes it takes to walk between buildings. Chain-smoking and shitty instant coffee are your only sustenance, unless Mitch brings you something and reminds you that living on caffeine and cigarettes isn't possible and sometimes you need to eat food, too.

water:

The shower is quick, because they're communal, and that means echoes and whispers and murmurs you can't always distinguish. Water dripping through the drain, the hiss of the showerhead, the sticky plop of flip flops and footsteps all sound too much like the voices in your head. Being so focused on your work has made it mostly easy to ignore them, to force them away to think about and deal with later, and what if the noises encourage them, make them bolder and bring them back out to the surface again, forcing their way through your skin and out of your mouth?

air:

It always takes you so much longer than it should to get ready, but by now you've learned to set your alarm early to plan for it. You're out the door about an hour and fifteen minutes later. The air is so cold and dry it almost burns, like hot, dry skin on frozen steel. Even your winter jacket, with its inner lining of microfiber and fleece, can't completely project you, and when you finally get to your car you just sit there for a moment, parked and with the heater on, still gloved hands cupped in front of the hot air pouring in. Fingerless gloves are completely impractical, but it makes smoking so much easier.

warmth:

"Your brain is different," [Benji says]. "It processes things different, so you can see stuff the rest of us can't. Like, I look at a bunch of numbers and see gibberish. I can't imagine you'd see the same thing." "Possibility," you say. Her eyes move from your ear back to your face. "Patterns, maybe." "See, I'd just be like, man, who fucking cares? But you're like, let's see what I can make with this. And that's awesome." "This loose tongue thing is great," you suddenly say. "I've never been able to talk about any of this to anyone. I've always wanted to. I don't know if it's you or the drugs, but I just... feel really safe right now. And I don't think I've felt that way... ever, really." She smiles and gently scratches the back of your head again. You hum softly, leaning back into the touch as your eyes slip closed. The light scratch of her short nails sends lovely little tendrils of warmth and calm all through your muscles. "Most of it is definitely the drugs," she says. "But hopefully I have a little to do with it, too."

tagging @revenantlore @oh-no-another-idea @drippingmoon @magic-is-something-we-create and anyone else who wants to do it to find the words full, empty, free, and afraid!

[mx-pastelwriting]

Million Dollar Gaze (Chapter 1)

Tony Stark x FM! Reader

Summary: Starting at your new internship you could help but be shy at the fact Tony Stark is looking at you.

Warning: Use of Y/N, Intern, First day at work, Stressed reader, Tony Stark staring at you, Bruce is there

Chapters list

Also on A03 & Wattpad: Links on Masterlist

Breathing in the cold, dry air of the morning, all of your waking senses were welcomed by the blaring sound of the alarm that read '5:45 a.m.'. Questioning to why you had set it so early, taking a second for everything to finally click, causing your body to be in motion.

Shooting out of bed and into the small bathroom, cursing at your past self for only giving you fifteen minutes to get ready. Starting you first day at your internship after months of applying to any company, finally getting accepted into one of the big companies. Stark Industries. Crying when you got the email, now wanting to cry at the hour compute to the tall building.

Having no time to care about a detailed appearance, moving quickly to put on your planned outfit. Though it didn’t pay much, making you living ways away for a cheap price, the only thing that really wanted was the experience, hoping it would lend a foot in the door to a job position.

Racing down the creaky wood stairs, finishing off the outfit, running out the door, hoping to get something near by on your lunch break. Struggling to close the front door before locking it, then rushing to the subway, dreading the morning rush.

Standing in the packed cart, achingly wishing for somewhere to sit, though it wouldn’t before long having to get on a bus after exiting the subway. Savoring the quick rest while looking out the worn-out window, seeing something shiny flying around in the sky. As it got closer, you saw the famous Iron Man, Tony Stark. Reading the time, ‘6:40 a.m.’, knowing you get there on time, though still making a mental note to set the alarm earlier. 

Coming to the stop moving with the few people who also got off, trying not to trip over the steps and sidewalk. Relief washing over you making it to the Stark Tower, walking in, noticing first the ceiling. Extended beyond what you thought was possible. The cylinder-shaped ceiling allowing you to see through to all levels of the building. Quickly snapping out of your awe, making way to the lady at the front desk, greeted with her kind face and smile. 

Next in line watching as her smile never changed, even when it was your turn. Giving yourself a second before speaking. "Hello, I’m here for Stark's internship." She nodded, holding a smile that never dropped.

"Name." You felt your cheeks go red before quickly saying, "Oh, right, Y/N, L/N." Her smile extended a bit at the situation, though it didn’t help the embarrassment that went through your body. 

"Here you go, just go through the door and go down the hall; it's the second door to your right." Handing the badge to you before pointing out where the door was. "Thank you," saying lastly voice a little shaky, still embarrassed.

Feeling your body turn cold walking down the hall, knowing this would be a long day. Opening the door to a small crowd, some of whom looked up, smiling briefly, before quietly rushing to a corner seat. The eyes that stared at you didn’t last long as someone else entered the room—a woman who wore a long black pencil dress holding a tablet. 

"I hope this is everyone," she said while walking in the middle of the room before explaining the job. Watching as she pulled a small device that looked almost like a pager out from under her tablet "You will carry this with you at all times; it is how you will know where we are and what people require." motioning to the table to the side that was filled with the devices.

"All you have to do is read what the people need and where they are, get it, and then bring it to them." Her words were quick, allowing her to tap something on the tablet screen. "Good luck on your first day; clock out is at 9 p.m.," saying lastly, leaving everyone to move to the table. Walking over behind the group, finally getting one turning it on just a minute later, everyone's device went off; they quickly moved out of the room, then yours beeped. ‘Coffee, 3rd floor: work station 4b’ "Time to move." sighing under your breath.

Starting off with breakfast and coffee orders, nothing being too hectic from others taking the work loud as well, though when lunch rolled around, it was enough to distract you. The device beeped just as you handed the person's lunch to them. ‘Burgers & Fires, 70th Floor, noticing it didn’t have a work station number.

Thinking no more of it, exiting the building to find the closest place to get a burger. It didn’t take long to order and bring back the food, though almost getting run over a few times as the burgers came first. 

Finally, making back into the building, checking in with the front desk. Entering the elevator and pressing the 70th floor, taking a minute before it moved with a voice saying, "Request approved." The accented voice spooked you a little, noticing the camera in the corner move. Tightening your grip on the burger bag, watching the levels rise higher and higher, wondering who these were for. Why did you need a request to get up there?

The steel doors open to the sight of a wide room with a long desk supporting various devices. "You can put the food next to you." almost not hearing the man’s voice, looking at the source. Meeting the famous man himself, Tony Stark.

Tinkering with something in his hand, looking up to point at the counter next to you, setting the bag down looking over the small snack bar that it was connected to. "What did you get me?" jumping at his close voice, standing right next to you, turning around meeting his brown eyes.

"Oh, um, I got two regulars, two doubles, and two fries." A big smile grew on his face, whether from learning about the amount of food or you finally speaking you didn’t know.

Ripping the bag open loudly before grabbing one, quickly unwrapping the burger, then stuffing it in his mouth, turning your attention somewhere else, not wanting to watching him eat. Taking in the room a bit better, looking over the cluttered desks and projected computer screens.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he voice once again, snapping you out of thoughts, turning to see as he continued to chew on the burger. Quickly, you reply with a breathy "yes," giving a shy smile. Knowing all about his super hero, reading many titles that were good and bad, even scandalous, making you wonder if his following eyes and talkative demeanor were special to you. 

"How long have you been working here?" asking almost slurred from his mouth being filled with food. "Not long; today is my first day, actually." noticing his eyes widen at the information, though he smiled. "Well, I hope you're enjoying it here, running around this place." seeing as he hand motioned as if it were you running, you nodded with a laugh.

"I got the numbers from the test." Both of you turned to the new voice source, a man in a white coat. Quickly turning embarrassed at the attention. "Good, this is the new intern; they brought food." Tony pointed at you while walking to the man, grabbing what he had.

"And um... whats your name?" locking with Tony’s eyes again, taking a minute to respond, "Oh, Y/N," earning a smile from the iron man. "Take one of those." He gestured to the ripped bag with food. "I know interns do get to eat for another hour," he says before going back to look at the test numbers.

Grabbing one without looking, "Thank you, Mr. Stark," you said before pressing the button. "A shake would be good with this." Hearing the two conversing before the doors shut. "Bruce, I asked if you wanted one." That was all you got to hear before the elevator closed.

Sighing with relief as five minutes had gone by without another ping from your device, finishing the day feeling like a pile of brinks about to go through the nice tile floor. Returning the device, tiredly waiting in the group of people that did the same. 

Checking the time for the first time since the morning reading 9:00 p.m. on the dot. "Finally," glady walking down the long hallways from the front, almost running to the front glass doors of the beautiful building. Walking out of the lobby, a lady’s voice calls your name, stopping in your rushed tracks turning to the front desk.

Greeted with the same lady from the morning, looking a bit tired though having the same smile as before. "Here's your new schedule, ordered by Mr. Stark." Holding out a paper, taking it quickly while thanking her, hoping she’d understand the rush. Not bothering to look at it until you got home. Nothing else mattered on the ride home, only dreaming longly for your bed and hearing its callings. 

Stuffing yourself through the apartment door, quickly locking it behind you. Stumbling over your feet with the couch luckily there to catch your failing. Groaning at the feeling of every muscle relaxing, not wanting think this is what everyday would feel like.

Taking a breath before getting up, looking over the coffee table, seeing the paper, remembering what the lady had said, you shoot up. Grabbing it, hoping the new schedule would have some mercy—or really, Mr. Stark would. Reading the typed-up words.

Tony Stark's new schedule for Y/N L/N:

Y/N must be on standby for Mr. Stark and will do anything he asks.

Starting at 8 a.m. on the 70th floor, the front desk will provide an access card.

Looking over the paper again, reading carefully, and flipping it to look at the back, there's nothing. "Anything?"

Next Chapter>

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

[harley-sunday]

Maxiel Heist AU

Originally posted this on the sideblog but figured it might as well go up here. Wrote this in one go because I needed some sort of Maxiel robbery/heist AU in my life. There's a more elaborate fic in here somewhere but for now I hope you enjoy this drabble/set up (1.7k) even though this is not what I normally write at all. Also, I know this is not factually accurate but...

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. Likes to leave nothing to chance, likes to plan ahead, and likes to know exactly what to expect at any given time. 

Which is why, from Monday to Friday, his days are pretty much carbon copies of each other. He wakes up five minutes before his seven AM alarm, gets up, showers, and puts on his clothes - a dark navy suit with a white dress shirt and a pair of brown leather shoes that he only wears for a year before he replaces them. The same goes for his suit by the way. Every year, during the mandatory break his boss makes him take between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, he goes to the same tailor he’s been going to ever since he started his job two years ago and gets a new suit and ten new dress shirts. Last year his sister went along and pressured him into buying a navy tie she said would bring out the color of his eyes but that still lays of course untouched in the back of his closet somewhere.

Max still styles his hair the same way he's done ever since he was old enough to do it himself and then puts on the same cologne he’s used since he turned eighteen, when his sister gifted him a bottle of Tom Ford Azure Lime for his birthday, which, unlike the tie, he does like. He kisses his, barely awake, boyfriend of two years goodbye before he heads to the kitchen and makes himself the same breakfast he’s been having ever since he moved out of his mother’s home. Two pieces of toast with a slice of cheese on each and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Simple, but it does the trick.

Once he's had breakfast, he tends to his two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, who get some cuddles before Max changes their water, tops up their bowls with some cat food, and cleans out their litter boxes. He always checks his weather app right as he grabs his car keys, to see if he needs to bring his coat, before he heads out the door and takes the elevator down to the parking area of his apartment building and fires up his Porsche 911, a birthday gift from his boyfriend when he turned twenty-five last year. He drives out onto Fremont Street at exactly seven fifty because leaving early only means he’ll spend more time at work than he intends to and leaving late means he’ll be stuck behind a school bus most of the way. 

He’s been working as a financial advisor for the past year, moved up through the ranks pretty quickly once the bank’s manager saw his potential and made him his protegé. Max is still not sure the regional manager, a certain Dr. Helmut Marko he's only met once, agrees with this decision, but then again Max doesn't really care what the weird old Austrian guy has to say. He won't be working here much longer anyway.

The branch of Wells Fargo he works at is on the smaller side, ten or so employees in total, located on the outskirts of a mall in one of the city’s more wealthier suburbs, but Max likes it. Likes how, even though he meets different clients throughout the week, there still is a certain familiar rhythm to his day. He knows that when he gets in at eight-fifteen, Damian, the security guard, will greet him from behind the morning newspaper with a curt nod and a, “Morning, Mr Verstappen.” Knows that Bea, one of the bank tellers, will be standing at the coffee machine in the break room and will either complain about the weather or the traffic she was faced with that morning, while Portia, the other bank teller, will have her hands folded around a mug of steaming hot tea and nod in agreement. He doesn't care much for Bea or Portia, the two middle aged women far too nosy and invested in his private life for his liking, and so Max sticks to smalltalk mostly.

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. Likes to leave nothing to chance and likes to plan ahead.

Which is why his first client of the day always comes in at eight forty-five, because Max knows by now a meeting usually takes no longer than fifty minutes, and knows not to schedule another meeting right after because there’s a coffee break at ten. And because he of course doesn't drink coffee he takes a Red Bull instead. The first of four he'll have throughout the day- Five if it's the weekend.

His next meeting is always at ten-thirty and then another one at twelve, allowing for a lunch break at one. Max gets made fun of by Bea and Portia, and sometimes Damian too, because his lunch is just as varied as his breakfasts - a tomato soup and a carpaccio sandwich from the bodega around the corner he has been buying ever since he started working here. After a month of ordering the same lunch, Andy, the shop owner, stopped asking Max for his order and simply made sure he had his food ready to go at one o’clock. 

By now he also knows that the hours between one and three are relatively calm and that Bea and Portia have come to take turns going outside for a short walk after their lunch break, leaving only one teller out front for about half an hour at a time. Every day at exactly one-fifty, Damian disappears for ten minutes or so, for his after-lunch toilet break. On Thursdays there’s a Brinks truck that comes in at two to pick up the money deposited to the bank the week prior and Max knows that even though technically Damian should be present for the exchange, the Brinks’ guys know their way around the building and usually finish up before Damian even comes back.  

Max schedules his third client of the day at three, leaving him some time to catch up on emails and administrative tasks he thinks are the most dreadful part of his job. His last client of the day comes in at four and by five he’s ready to head home and settle into his evening routine of a workout, a shower, dinner, and some Fifa or Call of Duty on his Playstation before he goes to bed at ten. His days blend together seamlessly, his almost every waking minute accounted for in a carefully constructed regimen that he’s perfected over the years. 

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. Likes to leave nothing to chance.

Which is why it is weird that at one-fifty two on a random Thursday afternoon in November he remains seemingly calm when three masked men walk into the building and try to rob the bank, disturbing an otherwise quiet afternoon. Portia panics and starts screaming before they shut her up by gagging her and tying her to her chair in a haphazard way. Before Christian or Max have time to respond, two of the men make their way to Christian’s office while the other one barricades the door to the staff bathroom, locking in Damian. Christian gets held at gunpoint and is made to open the safe that holds the money Brinks is supposed to pick up in eight minutes. Christian tries to tell the men he doesn’t have the code, that only Brinks can open the safe, and for a moment it looks like the robbers believe him but then one of them catches Max’s eye and throws him a wink before he cocks his gun, puts it against Christian’s temple, finger on the trigger, and says, “Didn’t your momma teach you not to lie, boss?” 

It’s then Max remembers he’s supposed to have pushed the panic button located on the side of his desk the minute these guys walked in and he does so at one fifty-six, right as Christian gives in and opens the safe. He watches in silence as at least four or five bags filled with bank notes get taken out of the safe and get put into a large black duffel bag that one of the guys hoists onto his shoulder. Just as quickly as they entered the men start to retreat but not before one of them points a finger gun at Max and pretends to shoot him. Max doesn’t say anything and waits until the men have disappeared before he rushes to Christian who tells him to check on Portia first. 

Max knows it will take another two or three minutes before the police arrive and later he’ll explain to them that he blacked out for a second, too shocked by what was going on to think logically and apologizing for not pushing the button sooner. The detective he gives his statement to will nod and tell him, “Don’t worry, son. It’s hard to predict how we will act in stressful situations.” Max has to bite his tongue to not tell the detective that, “I of course knew how I was going to react.” 

He spends longer than he wants talking to the police, repeating his statement over and over again, his dinner a box of Chinese takeout one of the officers picked up for him and the detective. 

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. 

Which is why, when he finally makes it home later that night he can’t help but smile when he finds his boyfriend standing in the kitchen, whipping up what looks to be like a late-night snack. Max sneaks his arms around Daniel's waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder, voice raspy from talking all evening, "Hey."

"Hey," Daniel replies, putting his hand over Max's where it rests on Daniel's stomach and intertwining their fingers. "You had a good day at work?"

Max scoffs but chuckles, "I did."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Max echoes, letting go of Daniel so he can spin his boyfriend around and finally kiss him. With his lips still ghosting over Daniel's he returns the question, "Did you?"

Daniel pulls back a little, eyes darting to the living room where Max knows there's a now-empty black duffel bag hidden away somewhere, and points a one-handed finger gun at Max, clicking his tongue to mimic the shot, "I did."

[countessofravenclaw]

It's the Graduation Day... On Wheels!!!

