#yesterday was good? I think? I honestly barely remember what happened... I think hung out with my partner and did lessons with her?

[clumsiestgiantess]

Chapter 13 of the Other-world Universe; Alexis and Erica both struggle to deal with what happened over the last four years.

all chapters linked here

[Is Stealing Still Illegal?]

It was rather strange waking up in the other-world.  With my brain still slightly asleep, I'd panicked at my unfamiliar surroundings until quickly recalling the events of the day before.  I took a large breath to yawn, and choked on the scent of machinery that still lingered in the air.  The stench was more powerful this close to the ground and the flattened houses.  What a wake-up call.  Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stood to stretch and get up for the day.  However, as I got to my feet I heard a gasp from behind me.  

Erica was already awake.  She froze in the middle of bending over to grab something in the rubble left over from her house.  "Good morning," I greeted her calmly, "Are you alright?  I didn't mean to scare you or anything.  I'm just getting up for the day."  Sighing, Erica slowly stood back upright.  "You didn't scare me," she explained, casually shaking off her alarmed expression, "You just startled me is all.  I kinda forgot what it was like being around someone so.. tall.  Honestly, I remembered you smaller.”  "Well, I guess I might've been; it has been a few years," I thought aloud.  “That’s not what I-” Erica started, then went silent for a moment.  “I guess my memories of you are just different.  For some reason I thought you were as tall as, like, a house, but you’re clearly a lot bigger.  I don’t know.  It’s kinda overwhelming, really.”  Silently, Erica continued picking apart the rubble.  

Solemnly, I pulled out more of the food I'd brought over yesterday for my breakfast.  When I glanced back up, I found Erica trying to lift a piece of framework about twice her size, struggling under its weight.  "What are you doing with that?" I asked, cautiously reaching out to take it from her.  To my dismay, Erica let the rubble drop from her hands and backed nervously away from my outstretched fingers.  Though I was slightly hurt by her reaction, I carefully removed the piece of wall I was after, and pulled away to the cliff’s edge.  

It was as if all the progress we’d made trying to trust each other had been erased.  That’s my fault, isn’t it?  Because I left.  A tense anger built in Erica’s expression as she glowered at the boards I’d lifted.  "I'm trying to find my-  Oh come on!"  Interrupting herself, Erica yanked a shredded piece of fabric out from where the framework had been laying.  "I liked this shirt…" she grumbled, annoyedly casting it off to the side.  "Everything's ruined.  All I want are some decent clothes!"  From my spot at the cliffside, I watched her kick the mangled shirt and glare down at her own horrible outfit.  "I don't want to wear this!"  Erica's voice rose frustratedly; her wrathful gaze slowly dissolved into an empty stare as she caught sight of her reflection in a large piece of shattered glass.  I tried not to give her too pitying a look as I offered her some breakfast.  My outstretched hand had barely reached her before she snached the food out of it and sat down on her sleeping bag with a huff.  

“Where’s the alcohol when you need it?” Erica muttered, biting angrily into her meal.  I blinked confusedly, turning to look at her.  “I.. thought you gave that up?”  Erica froze, mouth halfway open to take another bite.  With slow guilt, she turned her face away from me, hands falling to her lap.  “It- It kinda came back after you left.”  “Oh,” I replied, disappointment staining my voice.  “But I..”  Erica paused, thinking hard.  She’d turned back to me, expression lifting.  “I only went to the club like.. twice?  Three times?  M- Mostly because I didn’t want to run into John there… Still.  I did better!”  I sighed, “And how many times did you drink here, at the house?”  My heart sunk in my chest as her shoulders hunched up, guilt returning to her features.

An awkward silence hung stale in the air.  "Maybe I could try digging through the mansion for you?" I offered while we ate, trying to change the subject.  Erica shook her head, "It's pointless.  Nothing in there is salvageable."  Subconsciously, I slipped into thought, chewing slowly as my mind wandered.  My gaze slid out to the rest of the devastated houses as I finished my meal.  "Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to rummage through some of the houses left standing.  If people are really being taken, I doubt they'll be coming back for anything."  

I could feel Erica's hesitation before I saw it.  Glancing back, her gaze locked onto mine.  "I..  Alright, we'll go look through houses."  There was a brief silence as she finished eating.  Her expression grew more and more worried by the minute.  "Alexis?"  "Yeah?"  "What do you think the hazmat giants want with us?"  I cringed at the fearful tone in her voice.  "I don't know," I answered honestly.  "Do you think they know how to control us?"  I steeled myself and quickly shook my head.  "They don't know how."  Erica stood and stepped slightly towards me, "How can you be so sure?  What if they-"  "They don't know how," I repeated, more forcefully that time.  "If they did..  Just trust me, there's no way they would figure it out.  Even if they did, they might not even be able to control you."  

My power over others in this place has to have come from the weird way I fell here, specialized to that one specific scenario.  Latching on to someone points you directly to them.  If everyone from my world could do what I can, there wouldn't be any survivors like Erica, John, and his men.  It would be impossible for them to still be here.  Everyone could easily be controlled and forced out of hiding.  No one would be left.

Realizing the harshness in my voice, I glanced back over at our little camp.  Erica looked slightly chastised, standing alone on what was left on the lawn, bearly dressed with purpling bruises over most of her body.  A pained feeling seized my heart and instinctively tugged me closer.  "I won't let them get to you," I assured her.  Delicately, I rested a finger lightly over her back as if to put an arm around her.  She'd only pulled away slightly before recognizing what I was trying to do.  Cautiously, she let me get close.  

"Even if they could control people like I can, the rest of the world might be in danger, but I can assure you, you won't.  I promised you yesterday," I reminded her gently, "I won't let anything horrible happen to you again."  Erica stood, stunned to silence by my statement.  She nodded slowly after a moment, and I slid my hand from behind her to offer up its surface instead.  "Let's go find you some good clothes, ok?"  "Alright.  I'd..  I'd like that, thank you."  She settled onto my palm and gazed up at me with a lot more trust than I deserved.

The moment was instantly shattered, however.  As soon as my hand left the safety of the cliffside, Erica caught a glimpse of the staggering height between her and the ground below.  Over the last few years, she'd forgotten what it felt like to be held.  She hadn’t reacted that way yesterday, but then again, yesterday she wouldn’t even let me out of her sight.  Erica’s panicked gasp resounded off the rock face.  I could feel her tiny heartbeat pounding furiously in her chest as she flattened herself to my palm.  "This was a- a bad idea.  Please, put me down."  Numbly, I lay my hand back down on the cliffside as she stumbled off it.  Her reaction was eerily similar to what happened the day I'd left, when I picked her up in the wrong way.  Even now, I was so careful to let her settle down before I moved a muscle.  Still, she was scared of me.  

Why wouldn't she be?  I am a murderer, after all.  I’ve taken people’s lives with them in my hands.  That had also been established on that same dreaded day, and re-established not even a day ago.  Can I go more than twenty-four hours in the other-world without hurting someone?  

Instead of visiting the ruins of suburbia, we hung around the cliffside instead.  I'd asked if Erica wanted to walk down the cliff on the road, but she only slunk off in silent frustration.  She was bitterly quiet the rest of the day while she tried to nurse her wounds with the oversized things I had in the first-aid kit.  

Thanks to my awful sleeping arrangements, I was woken up numerous times throughout the following night — mostly because my back ached for something even remotely soft to lie on.  Once, my arm unconsciously whacked the side of the mountain, painfully waking me from sleep.  It was around the fifth time I'd been forced awake by one thing or another.  The earth was dead silent, devoid of life, then I heard faint sobbing echo from nearby.  It was startlingly haunting — spooking me for a split second before I realized the sound was coming from atop the cliffside.  Slowly, I shifted onto my knees and peered nervously over the cold rock ledge.  

On the center of the sleeping bag, Erica lay curled up tight.  Her back was facing me, but I could see her chest quivering as quiet cries reached my ears.  "Erica?" I whispered uneasily.  I heard her breath hitch as she quickly sat up to face me.  The half moon made Erica's face shimmer, wet with tears.  "Please go back to sleep," she whimpered, trying to dry her face with the blanket of the sleeping bag.  "I'm fine, it was just a nightmare."  However, her shaking voice established that Erica was anything but 'fine'.  I want so badly to comfort her, but she flinches whenever I come close.  At my size, I wasn’t sure if anything I did could be comforting.  

"A- Alright.  I'm right here whenever you need me."  Erica nodded, quickly turning her head away from me.  "I know, just..  Please leave."  Tears caught in her voice as she spoke.  I should listen to her, right?  I don't really want to argue with her right now.  Not while she's like this.  Reluctantly, I backed off the cliffside and sank to my spot on the ground below.

The next day, Erica never acknowledged what happened that night.  She was content to busy herself through gathering more lost items from abandoned houses.  After breakfast that morning, I'd reminded her that there was still a way down the cliff that wasn't me carrying her, and she set off for the subdivision below.  I could tell she was trying hard to brush off whatever horrible dreams or memories haunted her in the middle of the night.  However, nothing seemed to be enough.

Sometimes Erica would disappear into the basement of a house and come back shaking, or with red-rimmed eyes, or a numb faraway stare.  Every time I tried to ask her about the night before, or the time she'd spent with John, she only cast my concerned questions to the side with a nonchalant comment or two.  "You're here now, it doesn't matter anymore.";  "Why do you care?  Those guys are dead now anyways."; "I don't really remember what happened, the memories are kinda fuzzy."; "Yeah, shit happened.  I would've escaped eventually."  Her carelessness was almost unnerving, but if she wanted to move on, I shouldn't keep bothering her about it. 

It seemed as if the day dragged on forever, but eventually, night fell.  Once again, I had to sleep on the cold hard ground.  I wasn't as bothered by it as the previous night, and I only woke up twice.  The second time, I could hear sobbing the same as before.  If I go up there, she's just going to turn me away again.  Or worse, get angry with me.  

That's another thing.  Over the following few days of picking apart abandoned homes, Erica's behavior started growing more and more unpredictable.  She'd disappear into places for hours and come back hostile and short-tempered.  Other times she'd come back, silently crawl into my hand, and ask quietly to be taken home.  After that, she refused to leave the cliffside for anything.  I wasn't sure what I could even do for her anymore.   One time, I’m almost convinced she’d found something.. hallucinogenic in one of the houses that was still standing.  After scouring one particular place, she stayed inside for several hours before stumbling out the door in wide-eyed terror.

She saw me and froze for several minutes, eyes darting wildly around the empty space.  “They.. They’re after me,” she told me in a frightened whisper.  “What?!  Erica, who’s after you, what’s wrong?”  “I don’t know!  They’re here; they’re watching me.  I can’t get away!”  I reached out for someone to control, testing the area for another person.  There was no one but her.  Delicately, I pulled her into my palms and held her close to me.  She struggled in my grip, begging me to let her go before the mysterious ‘they’ came for me, too.  I took her back to camp, Erica shaking against me the whole way.  Thankfully, it wasn’t too much longer before whatever she’d taken wore off.  Our interactions were awkward for a while after that.

Finally, on a chilly morning when I woke long before the sun came up, I decided enough was enough.  Erica had been avoiding my questions all day, then bawling all night and waking up in the morning pretending like nothing had happened.  I took a steadying breath of air and slid over the cliffside.  This time Erica was facing me when I sidled up to the rock wall.  "Just go back to-"  "No."  She stared up at me blankly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.  "Erica, please.  I can't keep sitting here watching you tear yourself apart day and night from the inside out.  It’s scaring me."  Her eyebrows rose slightly in shock, giving me another glimpse at the scar over her eye.  "I'm.. scaring you?" Erica repeated questioningly.  "Yes, most of the time you act like nothing's wrong, and when you do start acting up you run off, and you tell me to leave, and you yell at me for bringing it up."

I watched despairingly as Erica threw off her covers and stood ferociously, ready to do just that.  “Well, it’s none of your damn business!  I-”  She got in two more unintelligible syllables before bursting into tears.  "I'm so sorry," she sobbed, "I- I'm not angry at you, I swear."  Erica slowly sank to the ground as she spoke, and I instinctively reached out to hold her, only to recognize the difference in size between us and pull away, unwilling to risk frightening her.  "I just want everything to go back to the way it was!  Before John, before the giants, before you left, before the constant torture that is my life.  Was my life?  I don't even know anymore."  Her voice cracked, wavering on the brink of tears again.  

Now, I couldn't help it.  With every ounce of care and caution I could muster, I slid a few fingers loosely around Erica's shivering form.  I expected her to flinch or even cry out in fear.  Instead, she hugged my hand closer and bawled into it.  Her minuscule tears dampened a small spot on my palm as she sat in the somewhat strange embrace. Realizing she was willing, I gently folded my hand around her, rubbing small comforting circles into her back to calm her down.

A few moments passed before Erica composed herself again.  "I'm sorry," she repeated, letting go of my fingers and stepping aside, "I don't know what I was thinking.  Everything I had is gone, there's no use pretending it isn't.  Things.. happened to me. I can’t ignore that. I should've just told you what was going on, but I-" she paused, thinking.  "You aren't gone, actually.  For the first time in what, six years?"  "Just four," I corrected her, "But it certainly feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"  She nodded, taking in a few shaky breaths to keep from crying.  

"And I'm sorry too.  I've been sitting here watching you suffer and I didn't do anything about it.  I didn't know how or what to do.  It would be a bit easier if you told me things, though."  Silence, then I added quickly, "But you don't have to!  I- I know you don't trust me."  Erica tilted her head back to look me over for a second.  I could sense her scrutinizing me even from the distance we were at, separated by the cliffside. 

"Well, since everything's gone, maybe we could try again?" she asked hesitantly.  "I didn't really mean to chase you away the night you left.  Clearly you're sorry about what happened, considering you banished yourself from seeing me for four years — almost a lifetime if it weren’t for your curiosity about my world."  I nodded vigorously.  "I am sorry, I swear to you on my life that I'm sorry.  In fact, it took months for my nightmares to stop constantly giving me twisted versions of what happened that day."

Erica looked shocked for a brief moment, before chuckling sadly.  "Yeah, me too."  We smiled at each other in a bittersweet way before I turned around to swallow the choking feeling of tears rising in my throat.  "If you don't want to go back to sleep, I'll stay awake with you," I offered, leaning on the cliffside.  My knees hurt from kneeling, but I wouldn't be able to see over the edge of the cliff if I sat, so I had no other option.  "Thank you."  I could hear the relief in Erica's voice as she dragged her sleeping bag a bit closer to me.  "Of course," I replied with another small smile, "Anytime."

We sat in relative silence the rest of the morning, and the mornings from then on.  As the days passed, and we made camp from a few salvageable scraps of the mansion, we developed a small system.  Every time Erica awoke in the middle of the night, haunted by some nightmare or memory, she’d wake me up with the echoey sound of metal on metal revertabrating over the rocks.  Once I woke up, I’d sit beside the cliffside next to Erica until she either fell asleep, or we got up for the day.  Erica had asked if smashing metal scraps of the house together was really the best way to wake me, but we’d found that it was the only thing loud enough to do the job.  The sound itself was agitating to my ears.  Still, I’d much rather be woken by annoying metal noises than Erica’s quiet sobbing.

It was even more of a relief when Erica started sleeping through the night again.  Well, most of the night.  She’d often still wake me up at unearthly hours to sit with her, but after only an hour or two of my apparently comforting presence, she’d fall back asleep and stay asleep, until breakfast that is.  On a night when things seemed especially bad, she slunk all the way up to my side.  

“I hate this so much,” she whispered, standing on the cliff edge.  Slowly, I lowered myself until I was kneeling beside her, head level with the place she stood.  “I just want to go to bed, but it’s like my mind isn’t convinced that it’s safe for me to sleep.”

Smiling softly, I cupped my hand behind her.  Erica stepped away from it, glancing confusedly up at me.  “I won’t lift it.  Will you sit down, please?”  She took a breath to steady herself, then turned and sat on the ground, rigidly leaning back on my palm.  After a few minutes, her posture slackened and she sighed longingly.  Hesitantly reaching out, she grabbed one of my fingers and tugged it closer around herself.  “Do you remember the time when you let me sleep in your hand because I was drunk?”  I nodded slightly, watching as she purposefully avoided my gaze.  “I think…  I- I think I need that again.  Just for tonight.  Please?  I.. want you closer to me.”

My heart screamed at the thought that she wanted me to hold her again.  I had to fight to keep too big a smile from stretching across my face.  “You won’t be scared of me?”  Erica shook her head, glancing back up to catch my expression.  Carefully, I flattened the palm of my hand to the ground while she watched in slight awe.  With my transformation from seat to bed complete, Erica scrambled up and threw her sleeping bag over the surface of my hand — rushing as if to stop me from changing my mind.  She slowed once it was her turn to get on.  I caught her glancing sideways at me before gently sliding onto my hand, lying down on her little bed.  Her small weight settled evenly down my palm and in the divot between my fingers.  Erica’s eyes widened when she lay back and looked up to find my face hovering high above her — her awed expression likely matching my own.

“If you were here in my world the whole time,” Erica said suddenly, “and we’d just.. went our separate ways and never made up.  Would you have come to protect me?  Even if I had actually forced you away instead of telling you to go?”  What a question.  Though Erica giving me the cold shoulder would certainly have made me a lot angrier at her, she still had every right to reject me.  I’d still continued to do horrible things, despite promising her that I’d stop.  Albeit it was because I hadn’t realized the full truth about her world, but still.  “Of course I’d come to help you,” I replied, shocked at how I sounded almost offended by her question.  Softening my voice, I gently placed my thumb over her shoulder, sliding it over to rest lightly across her collarbone.  

“Erica, you know I’ve always been here to help you.  That wouldn’t change no matter how angry or upset I am with you.  You know that.  It hasn’t.  Look at me.”  Slowly, Erica’s head tilted back until she was gazing up into my eyes.  Her hand drifted up until it gently cupped my fingertip.  I pressed it lightly beneath the pad of my finger.  “I’m right here.”

A little smile wavered at the corner of Erica’s mouth.  She rolled onto her side, shuffling beneath her blanket with my thumb tucked against her chest.  I could feel her lean into my palm, the subtle pressure weighing it down slightly.  “Thanks,” she whispered quietly.  “I- I think I really needed to hear that.”  “Anytime,” I replied, cupping my hand closer around her.  “Goodnight Alexis, and.. if you do lift me up for some reason, don’t let me fall, ok?”  I smiled softly down at her, briefly clutching her little body a bit tighter.  “I won’t.”

She’d slept the night like that, tucked against my palm.  I didn’t sleep a single second once she settled in.  Not that the lack of sleep mattered much to me.  I was more than willing to sacrifice my own comfort for Erica’s.  She needed it a lot more than I did.  It was so unbelievably nice having her back again after so long.  Everything was peaceful compared to the more tenuous silence of the first few nights.  Days blended together nicely after that wonderful evening.  I wanted to ask Erica about what had happened while I wasn’t there, since she seemed to have accepted things now.  However, I knew better than to spoil the mood.

When the sun slid above the horizon, Erica stretched and sat up.  “Could you get breakfast now?” she asked me, stepping closer to the cliffside.  “This early?”  “I want to go look through the houses today, and it might take a while, so I wanted to eat something now and get going.”  I stood and stretched, then grabbed the shrinking box.  After making haphazard meals for both of us, I chowed down on the little remaining food I had.  The provisions I’d taken from my own world were beginning to wear thin.

After we ate, I nodded to the road down the cliff.  “I guess I’ll meet you there, then.”  Erica briefly glanced between me and the road, then turned back to face me.  “Actually, I was hoping we could try.. you know..  You taking me there.”  "Me?" I asked uncertainly, "You want me to pick you up?"  She seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded.  "I forgot what it felt like, putting my life literally in someone else's hands.  But I do trust you.  You wouldn't hurt me.  I.. I know you won't hurt me."  I choked up, slowly letting my hand fall open in front of her.  

"Really?"  "Really," she replied confidently, putting a tiny hand over my fingertip.  While Erica settled herself in my palm, I made sure to stay as still as possible.  One wrong move might deter her from ever trusting me again.  With Erica carefully balanced in the center of my hands, I started for the suburbs beyond the few neighboring houses we'd already been to.  I heard a small gasp and felt her grip tighten on me.  Carefully, I cupped the edges of my hand closer around her, ensuring her safety as I walked down the abandoned streets.

The first house we stopped at was virtually empty.  I guessed that whoever had lived there had time to pack up before they left.  However, the next place we tried still held plenty of items that had been left behind.  Erica was inside searching while I sat watching from the door for obvious reasons.  I'd yet to claim that million dollars from her.  

Gazing out at the horizon, I monitored it for any signs of people from my own world, when a scream pierced the dead-silent air.  "Erica!  What happened!?"  I was seconds away from ripping the roof straight off the house to get to her when she suddenly laughed aloud.  "Everything's fine!" came a response from somewhere inside, "I finally found something decent to wear that fits!"  my heart still thundered in my chest, but my fear quickly subsided.  She'd screamed in excitement, not fear.  "Maybe you should be a bit more specific with your reactions.  I thought some survivor tried to attack you."  There were a few minutes of shuffling around before she appeared in a flowey floral top and a pair of sweatpants.  It didn't really match, but I'm sure Erica could care less so long as it was comfortable.

"Sorry," Erica replied as she looked herself over, "That probably wasn't the most obvious reaction to something good.  I'm fine though, see?"  She twirled slightly in excitement, making me wonder just how long it had been since she'd worn something normal.  After the clothing hunt ended, we searched more houses for other things we might need.  Erica gathered as much non-perishable food as she could, that way I could keep all the stuff I'd stolen from my world to myself.  I wasn't being selfish; I needed as much normal-sized food as I could get.  Once that ran out, I’d either have to go steal some more from my own world, or find a few tons of other-world food to make up for it.  By vowing to stay in the other-world, I'd effectively raised my chances for starvation, dehydration, or both. 

I was about to comment on Erica's new outfit when I noticed her face darken in a cold aggressive glare.  Following her line of sight, I noticed a dog chain lying empty in the yard.  Oh no, I doubt she'll ever look at chains the same way again.  I promptly decided to get rid of them.  The stake tore smoothly out of the ground as I picked up the metal links.  Swiftly, I wound it up and threw it several yards away, waiting in silence for the revertibrating CLANG of metal hitting something.  "Threat eliminated," I huffed quietly, dusting off my hands as though I'd taken out some evil villain rather than a flimsy metal chain.  Erica smiled, though she looked slightly confused.  "Damn, I wish I could've destroyed it, but you lobbing it out of existence was way cooler than anything I could've done."  She chuckled lightly, "You really were serious about protecting me, weren't you?"  I shrugged, "All in a day's work."

By the afternoon, we'd gone through almost every single untouched house.  There weren't many left thanks to the mass devastation left by my own kind, but there were enough houses to provide the necessities.  Everything we took was stashed in my pockets for later use while Erica rode on my hand.  The longer we spent with each other, the more relaxed Erica grew around me.  We went door to door collecting anything we thought we might need, like matches, lanterns, pillows, medicine, even a tent just in case it rained.  

"At least one of us will stay dry," I mused as I grabbed the folded camping tent to stash away.  This was the last house on our trip.  Erica was sitting at a table on the patio outside; her bruises were covered with bags of ice she'd taken from a fridge that had miraculously stayed running.  An emergency generator rumbled noisily on the side of the house.  "At least one of us isn't in excruciating pain," Erica retorted hotly before noticing the unsettling tension in the air soon after.  

"I didn't mean-  I'm just feeling really shitty right now.  You can complain too, if you want.  This sucks for both of us.  It's infinitely better than what I had before, though."  I nodded in agreement.  Despite the many downsides of staying, I do want to stay.  For the last week or two, it's just been Erica and me surviving together.  Strangely, I've been feeling.. better — happier than I've been in a long time.  In four years to be exact.  For the longest time, I felt like I was missing something…  

I turned to Erica, watching the subtle way her expressions shifted as she thought.  Her gaze landed on me for a moment and I immediately turned the other way, embarrassed to have been watching her.  Is she what I've been missing?  But.. all those times I felt like I was missing someone, it was during my ex-relationships.  Again I glanced at Erica, this time noticing the subtle changes in myself.  How I subconsciously checked that I wasn’t too close or too much, how my mind wandered to the way her body settled evenly in the palm of my hand, or the way my breath hitched and heart fluttered whenever she looked at me with nothing but trust after such a long time of having no one to trust.

Oh my god..  I think I'm in love.

But how?  Why!?  I thought back through the memories I still had of the other-world and our time together. Erica’s stuck with me, taught me, even trusted me so wholly that she truly believed I would never hurt her, though I’ve been so cruel to her and others before.  Sure, she has her flaws, but I can never see her doing the horrible things I've done.  Except maybe to John, but he deserves it.  The worst she's done is buy expensive stuff, and, well, drink and drive.  

Ok, so she's not the best person.  Still, there's no denying the genuine delight I feel whenever she laughs.  Or the fantastic giddy feeling that swirls in my chest every time she looks at me so trustingly.  There's no way she’ll ever return my feelings for her, though.  Not after I hurt a bunch of people — killed people right in front of her, and disappeared for four years.  Even if I hadn’t done those things, I’m still like.. building-sized compared to her. So why do I catch myself longing for her?  Shouldn't I be able to tell that it's impossible?  Move on already, stupid emotions.  It's never going to happen.

My inner turmoil must've spread onto my face, because Erica put down the ice packs to stand up and watch me.  "Are.. Are you ok?" she asked, snapping me out of my thoughts, "You look like someone just hit you in the gut."  I breathed a long sigh and shook my head, "It's nothing.  I'm just hungry," I lied, "Can we go back to the cliffside so I can eat?"  "Uh, yeah.  Sure.  I could set up my things."  It was an extra metaphorical punch to the gut to see Erica effortlessly slide back into my hand.  I could encompass her all at once, right there in the middle of my palm.  I had the ability to pick her up and hold her close the way I wanted to.  But I wouldn't.  I couldn't.  She doesn't need that right now.  Erica had barely recovered from the tragedy two weeks ago, nevermind however long she'd been stuck with John beforehand.  I would have to be the densest person in the world to ignore that and pressure her with whatever feelings I had.

The rest of the day went by with little to no surprises.  I was constantly on the lookout for people from my world and people from the other-world, but I found no one.  I was more worried about the amount of food I had left.  There was only so much stocked in my house at one time, and I'd already taken a bunch of things directly in front of my dad, who would probably want to know why I stole everything once I got home.  