We never got the see anyone from the Roler Crew graduate from Blake, not even Luna herself graduated. why? We may never know, but its a good thing we writers can do something about it.

FYI, today is the graduation day in the Finland and this is to celebrate that

“Morning Luna!” Monica greeted Luna as she walked down the stairs to the mansion’s kitchen. “You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep, because I was thinking about Roda Fest.” Luna hopped down on the table and grabbed a croissant that was on the plate in front of her. “Is Tino here?”

“He is driving Senorita Ambar today,” Miguel told Luna as he walked into the kitchen, “He’s doing that the whole morning.”

“But how will I get to the school then?!” Luna jumped on her feet in a panic. 

“Luna, you don’t have school,” Monica turned away from the stove and looked at Luna. “Your last day was yesterday. Today is the graduation day, that’s why Senora Ambar went there.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Luna continued, “I need to go to the graduation.”

“You aren’t graduating Luna.”

“I know that. We agreed with the team that we’d all go support Delfi, Jazmin, Gastón and… Matteo.” Luna explained, trying not to stumble on Matteo’s name. Whatever was happening between them, he deserved support on this day as well. “But if Tino is really gone, how will I get there then? I can’t let them down.”

“I can drive you there,” Miguel put his computer down, “But you could have told us sooner. You would have been able to catch the ride with Senorita.”

“Yeah…” Luna mumbled. Maybe it was better that she didn’t share a car with Ambar at the moment, “I forgot. I need to set an alarm on my phone or something. But why are we just standing around? Let’s go!!”

“Luna, are you planning to go like that?” Monica stopped Luna before she was able to dash out of the door, “The Graduation at Blake is a highly formal event.”

“Yeah, whats wrong with it?” Luna stared at her mom.

“You’re wearing pajamas.”

“Oh.” Luna looked down and stared at her pink pajama bottoms that had unicorns on them. Mom was right. “Right.”

“We’d come too, But Senora Sharon has assigned us lot of work today. It would have been great to see how the graduating works before next year.”

*

Where was the auditorium again? Luna had been studying at Blake for two years now, but she still got lost in the place. 

“Luna!” She turned around to see Nina waving to her from a front of some big wooden door. 

“Nina! Hey!” Luna dashed to her and hugged her, “I thought I was going to the wrong direction for a second.”

“You actually were,” Nina laughed, gesturing to the auditorium door, “Don’t you remember when we had that history presentation here?”

“Not really,” Luna shook her head. She honestly didn’t. Must have been dreaming of some skating choreo or something during it, because if Nina remembered it, it must have happened. “What happened to your glasses?

Nina was wearing pink and white summer dress with matching sandals and jewelry.

“I got contacts,” Nina explained, “Figured I might try them out. I told you about this.”

“You did?” Luna stared, “I apparently don’t remember anything on this morning. Aren’t we going in?” 

“Sure,” Nina nodded, and they walked through the doors. The auditorium was big… but there weren’t that many people in there yet, “But we are quite early. I was surprised to see you here.”

“I got my schedules mixed up,” Luna explained, “Where is everyone?”

“Like I said, we’re quite early,” Nina explained, “I came with Gastón, and they had to be an hour early. I am sure others will be arriving shortly.”

Nina was right, after maybe fifteen minutes the auditorium was so much more crowded. Soon enough Jim and Yam showed up and were already taking selfies that, according to them, were going to be sent to Ramiro with a greeting that they hoped that he didn’t fall over while walking on the stage. They also said something about ketchup and eggs that horrified Nina, but Luna didn’t get it.

“So where are we sitting?” Luna asked while eyeing the back rows of seats in the auditorium. “Simon texted me to reserve him a seat.”

“I’m not sure,” Nina turned towards Luna, “Anywhere is probably fine. Gastón’s parents reserved a seat for me at the front with them, so I should probably go over there now. See you after the ceremony.”

Almost as soon as Nina had disappeared, Simon appeared next to Luna with Nico and extremely sick looking Pedro.

“Hi guys!” Luna hugged Simon, “What’s with Pedro?” 

“Apparently this is the first time he’ll be meeting Delfi’s parents,” Simon whispered to Luna, “So he’s a bit nervous, because they are some sort of high-end doctors.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Actually, Luna barely knew anything about anyone’s parents, outside of Simon and Nina. “But don’t worry!” Luna turned to Pedro, “It’s gonna go awesome!”

“Where’s Nina?” Simon asked as they sat down. 

“Uhm, she went somewhere,” Luna scanned the crowd that had formed front of the stage, “There she is!”

“Who is she talking to?” Simon asked as he squinted his eyes while looking at the direction Luna pointed towards. 

“I don’t know…” Luna squinted in the same direction as well. Nina was with a couple, one that Luna had never seen, they were about her parents' age, maybe a little younger. The woman—who was really beautiful, Luna had to note—had her hand on Nina’s shoulder, “...those must be Gastón’s parents.”

That had to be it. When Luna looked again, she was sure of it. The man actually looked really much like Gastón, and biological children often looked like their parents… right? Simon looked like Diego a lot, with his hair coming from Carla like all Alvarez children. 

“Those are Gastón’s parents?” Simon raised an eyebrow, “Really fancy-looking people. Didn’t know he was rich.”

“Me neither,” Luna shook her head in response. It should have been obvious, but she still somehow unconsciously always ignored that most of their friends were probably quite rich. It just never came up in the casual conversation. 

Luna directed her eyes back to Nina and noticed that during the time she had been looking at Simon, two other people—another couple, Luna guessed—had appeared next to her and Gastón’s parents. A woman who was blonde and quite short, again about her parents age and a man who looked maybe little bit older. Something about the man looked familiar to Luna, she couldn’t put her finger on it… until she realized what it was. It was the hair, the small curls were almost identical to Matteo’s, minus the greys obviously. That was Matteo’s father, so the woman was Matteo’s mother. Luna realized that she had never heard Matteo mention his mom out loud…

But who else could it had been? Surely Gastón’s and Matteo’s parents knew each other. 

“So how does this work?” Simon leaned closer to Luna at the back row where they were sitting, as the headmaster, Mr. Ramirez walked onto the stage. “In mine we just got a piece of paper that I never read and went to the beach.”

“I don’t know,” Luna shook her head. She and Nina had looked up some graduation videos because Luna had been curious. Apparently, Blake was going to be quite different to what they had seen from American videos. No one was going to be wearing silly hats that looked like squares and weird ropes. Those had looked like that students were on their way to a costume party. “I guess we’ll just have to watch.”

“Welcome everyone to the graduation of the class of 2017 at Blake South College. This is our 53rd graduating class on our school's rich history where we hope to shape young minds for many years to come!”

Luna tried to stay alert as the headmaster talked… but it was so boring. Something, something, school’s rich history, blaa blaa blaa, alumnies accomplishments and something about expecting great things. She probably had dosed off for a second since, she jolted awake before falling off the seat. 

“Whats happening?”

“I have no idea,” Simon shook his head. “He just stopped talking about some sort of A-level score system… I don’t know.”

“So, without any longer of a speech…”

“That already was long.” Simon whispered, “How do you go to this school?”

“Well, I didn’t have an option.”

“Here are our 25 graduates of the class of 2017.”

“Only 25?” Simon turned toward Luna again, “Whos’ coming first? Is this in alphabetical order?”

“Probably…” Luna looked toward the stage. 

“Delfina Alzamenti.”

Yep, it seemed to be in alphabetical order. Luna and Simon watched Delfi walk to the stage wearing a pink dress and accepting a piece of paper from the headmaster. 

Luna found it very odd that no one was cheering. Shouldn’t they be cheering? Apparently not… Blake was boring.

“Matteo Balsano.” Matteo walked onto the stage after a few people had come after Delfi. “Honors in history and social studies.”

Luna kept looking at Matteo. He was wearing the same suit as in the Roller Jam. You’d think that Chico Fresa would have multiples… and maybe he did, but he had just decided to wear that one. That Roller Jam felt like ages ago now, another time, but things were better this way.

“Jazmin Carbajal.”

After Jazmin, there were at least seven people who Luna did not recognize. She had never been familiar with other students at Blake outside her team… She didn’t know why she never had.

“Gastón Perida. The second highest GPA of the graduating class, the Highest GPA of the Male student. Honors in physical and chemical science, advanced mathematics and literature.”

That was a lot of honors. Not that Luna really knew what “honors” actually were, but they sounded important. 

Ramiro came after Gastón. After that, bunch of people came that Luna didn’t recognize.

After someone called Samale, left the stage Luna perked up. If she had understood the order correctly, Ambar should be next.

At that moment Luna experienced a surge conflicting emotion. She had noticed that Senora Sharon was not here, so Ambar had no one to support her… and she had done lot of underhanded things… but everyone deserved some support. Right? 

Luna pulled her phone out of her bag and opened the camera… she could show this to her parents, since they couldn’t have come.

“Ambar Smith,” The headmaster announced her, and Ambar walked onto the stage. She was wearing a white dress with black detailing. “The highest GPA of the graduating class.”

As Luna recorded Ambar walking and accepting the paper, Luna got stuck wondering why she didn’t have any honors. The headmaster had said that she was the top student, wouldn’t Ambar have the most honors. Gastón had been the second to the top student and had had multiple honors… How did this work?

Luna glanced at Simon who wasn’t looking directly at the stage while Ambar was on there.

***

Nina clapped with everyone as the last student walked off the stage. Even with 25 students, the walking part had taken forever. She really had to admit that Blake had gone out of their way to make it as boring as possible. 

At least the most boring part was over now, at least according to the schedule that Gastón had told her about after the rehearsal on the previous day. 

“Now we have the honor to hear from one of our graduates.” Mr. Ramirez announced before leaving the stage once more as Gastón walked back up there. 

Nina suddenly felt herself becoming a little bit nervous. She had helped him with the speech and knew it inside out. 

“So, I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to let me talk?” Gastón started, “But here we are. You can’t stop me… not to scare teachers or anything.”

“Okay, now a serious topic. We all started here in 2014 and probably thought that we were never getting out. But through all the classes, final projects, that standardized test you made us do every year—I’ve seen students cry for less—getting reprimanded about lingering on the hallways, missing class if you were five minutes late and wearing those awfully uncomfortable uniforms, we still made it to this day. We’re free now, some like to say to fly, but I just personally like to keep my feet on the ground and walk towards my next goal. I guess you never forget where you came from.”

“Most of us were born in 1999, when the world was changing, and we were racing off to start the 21st century. World is pretty different now from when we were born, not that we remember the time before computers and electronic devices. Most of us will be out of college in the 2020s which hopefully will be the time for world peace helped by innovations, innovations that we are going to be part of creating.”

“I guess this is the time to thank you for everything. This school, which looks like a medieval castle from the outside, how this has not yet been used as a film set is beyond me, for providing a place for us to expand our minds. For all of our teachers for believing in us when we seemed like the most hopeless bunch in the world.”

“Four years here has taught us so much, not just about integrals or what happened during the first world war. We learned about life—” Gastón shifted his eyes to focus on Nina, looking her straight into her eyes, “—ways to find new meaning to it, what we can want from our future. I don’t mean just academics here. We’re all going into “real world” now, trying to be adults, but that doesn’t mean that we need to give up the things we love or the people who had been here along our journey this far. I know we are all going to miss the navy and emerald plaid.”

That last part, before the mention of plaid, was new. Gastón had added it in there. 

The headmaster said a view words after the applause and the audience was ushered out of the auditorium. 

The graduates started filing out of the door after about five minutes. Why they needed to wait, beyond anyone. 

Nina saw Gastón walk out of the door with Matteo, but they quickly separated as Matteo was dragged away by his parents. 

She tried to discreetly to step little bit further away from Isla and Marco so she could hang back and let them greet Gastón first. 

But Gastón seemed to have other plans, because he made his way directly to her and she was swept off her feet in an instance as he kissed her. 

“I’m proud of you,” Nina said after Gastón had put her back down. She was hyper aware that his parents were standing right next to them, and witnessed the whole thing, but she didn’t care about it right now. “You did it.”

“Did you like the speech?” Gastón asked as he brushed a lock of hair that had fallen on her face.

“You changed it.”

“Might have added some lats minute things. But how did it go?”

“You were amazing,” Nina ran her hands on his arms, “But, I should probably set you free because other people surely want your attention. I can’t claim you completely.”

“I mean you could if you wanted to.” Gastón briefly kissed her forehead before turning towards his parents. 

***

“You were great. Congratulations!” Luna hugged Ramiro who had joined, her, Simon, Pedro, Nico, Jim and Yam at the Blake’s Hall. 

“Yeah, you walked in a straight line,” Jim punched Ramiro on the arm, “Quite an accomplishment.”

“Hahh,” Ramiro snarked to her back, “You’re just jealous because you still have to go to school.”

“Either way,” Yam rolled her eyes, “We have ketchup and eggs on the ready.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right, we wouldn’t. Doesn’t mean we didn’t think about it.”

As Ramiro kept arguing with Jim and Yam, Luna noticed Ambar walking toward the hallway door.

“Ambar, wait!” On an impulse, Luna ran until she caught up to her, “Uhm, I wanted to say, congratulations. Senora Sharon must be proud of you.”

“Of course, she is,” a cool smile formed on Ambar’s face, “I have the highest GPA.”

“Mom and Dad wanted to come here but didn’t have time.”

“Okay,” Ambar stared at Luna, “I’m in a hurry.”

“Oh, I have this for you,” Luna started digging around in her bag. Last night she had cut these fabric flowers that she had intended to give to everyone as gifts.

“Thanks,” Ambar looked a bit confused, but took the flower and then without saying another word, walked out of the door.  

Nina, Gastón and Matteo had joined the group as Luna walked back up to the others. 

“You made this school sound much more exciting than it actually is,” Ramiro was saying to Gastón as Luna squeezed between Nina and Simon. “It really was a great speech.”

“Well, I had some help—” Gastón ran his hand on Nina’s arm, “—from the best writer I know.”

“Although,” Yam started speaking, “I would never say that I will ever miss the plaid.”

“Why did you give the speech anyway?” Jim questioned, “Isn’t that the top student’s job?”

“It is,” Gastón nodded, “But at this case, it would have been Ambar… and no one is forced to do it, surprisingly. So, if the top student doesn’t want to do it, it goes to the one with the second highest GPA.”

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Luna dragged Nina away from the group for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me that you know his parents?”

“What?” Nina looked confused for a second, before her expression changed, “Oh, you mean Alexander and Sofia?”

“You know their names? You never told me!”

“I don’t know them,” Nina laughed slightly, “They were just talking to Isla and Marco.”

“Who?”

“Gastón’s parents. Isla and Marco Perida.”

“Oh, right,” Luna tried to process everything, “But how do you know Matteo’s parents’ names then?”

“I’ve met them before,” Nina explained, “Briefly. We ran into them with Gastón, during last fall at some point at his. They were having coffee or something with Isla and Marco. I surely told you about that.”

“No, you didn’t tell me,” Luna shook her head, “I have a bad memory, but I surely would have remembered that.”

“I didn’t?” Nina furrowed her brow, “I can’t believe it. It was probably during that Perception mess with your past or when Gastón was applying to Oxford or something, so it slipped my mind.”

Sofia and Alexander Balsano? Luna thought to herself as they joined the others. 

“There you are,” Gastón wrapped his arm back around Nina, “We should get going.”

“Going where?” Luna questioned.

“Our parents are taking us to eat,” Gastón gestured to himself and Matteo, “Thrust me, it's going to be boring but what can you do.”

“I’ll call you later.” Nina said to Luna before they walked away.  

“Hey!” Luna turned around and instantly bumped into something… It was Matteo. “Watch where you are going.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Matteo smirked while Luna crossed her arms, “I saw that you gave Ambar a flower.”

“Uh, yeah, I did that,” Luna nodded, “She deserves support too.”

“Even after she destroyed the rink?” Matteo raised an eyebrow at Luna, “Where’s my flower?”

“Don’t get delusional, Chico Fresa.” Luna huffed. She did have a flower for Matteo as well, but if he kept acting this way, he didn’t deserve it. 

“Matteo, come on!” Gastón was yelling to Matteo from the door, “Your dad will throw a fit if we’re late.”

“Gotta go,” Matteo spun around, “See you at practice Chica Delivery.”

Luna watched Matteo join Gastón and Nina at the door, and they walked out. So was Nina going to have brunch with Matteo and his family, because Gastón and his family we’re going to be there as well? Luna felt a small sting of jealousy. If things had gone differently, she’d be joining them too… but her and Matteo were over, so she shouldn’t wallow in that. 

“Pedro!” Luna turned back to others, as Delfi appeared on Pedro’s side, “Here you are! Let’s go!”

“Go where?” Pedro asked, bit startled.

“My place.” Delfi tucked on Pedro’s arm, “The food is being delivered as we speak, and we got cake.”

“Oh.” Pedro’s eyes were very wide from surprise or fear, Luna couldn’t determine which one. Simon and Nico seemed to be enjoying the show. 

“I told you all of this yesterday,” Delfi rolled her eyes, “Let’s go.”

“How are we getting there?”

“By using our feet. My place is really close by.” Delfi scoffed and started dragging Pedro away.

“Good luck!” Simon yelled after him,

“Have fun with your in-laws!” Nico continued.

“Are you coming to Roller today?” Simon asked Luna after they had finished laughing. 

“Yeah, I just need to change.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Simon gestured to the neon yellow dress Luna was wearing.

***

“I can’t believe that you forgot,” Delfi dragged Pedro along the street, “I guess I should thank you for showing up as it is.”

“I didn’t forget,” Pedro defended himself, “I guess I am just nervous.”

“Nervous for what?” Delfi asked as she opened a gate to a very well-kept garden. “Come on. Everyone is waiting for us.”

“You’re finally here!” Woman with dark brown bob cut greeted Delfi and Pedro as they walked in. 

“Sorry about that,” Delfi threw her bag onto an armchair in the lobby. Pedro tried not to stare at the surroundings too much. The house wasn’t that modern, but still integrally designed and put together, and big, very big. The ceiling was so high. “Where’s Dad?”

“Right here,” a man with slightly greyish hair from around the corner. 

“So, Mom, Dad. This is Pedro, my boyfriend.” Delfi linked her arm with Pedro’s, “Pedro, these are my parents. Dr. Serena and Dr. Daniel Alzamenti.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Alzamenti… or was it Dr.? Pedro for sure didn’t know how to address them, so he just kept his mouth shut and shook Delfi’s father’s hand. 

“We have heard so much about you,” Delfi’s mother continued, “You worked over at that rink?”

“Yes… I work at Roller.” Pedro nodded. 

“He also skates,” Delfi piped up.

“I don’t really,” Pedro scratched behind his neck, “I am not very good at it.”

“Always good to know your limits,” Mrs. Alzamenti smiled, “I always tell Delfi, that she can skate as dangerously as she wants, as long as she doesn’t end up in the ER. I spent all my time there as it is, so I do not want to see her there.”

Pedro tried to hide the confusion from his face. He had fallen off the wagon, but Delfi’s mother continued.

“I’m the head of trauma at Swiss Medical. I see people who push their limits to the max every day, and it isn’t pretty.”

“Extreme sport injuries are spinal and brain injuries leading to permanent nerve damage almost 5.5 percent of the time.” Delfi’s father added.

“Dad, lest not talk statistics today,” Delfi rolled her eyes, and whispered to Pedro, “He’s a neurosurgeon… Do not mention scoliosis at his presence.”

“No way!” All the sudden a head of a fourteen-year-old boy popped up from the stairs, and he ran the stairs down with just couple of jumps, “The boyfriend was actually real?”

“I thought I told you that you had no right to comment on the subject,” Delfi took a deep breath and rolled her eyes, “Pedro, this is Aaron, my little brother.”

“Hi.” Pedro gave a wave to the boy.

“You aren’t boring right?” Aaron asked bluntly.

“And how about you go back to your videogame?” Delfi snarked. 

The door opened suddenly, and Jazmin walked in with a woman who had red hair, probably her mother. 

“I have pictures for the next ten years now,” The woman said to Delfi’s mother. “Samuel couldn’t get out of that work trip… his partners really just don’t understand fathers who actually love their children.”

“Meet Clarion Carbajal,” Delfi gestured towards the woman, “Jazmin’s mother. Clarion, this is Pedro, my boyfriend.”

“So, this is the boyfriend?” Pedro felt Clarion eye her thoroughly, “I thought Jazmin once told me that you were after that Perida boy.”

Pedro could definitely see where Jazmin got her bluntness from.

“That is very old, and ended up being a train wreck,” Delfi shook her head violently, “Let’s not talk about it.”

“The speech he gave was really good.”

“It was,” Delfi agreed, “co-written by his girlfriend. No one utter another word about it… Especially you Aaron!” She shouted towards the upstairs.

***

“You still have a year left?”

“Yeah, I do,” Nina answered the question Sofia had directed toward her. “I don’t have any concrete plans for after that, yet.”

“Well, you’re not in a rush,” Gastón ran his hand, which he had been resting on the back of her chair, on her arm, “But I know we can all look forward to what you say in your speech.”

“I’m not gonna give a speech.”

“Well, Gastón tell us, you’re going to Oxford after all?” Alexander started speaking. 

“I did go back and forth—” Gastón pulled his arm off the back of the chair, “—but in the end, why not? It’s going to be an experience.”

Nina felt him place his hand on her knee under the table and she went to lace her fingers with his.

“You have a major picked out?”

“Yeah, energy technology engineering, for start anyway,” Gastón explained, “Interchanging is apparently quite easy if you do it inside the faculty. Gonna try it out and see.”

“How are you going to fare when he goes?” Sofia asked Gastón’s parents. 

“I guess we’ll have to make do, somehow,” Marco started speaking, “We know that Gastón has all capabilities of making it there. Doesn’t mean that we won’t miss him.”

“You two were the ones who wanted me to go,” Gastón rolled his eyes, “So you don’t really get to complain here.”

“We’re your parents, we’re allowed certain double standards,” Isla looked at Gastón, “I’ll get to know how my mother felt when we dropped the bomb on her that we were moving to Buenos Aires. She had a heart attack.” She looked down on her phone for a second, “Oh, Mía and Elise, both sent you congratulations. I sent them couple of pictures.”

“Well, tell then thanks.”

“And your grandmother would really appreciate if you called her.”

“Sure, I’ll do that in the evening,” Gastón turned towards Matteo as the adults kept talking, “You know you could open your mouth once in a while too, so we wouldn’t be only talking about me here.”

“Oh noh, this has worked for me way too well this far,” Matteo leaned back on his chair, “I’m gonna keep this up till dessert if possible. I’m sorry but you are just way too interesting than me right now.”

“—there’s a lot of jobs in England…”

“I don’t think I want to work there full time,” Gastón piped up, “I’ll just go to school, and then come back.” Nina felt him squeeze her hand under the table. “There are a lot of companies here that I can work for.”

“If the cards are in your favor, you could end up working for Castillo.”’

“Sofia, don’t give him ideas.” Isla shook her head. 

“Isla, I never understand what your problem with him is?”

“You don’t live a block away from that house. With everything that was going on there. I still think we should have taken it more seriously when he got targeted for fraud. That man is strange, and I don’t just mean the number of weddings he has had in the past years.”

“What are they talking about?” Nina leaned over to Gastón.

“It’s a long story,” he whispered to her back, “One of our block neighbors… Mom and Dad always told me and Matteo not to get involved with anything happening there.”

“Castillo Corporation is a highly renowned company, all over the world.” Alexander noted, “We had heard about it before we ever moved here.”

“Obviously, that is true. He is an innovator,” Marco nodded, “There is no question about that, but there definitely are questions. There must be a reason why the daughter is a singer and doesn’t want anything to do with the company. If she doesn’t get involved soon, I won’t be surprised to see the company on the market in 30 years. I see that a lot, stock exchange, shares distributed in a too-wide margin, bankruptcy, and thousands of people unemployed. Even the biggest businesses can fall if ownership business if not taken care of when the founder is gone.”

“The daughter who ran away from that engagement party?” Sofia questioned. 

“We never should have gone to that,” Isla sighed, “Just like that celebration couple years later. I never understood was it a wedding or not.”

“That was Pricilla Ferro, right? Strange woman… Who was the woman with the engagement party then?”

“Jade LaFontaine, I never really knew her, she has been much more junior on the field, but I think she’s now married to Nicholas Cortes. The poor girl appears to have gotten some help. Then there was the whole Di Pietro fiasco that resulted in that fraud case.”

“What ever happened to her? They were about to be married.”

“She…”

“How much longer do we need to sit here?” Matteo hushed to Gastón. 

“You know it is always like this when they get together,” Gastón whispered back, “I stopped paying attention as soon as they started.”

***

Splat!

As soon as Ramiro had opened the door, splash of ketchup was thrown into his face. 

“Oh yes we would.” Jim and Yam were grinning at him while juggling eggs with their hands, “We would do this, and so much more.”

“Well, then I have no other choice but beg…” Ramiro started to back away—

—and pulled a bottle of ketchup from a table next to the door and started attacking Jim and Yam. “...that you run faster than you talk smack.”

{}

So, apparently, the ketchup and egg thing is an Argentinian tradition that @weirdthoughtsandideas brought to my attention Shout out to Sara for coming up with a couple of the ideas. On another note, I did not timeline-check this, so there could and probably is at least some continuity errors with the last eps in S2. So I can't exactly pinpoint, between what eps this is actually happening, but after the last time we see them at Blake.

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (871): Tue 6th Aug 2024

Up early for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival…well not quite. I set my alarm for eight, planning on getting the bus to the town for half eight and boarding my train at 9:20. My alarm went off and like an idiot I thought I would just have 5 more minutes and when I woke up again it was half 9 and my train would've been half way to Newcastle by now. After taking 20 to punch myself in the bollocks for being so stupid I rang a taxi to take me to the town and had to buy another train ticket to Edinburgh. This I didn't mind so much but when I looked in my backpack and realized I'd left my charger in the house I rolled my eyes because I knew it was going to be one of those days and because I would have to wait an hour an a half until I got to Edinburgh so that I could go to my hotel room and punch myself in the bollocks again for my second major fuckup of the day. This time around I've had to use a hostel I've never used before because the A&O Hostel in the city centre that I normally use is charging a frankly disgraceful £220 for one fucking night in shared dormitory!!! There are some performers up at the Fringe who aren't going to MAKE that amount of money for Christ's sake! This one near the train station I was in tonight was only charging £50 which is still mental but nowhere near as extortionate as A&O. Anywho I threw my shit into the hostel and headed of for my first show of the Fringe: The Grim. This show, taking place at the Underbelly near the university was about to undertakers working the nightshift at a morgue to prepare the body of a serial killer for his funeral the next day. During the shift they keep receiving strange phonecalls and one of them tells a folk story that puts both of them on edge. I won't give away any plot points but it's brilliantly spooky and peppered throughout with OnlyFools and Horses / Odd Couple style humour and frankly I'm as astonished as you are that I even made it to this show because we've established already that I've gotten so dumb in my old age that I can't even work an alarm clock. After I got something to eat I was standing in line for an open topped bus tour of the city as I do every year when an old lady tripped on her shoe and fell face first onto the pavement but she instantly no sold it, got back up and continued walking. She said she was fine but I'm guessing she was just trying to put as much distance between herself and anyone who might've seen it to avoid any embarrasment. I'll ask my followers on Twitter if they think this is the case when I upload the footage later on. I had another horror themed show to go to later on but I ditched it when I saw a poster for the incredible David O'Doherty and couldn't pass up an opportunity to hear his Beefs 2024. David was spectacularly surreal as always and didn't even let the fact that a string of about fifteen latecomers walked in five minutes after the show started and even worked it into his routine. The highlights of the show were a song about his birth which had my crying laughing and the biggest laugh of the night came during his rant about "handsome comedians" and the "anxiety" they have to deal with. It's always a joy to see the D.O.D. On my way home someone spotted the Pixies shirt I was wearing and said "If you like the Pixies you'll love this" and put a flyer in my hand for a play called "To Watch A Man Eat". I looked up the description of the show later on and it's about an office worker who tries to stay at work or out after work as long as possible because he finds his wife insufferable and because she constantly stares at him while he tries to eat. To be honest, yeah that does sound like the kind of thing a Pixies fan would like to watch. Fair play to this guy although I think that given his income depends on him being able to talk people into the building I'm guessing this is a promotional tactic he uses often regardless of the attire "Hey if you like Swastika t-shirts stained with mustard then you'll love this show".

[thenovelartist]

And there was only One Bed - Tears of Themis Headcanons

Premise: There’s only one room left in the hotel, meaning the guys have to be roomies with MC for a night.

Luke

Err… his cheeks are red now.

He’s having to check with MC if she’s okay with it. Not that they had much of a choice.

They take the room, only to discover one bed.

And forget his crush on her; that’s the least of his problems.

He knows she shifts in her sleep.

“You take half and I take half?” MC offers. “Like when we were kids?”

He sighs, lamenting his fate. “I’m so gonna end up on the floor.”

“Sorry.”

When it comes to who showers first: rock, paper, scissors.

He’s the least phased of all the guys by the whole “share one bathroom” situation. They grew up together. They sometimes used to have quick conversations through the bathroom door, normally just a question or two about what they wanted for dinner or if their phone went off and it was their parents.

Which happened this time. “There was a vending machine down stairs. You want anything? And if you mention that diet, I’m getting you two of your favorite candy bars.”

“Just one and only one.”

“You got it.”

(@gavin-plz-call-me once called them the “King and Queen of No Boundaries” and I will never forget it.)

Eventually, Luke makes sure MC’s settled in for bed while he’s planning to stay up a little and figure out tomorrow’s game plan.

Until she literally drags him to bed.

He can’t protest against her.

Contrary to what he thought, he did not end up on the floor.

But it was kinda hard to sleep when the girl of his dreams decided his chest was her new snuggle pillow halfway through the night.

He’ll cave and roll with it. Be selfish just for tonight and hold her there.

Come morning, she apologizes for disrupting him, he dismisses it. And both their cheeks are red.

But it doesn’t phase them. Give it half an hour, they’re back to normal.

(Bonus: “So, kid. Let me get this straight,” Aaron Yishmir started. “You spent the night with her, and you’re still not gonna tell her anything?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“You’re hopeless.)

Vyn

Well… this is a predicament.

However, they come to some awkward agreement that if it’s the only place to sleep for the night, they’ll take it and figure it out as they go.

However, things only go from bad to worse when they learn there’s only one bed.

There were very few times since becoming an adult that Vyn ever found himself at a loss. And this was one of those times.

“Um… are you comfortable splitting?”

His glasses almost fell off his face at MCs suggestion.

Before he can even think about suggesting to take the chair, MC is putting up a blanket wall. “Like this?”

Er… aha…

Oh geez, this woman…

He caves to that deep, ugly part of him that’s begging “yes” and agrees.

Then comes the new revelation there’s only one bathroom, which rose the question of who was going to shower when.

He just lets her take the first shower while his mind is still storming.

During that time, he realizes this may be the only time he has the privacy to actually record his voice diary.

It’s a total disaster. He’s in mental turmoil and can barely think straight.

But MC is acting normal, meaning he’s got to try to act normal.

Normally, he takes his showers in the morning, but he takes it at night this time just so he can have another moment of privacy to get his thoughts in order.

This is just a practical arrangement. This is just a practical arrangement. This is just a practical arrangement…

Bedtime rolls around, and poor, unsuspecting Vyn believes they are each going to stay on their respective sides of the bed.

However, Author has a headcanon these two both sleep like dead logs.

Morning rolls around, and they’re still both asleep, only they’re totally entangled.

MC wakes up first, laying on top of Vyn.

And when she freaks, flailing and falling off the bed in the process, that’s when Vyn wakes, too.

It was… an interesting morning to say the least.

They come to the agreement to never speak on it again.

(Until a few years down the line after they’re together and can look back on that day with amusement.)

Artem

When the person at the front desk said there was only one room left, Artem about had a heart attack.

He cannot possibly share a room with MC. That’s super improper.

Will call around to any other hotel in the area, but no avail.

MC will literally have to drag this poor man up to the room.

“It will be fine, Artem.”

Except, it wasn’t. There was one bed.

Cue almost heart attack number 2.

He almost left to go sleep in the car. MC had to restrain him.

“We can share right? Like, if we—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Not even if we put a blanket—”

“No. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

There was no convincing him to sleep anywhere else.

And MC tried.

Eventually, she had to surrender. “Fine. Then do you want the first shower?”

Oh… there was only one bathroom… that they’d be sharing…

Cue almost heart attack number 3.

Will legitimately leave the room while she’s showering. He just feels too awkward and like he’s invading her privacy.

Then bed time rolls around and he’s unable to sleep, so he works on his laptop for the time being.

Ends up pulling an all-nighter, which MC anticipated.

She set an alarm for early in the morning so she could then force him to bed for a few hours.

While he insisted he was fine, he was too tired to protest as she pushed him down into bed. “Sleep, will you. I know you didn’t sleep all night.”

Thought he’d have trouble, but he was so wound up all night over everything that had happened that he’s passed out in fifteen minutes.

And stayed out cold for a few hours.

When they left, MC made sure to thank him for being such a gentleman. She thought it was the least she could do for his troubles.

That, and she quite liked the way his ears and neck turned red.

(Bonus: He hopes Celestine never finds out what happened on that business trip.

But when she finds out curtesy of MC, she will never let him live it down.)

Marius

The moment he finds out there’s only one room, he actually gets super flustered.

And as he does, instantly goes in to deflective Playboy Flirt mode.

“Get your head out of the gutter, you little—”

MC shut that down, real quick.

Most he could do then is just say “It can’t be that bad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Well, apparently only be one bed.

Flustered Marius = Playboy Persona

“That’s it,” MC says. “You take the bed.”

“What? Don’t you wanna share?”

“No.”

“Ouch!”

But really, he wants to find some way to get her to take the bed because he really will feel awful otherwise.

Then comes the single bathroom realization.

“You wanna shower together?”

“Marius, I swear I will kick you out of this room and take the keycard from you.”

“Oh, my feisty Miss Attorney.”

“Miss Attorney will sue you for sexual harassment.”

“Understood.”

He gets to shower first, and then ends up giving her some excuse for leaving the room entirely.

He loves teasing her, but this might be the most he’s ever pushed his luck. And he actually doesn’t want her to hate him, so he’ll give her this space at least.

As for the bed situation…

MC tries to sleep on the couch, but he can’t stand it, so he decides to push his luck and simply carry her to bed.

“I won’t pull anything, I swear.”

“The only reason I’m agreeing is because I know I’ll sleep better here than the couch.”

“See?”

“Marius.”

“I’ll shut up.”

Regrets his decision halfway through the night when Mr. Light Sleeper realizes Ms. Dead Log moves in her sleep.

She was snuggled up against his back, and his heart was going doki doki too hard to even think about going back to sleep.