And when will that be? I asked myself internally.  I vowed to stay here for as long as Erica needs me to be here.  It could be another few weeks before I get back to my own world.  Erica threw an empty wrapper into our bonfire, causing it to flare up in a loud crackle that startled me into the pressing matter at hand.  I noticed that she'd chosen to sit a bit closer to me than her usual spot that night.  Her closeness could mean any number of things: a silent thanks for everything I'd helped with, a fear that straying too far might land her in the hands of another giant, or maybe she just wanted some of the warmth that radiated off my skin like the fire on her other side.

Neither of us wanted to sleep, so we stayed up late talking to each other just to stay awake.  Erica and I were both exhausted, however.  It wasn't long before we ran out of things to say and nodded off.  That night started with a monotonous dream where I was excitedly hurrying through a normal day that seemed never-ending, knowing that once I did, I could see Erica.  With every task I completed, I was only handed another.  It was frustrating, but eventually I managed to do them all.  My excitement to see her was the most vivid part of my dream, making it all the more devastating as the strange vision warped into a nightmare.  

Every time I tried to look at Erica, I was suddenly choked by chains wrapped around my throat.  The second I turned away, they fell off of me harmlessly.  Dream-me was stubborn, though; I tried desperately to claw through them until my vision started fading to black.  I tried to turn away, to get them to release me, but the dream had already ended.  The rest of the night I lay restless in a dark dreamless sleep.

For five days Erica and I camped together on the cliffside, watching for any sign of my own kind, or hers for that matter.  I'd managed to sneak a bit more food from the mini-fridge in the basement, so I wouldn't attract attention from the others upstairs.  It wasn't much, but I'd have to make it work.  In the meantime, I hopelessly tried to sort out my feelings.  Ever since my small revelation during our excursion, I couldn’t help but second-guess every single thing I did.  

Where do I draw the line between being a good friend and trying to win her affection?  Should I even bother confessing?  Will that only make her nervous around me, or worse, scared of me?  

I had so much power over Erica that I didn’t even want.  My size and strength alone is enough to force anyone into an awful position — nevermind my controlling ability. The only good thing about these powers is that I can use them to protect her, but other than that, it’s just frightening.  Over the course of the time we spent together, Erica only got more and more comfortable around me, which made my heart ache all the more.  She no longer flinched whenever I moved nearby, and she started telling me about things that had happened in her life prior to my return.  Albeit the instances were mostly interesting stories and random funny moments that had happened before everything, rather than any clues to major things that took place.

And of course, Erica was also sorting through her emotions too, though those were presumably tied to the trauma in the city.  It was all a blur in my memory, but from what I could recall, she'd seemingly been tortured, chained up, and nearly clobbered to death by those men.  Who knows what else might have happened while I was gone.  

That isn't normal by any means.  Clearly there's a lot of things Erica isn't telling me, but I can't ask her about it.  It's too soon.  Later, maybe once she tells me I'm free to leave, I’ll ask her if she’ll tell me.  My heart plummeted at the thought.  I'd have to go back to my own world eventually, leaving Erica here without me, possibly forever.  I wouldn’t be able to get to her world once I left home again.  The only way between our worlds is the spot I’d first fallen in the basement.

"Hey," I startled slightly and glanced at Erica.  She stood beside me, craning her neck up to see me.  "You have that sad look again.  I keep seeing you all pensive like that.  What are you thinking about?"  I only shook my head and told her not to worry about it.  Neither should I.  I had to focus on the bigger problem: my own people.  Though they hadn’t shown up here again, I had the awful feeling that they had moved on to another place to terrorize.  Tomorrow I'd start searching for answers.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary5

today was more or less boring compared to yesterday but really that just means it's a nice day inside.

but look at my knees! those are prints from the socks i was wearing yesterday, they were getting ground on the stage kind of so it left those marks on me, which is pretty fun and honestly not too painful, when i showered it only hurt a little, but the soreness everywhere else is kind of insane, my head feels so heavy, it makes me think of how babies can't support their own heads because their necks are so weak, and somehow my forearms have a soreness that i've never felt before, ever, i think.

today's arc is interesting, i woke up in basically extreme pain and very hungry, and during the morning my gf and i got in mild, i dunno ~thing~ which isn't an argument but us being mutually frustrated less at eachother and more because like, we're hungry and sore so we're on edge. it's the kind of thing i could forget about if i didn't already make a point of remembering that stuff so i can make sure it doesn't happen for those exact kind of reasons in the future. after that the whole day was mostly us doing our own thing, she made gyoza and i made ramen, right now there are dishes in the kitchen that i might do, but it's just the blender from a smoothie. i guess the arc is interesting because it's weird how days can have parts that disappear sort of, unless you keep it in the back of your head, and even then, all that really lingers is that it happened and that you don't want it to happen again but it's so not a big deal that it's like, i dunno, not hugely upsetting. maybe this also has to do with waking up pretty late today, it's 1 am now and it barely feels, idk, over, or whatever. i woke up at 1, which is stressful because i need to fix my sleep schedule for doing vocals this week, but i imagine i can.

speaking of music i mixed vocals a little differently on a song, so hopefully they'll come across a little better, and then i can be finished with this song soon enough when i get the levels all right, they do sound better now, just too loud currently in parts and too quiet in others. i also got more lyrics done which is exciting, and then i replaced a synth thing and layered it in another song and i just sounds way better, it was so unsatisfying to me prior that i was thinking i'd just trash the song.

it's weird doing this every day, not that i wanna stop, i guess i wish i were more forthcoming, but idk, i get hung up on writing out my day, so i can at least remember that better or know it better, or something. but idk, what is it about not being forthcoming that gets to me. idk, i wrote more today too, just a little but that's good, it's headway in figuring a relatively small part out anyways. anyways, i want to write faster, i guess i'll try to be faster right now and not think about what i'm saying, and just talk, to myself, about today or anything. anything is so broad, i'm freaked out by how little i have to say, i feel like i'm trying to make myself seem empty at myself a little and i don't know it, but i don't know what proves substance anyways, and i get in my own way because i feel like i have such little energy, which makes sense i guess, right now my girlfriend is staring at her computer writing something and today i took the trash out and didn't like being outside really but i need to go on more walks i think, but i feel so weird, i dunno, it's so hot, maybe that's become an excuse or something. and i need to talk to my mom but honestly i worry about her even wanting to talk to me. she seems short constantly now, i dunno why, i guess just misery of the regular sort, because of my stepdad. he makes her life sort of awful at home, he doesn't listen to anyone and he talks forever, he's basically trapped her there and i can't do anything but i feel like she thinks maybe i could do something, or maybe she wishes i could because i got out, but as far as she can tell i'm not trying and it's not like i'm supposed to but she wants me to so she could be free a little while or something and i think sometimes she really might decide to kill herself, because she did try before so it's not out of the question. that's not something i can even figure out how to help at this point outside of texting her sometimes but i don't want to be annoying. i also feel bad for my stepdad, like maybe he wants to talk to me too, but he goes on forever about the same things always. eventually, he'll end up bringing up how he almost went to the olympics as a swimmer or something. i don't want to be like that, i don't want to have nothing to talk about except everything that happened to me, i want to be alive right now, and in the future, but i don't even know if i am. i'm basically alive because i think i can finally be pretty now, is that all that possesses me or am i just saying that to be dramatic, or is that a stupid way to pose the question or whatever, i dunno, it doesn't matter or it matters a lot but i'm not ready to parse the fact that i'd ask myself if i'm being dramatic over all the other possibilities. but it's on my mind a lot i guess that i think i'm super histrionic and maybe i think i do everything to be looked at, because if you're looking then i'm like, validated in being where i am right now because there's eyes on me, but i always hate the eyes and i hate being looked at especially like that except sometimes i really like it because it's proof i'm x/y/z or anything else, like being pretty is the perfect example because if someone obviously is staring at me in that way and i have my ass out on purpose, it for some reason feels good to have male attention even though i hate them and that i can sort of sense what kind of porn they're putting me in as they stare (it's i guess really obvious or i feel like it is because they have to be able to tell right) and i dunno, whatever, it's dumb, it's so stupid to be tethered to the need to be wanted like i am, since at least one person really does want me all the time at least, it should be enough but it isn't, and there's never an enough, there's an infinite void when you're seeking attention or at least conceiving of yourself as seeking attention. it's so gross, i hate it, i want to be pretty and i want to feel it as true inside myself, so i don't need anyone else, but we always will need everyone else, i don't actually not want to need anyone, i like depending on others.

tumblr made me go to another text thingy. that's weird. i guess that thought can end there because it was making me feel like a hundred million maggots were all over me which is something i wanna learn how to draw cuz i actually feel that way always, in each way you could imagine it, the miserable/disgusting/erotic+sexy ways, which is probably pretty weird but i mean it earnestly, that kind of stuff has always been put together for me which makes me kind of a nightmare i guess but it's all i have had, it's like my special hole i get to live in, it makes me feel nice saying it, asserting it i guess. like yeah i am horrified always and that's found its way into every part of me and i'm so in love with it.

tumblr talking to me while i was writing, i guess talking this whole way with me cuz it always pops up to tell me it saved my fucking draft like thank you tumblr but you can probably do that and not say it right? or can i turn that off. idk i'm ssstupid like it says in my bio. for some reason elongating my s's makes me happy, it's a pleasure i feel in the seat of my chest, where my voice rattles when i sing sometimes, or the junction of my lungs/throat/ribcage and whatever cartilage and muscles there get wrapped up in the vibrating, my own bloody crossroads. anyways tumblr talking at me makes me think about how nerds from everywhere online come up with these weird sapir-whorf adjacent hypotheses about like, how certain website's cultures shape how you see the world and whatever, they give you a particular outlook that follows you everywhere, essentially inventing grounds for various kinds of digital nationalism. this is ugly and evil stuff i think, it's basically missing how these sites actually work and impress methods of engagement onto us all, and though these differ, they do tend towards similar kinds of content and have all been about accelerating towards those kinds of content. typically, it's always about anger/arguments reinforcing where you are but there's more, that's like, the boring thing, i just need to recall how i conceived of this the other day, it was only an inkling then, maybe a few sentences but a few sentences in your head is connected to like everything ever, or everything that birthed that handful of sentences/meaning/observation. i think what i'm thinking of in particular is twitter, twitter does engender a particular way of seeing/instrumentalizing the world around you to whatever ends that it basically deems most valuable. i guess i can leave thoughts have thought in a diary and return later, i just hope i do return, to this, i don't know why i'm feeling blocked off from the thought i had earlier, whatever, i'll think a little more about it, i should just relax more or something, i dunno why this matters so much to me either. or i know exactly why, i've lived online my whole life, none of these places are really actually cut off from one another, they feed eachother, especially now, reposting is necessary for all this stuff to work or for anyone to feel 'actualized' at least as actualized as you are intended to be by these systems which essentially govern our socialization, and so frustrated by whatever methods they're escaping by moving to the next site or whatever, they complain and react, and absorbing whatever drama cluster they're drawn to, which the content of doesn't matter, it's more the shape of the cluster and what it does, like, twitter controversy is the same in whatever circles, and so was tumblr drama last i remember it, it was all about a few people or a broader idea of the awful in the world rearing its head and you'd gawk, and flood to it in interest, it would fade, but i dunno, i don't care about these controversies that much, i think what's more interesting is the everyday use which involves these things as momentary interests you can gawk at, your morality next to naked people next to funny animals, the stream's always been the same it's just been getting refined, basically. there used to be a utopianism about all this access we have to eachother, it's sad to see people who were like that, and compare it to now, where these places we're essentially forced to, if we want to be in the broader world, because if we only go off to closed spaces where everything is curated, it's only that your stream is narrower (also it's important i think to note the supremacy of the image, especially the photo or the photographic ddrawing (of anime or whatever (obviously i know how i guess hypocritical i can come off pointing this supremacy out since i had 3 photos of myself in the last post (but also don't, because what i'm saying is that we're all victim to this and it's really awful how i feel like i need pictures of myself out there that i think look good as proof of prettiness--

-- + sacrifice to whatever/ whoever might see, and to the libidinal economy that governs the internet's image-sludge currents.)))) anyways asides aside (lol) i was talking about your stream growing narrower, it grows narrower and, was there an and, who knows, it does grow narrower and it prevents you from seeing outside your field of view, which is actually the addictive thing i think, about so many of these sites, you can see outside yourself and it will be fed to you in such a way that it seems strange/annoying or, rarely, kind of good so you decide you like it. it enforces an idea of identity that is about accrual, and what you cannot accrue you performatively burn, with great distance, a torch lit and tossed many miles to an unseen firepit.

this isn't the full articulation though, it's not close, it's not why i think these things are so interesting/frustrating. i guess the fact that this is unanswerable is why i've been approaching it for years. it begs you to look, dirty scopophiliac you are, and by looking / knowing, it (anything) becomes less dirty, dirty meaning alive, i think. you look at a horrible thing, and you know it is terrible, and you are excited by the awfulness, excited meaning agitated into some kind of activity, and becoming active, it's purified/sanctified. everything's been reduced into a kind of sanitary work/gesture, all images pass through and passed around lose meaning become less threatening or gain threat (so you know they are to be jettisoned) and all is defanged by what amounts to our complicity in a daily human tide whose goal is to alleviate boredom with structured programming pointed at random targets and developed by less random but nearly as equally numerous heads. it's interesting how much content is always downstream of a few people, too.

that can be talked about later i guess.

[nixll]

venice for one

pairing : harry styles x reader

summary : after getting broken up with and struggling with your own insecurities, you make the split-second decision to take a solo trip to venice. you expect the week to be a fun-filled adventure, but when you accidentally have a run-in with a famous popstar, things don’t go quite as you expect them to. 

word count : 9.5k

warning : smut, 18+

“you don’t ever do something just because it makes you feel good?”

paris for one by jojo moyes

The moment you step off the train and onto the platform, you feel a sudden urge to turn back around, toss your bags back on the bench you had been seated on, and make the same exact trip you had just taken again, only backwards this time.

Instead, you force your feet to take one step after another, your suitcase dragging noisily behind you against the concrete platform as you lug your tote bag higher up on your shoulder. In your hand is a note scribbled with the name of the bed and breakfast you booked yourself into, and directions written neatly with bullet points, but as you enter the city of Venice, Italy, you know finding the place you’re looking for is going to be much harder than you had first thought.

The city, as gorgeous as it is, is a slightly confusing maze of sidewalks and canals, and there’s people everywhere. The anxiety you had managed to push away when you got off the train is slowly returning as you look at your directions and attempt to find your way.

This trip had been a split-second decision, one made by your irrationally, heartbroken brain only a few hours after your boyfriend had dumped you. The breakup had come as a surprise to you, especially after many of your friends had brought up the idea of marriage after several years together, but your now ex-boyfriend had thought otherwise.

“You’re not the girl I fell in love with,” he had claimed in an uproar as he threw a suitcase together, “you’re not the fun, outgoing person I used to know.”

You had tried arguing against his claims, but it had done no good, and in the end, he had walked out with nothing more than a promise to come back to what had been your shared apartment to get the rest of his stuff over the next few days. When you called your friends to tell them what happened they had done their best to fill your head with encouraging words and stories about how you were still a fun person to be around, but the longer you thought about it, the more you realized your ex was right.

You weren’t the same person he had fallen in love with, and you hadn’t been that person in a long time. In some ways that was okay. You had fallen in love young and where you grew up, he still acted like the immature college student you had met years ago. He partied constantly, going out with friends at all hours of the night, and you honestly don’t remember the last time the two of you hung out somewhere other than the bar down the street. Nice restaurants had never been his thing, and in wanting to make him happy, you had never opted for anything but what he suggested.

You knew he wasn’t happy anymore, and neither were you. You were getting older and concerning yourself with your job and what your future looked like, not when the next time you could go for a cocktail hour was. You had settled into a routine for yourself, one that required no more effort than you needed, and in having that, your now ex-boyfriend decided you were a prude.

After a while, though, you wondered how much of what he had said to you was true. You don’t remember being much of a party girl when you were younger, but you definitely had your moments, and you definitely hadn’t had one of those moments in a long time. You knew if asked what word could describe you the best, adventurous or outgoing wouldn’t be the first word, or second or third to pop into anyone’s head, but maybe you wanted to be those things.

Maybe you wanted a stranger on the street to look at you and wonder what kind of adventures you had been on because just by looking at you, they can tell you know how to have a good time. Maybe you wanted to be that pretty girl in the room, the one that nobody could take their eyes off of.

Five hours after your relationship had ended, you decided you didn’t need your ex, but you did need a change of pace.

You were going to take a trip to Italy by yourself. You hadn’t told anybody, not even your friends, and had only left a brief voicemail to your workplace calling out sick for the rest of the week and no other explanation. It had taken you an hour to book all the tickets needed for travel and to find a place to stay that would take you with such little notice, but in practically no time at all, and with two haphazardly packed bags, you had been on your way to Italy for what you hoped would be a fun adventurous few days.

So far, the idea of a fun filled week had completely escaped your mind and your first day in Italy had started out with a drag.

You had yet to find the Bed & Breakfast you had booked yourself into, and with a sore shoulder from carrying your bag and your hand growing increasingly sweaty as you gripped onto your suitcase, you were beginning to think about what your best bet would be on getting home.

Not a single person you had managed to stop speaks English, and even after you show them the name of the place scribbled at the top of your sheet in Italian, nobody is seemingly able to help you. Venice is not the biggest city, and you remember briefly reading about how it is possible to walk the entire city in the matter of an hour. With a glance at the watch on your wrist, you’re ready to turn around and make your way back to the train station in the hopes of catching a ride back.

That’s when you spot it: the barely-there sign with a name on it that matches the one on your paper.

Vera Ospitalità.

It’s a cute little blue building, looking exactly like it did when you were Googling places to stay in Venice. It hadn’t cost very much, and the lady had sounded sweet over the phone when you asked how soon she would have a room open.

“We always have a room open, cara.”

You hadn’t quite understood what she meant at the time, but the sight of those two Italian words fill your body with a jittery joy as you let out a shout, catching the attention of a few people walking past you. You pay them no mind as you pick up the pace, not taking your eyes off the sign until you’re standing in front of the door and pushing it open.

The bell above lets out a delightful jingle as you walk in. You can only imagine what you look like to the lady sitting at the desk as you walk in with sweat dripping down your forehead and a slightly rumpled paper stuffed in your hand, but she offers you a cheerful smile.

“Are you Irene?” you ask, slightly out of breath as you step up to the desk, letting your bag fall from your shoulder. “We talked on the phone yesterday.”

“Yes! Hello, cara,” Irene says, standing from her seat and reaching for the guestbook she keeps under the counter. “I am happy to see you made it. How was your trip?”

You smile, trying not to think about the want to turn back around and head home you felt only minutes ago. “It was good! Happy to finally be here.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Just sign these forms and I will get you your key.” Irene pushes the book your way and you easily sign your name on the dotted line. “There is only one bathroom upstairs, but you get the room directly across from it.”

Your head snaps up from the book. “One bathroom?”

“Yes,” Irene nods, “but it has a tub, and the water runs perfectly. And there is only one other guest staying here this week, so there should be no trouble.”

“There’s only two of us here?”

Irene pauses. “You ask many questions.”

You offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“There is a young man staying here also, about your age. I only have four rooms and I don’t get many guests.”

You briefly wonder if you should have chosen a slightly more expensive place to stay, but your expectations hadn’t been very high coming in and how bad can it be when there are only two of you staying?

Irene hands over your key, directing you up the stairs to where your room waits for you. “Breakfast is served at 7 if you would like some, otherwise I have a list of places around the city you can visit.”

You give Irene one last thank you before you’re heading up the stairs, your suitcase and bag in hand. Your room is immediately at the top to your right, with the door across from yours labeled bagno with a cute little wooden sign. There are two more rooms a little further down the hall, and then one at the very end with the door open enough for you to glance inside.

There’s music playing – something you’ve heard on the radio a million times before but can’t remember the name of – and you can make out the silhouette of someone sitting at a small desk next to a window. With the way the setting sun is shining through, you can’t make out any of the figure’s features, but you know that this is the man Irene mentioned downstairs.

You wave a hand. “Hi.”

You can see him turn his head, but can’t make out any features still, nor an expression, as he stands and shuts the door without a second thought.

You frown, deciding not to dwell on it as you unlock your room and step inside. It’s small, and you know your friends would try and make it sound better by calling it quaint, but you decide that it’s not any more or any less than you need for the week. There’s a small desk and dresser off to the side, and a twin size bed with a side table sitting next to the headboard. The sight of the small, but very neat room is comforting after the mix of emotions you’d spent your afternoon with, and you find yourself wanting to just fall against the comforter and end your day there.

So, you do, quickly changing into your sleep clothes and doing your nightly routine, you let all the anxiety and the interaction with the man down the hall fall from your mind as you slip under the covers and rest your head against the pillow. It’s early, but you figure you’ve had enough adventure for the day. Plus, you still have the next few days left to spend in the city.

Sleep comes easy to you, so easy that you’re shocked awake the next morning at the sound of loud footsteps coming down the hall, and then a slam of a door. Lifting up from your bed, you glance at the clock on the table next to you and let out a small groan. You hadn’t been planning on taking up Irene’s offer of breakfast at 7, but now that you were awake you figured you might as well do exactly that. The grumble your stomach lets out seems to further settle the idea to get ready and go downstairs into your head.

The banging across the hall continues, and you know the sound belongs to the man from down the hall. Not wanting another interaction like the day before you decide to wait for the sound of the door opening and steps retreating down the hall, knowing the man has returned to his own room before you head into the bathroom with your things to get ready. You throw on a simple outfit for the day, doing all your daily necessities. The smell of cologne fills the small space, and normally it would be something that would irritate you – someone else treating a space as only their own with no other thought of anyone else who might occupy it – but the scent is pleasant enough and you decide to leave it be. When you’re done, you listen again for the sound of footsteps, but there are none.

Opening the door, you peak down the hall. The door at the end is shut, but you still cross the space to your room quicker than normal, opening the door and slipping inside. Just as you grab your shoes and anything else you plan to use throughout the day, your phone finding its spot in your pocket, you hear a door open again. You listen quietly as the man moves down the hall to the stairs, only slipping into the hallway when you know you won’t run into him. He’s already disappeared into the front room when you yourself reach the stairs and start the trek down.

When you reach the bottom floor, Irene stands just across the room in what you realize is the dining area. There’s a jingling as the front door opens, and you look over just in time to see a head of dark brown hair escaping through the entrance.

There’s something odd about you and this stranger avoiding each other, but you don’t let it cloud your thoughts. You don’t even know the man, and don’t have any care to get to know him.

Irene spots you lingering by the stairs and waves you over. “Have you met the other guest yet?”

You smile as you walk over to sit at the table situated in the room. The space isn’t very large, only big enough to hold the essentials of a kitchen and a table that seats six, but the feel of it all is very intimate. It also smells terrific, the smell of sausage and pastries filling the room. You’re suddenly grateful that you chose this place over any of the others, weird neighbors be damned.

“He’s nice, is he not?”

You purse your lips as Irene places a plate loaded to the brim with various breakfast items. The sight makes your stomach grumble again and you laugh in an attempt to conceal it. “I haven’t exactly met him yet.”

Irene frowns. “You haven’t?” She tsks. “He’s very friendly, but he never eats breakfast here.”

“Never?” You glance up from your plate. “How long has he been here?”

“Only few days, but he comes once a year and stays here rather than big fancy hotel.”

You nod, taking a bite of the croissant on your plate. You close your eyes giving a small hum of pleasure at the taste of the buttery pastry. “He’s missing out.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough, I think.” Irene waves her hand around as she takes her own seat, carefully digging into her own plate of food.

You continue breakfast with polite conversation. Irene asks why you decided to come to Italy, and you fib your answer a little, explaining it was just a need to get away for a bit. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to reopen the fresh wound that was your current relationship status.

When you’re done, you bid Irene farewell for the day and head out on your own. The sun is warm as it beams down on your face, the air slightly cool from the canals. You plan to just walk around the city for most of the day, not having much else to do until the afternoon when the gallery you had opted to go to opens.

For a few hours you simply meander around the city, stepping into shops with clothes that cost far too much money, but you try them on anyway. You find a nice place for lunch, deciding you’ll come back to try something else for dinner after the gallery. The day all goes fairly quick, but you head back to Vera Ospitalità with a grin permanently etched into your features.

Irene is not at the front desk when you walk in. It’s getting fairly late in the day and after the large and filling meal you had chosen to eat for dinner, you decide that you’ll end your day with a nice bath and then head to bed, excited for the boat ride you had booked for the next day.

That plan is immediately foiled when you climb the stairs and hear the shower already running. You don’t have any idea how long it’s been occupied, but you figure he has to be done sometime soon and choose to wait in your room until he is.

Fifteen minutes pass before you realize it, and the shower is still going. It occurs to you that all of the hot water must be gone now and you feel a bit frustrated at your thought of a nice night being ruined by a man who doesn’t know how to shower quickly. Trying not to let your frustration get the best of you, you snatch up your towel and storm out of your room to stand in front of the door across from you. There’s some steam coming from the crack between the door and the floor, but you ignore it as you knock on the door.

There’s a noise that sounds something like a grunt, and then the shower shuts off. You listen to shuffling, a rumple of clothes, and then the door swings open and there, for the first time since you arrived in the tiny hotel, you finally come face to face with the stranger who’s been living down the hall from your room. It suddenly hits you why he had been so eager to avoid you the day before and ;told you that he must’ve been trying to avoid you this morning too, obviously trying not to make his presence known.

Harry Styles stands in front of you in a pair of loose shorts with a towel hanging from his hand, his hair dripping down onto his forehead. His tattoos are on full display, the pair of ferns peaking up from his waistband, and his skin is glistening from all the water he hadn’t been given the chance to properly wipe off. Steam pours out through the doorway and the sudden heat of it sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t realize you’re staring until your eyes meet his and he cocks a brow. “You’re not going to be a creep and ask me for a photo, are you?”

His tone is dangerous, and he’s got an accusatory look plastered on his face. It makes something in you want to snap back, that anger from not being able to take a bath like you wanted still lingering a bit, but instead you stand there, trying to think of the best words to say back to the man in front of you who clearly thinks you’re here for something other than a nice vacation. Every possible thing you had wanted to say before the door had opened has suddenly disappeared from your brain, only to be replaced with the slight shock of your current situation. Your mouth opens and snaps closed one time, then again, as the words you want to say struggle to fall from your mouth.

Eventually, you hold up your towel.