Eventually, he rolls over and snuggles her, not just because he wants to, but he hopes it will keep her still through the night.

Unfortunately, she was not happy in the morning.

“Can’t we talk about this?”

She kept her face turned away from him the rest of the day, but he knew it was red with blush. “Shut up.”

[finniestoncrane]

yo could we perhaps have some lovestruck, absolutely, positively, *smitten* eddie? 👀💕

absolutely you can!! i'm not sure which specific eddie you want so i kind of just went general and added a little nod to a few of them here and there so i hope that's ok!

minors DNI!! 🔞 no warnings for anything it's just fluff fluff fluff but i'd still rather not have minors interacting

Happiness

Eddie brushed his hand through his hair, the other nervously tapping the pencil against his head and twirling it in his fingers and trying to focus on the rhythm. His eyes glanced in constant but unfounded anticipation from his keyboard to the left, where his phone rested on his desk. Four minutes had gone by since he sent his last text, and with every second, the growing ache of nerves and regret filled his stomach.

It is a synonym for joy, and it begins with H; for me, it starts with U. What is it?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Eddie thumped his elbows onto the table, dropping his head into his hands as he whined, self-pitying whimpers flooding from his pouting mouth. For the past three weeks, almost every waking moment of his life was spent thinking about you. It was becoming almost routine. Everything he did revolved around you.

He had begun setting his alarm fifteen minutes early so that he could lay in his bed, squeezing his pillow and nuzzling his face into it, imagining how soft your embrace would feel, his hand on his own side, trying desperately to pretend it was yours on his body, tenderly welcoming him to the fresh new day.

If and when he found himself able to focus on his work, on his projects, he would have to tear so many pages from his notebooks, his methodical notes interrupted by the tiny hearts and repeated, clumsy cursive scrawlings of your name.

Every dream was filled with visuals of peaceful happiness. He held your hand, stroked your palm with his thumb as you sat together under clear blue skies, in meadows filled with wildflowers, smoothing your hair behind your ear, hand lingering on your cheek. Your smile, your lips, easing closer towards him, the soft sensation, the taste of honey, he loved honey, delightfully pleasant heat and the right amount of moisture. A kiss so perfect, his own admittedly clumsy ability bolstered by his imagination.

And amidst the expected symptoms, those that he had frantically researched online, trying to find comprehensive and scientific explanations for the flurry of confusing feelings he had, the appetite loss, the inability to sleep or focus, he found one that was particularly daunting. But Eddie, familiar with plans and forward thinking as he was, had never really tried to factor in another person.

But now, everything he wanted for the future, the fame, the recognition, notoriety in his work, his intelligence, the joy of defeating that detective, proving himself best among his peers, it all had to fit in with the ludicrously domestic bliss he wanted with you. Within a week of knowing you, Eddie had already known what kind of ring would suit you best, one that would match your skin tone and your style. He knew how he would propose, the music that would play in the background as he knelt on one knee, because he knew he would be traditional despite being decidedly...unconventional himself. He knew what he would wear on your wedding day, what song, or songs, he had a long list, that you would dance to on your first day as truly his.

And even though he was suffering at the moment, head lolling around in his palms, cringing painfully at his pathetic attempt at letting you know how he felt, he was still filled with optimism that you might be wooed by his awkward charm. And filled, simultaneously, with the familiar feelings of crippling self-doubt.

Not enough time to focus on that worry, though, as your reply came through with a loud buzz, giving him a shock and sending him reeling back in his chair, too fearful to look at the screen. But he looked anyway, wide smile, the corners pressing into his round and red-tinted cheeks, as he read the message.

I hope the answer is happiness. If not, I'll be embarrassed! If it is, let me know what time to be over at :) x

His heart thumped loudly, hands trembling in excitement as a breathy and surprised giggle choked out of his throat. He leaned back in his chair, clutching his phone to his chest and feeling his heartbeat, elevated, fluttering wildly. He sighed deeply, eyes closed and smiling before a fresh wave of panic came over him.

You were coming over. Now what?

[erodasfishtacos]

Adjustments

When Y/N is getting tired of staying at home with the baby while Harry tours.

word count: 5k

contains: sexual content, language, a dash of angst

It was still early but Harry didn’t mind. When he was on tour he craved sleep like no other. To be in his bed, spooned around his love, and no alarm set.

However, the deep desire for sleep is just a faraway thought now because he’d rather be sleep deprived and wake up to his curly-haired baby any given day.

He looks to you. Mouth slightly open, face stress-free, and peaceful. Harry hated coming home from tour to see the bags of exhaustion under your eyes from taking care of the baby all by yourself.

He constantly had to swallow back guilt. He tried to do everything to make it up when he was home.

Harry didn’t find touring as exciting and fun as he use to. He sometimes counts down the tour dates until he’s home.

Sometime he can’t wait for the concert to wrap up so he can sneak in a quick FaceTime before you lot head off to bed.

Sasha was two, her birthday near days away, and Y/N had been running around like a mad-woman trying to make sure her party would be perfect.

Y\N sometimes held herself to the exceptions of other celebrities wives. Ballon arches, custom cookies, and beautiful decorations.

However, unlike other celebrities, you did this all yourself. No event planner, nobody except Anne and Gemma.

Harry wants you to sleep as much as possible and allow you the luxury he gets on tour. Sleeping in until noon sometimes in the empty, cold hotel room with nothing else to do.

He can hear Sasha babbling incessantly from her little bed. The little yellow railings preventing her from falling out or escaping.

Harry heaves himself off the bed, tugging on some sweatpants that had been thrown off hurriedly when you’d told him you’d been wet for him since he walked in the door last night.

“Hi, hi little love,” Harry murmurs as he opens the door to her bedroom. The yellow flowers hand-painted from the wall setting the theme for the room.

Sasha was a good baby and an ever better toddler. However, almost as a little teenager, she sure did have her mood swings. They weren’t quite out of the terrible twos stage yet.

She wanted her mom as she stood there.

“No, mummy,” Sasha whines, tugging on Harry’s cross necklace with force after he scooped her up.

“Hey, we don’t do that. Remember we treat people with kindness.”

After a promise of chocolate chips in her pancakes, she agrees to help Harry cook you breakfast. 

It was messy and his bare chest was covered in flour. Not quite sure how the little girl had gotten it into her curls but they were managing.

Harry loved watching Sasha play with the cooking utensil. Smacking whisk around, looking quizzically at a spatula. 

It made Harry want to buy her a little play kitchen. He was surprised they didn’t already have one. He thinks they might have on in their New York City apartment that they haven’t traveled to recently.

He makes a point while Sasha is chewing at the pancakes to search to find one. He finds a same-day pickup at a local toy store and orders it.

That’s one thing he loved about making so much money. He could spoil you and the baby, his family with everything and anything they want or need.

Y/N always struggled with accepting gifts from Harry but as they years went on and they got married and combined bank accounts. (well she brought a hefty three thousand to the marriage, he graciously gave her full-access to his money). 

A few weeks after your wedding, when you went to an ATM to get twenty pounds out for a cash-only restaurant and when the receipt said you two had six-hundred thousand and some change in just one of your CHECKING account - well you nearly almost fainted.

You had been worried about the three pound service fee before seeing that.

Harry could sometimes get ahead of himself. He’s had disposable money since he was sixteen. Y/N would sometimes hum, asking if he really needs a fifteen-thousand dollar wool Gucci coat.

Y/N would make it a point that she doesn’t want Sasha to grow to be materialistic and spoiled. So Harry was scolded every once in a while when he gave into Sasha’s puppy dog eyes.

Maybe not the best decision but he planned to set it up when you were out for lunch this afternoon with a friend. Hopefully, you wouldn’t notice? If he strategically put it in the playroom.

“Mmm, what’s all this?” You murmur, tying your silk robe at the front. Just enough cleavage showing that Harry feels a twitch in his joggers. Sue him, basically everything his wife did turned him on.

“Pancakes, mummy!” Sasha giggles, syrup coating her cheeks and fingers. “Kissy?” Her dad had taught her that.

“Yes baby,” you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to her soft curls, avoiding her sticky mess. 

“Kissy?” 

You look up to your pouting husband with identical absurdly wild curls from bed. 

“Spoiled, you lot,” you tell him before padding over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Forever the horny teenager, his large hands finds your bum and pull you closer - deepening the kiss.

“Miss you s’much on tour, all I think about,” he whispers into your mouth. “Your tits, your cun-“

“Harry!” You laugh, smacking at his chest, “Can’t talk like that in front of the baby!”

“She didn’t hear,” he grumbles, giving your arse one last squeeze, “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” you agree back, ignoring the pinch of arousal. 

—-

Sasha was putting up a fight when she realized that you were leaving without her. Grabbing at your leg as you tugged on a Gucci sneaker.

“I’ll be back soon, Sash,” you assure her but to no avail.

Her cheeks ruddy red and splotched. Tears staining them as she wails dramatically at the top of her little lungs. 

“I don’t know if I should go,” You sigh as Harry wrestles her tiny body off of you so you don’t trip.

“No baby, you need a break. She can’t hold you hostage,” Harry laughs as Sasha wriggles a little in his arms.

“Call me if you need me to come home.”

“I’ll be fine, now go, have a mimosa for me,” Harry smiles down at his daughter who is staring at you like you’ve just killed her beloved pet.

You can’t help but giggle at the glare, “so scary, missy. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

Sasha buries her nose into Harry’s neck. Her sobs more sad than angry at this point. Which makes your heartbreak a little.

—-

Sasha was getting impatient with her father. As he attempted to figure out how to screw on the oven door to the overcomplicated design.

She occasionally ran off with a piece he needed so it took much longer than he’d thought. But this thing was sophisticated, you pour water into a little tub and it runs through the faucet like a real sink.

Sasha gave her father a wide smile when he had finally told her it was all done. He helped fill the little shopping cart with plastic fruit and veggies.

She was babbling to herself happily, occasionally making sure her dad was still in the room with her.

Harry had grabbed his journal off the kitchen table and was scribbling down mismatched lyrics about how much love he was filled with.

His last two albums were nearly just songs about you. The next one was definitely going to include tracks about his baby.

When he hears the alarm sound and get shut off, he knows your home and he feels a little twinge of anxiety in his stomach.

Distraction? That should work right?

“Hi baby,” Harry greets, planting a kiss on your lips before squatting to untie your sneakers for you.

“Well hello there!” You look around surprised to not see your daughter toddling to you as well. “Is bug sleeping?”

Harry shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, “Um, no. Just playing in the playroom right now.”

“Was she good?” You asks, noticing he’s changed clothes. He loved to laze around in joggers if he could. “Did you go out?”

“Just for coffee,” he covers, technically - he did grab a coffee for himself at a drive-thru. “How was lunch?”

“Good, mimosas were shit so I only had one. Missed you guys too much. So glad your home,” you sigh into his chest, basking in his tight arms around you.

“Only 73 more concerts to go,” Harry replies.

He can feel your shoulders tense at his lame attempt of a joke. It wasn’t funny to you, not in the slightest. 

“Just 73, huh?” You shoot back, untangling yourself from his grip. “Just another eight months away from your wife and baby.”

“Love...” Harry begins, swallowing hard. He was just as emotional as you when it came to it. 

You shake your head, swiping at the stray tear, “Just forget it,” you huff before trekking off to see your daughter.

Harry is cautiously trailing behind you with a bowling ball of nerves in his belly. 

When you walk into the playroom and see the new kitchen set - you stand nearly frozen in the doorway.

“Mummy! Mumma look at what daddy got me!” She chirps, standing to come to you. You easily lift her up and accept the plastic apple she hands to you proudly. 

You feel a tightness in your throat, “it’s so nice, baby.”

“Nice,” she repeats, “come play, mumma.”

“I just got home, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back in,” you promise with a kiss before placing her back down.

She seems satisfied with your answer and scurries back to where she had placed her babydoll on the countertop - feeding it.

“Can we please talk in the kitchen?” You asks, trying your best to keep your voice level in front of your daughter.

Harry dejectedly nods and follows you into the kitchen, dragging his boot-clad feet a little. 

“Look, I know your mad, lovie. But I just got the idea and didn’t think too much about it. Know y’don’t want to spoil her but-“

“Do you not listen?” You ask harshly.

He looks at you dumbfounded. Unsure of the question. It sounded like it was a trick question.

“You’re unbelievable!” You whisper-shout so Sasha doesn’t hear.

Harry feels himself getting defensive, “You’re tha’ mad about a bloody toy?  I’m her father allowed to buy her things too!”

“No, Harry. It’s not about that. It seems like your so busy with your job that you just tune me out on our calls.”

Harry’s brow furrows. That wasn’t true in the slightest. It was the highlight of his day to hear your voice and how it went at home.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Harry snaps, his voice a little louder. 

“Go into the storage room off the side of the garage.”

He gives you a confused look but obliges, after trailing through your maze of a house. He reaches the large extra room.

When he opens the door, his heart sinks. He immediately knows why you’re so upset with him.

A beautiful, hand-painted kitchen set is sat with a large pink bow in the room. The hutch saying in cursive, “Sasha’s Kitchen.”

It was her favorite colors - blue and yellow- with painted images of all her favorite characters like Peppa Pig and Blue from Blue’s Clues.

He remembers how excited you were on the phone that night - when you revealed her third birthday present and how perfect the artist had made it.

Harry had been listening -truthfully- but he was also nearly asleep after two encores of Kiwi onstage and a meet and greet backstage.

He felt like shit now. Disappointed in himself for ruining this surprise he knows you were looking forward to giving her in a mere few days.

But the excitement of another kitchen set surely would be lackluster now. 

“Baby, m’so sorry,” Harry says quietly, with guilt bubbling in his throat. “I was listening. I just...I forgot.”

“Nothing we can do about it now it,” you bite out. Disappointed at the ruin surprised making you prickle with anger towards your forgetful husband.

Harry begins to apologize once again but you don’t let him, “I need to put her down for a nap.”

— 

You drift off as well in your bed- taking advantage of Sasha being asleep in the next room over.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to fix this situation. He’s much too embarrassed to call his mum or sister who would just give him another earful.

He felt like being on tour has been mucking everything up. He loved his job, most days. But days like today - he wishes to never see a recording studio or microphone again.

Harry’s pondering all this when he hears a cry from the baby’s room. 

Sasha is stood, bleary-eyes with a sad frown as her father enters. 

“Sweet pea, what’s the sad face for?” He hums as he tucks her into the curve of his slim hip. Bringing her down onto the main level so you aren’t awoken.

“Daddy, kitchen?” She sniffles, pointing towards her playroom.

He shakes his head. Deciding the least he can do is bathe her so you wouldn’t need to later. She still had remnants of fruit pouch in her cheeks.

“No, darling. S’bath time. Then you can play,” he boots her nose. Snatching some clean baby clothes from where they’re folded and waited to be put away on the coffee table.

“No no no,” she whimpers angrily, shaking her head and smacking her arm against her father’s tattooed chest.

“Sasha Anne, no hitting, absolutely not,” Harry uses his firm father’s voice that he didn’t have to pull out very often.

“No bath, daddy, no!” She wails with all the dramatics of an A-List actor. 

“Hey, mumma’s sleeping. We cannot yell,” her father hushes her as he trails into the bathroom.

“Mean daddy!” She exclaims as he wrestles her into the tub. Splashing the water and wriggling away everytime he tries to cup water over her head to rid her of the shampoo.

“I know, I know, so mean,” he acknowledges sympathetically. A headache arising in the front of his skull from his baby’s high pitch noises and shouts.

After another fight into clothes, she’s still not happy when she’s sat in front of her kitchen. She throws the plastic toys around and whining anytime Harry moves an inch.

He’s feeling a little overwhelmed if he’s honest. With his worry about your precious argument and the unusual tactics of your toddler - he was stressed out. 

“Binky,” Sasha looks expectantly at her father.

Oh, good idea. She loves that.

Harry can’t find any lying around like usual so he digs through the drawers around the living room until he finds one.

After cleaning it off, he hands it to her and she pops it in her mouth happily. Her attention now direction back towards her new toy.

He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t quite sure how you did this alone so much of the time.

—

 When you finally wake from a fitful nap, you hear noise from the playroom. You’re still extremely frustrated with your husband but it’s less intense. Until...

Until you walk in and Sasha turns around, smiling around a binky you surely thought you’d thrown away.

Sasha was getting too old for a pacifier - even though she was just using it when she was really upset or at night.

You’d been binky-free for three weeks. And all the crying and tears from your daughter where now meaningless.

“Where did she get that pacifier?” You grit out.

You had told him multiple times you were weaning her off of it.

“She was fussy. I gave it to her, tha’ alright?” He asks cluelessly.

“Harry! I’ve told you so so many times that I’d been weaning her off of it. She just stopped crying about it a week ago!”

“I told you about this - just like the kitchen. God, you get so goddamn wrapped up in your career that you forget important things like this!”

“Baby...” Harry whimpers, hands up in surrender. “I keep, I keep messing up. I’m - I don’t know where my mind is.”

“I’ll tell you were your mind is, Harry. In the countries your traveling to, the concerts your performing at. You promised me...you fucking promised when we started trying for a baby this stuff wouldn’t happen!!”

Harry’s face crumples, “yo-you’re my everything, lovie. You and bug. None of this means anything without you. I’ll quit music, never write another lyric or sing another note if that’s what you want from me.”

He meant that fully heartedly too.

When he wrote If I Could Fly and write the lyrics, “I’ll give up everything, just ask me to.”

The fans, the producers, you - don’t truly know how much he was being truthful in the lyrics.

“I would never ask you to do that. I want you to do what you love but I want you to follow through for your family!”

At your raised tons, Sasha begins to whine, looking with wide, concerned eyes.

“Mummy?”

With that, you scoop her up. “M’going to your mums. I’ll be back later.”

Harry watches anxiously as you pack Sasha’s bag. He feels useless as he hands your her fruit pouches and crackers from the pantry.

As you snatch the car keys from the entry tables, Harry asks in a near whisper, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

“I’m lost too. I jus-just can’t keep doing this. It’s too hard for you to be away from us like this. I feel like a single mom sometimes.”

With that, you’re out the door and on your way to your mother-in-laws. 

For the first time ever, Harry had a fleeting thought that you’re going to divorce him. He knows it’s not just about the toy and the pacifier.

He hasn’t been home enough. As much as he tries, the FaceTimes don’t make the distance and time apart any easier. 

You have all the responsibility of this little human and your heart twinges on days you’re missing you husband and you constantly at met with his little replica.

Harry feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s only had a handful in his lifetime but this one was intense.

He grabs his phone and dials the number to his best friend. He really needed a shoulder to cry on right now.

“Hey mate! What’s good, big boy?” The Irish man belts into the phone only to be met with sniffles and tears.

“Niall, I don’t know what to do.”

—

Anne was expecting you. She had set up tea with little cake in the back garden. Sasha was excited to chase the cats around the greenery. Her cute jumpsuit sodden with dirt and grass stains in no time.

“I’m sick of being at home alone all the time with Sasha. I miss Harry too much, she misses him too much,” you croak, attempting to keep your tears at bay.

“I want Harry to continue his career and live his dream. Most people never get the chance he’s gotten. I-I just need him.”

“Oh honey,” she rubs my hand soothingly, “I can only imagine. I know I missed him fiercely to the point it was unbearable when he was sixteen. I still miss him too.”

“I...I’m going to sound like such a bad mother,” you take a deep breathe, “would I be a bad mum if Sash and I joined Harry on tour?”

“Do you think that’d make you a bad mum?” Anne asks softly, a small smile on her face.

“No, I don’t think. I’d be happier because I’d be with Harry and we could actually be a married couple 24/7. She would get to see her dad everyday.”

“I think you’ve found you answer,” Anne chuckles, pouring more hot water into your cups.

“It will be so stressful.”

“More stressful than it is now?” Anne replies.

“Nothing can be more stressful than right now.”

- -

The talk witdh Niall helped only a little bit but enough to not feel like he’s going to vomit every other minute.

He was worried you were going to come in here and ask him for a divorce because he couldn’t follow through on his promises as a husband and a father.

Harry was ready to do whatever it took to prevent that from happening. He’s not above groveling and begging for you to stay.

It is dark when you pull in, toting in a sleeping child in your arms that you pass off to Harry who’s waiting at the front door.

He tucks his baby into her bed, tugging the blankets over her, and staring down at her sweet, cherub face for a little longer than usual before heading into your master.

You’re sat on the corner of the bed, biting your lip, and playing with you flashy large diamond ring as a force of habit.

“Baby...” Harry rasps, not touching you but kneeling down in front of you. 

“I can’t do what we’re doing anymore,” you begin, completely unaware that Harry thinks you’re about to ask for a divorce.

“I don’t think you’re going to agree with what I have to say, but I think it’s the best,” you swallow harshly, hoping he doesn’t shoot down the proposition.

“Please, I’ll do anything, lovie. Don’t leave me, don’t divorce me. I’ll do anything’ you want, sweetheart. Please, I need you. I’m so inlove with you.”

Harry is full on sobbing by this point, hanging his head against your knees as he attempts to catch his breath but finding it hard.

“Harry!” You murmur in confusion “baby, look at me, please?”

It takes him a moment to meet your eyes, your face is soft but wrinkled in concern. 

“What are you talking about? Divorce?” You choke out the words. Never in a million years would you willingly agree to part from your husband.

“I know I’ve been fuckin’ up. I can’t bloody figure out how to balance shit. I’ve not followed through and neglected you n’ the baby. I’m a bad husband and a bad dad.”

“Hey,” you said with force, bringing your hand under his chin so he has to keep eye contact. “Do not ever say something like that again. You are the best husband and father. You provide for us. You love us more than I’ve thought possible. You’re perfect for Sasha and I.”

“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Harry chokes out, letting his ringed hands rest on the tops of your thighs. His diamond wedding rand flashing in the light.

“Oh, H. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean with you.” You chuckle lightly, “how could you ever possibly think I’d leave you, pet?”

He shakes his head, “it’s because y’too good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you hums, running a hand through his curls. “I know how to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything f’you,” Harry would agree to jump off The Empire State Building for you without a second thought.

“The baba and I are going to join you on tour. I know we agreed it’s be too much but I can’t imagine it can be any harder than this.”

Harry’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s if you’ll have us,” you whisper coyly, excited by his reaction.

“Yeah, baby. It means I get to fuck you every night,” Harry growls pushing you back and up into the bed before crawling on top of you.

“A teenage boy, I swear,” you giggle, flushed just thinking about how much more time you’ll have together. 

“S’it so bad I want t’fuck my wife? That I’m so bloody gone for you that I’d do anything f’you?” He presses against your lips before demanding entrance.

“You can have me in your bed every night,” you agree, letting his tongue twist with yours with fever and urgency. 

“Mmm, only groupie I’ll ever need.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, allowing him to slip your shirt over your head and attach his lips to your collarbone.

“Can’t wait to fuck you in every country - like we did when you toured with me before the bab.”

When he tosses your bra across the room, you gasp at his mouth finding your nipple instantly. Nipping and suckling at the sensitive nerves with intent.

His hand doesn’t waste anytime, skillfully unbuttoning your jeans and zip with one hand before cramming his large palm inside to cup you in his hand.

“Only pussy I want, fuckin’ made for me,” he groans at the warm wetness he feel through the thin underwear. The tips of his fingers stroke over your clit with confident movements.

“Stop teasing!” You whine, wriggling out of your jeans and panties in one go. Harry is still completely dressed above you - which shouldn’t be sexy but it is.

“Don’t know how I thought you’d ever leave me. Y’fucking obsessed with my cock,” he laughs - sure of himself now.

“If you don’t touch me, I swear-“

“I’ve got you lovie, best wife ever, y’know? Just wanna please you,” he promises the damp skin on your neck, landing nips and bites that will surely leave a mark. 

“Then please me,” you demand, your tone a higher pitch than usual for your arousal.

You’re rolling your hips upwards to meet his jean-clad center. The friction feels delicious against your sensitive nerves.

Harry takes hold of your hip with one hand to halt your grinding, his other hand finding your heat and without hesitation - slides two thick fingers into you.

“H, yeah,” y/n moans, rolling her hips down to meet his hand. Her arousal coating his knuckles and he can’t describe how sexy that is.

He curls his fingers towards the top of you tight wall, finding the little spongey spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering.

“Oh, did I find the spot, love?” Harry teases like he doesn’t know. He’s been an expert in pleasuring you for the past eight years. 

“Yes baby, m’gonna come,” you nearly slur with pleasure. The cold metal of his rings brushing against your heated folds in relief.

“Only gonna let you come - if you promise me you’ll come again f’me.”

“I will, H. I wil-“

“Ssh, s’okay. Give it to me, my love,” Harry croons sweetly, leaning to suck a nipple as he speeds up his minstrations. 

Your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace, your hips meeting his curled fingers on every thrust as he pushes you over the edge, “fu-fuck,” you moan, trying your best to keep your voice down.

“Tha’s it. M’wife looks so fuckin’ gorgeous when she’s coming on my fingers. Need you on my cock,” Harry grunts, removing his fingers and working to get his clothes off as fast as possible.

He’s positioning himself at your entrance with intent, wasting no time pushing in. No matter how many times you took him - it was always a stretch but it was immensely pleasurable.

“Love you, love our family. Can’t wait f’you two to join me on tour,” Harry pants, attempting to keep his thrust slow and meaningful but he was so turned on he was already becoming sloppy.

“S’going to be so nice. Spend everyday with my husband,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your feet on his bum. You can feel the muscle flexing from his thrusts.

“Yeah, never get tired of hearin’ that word.”

“Husband?” You giggle, “we’ve been married for five years.”

“Still can’t believe you agreed to,” Harry murmurs, his lips pressed against your temple as he becomes more determined. His thumb finding your clit and giving it hard, tight rubs.

Harry could have anyone he wanted. Millions of people lusted after him. It was hard to believe sometimes that he only wanted you. But in moments like this, you never questioned it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, biting his full bottom lip.

He growls, “hush up. Let me fuck you, yeah?” 

With that, the only thing that leaves your mouth is whines and gasps as he hits your spot on every fluid thrust with a determined thumb on your nerves.

“Cl-close,” Y/N shutters, legs quivering with sensitivity and arousal.

“Baby, baby wait f’me, m’close,” he begs against your skin, licking and kissing wherever he can reach. He speeds up his movements and you fell him tensing up, his mouth dripping open in an o shape and his eyes squeezing shut - his telltale sign.

You allow yourself to let go at that point and ride out the waves of intense climax with him as he weakly thrust a few more times until he lays his weight on top of you.

“The bubby is going to love South America,” Harry smiles into your mouth. His large palms massaging at your shaky, wet thighs.

“I think she’s going to love being with her daddy more,” Y/N replies, a hand coming to cup his jaw in a slow, languid twist. 

—

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[goldenraeofsun]

Day 21: Missing him was dark grey, all alone

Dean’s old things arrive on his doorstep two days after Cas breaks it off. He shoves the returned clothes in the very back of his drawers and almost dumps the photos in the trash - but one look at Cas’s smiling, frozen face, and he switches to the recycling instead.

He keeps the picture of them in matching cowboy hats, where Cas is wearing Dean’s favorite exasperated but so, so fond smile. Dean’s smiling too, dopily at the camera like he couldn’t believe his good luck.

Well, his good luck finally ran dry, just like he always knew it would.

It’s only five days after Halloween, so Dean splurges on candy instead of ice cream. He doesn’t care what, as long as it has some combination of chocolate, nougat, and maybe peanuts. He cracks open the first bag that night and polishes it off by mid afternoon the next day.

And he drinks.

He drinks a lot.

The next morning, hungover and dreading work, Dean texts Cas.

Dean 8:15 Got my stuff Thanks

He stares at his phone until the screen makes his bloodshot eyes water. Groaning, he double checks the time. Christ, it took him fifteen minutes to type out four goddamn words. How the hell is he going to do this?

Step-by-step. That’s what he told Sam while he was getting over the whole Ruby disaster - except Ruby was a demon, and Cas was an angel.

Brush teeth.

Make coffee.

Get dressed.

Don’t crash his baby on the way to Reading Hill Elementary.

Dean still feels like death warmed over by the time he slumps into work. He freezes as he takes in Claire, unsticking laminated paper pumpkins and cartoon bats from the wall. Her long blonde hair is swept up in a high ponytail (three glue incidents, and she finally caught on), leaving her face clear.

He’s never going to be free of Cas, not when his teacher’s assistant shares his eyes.

“You look terrible,” Claire tells him, frank as ever.

“Oh yeah? I hadn’t noticed,” Dean says, slumping over in his chair next to the chalkboard.

Claire sets down the decorations. “What happened?”

“None of your business.”

Claire crosses her arms over her chest. “It is if I’m going to have to pick up the slack because you don’t have your shit together enough to put on matching shoes.”

Alarmed, Dean drops his gaze down at his feet.

What the hell? His shoes totally match.

He glances up at Claire’s smirking face. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Claire says loftily as she carries the Halloween decorations to his desk. “What should I do with these?”

“How should I know?”

Claire groans. “Seriously? I spent the past ten minutes taking down all the Sanderson Sisters’ merch.” She grabs a plastic tub they keep for their library books and drops the pile in there and kicks it under his desk. “We can figure it out later.”

Dean rubs a hand down his face. “Yeah, sure.”

“Do you wanna stop by the water fountain or something?” Claire asks, eyebrows rising. “You really don’t look so hot.”

Dean shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

And all too soon, Dean hears the first, “Good morning, Mr. Winchester!” chirped by the front door.

Ignoring the concerned look from Claire, Dean gets up to greet his student.

The day crawls by. Dean loses his train of thought more times than he can remember, and he gets the Banes twins mixed up - which is ridiculous since they are clearly fraternal. At story time, he accidentally chooses a book about an artist whose paintings come to life, and Dean nearly loses it right there.

At three, Dean lets Claire go early and furiously cleans up after his students. He reviews tomorrow’s lesson plan at his desk at school instead of at home like he usually does and takes extra time at the grocery store, planning an elaborate dinner for one that will keep him occupied for the whole evening.

Of course, Cas texts back before he can even preheat the oven.

Cas 6:19 You’re welcome. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Dean doesn’t throw his phone against the wall, but it’s a close goddamn call.

Instead, he dials for pizza. He’s halfway through his second slice and fourth straight episode of Dr. Sexy when Charlie texts.

Charlie 8:11 Yo what up handmaiden

Sighing, Dean wipes the grease off his hands.

Dean 8:13 Not much

Charlie 8:13 Not according to what a little birdie told me.

Dean stares at his phone screen, dumbfounded. Who the hell could have told Charlie? He didn’t see anyone after Cas dumped him. He just went home and brooded, and then it was time for work -

Dean 8:14 Is this birdie a blonde pain in my ass?

Charlie 8:14 Of course

Dean 8:14 What the hell I didn’t even know you knew her

Charlie 8:14 We’re two lesbians in a small town. Of course we know each other. It’s the secret gay agenda.

Dean 8:15 Awesome.

Charlie 8:15 I’m coming over in 10. Chocolate or vanilla?

Dean 8:15 What?

Charlie 8:15 You’re right. I’ll get both!

Dean runs a hand down his face and stares around his house. Half-heartedly, he picks up the fun-sized candy wrappers and dumps them in the trash. He glares at the empty beer and liquor bottles in his recycling, but nothing he can do about that now.

When Charlie arrives, she takes one look at his face and says, “I’m calling Benny. And Jo. Sam. Maybe Garth.”

“Aw, come on,” Dean says as he shuts the door behind her. “It’s a school night.”

Charlie shoots him a quelling look. “You and Cas split. I don’t care what day of the week it is.”

Dean sighs. “Claire found out?”

“Duh,” Charlie says as she flops on his couch and picks up a slice of his pizza. “She spent one mopey day at school with you; of course she called her uncle first thing for the 411.”

“Great,” Dean mumbles as he throws himself into his seat and tries not to look at Charlie.

“You want to tell me what happened before the cavalry gets here?”

“Nope.”

“I’m really surprised this happened. Like, really.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean says darkly.

Cas had clearly been stressed. He always pulled away, was always on edge, before a big show. Cas lived and breathed for his art, but the dog and pony show to showcase his art was the bane of his existence.

But one argument at the wrong place at the wrong time was all it took to break everything to pieces.

It started over Thanksgiving plans. Dean had a standing date with Mom and Sammy, like he always had since he learned how to brine a turkey at fourteen. They usually had it at Mom’s house because of the size of her oven (not that she ever used it) even though Dean did all the cooking.

However, this year, this was the first year he’d been serious with Cas, and Cas insisted Dean come with him to Thanksgiving with his extended family. A requirement, apparently, not a request from Cas’s dad.

But Dean couldn’t just leave his family in the lurch, so, naturally he asked if Mom and Sammy could come along.

Cas vehemently refused. They would hate his family, he said. His parents had exacting standards and were generally awful people.

It escalated from there.

Dean scrubs the heels of his hands down his face. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look super fine, my dude.”

Dean looks up at her. “Yeah, I guess not.”

“But you will be,” Charlie says, pocketing her phone. “Trust me.”

He’s not magically better after a quasi-sleepover with all his friends. But he does feel lighter when he tells them about what happened. They all call Cas names - some Dean agrees with, most he doesn’t - and raid his cabinets for all and every available snack food.

A month and a half later, Dean gets an email about an upcoming show featuring Cas’s work. While they were dating, Dean got on so many gallery email lists, he can’t ever hope to unsubscribe to all of them. For a split second, he actually contemplates going.

He deletes the email.

Claire throws down a paper flyer for the show on his desk the next day. The kids are busy, off mashing clay into each other’s faces with Miss Rourke, so the classroom remains blessedly silent except for them.

Dean stares up at her, jaw clenching. “What the hell is this?”

“Uncle Cas is showing his art,” Claire says calmly. “I think you should go.”

“In case it somehow escaped your notice, we’re not together,” Dean says, forcing his voice to stay even. “I don’t have to go to any of his shows anymore.”

Claire huffs. “You should go to this one.”

“Claire-”

“You need to go to this one,” Claire amends, the faintest note of pleading to her words, which Dean has never heard before. “I - I saw some of his pieces. He hasn’t been doing so well since you two, you know.”

“Cas was the one who ended things. He made that choice.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Then he lied or fucked up, or something. He’s not good.”

Dean takes the flyer, and some of the tension eases from Claire’s rigid spine. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fine,” she spins on her heel and gets started on rearranging the tables for storytime.

Dean stares down at the flyer in his hands.

He shouldn’t go.

Charlie would tell him to avoid it at all costs.

Sam would offer to go in his place to report back if Dean was really concerned.

These days, he can almost go a whole 24 hours without thinking about Cas.

Dean goes.

He even dresses up, pulling on the khakis Sam got him for Christmas three years ago that he’d never touched in his life, and a blue striped tie Claire got him as a gag gift for his birthday after he got together with Cas. (She got Cas a matching one when his next birthday rolled around.) His only other tie is for Parent-Teacher meetings, and it has cartoon apples and A pluses on it.