Harry’s head tilts to the side, his gaze curious. “So, you’re not just renting the crappiest hotel in the entire city in order to get some sort of insider photos?”

You frown, the shakiness you had felt disappearing as you think about Irene and her hospitality. “It’s not a crappy hotel.”

Harry smiles, but you’re sure it’s just because he’s amused and not because you’re doing a nice thing by defending Irene. “No, but it sure isn’t popular and nobody ever comes here. I’m always by myself when I come – Irene makes sure of it.”

You remember what Irene had told your over the phone when you asked about booking.

We always have a room open.

You purse your lips and try holding your head a little higher. “I’m not some crazed fan. I’m just here for a nice vacation.”

Harry looks you over. “Nice vacation? You don’t seem like the type.”

“It…” You stumble over what to say, trying to get a grip on the current situation you’re in with a half-naked famous popstar standing in front of you. He leans against the doorway, an arm propped against his head, and you swallow. “It was spontaneous.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “You still don’t seem like the type.”

“You don’t know me,” you manage to say, feeling slightly offended by his words, but Harry just grins.

“And I don’t care to.” He claps his hands together, the sound muffled by the towel still gripped in his hand. “Pleasantries aside, I’d appreciate if you didn’t interrupt my shower next time, and also if you continued to not take photos of me whatsoever.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Harry has already pushed himself off the doorway and is marching down the hall before you can even think of what to say back to him. He doesn’t even bother turning back to look at you, just walks into the room and slams the door shut.

You wince at the sound, trying to still get a grip at what just occurred. You step into the still hot bathroom with its steamed-up mirror and slightly wet floor, but you disregard it as you move to the tub. You turn the handle for the hot water and aren’t surprised to find that it’s ice cold. You let it run for a minute, trying to see if it’ll warm up even the slightest, but you give up and shut it off when it remains cold.

You realize that not only had Harry left you with no hot water to take a shower in, but he also hadn’t bothered to ask for your name. When your head hits the pillow minutes later, choosing just to settle in for the night, you let the exhaustion of the day wash over you and fall asleep easily, though the irritation with Harry settles in well into the early morning.

Your alarm goes off early after a couple of hours, waking you up well before you know Harry will be awake. You quickly gather up your clothes and head to the bathroom, turning on the shower and hopping in before another second passes.

You take your time getting ready, lingering under the hot water for as long as you can before getting out and slowly going over each of your tasks in your morning ritual. You’re in the middle of finishing up your hair when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yes?” you call out, already knowing it couldn’t be anybody but your neighbor down the hall.

“It’s Harry,” he says, muffled through the door. It occurs to you that he never actually told you his name the night before, but you know he’s assumed you already knew who he was before. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong in that assumption. “Are you almost done?”

You grin at the turn of events. “Almost.”

It’s another ten minutes before you’re done. You had expected Harry to have turned around and headed back to his own room to wait, something you would have done if you had been in his place, but when you open the door he’s standing there across the hall, leaning against the wall next to your own room. It takes you by surprise, seeing him standing there. He’s already dressed for the day, a nice, knitted shirt on with brown shorts to match and checkered vans decorating his feet. The only thing out of place is his hair, still a mess of curls from where he hadn’t had the chance to comb them down yet.

You offer a smile as you step out of the bathroom. “All yours.”

Harry has a sour expression on his face as you pass by to get into your room. You don’t bother giving him any more attention than that, though, not keen on him accusing you of anything else.

At 7 you head downstairs. Irene is already settled into the kitchen with a plate full of food waiting for you. She smiles when she spots you. “Sleep well?”

You nod. “Finally met Harry.”

“Oh, Harry!” Irene claps her hands together. “Isn’t he so lovely?”

You hum in response. “Lovely,” you try to hide the sarcasm in your voice, “that is definitely the word I would use.”

Irene’s eyes flicker behind you, and she brightens at the sight of Harry coming down the stairs. “There he is! Harry, come have breakfast.”

Harry appears, hair now perfectly in place, walking around the table to greet Irene with a hello and a kiss to her cheek. “Can’t, love. Have places to be.”

“Oh, stay for a bit. It’s too early to have anywhere important to be. Talk with us,” Irene urges, gesturing to you already seated at the table.

You give an exaggerated nod. “Yeah, talk to us, Harry.”

Harry forces a smile onto his face. “Only for a bit, yeah?”

Your frown is immediate as Harry takes the seat across from you. You had remembered what Irene had said the day before, about Harry never joining her for breakfast, and that had led you to expect him to decline Irene’s offer and head out for the day, but now you were stuck with him sitting there in front of you.

“What are the plans for today?” Irene asks, seemingly unaware of the tension at the table.

Harry gives her a genuine smile as he steals a roll from the plate she had placed in the middle of the table and takes a bite. “Goin’ to wander the city a bit, might take a nice boat ride.”

“I’m doing a boat ride too,” you chime in. The look Harry throws you is something similar to a glare, but you just smile, knowing you managed to get under his skin already this morning before he had even tried to touch yours.

The rest of the conversation is tense, with Irene staying blissfully unaware to the dirty looks you and Harry throw at each other. A part of you wonders how you can act like this with a complete stranger, but when you accidentally kick his shin under the table, and Harry returns a swift kick of his own, the thought is completely overshadowed by the irritation you feel when you look at him.

When Harry finishes his roll a few minutes later, he delivers a quick peck to Irene’s cheek and heads out, offering no goodbye to you. When he’s gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding and stand from your chair.

“Thank you for breakfast, Irene.” You make to move for the stairs, planning to take a little time to yourself before your planned boat ride later, but Irene stops you.

“He is better once you get used to him,” she tells you.

Your nose crinkles at that, wondering how much she actually had caught on to when it came to you and Harry. “I just think he doesn’t like me very much.”

She waves her hand. “He did not like me very much at first either, but he warms up in time.”

With a final nod, you head upstairs. The hours pass quickly as you find random things to do – playing games on your phone, reading a book. You had briefly wondered about calling your friends back home, curious if they had thought about you since you had last spoke to them, but you eventually decide against it when it’s time to head out for your boat ride.

The air is warm when you step outside, and the place where you’re supposed to go is only just down the block. There’s a delightful breeze that blows through your hair as you walk down the sidewalk, admiring the city as it moves through its daily ventures. You reach the dock you need to go to much easier than you had the Bed & Breakfast, but your stomach immediately drops as soon as you step on the pier.

Harry is standing with who you assume is the skipper of the boat you’ll be on. He has an impatient look on his face and his arms are crossed as he taps his foot against the wooden planks. When he spots you walking down the pier, a look of realization crosses his features.

“You’re going on a boat ride?” he asks, his brows raised above the rim of his sunglasses. “This boat ride?”

You look at the skipper and give a not-so-confident nod.

“Ah! You’re the girl who booked me so late the other day!” he announces almost proudly, and you offer an apologetic smile, choosing to ignore a clearly frustrated Harry.

“I’m so sorry about all that, it was so last minute—”

“Do not worry, darling. It seems to be my fault.” He gestures between you and Harry. “I seem to have made the mistake and made a double booking on accident. Either the two of you may ride the boat together and I’ll give half off, or one of you can leave and I’ll give full refund. I am booked full rest of day.”

You can feel Harry glaring at you through his glasses. “I’m not giving this up,” you tell him, feeling your own irritation grow at the sight of his.

“Well, neither am I.”

The skipper glances between the two of you before giving a delightful shout. “Two of you it will be! Let’s get going.”

You and Harry give the same exasperated look to the skipper, but he’s already climbing on the small speed boat, waving for you to follow.

Harry looks to you. “Ladies first.”

You don’t bother with a thank you as you climb onto the boat, Harry not far behind, and find a seat on the small bench available. With no other place to sit, Harry is forced to sit next to you on the bench clearly fit to hold two people intimately. Neither of you say anything as the skipper starts the engine and pulls away from the pier and into the lagoon you were meant to be traveling.

For a moment, you regret not just walking away and letting Harry have the boat ride to himself. You can’t imagine being able to enjoy it when he won’t even look at you even though his shoulder and thigh are flush against your own as you both attempt to fit on the bench. You still want to make the most of it, so you turn to look at Harry, deciding to attempt to show some of the same hospitality you had been experiencing so much of in Italy

“Do people really stay in the same hotels as you to get photos?”

“What?” His sunglasses have fallen slightly down his nose, and his eyes are visible just over the rim.

You swallow down any frustrating feelings you might have against Harry right now. “Last night, you accused me of being in the B&B so I could get a photo of you—”

“Sorry about that,” Harry mumbles out, pushing his glasses back in place. “Shouldn’t have come at you so quick.”

You can tell that some of the tension has left his body and that makes you feel a bit better about being stuck with him now. “Do people really do that, though?”

You wish he had taken the glasses off now, just so you could see the expression hidden behind them. You can’t tell what he’s thinking with his eyes hidden behind the dark rims.

“I’ve been doing this for over ten years,” he finally says, “I’ve had people break into my home, fans have snuck into my tour bus, and I’ve been chased down the street. You checking into the same place I am staying, a place that is normally empty year-round, and trying to snap a cheeky photo would not surprise me in the slightest.”

You suck in a breath. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I see that now.” Harry smiles as he stands up and leans against the boat, looking out over the water. You look over the design on the back of his shirt, the image of a horse clearly visible. “Sorry for using up all the hot water last night.”

Your eyes flit to the skipper standing at the wheel, but he pays neither of you any attention as he hums to himself. “It’s okay.”

“Also sorry for not asking for your name since you clearly already know mine.” He looks back over his shoulder at you. “So, what is it?”

“What?”

A smile. “Your name, love.”

“Oh.” You give up your name, falling from your lips as you remember the bit of hurt you felt the night before upon realizing he hadn’t asked for it then. It had been a strange feeling, wanting a complete stranger to know your name. especially when you and said stranger hadn’t gotten on so well, but now that he had asked for it you felt a sense of accomplishment.

Harry repeats it, his accent lilting something sweet. “S’a lovely name.”

He’s still looking at you when you say nothing, and it leaves you with a strange feeling. You try to think of what to say next, and when it comes to you, you almost laugh.

You hold out your hand. “Truce?”

The smile Harry gives you takes up the entirety of his face, dimples proudly displayed on his cheeks. He takes your hand in his own, his palm warm in yours. “Truce,” he confirms.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for the rest of the ride, only interrupted by the sounds of the boat on the water and the skipper’s humming. Even with all your misadventures, you couldn’t deny that the city of Venice was gorgeous. And in some way, everything had seemed to work out for you so far, even creating something that resembled the beginnings of a friendship with Harry after a rough start.

When the boat pulls up to the pier, you realize that you feel more comfortable around Harry. No longer does he intimidate you like he had when you first laid eyes on him, but rather you feel easier with him, like you’re able to strike a conversation with him with no worries at all.

So, you do try to talk to him as you step off the boat, but he apparently had the same thought and the two of you laugh as you talk over each other.

“You first,” you tell him, biting your lip to hide your smile.

“I, uh,” Harry stutters over his words as he removes his glasses, looking up and down the pier to keep his eyes on something other than you. “I was just going to ask if you had eaten lunch already.”

“I think it’s well past lunch time.” You look down at the watch adorning your wrist. “But no, I only ate breakfast.”

Harry’s eyes flash to you, and the green of them is startling under the sunlight. “Would you like to go for a late lunch?”

You much prefer this friendly Harry to the one you had first been introduced to, and you understand that there’s a garner of trust between the two of you now. “I’d love to.”

Harry leads you down the pier and back onto the concrete sidewalks around Venice. It’s settling well into the afternoon, the sun beginning to drift just below the tops of the buildings around the city. You don’t bother asking where you’re heading off to, trusting that Harry will have a great choice in wherever you go.

Eventually, after walking a few blocks, still basking in that comfortable silence from the boat, Harry stops at a door with a sign overhead that you don’t understand. He opens the door and waves you in.

The moment you step inside, you’re hit with the smell of pasta and bread hitting your nose. You breathe it in deep and the hostess at the front smiles as she watches you do so.

“First time?” she asks, her accent thick.

You nod, jumping a little when Harry appears next to you and places his hand on your arm.

“This is one of my favorite places,” he tells you, gesturing with two fingers to the hostess. “They have the best spaghetti.”

The place isn’t as packed as you would expect it to be, most likely because of your arrival between lunch and dinner, but there’s still enough people for it to feel a bit crowded. The hostess walks you over to a booth in the corner, a bit hidden away from the other patrons in the restaurant, and you know it’s because of who you’re with.

The popstar in question sits across from you but doesn’t bother grabbing a menu for himself. “Wine okay with you?”

You nod and wait for the waitress to come over. When she does, offering up her name in a sweet lilting accent, Harry orders the wine and you give a thankful nod as she walks away before turning back to Harry. “So, the spaghetti?”

Harry lets out a low moan. “It’s the best. I come here every time I visit. Practically a regular when I’m in Italy.”

“It’s that good?”

“Better than good.”

You leave your menu resting in front of you, untouched until the waitress returns with a jug of wine and two glasses. She hands one off to each of you before topping them off with the jug.

“Your usual, Mr. Styles?”

The question sends Harry beaming. “Please. And she’ll have the same,” he gestures to you, and you give a soft confirmation.

Once the waitress has left, Harry takes a long sip of his wine before clapping his hands together. “So, what brings you to Italy?”

This Harry sitting in front of you is much different than the one you had met face to face for the first time the night before. There’s something softer about him, as if the edge was taken off the moment he put his hand in yours earlier. You like this Harry more, you think, with his giddy smile and soft giggle.

You remember how you had lied to Irene when she had asked you why you had traveled to Italy, but something tells you not to do that with Harry. “My boyfriend dumped me.”

Harry’s face drops, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but you wave a hand in front of you before he can get it out.

“I’m already over it, but there were some things he said that made me rethink a lot of stuff.”

“Like what?” His gaze is curious, and it makes you want to tell him everything going on in your brain, how you’re still upset and hurt, but want to feel free while you still have the time to here in Italy.

Instead, you sugarcoat it a little. “Just stuff about how he missed the girl I used to be – more fun and care-free.”

“Are you not that girl?”

You shrug, your hand playing with the stem of your wine glass before you lift it to take a sip. “I don’t know, but I liked the sound of being adventurous and doing something unexpected so—”

“So, you booked a trip to Italy?” Harry grins. “That’s quite impressive.”

“What is?”

“Deciding to just up and go to a different country for no other reason than you want to. I think you’re a bit more outgoing than your boyfriend gives you credit for.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Ex-boyfriend.”

Harry smiles into his glass. “Right. Ex-boyfriend.”

Your food arrives not long after that, two giant plates of spaghetti with pieces of garlic bread on the side. Harry laughs at your surprised expression at the sight of the amount of food now sitting in front of you.

“You didn’t tell me we were going to feed an army.”

Harry picks up his fork, stabbing it into the noodles and twisting it around. “Try it.”

You follow his lead, picking up your own fork. When you take a bite of the pasta, you shut your eyes as the taste coats your mouth. “Oh my god.”

“I told you.”

The two of you eat practically in silence, savoring the taste of your meal and not letting the flow of conversation interrupt your eating. Neither of you finish your plate, Harry coming much closer to doing so then you are and you’re left trying to finish the still half full jug of wine in the middle of the table.

You don’t know when you start feeling like telling Harry more about yourself, maybe after your third glass of wine, but eventually you’re telling him all about the fear you had of coming to Italy.

“What do you mean you almost didn’t come here?”

You giggle a little. “I stepped off the train and almost turned right back around to get on.”

“Why?”

You give an exaggerated shrug. “My own brain? I don’t know.” You look down at your glass of wine. “Sometimes I feel like everyone’s opinions of me are right, y’know? Maybe I am that girl that just doesn’t do anything except work and go home.”

“I get that feeling.”

Your eyes shoot up to look at Harry. “You do?”

Harry gives a lazy raise of his shoulders. “Of course. I have reporters and paparazzi up my ass at practically all hours of the day. Sometimes I wish I could scream at them that I’m not everything they think I am, nor do I want to be.”

You let out a snicker and Harry raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. I almost forgot I was sitting with a famous popstar.”

Harry groans, but there’s a playful look on his face as he wags a finger at you. “That’s cheeky.”

You decide to keep going, seeing how far you can push it. “My friends are going to love it when I tell them that I got to hang out with the Harry Styles. I’m pretty sure one of them used to have a poster of you in their bedroom.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Another had the cardboard cutout.”

That sends Harry into a fit of giggles, causing you to follow his lead. You both are a little too tipsy by this point, and the jug is nearly finished.

It doesn’t occur to you how long you had been inside the restaurant until you walk outside and see that the sky has turned dark. The blocks are lit by streetlights, and under them Harry looks like something out of a dream. You don’t mean to lean into him as you walk back to the B&B, but you do so in order to try and keep your balance and Harry doesn’t seem to mind with the way he tosses his arm around your shoulders lazily.

“Tonight was fun,” he tells you, trying not to walk faster than you do. The position is hard to keep as you walk, but neither of you pull away. “’S been a while since I’ve done something with someone like this.”

You smile at his admission. “You mean you don’t go out somewhere with a complete stranger at least once a week?” You tsk. “You’ve gotta get out more, Mr. Styles.”

The B&B is quiet when you arrive back, and you feel like a teenager again as you sneak past the front desk and up the stairs, trying your best to keep quiet since you both know Irene has already gone off to bed. Your exe’s words briefly flit through your brain, and you wonder what he’d say if he saw you now – drunkenly stumbling around in a mysterious city with a man you’ve known barely longer than a day.

When your foot catches on a step, Harry is there behind you to steady you before you can fall forward. His hands catch your hips, helping keep your balance, but rather than it be something that would send your stomach in knots, the gesture makes you laugh out as you think about how funny it would have been to fall face first into the carpeted floor.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, staring behind at Harry who looks like he’s barely keeping himself from laughing. You maneuver your hand so it’s just your index finger pressed against your lips, a soft shhh falling past them. Harry nods, pretending to zip his lips shut and locking them, before throwing the pretend key over his shoulder. The action threatens to send you into another fit of giggles, but you manage to hold it in as you take the rest of the steps two at a time.

The boards creak beneath your feet as you walk to your door. Turning, you just about run into Harry, your hands flying up to press against his chest in an attempt to keep from stumbling into him.

“Sorry,” you stutter out, taking a step back and resting your back against your door. “Wine’s getting to me.”

Harry smiles, and in the barely-there light of the hallway, you think you can see something playful glittering in his eyes. “S’getting to me too.”

You suddenly remember the feel of his hands on your hips moments earlier, and the way he had kept his arm wrapped around you the whole way back. There’s that knot in your stomach that hadn’t appeared before, slowly making itself known now as you try to think of what to say next.

Harry speaks first, his voice low and his words slurred. “I had fun tonight.”

“So you said.”

“How long are you staying?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Tomorrow is my last full day. I leave the next morning.”

Harry looks a bit disappointed by that, but it’s quickly replaced by something else. “Y’know, I think I have a terrific way for you to prove to everyone when you go back that you still know how to have a good time.”

You swallow when Harry takes a step closer, your back pressing further into your door. “And what’s that?”

A smile, one that’s devious and just a little bit convincing, “Let me kiss you?

You bite your lip, trying to get ahold of the situation. This is not at all how you expected your vacation to go, but you can’t help but agree that it is the best way to prove to everyone and yourself that you’re not who they think you are.

You realize that this is it – your moment to prove to yourself that everyone else was wrong. How could you not be adventurous when you’re in a random country all by yourself, about to kiss a boy you’ve never met? That’s the perfect thing to do to prove everyone wrong.

And maybe there’s something in the way that Harry’s advances make you feel that adds to you giving a soft yes.

When Harry kisses you, it’s just as you would have imagined it. And then somehow, it’s more. His lips are soft against your own, the distant taste of strawberry chapstick and the wine from earlier lingering on them and you want to savor that taste, burn the memory of those flavors together into your brain. His hands find your hips again, pressing into them unlike he had earlier. There’s intention behind the grip, the promise of something more to come.

You clumsily reach for the doorknob behind you, not daring to move your lips away from Harry’s. The door falls open and almost takes you with it as you stumble back, barely catching yourself by gripping onto Harry’s shoulders. You press your mouth back to his, feeling like he could swallow you whole in that moment.

You reach blindly for the zipper on his shorts, your hand brushing over the tent forming there and causing Harry to let out a hiss at the friction. You smile against his mouth when he reaches down, taking the matter into his own hands and unzipping his shorts as he kicks off his shoes. You follow his lead and let your shoes meet his own in a pile on the floor. The pile only grows as you both precede to strip, and when you’re left staring at Harry’s naked body, a small gasp falls from your lips.

You reach out to run a hand across the butterfly inked into his stomach before letting it trial down to tease one of the ferns against his hip. You remember them from the night before, half concealed by the shorts he had kept on, but now having them on full display sendsa shudder through you.

“You’re pretty,” you tell him softly, and he laughs.

“So are you,” he replies, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, gently pushing you back onto your bed.

You had almost forgotten about the twin size bed in your room until you fall against it. You want to laugh at the size of it compared to your two bodies collapsing onto it, but Harry rests himself on top of you and attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking a deep mark into your skin.

One hand finds his hair, raking your fingers through it and tearing a groan from Harry’s chest, while the other scrapes at his back, your nails threatening to leave red scratches all over his skin. Harry lingers against your neck for only a moment before he’s trailing down your body, planting kisses against your skin as he goes.

When he reaches your hip, he digs his fingers into your stomach as he leaves a kiss in the curve there before he plants himself between your thighs. The bed is squeaking in protest to all of this movement, but it’s not bad enough for you to want to stop.

Harry kisses at your folds before bringing his fingers up to spread them. Both your hands are tangled in his curls now, tightening their hold as Harry’s tongue finds your clit. You squirm as he presses his mouth against you, coaxing a few moans from you before you remember that you’re not alone in the building.

“Harry,” you gasp out as your hips buck against his mouth, “the bed.”

You don’t think he hears you at first, the squeaking growing louder with each move he makes that causes your hips to come up off the mattress, but then his hands are under your thighs. Slowly, without moving his mouth away from you, Harry slides you off the bed. He meets the floor first, a bit more gracefully than you do as you slip off the bed and onto the floor. Harry laughs when you let out a yelp as your ass hits the carpeted floor.

You’re face to face with him now, and there’s slick covering his mouth. Without thinking, you grab his face and kiss him, letting your own taste wash over your tongue. Harry groans into your mouth, the vibration moving through your chest.

“I wanna taste you,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“Swear I won’t be able to hold it in much longer.” He’s breathing heavily and that only makes you smile something wicked that sends Harry’s brain into overload.

“Just a little taste,” you mutter before pushing at his chest so he falls back onto the carpet. You move between his legs like he had only minutes ago, your hand coming up to grip the base of his dick.

Harry lets out a hiss as you wrap your hand around him, giving a slow pump. When you lick the tip, though, he can barely hold back the moan he lets out and you laugh a little.

“Good?” you ask, taking him into your mouth finally and Harry feels like he’s slowly losing the will to function, wondering if he can even get the words out.

“Good, yeah. Yeah. S’good.”

You give him a few more pumps, moaning against him when he brings a hand up to wrap in your hair, but you don’t want him to lose control before he can get inside of you, so you restrain yourself and pull back.

Harry gives you a pitiful look when you pull away, only to be replaced with something much more eager when you begin to climb on top of him. He lays back against the carpet, grabbing your hips as you guide yourself onto his cock.

You both let out a mixture of sounds as you slide down onto him, letting yourself get used to the feel of it. After a minute, you rock back onto him, and Harry takes that as a good sign. Before you know it, he’s lifting his hips off the floor to fuck up into you, turning you into a whining mess as you chase your orgasm. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and you’re sure that Irene must’ve heard you at this point, but you don’t care anymore as you press your hands down onto Harry’s stomach and try to meet the pace he’s set.

“Gonna cum,” he tells you, but you could already tell with the way his thrusts have become more frantic and sloppier. You can only nod, falling against his chest as you feel the beginnings of your own orgasm start to take over.

When yours hits, you cry out into Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t stop, though, instead wrapping his arms around you as he chases his own. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he’s pulling out of you and moaning into your hair. You can feel the hot spurts hit your stomach, dripping down onto his due to your position. The two of you stay like that, his arms still wrapped tight around you, holding you to him.

“Harry?” you finally say after a few minutes of you trying to catch your breath. You can feel the effects of the wine from earlier still mixed with the aftermath of your orgasm, and it’s all making your brain feel a bit hazy.

“Yeah?”

You roll off of Harry, the heat of being pressed to him becoming a little too much, but he doesn’t let you go, and you find yourself laying sideways, Harry’s arms still wrapped around you as you lay face to face. “Do you usually fuck random strangers you barely know in Italy?”

Harry lets out a soft giggle, one of his hands beginning to rub at your back. “You’d be the first.”

You reach a hand up to run through his curls, pushing them back off his forehead. “Glad to know I’m not alone there,” you mumble. “So, what do we do now?”

Harry shrugs the best he can in his position on the floor. “We clean up, try to fit in your tiny bed, and figure it out in the morning?”

You hum in response. “I don’t think I can face Irene in the morning.”

“Oh, that woman sleeps like the dead. N’way she heard.”

“Still.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “How about I go downstairs in the morning, grab us some of Irene’s lovely breakfast, and convince her to go out for the day so you can be free of the embarrassment of her hearing us having really amazing vacation sex?”

You roll your eyes. “Then it’ll be obvious what we’re doing.”

“Yes, but I think Irene would appreciate the heads up before she’s wondering why the boards are creaking so badly the whole day.”

You smack your hand against Harry’s chest and a laugh bubbles up from it. “Are you saying you’re going to have me spend my last day in Italy locked away in a bedroom getting my guts rearranged?”

“That’s one way to describe it,” he laughs.

You hum again. “Y’know, I thought I hated you this morning.”

“That was kinda evident by the way you kicked me under the table at breakfast.”

You gasp. “That was an accident!”

“Ah, so you just wanted an excuse to play footsie, huh?”

You hit him again. “An accident, Harry.”

Harry laughs, pulling you further against him. You let out a yawn as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. “We should probably get up. I feel a bit gross.”

You hum in response, tickling Harry’s neck with the vibrations. You hear Harry say your name in an attempt to get your attention, but you’re already drifting off against his chest with the promise of him etched into your brain for when you wake up.