The gallery is a local one Cas favors for his newest stuff, a test drive for the more well-known shindigs in the big cities. An attendant swings by with a tray of champagne, and Dean gratefully takes a glass. He drains half of it in one swallow.

Cas always gets a good turnout, so Dean doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. He wanders around the gallery, his heartstrings pulling at the familiar palette of colors, brushwork.

It doesn’t take him long to find the paintings Claire was talking about.

They’re all of him.

Blue Like I’ve Never Known is, predictably, done entirely in shades of blue. The frame shows Cas’s bed, the sheets rumpled to hell. The nude figure in it is lying on his side, his face (Dean’s face) in profile. But he’s not all there - the lines around his midsection, over his shoulder, and at the balls of his feet all blur in with the lines of the sheets tangled around him.

For Dark Grey All Alone, Cas didn’t paint entirely in greyscale. But he used such muted colors, it has the same effect. It shows Dean sitting at Cas’s kitchen table, his face thrown back in laughter. But here, too, he half-blends into the background, like a faded Victorian photograph.

Loving Him Was Red is last. Cas painted Dean behind the wheel of his baby, speeding towards the sunset, his face a relief of pinks, reds, oranges, and maroons.

“Dean?”

Dean whirls around at the sound of his name, and there he is.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, his throat dry.

Cas swallows, his gaze flicking to the trio of Deans behind him before settling on the live version. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see your show,” Dean says lamely.

Cas takes a step closer, his eyes wide, like he still can’t believe Dean is really standing in front of him.

Dean scans the gallery floor, but there are no convenient attendants with more glasses of champagne. Dammit. His gaze pulls back to Cas, as natural as anything. “You know, if she gets wind of this, she’ll probably sue your ass for copyright infringement.”

Cas licks his lips. “Those probably aren’t the final titles. I’ve, uh, been listening to a lot of Taylor Swift recently.”

“Really?”

“She covers the full spectrum of human emotion,” Cas says defensively. “I know you know this, or else you wouldn’t have recognized the lyrics either.”

Dean flushes. His top guilty pleasures go, 1. Dr. Sexy, MD, 2. Taylor Swift, 3. Biggerson’s Pepperjack Turducken Slammer.

“But, in all honesty,” Cas starts, “what are you doing here?”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “Claire told me to come.”

Cas swears under his breath. “I’m sorry. She shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, wait,” Dean says quickly, “I’m glad she did. I had no idea…” he drifts off, gesturing to the paintings behind him instead of finishing the thought he has no words for.

Cas sighs, glancing around. “Do you mind going somewhere private so we could talk?”

Dean blinks. Before his brain catches up with his mouth, he says, “Yeah, sure,” and follows Cas across the main floor and through a door marked STAFF ONLY in bold black letters.

Cas opens a side door and ushers him into a nondescript office. One window to the side of the desk shows the dark street in front of the gallery, and photos of Cas’s many family members adorn a cabinet in the corner - Dean just recognizes one of Cas’s dad, Chuck, shoved way in the back. Unsurprising, with how he fucked up his entire family.

“So,” Dean says as Cas closes the door firmly behind them. “I take it you got something on your mind?”

Cas nods, his face troubled. “I - I didn’t think you’d ever see the paintings.”

“Yeah, no shit -”

“But I’m glad you did,” Cas continues over his interruption. “I still have feelings for you.”

Dean had known this was coming. For fuck’s sake, Cas’s heartache is spread over three entire canvases outside. But still the words knock him speechless.

“I think I made a mistake when I said we should break up,” Cas says, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t actually want us to separate at all -”

What.

“- but when I said I wanted to leave, you didn’t stop me, so I figured it must have been for the best. If you didn’t bother fighting for us -”

That is it.

“If you didn’t want to leave, you shouldn’t have goddamn left!” Dean explodes. “I’m not a mindreader, Cas. If you say you want to do something, and you do it, how the hell am I gonna get that you secretly decided it was Opposite Day?”

Cas glares. “You said nothing when I walked out. How could I not have read more into it?”

Dean takes an incredulous step back. “I know your parents and siblings played mind games for fun, but my head doesn’t work like that. You have to be straight with me.” He pauses at the weird look on Cas’s face. “You know what I mean.”

Cas’s mouth purses. “You’ve always thought I was… somehow better than you. That you didn’t deserve to be at my side, which was patently ridiculous. I was worried your insecurities would get the better of you, that you didn’t think you could fight for us. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“It wasn’t my stupid inferiority complex, you dumb son of a bitch,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “it was you saying to my face you didn’t want to do this anymore. When I hear that, my first thought isn’t, he’s lying out of his ass.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Maybe I’m not the only one with a complex if you thought that was an awesome way of evaluating our relationship.”

Cas’s head tilts as he studies Dean. “Of course you’re not the only one,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m full of shortcomings, but you never seemed to notice them.”

“I mean, now I do,” Dean says with a grimace. “I extra do. Now what?”

“Now,” Cas says, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I can keep groveling for you to take me back, or… ”

Dean takes a step back to sit against the edge of the desk. “It’s not that easy.”

Cas sighs as he moves to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing. “I know.”

“Like, what are we doing about Christmas?”

“Seriously?”

Dean holds up his hands. “I just want some sort of warning if it’s going to be a thing.”

“It won’t be,” Cas says shortly. “My family is currently not speaking to me.”

Dean makes a face. “What, us breaking up wasn’t a good enough reason for me not to show?”

“No, it’s because I didn’t go at all. I spent Thanksgiving working on my pieces. They’ve caused me nothing but agony for years, and, honestly, if I went, I probably would have said something hurtful and would have ended up in exactly the same place as I am now.”

Dean scrubs his face with the heel of his hand. “I had no idea you-”

“What, could be so disloyal?” Cas asks bitterly. “Believe me, I heard it all.”

“I was gonna say brave,” Dean says, inching his hand over so his fingers can intertwine with Cas’s. “They sounded really shitty, but I know family’s really important to both of us anyway.”

Cas meets his gaze, his face slack with clear relief. “They almost cost me you. Of course I couldn’t let that stand.”

When Dean tugs him closer and kisses him, it’s not blue, grey, or red. It’s golden, like daylight.

[sunnysunoo]

Love Letters ; Sim Jake

Pairing: Jake X Reader

warnings: explicit language and cursing

word count: 3k words

genre: friends to lovers au! fluff with tiny pieces of crack lmao

Jake was always known for being this perfect guy in school. I mean, they're not wrong. They always described him as if he's this walking piece of art in the hallways. People would stop to just stare at him. You'd stare at him all day too, but you set priorities first: writing him love letters.

You're no Lara Jean, but I guess you can say that she's what inspired you to write Jake letters. Who needs Peter Kavinsky when Jake Shim exists anyways?

note: Not me completely disappearing off of tumblr for like months and then showing up again suddenly lol. I got really busy the past few months since I was completing requirements for school, and I really didn't have the motivation to do anything at the time so I took so time off to take care of myself first so I hope you understand :) But now since it's summer break, I am given at least 2 more months until I go back to school in August :)) Here's the long-awaited Jake imagine that I completely forgot about lmao hope you enjoy <3

P.S I finished writing this at 1:26 am so please excuse the really shitty plot and grammar ill rewrite it once i wake up

tag list: @cha-raena ( sorry for the rlly late post bestie )

Dear Jake, First of all, I will never call you Jaeyun because calling you by your English name makes me feel like I'm your friend. Calling you by your Korean name makes us feel like we're cold strangers to one another and I don't want that. I want us to be something more than that, but it's hard when you don't even know who I am. I'm surprised how you don't grow tired of me just dropping letters right into your locker every time you open it, and that's one of the things I love about you. You don't just throw away people's efforts and you treasure them with care. It makes my heart beat so fast as if I ran miles away from here.

We're already one year left until we graduate high school, and I don't want to end my high school years without you realizing my feelings for you. I know for sure that you would never reciprocate the feelings that I have towards you, so I want to treat this as closure in case we do forget about each other in the future. Yours truly,

Moon

__

"How is this person not over you? That's like the tenth one this month," Jay said, looking over Jake as he reads the letter from his secret admirer. Jake has always been receiving these letters from the same person everyday for the past four months. He's thankful for the letters because they definitely make his day better, knowing that there's someone out there who loves him as who he is regardless of looks. He's not gonna lie that these little notes and letters make his heart race too. "Do you have any plans with finding the person behind the letters?" Jay asked as he watches his best friend trying to hide the small smile that's been growing. No one really knows who this mysterious person is and why they decided to name themselves the moon, but we don't judge anyone in here. If they want to be the moon in their next life, then so be it. "I really want to find the person who's making these letters," Jake shoved the letter in his backpack, trying to not wrinkle it. "But I don't know where to start." "Who's finding who?" A voice popped suddenly beside the presence of the two boys. You leaned beside the locker beside Jake's, watching him as he grabs his books from his locker. "Did Moon drop your daily letter today again?" "They did as usual," Jake wasn't even surprised. He would expect the letters every time he enters the school in the morning. He would open his locker to see the usual small letter placed inside his locker. He usually arrives at seven or earlier, but he's surprised that he could never even catch a glance of this anonymous sender around the campus. "Should I go to school at five in the morning?" "Five in the morning? Isn't that a bit too early?" You questioned, followed by a shaky breath. "The school doesn't even open until six." "I could just walk to that nearby convenience store I always pass by to grab a coffee." He argues, closing his locker shut before walking towards his classroom.

You and Jay followed beside him, and you sneered under your breath, "You don't even wake up to your alarm clock."

"Why don't you even want me to go early anyway?" He glances as you try to give him an answer. But before you could say something, Jay replies first.

"You’re probably hiding something." He said. You rolled your eyes and narrowed your eyes at him. "You are so weird." You grunted, before walking ahead of them. You feel panicked because you were scared that you made yourself obvious to them.

__

You were inside your classroom sitting on your desk. There were only fifteen minutes left before lunch, but you had eaten your packed meal before instead of going to your school cafeteria. You were fidgeting in your place, conflicted about Jake finding his secret admirer, not knowing that it was you who's been sending him letters the past few months. You're not scared of him finding out that the letters were from you; that was the entire reason why you wrote him letters in the first place. You're scared of how he was gonna confront you about it. Would he like you back? Would he hate you? Would he avoid you?

Your mind was full of scenarios but you were suddenly brought back to reality when a hand planted itself on your desk. You look up and saw Jay standing in front of you, eating sushi with his other hand. His face kinda looks like he knows something, and it's freaking you out a bit.

"What?" You asked, suddenly flustered over how his eyes stared right into you. He took the seat in front of your desk and flipped it so it was facing you. He sat down and blurted the phrase that you were dreading to hear from anyone.

"So, you like Jake?"

You suddenly feel like punching him in the face with his sushi.

"What??" Your body felt like, and you were left a nervous mess. Your heart like it was going to pump right out of your chest any minute, and your hands started to sweat.

Jay's mouth formed into a smirk. He caught you. "Jake may be a bit oblivious, but I can totally see right through you."

“Haha...no you don’t,” You tried to deny, but it was all useless when his expression looked unconvinced.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you all red? You look like a bursting tomato.”

“You don’t know that," You leaned further into your seat, playing with the strings of your hoodie.

“C’mon Y/N, you’re not even trying. Just give up and admit it,” Jay was trying to help you confess your feelings for Jake. Frankly, he knew it was you sending him letters this whole time—how can Jake not see it?

With a heavy sigh, you slumped and laid your head on your desk, embarrassed. “Fine. I like him, okay? Are you happy now?”

The smirk on his face grew wider, feeling proud of himself. You are not dealing with his annoying crap this early in the morning. He grinned and munched on his half-eaten sushi. “I knew it.”

“Congratulations,” It was muffled because you hid your red face away from him. All that was on your mind now was how you could book yourself a flight all the way across the world.

“But seriously, since when did you have a crush on him?” You raised your head to face him, giving him a look that could kill, except Jay finds it entertaining rather than intimidating.

“I started having a crush on him when we were in fifth grade. It was at a friend's birthday party, and he saw me being all quiet and lonely. Honestly, I forgot who’s birthday that was.” You told him the very first time you had discovered feelings.

“He saw how sad I looked so he accompanied me the whole time. He was even trying to feel more included in the games and stuff.” You felt a smile ghosting on your lips as you can still vividly remember how you felt your heart tug the first time. “It was kinda like I fell in love at first sight.”

Jay faked a gag, so you lightly punched him in the shoulder. He may be a bit of an asshole, but he’s one the most caring and kind people you’ve ever met. It honestly felt good spilling out your feelings about Jake to him.

Speaking of, Jake was watching you two play around and laugh at Jay's little jokes from outside, and he felt something burning from inside him. Was it that he felt jealous of you and Jay?

No, he can’t be...right?

Maybe it was because of how he felt separated from you and Jay because of him being a separate class.

Yeah, maybe it's because of that.

__

Dear Jake,

I just had the most bizarre day today, and I felt like telling you about it.

It was chemistry period, and we had to be partnered with someone for a lab project. I ended up getting paired with Yeojin. We kinda created this unexpected friendship, which I love. We would crack jokes at each other, tell funny stories, it was so fun to be with her that we had completely forgotten about our project. So now, we both got a detention slip for making an accidental explosion.

How about you? How was your day? I hope it was just as fun as mine. If you feel like the day just wasn't as happy or you're feeling down, just now that it's okay to feel that way because days like these just lasts for 24 hours. It will be all over before you know it and you'll be greeted by another day. Maybe it will be different, and you would be all happy again just like how my day went. Maybe being with you would be my happiest day yet, and I couldn't wait for that day to come. See you soon :)

Love,

Moon

__

"Yeojin!" Jake called, seeing her walk down the opposite way. "Hey, mind if I ask you something?"

"Hey Jake," She greeted him with a smile. "Sure, go ahead."

"Could you perhaps give me any information about your partner in Chemistry?" He had hopes of getting any kind of description about his mysterious sender, but he was instead given a sad frown on Yeojin's face.

"Sorry Jake, but that person told me not to tell you about their information." She gave an apologetic smile. "I wish you all the best in finding them!"

Jake muttered a small "okay," and sighed before walking away, feeling defeated.

Yeojin knew that he was gonna ask about Moon the moment he called her from across the hall. She couldn't wait to tell you about this.

__

"Hey Y/N," A voice said from behind. You turned around to see Jake with his backup hung on his shoulder. He brought his hand up and raked his hair, and you felt your face grow red. Jake is like a gift from the gods. How can someone look so ethereal even if they're just standing there? You could stare at him all day. You couldn't even understand a thing he said until he started waving his hands in front of you.

"Hello?" You blinked multiple times as you were brought back out to reality. You saw Jake's face grow into concern. "Are you okay? spaced out."

"O-oh..No, I'm completely fine." You reassured him, feeling embarrassed. "What were you saying again?"

"I was asking you if you wanted to go to school with me early tomorrow."

Well, shit.

Your eyes started to go wide, and your hands started to go clammy.

"Tomorrow?" You repeated, voice trembling.

'Well, yeah." He pouted his lips, and you felt like melting into a small puddle in your place. Your heart started to pound heavily.

Oh my fucking god, he is so adorable.

"Okay, sure I can go with you tomorrow," You weakly smiled at him, slightly tense.

How we're you going to give him the letter now?

__

"Good Morning," Jake said as he watches you close the gates of your house. It was past five in the morning, and you were a mess.

"Morning," You replied back before running your fingers through your hair, getting rid of any flyaways.

As you started walking your way to the bus stop, Jake kept on glancing towards you from time to time. He knew you were pretty, but since when did you become really beautiful in his eyes?

The walk was pretty quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. For him, mostly.

Meanwhile, you couldn't stop freaking out. You had written a letter the night before, but you don't know how you were going to slip it into his locker without him taking notice. If he saw you, he would know.

"Are you sure you're okay? You've been like this since yesterday," Jake blurted. You looked at him before heaving a sigh.

"It's nothing," You mouthed, suddenly feeling anxious and gloomy.

"Something on your mind?"

"Something like that." It was hopeless. I guess he would have to miss this letter today. It was the first time you skipped a day, and you're feeling guilty that you would have to see Jake's face sadden that he wouldn't receive it today.

As you two stop at the bus stop, Jake looked slightly panicked as he was rummaging through the pockets of his blazer before looking through his bag. "Hey, do you have an extra pen? I left mine at home and I have a quiz today."

You snickered, "Out of all the days, Sim Jake. The same day you have a quiz is the same day you forget your pen."

"Very funny." He scoffed.

As you unzipped your bag to grab your pencil case, a folded piece of paper fell out without you realizing it. When Jake went to pick it up, he notices that it was folded the same way as the letters in his locker. It looked so identical.

Once you already got your pencil case out, you were about to hand it to him when you saw what he was holding that made your body freeze with your hand holding the case in the air.

"Why were one of my letters inside your bag?" He glanced at you, waiting for you to reply.

If you were freaking out before, this is a whole other thing. The thing that you were fearing the most is happening right before you.

"Maybe it fell into my bag yesterday..." You stammered, making up an excuse to look like it was an accident. You were tightly holding onto your pencil case, chanting many curse words in your head as you watch Jake unfold the letter.

"I don't think I've received this one yet," He said before he opened the letter and read it.

You watch as his expression formed into confusion as he reads through the paper. It only took a few moments before something in him clicked that it was you sending him the letters.

"Y/N," He began, and you started quivering in fear.