Harry figures he’ll get up in a bit rather than disturb you now, letting himself relax against you. He means to only lay there for a few minutes until he knows he can remove himself from you so he can clean up, but soon enough his eyelids are falling shut as he too drifts off to sleep.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 || werewolf!Lee Bodecker x reader

summary: being the sherriff’s department’s crime scene photographer means seeing terrible things.  following lee bodecker into the woods means experiencing terrible things.

word count: almost exactly 4k

warnings: smut (noncon but she comes around eventually, if you will), werewolf sex (so...pseudo-bestiality??? but like... not really??), breeding kink, knotting, some a/b/o tropes?, kinda some degradation?,  violence, vague-ish description of gore

Something undeniably wicked was lurking in the woods behind Knockemstiff, Ohio.  That much was obvious.

It wasn’t your first gig as a crime scene photographer, so you knew what to expect; or, you thought you did.  This town was nothing like Toledo, though, in all the worst ways.  You’d left the big city in hopes that you wouldn’t have to see another drive-by shooting, another stockbroker who jumped out of his office, another mafia job left out in the street to serve as an example for would-be testifiers.  You’d left to escape some of the brutality that the urban environment brought.  And to be fair, it wasn’t anything like that, but it wasn’t at all better.  

You’d never seen a cut this deep before.  You’d never seen a body nearly turned inside out.

“It’s that damn bear,” the officer nearby announced, his words failing to distract you from your task of photographing the bloodied remains.  “This happened a couple months ago, body just like this turned up.  Thought we shot the damn thing but I guess we got the wrong one.”

“That can’t be right,” you frowned, stepping back and lowering the camera from your face; it looked worse when it wasn’t seen through the viewfinder, it looked more real.  “Bears might maul people, but they don’t… eat them.”

“They do if they get hungry enough,” he sighed.  

“Do you really believe that?” you pressed.

“I need to.”

The conversation was still echoing in your head as you drove back to the station, which was still bustling despite the day being just about to end.  

You stopped by your desk to grab a folder from your top drawer, "FOR SHERIFF" written in big letters on the front.  Tucking it under your arm, you navigated through the officers and secretaries mulling about to the back hallway of the station, finding the last door on the left and knocking even though it was already halfway open.

“Good evenin’ little lady,” Sheriff Bodecker greeted with a smile when he looked up at you, “got somethin’ for me?”

“Photos from yesterday,” you explained, stepping inside and setting the folder down on his desk.  He opened it and flipped through your shots, nodding slightly.  

"Looks good," he praised— gruff and monotone, but praise nonetheless.  "I think it's enough to prove who was driving recklessly and who was just driving."

"Think they'll be all right?" you asked, remembering how one of the car crash survivors looked as they were being wheeled into an ambulance.

He sighed a little, setting the folder down.  "Seems so, last I heard."

"That's good…" you trailed off, toying with the strap of your camera nervously, studying his face as he looked down at some paperwork in front of him.

You were a career woman, working in a male-dominated profession, and you had so much to prove… but god, if you didn't sometimes fantasize about the Sheriff in ways you knew you shouldn't.  In spite of the fact that you were sure he wanted an obedient housewife, and that that was something you could never be, you'd been known to daydream about another life where he wasn't your boss and you weren't so worried about what other people thought and the two of you could be together.

Or, on other occasions, you just wished Knockemstiff was as liberal as Toledo, so you could have a fling with him and not worry about everybody calling you a harlot.

Either way, it could never happen.  You worked with him and he worked with you; he was looking to settle down and you were looking to start your life.  It was a basic incompatibility.  That didn't stop you from letting your gaze linger on his hands, admiring how strong and thick they were.  God, you wish he'd just grab you—

"Anything else I can do for ya?" he asked slowly, that deep voice making the question sound just a bit more dirty than he likely meant it.

"No, that'll be all," you decided, giving him a polite nod before you slipped out of his office.  

Sometimes, it felt like the only chance you got to really think during the day was when you were alone in your darkroom.  The photo development equipment here was significantly more primitive than what the Toledo Police Department had been able to provide, but you didn’t mind; if anything, it brought you back to your roots, when you were just a newbie photographer who wanted to make compelling art, take photos that would end up on magazine covers or beside hard-hitting journalism.  

That dream had been dashed quite some time ago, but you really did enjoy your job more often than not.  Sure, it came with a lot of gruesome imagery, but at least it was important, and interesting.  

You couldn't be sure what time it was— with no windows and no clocks, and with hours always flying by when you were developing film— but the lack of any noise from outside your darkroom made it clear that it was quite late and everyone had left.

It was odd, then, that you did hear a noise from outside the room, like floorboards creaking.  You were ready to blame the old building settling until you heard it again.

“...hello?” you asked hesitantly, the sterile echo of your voice only making you just that much more paranoid.  “Is someone there?  I’m just here developing my film…”

The red lights cast everything in an eerie glow— bright enough to see, but not enough to assuage your fear.

You opened the door to your darkroom slowly, careful not to let too much light in, and peered down the dark, empty halls.  An uneasy feeling awakened in your gut and you swallowed nothing before hesitantly stepping out into the dark.

Another creak from around the corner made you turn, walking towards the noise and considering calling out again but suddenly afraid to speak at all.

A man's form appeared in front of you out of nowhere.

“Oh!” you gasped, but you sighed a bit when you recognized the badge glistening on his chest.  “Sheriff, shit, you scared me…”

“Sorry, little lady,” he breathed, “didn’t know you were still here…”

“Come in, if I leave this door open too long it’ll let light in,” you explained, pointing to where the street lamp outside shined into the window and ushering him past you into the darkroom.

“What’re you still wearin’ that damn camera for?” he asked, pointing to your hip where it was slung at your side from over your shoulder, making you giggle a little as you shut the door behind the both of you.

“Force of habit.  Never know when something worth photographing might take place,” you explained, returning to the tub of ammonium thiosulfate where you were dipping another glossy print.  

“If somethin’ worth takin’ a picture of happens while you’re stuck in here, I think you’ll’ve got bigger problems than not having your camera,” he smirked.

“Fair enough,” you scoffed.  “Let’s hope I never need to take pictures like these—” you tilted your head towards the pictures you’d hung to try— “unexpectedly.”  Lee sauntered over to where you’d motioned, pulling one the more developed photos from the clothespins.  “That’s the body we found in the woods,” you informed him, “I’m surprised you weren’t called in— it’s pretty gnarly.”

“Sweet girl like you shouldn’t have to see stuff like this,” he shook his head, sighing somberly.  

“I can handle it,” you shrugged, “Believe it or not, I saw worse working mob cases.”

“I’m going with ‘not,’” he answered quickly.  

He was right not to believe you, and you weren’t sure what to say now that he’d called your bluff.

“What… what perfume are you wearing?”

The question threw you off but you figured no harm could come from answering honestly.  “I’m, uh, I’m not…”

He stepped closer, his footsteps soft but audible on the carpeted floor as his form settled behind yours.  Your breath caught when his fingers trailed over your arm and he leaned in, pressing his face to the side of your head as he breathed in.  “You smell good,” he stated plainly, deep voice vibrating in your ears and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Um… thank you…” you answered, hearing your voice waver.  

Just when you thought he might make a move (was this already a move?), and just when you thought you might actually reciprocate if he did, he pulled away.  “I should… I’m sorry, I oughta— I have work to get done.”

Before you could even begin to wonder what he was talking about, he had already slipped out of the darkroom and back into the hall.  Oddly enough, you were sure you heard him start running the second the door was shut.  You considered shrugging it off and getting back to work, but the more you thought about it, the more you were worried.  Most of all, you wondered if he had seen something in your photographs that gave him a lead on what killed the poor old man.  

That possibility needed to be investigated further.

So, you powered down your equipment and left the darkroom, leaving just in time to see the Sheriff stumble out of the back door of the station, seeming to be limping slightly.

Too curious now to stay away, you followed his path and pushed the door open with your weight, seeing him making a mad dash for the nearby treeline.

“No, Lee, the woods—!” you warned, horrified to imagine that he could meet the same fate as the man in your photographs.  You weren’t dressed well enough for the weather— already the evening breeze blew against your bare legs and made you shiver— but you forged ahead regardless.

The moon light was just enough to illuminate your path at first, but as the clouds moved and the tree cover grew thicker, squinting just didn’t do enough to help you see.  Generally, you weren’t afraid of the dark, but this was different… it was cold, and you were alone; but you didn’t feel quite as alone as you would’ve liked to.  You called out for Lee, only hearing the gentle rustle of the leaves and the occasional snapping of twigs on the ground.

At about the same time you considered turning back and using one of the station phones to call some officers for a search, you heard something.  A whine, maybe, or a whimper.  You weren’t sure what it was; it only just barely sounded human.

“Lee, are you out there?” you called, whipping your head around wildly.  

In desperate need of light to navigate your way, you had a moment of insight and reached for the camera slung by your hip.  You relieved yourself of the shoulder strap, pointed the camera ahead, and opened up the flash.

CLICK.  A brief moment of light gave you at least an idea of where you were standing.  It was impossible not to notice how similar it looked to the background of the photos you had just been developing.  You realized, then, that you’d worried so much for Lee’s safety in these woods, but hadn’t considered your own.

Lee, at least, had a gun.  You just had a camera.  Both could shoot, but only one could protect you.

CLICK.  You moved in the direction that you remembered as clear.  It was even harder to see in the dark after the bright light had burned your eyes slightly, and you longed to reach out ahead to feel out your path yet found yourself too terrified of what you might touch.  You could hear the flash charging between shots, you knew well enough by now what it sounded like when the camera was ready to shoot again.

CLICK.  Something white reflected back in the distance, so you moved that way, nearly tripping on a root for your trouble.  

The cloud over the moon finally blew away, and just barely— finally— your eyes could make out the shape of Lee, leaned against a tree and breathing deep and fast.  His back was turned to you, but even then you could see he didn’t look well, his back bending and swelling with each panting breath that grew louder as you stepped closer.

“Oh my god, Sheriff?!” you squawked, sprinting closer.  “Are you alright?” you asked loudly, but when you reached out to touch him he spun to look at you, eyes wild and teeth bared.

“Leave,” he growled between panting breaths.

“You… you’re…” you tried to begin, but you were speechless as you tried to imagine what trick of the light could make him look like he was getting taller, like his eyes and face were shifting.

“GO!” he bellowed.

You stumbled back, dropping your camera but too terrified to even hear the bulb shatter as it hit the ground.  Your legs couldn’t move right, your eyes couldn’t look away from what you were seeing, and what you were seeing… you couldn’t describe it, couldn’t understand it.  

It didn’t look like what scary stories and picture books told you a werewolf was.  It didn’t look like an animal; it sure as hell didn’t look like a person.  Disturbingly, it still looked a bit like Lee, even though his Sheriff’s uniform was tearing at the seams from his morphing, swelling body.  His cries were broken and twisted as his face seemed to be overtaken by teeth— so many teeth— and dark fur.  

Ultimately, one last command to "go" was lost to a howl.

You finally managed to get your brain and body on the same page, turning and scrambling to run away, hearing him chase behind you.  

He walked on two legs but ran on four, his snarls coming closer and closer as you made a mad dash for the distant light of the police station.  Cold wind blew past you as you sprinted, coming to a sudden halt as you tripped and landed on the ground.  Leaves crunched under your hands and feet as you tried to stand back up, but he was already above you, tossing you to the ground again and pinning you at your shoulders.

You tried to kick him away once he'd turned you into your back, but it was laughable— pitiful, even.  When he curled his lips back to brandish his glistening fangs, growling deeply, you were too stunned to fight.  But you could beg.

“Lee, please, please don’t eat me,” you sobbed.

“I didn’t turn to feed,” he informed you, and it almost sounded like Lee, aside from the depth and roughness that shook you to your core.  “I turned to mate.”

“No…” you whispered, denial more than rejection— and as you looked down between your body and his where he hovered over you, you choked on your breath at the sight of his cock, erect and reddened and.... for lack of a better word, enormous.

You weren’t excessively familiar with human cocks (not all the rumors about the new girl who moved here from the city were true), but this one seemed different than what you’d seen, most notably in the size but additionally in how you could see it pulsing and throbbing.  His teeth were bared as his claw-laden hands grabbed your legs, lifting and spreading them.  Your stupid dress just fell away and exposed you easily, like it didn’t even care that he was a monster.

Your panties were already damp, like you didn’t even care that he was a monster.

A deep breath in through his snout-like nose made it clear he was picking up your scent.  He grinned and you shuddered.

You’d seen how deep those claw marks could go, so you were surprised when he was delicate enough to tear your clothes off without ripping your skin.  The fear that he could or would, though, kept your heart pumping plenty fast— or maybe that was because of his dark blue eyes scanning your nude form hungrily.

He adjusted your hips as he held you with his… paws, one might call them, pulling you closer and bumping his thick, swollen head against your entrance.

"No, you can't—" you stammered, not sure if you meant morally or physically.  There was no way that would fit in you, right?  There was no way Lee would force himself on you… right?

The noise you made when he pushed into your channel was, ironically, animalistic.  His intrusion stretched you wide and filled you deep, and he wasted no time in setting a brutal pace that slammed his rough, strong thighs against the back of your soft ones.

Fear paralyzed you, made you unwilling and unable to fight back.  He was all claws and teeth— where could you reach to try to push him away, without the extremely high risk of him just biting your weak little hand off?  No, it was better that you just laid there, whimpering and sobbing and trying with all your might not to moan at the feeling of being fucked, hard, in the woods, by a beast.

His tongue on your neck was an odd sensation, another way he forced you to acknowledge that this wasn’t normal— because no human tongue was this long, this thick and hot, nor surrounded by sharp teeth that grazed your jaw and cheek.

“Gonna breed you,” he informed you coldly.  It made you squirm beneath him with renewed vigor, desperate not to be filled with the seed of— well, of anyone, but especially not this thing.  Could it get you pregnant, were you even biologically compatible?  You didn’t want to find out.  

“Please, no,” you whimpered.

“If you hate it so much then why is your cunt sucking me in so tight?” he whispered gruffly against your ear before licking it, too, with that cursed tongue.

His question was probably rhetorical, but either way you couldn’t answer it— you had no idea why your body was submitting so easily, why your walls welcomed him so eagerly, why your legs wrapped around his hips to pull him closer.  Further, you had no idea why you were about to come.

Numbness and sensitivity warred across your body, everything feeling tighter and hotter and heavier until you finally snapped and your body shook and convulsed.  His arms reached beneath where your back was arching, and you clutched at his shoulders as your fingers weaved into the fur you found there.

Of course he didn’t stop when you reached your peak, he wouldn’t stop for anything now, so you were forced to take him just as deep and hard as always even as your body went limp and became overwhelmingly sensitive.  It was clear, then, that your pleasure was only collateral damage to him; he was using your body for whatever he wanted, to sate his biological drive to impregnate something.  Like everything else about this, it was disgusting yet annoyingly arousing.

It's hard to say how long you laid there, limply jolting with each of his thrusts, dripping your arousal onto the cold earth beneath you, moaning weakly as you alternated between pleading for mercy and pleading for more.  You watched the clouds blow through the night sky, afraid to look up at his monstrous face, at his pointed ears and shining teeth.  Occasionally you glanced down and noted the way your stomach bulged from the size of him; you couldn't look at that anymore because it would either make you sick or make you come again.

You gurgled and choked as you felt his cock swelling inside you— bigger, wider, until your body was stretched beyond its limits.

"Take my knot," he instructed darkly, "my little bitch."

Disturbingly, you realized he probably wasn't calling you that to insult you: it was literal.  You were his breeding bitch, a womb to carry his litter, and you whined at the way it made your gut sink in shame.

His noises were more animal-like than ever while he came inside you, thick come all but pouring into you as he panted and growled.  Funny thing was, it just didn't stop: he kept coming for so long, giving you so much while the knot kept every drop inside.

You'd never felt so full in your life, of anything, let alone hot come that made you feel warm and sticky and dripping wet.

The knot kept you plugged and showed no signs of going down as he caged your body in, nuzzling into your neck.  He could bite you now and end it all, but you weren't afraid of that since he seemed to have found a better purpose for you.  His heavy breathing made his back rise and curve above you, his clawed hands pinning your wrists beside your head while he started to lick and nibble at your ear, neck, and collarbone.

You didn't even notice that you'd fallen asleep until you awoke in the wee hours of the morning— that time just before sunrise where there's light but no real color in the sky yet— with Lee asleep on top of you.  Regular Lee, that is, naked with no fur whatsoever and a normal cock that had softened inside you.

Okay, maybe "normal" was a strong word considering it was still pretty big and deliciously thick despite not even being hard anymore, but at the very least totally human.

"Lee," you whispered harshly, shaking him to try to wake him up.  "Sheriff."

He stirred, and his cock moved inside you; the subtle stimulation on your sore insides made you moan lowly and involuntarily squeeze your walls around him.  That got his attention, and you heard his breathing change beside your ear before he groaned a little.

"Mornin'," he greeted, his grin audible in his tone as he sat up slightly and looked down at you.  You reached up and brushed your hand over his chest, happy to find a much thinner layer of hair there than last night.  "Of all the times I woke up in this forest with no fuckin' idea what happened the night before… this has got to be my favorite."

"What's the last thing you remember?" you asked.

"I told you to run… I must've caught you, huh…"

You nodded and bit your lip.  

"You know I can't stop, when I'm like that… I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," you sighed, "you didn't— it wasn't you."

"But it's my seed in you," he remembered, his words sending a little tingle up your spine.  

He must have felt it, must have seen your eyes widen or heard you gasp a little, because he grinned proudly as he looked down at you.

"Oh, you really love it, huh?  Love bein' mine…"

His hands held your arms tight as he pinned them down, making you whimper a little while he leaned in to suck on your neck.

"Love bein' bred like a bitch, ain't that right?"

You heard the deep, desperate moan before you even realized it had come from your mouth, his chuckle beside your ear making your heart twist.

"Yeah, I can tell… who knew you were so dirty, little lady?  Sweet girl like you shouldn't be gettin' off on being ravaged in the woods by a monster."

"Y-you're not a monster," you protested weakly.

"I eat people," he reminded you, letting go of your hands which you instantly weaved into his hair.

"Well, that's… everybody's got flaws, that's all."

"Yeah?  And what's yours?" he teased.

"I've got a crush on my boss," you answered with a grin, "and I came harder than I ever have in my life being fucked by… what are you?"

"The clinical term is lycanthrope."

"Right," you nodded, "that."

"And what would a pretty girl like you have a crush on me for, hm?"

"I dunno," you smiled coyly, running a finger down his chest, "guess I just thought you were cute…"

"Cute?!" he scoffed incredulously.

"Yeah… and sweet… you know, you go around actin' all tough and stuff, but I think you're really just harmless."

He cut you off with a growl as he lightly bit at your neck, holding your arms down again and tightening his grip on your wrists until you yelped and giggled happily.  "Oh, honey, you have no idea yet just how monstrous I can really be…"

[kpopfanfictrash]

Raise the Barre (Ch. 7)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: mention of vomit, intense physical training, blood blisters 

Word Count: 6,829

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.  

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin pulled to a stop at the edge of the curb.

Stepping from the sidewalk, you hastened to the passenger side and opened the door. Your wait had mostly been uneventful, but you hated standing alone in the dark for any longer than necessary. Sliding into the passenger seat, you pulled the door shut and turned sideways to face him.

“Thanks,” you exhaled, seeing him for the first time tonight.

Jimin looked sleepy, as though your call had woken him up – which it probably had, since it was near 1:30 AM. Yesterday when you spoke, Jimin had said he planned on going to bed early. He was dressed in what Noelle would’ve called a groutfit – grey sweats, grey hoodie and silver-framed glasses. You blinked at these, not having realized Jimin wore contacts.

“No problem.” Jimin stifled a yawn. “Seat belt.”

“Huh?”

“Put on your seat belt.” He nodded at the strap by your side.

“Oh – right.” Hastily, you pulled this across your chest. “Thanks.”

Silence fell as you did, the awkwardness increasing with each passing second. Usually, you were better about things like car safety, but everything about this moment felt surreal. Jimin had given you his number barely twenty-four hours prior – you highly doubted this was what he had in mind when he said he’d call.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, unsure what to do.

Jimin’s lips twitched. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

Glancing his way, you found Jimin’s profile dimly lit by the streetlights. He sat spread-legged in the driver’s seat; one hand placed casually on the shift. When he caught you looking, Jimin arched a brow and shifted the car into drive.

Pulling from the curb, he merged into traffic headed away from the club. As the bright lights of Excelsior disappeared into the rearview mirror, the cars on the road became few and far between. You drove in silence, city lights striping Jimin’s profile in black and white.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?” Jimin asked, too casual to be normal.

It took you a moment to answer.

Usually, you would’ve responded yes even if it weren’t the case, since no one truly wanted to hear about your problems. Asking someone how are you? in the city was the same as a nod hello. It wasn’t genuine interest in another person’s well-being.

Tonight though, your usual responses caught in your throat. Tonight, you felt tired, frayed and dangerously thin at the seams.

Everything was not okay, and you weren’t sure how to say otherwise. Your usual walls had been torn, leaving you with this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your fight with Finn had been a big one, even worse than the argument a few weeks ago.

Still, Jimin was a newer friend to you – if you could even call him that. It wasn’t fair to unload all your problems on him. Especially at such a late hour and especially not when he was the one doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” you said at last. “Everything’s fine.”

Jimin paused, as though he knew this to be bullshit.

“Let me rephrase,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Anyone’s ass I should kick?”

You laughed a little, surprised by his threat. “No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

“Good.” Jimin’s smile faded. “So, what happened then? How’d you get stranded?”

He didn’t ask why you called him, but the implication was clear in his voice. Honestly, it was a question you had no good answer to. All you knew was when you were standing on the curb, staring at your phone and wondering who to call, Jimin was one of the first people to pop into your mind.

“I was out with my boyfriend,” you sighed. “I said I’d go to the club with him and his friends, but it got late and we have class tomorrow, so I told Finn I wanted to leave. He… didn’t.” Pausing, you swallowed. “I ended up leaving, but I didn’t realize the trains had stopped running. Uber surcharge was ridiculous, too.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“Anyways.” You slouched lower in his seat. “You’re the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah. Right.”

Curious, you glanced sideways. Although Jimin was responding in one-word answers, they seemed somehow loaded, as though they contained hidden meaning. Even his profile seemed cautious, full of a tension you couldn’t quite place.

Jimin frowned. “Your boyfriend just… let you leave like that?”

“He didn’t let me,” you said as you straightened. “I can make my own decisions, Park.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what, Park? Spit it out.”

“I don’t know.” Jimin shrugged. “It just seems kind of cold. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well.” Truth be told, it seemed cold to you, too. “I’m not exactly… thrilled with the situation, either. He turned off his phone,” you muttered, turning to face the window.

In the reflection, you saw Jimin grimace.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for?”

“That just sucks, that’s all.”

“Yeah. It does suck.”

Jimin made an indiscernible noise of agreement before lapsing into silence.

It was strange to be in a car with him at this late an hour; oddly intimate for a multitude of reasons you pushed aside.

The last time you’d seen Jimin dressed so casually had been when you walked in on him with Sabrina. It had been nearly a month since then, but you hadn’t heard any gossip of them being together on campus. 

Maybe this was something you could’ve asked Jimin, but it wasn’t like you had that type of relationship. Sure, you were ballet partners and sure, you’d been getting along lately, but you didn’t usually interact outside of class. Yet another line you’d crossed by calling Jimin tonight.

Thus far, you’d mostly managed to keep Finn and Russet separate. Noelle had met Finn a couple of times – you’d gone to dinner once and gotten coffee together another time, but otherwise, nothing. Finn wouldn’t have wanted to come to one of your Grace Hall rom-com marathons or take a pilates class on Sunday morning.

Mixing personal life and dance felt strange to you, as though two separate halves of yourself were colliding. It was odd to see Jimin outside of Russet’s walls. He seemed more at ease in his car, like the lines of him had blurred more from dancer to person.

Something about the nighttime made things seem fuzzier. Tired from the day and just beginning to thaw from the cold, you found your lips and mind looser than usual.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jimin said, interrupting the silence. “But I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

With a humorless sort of laugh, you turned to face him. “Yeah, well. I do.”

“Huh.”

Hearing his skepticism, you insisted, “I do!”

“I believe you!” Jimin chuckled. He paused. “Is it new, then? I don’t remember anyone coming to watch your dance competitions in high school.”

Warmth spread through your body, realizing Jimin must’ve kept tabs. He’d watched you at dance competitions. He knew your usual crowd of supporters.

“Finn isn’t new,” you said slowly. “He just didn’t come to a lot of competitions. They got repetitive, you know? Lots of waiting around for three minutes of watching me dance.”

“I guess.” Jimin shrugged. “I used to go to my ex’s tennis tournaments all the time, though. That was the same thing, except no AC.”

“Right,” you laughed. “You’re right, at least our competitions had air conditioning.”

Jimin turned on his blinker to switch lanes. Pulling onto a side street, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Another moment passed, and then –

“We broke up before college.”

Surprised, you glanced in his direction. “Oh. Okay.”

You stared at his profile, wondering if you were supposed to say something more. You could think of many questions to ask, but they didn’t seem appropriate coming from you. You hadn’t realized Jimin was dating someone in high school – although, come to think of it, you did seem to remember a blonde girl cheering for him in the audience at Applause Dance Competition.

“It seemed like time,” Jimin continued quietly. “She went to a school across the country and we just never assumed we’d stay together. That sounds bad,” he said with a half-laugh. “I kind of figured though, if we were meant to be, we’d figure it out. The fact that we didn’t try spoke volumes.”

“That makes sense. Honestly,” you said with a sigh. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if me and Finn had been long distance.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you blinked. The statement hung before you in mid-air, forcing you to consider it for the first time.

This wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to imagine before; what would’ve happened if you’d gone to a different school. Going to college so close to Finn had just seemed like a sign. You didn’t have the college break-up talk because you’d simply assumed you didn’t need to.

“Yeah.” Jimin sighed. “It’s hard, right? Everything is changing so quickly. You want things to stay the same, but isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Change. Grow. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Everyone keeps telling me change isn’t a bad thing.”

“Sure seems like it, sometimes,” you said softly.

Jimin nodded. After a moment, he reached out for the stereo. A familiar song filled his car and something uncertain unfurled in your stomach. You weren’t sure what you were even talking about anymore – change was a dangerous topic without Finn around.

When the chorus of the song kicked in, you smiled.

“I love this song,” you said, turning to Jimin. “I almost choreographed my solo to it senior year.”