You should've known this would happen, but you didn't expect it to happen this sooner. In fact, you believed that this wouldn't happen at all. But it did.

"Let me explain," You eventually gave up and accepted fate and watch as your identity as "Moon" be revealed to your crush. You're now exposed so you didn't have any other choice but to explain everything. "Yes, I am Moon. I was the one writing you the letters that you've been getting in your locker."

Jake's face was unreadable. He looked bewildered and puzzled. He was trying to comprehend what was happening right now. All this time, it was you?

"I started crushing on you when we attended that birthday party before. I didn't want to confess my feelings for you because I was scared that you were going to harshly reject me, so I started writing down letters as a way to tell you how I feel about you without making you feel awkward around me." You continued, eyes suddenly taking an interest in your shoes. They were brand new too.

Jake was silent, and you felt your heart crack into pieces. You were mad at yourself for being so careless about it that he ended up finding out about you as his secret admirer. You wanted nothing else but to run back home, lock yourself in your room and cry with your sad playlist on loop.

You were expecting a harsh rejection coming from him, but what surprised was how he took dangerous steps towards you, minimizing the gap between you two. He placed his hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"I don't plan on rejecting you Y/N," You stare into his eyes as it reflects the sunlight of the early morning. "I'm actually happy that it was you."

You look at him, puzzled. He lowly chuckles under his breath before leaning over to place his lips against yours. It was a light, quick kiss, but it brought you feeling ecstatic. You've dreamed of this moment before, and now that it happened, you thanked your clumsiness.

As he pulled away, you were sure your face was a red mess.

"Thank you," His smile was as bright as the stars in the sky. It was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Thank you for making me like I'm special to someone."

You felt flustered over his words. You were scared that he could hear the sound of your heart pounding loudly. The butterflies in your stomach were going wild, and you felt like this was all a dream.

"So, what am I to you now?" You broke into a smile as he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

Jake acted as if he was thinking, "Hm..maybe my best friend still?"

He bursts into a fit of giggles as he sees your smile slowly disappear, replacing it with a look of disbelief. You removed your hand from his and walked at a faster pace away from him.

He ran to match your pace beside you before holding your hand again, "I'm sorry, I won't ever do that again. Is my girl mad at me?"

"Oh my god, it's only five-fifty, Jake." You too broke into laughter over his cheesiness, but your heart fluttered over the thought of Jake calling you his.

__

HERE’S A LITTLE BONUS! since I've made you guys wait for 4 months :(

"What the fuck?" Was the first thing You heard from Jay as you and Jake entered the classroom. All of your classmates were staring at your and his hands intertwined together.

Jay stood in front of you two, crossing his arms together. "Can one of you explain when this happened?" he motioned towards your linking hands. You and Jake smiled at each other before walking away, leaving Jay in a fit of joy, and confusion.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Raise the Barre (Ch. 3)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: descriptions of past bullying 

Word Count: 6,816

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.    

It was nearly eleven when you returned to your room later that night, collapsing on your bed in a disgruntled heap. You barely had enough energy to change out of your clothes and shower, though you forced yourself to do so, if only for the sake of appearances.

Noelle was already asleep, so she didn’t have the presence of mind to grill you, but her questions came as soon as you woke up the next morning. Seated at a table in the coffee shop on the corner, you opened your yogurt and spilled your frustrations.

“So, that’s where I am,” you said, shaking your head when you reached the end of the story. “Miss Britt pulled me aside and I need to find someone to tutor me, fast. Fun times.”

“That’s bullshit.” Noelle looked outraged. “You’re clearly one of the best dancers at Russet! It’s why Sabrina has such a problem with you. She knows you’re competition.”

“Thanks,” you said, a bit glum. “But Miss Britt is right – I’m no ballerina. I need more practice if I want to catch up to the rest of class.”

“But you don’t even want to be in Russet’s ballet company! You’re a talented dancer outside of that specific genre.”

“True. But if I can’t make it through freshman year, that doesn’t really matter – does it?”

Noelle fell silent for a moment, not having a response as you sighed.

“It’s not like I expect you to have a solution,” you admitted. Scooping another bite of yogurt from your parfait, you shoved this in your mouth. “It’s my problem to figure out.”

Noelle leaned back. “Maybe you should take Miss Britt’s suggestion,” she said.

You gave Noelle a look of such open disgust, she had to laugh.

“I’m serious!” She grinned, taking a sip of her coffee. “Obviously, Sabrina’s the worst, but you could ask Jimin. Is he really as bad as you say?”

“That all depends,” you mused. “Is Satan as bad as they say?”

“Never met him, so I can’t be sure.”

“Well, I have met Jimin and can definitively say he’s the worst. If I went to him for help, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Hm.” Noelle sounded skeptical to you; she clearly thought you were exaggerating, but this was one subject on which you were unwilling to budge. “Maybe you can ask someone else, then. An older student? Oo – you could ask Seokjin! He’s so hot.”

Perked up by this idea, you casually stirred your coffee. “You know what, that’s not a bad idea. He’s super talented and clearly knows what the teachers are looking for.”

“See!” Noelle set down her fork. “You have plenty of options.”

“You might be right,” you said with a smile.

Feeling marginally better about the whole situation, you pulled out your phone to search Russet’s website for Seokjin. All the teacher’s assistants had a web page where they offered private lessons, much like Miss Britt and other teachers. Unfortunately for you though, all of Seokjin’s slots were full.

This seemed to be the case with most upperclassmen and you sighed, standing from the table to clear your place. Discouraged by this, you threw your phone in your bag while you left the shop. Noelle began suggesting other students she knew while you walked to class, but you had already begun to fixate on what was probably a terrible idea.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized Miss Britt’s initial suggestion made sense. Sabrina was frustrating, but she knew all the teachers and had the most training of your class in classical ballet. True, you hadn’t gotten off to the best start, but you’d played a part in that, too. The first night you met, you didn’t have to be a dick to her.

Most importantly, you didn’t have the same history with Sabrina that you did with Jimin. Jimin had been your rival since day one – it’d take more than some halfhearted peace offering to make him forget that. Your relationship with Sabrina was new enough you still had hope it could change.

Besides, you already knew she did morning barre on days off from class. Surely, she wouldn’t say no if you asked to tag along. Cheered by this thought – you were the type of person who enjoyed having a plan – you perked up, chatting eagerly with Noelle as you walked to class.

Wednesday ballet was held by Mr. Jordan, the only teacher at Russet who was routinely late to class. Only by five minutes, but you found it remarkable how consistently he hit this deadline. The rest of the class arrived fifteen minutes early regardless – better to be consistently early than to be late the one week Mr. Jordan wasn’t, and be banished to the hall.

You and Noelle entered at 8:50 AM, setting your bags on the ground to stake out your place at the barre. You were midway across the room when you saw Sabrina and paused.

Her pointe shoes were already on, doing slow relevés at the barre in the center. You hesitated only a moment before turning to Noelle.

“I’m going to do barre over there today,” you said, nodding in Sabrina’s direction. “See you after, okay?”

Noelle looked up in alarm, but you had already turned, halfway across the floor. When you reached Sabrina, you set your bag down and took a long sip of water.

Sabrina ignored you, placing one leg on the barre to bend at the waist. You waited a moment for her to rise and when she did not, set your hand on the barre.

“Hey,” you said, waiting for a response.

Sabrina didn’t react.

Moving to stand opposite, you lifted your leg to place beside her own. Stretching an arm overhead, you leaned forward until your face was mere inches away.

“How’s your morning?” you said, trying your best to be pleasant.

Sabrina released a long, slow sigh. 

“Good.”

You waited, but she said nothing more and, feeling kind of stupid, you glanced over your shoulder. Noelle remained at your usual spot by the door. You were momentarily tempted to leave and join her, but then you remembered what Miss Britt had said. You needed a tutor.

You could do this. You had made it to Russet Academy, dammit – asking Sabrina to help couldn’t be more difficult than fifteen years of ballet class.

“Do you have a second?” you said, lowering your voice. “I wanted to ask you something.”

After another long pause, Sabrina raised her head. “What?”

She sounded curious at least, which you supposed was a start. Even if said curiosity didn’t extend to her lowering her leg, or even her voice.

“Uh…” You blinked, your nervousness rising. If Sabrina said no, it would be absolutely humiliating. “I know you’ve been training at Russet longer than most people in our class.”

Sabrina stared. “And?”

You bit down on your lip to keep from saying something you’d regret. Clearly, Sabrina wasn’t going to make this easy on you and again, you wondered if this was a bad idea. You reminded yourself that you’d committed to doing whatever was necessary to keep your spot at Russet.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but ballet isn’t really my dance style.” Ignoring the small smirk she gave, you continued. “I know it’s yours though, so I was wondering if you’d be open to practicing together sometime. You know, maybe you could give me some pointers.”

Sabrina looked at you a long moment, then lowered her leg. Bending lithely at the waist, she grasped her water bottle to take a casual swig. She remained silent the entire time, forcing you to stand there and watch. To stand there and wait while she considered your proposition.

The kernel of humiliation within you grew even further.

Sabrina turned her head. “Do you know what my mom said to me when I told her I wanted to dance professionally?”

You blinked, not having expected this as a response. It wasn’t an actual answer to your question, so you tried not to sound annoyed when you said, “Uh, no.”

Sabrina arched a brow. “She said there wasn’t much room for women at the top.”

“She… huh?”

“Success is a zero-sum game.” Sabrina spoke slowly, as one would to a child. “There are fifteen spots offered at the end of our four-year program. If you get one, that means there’s one less spot for me at the table. Why would I help when it’s to my best interest not to?”

For a moment you could only stare at her, open-mouthed.

“See?” Sabrina set her water bottle down. “You can’t even think of a good reason. Maybe you weren’t a ballerina before, but you were a dancer. You know how competitive this field is, especially for women.”

An uncomfortable feeling spread through you. Sabrina’s words were remarkably similar to what you had said to Jimin but still, you hated hearing them thrown back in your face.

“You don’t think this is all a little… juvenile?” you said, a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation. “This isn’t high school anymore, Sabrina. We’ve all made it.”

“Yeah – to Russet,” she said, point blank. “This is barely the start if you want to dance professionally, Y/N. It’s nothing against you personally, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Oh, good. As long as it’s not personal.”

Sabrina smirked. “Well, maybe it’s a little personal. Like I said to you yesterday, I really wouldn’t mind having Jimin for a partner. If you got kicked out, that would solve things, wouldn’t it?”

Teeth gritted, you stopped the next words from leaving your mouth. They hung on the tip of your tongue, stillborn while you pointedly shoved them back down. If you said anything more to her, you might seriously regret it and Sabrina wasn’t worth that kind of stress to you now.

Turning around, you bent to pick up your bag – only to stop as Mr. Jordan entered the room.

“Sorry I’m late, class!” he said, shaking free from his jacket. “Subway was a nightmare. Anyways, I’m here now, so let’s start.”

Realizing you were stuck, you slowly turned back around. It seemed your place at the barre had been decided. Sabrina hid her smile when you took a step closer, placing one hand on the barre and lifting your chin in the air.

It had been silly to ask Sabrina for help. You apparently expected too much from someone so utterly determined to rise alone to the top. You could only assume that kind of attitude would one day rise to bite her in the ass but until then, you just had to grin and bear it.

Even more irksome was the fact that she’d said so many of the same things you’d told Jimin. Pushing this uncomfortable thought aside, you forced yourself to concentrate on the combination Mr. Jordan began.

The entire length of the barre, you avoided eye contact with Sabrina. It was a difficult feat, but you managed it because you had no other choice. Throughout tendus, dégagés and rond de jambes, you sucked it up and stood next to Sabrina in glowering silence.

You were so concentrated, the time at the barre seemed to go by faster than usual. The first time you glanced at the clock was when Mr. Jordan stopped to call for a water break.

Bending abruptly, you grabbed the straps of your bag and said nothing to Sabrina while you walked away. Setting your stuff by near Noelle, you straightened and began to furiously unscrew your cap. She gave you a sympathetic look while you did this, reaching overhead to studiously re-do her bun.

“That bad, huh?” she said.

Furious, you scowled. “She’s an asshole.”

Noelle’s brows shot straight up. “Damn,” she whistled. “What’d the ice queen say?”

“That she hopes I drop out,” you said shortly, turning around. “That there’s only so much room for women at the top. She told me dance is a zero-sum game and if she helps me get a spot at Russet Company, it’d be one less spot for her to take.”

Noelle made a disappointed noise with her tongue. “See,” she said, around a mouthful of bobby pins. “That’s exactly the kind of attitude that’s kept women down for centuries. Let’s ban together to burn the men!”

Although you laughed a little, you quieted quickly. Remembering your conversation with Sabrina made your legs a bit shaky. Shutting your eyes, you took several deep breaths until you felt calmer.

“I know,” you said with a sigh. “I know that it’s stupid and ultimately, I don’t care what Sabrina thinks – but she just makes me so mad.”

“She really said she hopes you drop out?”

Opening your eyes, you nodded. “Apparently, she wants Jimin as her ballet partner.”

“W-ow.” Noelle shook her head. “This plot has more twists than the Winchester mansion.”

Unable to help it, you snorted. “Oh, well,” you said glumly, following Noelle out on the floor. “It’s probably for the best. If this is how she reacts to me asking for help, imagine how awful she’d be as an instructor.”

“Yeah, you definitely dodged a bullet there,” Noelle agreed.

When Mr. Jordan cleared his throat, this led to a scurrying of movement as everyone took their places. He began to show the combination, leading the class through the steps with an easy poise. When the time came for you to break into pairs, you were forced to look around the room before you spotted Jimin.

He stood on the opposite side from you, practicing the steps Mr. Jordan had laid out. You blinked, hesitating a moment before crossing the room to his side. Every time before now, he had come to stand beside you.

Coming to a stop, you looked at him curiously. “Why’re you over here?”

Jimin shrugged in response.

You opened your mouth to continue, but then Mr. Jordan began the partner portion of the combo. Falling silent, you stood beside Jimin while you learned the steps. He was oddly quiet. This quietness alone wasn’t enough to raise any brows, though you typically exchanged at least minimal small talk. You know, hand here, leg there, lift your arms higher – that type of thing.

His silence wasn’t the only thing about him that was odd, though. His grip on your waist felt different today – rough, almost angry as you practiced the first lift. You winced when you landed, stumbling a bit as you whirled around.

“What was that?” you demanded.

Jimin blinked innocently. “What was what?”

You stared at him a moment before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Whatever,” you said, turning around. “Gentler, next time – okay?”

“Sure.”

Jimin moved back into place, standing in fifth position while Mr. Jordan started the song over. The combination wasn’t an adagio, comprised of slower movements, but a fast-paced pas de deux he’d created last week. You didn’t have much experience with this kind of partnering; most of your classes had preferred slower movements so far.

The fast pace required a higher level of trust with your partner, since you didn’t have time to second-guess all their movements. Apparently, Mr. Jordan had decided the fastest way to learn was to do. Jimin led you through the combination, one hand firm on your waist.

Normally, Jimin was a solid male partner to you. He knew when to push, when to hold back and when to allow you to take the lead. This no longer seemed to be the case. As you started to dance, you found yourself a bit dizzy. Jimin didn’t let you finish each spot before he whisked you around, keeping you – both literally and metaphorically – on your toes.

A swear nearly escaped when he pulled you to his chest – eyes flashing, you turned and started to boureé away. Jimin chassed forward, ending in a lunge for circular port de bras.

“You’re doing it again,” you muttered, moving behind him.

Facing forward, you piqued into arabesque.

“Doing what?” he said blithely.

Jimin twisted, grasping your hand in his as he crossed behind. Placing one hand on your hip, he waited for you to wrap your leg around him in attitude arabesque.

“You know what,” you hissed, as he walked you in a promenade.

Extending your leg fully, you lowered yourself in a penché. Contrary to their appearance, penchés were difficult to do with a partner. It involved an extension to arabesque, then bending with said leg held at a ninety-degree angle, or higher. The male helped with the motion, but his addition altered both your centers of gravity. It might have seemed logical for him to stand behind you, but he actually needed to stand slightly off center. It was easy for one – or both – of you to lose your balance.

You and Jimin had practiced the move enough that it’d become second nature – which is why you began to panic when you felt Jimin’s weight shift.

“Jimin,” you whispered, clenching your abs. “Step back!”

“Step back?” he said innocently, not moving at all.

“Yes! Jimin, you –”

He languidly stepped into the correct position, helping you up a second before you toppled over. You spun, eyes blazing and Jimin caught your knee. The smile he gave you sent rage through your veins, since it was instantly apparent he’d been fucking with you.

You imagined those cartoons where the main character’s head exploded, or became a volcano, or turned into a tea kettle that had steam escaping. This was exactly how you felt, but there was no time to respond, since the next portion of the combination was fast and required intense concentration. Shooting Jimin a glare which promised him a painful death, you continued.

Luckily, barre had been long, so only one combination remained until you were released from class. You contained your annoyance until class had ended, turned to stalk across the room the second Mr. Jordan turned off the music.

Noelle chuckled when she saw, noticing your clear annoyance. “Oh, no,” she said, glancing across the room. “What’d he do now?”

“Oh, nothing,” you seethed, tossing things in your bag. Yanking out sweatpants, you tugged these over your leotard. “Nothing a little conversation won’t fix.”

Knowingly, Noelle nodded. “Is ‘conversation’ code for beating Jimin up in the parking lot?”

Despite yourself, you laughed, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Unfortunately not,” you said with a sigh as you walked from the room. “This’ll be a lot less fun.”