“Really?” Jimin glanced at you in surprise. “Same.”

“No way!” you laughed. “Wow – that would’ve been awkward. Imagine if we’d both had the same solo.”

“It would’ve made us even more competitive.”

“Not possible.”

“You’re probably right.” Jimin smiled. “We were really at each other’s throats for a while, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, we were.”

Settling back in your seat, you couldn’t help but frown.

Something about this statement bothered you, although you couldn’t put a finger on what. Maybe it was what Jimin had said yesterday about your mutual competition pushing each other forward. Maybe it had something to do with that night in Danley Hall, when Jimin stopped by and said he loved watching you dance.

If you really stopped and thought about it, Jimin was the sole constant in your dancing career. Every year, at every dance competition, you’d make sure you were available to watch Jimin’s solo. You told yourself this was because he was your competition but really, you just loved watching him dance.

You could remember the cool air of the theatre as you snuck in, sinking into a plush, velvet chair and hoping you wouldn’t be seen. You’d loved watching Jimin near the front, close enough to see his facial expressions but not close enough to be seen from the stage.

If your solos were close to one another in timing, you tended to watch Jimin from the wings. This had been a different kind of intimacy, hidden behind the first leg while you watched him dance. Lights dim, you recalled Jimin’s silhouette while he would walk to center. The opening notes of his music would sound, and you’d stifle a shiver while you watched him, entranced.

As it turned out, Jimin had been watching your solos as well, but you hadn’t known this for some time. Not until he’d told you the other night.

Suddenly, you turned in your seat. “You know I think you’re talented, right?” you blurted. “There was a reason I was always trying to beat you.”

Jimin’s brows shot up so high, they nearly met his hairline.

“I – uh, no,” he said. “You’ve never said that to me before. In fact, you kind of said the opposite. You told me the only reason I won was because I’m a guy.”

Hearing your words thrown back in your face, heat began to creep up your neck. 

“Listen, about that –”

“I’m kidding.” Jimin shot you a smile. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

“I – okay.”

“Look, I know men have an advantage in the dance world.” Returning his gaze to the road, Jimin’s smile disappeared. “I’m not dumb. I know we have higher centers of gravity, and all that. It’s just… you’re also talented, Y/N. People love to watch you dance, myself included. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Staring at him over the console, you felt oddly moved by this speech.

It was strange; many people in your life had called you talented. Your parents, your teachers and Finn, of course. Each of those compliments had meant something to you, but this one felt different. It felt different coming from Jimin – more important, somehow.

Maybe it was because you admired him most of all. The realization didn’t shock you as much as it probably should’ve.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Jimin nodded, continuing to scan the road. His car was clean, you realized as you glanced around. There were no water bottles on the floor, no napkins hastily stuffed into the glove compartment. The only sign of being lived-in was a keychain dangling over the dashboard; a small, plastic photo frame with two people inside.

“My parents,” Jimin explained, noticing where you looked.

“Oh,” you said, bending a bit closer. “They look nice.”

He laughed, unable to help it. “I’ve always thought so. My dad is the one who encouraged me to be a dancer, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Fondly, Jimin smiled. “He’s always loved music. When I was a baby, he loved to hold me and jump around the living room to songs on the radio. My mom has tons of videos of it.”

You smiled at the image. “That sounds adorable.”

“And embarrassing. My dad’s not that great a dancer.”

Without meaning to, you snorted.

Hearing this, Jimin’s smile widened. “When I started memorizing all the dances I saw on TV, my dad convinced my mom to put me in classes. Things kind of spiraled from there.”

“That’s nice,” you said, settling down in his seat. “My parents have always been my biggest supporters, too.”

Jimin nodded, about to respond but then a blast of AC hit you and you shivered. You’d nearly forgotten what you were wearing – or more accurately, what you weren’t wearing. The thin tank top you had on did little to hide the bare skin underneath.

Jimin’s gaze darted sideways. “Are you cold?” he asked, reaching out for the heat. “You can have my hoodie in the backseat, if you want.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay.” Hastily, you untied your cardigan from around your waist. “I have this,” you said, sliding both arms into the sleeves. “Completely forgot about it.”

Silently, Jimin nodded – and then his lips twitched.

“What?” you demanded.

“Nothing!” He shook his head, fighting to keep his face even. “It’s just… you wore a cardigan out to the club?”

Glancing down, you felt your cheeks begin to heat again. “Yes,” you said, somewhat defensive as you looked up. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. It’s just, you know.” He paused. “My grandma has that sweater.”

“Well, your grandma sounds like a cool lady.”

“Without a doubt,” Jimin assured. “Not much of a clubber, though.”

Leaning your head to the window, you smiled. “That makes two of us then.”

You knew the city well enough by now to recognize you were only a few blocks from Grace Hall. Somehow, you found yourself not wanting the car ride to end. Talking to Jimin outside of dance practice was nice – even fun, you realized with some surprise.

It was a shame it’d taken you so long to recognize this.

“Seriously, though.” Jimin laughed. “Clubs can be a good time! There’s dancing, there’s music… rumor has it you like dancing.”

“Not that kind of dancing,” you sighed. “That kind of dancing is just a dry version of a lap dance for people who don’t know what to do with their hips.”

Jimin hid behind a smile. “Ouch, on behalf of your boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Straightening, you glanced at him in alarm. “That’s not – I didn’t mean…”

Stricken, you realized the obviousness of what you had said. Forget about your face heating, your entire body felt like an inferno. You had just told Jimin, in so many words, that Finn didn’t know what to do with his hips.

Jimin waved this admission aside. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ll forget what I heard the instant I get home. Up until tonight, I didn’t know the guy existed, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, settling back in your seat.

Rather than reassure you, this only gave you further pause.

It didn’t seem possible Jimin hadn’t known about Finn. Racking your brains, you tried to think of a time they would’ve crossed paths – only to come up short. Finn hadn’t ever stopped by the studio to pick you up, he hadn’t ever come to mutual hangouts with your Russet friends. Admittedly, Jimin had only recently started attending the same ones as you, but it still seemed unthinkable.

You and Finn had been dating for over two years. Finn’s name should have come up at some point and yet, it hadn’t.

Before you could respond, Jimin pulled to a stop outside your dorm. Glancing over the console, he smiled and again, you were struck by the image.

With his grey sweats, mussed hair and those glasses – you swallowed. It was a side of Jimin you hadn’t seen and something about the visual made your stomach lurch. Before you could launch into full-blown panic, Jimin raised a brow.

“Here you are,” he said with a grandiose wave. “Home sweet home.”

Glancing past him, you took in the steps of Grace Hall.

“Thanks,” you said, pushing open the door. Before exiting the car, you paused and looking over your shoulder. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten home without you.”

In the darkness, you saw his expression soften.

“Anytime,” Jimin said.

You could tell he meant it. There was something to his gaze which made you nod. Jimin wasn’t the type to mince words or say things he didn’t mean. Just like when he said he loved your dancing, you knew Jimin was telling the truth. When he said anytime, he meant it.

Nodding, you resumed exiting the car. Waving goodbye, you stood on the curb until he was out of sight.

Once Jimin disappeared, you sighed and turned towards the building. Grace Hall was silent this late at night – it was nearly 2:00 AM and again, you were thankful Jimin had answered his phone. As you let yourself in and climbed the steps to your room, your thoughts began to race with all the what-ifs.

What-if Jimin hadn’t answered, what-if you’d had to walk home alone, or walk to find a cab. Pressing your eyes shut, you shooed these thoughts away. None of that had actually happened, so it wasn’t worth worrying about.

As soon as you got upstairs, you stepped in the shower – the stickiness of that girl’s drink continued to linger on your skin. After changing into fresh pajamas and brushing your teeth, you wearily climbed into bed. The last thing you did before falling asleep was call Finn again in case he’d returned home.

His phone went straight to voicemail though and, with a sinking stomach, you rolled over in bed and turned off the light.

After sleeping until the last possible moment, you managed to roll yourself out of bed around seven the next morning. This only left fifteen minutes before you needed to leave and even then, you felt like a zombie as you rushed out the door.

Grabbing coffee at the place down the street, you and Noelle entered class with barely ten minutes to spare. Jimin was already present but he was talking to Louis, so you stuck to your side and didn’t interrupt. You wanted to thank him again for his help, but all this flew out the window when a familiar woman followed Mr. Vlad into the classroom.

“Class.” Mr. Vlad set his things down by the window. “You remember Anna Hodelle, I presume – principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. She’s in town for a different master class and has graciously agreed to lead ballet this morning.”

The news was simultaneously exciting and nerve-wracking. Anna had taught a master class several weeks prior which left you sore for days following. Her classes were exciting though, and she was Anna Hodelle, one of the youngest principal dancers for the New York City Ballet in at least forty years – so there was that.

Her introduction didn’t require any response. Scrambling into place at the barre, the class waited while Anna shed her warm-ups and Mr. Vlad left the room. As soon as the music began, you found yourself grateful you hadn’t drunk the night prior.

Similar to her last master class, you found Miss Anna relentless in her pursuit of perfection. Her expectations were high and as a result, everyone gave their best effort – and then some. By the time you broke for water, no less than three students had already run for the bathroom.

It wasn’t pretty, but vomiting was something which happened with dance. Class could be such a grueling workout that occasionally, younger students pushed themselves past their limits. If you ate a big meal before practice, it was increasingly likely you might throw it up after.

You could count on two hands the number of times this had happened to you in high school. There had been some days you practiced so hard, sweat ran down your forehead and blinded your vision. On other days, the floor was so slippery, your bare feet couldn’t grasp the floorboards. Dance, despite being hailed for grace and glamour, tended to be exactly the opposite.

One of your teachers used to say you weren’t using your muscles if they weren’t shaking by the end. Ballerinas were seen as delicate, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Ballet only looked effortless – this was a carefully cultivated image for the audience. At all times, all muscles in a ballerina’s body were engaged, yet even when sweat dripped down her brow, she had to smile.

You’d seen dancers finish their combination, give a sweeping bow, walk gracefully offstage and vomit into the nearest trash can. Everything was for show, everything was for the audience – one of your favorite parts about dance was knowing the brutal behind-the-scenes effort everything took. It made you appreciate the final product all the more.

By the end of class you were exhausted but happy, wiping sweat from your brow while you applauded the teacher. After Anna’s dismissal, you immediately exhaled and trudged towards your bag. Noelle chattered on about a TV show you were watching, reminding you to catch up before Monday.

As you picked up your bag, you felt its front pocket vibrate. Fishing inside for your phone, you pulled this out and felt your eyes widen.

Five missed calls and eight missed texts. Once you opened your phone, you saw they were all from Finn.

Finn: hey [8:18 AM]

Finn: Y/N, I’m so sorry [8:19 AM]

Finn: I don’t know if you’re ignoring me because you’re angry, or if you’re in class right now [8:25 AM]

Finn: you’re probably in class [8:30 AM]

Finn: if you’re not though, please call me back [8:31 AM]

Finn: fuck [9:01 AM]

Finn: I was such an ass last night, Y/N. I’m sorry [9:03 AM]

Finn: … please call me [9:35 AM]

With each text you read, you felt your heart sink. Up until this point, you’d gotten through class by pretending last night hadn’t happened. Now though, you were forced to remember every detail of the night prior.

Finn had left you at the club.

He’d stormed away from your fight, turned off his phone and left you alone. Each time you remembered the night, your fury only grew. This morning when you woke, you’d still been pissed off – even more so, when you turned on your phone and saw zero texts from Finn.

Had your roles been reversed, you never would’ve done the same to him. Sure, it had been a bad fight but who did that? Just took off in the middle of a conversation and shut everything down. The worst part was him turning off his phone. As soon as things didn’t go as planned, Finn simply washed his hands of you.

That was what hurt most of all, the shame burrowing deep into the crevices of your heart.

Beneath everything was a strange twinge of guilt at having called Jimin to pick you up. This was easily brushed aside, though – Finn had left you stranded. If anyone had a right to be mad here, it was you.

“Y/N? You okay?”

Noelle’s voice pulled you from your reverie. Blinking, you lowered your phone and realized you were alone. The rest of the room had cleared out after class – this probably wasn’t the first time Noelle had said your name.

“Shit, sorry!” Hastily, you shoved your phone in your bag. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine.”

Noelle gave you a look. “Really?”

After a moment, you sighed. “No,” you said, turning to walk towards the door. “Why pretend? It’s Finn.”

Following you from the classroom, Noelle fell into step alongside you.

“He’s not hurt, is he?” she said carefully.

“Unfortunately, not.”

Noelle snorted. “Okay, so he’s in the doghouse.”

“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

At the top of the stairs, you paused. “Finn and I got in a fight last night,” you admitted. “He wanted to stay at the club, and I wanted to go home – so he told me to leave. I did, but then I realized I had no way to get there.”

Noelle’s mouth dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me? He just… left you there? Wow. The next time I see your ‘boyfriend,’ I’m going to – wait,” she said, pulling up short. “How did you get home, then?”

“I – uh, well… Jimin picked me up.”

Noelle stared at you a moment longer. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you said, beginning to walk down the stairs. “Finn turned his cell phone off, so I couldn’t get ahold of him and by then, the trains stopped running. Uber was surging and Jimin is the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah, gotcha. That makes sense.” Noelle nodded. “Nice of him to come get you.”

“Yeah, it was nice. Anyways, Finn’s been texting me all morning.”

“Oh!” Noelle groaned. “That was your phone! I kept hearing something vibrating while I was waiting to go across the floor.”

“Yep, that was him,” you said glumly. “Apparently he’s sorry.”

“Of course, he is.”

“He said he was an ass last night.”

“Of course, he did.”

“… I’m still pissed at him.”

“Of course, you are!” Noelle cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Listen, tell him you got home alright – not that he deserves that much, mind you – but you need some time to cool off. He can wait until you’re ready to talk, right?”

Nodding, you saw sense in what she was saying. “You’re right.”

Despite Noelle making sense though, part of you didn’t want to wait.

Part of you wanted to call Finn back right now and give him a piece of your mind, but you knew if you did that, things wouldn’t end well. He deserved to be cussed out, but you were completely exhausted. The idea of fighting with your boyfriend left you feeling drained.

Noelle was right – Finn could wait until you were ready to talk, whenever that was.

Pulling out your phone a second time, you texted Finn you were safe and that you’d talk when you were ready. Once he responded okay, you shoved your phone in your pocket.

Noelle looked sympathetically on. “Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” she said, arm back around your shoulder. “We can invite Irene and Ari and just watch dumb movies and eat brownie batter in fancy lingerie. You know, like every guy’s sleepover porn fantasy.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “Sounds like a plan,” you said with a grin. “God, what would I do without you?”

“Be super bored, probably.”

You snorted, but the thought stuck in your mind as you left the building. It really would be awful without Noelle by your side. Without meaning to, your thoughts strayed to Sabrina. Aside from Katie and Allison, you had no idea who she hung out with.

It had to be lonely for someone like her. Russet was intense enough without a support system. You quickly pushed these feelings aside – even if Sabrina was lonely, she had no one to blame but herself. You’d offered the olive branch enough times by now to know when to stop.

“I guess only one question remains,” you said slowly.

Noelle glanced your way. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“How dumb are the dumb movies we’re watching? Like, From Justin to Kelly dumb – where it’s a guilty pleasure? Or, more like The Kissing Booth dumb – where things are just bad dumb.”

“Why choose?” Noelle shrugged. “Let’s do both!”

“Deal!”

As you climbed the steps to Grace Hall, you continued to ignore Finn’s texts in your bag. He could wait until tomorrow, at least. After what he put you through, a single night of not knowing what you were thinking seemed appropriate.

When you finally gave in and called Finn the next day, you weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Finn had already texted his apology, so at least he knew he’d been in the wrong. As to what degree he was aware, you didn’t know, but you got a fairly good idea once he picked up the phone.

Short answer: very wrong.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Finn blurted, as though afraid you might cut him off. “I was such an ass to you Friday night. I – I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even know where to start. I fucked up so bad, Y/N and I’m sorry.”

Silence followed this outburst as you frowned, leaning back on the bed.

Noelle had graciously left the room to study at the coffee shop on the corner. Secretly, you knew this was mostly to flirt with the barista, Namjoon, but you couldn’t begrudge her for that. Namjoon did have the most adorable dimples you’d ever seen.

Focusing your thoughts on Finn, you played with a stray thread of your sheets. “I mean… that’s a good start, I guess,” you muttered. “But what are you really sorry for, Finn?”

His sigh was soft. “Everything.”

“Specifics would be good.”

“I was drunk,” he exhaled. “That’s not an excuse, but… I honestly don’t remember everything that I said to you. I remember the gist of it though, and I know it was terrible. I know you didn’t deserve it.”

You remained silent, even though you agreed with him.

“I wanted to stay out,” he continued. “That doesn’t really matter, though. I was a dick. I was stubborn and angry, and I took that out on you. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt, and I just… I left you. Something could’ve happened to you. God, if something had happened, Y/N…”

Finn trailed off and you heard his voice crack but forced yourself to stay silent. Hearing him break was hard, but you reminded yourself what you’d felt Friday night – all the anger and terror when he completely disappeared.

This memory hardened you enough not to melt at his apology.

“Yeah, well,” you said tightly. “You’re right – something could’ve happened. The trains weren’t running and Uber was crazy expensive. I couldn’t get back in the club. I ended up waiting outside for nearly twenty minutes before someone came to pick me up.”

“Fuck.” Finn sounded strangled. “Fuck… Y/N, I’m sorry…”

In your mind, you envisioned him shoving a hand through his hair. Finn did that when he was stressed or upset and right now, he sounded a little of both.

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Who picked you up?”

Immediately, you stiffened. “Do you seriously think you deserve an answer to that?”

“No, no, I – you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Thank them for me, okay?”

You remained silent and again, Finn sighed.

“Are you… are we going to be okay?”

It was a loaded question. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the wall. In all honesty, you didn’t know the answer to that.

On the one hand, you loved Finn. That hadn’t changed. On the other hand, it was becoming more and more apparent your problems weren’t going away. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise – but all couples had problems, didn’t they?

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think a break-up should be more obvious than this. A break-up should be something big, something irreversible. You were beginning to wonder though, at what point were problems considered insurmountable. Everything about this seemed grey and right now, you really needed black and white answers.

Both your lives were changing, as Jimin had said. Freshman year was a cacophony of change; in order to succeed, you and Finn needed to learn to grow with each other. Hiccups were to be expected, bumps in the road were to be expected, but if you wanted to stay together, you needed to learn how to fight for this relationship.

“I think so,” you said, opening your eyes. “I think we’ll be okay. I just… Finn, you really hurt me that night.”

“I know.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“You know… I want to spend time with you, right?”

“I… do.”

He paused for longer than you would’ve liked, but you brushed past it. “I know you like going to clubs and all that,” you said. “But that’s not really me. Maybe next time we can do something different. Something a little more low-key.”

“Yeah.” Finn chuckled. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“Good.”

“At least my friends really liked you.”

Taken aback, you snorted. “Oh, come on, Finn. I was barely there.”

“I’m being serious! Ben told me he thinks you’re funny.”

“Ben,” you groaned. “Has all the humor of a wet sock.”

Finn laughed and this time, it sounded like him. His laugh had been watery before, a restrained version but now, his true mirth broke free. As soon as the sound hit your ears, you began to relax. Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure things would be okay until then. Hearing him laugh, you knew Finn meant it. He wanted this, too.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Ben sucks, but at least he has the taste to know that you don’t. Next time, we’ll do something more fun.”

“Next time,” you agreed.

“Next time.”

Despite your conversation having gone as well as it possibly could’ve, uncertainty continued to linger in the back of your mind.

You spent Sunday evening watching TV, but still slept restlessly before your class the next morning. Mr. Vlad’s ballet was definitely not one you wanted to arrive at ill-rested, but Monday you showed up with bags under your eyes.

You tried to push all negative thoughts from mind while warming up at the barre. By the time class broke for water, you were feeling marginally better. Ballet was soothing that way. The repetitiveness of barre helped to put things in perspective. Your ankle had almost completely healed by this point and now, two weeks after the fall, your technique had finally begun to improve.

No longer were you the last one to catch onto combinations and Mr. Vlad only yelled once about your turnout at barre. This was a marked improvement from the start of the year and although you still were far from the top, you felt relatively good about your standing. You had a feeling once you and Jimin began to practice, the moves would come even easier.

The first combination at center was a slow adagio. It wasn’t particularly difficult aside from a lift in the middle, but despite the familiarity of the moves, Jimin was being oddly hesitant.

Mr. Vlad showed the combination with his dance assistant, Mina. After they demonstrated a particularly difficult lift, they gave everyone time to practice – which, in your and Jimin’s case, turned out to be necessary.

“Ladies, pique to arabesque!” Mr. Vlad called from the front. “Lift your leg higher and – the man lifts! He walks you in a promenade. Then you’re lowered, exhale – and bourrée!”

Brian immediately raised his hand for help, so Mr. Vlad left to assist in his corner. The lift was proving itself to be tricky – it required most of your weight balanced against Jimin’s side while he gripped your thigh, lifting you up.

You and Jimin began to practice, but no matter what you did, nothing seemed to be working. After the fourth failed attempt where Jimin nearly dropped you on your ass, you shakily landed and whirled around.

“Alright,” you said, both hands on your hips. “What’s going on?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how’re you supposed to lift me if you’re barely touching me? Look at Sabrina and Paulo!” you said, gesturing in their direction. “He’s got his whole fucking hand under her leg!”

Jimin’s cheeks turned red. “I – uh, right. Yeah. Let’s try it again.”

Staring at him another moment, you nodded and returned to your spot. Jimin settled into fifth position, jaw clenched and looking as though he were in pain. You stared at him in the mirror, considering calling him out before thinking better of it.

Taking a deep breath, you piqued into arabesque. Leaning your weight to Jimin, he reached again for your thigh – only to falter, leaving you hanging.

“Jimin!” you half-laughed as you slipped down his leg.

“I’m sorry!” Jimin blurted, stepping away. Looking thoroughly distraught, he shoved both hands through his hair. “It’s just… well, I…”

“It’s just what?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he said, a bit pained.

In response to this, both your eyebrows shot up. That had not been the answer you’d expected.

“I… okay?” you said, failing to grasp the point. “So what?”

“So.” Jimin glanced furtively around. “I don’t know, it’s just weird! I don’t want to… overstep my boundaries, or anything.”

“But…” You stared. “I had a boyfriend last week and it wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, but last week I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Again, you looked at him as though he was crazy.

“This is stupid,” you said, stepping closer. “Ballet is our job, Jimin. It’s the least sexy occupation on the planet. Right now, I’m bleeding from three different blisters inside my pointe shoes. I’m sure my deodorant has long worn off by now. Would you just fucking get over yourself and grab my thigh?”

Jimin’s upper lip twitched. “Well. When you put it like that.”

“I am putting it like that,” you said with a grin. “Now, let’s go again.”

Nodding, Jimin followed when you walked backwards. Taking another deep breath, you piqued to arabesque and this time, Jimin didn’t flinch when your weight transitioned to his. Hand sliding beneath your thigh, he lifted you easily into a promenade.

As soon as you turned your head, you caught Jimin’s gaze and felt – something.

Something other than the white noise of the room. Something other than the thud-thud of your heart, other than the music on the stereo and Mr. Vlad yelling counts from the corner.

Despite what you had just finished saying, something unknown seemed to bloom in your chest. In the middle of the lift – blood blisters and all – you felt an errant spark where Jimin’s front pressed to yours.

You barely had time to recognize this before the moment was gone. Slowing his walk, Jimin set you back down – and you wobbled. 

This time it had nothing to do with his technique.

“Ah, shit.” Jimin frowned. “That’s my bad – I can do better! Let’s try it again.”

Nodding, you felt a bit wooden as you followed in his footsteps. When Mr. Vlad started the music, you fought the surging tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm. It had been nothing, you told yourself. Nothing of importance, anyways.

Shoving whatever you’d felt in a box, you pushed this to a corner of your mind and firmly shut the door. Forcing a smile to your lips, you lifted your chin as you began the combination.

It was lucky everyone else found you a talented performer, since beneath all your smiling, all you could think about was what was hidden in the box.

Something unknown, something tentative – and something which could be dangerous, if it ever came to light.

Author’s Note: I was so close to re-writing this chapter with Mr. Vlad picking her up LOL just kidding, but thank you for reading! 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre are posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST 

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission. 

[bestillmyslashyheart]

50 First Breakups

Alex stared at them. Four anxious and apologetic faces stared back alongside one heartbroken one.

“What do you mean we broke up?” Michael asked again. No one had answered him the first time he asked and he was getting visibly more upset by the continued silence but Alex had no words for him. They’d broken up a month ago, a combination of growing distance, simultaneous bad weeks, too much alcohol, and a loud fight with things shouted that couldn’t be taken back.

And Michael apparently remembered none of it. He couldn’t remember anything of the last two months.

Alex looked away from his teary eyes that tore at Alex’s heart and stared at the crowd behind him. “What happened?”

“Alex-” Michael started but stopped when Alex held up a hand without even looking at him.

“Kyle?” Alex pressed.

Kyle shifted on his feet. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He hit his head but it wasn’t enough to cause this. Plus Max healed him, so...”

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled softly. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d gotten the SOS text from Isobel but it certainly wasn’t to find his ex-boyfriend which short term amnesia that was just long enough to make him forget that they were very definitively exes now. Michael had greeted him with a bright smile and a kiss that Alex was too stunned to resist and it had gone steadily downhill from there.

“Alex?” Michael asked again. “What happened? The last thing I remember we were great and now you’re saying we broke up a month ago? What-”

“No,” Alex shook his head. “I’m sorry you’re going through this but I’m not going to rehash everything for you. We broke up. That’s it. That’s all that matters.” His eyes flickered from Michael to Isobel and Max’s worried faces to Kyle’s look of utter perplexion to Liz’s sympathetic grimace.

“That’s not all that matters!” Michael yelled back. “Tell me how we went from happy to this,” he waved a hand at Alex, “in less than a month.”

“Michael.” Isobel put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe not right now? You two can talk it out later.” Alex opened his mouth to object but closed it immediately when Isobel shot him a glare.

“Yeah,” he agreed instead. “Later.” He cleared his throat. “If there’s nothing else...”

Liz took kindness on him and shook her head. “I’ll walk you out.” She stood up and they both ignored everyone else as they walked out to his car. “Are you okay?” Alex hadn’t told her, or anyone, the details of the breakup but they all knew it had been bad; he and Michael could barely be in the same room as each other these days.

“I’m fine,” Alex replied.

Liz snorted softly. “Yeah, okay. Well if you decide you want a friend while you’re dealing with all that fineness, you know where I am.” Alex gave her a quick hug and a small smile and got into his car.

Just before he pulled away, he rolled down the window and called out, “Liz?” She stopped in the open doorway to the house and turned around. “You’ll keep an eye on him?”

“We will,” she promised. Alex nodded at her in thanks before pulling away.

---

As much as Alex would like to have put Michael and his amnesia out of his mind, he couldn’t. The rest of the day, and most of the night as he tossed and turned, he played the situation over in his head. At first it had hurt to see Michael so happy to see him, to kiss him, to see his heartbreak over their breakup; it hurt to be alone in his misery and grief over their failure to make it last. But as he thought about it, the idea of a second chance crept up on him. A chance to wipe the slate clean, to move past that last fight. It wasn’t right, Alex knew that, to take advantage of Michael’s memory problems, and Alex would certainly never do it, but the thought was there. And it wasn’t going away.

When his alarm went off in the morning, Alex squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in protest before getting up with a groan. Today would be hell, but the sooner he got through it, the sooner he could go back to bed. That dream powered him through a shower and his morning routine all the way up until he went to make coffee and heard the truck pull up in his driveway.

Alex froze, one hand on the cabinet door, the other holding a mug aloft, as he heard first the slam of Michael’s truck door and the familiar turn of the lock on his front door before it swung open with a bang. “Shit,” he heard Michael curse softly amid the rustle of paper bags. A moment later the door slammed shut and Alex slowly lowered his mug to the countertop as Michael rounded the corner into view.

His smile lit up his face and Alex’s heart ached. “Good morning,” Michael greeted softly. He rounded the countertop and dropped the bags of food from the Crashdown on top of it on his way to Alex hello. Once again, Alex was too surprised to stop him or to stop himself from kissing back out of habit.

“I don’t know what I did last night,” Michael laughed softly when he pulled back, “but I woke up in Max’s spare room. Figured since I was out already I could bring back some breakfast.”

Alex stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “Michael,” he finally said. He wasn’t sure what he sounded like but it apparently wasn’t good since Michael stopped what he was doing with the food and turned to face him.

“Alex?” He reached for him but Alex leaned out of his touch.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Michael furrowed his brow. “Uh,” he looked down at the food, “going to the Crashdown for breakfast?”

Alex closed his eyes briefly. “Yesterday. What’s the last thing you remember from yesterday,” he clarified.

“I don’t know,” Michael shrugged. “I worked late and we had dinner at the Crashdown and then you had something to do with Greg so I went home and watched a movie. Why? Did I forget something?”

Alex stared at him. That had been two months ago. That was the last memory Michael had mentioned having yesterday. “You don’t remember anything after that?”

“No, should I? You’re starting to scare me a little. What happened? What did I forget?”

Alex pulled out his phone and pulled out the calendar and showed it to him. Michael stared down at it before shaking his head. “No, it’s April.”

“It’s June,” Alex confirmed.

“No, it’s not,” Michael insisted.

Alex sighed and called Isobel. She answered after on ring. “Can’t talk right n-”

“He’s here,” Alex cut her off.

Isobel cursed. “Sorry. He was gone before-”

“He thinks it’s April,” he cut her off again.

This time Isobel was silent. Then, “what?”

“Just...come over.” Alex hung up without waiting for her reply.

“Alex?” Michael asked, somewhat timidly. Alex took the cup of coffee meant for him and skirted around Michael to get out of the kitchen. Michael followed. “Alex?” He asked again.

“You hit your head yesterday,” Alex told him. “And now you seem to have amnesia.” Michael scoffed. “Yesterday the last thing you could remember was us going to the Crashdown for dinner and then going home and watching a movie while I went out with Greg. That night was two months ago.” Alex paused briefly before forcing out the rest. “We broke up a month ago. You moved out and you’ve been bouncing between Isobel and Max’s guest rooms.”

Michael stared at him. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Alex.”

“I’m dead serious Guerin.” Michael flinched as if Alex had struck him.

“Since when do you call me Guerin anymore?”

“Since we broke up.”

Michael shook his head. “Alex, stop-”

The front door burst open and multiple people stampeded down the hallway, Isobel in the lead. She let out a breath when she saw Michael before swatting him on the arm. “Don’t do that! We were worried.”

Michael stared at her. “Don’t do what? Go home?”

Isobel and Max stared at him then at Alex. Liz bypassed them and came straight to Alex’s side.

“Michael,” Max said gruffly but not unkindly, “this isn’t your home anymore.”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know what possessed you and Alex to go along with this together but it’s really not funny.”

Liz put her hand on Alex’s arm and squeezed gently. “Michael,” Isobel tried, “you hit your head, it’s causing memory problems, you don’t remember-”

“Alex and I wouldn’t break up! And if we did, it wouldn’t happen that fast!” Michael was almost shouting now.

Alex couldn’t look at him. Two months ago he would have had Michael’s conviction too but it had all unraveled almost before he even noticed. One day they were fine, struggling a little bit but overall fine, and the next day they were done.

“Michael,” Isobel grabbed his arm. “We can talk about this at Max’s but I’m sure Alex wants his house back so we should go.”

“I have to get to work,” Alex admitted. He glanced at the clock on his phone. “I’m going to be late.”

“Great, then we really should go,” Isobel insisted. She tugged gently then firmly at Michael’s arm when he didn’t budge.

“Alex...” Michael looked to him.

“Go Michael,” Alex ordered quietly. And Michael went. Isobel flashed him a grim look over her shoulder as she led him out and Max barely glanced at him as he followed. Liz hesitated, her hand still on his arm. “Liz, I really do need to get to work.”

She smiled wryly. “Not going to tell me you’re fine?”

Alex shook his head. “No. Because I’m really not. But I do have to work so...”

“Okay. Call me when you get off and I’ll come over.”

Alex agreed and then she left too. He needed to be out the door five minutes ago but Alex took a moment to breath deeply and try to process just what the hell had happened here this morning. He’d spent hours thinking, albeit halfheartedly, that he and Michael might get a second chance, and now that was gone. At the very least, he had expected the hard part to be over with.

The unexpected reality of having to tell Michael they were over again was a slap in the face that he really hadn’t needed.

---

The next three days, Alex got a text from either Liz or Isobel telling him that Michael’s memory hadn’t changed. He woke up every morning thinking the previous night was that night two months ago and every morning they had to update him on what he’d missed.

Even if they hadn’t texted him, Alex would have known anyway from the sheer number of texts and calls he got from the other man. He was very close to blocking his number even though he didn’t want to do that, though honestly, with their group of friends, everyone needed to be able to get in touch with each other at a moment’s notice so blocking wasn’t really an option. And yet.

The fourth day was Saturday and Alex’s day to sleep in. Early enough that the sun was barely coming through the window, Alex woke up to a warm body slipping into bed next to him. He was still half asleep and his body still so used to sleeping next to Michael that he merely rolled over and tucked himself in next to him and went back to sleep.

He woke up again hours later to a firm jostling of his shoulder. Alex cracked an eye open to see Liz staring at him from next to the bed. Her eyes flickered between his face and the space behind his shoulder and Alex only had a moment to wonder what she was doing in his bedroom when he registered the furnace behind him and realized what had happened. “He slipped out early,” she whispered apologetically.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, enjoyed the heat of Michael’s body for a brief moment more, then turned over and shoved Michael out of the bed. He hit the floor with a loud yelp before shooting to his feet. Liz blushed and turned her back at the sight of Michael’s naked body. Alex just closed his eyes again.

“Alex, what the-”

“Put your clothes back on and go with Liz,” he ordered without opening his eyes. There was a moment where nobody moved and he knew Michael was going to argue. “Now,” he added, his tone brooking no argument. Liz stayed where she was as Michael moved around the room and picked up his clothes. When he was dressed, Liz shooed him out of the room ahead of her.

“Alex, I am so sorry. We didn’t think he’d be up that early on a Saturday.”

Alex buried the palms of his hands into his eyes. “He used to pick up the opening shift at Sanders’,” he told her. “He’s used to getting up at dawn on Saturdays.”

“Oh.”

“Can you just get him out of here?”

Liz nodded and left without another word. Her voice carried down the hall from where she was talking to Michael but Alex couldn’t make out any of the words and a moment alter he heard the front door close. Only then did he let the tears fall.

---

Week two of Michael’s recurrent amnesia was no better than the first. The others did a good job of keeping him occupied and away from Alex but Alex still couldn’t bring himself to block Michael’s number and still had to deal with the constant interruptions. But not even their combined efforts could keep Michael away forever and on the third day of the second week, Alex came home from work to Michael sitting in his living room.

“Get out,” Alex greeted tiredly.

Michael’s face, hopeful just a moment ago, fell. “I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Alex replied honestly. Because he did, he understood that one day was not enough to understand everything that had changed for Michael. But he also understood that he couldn’t do this with him. “But I’m not doing this. I’m not explaining it and I’m not talking about it and I want you to go.”

“Why won’t you tell me? The others can’t tell me anything because they don’t know either.”

Alex sighed heavily. “What would be the point? You’re just going to forget again.”

Michael’s jaw clenched and he nodded jerkily. “Fine. You’re right. Why bother explaining anything to the guy with amnesia.” With that, he got to his feet and pushed past Alex on his way to the door. Part of Alex wanted to stop him, wanted to apologize, but he didn’t. It was harsh, but it was true. There was no point having it out with Michael only for him to forget it all over again. The only thing it would accomplish was hurting them both but only Alex would have to live with it.

---

On the second Saturday of Michael’s amnesia, Alex had dropped into bed so late Friday that he was fairly certain not even the shock of his dead father appearing before him could get him out of bed. And in his exhaustion, he forgot what had happened the previous week. This time he didn’t so much as stir when Michael slipped into bed beside him and pulled him into his arms. He only woke when he heard Max’s loud whispering from the doorway.

“Michael,” Max hissed. Michael groaned in greeting. “Come here.”

“Go away, Max,” Michael mumbled. “It’s Saturday.” He burrowed closer to Alex and wrapped his arm around Alex’s waist, his hand dipping low and that’s when Alex finally woke up. He grabbed Michael’s wrist and pulled it away from him before it got too close to certain parts of his anatomy. Michael whined and nuzzled into his hair. “Alex.”

Alex pushed his hand back over to his side of the bed and leaned over to grab Michael’s phone. Unlocking it, the password forever unchanged, he set a daily reminder for first thing in the morning telling Michael what had happened and that he and Alex had broken up and to stay away. That done, he dropped the phone on Michael’s chest and escaped to the bathroom before Michael could drag him back. He hid there for a few minutes before there was a knock on the door. “We’re heading out,” Max told him.

Alex didn’t bother replying.

---

The reminder worked for zero (0) days.

First thing Sunday morning, Michael came barreling into his room holding his phone in the air. “What the hell is this?” Liz came in hot on his heels.

“Michael!” She yelled. “What part of leave Alex alone told you to come running over here first thing in the morning?!” Alex groaned and put a pillow over his head, hoping to block out the two intruders.

“This is crap!” Michael shouted back. “It’s some sick joke.”

“Mikey,” Liz cajoled. “I will explain everything just please come with me. Let Alex sleep.”

“But-” Michael started to protest. Alex took the pillow off his head long enough to say, “go with Liz,” before immediately replacing it.

“Mikey,” Liz said again, softer this time. “Come on.”

They didn’t close the door behind them but Alex breathed a sigh of relief when the front door shut a few minutes later.

---

“I come in peace,” Michael greeted quietly when Alex opened the door a full week later. Alex dropped his head to the door frame and groaned but didn’t say anything. Michael watched him with a soft look for a long moment before continuing. “I have amnesia. I don’t remember the last three months. Every day I wake up and forget the previous day. You and I broke up two months ago. No one knows why.”

Alex arched an eyebrow in question when he stopped.

“I want to know why.” Alex didn’t have time to say anything before Michael held up a hand and continued. “I have a journal. It looks like I started keeping track of the days after the first week or so. I wrote down that I started it after I tried to talk to you about this before and you said it was pointless because I wouldn’t remember anyway.”

Alex straightened and looked at him in surprise. “No one’s mentioned a journal.”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know if they know about it. No one’s mentioned it to me or suggesting I write something down so they probably don’t know. But I know. I don’t find it every day but I find it most days and when I do I write down what happened. So can we talk? I promise I’ll try to remember.”

Alex thought it over and then opened the door wider. He turned and walked into the living room, trusting Michael to follow him.

“So,” Michael started when they were settled on the couch. Alex had stopped to get a cup of tea even though he didn’t drink it just to have something to do with his hands. “What happened?”

Alex didn’t look at him, his attention fixed on the mug in his hands, his fingers toying with the string of the tea bag. “We grew distant.”

“In a month?” Michael interrupted. Alex glared at him and he held his hands up in apology. “Sorry. Continue.”

“We just kept getting busy with other things and didn’t see each other much and then we both had things come up with work and Maria and I fought and you and Max were going at it about something, I don’t even know what because you wouldn’t talk to me about it, and it all just boiled up. I was angry about work and Maria and you were pissed about something and you refused to talk to me about it. That lasted about a week. I’m not sure we really spoke that week. We definitely didn’t see each other other than a few minutes in the mornings. And then we made plans to go to the Pony and you wouldn’t stop drinking so I kept drinking because I wanted to stop being mad at you and then when we somehow got back here we just-” Alex stopped. “We fought.” He sighed heavily. “Things were said that can’t be unsaid and we broke up.”

The silence lingered between them for a long moment until Alex finally looked over at Michael. Michael was staring at the floor, his face twisted in concentration.

“Michael?”

Michael looked up at him and blinked a couple of times. “I don’t think you’ve ever said so much without actually saying anything before.”

Alex blinked. “What?”

“We got busy? We fought? So what? We do that all the time. It’s called life, remember?” Alex did remember. A few months into their relationship they had been drifting apart a little bit, both of them caught up in other things for a while and didn’t have time for each other, and it had scared them into going to couple’s therapy. They only went for a few sessions but the one thing that stuck with them was that they didn’t need to be together all the time. It was okay to have other interests and priorities so long as they kept making an effort to make time for each other. People got busy, the therapist had said, couple fought. It was normal. The couples that stayed together were the ones that made an effort to stay together. It was advice that had gotten them through a few rough patches over the year and a half they were together, but- “this was different,” Alex insisted.

“I call bullshit,” Michael protested. “One big fight and we just gave up? That’s crap. That’s not us.”

Alex looked at him steadily. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever thought of me?”

“What?” Michael shook his head slightly. “Where is that coming fro-?”

“Sometimes I really am my father’s son,” Alex cut him off and Michael’s mouth snapped shut.

It was quiet a moment before Michael spoke. “And what did you say?” He didn’t try to deny that he’d said it.

Alex looked away. “If I was my father’s son, you would have been in Caulfield with your mother.”

Michael sat there a moment before getting up without a word. The front door closed softly in his wake.

---

Three days later he was back.

“Michael,” Alex greeted warily.

“Alex,” Michael greeted. His voice wasn’t cold but it wasn’t as warm as it used to be. It was enough to tell Alex that Michael had written down their conversation and had read it today. “Can we talk?”

“Why?” Alex exhaled. “What’s the point?”

“The point is I love you and you love me and I don’t care what we fought about, it won’t be the end of us. I won’t let it be.” He took a step closer. If Alex tried to close the door now it would bounce off of Michael’s shoes. “Alex,” he added quietly. “If you really think one fight is the end of us, say so now. I’ll write it in my journal and I won’t come back.”

Alex looked at him, really looked for the first time in weeks. Michael let him, saying nothing and gazing back with honest sincerity in his eyes.

Alex opened the door further. “Come on in.”

---

The next time Alex saw Michael, Michael hadn’t read his journal yet. It was only two days after their last conversation and Alex wasn’t prepared for it.

“Alex!” Michael’s voice rang clear across the busy street. The honest joy in it stopped Alex in his tracks and let Michael catch up. “Hey, stranger,” he greeted when he slipped an arm around Alex’s waist. Alex remembered himself in time to dodge Michael’s kiss.

“Hey,” Alex returned, stepping neatly out of his grasp. He glanced around for Michael’s current babysitter, the others still not letting him go anywhere alone just in case something exactly like this happened.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, reaching for him again. Again, Alex stepped away. A few stores down, Isobel appeared out of a shop, her head down as she double checked her bag.

“Isobel!” Alex called.

Isobel’s head snapped up and she looked at him with wide eyes. She was a little too far away for Alex to hear but her lips clearly formed the word shit. “Michael,” she called as she hurried over to them. “I thought you were waiting for me outside.”

“I am outside,” Michael replied, glancing between her and Alex. “What’s going on?”

Alex looked to Isobel. She gave him a halfhearted apologetic shrug. “He’s always mopey after we tell him, I just wanted a few hours before that today. I didn’t think it would be a problem.” She didn’t think they’d run into Alex, she didn’t say.

Alex rolled his eyes. “I trust you all know how to handle it by now,” he told her. “So I will let you handle it.” He cut a glance at Michael before turning away.

“Alex?” Michael called after him. Alex ignored him.

Hours later, as Alex was getting ready for bed, his front door burst open. Alex groaned in frustration but continued brushing his teeth as Michael called his name.

“I talked to Max,” Michael’s voice came from the doorway. Alex rinsed and spit and didn’t reply. “I know what we fought about. Before.”

Alex looked at him through the mirror. “Max doesn’t know what we fought about.”

“Not you and me,” Michael clarified. “Me and Max.”

Alex dried his hands and picked up his crutches. “Oh?” Michael moved out of the doorway when Alex approached and led him back into the living room. Alex cast a forlorn look at his bedroom and followed.

“After I saw you in town earlier and Isobel filled me in, I went looking for a record or something. I knew there was no way I would just let myself never remember.”

“So you found your journal.”

“Yeah. You said that one of the reasons I was angry before our fight was because of issues with Max that I wouldn’t tell you about.” Alex nodded. “So I talked to Max.”

“How’d that go?”

Michael shrugged. “He wanted to know if I remembered anything but other than that it didn’t seem to be a big deal.”

“So what was the fight about?”

Michael twisted to the side and retrieved a stack of folders Alex had somehow missed sitting on the coffee table. He dropped them in front of Alex. “Max went digging through your military record. He said he knew we were serious but he didn’t want to take the chance of me getting hurt again so he wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting into.”

Alex stared at the files. “He shouldn’t have those. It’s illegal to have those.”

Michael shrugged. “My guess is Jenna or Charlie helped him out.”

“Did you read them?”

Michael shook his head. “No. At least, not today. I don’t know if I read them before.”

“If this was what the fight about, if I was what the fight was about,” Alex said slowly, “why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“I don’t know,” Michael shrugged. “But I can guess. And I’d say that I probably was pissed at Max for butting into my relationship and for violating your privacy like that and I probably didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to know my brother had done that.”

Alex stared at him. “You were angry at him for violating my privacy but didn’t feel the need to tell me that he’d done it?”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’m guessing here. But it was the first thing that came to mind when he showed them to me tonight so I can only guess it’s what I thought last time.”

“You read it,” Alex declared.

“I told you I didn’t.”

Alex shook his head. “Not tonight. Before. During our fight you said something that didn’t make sense at the time because there was no way you could have known about it but if you had my file...”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Alex shot back. “Don’t apologize for something you don’t remember doing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine,” Michael huffed. Neither said anything for a while. “What did you and Maria fight about?” Michael finally asked.

Alex looked up at him. “What?”

“You said we were both pissed off. Me because I fought with Max,” he gestured at the file, “and you because you’d fought with Maria. Now we both know why I was pissed, what about you?”

Alex sat back against the couch with a grunt. “She said some things I didn’t like.” Michael waited for him to continue but Alex didn’t add anything. He rolled his eyes and motioned for Alex to carry on. Still, Alex hesitated. “She- she wanted to give me advice. About you.”

Michael blinked. “Why would Maria give you advice about me?”

“Because she’s the only other person you’ve ever dated?”

“So? Our relationships are totally different.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” Michael sounded incredulous.

“Humor me.”

“Maria and I were good together but we weren’t going anywhere. It wasn’t going to be a forever thing and we both knew if even if we didn’t admit it. You and me, we are the forever thing. This isn’t a fling, or a fun way to spend a few months together. This is it. We are it. Maria wouldn’t know the first thing about me in a relationship with you because the two don’t compare. She and I had our thing and it was good and fun and it ended when it needed to. You and I have our thing and it’s amazing and it’s not ending because it doesn’t need to. Not now, not ever.”

“Michael,” Alex exhaled. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is,” Michael shot back immediately. “You said it yourself, this is it. No more fucking around, no more going back and forth. We are in it together and that’s how it’s going to stay. Whatever happens, we work through it. So let’s work through it.”

“You don’t remember,” Alex reminded him. “We said awful things to each other.”

“I don’t care,” Michael shrugged. “I don’t, Alex. I really don’t. So what if we did? So what if we meant them, even just a little bit of us? We’ve always been good at knowing where to hurt each other, that hasn’t changed, but that doesn’t mean we give up. Because no matter how many awful things we say, they’re just words.”

“Words matter.” It was a lesson they’d learned the hard way after too many years of too few conversations.

“They do,” Michael agreed. “But so do actions. And we have built a life together and it is good and I don’t want to give it up.”

“You did. You do.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You don’t fucking remember!” Alex shouted.

“I remember enough!” Michael shouted back. “Over a month and I never set foot in the Airstream. I bounced between Isobel and Max’s places and I lived out of a duffel bag and I never once attempted to move back into the Airstream. If I had given up, I wouldn’t have kept my shit in boxes in Izzy’s spare room. I don’t know why I agreed to move out but I know I didn’t think it was permanent. I know I kept everything boxed up and ready to move back in. A month, Alex. I lived out of a duffel bag for a month.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t done with this, with you, with us. I wasn’t and I’m not.”

Alex just stared at him, unable to come up with a reply. Michael stared back, his breath a little uneven. When Alex didn’t say anything, he stood up and moved closer until he was right in front of him. Alex had to crane his neck back to look him in the eyes but it was worth it. Michael hadn’t looked at him like that in months, not even on those days when he didn’t remember or know yet. “Michael...”

Michael slowly reached down and cupped Alex’s face. “I love you, Alex. And you love me. And it’s enough. Everything else is just...” he shook his head. “It’s not easy and it’s not perfect but it’s us. And that’s all I care about.”

“Fuck,” Alex cursed lowly. “I do. I do love you.”

Michael smiled. “I know.”

“I don’t know how to fix this though,” Alex continued. He pulled Michael down until he was sitting on the coffee table in front of Alex. “I remember the fight that broke us and as much as we talk about it and you write it in your journal, I don’t know how to move past it when you don’t remember it. I don’t-”

“We’ll figure it out. Kyle and Liz are doing their research thing to figure out what fried my brain. They’ll come up with an answer and we’ll go from there.”

Alex closed his eyes. “And if they don’t? If this is permanent?”

Michael was quiet for a moment. “Is that a deal breaker? Do I have to have my memory for us to be together?”

“Normally I would say no. We can always make new memories together but this wasn’t a small thing, Michael. I don’t know if I can be the only one in this who remembers it.”

Michael swallowed thickly and nodded. “Okay. Well. Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it.”

Alex wanted to protest. He knew it wasn’t that easy, but he also knew he was done fighting about it tonight. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted quietly.

“I’ve missed you too.” Michael moved from the coffee table to the couch next to Alex.

Alex rolled his eyes. “As far as you’re concerned we were together yesterday. Hell we were still together this morning.”

“I know. It’s weird. I still missed you though.” Alex closed his eyes and leaned against Michael’s shoulder and soaked in his warmth for a bit.

“You should go,” he finally said when his eyes were getting droopy. “You should go to Max or Isobel’s.”

Michael sighed but got up without complaint. “I’ll see you soon.”

Alex’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “If you say so.” Michael smiled back at him and kissed him softly on the forehead before leaving.

---

Every day for the next couple of weeks, Michael stopped by after dinner. Alex wasn’t sure where he was keeping his journal these days but he was pretty diligent about keeping it up to date and reading it. If Alex hadn’t known that he was still having the same memory issues he would have thought he was starting to form new memories.

It was still odd for Alex, to have conversations about Michael with Michael only without Michael knowing the context. He’d tried to explain the fight more fully but he would never be able to tell Michael what he’d been thinking or feeling during it or why he’d stormed out that night or why he hadn’t put up a fight when Alex suggested he move out. But still there were talking and it was more than they’d had in a while.

Maria’s words still echoed in his ears sometimes and his file sat on his desk like a beacon of Max’s interference but they were starting to deal with it. Michael still slept at Max or Isobel’s because Alex couldn’t stand to have that first conversation with him in the morning; the one time Michael had tried sleeping in the guest room, the morning after had been painful. It was one thing to see Michael after he’d read his journal and come to grips with everything, it was another thing entirely to see Michael as he was months ago. Before.

One night, Michael came over early enough for them to eat dinner and dragged Alex out to the Crashdown. They hadn’t been out together in months by that point and they garnered a few looks from people who had noticed their breakup but no one said anything to them, not even Liz or Rosa. Alex had forgotten how nice it was to just be out with Michael and he lost track of what was going on around them while they ate.

Maybe that was why he didn’t notice.

Maybe that was why it wasn’t until there was a gun pointed at Rosa’s head for him to realize there was a problem.

It was Liz’s voice, sharp and pained and anxious, that got Alex’s attention. He tore his gaze from Michael, a smile still on his lips, and turned to see his friends. A hush fell over the diner as others noticed the gun. Alex saw hands going for cell phones everywhere, a low whisper starting up as customers called 911, but Alex only had eyes on the gunman.

He was saying something to Rosa. Alex didn’t know what, his Spanish had always been awful, but he didn’t care. What he cared about was that the man’s finger was on the trigger and he looked prepared to shoot. Alex slowly rose from his seat. Michael grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him back down, his own hand reaching out to move the gun but Alex stilled him and shook him off. There was no way Michael could reveal his powers in front of everyone and there was no way Alex was sitting on his ass while someone threatened his friends.

Alex was thankful he’d brought his crutch with him today; the device fooled people into thinking he wasn’t a threat. Leaning heavily on it, he made his way to Rosa’s side.

“Fuck off,” the man said to him. His gun didn’t waver from Rosa’s head, though, and Alex ignored him.