You came to a stop in the hall, some of your anger diminishing. A current of annoyance simmered beneath the surface though, since it was one thing for Jimin just not to like you – it was another entirely that he purposefully antagonize and jeopardize your career. This was exactly what you’d been worried about when you’d been assigned as partners.

“Well.” Noelle glanced at the room. “Did you want to get dinner tonight? You know, after you’re done tearing Jimin a new one.”

“Dinner sounds good,” you agreed. “I’m hanging out with Finn later, but I’m free before then.”

Noelle nodded sagely. “Good, good. I hear it’s healthy to fuel up before a massive sex marathon.”

Jimin – who’d been exiting the room – stopped short.

“Uh – what?” he said, glancing between you.

Waggling her fingers goodbye, Noelle shrugged and walked past. “Nothing for you to worry about. Good luck walking later, Park!”

Jimin stared at her as she left, completely bewildered until you grabbed him by the elbow and started dragging him away. He stumbled forward, not having expected the motion – but caught up to you fast as he tugged his arm free.

“Hey! Whoa, Y/N – what’re you doing?”

You whirled to face him in the hall.

“What was that?” you demanded.

Jimin blinked at you, uncertain. “Uh, let’s see. I was minding my own business and you just assaulted me –”

“During class,” you interrupted, gesturing at the classroom. “You had such an attitude today. You can’t even say it wasn’t purposeful, because –”

“Y/N.” Jimin stared in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me what’s wrong? Your memory can’t be that short.”

Faltering a bit, you came to a stop. Jimin’s expression told you you were missing something big. It was last night, you realized. Jimin was mad about last night, when he’d chased you down the hall and you’d basically told him to fuck off.

“Ah,” Jimin said, seeing your understanding dawn. “I take it you remember now. That time you ambushed me in the hall and said I don’t deserve to be here?”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant by that.”

“Oh?” His laugh sounded forced. “You told me I only worked half as hard as you did.”

“Well, because you do!” you sputtered.

The words escaped despite your intent to stay cordial. Jimin was right; you had exploded last night and some of that wasn’t his fault, but the core of what you’d told him remained. Guys did have an easier time than girls in the dance world. That was just a fact.

“Come on, Y/N.” Angrily, Jimin shoved a hand through his hair. “You seriously think that I’ve had it easy? I used to hide my dance stuff in a hockey bag because all the kids at my school teased me about wearing tights.”

Somewhat uncomfortably, you recalled what Finn had said the other night at dinner. Jimin wasn’t wrong about external prejudices regarding male dancers.

“I’m not saying you weren’t teased, Jimin.”

“Teased?” He stared at you in disbelief. “Y/N. I was beat up every day on the playground for the entirety of third grade. When I was eleven, some kids filled my locker with used tampons because I was a ‘pussy.’ Freshman year, I asked a girl to the dance and she said yes – only to stand me up the night of because her friends thought it’d be funny. I once went to ballet class in bare feet for a week because some assholes stole my bag and hid it in the women’s locker room. My life was shit half the time, Y/N,” he said, with sudden vehemence. “The only reason I kept going was because I love dance more than anything else.”

Jimin stopped talking, slightly out of breath and you stared at him in shock, never having heard him this angry before.

You’d thought that you had. You’d thought he’d been angry all those times you beat him in dance, but you had never seen Jimin looking anything like this. Hurt, a little broken and fiercely determined.

In some ways, it felt like the first time you’d seen him.

“Yeah, well…” You paused, trying to gather your thoughts. “I don’t know what to say to that. That sucks.”

Jimin laughed, a bit hollow. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, glancing away. “Fuck. I didn’t want to… make you feel bad, or whatever. That’s not why I said it. I just wanted you to know I’ve also overcome stuff to be here.”

Hearing him speak, you both bristled and wondered why he said it like that. Like he wanted you specifically to know and not someone else.

“I’m not saying you haven’t worked hard,” you admitted. “That sucks, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that there are ten female dancers for every one guy. Dance is a lot more competitive for women than men.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t also worked my ass off.”

“No one’s saying you didn’t,” you snapped, finally fed up. “I’m just saying more doors were opened for the effort you gave than for mine. And besides,” you added, unable to help yourself. “I’m sure it was real hard, coming from Harleigh Heights.”

Jimin seemed baffled by this. “What does my hometown have anything to do with this?”

“Oh, come on, Jimin. You can’t be that naïve.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You’re rich!” you blurted. “Or at least, your family is. You could afford all those fancy master classes in the city. You had private lessons, small group lessons and whatever else your parents’ money could buy. All I had was Rita’s Dance Studio.”

Jimin hesitated. “Rita’s isn’t… bad.”

“Jimin,” you said. “I was the only person from my studio to ever place at national dance competitions.”

“That doesn’t mean the studio itself was bad!”

“You have a fucking car in the city!”

He gave you a bewildered look. “What does… that have to do with anything?”

“It’s just another reason we’re different,” you groaned, rubbing your temple. “I know you work hard. I know you do, but you’ve also had way more advantages than I have and sometimes, that sucks.”

Jimin paused. “That’s not really something I can control.”

“It’s not,” you admitted through gritted teeth. Deciding you were done with this conversation, you moved to walk past. “It isn’t your fault, but the challenges we’ve faced aren’t the same and you know it.”

Before you could leave, Jimin grabbed your arm.

He turned you to face him, barely an inch from his face. Everyone always said Jimin reminded them of a puppy – cute, loveable, and eager to please. This had never been something you agreed with. Sure, Jimin could be cute when he wanted to be, but beneath that lay a deeper hunger, an insistent desire to prove himself in a way you found all too relatable.

Jimin held your gaze. “Seeing as you’ve never walked in my shoes and I’ve never walked in yours,” he said quietly. “Why don’t we stop making comparisons?”

Your gaze narrowed a bit, but before you could respond, he continued.

“If you’re having trouble keeping up, stop making excuses and ask someone for help.” Abruptly, he dropped your arm. “Otherwise, you’ll never improve.”

Jimin left without another word, jerking his bag higher as he stalked down the hall. You watched him go, too stunned to do anything else.

His last words – however accurate – made your ears burn. Hands curled into fists, you saw red for awhile, until Jimin had gone. After several deep breaths, you finally calmed down enough to be objective.

Unfortunately, objectivity was not in your favor, because Jimin was right.

He was right about you and you hated that fact. Even if your circumstances had been different, all that had changed when you both were accepted to Russet. Now, you were on a level playing field and you were the one person hanging on to what came before. The only thing that mattered now was what happened next; if you couldn’t compete at Russet, you’d be pulled from the game.

And the one person standing in the way of success was yourself.

Jimin had nothing to do with your lack of ballet technique. Sure, he had more money than you did – seriously, who brought a car to the city? – but it wasn’t like you’d been destitute. Your parents had made enough to afford all your lessons and costumes and dance competition fees. You’d had a studio, even if it wasn’t a fancy one within city boundaries.

Exhaling, you considered the other point he had made. While it was true male dancers had certain advantages, Jimin was damn good despite this. If you were being honest, you knew he was one of the best dancers at Russet regardless of gender.

Nearly ten minutes had passed before you began to walk down the hall. Everyone else had left for lunch, so it was just you and your thoughts as you exited the building. You felt exhausted, only partly because of the intensity of Mr. Jordan’s class.

You’d always been a planner. It was something your parents had teased you about but secretly, you’d always enjoyed. Here though, you felt at a loss.

For the first time in your life, you were forced to consider what would happen if you gave dance everything you had – if you tried everything you could think of – and still came up short. Everyone always said if you loved something, keep trying and you’d eventually succeed, but you’d seen enough by now to know this wasn’t necessarily true.

Everyone at Russet was talented. Everyone here was a hard worker. You didn’t make it this far without both of those things – which meant you could have it all and still fail.

Coming to a stop on the sidewalk, you released a sigh. It was mid-September and already, the leaves had begun to change. You’d been at Russet for nearly a month and felt you’d yet to make any real progress.

Pushing this thought away, you wondered what you’d do with your life if you got kicked out. Go to a college near home, maybe. Find another career path that’d be mildly fulfilling and yet, nowhere near the release you experience through dance. The idea of it made you feel somewhat ill.

All you’d ever wanted in life was to dance. On some level, you’d thought things would be easier once you got into Russet. This had been a naïve expectation; you saw that now. Lift and the struggles which came with it refused to stop for even a second. Again, your former dance teacher’s words came to mind. If dance wasn’t truly what you wanted, it was better to give up than to go through the struggle.

You did want it, though.

Even if you had to go through hell to get it, dance was the thing which made you feel alive. If you didn’t make it at Russet, you could figure out what to do next – but until that moment came, you’d do absolutely everything necessary to make sure you stayed.

In the back of your mind, a voice whispered – even ask Jimin for help? – but you ignored it. That question could wait for another day, you decided as you walked away.

Even though he’d made some valid points, everything else still made you see red. The more you thought about it though, the more persistently his words seemed to grind away your resolve. Jimin may have been pissed at you, but he was also correct.

You could either continue to walk around campus feeling sorry for yourself, or you could improve.

Teeth gritted, you decided to do the latter.

Lounged at the foot of Finn’s bed, you scrolled through your TikTok in an endless loop.

“Ugh, my muscles are so sore,” you complained. Reaching out your foot, you poked him with your toe. “Massage them for me.”

“All of them?”

“Uh-huh.”

Grabbing your foot, Finn pulled this into his lap. To his credit, he started to give – well, not a massage, but he did something. Finn began poking the bottom of your foot with his index fingers until you finally laughed.

“Okay, not that!” you grumbled, pulling your leg back.

Finn grinned and turned a page in his book while you let your gaze linger. He looked good, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt he’d pulled on after sex. It was the first time all week you’d been truly alone; things had gone faster than usual, but that was to be expected. It had been awhile since the last time. It was nice just to see him, to touch him and talk to him – you’d missed having a semblance of normalcy in your life.

Innocently, Finn flipped the next page in his book. “What’s wrong? You didn’t enjoy the pleasure of my touch?”

“I did not, no.”

Tossing his book aside, Finn bared his teeth and began to crawl forward. With a shriek, you backed away until your spine hit the wall and you laughed.

“No,” you begged, kicking his shin as you grinned. “No tickling!”

Finn growled mercilessly, but eventually relented. Twisting, he dropped to lay his head in your lap.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll just hang out here, then. My book is so far away. I guess I can’t study. Too bad.”

Although you rolled your eyes, you leaned your head to the wall. Finn’s roommate was gone for the weekend, giving you the entire place to yourselves. You knew you’d have to leave at some point – ballet class started tomorrow at 8:30 AM – but until then, you could happily live in denial.

“Don’t you have homework to do?” you asked. “Tests? Something?”

Finn shrugged. “I already studied today.”

A twinge of jealousy went through you, although you squashed this immediately. Finn’s collegiate experience was different from yours, but this was through no fault of his own. 

You’d arrived at his dorm room shortly after dinner and, after unloading the crappy events of your day, Finn had merely shrugged and said his day had been fine. It seemed Finn was adapting to Redfield like a fish to water; nearly everyone you passed on your way to his room had stuck their head out to greet him.

On your way over, you’d considered asking Finn for advice about Jimin, but had given up on the idea soon after arrival. Visiting Finn was like stepping into a bubble. You knew the vision would pop as soon as you stepped outside, but it was nice to exist outside the worries of Russet.

Finn wouldn’t understand what you were going through either, which again, wasn’t his fault. His greatest stress was an upcoming test, while you were constantly on edge about whether you’d fail. There were no grades in your classes, no real way to tell if you were passing.

The most difficult part of Finn’s freshman year had been registering for his classes; a fact which cast your experience in stark perspective. If Finn dropped a class or had to miss a test, it didn’t really matter for him in the long run. It mattered for you.

Every time you’d previously mentioned Jimin to Finn, his advice had been to simply ignore him. It wasn’t the best advice, all things considered. Jimin was your assigned dance partner for the semester; you needed him in order to pass your classes.

It helped some to vent, but at the end of the day, you didn’t want Finn trying to fix things for you. That was what he did – he solved things. He loved to fix other people’s problems, loved to tie up loose ends and find neat solutions. The problem was though, you weren’t sure such easy answers existed.

Before you could suggest a movie to watch, someone knocked on the door to Finn’s dorm room.

Lifting his head from your stomach, Finn called, “Enter!”

The door swung open to reveal a tall, gangly-looking freshman in the hall. He looked at you with some surprise before glancing at Finn.

“Dude,” he said, sounding excited. “Sigma Nu is having a crazy party two blocks away. Ellie just texted saying there’s no cover for guys. A bunch of us are heading over – you in?”

“What – seriously?” Finn sat up straight. “No cover? That’s a first.”

He beamed and glanced at you, so you gave a small smile.

“It is?” you said tentatively.

Your words sounded uncertain even to your own ears, but Finn nodded excitedly. You hadn’t been out enough times this semester to notice.

“Coming!” door guy yelled to someone in the hall. Stepping back, he returned to the room. “So, you in?”

Your automatic reaction was no, since it was a Wednesday and you had class tomorrow, but before you could speak, Finn hopped from the bed.

“Sure!” he agreed, searching for his coat. “Y/N – you good with that?”

Hesitating, you fiddled with a corner of his blanket. Ideally, you’d love going to a weekday party with your boyfriend. Finn’s enthusiasm could be contagious, and you wanted to see him in his collegiate environment. He’d been the life of the party at high school and you knew it’d be the same here.

Unfortunately for you, ballet class wasn’t something you could just forget. You’d made it a personal rule not to drink before class and it would be no fun to attend a frat party sober. You were already skating on thin ice at Russet; you could only imagine what would happen if you showed up to class hungover.

“I don’t think I can,” you said softly, wishing the guy would leave Finn’s room. “I have ballet in the morning. Remember?”

“Oh.” Finn’s disappointment showed for only a moment. Hiding this swiftly, he sat back down on the bed. “Sorry, Ben,” he said, forcing a smile. “I think we’re staying in.”

Door guy – Ben, apparently – paused. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Finn nodded. “Y/N and I already have plans.”

Ben seemed confused; you assumed from this that he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch. 

“Really?” he said with a frown. “I thought you said you wanted to come.”

“It’s my fault,” you interjected, feeling a bit guilty. “I have class super early in the morning.”

“Oh, is that all?” He brightened. “That’s no big deal – so do I!”

Your lips tightened, not wanting to be rude, but this guy just wasn’t getting it.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “But I can’t be hungover for mine.”

Ben stared. “Huh. Okay, well – if you change your mind. So weird,” he laughed, exiting Finn’s room to the hall. “I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend, Finn? Later!”

Pulling the door shut, he left the two of you in silence.

You stared in shock at the door, attempting to process everything you were feeling.

There was guilt at keeping Finn from something he wanted to do. Longing, from not being able to do the fun things that you wanted. And nausea, at hearing Ben say he didn’t know Finn had a girlfriend.

Hesitant, you glanced in Finn’s direction, but found him looking away – at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere but at you.

“So…” You paused. “What was that about?”

“What do you mean?” Finn leaned back on the bed. Turning on his TV, he navigated to Netflix. “Want to watch a movie, or something?”

“I guess.”

You continued to sit there, clutching his blanket and staring blankly at the screen. After another moment, you decided this couldn’t be brushed aside and faced him on the bed.

“Why haven’t you told anyone you have a girlfriend?” 

Finn looked at you, surprised. “I have!”

“Oh?” you said, glancing at the door. “Then, why didn’t he know?”

Finn snorted. “Ben? Look – I like him, but the dude’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. As you may have noticed,” he added, giving a pointed brow raise.

Begrudgingly, you nodded. You had noticed.

“Hey.” Finn sat up straight. Clicking off the TV, he scooted closer on the bed. “I swear I’ve told people about you,” he said, taking your hands. “Promise. Ben is just an idiot. The instant someone is off-limits to them, they turn invisible. He’s probably even forgotten his sister by now.”

“Gross,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

Finn nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Ben’s an ass. I wouldn’t even hang out with him if it weren’t for the other guys on the floor. College. You know how it is.”

“Sure,” you said slowly, although you really didn’t.

There were multiple people on your floor and at Russet whom you didn’t like. You weren’t unfriendly to them, of course – with Sabrina being the exception – but neither did you hang out with them just because you were classmates. This entire world of collegialism was foreign to you.

“I love you,” Finn said.

Finally, you cracked a smile. “Love you, too.” Sliding both arms around his waist, you settled down on his chest. “Sucks about Ben being a dick, though.”

Finn laughed, brushing a kiss to your hair. “I think I’ll survive.”

You shook your head, knowing he was right. Finn always got through things like this; troubles seemed to easily roll off his back like water. You watched him turn on the TV and choose a comedy on Netflix. 

When the first scene began, you tried hard to relax, but this proved to be difficult. In high school, you’d been able to compartmentalize fairly easily but now, you found worries steadily leaking back in. Your Finn-bubble, the one which had always been so impenetrable, had started to become porous.

Worries about Russet, about your classes, about your teachers began to seep in and no longer did Finn’s dorm room seem like such a haven.

You didn’t belong here.

The thought occurred to you suddenly, as obvious as knowing the main characters on screen would eventually get together. Finn’s world was entirely different from yours, completely alien from Russet and you had no idea how to navigate the two worlds together.

It made you uneasy to consider, seated with your head on his shoulder and arms around his waist, but instead of facing this knowledge head-on, you pushed it away.

Too many things were being kept in your mind-boxes and, instead of disappearing, the thought continued to linger. It followed as you left Finn’s dorm, walked through the city streets, up the steps of Grace Hall and all the way to your bed.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

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