“Rosa, you okay?” Alex asked quietly. Rosa shot him an incredulous look but didn’t say anything, her eyes flicking back to the gun quickly.

Behind the gunman, customers were starting to duck out the door. The man didn’t pay them any attention so more hurried out. They stayed quiet though so Alex ignored them. “I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Alex said, “but it doesn’t need to end badly. Just put the gun down and walk away.”

The man sneered at him. “Just walk away? That’s not how this works.” His attention was on Alex now and his aim wavered. On Rosa’s other side, Liz started to pull her away from the man. She made it two steps before his attention snapped back to her, the gun moving back to her face. While it was in motion, Alex moved. He hit the man with the full force of his body and drove them both to the floor.

The gun went off.

Rosa screamed.

Alex punched the man across the face with his crutch and watched his body go limp.

“Alex!” Michael yelled.

That was when Alex noticed the pain. It bloomed from a spot in the left side of his chest. He had barely felt it when hands gripped him tight and rolled him onto his back. “Shit,” Liz cursed. She pressed both hands on Alex’s chest and pushed until Alex cried out. “Rosa, get me something to stop the bleeding.”

Michael’s hands were on his face and then Alex was staring up into his eyes. “That didn’t go as I intended.”

“I fucking hope not!” Liz lifted a hand to grab something from Rosa and Michael’s hand replaced it immediately.

“What happened!” Jenna called in from the doorway.

“Alex got shot,” Liz called back. “The guy’s out cold.”

“Alright hold on, I can send in EMS.”

“Wait!” Liz and Rosa yelled in unison. “Get them back!” Liz added. Alex wondered why until he saw the strange glow emanating from his chest, or more specifically, emanating from Michael’s hand on his chest.

“Jesus Christ Guerin it’s the middle of the day!” Jenna huffed before leaving to get any and all possibly witnesses as far away as she could.

“Come on, Alex,” Michael urged. The glow got brighter and Alex felt his pain go away.

When it was nearly gone, Alex pushed Michael’s hand off. “Stop. You can’t collapse just yet and there has to be something to explain the gunshot and all the blood.”

“You got shot,” Michael panted, already exhausted.

“I’m okay,” Alex promised.

There was a sound at the doorway. “We got incoming,” Rosa warned. A moment later EMS and police swarmed into the diner and pulled Michael away from him.

---

It was the next day before the doctors (Kyle) and police let him go. Michael was already at his house when he got home.

Alex was about to reassure him that he was fine before he realized that Michael wouldn’t remember. “Michael-”

“You were wearing a blue sweater,” Michael cut him off.

Alex blinked. “What?”

“The night we had that fight. You were wearing a blue sweater. It looked amazing on you.”

“You remember-”

“Forrest bought it for you.” Michael pressed forward. He hadn’t gotten up from the couch, his body seemingly frozen in place. “That’s what set me off. I was pissed at Max and I felt guilty for not telling you why and it had been a shit week at work and I was drunk and you were wearing a sweater that Forrest gave you and it was the thing that tipped me over the edge.” He finally looked up at Alex. “I remember everything. And I’m sorry. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have said and if I could take them back I would but I can’t so we’re going to move forward.”

“How?” Alex exhaled.

Michael nodded at him and pressed a hand over the left side of his chest, a mirror of where Alex’s wound had been. Alex didn’t need to tug his shirt out of the way to see the handprint there but he did it anyway. “Our minds are linked right now and it, I don’t know, jump started my memory or something. I don’t really care how, honestly, I just care that I remember.”

Alex walked over and eased into the chair opposite Michael. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I said things I shouldn’t have too and I wish I could take it back. Also I probably could have behaved better when you didn’t have your memory. I was a little-”

“Alex, no, I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to deal with a me who didn’t remember and acted like nothing had happened. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“Still-”

“No,” Michael shook his head. “No more apologies. There’s only one thing I think we needed to apologize for and we’ve already done that. Now we can focus on moving forward.”

Alex looked at him carefully. “Why didn’t you go back to the Airstream?”

Michael let out a breath. “Because that would have been admitting it was over and I couldn’t do that. I was just...waiting I guess. Waiting for us both to cool down, to be able to talk about it. Admittedly, it was taking longer than I expected. The day of the accident I meant to go over to the Airstream to see if it was habitable but I didn’t quite make it there.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Yeah?”

Alex hummed. “Would’ve made packing it all up again a pain.”

Michael arched an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

Alex snorted. “No. But it’s not just like that, Michael, we’ve been talking for weeks. I’m not saying jump back in like nothing ever happened but I think we’re at the point where we can both acknowledge that we’re not done, we’re not over.”

“We’re never going to be done,” Michael agreed.

“Maybe you stay with Max or Isobel for a few more weeks,” Alex suggested. Michael didn’t look too pleased about that. “Or maybe you don’t.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I have a guest room,” Alex reminded him.

Michael turned to look over his shoulder at said guest room. “You do,” he agreed.

“I also have a really nice bed.”

Michael turned back to him, a smile stretching across his face. “You do.”

“And I really hate sleeping alone.”

Michael laughed softly. “You do.”

“We still have a lot to talk about and deal with,” Alex cautioned.

“We do,” Michael agreed. “But it’s been a very rough few months and you got shot and almost died in my arms yesterday so can we talk about it tomorrow?” He looked weary for a moment before he straightened his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Tomorrow sounds good.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Only Friend

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader [Robin!Jason Todd]

Summary: Gotham mourned for Robin. But who mourned for Jason Todd? Y/F/N Y/L/N wasn’t just another one of Jason Todd’s friends. She was his only friend.  

Word Count: 7,000 [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, Death, Loss, Grief

Y/N didn’t know what time it was. She hadn’t opened the blinds in her room for days. And she didn’t plan on doing so anytime soon. In fact, she didn’t plan on getting out of bed anytime soon.

She heard a knock on her bedroom door. From the sound alone, she knew it was her mother.

“Y/N, dear. Can I come in?”

She wanted to say, ‘No.’ She wanted to say, ‘Go away.’ But Y/N didn’t even have the energy to do that. So she just laid still with the covers over her shoulders and said nothing. 

Her mom slowly opened the door.

Y/N’s family had been tiptoeing around her since it happened. They didn’t know how to handle the situation. Most parents don’t expect for their daughter’s best friend to die. No child should have to face grief like this.

But Y/N had no choice.

Because Jason Todd was dead.

“Hi, honey,” Y/N’s mother cooed as she walked into the room. Then she placed a plate of food on her nightstand. “I brought you something to eat.”

Y/N didn’t even so much as look at her mother, just continued to stare off into nothing.

“Is it alright if I open of your blinds and windows. I think you could use some fresh air.”

Y/N gave what appeared to be a half shrug, barely visible underneath the thick covers.

But her mother seemed relieved, it was starting to smell musty in the room.

Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Y/N’s face. “The funeral’s tomorrow.”

Y/N’s eyes finally looked up at her mother – desperate and scared. “Do I have to go?”

“I think you’d regret it if you didn’t, honey. You deserve your chance to say goodbye. Your father and I will be there with you.”

Then Y/N closed her eyes and burst into tears. “I had a dream about him last night. And I woke up and remembered–” she had to pause to catch her breath. “I-I-I remembered he’s g-gone.”

“Oh, honey,” her mom whispered as she pulled Y/N into her arms. “I know you miss him. I know. He was your best friend.”

Y/N pulled away and looked up at her mom. “He was my only friend,” she corrected.

———

Jason Todd was sitting at a lunch table by himself and reading when someone slammed their tray down across from him. His eyes flickered up in a glare, already expecting someone to try and pick a fight with him or something.

But instead he found a girl standing above him, smirking down at him.

No, not just any girl, the prettiest girl in their grade. No one else at this stupid school seemed to think so. But that just further proved Jason’s theory that everyone here were idiots.

“Hi,” she said confidently.

“H-Hi?” Jason stuttered back.

“I’m sitting with you,” she announced as she sat down. “I’m Y/N.”

Jason finally smirked and remained confused. “I know who you are…”

“You’ve never talked to me, so how was I supposed to know?” Y/N said back. “And you’re Jason Todd.”

“Yes?” He responded.

Y/N laughed at his confusion.

Jason Todd wasn’t popular. There was a disconnect between him and his peers. The kids at Gotham Academy were trust-fund babies and spoiled brats. They were such snobs that there were even cliques separating the kids who came from old money from those who came from new money. It all seemed ridiculous after literally starving in the slums of the city. 

Jason Todd wasn’t a rebel. He didn’t lash out or let his inability to connect to the other students make him feel down. Ask any teacher who had him and they would say he was a straight-A student and he never once caused trouble in their class. He was always polite and respectful, responsible and well-behaved.

Jason Todd wasn’t bullied. Maybe it was a vibe he gave off, but somehow the other kids knew not to mess with him. Jason came to school with a black eye once, and he always wondered if it freaked them all out enough to never try to mess with him – not that they would ever stand a chance against him.

In regards to the middle school hierarchy, Jason was nobody.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t really a kid. He just had the misfortune of also not being an adult yet.

He was just a poor punk from the Narrows, who just happened to try and steal the tires off the car of Gotham’s notorious vigilante. He didn’t belong at this snobby prep school.

But going to school was one of Bruce’s demands after making Jason his new Robin.

Jason just didn’t know how to make a convincing argument for why he didn’t need social interactions with kids his own age.

“Is this some kind of dare?” Jason asked Y/N.

She froze her eating and scoffed at him. “You’ve watched too many bad teen movies. What kind of asshole would I be to do something like that?”

But Jason still looked around the cafeteria, expecting to find a table full of people watching this interaction and trying to hide their giggles.

Y/N finally slammed down her food, sat back, and crossed her arms. “People at this school suck.”

“Uhh…OK?”

“I saw you reading Pride & Prejudice the other week. And you were wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt yesterday. You helped pick up Jill’s stuff when her backpack ripped open, while everyone else just laughed.” She paused. But Jason waited. “What I’m saying is that I’ve decided that you don’t suck.”

“Oh,” Jason blurted out.

“Do you honestly think anyone at this school even knows who Jane Austen is? And some dude in my English class tried to tell me Nickelback was his favorite band.”

Jason laughed at that. “How did you even respond to that?”

“I asked him if he was fucking with me and then the teacher yelled at me for swearing. And I told her, ‘How am I supposed to react to a Nickelback fan without using profanities?’”

Jason laughed again.

That was how Jason and Y/N became best friends. That was all it took.

Jason would soon find out that Y/N didn’t belong here just as much as him. She didn’t come from money – just your normal, middle-class suburban family. She’d won a full-ride scholarship to Gotham Academy, which was impressive since they only handed out one per grade.

Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne made one 30-second call and Jason was accepted – no questions asked.

Y/N was rather mature for her age, but it wasn’t the product of being Batman’s sidekick and fighting the criminals of Gotham City.

—

Any second Jason had to be a normal kid was spent hanging out with Y/N. Jason was at Y/N’s house all the time, loving Y/N’s parents and envious of the stable home Y/N got to grow up in.

It took awhile for Jason to feel comfortable inviting Y/N to the manor, despite Alfred saying he was welcome to have friends over whenever he wished. Jason eventually got over his embarrassment. While Y/N seemed in awe of Wayne Manor, the evidence of Jason’s wealth didn’t make her treat him any different. They mostly hung out in Jason’s room anyways. Or in the kitchen when Alfred made them snacks.

While they were at school, they always ate lunch together and walked to classes shoulder-to-shoulder any chance they got. They only needed each other.

They ignored everyone else. And in return, everyone else left them alone.

For the most part.

—

Jason should’ve known something was wrong when he heard the commotion on his way to third period.

When he heard kids start chanting “Fight!” his gut somehow knew Y/N was involved.

Jason shoved his way through the thick circle that was surrounding the drama.

He reached the opening just in time to see Y/N tackle a boy named Parker to the ground. The crowd gasped, not actually expecting them to actually go through with violence. Then Y/N lifted her fist and landed a punch to Parker’s face.

But Jason quickly stepped forward and pulled Y/N off.

“He’s not worth it, Y/N.”

Recognizing the voice of her best friend, Y/N allowed him to pull her away.

“Gonna let your boyfriend pull you away?” Parker yelled out.

Y/N whipped back toward him, but Jason wrapped his arms around her and held her back. “Y/N, leave it!”

“I’m not the one with the a black eye and bloodied nose, asshole!” Y/N screamed, only half fighting Jason’s hold. “Next time, I’ll kick you so hard in your tiny dick that you won’t be able to have kids.”

Jason managed to drag her through the halls with a vice-like grip on her hand.

Y/N scoffed at his efforts, “Where are you even taking me?”

“We’re ditching class.”

She shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

Jason knew exactly what exit didn’t have an alarmed rigged to it or any video surveillance. He also grabbed a cellphone in his back pocket and started to type frantically.

“You have a cellphone! What? Since when? My parents said I can’t get one until high school,” Y/N groaned enviously.

Little did she know, Jason had set up an AI system that would call the school with Bruce’s voice and leave a recording about how Jason needed to be dismissed from school. It was perfect for Bat emergencies. 

He had added Y/N’s parents voices to the algorithm a few months ago, having a hunch it would come in handy.

As soon as they were a safe distance away from the school, Y/N let go of Jason’s hand and walked slightly ahead of him.

With their freedom secured, Jason could focus on Y/N now.

“What did he do?” He asked her gently.

Y/N was smart and calculated. If she’d picked a fight with someone, Jason knew it had to have been caused by something serious.

“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.

Jason rushed forward and stopped her walking. “Hey, come on. It’s me you’re talking to…”

Y/N nodded, knowing he was right. They told each other everything, or so she thought.

Her eyes went to the ground, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. “We were in health class. Today was the unfortunate lesson for learning male and female anatomy. Mrs. Martin started talking about…” Y/N hesitated. “She started talking about boobs. Said something about when girls start seeing a change.”

“And?” Jason urged softly.

“Parker chimed in and said, ‘Or if you’re Y/L/N… never.’”

Embarrassed by her confession, Y/N started walking again – quicker, this time.

Jason jogged to catch up to her. “Fuck him. Only a loser asshole would say something like that.”

“Well…he’s probably right.”

Jason shrugged. “Who cares?”

This time Y/N stopped walking. “You don’t get it,” she snapped. “Every girl in our grade is growing up. And I still have the chest of a boy. My mom won’t even let me buy a bra because she says I don’t need it yet.”

Jason was speechless. 

To be honest, he had never really noticed. Y/N wore baggy band t-shirts or flannels all the time. He wasn’t exactly studying her silhouette when they hung out. But he never imagined that Y/N would be bothered by something like that.

“Sometimes I’d just like to…I don’t fucking know…feel like a girl.” She paused. “A pretty girl,” she emphasized.

Jason stared into her eyes. “You are a pretty girl.”

Y/N sighed and rolled her eyes. “J, you don’t have to say that.”

“I’m serious. You’re the prettiest girl in our grade, Y/N.”

That caught her off guard. He’d never said anything like that to her before. 

Sure, Jason said nice things to her. But it was usually him complimenting her taste in music or thanking her for showing him a new book he loved. But he’d never called her pretty before.

Jason, worried that he’d exposed himself, pulled her to him so he could give her a noogie. And the moment was broken.

“Jason! I think I’ve proved today that I will hit a bitch!”

He just laughed and playfully shoved her away. “Come on. I’ll buy you one of those embarrassing frappuccinos from Starbucks.”

“Excuse you! They’re not embarrassing. They’re delicious.”

Jason could tell Y/N didn’t want to talk about the fight anymore. So he thought distracting her was the next best thing. 

And, by some miracle, they returned to school the next day without any punishment.

But Jason wasn’t done yet.

Parker didn’t realize he was messing with Robin’s best friend.

Jason was patient. He waited for the precise moment when Parker would be alone.

A week after the fight, Parker turned the corner of an empty hallway and jumped when he nearly ran into Jason.

“What do you want, Todd?”

Jason took a step toward him and lowered his voice, “If you ever say anything like that to Y/N again – or to any girl, for that matter – I won’t hesitate to beat the shit out of you.”

Parker side eyed him. “Yeah, right.”

Without hesitating, Jason reached forward, grabbed Parkers palm, and snapped the index finger of his dominant hand.

Parker let out a screech of pain and fell to his knees.

Jason kneeled down to whisper in his ear, “No witnesses. No cameras. And I’m actually in gym class right now, running the mile. No one will believe you.”

Parker looked up at Jason like he was a madman.

Jason smiled and patted him on the head. “Remember what I said.”

After that, Parker never even so much as looked in Y/N’s direction.

—

Jason and Y/N looked out for each other, protected each other

And Jason may have kept his other life of Robin from her, but Y/N seemed to already sense that there was something Jason was hiding. It wasn’t just something, it was dark.

When Y/N started noticing bruises and cuts on Jason’s body, she grew concerned. But she wanted to observe and think of all the possibilities before she ever brought it up.

Then one day at her house, she made a joke and slapped Jason playfully on the back.

He hissed uncontrollably and his entire body froze.

“Jason?” Y/N asked with concern.

“I’m fine. You just surprised me and knocked the wind out of me,” Jason said hurriedly.

But Y/N wasn’t stupid. She quickly grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and ripped it up so she could see his back.

“JASON! What the fuck!” She gasped in horror as she saw the bruises scattered across his skin. She had never seen anything like it. 

“Shh!” Jason tried to calm her to stop her parents from coming in and then having her immediately showing them too.

“What happened?” Y/N whispered, her eyes glazed over with tears.

“Nothing. I’m fine, Y/N. I promise.”

“You’re not fine. And this isn’t the first time,” Y/N countered. “You think you do a good job of hiding them, but I see the other bruises and cuts, Jason. And don’t think I don’t notice how often you skip school because your ‘sick.’”

Jason stayed quiet. He didn’t want to lie to her. But he couldn’t tell her. It could put her in danger. And if Bruce ever found out, he’d put a stop to the whole thing. Jason would never be Robin ever again.

“He does it,” Y/N whispered.

Jason blinked. “Who?”

“Bruce,” she clarified. “He beats you, doesn’t he?”

Jason’s eyes widened in horror. He knew Y/N was weary of his adoptive father. She noticed how absent he was from Jason’s life, then took note of how cold he was when he was present. But her theory made perfect sense. And if the roles were reversed, Jason probably would’ve come to the same conclusion.

“Y/N, Bruce has never hurt me.”

She frowned. “You don’t have to protect him. And you don’t have to take his shit. I knew something was off about him ever since I met him. But I didn’t think it was this.”

“Y/N…” Jason began.

“Does Alfred know?” She couldn’t imagined him every letting something like this happen if he did. Y/N had grown to love Alfred almost as much as Jason.

“There’s nothing for him to know, Y/N.” Jason laughed. “I was trying to walk across the railing above the great hall and fell and landed on my back. I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed, OK?”

He knew from Y/N’s face that she wasn’t convinced. But she also knew not to push someone who was in the position she thought Jason was.

But to his horror, tears started falling.

“I just…I want you know that I’d do anything for you. You can live here! My parents love you and they’d take you in! Or-or-or we can run away together – just you and me.”

Jason hated seeing her cry. She rarely ever did it. And to know he was the cause made him feel sick.

Not knowing what else to do, Jason pulled her into a hug.

“I’m OK, Y/N. Promise. You don’t have to worry about me. Please don’t cry.”

“We just have to steal some of the stupid jewelry he has laying around and we’d be set for life,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Jason laughed and pulled away. “Bruce took me in. Gave me a better life. He’s protected me. I know you don’t believe me, but the bruises aren’t because of him.”

Y/N wiped the tears away sloppily and nodded, but they both knew that Y/N didn’t believe him.

Y/N didn’t look at Bruce the same since that day. Not that she spent a lot of time around him.

But Bruce shared a look with Jason when he received the first very harsh glare from the pre-teen girl. It ended with a very uncomfortable conversation between Bruce and Jason where the boy explained what theory Y/N had come to.

Though Bruce said very little in response, he was wracked with guilt. To learn that someone thought he had the potential to behold the evil he tried so hard to eradicate in the world? It made Bruce sick to his stomach.

———

Now Y/N stood with her head hung low, in a crowd dressed in black.

These people didn’t know Jason Todd. Maybe they played the part of mourning funeral goer well. But Y/N saw their performances still.

The only people Y/N recognized were Bruce Wayne, Alfred, and Jason’s older brother, Dick Grayson. She’d never met him before, only seen pictures of him around the manor. Jason always seemed disappointed when Y/N brought Dick up or tried to ask about him. Y/N got the impression that he wasn’t all that great of a brother to Jason. Especially when it was obvious Jason looked up to him and was desperate for some sort of fraternal relationship.

Y/N looked up at her mother when the priest was finished with whatever he was saying. His words were impersonal, sullied by religion, and did nothing to comfort Y/N. He didn’t even say one thing about what made Jason so great. 

“Can we go now?” She whispered to her mother.

She patted Y/N’s back. “There’s a gathering inside the house now. We should say our condolences to Mr. Wayne and Alfred.”

Y/N frowned at that. The last person she wished to talk to was Bruce Wayne.

She had been watching the man through the entire service. He was stoic and collected. There didn’t seem to be any sadness to be found in his eyes.

The longer Y/N watched him, the angrier she became.

“Please, let’s just go,” Y/N begged her mother.

People were making there way into the manor now and weren’t paying any attention to a girl, despite the fact that she was the best and only friend of the boy they were pretending to mourn.

Her mother gave her a sympathetic look. “Honey, don’t you want to say hi to Alfred. I’m sure it would make him happy to see you.”

Y/N knew her mother was right. She could do that for Alfred. Plus, he gave the best hugs, and Y/N could sure use one of them right now.

They waited in a sort of informal line. Y/N wanted to hit everyone in front of them as she was forced to listen to their empty and rehearsed sympathies. Bruce didn’t say much in return, simply thanking each of them.

But when Y/N and her parents were finally up, Bruce Wayne’s expression shifted.

It was the first time Y/N saw any sort of emotion from the man. He looked heartbroken at the sight of Y/N, who’s hand was tightly gripping her mothers.

Bruce, standing at 6’2, knelt down to be at Y/N’s eye level.

“Hello, Y/N.” He greeted quietly so no one lingering around them could hear.

Y/N only glared at him. 

If she were being honest, she was surprised he even remembered her name. 

But Bruce continued. “Thank you for coming today. I’m sure the past few days haven’t been easy for you.”

Then he cleared his throat. And Y/N’s brow furrowed at the sound. Was he trying to hold back tears? No, that couldn’t be possible.

“I wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to Jason. He talked about you all the time. I’m glad he had someone like you in his life.”

Y/N felt nauseous at how genuine Bruce Wayne’s words sounded. His eyes were even more sincere.

What happened to the cold and distance man she’d had little to no interaction with?

‘He has an audience now,’ Y/N told herself. ‘He knows everyone’s watching. He’s performing just like the rest of them.’

“What did you do to him?” Y/N finally whispered to him.

Where she got the courage to speak to an adult in such a way, she had no idea – especially one as powerful as Bruce Wayne.

Bruce tensed at her question. Was that hurt in his eyes?

“Y/N!” Her mother hissed down at her.

“It was you. I know it was,” Y/N muttered as her lips trembled and tears started falling. She thought she’d run out of tears, but this was her final outburst.

“Y/N, enough!” Her mother hissed again and then made eye contact with Bruce and Alfred. “I’m so sorry. She’s not…she’s not handling any of this well.”

“You did this to him!” Y/N yelled. “He always had bruises…and-and-and cuts! You used to hurt him!”

“Y/N!” Her father finally chimed in, completely stunned by his daughter’s accusations.

“I hate you!” Y/N screamed in Bruce’s face as tears flowed down her face.

With that, she ripped her hand from her mom’s grasp and made a run for it. She heard her parents yell her name, but she ignored it and kept running.

Bruce stood up, looking unfazed from Y/N’s hateful and accusatory outburst.

“We are so, so sorry,” Y/N’s mom insisted. “She’s never done anything like that before.”

Bruce held up a hand, stopping them from continuing. “It’s alright. Really.” Then he sighed. “I’ll have Alfred go find her in a bit. Perhaps she just needs to let out some steam.”

Y/N didn’t even realize where she was running until she ended up at Jason’s bedroom.

Her entire body shook with sobs as she opened up the door.

It looked exactly the same, like nothing had even happened.

Y/N walked to the other side and slide against the giant windows, curling into a ball on the floor with her arms hugging her knees to her chest.

She cried and she cried and she cried.

There was no way for her to know how long she’d been there. But her head snapped up when there was a knock on the doorframe.

Dick Grayson leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed and a sad smile on his lips.

“Hi,” he greeted softly.

Y/N sniffed and rubbed the snot from her nose with the back of her fist, “Hi.”

“I’m Dick,” he introduced as he closed the door behind him and sat on the foot of Jason’s bed, making sure to give Y/N her space.

“I know,” Y/N answered back through a stuffy nose.

“Alfred tells me you and Jason were good friends.”

“We were each other’s only friend,” Y/N corrected him.

Dick nodded slowly.

“I hate him,” Y/N mumbled.

Dick winced. “Jason?”

“Bruce.”

“Believe it or not, I know how that feels,” he sighed.

“Did he hit you, too?” Y/N asked with wide eyes.

Dick opened his mouth, but was so shocked by the question that no words escaped.

“Why didn’t you help him?” She followed up with. “Where were you?”

Dick knew she wasn’t asking what he felt like she was: Why didn’t you stop the Joker? Why was Robin all alone? Why didn’t Batman call you for help?

But that didn’t stop her interrogation from hurting him.

“I haven’t always been there for him,” Dick finally admitted. “Actually…I’ve never really been there for him.”

Y/N looked at him with bewilderment. “Umm…” she sniffed. “I should find my parents.”

When she stood up, something caught her attention on Jason’s desk.

Y/N’s hand shook as she picked up Pride & Prejudice. He was the only middle school boy she’s ever seen reading a Jane Austen book. It was one of the reasons she wanted to befriend him in the first place.

“Keep it,” Dick surprised her by saying.

She quickly turned around and gave him a questioning look.

“You should keep it,” he told her. Then he looked at the overflowing book case she was standing near. “Take whatever ones want. He’d want you to have them.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered through the bookcase. Her heart was telling her, ‘No, they’re his books. He’ll need them when he gets back.’ But Jason Todd wasn’t coming back.

So she reached up and grabbed Jane Eyre and then Frankenstein.

“That’s it?” Dick asked. Because he would’ve let her take Jason’s entire collection.

Y/N nodded shyly.

Dick escorted her through the house and back to the gathering.

When she saw Alfred, Y/N rushed forward.

Dick’s heart ached as he saw the butler immediately kneel down and pull Y/N into a hug. He wondered what the man whispered to her. Whatever it was, it seemed to comfort her in a way that apparently nothing else was.

Then Y/N’s parents returned to her side. Dick expected them to scold her for her earlier outburst, but they just seemed concerned and started making their leave.

Y/N looked behind her and searched through the crowd to find Dick again. When she did, she gave him a sad wave.

Dick returned it with a sorrowful smile.

———

8 Years Later...

Jason had been keeping tabs on her since he returned to Gotham. He kept his distance, remained out of sight. He would jump from rooftop to rooftop as she walked home from a night class. Or he would wait for the window of her apartment bedroom to go off if it was a slow night of patrolling.

He told himself it was out of curiosity. But he knew deep down he was making sure she stayed safe.

Jason was happy to see that Y/N didn’t retain her lonesome ways in her life after his death. He frequently spotted her having dinner or drinks with friends.

But Jason didn’t know how to feel when it was clear that Y/N had no romantic partner. Was he relieved? Was he irritated that someone didn’t love and care for her the way she deserved? Would he have been jealous if there was someone in his life?

Jason wanted to find her as soon as he was brought from the dead. Even when he felt like he’d gone insane, when his thoughts didn’t make sense and he was confused…her face still echoed through his mind.

But vengeance became his priority.

And with it, Jason slowly convinced himself that it was best to stay far away from the only person he still cared about.

But that didn’t mean her didn’t want answers still.

After his war with Bruce – or really, his attempted murder Batman and the Joker – Jason allowed himself to actually look back on his old life, the parts that didn’t involve being a child vigilante.

Still not on speaking terms with Bruce. Jason decided to get his info from another source.

Cue a month or so after his brush with Bruce, Jason blindsided Dick the next time he was in Gotham and slammed him against the closest brick wall.

Jason used to look up to Dick as a kid, despite his older brother rarely even giving him the time of day.

But now, Dick was quite literally looking up at Jason. 

While Jason died a 13-year-old Robin, he was now a 6’3 man who had the set of a heavyweight boxer. Dick might be more flexible and acrobatic, but Jason had brute strength.

“What? B tell all of you not to talk to me?” Jason challenged when Dick didn’t fight his hold or speak to him.

“What do you want?” Dick asked evenly.

“Why did you keep tabs on her?” Jason growled, his voice distorted through his helmet.

“Keep tabs on who?”

“Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

Dick finally had enough of being bullied and shoved Jason’s grip off him. “Why don’t you look her up yourself? I’m sure you have no issue with hacking every personal database of hers.”

“That’s not why I’m asking,” Jason growled.

In fact, Jason had already done everything Dick had suggested. Which made him see that she had made a third-party domestic violence report to the police a week or so after Jason had died. And she had kept following up with it until the police finally came clean and told her there was no evidence to support her claim and she was wasting her time.  

It seemed Y/N was the only person that fought for Jason after he was gone. She had just picked the wrong fight.

“Why did you keep tabs on her?” Jason clarified.

“I just wanted to make sure she was OK.”

That caught him off guard a bit, seeing as Dick never gave a shit about Jason when he was alive. So why would he look after his best friend?

“What? Out of the goodness of your heart?” Jason ridiculed.

“She didn’t handle your death well, Jason. She even picked a fight with Bruce at your funeral.”

Jason smirked behind the safety of his helmet at the image.

Dick sighed and finally put down his defenses. “I failed you, Jason. All of us failed you.” He shook his head as he got lost in a memory. “Y/N even asked me why I hadn’t tried harder to protect you.”

Dick’s eyes saddened. “I figured if I couldn’t be there for you, the least I could do was make sure the most important person in your life was OK.”

It wasn’t the answer Jason was suspecting, but it was all he came for.

“Will you go see her?” Dick asked as he saw that Jason was about to take his leave.

“We were kids. Things have changed,” Jason grunted.

“I don’t think any of that would matter to her,” Dick defended. “I think she’d like to see you and know you’re OK.”

“Mind your business,” was the last thing Jason snapped at him before jumping off the rooftop and disappearing.

————

Jason did what he said: he left Y/N alone. 

He watched over her when he could. But most importantly, he didn’t drop a ghost from the past back into her life.

But he also tried to find that ghost in himself.

Somedays he thought that Jason Todd was lost forever.

But other days, like today, he still seemed to live on.

Jason browsed through the books on the shelves. He missed so many of them when he was dead and then when he reinvented himself.

Now he saw books as a time to fill in the empty space.

He was lost reading the back of covers when he heard it. No, when he heard her.

Next thing Jason knew, he was walking toward it.

“I’m sorry, dear. We’re all sold out of that title. You should’ve reserved it weeks ago,” one of the clerks told her with sympathy.

Jason peered between the shelves and caught a glimpse of y/h/c.

“I know. I just totally spaced. I think I’ll just browse for something else. Thank you for your help.”

Her voice sounded mostly the same, maybe a bit more mature. But he still would recognize it anywhere.

Jason knew he shouldn’t move any closer.

But he couldn’t help himself.

He was just one aisle away from her now, only a bookshelf separating them.

He slowly edged around the corner and smiled as he saw the massive pile of books that Y/N was trying to juggle in her arms. When she tried adding one more, they broke free from her grasp and stumbled loudly to the ground.

Jason didn’t know what he was thinking as he jumped forward and bent down to help her pick them up.

He saw her blush, but keep her head dipped from the embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she quickly laughed as she tried to pile the books back together as fast as possible.

Y/N opened her mouth to say more, but the words got caught in her mouth when she finally met Jason’s eyes.

He wondered how different he looked to her. Could she even recognize him? Or was he fooling himself when he became convinced he was an entirely different person after being brought back from the dead?

But his questions were answered when Y/N looked in shock, only unfreezing when her eyes began to tear up.

“It’s not possible,” she said so quietly that it was barely a whisper.

“Everyone good? I heard a loud noise.” The clear interrupted loudly.

Y/N jumped in response.

Jason stood and faced the clerk, “We’re fine.”

But when he turned back around, Y/N had booked it.

“Fuck,” Jason hissed before carefully handing the books to the clerk and quickly following after Y/N.

She made it further than he would expect. He actually had to look around the streets outside the store for a moment before he could spot her.

As soon as he did, he ran. But he called her name before he reached her to make sure he didn’t terrify her more.

Y/N froze when she heard him and whipped around. “Who are you?” She asked roughly.

There was a moment, when she first met Jason’s blue eyes, where she allowed herself to believe that perhaps a miracle had occurred.

But now she only saw this as some sort of heinous prank.

“It’s me, Y/N.” Jason almost sounded like he was begging her. 

She then fully took him in. Yes, he had the same face. But now he was a full-grown man – and an extremely handsome one at that.

“I shouldn’t have spooked you like that. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been dead for 8 years,” she muttered.

“I know. It’s a…” Jesus. Jason didn’t even know how to go about this. “It’s a long and complicated story.”

“Were you ever really dead?” Then Y/N’s eyes flashed with a realization. “Did you stage your death? To get away from him?”

Bruce. She meant to get away from Bruce.

Jason looked around. This was no place to have this conversation. He couldn’t believe they were having it at all.

“Fuck. OK.” He quickly shuffled through his pockets until he found an old paper receipt and a pen. He quickly wrote something down.

“I know this is…a lot.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that reminded Y/N of the Jason she used to know. “If you want nothing to do with me, I understand. You’ll never have to see me again.”

He took in a deep breath and handed her the receipt.

Y/N slowly took it and looked down to see a phone number written down.

“You deserve time and space to…” he couldn’t find the right word, “process all of this.”

Y/N watched him as if she was expecting him to vanish like some sort of hallucination.

“After you do,” Jason continued. “If you’re willing to hear me out, I’ll be there,” he told her sincerely as he gestured to the number Y/N now held in her hand.

He waited for Y/N to say something, or maybe even try to make a run for her life.

But after what felt like forever, Y/N gave a short nod.

Jason gave her a shy grin as he slowly started walking backwards. He hesitated saying one last thing for her. But his mind finally told him, ‘Fuck it.’

“I’ve missed you, Y/N.”

————

Jason told himself not to get his hopes up. Y/N had every right to be horrified by him and wish to never see him again. From what Dick described, Y/N hadn’t handled Jason’s death well at all. What child could?

But when Jason got a text from Y/N’s number a week later, asking him to come to her place, he couldn’t help but beam.

Except reality then quickly settled in. And it reminded Jason that this conversation would involve talking about his past for the first time.

‘Suck it up. She deserves to know,’ he heard his past self screaming in his mind.

An hour later, Jason was knocking on Y/N’s apartment door.

“Hi,” she greeted stiffly.

“Hi.”

She led him to her bedroom. “My roommates aren’t home right now. But who knows how long that’ll last.”

Jason didn’t stop himself from looking around. Maybe it was a habit, all of his training of taking in every new environment with acute detail. But really Jason just wanted to take in Y/N and her new life.

That’s when he spotted the three books.

Jason immediately reached for one of them.

“Oh,” Y/N said sadly as she saw what he grabbed. “Umm…Dick told me I could take those. He…umm…said you’d want me to have them.”

“You kept them all this time?” He muttered, still looking at Pride & Prejudice.

“Of course.” Then a thought suddenly occurred to her. “You can have them back. I mean, they’re yours after all.”

Jason smirked at her fumbling. “No, keep ‘em.”

Then the tension from this strange reunion returned to the room.

Y/N gave him a heartbroken look and sat on the edge of her bed. “Jason,” she whispered, “what the hell happened to you?”

Jason slowly joined her on the bed.

His breathing shook as he tried to prepare.

But Y/N deserved to know the truth – the whole truth.

So he told her everything. He told her he was Robin. He told her how he died. He told her how he came back to life. He told her where he’d been.

The only thing he left out was how she was all he could think about when he watched the bomb tick down to 0 and he knew he was about to die. 

But the hardest part was explaining why returning to her wasn’t the first thing he did.

“It wasn’t Bruce. It…you…you were Robin that whole time?” Y/N couldn’t even seem to process it.

Jason just gave a curt nod.

“I reported him,” Y/N gasped. “I was convinced he had something to do with your death.”

Jason winced at that. “Well, if you asked him, I’m sure he’d take responsibility for it still.”

Y/N’s eyes glazed over as she tried to take another look at the past now that she knew the real truth that had been hidden. So many things made sense: all the injuries, Bruce’s behavior, Dick being a distant brother – all of it.

“Y/N,” Jason whispered. Her eyes whipped to his. “I’m so sorry for leaving you like that.”

Y/N finally allowed herself to cry. “Missing you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Jason didn’t care about keeping his distance any longer. He pulled Y/N into his arms, just like he used to when they were kids.

Eventually, her crying slowed and Jason knew he needed to finally say the hardest thing about this all.

“But I can’t stay, Y/N.”

Y/N wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“I’m not…I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve done things – terrible things – that won’t ever let me return to the person you knew.”

“I don’t care,” Y/N said surprisingly harsh.

“What?”

“I said I don’t care,” even though she knew he heard her. “You think I’m the same person after 8 years, Jason? You think that little girl didn’t face the consequences of losing the best friend she’s ever had?”

Jason didn’t know what to say to that.

Y/N wiped away her tears and her entire body shifted. “From everything you’ve told me, you don’t seem to have many friends – if any. So, sounds like you could use one.”

How could Jason have overlooked Y/N’s stubbornness when he anticipated how this would all end?

“I lost you once. I’m not losing you again. Especially not with all I know now,” she added. 

Jason didn’t even bother fighting her on it. Y/N had always been his greatest weakness. At least he knew that hadn’t changed.

“OK.” He agreed. “So what now?”

Y/N smiled at his surrender. “Now…we have a whole lot of catching up to do.”

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

Wow. I did not realize how long this was going to take me. 

Please, please, please let me know what you think. Reactions and feedback and reblogs are the only thing that keep me writing on here. 

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Pepsi Raspberry

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you

Warnings: There's a fight and Reader's ex left her with some issues, but nothing super traumatic. Frankie is super cute (and a little needy). I just threw this together on a slow day at work, apologies in advance for errors.

Summary: You fight with Frankie. That's it that's the plot.

A/N: This was honestly supposed to be a piece about feminism and female independence in a relationship but I can't be trusted around Frankie, he totally bippity-boppity-booped me into forgivance. Dickhead. Also I struggled for two and a half hours with the title and that's why it's shit. I hate titles.

Words: 2,416

A loud noise wakes you up, your heart missing a beat. For a moment, you're completely still in bed, scared out of your mind. That was definitely the sound of the front door opening and closing, and someone crashing into a chair. You're as stiff as a board, your first thought being that this is it, this is how you'll die, by the hand of a home invader who's probably going to assault you first and then kill you, or maybe kidnap you and do god knows what to you…

You hear cursing and as you recognize the voice you also realize that if someone wanted to break in, they'd probably at least try to be stealthy about it.

"Frankie?" You mean for it to be a call but it's just a breathless whimper. You wet your lips, finding your mouth too dry.

Heavy, staggering footsteps bring the unknown visitor to the bedroom door and you reach out to turn on your bedside lamp. Blinking blearily towards the soft light is indeed Frankie, a sheepish smile on his face.

"The hell are you doing?" Your fright-induced stiffness leaving your body, you sit up in bed and glare at your boyfriend who was supposed to sleep at his own place tonight after his night out with the boys. His eyes are unfocused and his face shiny, and it's clearly been a good night. You glance at the nightstand, where the red light diodes of the clock tell you that the time is barely three am.

“Sorry, baby. Did I wake ya? There was… there was a chair in the entry. Did you move a chair? There never was a chair there before. Stubbed my toe.”

He limps over to the bed, trying to look as sober as possible while unbuttoning his shirt – “trying” being the operative word, as he’s clearly lost control of his fine motoric skills. He ends up pulling the flannel over his head, but it gets stuck, and he topples over his side of the bed. You draw back a little, wrinkling your nose. He smells of stale beer and cigarettes and moreover: he was supposed to go home. You had both agreed that you'd spend Saturday night apart for once, him catching up with his friends, you with yours, and he'd go home where he could spend Sunday nursing his hangover while you got some cleaning done in your apartment.

“What you are doing here?” you demand again, anger replacing fear. “Can I send you to the shower or will you drown?”

“I’m not a good swimmer,” Frankie acknowledges ruefully as he clumsily rolls over in bed and attempts the next step of getting undressed: undoing his fly and getting his tight jeans off. “Here, baby, gimme a hand, you’re so good at this…” “You deal with it yourself,” you say sternly, in no mood to help. The whole idea of spending one night apart was to get a good night’s sleep – something you rarely get in the same bed as Frankie as both of you are usually too voracious for each other to think about sleep – and for you not to have to worry about a hung-over boyfriend the following morning. On top of that, you’re furious with him for scaring the shit out of you by stumbling in at three in the morning. You almost regret giving him a key but then again: if he didn’t have one it could have been even worse, he could have gone full on Stanley Kowalski outside your window.

“Ah, baby, c’mon… Don’t be like that. Help an old man out.”

Frankie tilts his head up and looks at you with imploring eyes, upside down from you. Half of him is hanging outside the bed and the rest is slipping off, and he looks like he might fall asleep any second. You might as well help him before he goes limp and ends up on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter and crawl over to his side of the bed before climbing out. As you bend over to pick up his legs and lift them onto the mattress, Frankie manages to slap your ass.

“Baby. Hey, baby. Let’s have sex.”

“Not gonna happen.”

You unzip his jeans and yank them down carelessly, pulling Frankie down the bed in the process.

“Whoa, wild thing,” he murmurs thickly, his eyes falling shut. “Careful of the joystick, you don’ wanna damage that or you won’ be able to fly anymore…”

You don’t bother with an answer, he’s not going to remember it anyway. You help him off with the t-shirt as well and when you’re about to tuck him in, he grabs you by your wrist with a move much quicker than you had thought him capable of in his state. He pulls you down over him, the other hand squeezing your ass.

“Sex,” he mumbles. “Love you, baby, and I wanna be in you fo’eva.”

You try to avoid the smelly, wet kisses that he keeps pressing to your neck and shoulder. While you can appreciate him being horny for you in any situation, you’re still mad about him being here at all.

“You need sleep and I want it,” you tell him as you squirm out of his hold. Returning to your side of bed, you ignore the puppy eyes look he gives you as you turn off the lights.

“Not sleepy,” Frankie protests weakly before he’s out cold. He starts to snore loudly and you sigh in exasperation.

You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

You barely sleep for the remainder of the night and when you finally give up and get out of bed, you're in a pissy mood. Not even two cups of coffee and the fancy bread rolls you bought at the bakery yesterday to treat yourself this Sunday morning make you feel better. You down a painkiller to combat the beginnings of the headache you feel creeping up on you before starting on your chore list. The clearing of the closets in the hall is the first task and you get to it, trying to find some satisfaction in the fact that you're getting your things in order.

As the hours pass by, you do your best to work around the tasks on your list that would generate noise, such as vacuuming. You may be pissed at Frankie but you're decent enough to let him sleep for a little while longer. However, you finally face the fact that if you're to get everything done in time for you to actually enjoy the rest of your day off and open that novel you've been dying to read, you're going to have to start the vacuum cleaer. If Frankie wanted to sleep until three pm he should have gone home.

When you turn off the vacuum cleaner, you hear Frankie groan in the bedroom.

“Babe?”

You're not really in the mood to talk to him but you go check on him, just in case he needs help to get to the bathroom. Nursing his hangover is the last thing you want to do today but you also don't want to clean up vomit.

He looks like a wreck with his hair standing out in every direction where it's not plastered to his skull, puffy eyes, and pale face.

“Morning.” Your tone is short but he doesn't seem to notice. He grunts and rubs his forehead with one hand, the other reaching out of bed towards you.

“C'mere. I wanna cuddle.”

“You smell,” you shake your head. “Get up already, I want to change the sheets.”

He groans again and retracts his arm, draping it over his forehead.

“One more minute. Or hour. It's so early and my head is killing me.”

“Not my problem, Frankie.”

Frowning, he looks at you, clearly bothered by the sunlight washing the room in light. You don't offer any explanations.

“Is there coffee?” he asks eventually.

“No.”

“Can you make some?”

“Make it yourself.”

He blinks at you, surprised.

“What's wrong, baby?”

You go to the other side of the bed, grab the pillow and start to take off the pillowcase.

“Just get out of bed. I have shit to do.”

Frankie sits up slowly, his head clearly bothering him when he moves from a horizontal recline to a vertical seat. He takes a moment, eyes closed and hand on his bare, soft stomach, before looking up at you.

“What's up with you?”

There's a hint of accusation in his voice and that does it for you. You slam down the pillow onto the bed and cross your arms in front of your chest as you glare at him.

“You scared the shit out of me last night, Frankie! I thought I was being burglared!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he mumbles, his apology meaning nothing to you because you can clearly see that he doesn't understand the terror you felt last night.

“We agreed that we'd spend the night apart, what the hell did you come here for and ruin my sleep and my morning?” you demand, raising your voice a little despite yourself. Frankie hates yelling. “Did you think I'd take care of you, tip-toe around you all day, serve you coffee in bed and junk food on the couch while you get to feel sorry for drinking too much?”

“What, no, what are you – “ Frankie seems utterly confused, the state of him most likely partly to blame. “Can you please keep your voice down?”

You pull at the duvet, stuck partly underneath him. “Move.”

“Jesus...” he mutters as he slowly gets out of bed. He stands still for a moment as if to recalibrate as he adjusts his boxers, before sluggishly dragging himself to the bathroom. You strip the bed and as soon as Frankie's out of the bathroom and heading into the kitchen, you take the sheets to the washing-machine and start it. And just because you're feeling like a bitch, you throw Frankie's clothes out of the bedroom, letting them land on the floor, before vacuuming.

When you're stowing away the vacuum cleaner into the cleaning closet, Frankie confronts you. He's now dressed but that doesn't help his half-dead appearance.

“Why are you being like this?” He's still struggling to understand you. It's typical Frankie: he always tries to talk about things, bring clarity into every issue.

“Like what? What am I like?"” You're being a brat, you know, but you have no desire to be an adult right now. Frankie really doesn't seem to understand: the frown seems permanently etched into his face and he looks so different from his usual soft, easy-going self.

“Mean. You're being mean!” The last word comes out harshly and you can tell Frankie's losing his customary cool.

“So when I have plans to spend a day apart from you and be my own person, I'm being mean?” you spit. He looks at you like you're suddenly speaking in a foreign language.

“What are you even talking about?” The exasperation is plain to see, and it somehow makes you even angrier.

“This isn't your mama's bed and breakfast that you can just check into whenever you feel like it, Frankie!”

“Fuck,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can't deal with this right now.” He pulls out his phone. “I'm getting an Uber.”

“Good!” you quip. “Fuck off home, like you should've done at three in the fucking morning!”

Without waiting for a reply, you stomp into the bedroom and slam the door. A few seconds later, you hear the front door slam as well.

[+++]

Sorry I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night. I just missed you. Didn’t want to go home and sleep without you. Call me, okay? I Love you.

You stare at the text message and feel bad, no, not bad: really fucking awful. It took you a few hours to calm down; hours that you spent playing angry music while finishing your list of chores. Afterwards, you didn’t feel that satisfying sense of accomplishment you usually experience after a good cleaning. Your head still hurt, so you went to your newly made bed which smelled fresh and nice even with the spread on top. You slept until late afternoon and woke up by the beep signaling the text.

You’re conflicted. The fact that he missed you is so sweet but there’s something about the statement that annoys you. He’s a grown-ass man, for chrissakes, and he should be able to be without his girlfriend for one single fucking night. And then guilting you into calling him with I-love-you’s and his fragile feelings? Fuck that noise.

And still. You know what Frankie’s like: physical, devoted, kind. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever been with. Not like your last boyfriend, who would pull shit like this all the time: show up at your place at all hours of the day (or night) whenever he wanted something from you. Sex. Comfort. Sympathy. Who would text and call you all the time when you were out with friends because he couldn’t find his way to the fridge without your help.

Reluctantly, you hit the speed dial button to Frankie, and he picks up almost immediately, saying your name with barely contained urgency.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi. You okay?” Such a Frankie thing to do, make sure you’re okay after a fight where, technically, he’s the injured party.

“Not really. You?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You mean the hangover or this morning?”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Both, but I meant the hangover.”

You exhale in an amused little sniff.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. Do you… wanna come over?”

“I’d love to. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. I’ll pick something up. Burgers from that place you like?”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of burgers but you’re more concerned with the sudden tears that rise in your eyes. Oh, Frankie.

“That would be great,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. Get a fucking grip!

“Parmesan fries?” he queries, but all he gets from you is a sob. “Baby?”

“I love you,” you sniffle. “You’re the best.”

“Aww, babe. I love you, too.”

You draw a deep breath to calm down, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst. It’s not like you, but it’s been a weird day.

“You still there?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Pepsi Raspberry for you?”

You start crying.

[mothandpidgeon]

Pedro from the Phone - Part 2

PART 1

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Pedro Across the Street x You

Summary: After Pedro tries to connect with you in person, he continues receiving mysterious phone calls but you have strange news. This is the follow up to Part 1.

Words: ~1600

Rating: all ages? (sorry this is not sexy)

Warnings: even more pining???

A/N: I really thought this was going to be a one shot and I liked the open ended mystery of this fic. Honestly I wasn’t even sure anyone was going to be into it to begin with. But I was totally shocked! I have never gotten so many requests for more on my writing and I am just a whore for your love. (OK that’s not entirely true. I wouldn’t write more of this if I didn’t think it was working.) Anyway, the people have spoken. So I’m super curious if you like where it went or if I ruined a good thing! 

(And I’m working on some actual Calls smut so stay tuned for that.)

---now

Your foot was bouncing uncontrollably under the table. Your heart was drumming. You’d ordered a coffee but it was impossible to drink it when your stomach was doing backflips. 

You were sitting outside the cafe in your normal seat. You’d been so excited that you’d gotten there 20 minutes early. You’d done your hair carefully and picked out one of your favorite outfits. You were going to meet Pedro. In the flesh. 

You couldn’t believe how nervous you were. It seemed like you already knew him so well, there was no reason to feel intimidated. But you had butterflies. Maybe it was because your friendship was, of course, due to bizarre circumstances. And those circumstances had meant you’d gotten to know him better than some friends you’d had for years. 

Life had been so boring before Pedro. You could get lost in the sound of his voice. And even though the phone calls baffled you, you’d grown to anticipate them— checking your phone over and over. You remembered how empty it had felt when the phone stopped ringing. You’d really thought you’d lost him forever. And you’d wondered if he even thought about you or if he had just been grateful the interruptions were over. 

But you’d finally gotten another mysterious call yesterday, woken up in the middle of the night like a dream. You really had thought you’d been dreaming when you heard him say, “We should meet up.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. Every time a man passed by, you wondered if it was Pedro. No, that guy seemed too skinny. Too young. Too short. Could you even tell someone’s height by their voice alone? 

You checked the time on your phone. 11:59. 12:00. 12:01. Your phone rang and you dove for it. 

“Pedro, where are you?” you asked. You wished you could hide how excited you sounded. 

“What? I’m right here,” he said. His voice sounded strangled. 

“I don’t see you. I’m sitting out front,” you said. There were no other people at the cafe that were alone. You spotted a man walking down the sidewalk but he wasn’t on the phone. Maybe Pedro had gotten the address wrong. But something in your gut told you that wasn’t it. 

Maybe he realized what a bad idea it was to meet an absolute stranger. Maybe your first instincts had been right all along. Maybe you should be thanking your lucky stars that you hadn’t just walked into the hands of some kind of creep.  

“I think I have to call you back,” Pedro said. He didn’t sound right. 

Your hand shook under the phone. “What? Wait,” you tried. 

Now you didn’t care about how panicked you sounded. If he hung up, would you ever hear from him again?

“I’m standing right in front of you but….this doesn't make any sense,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

You stood up, eyes searching around for a man whose face you wouldn’t recognize. 

“I don’t understand,” Pedro said. “I’m sorry-”

The line went dead.

Your mind was swimming. You felt like you might cry. Why would you do that? You didn’t actually know Pedro at all, you realized, and expecting him to show up had been foolish. There wasn’t going to be a handsome man attached to that voice. You’d gotten your hopes up. You’d gotten ahead of yourself. You’d fallen in love with a fantasy.

You stood there, trembling, clutching the phone against your ear even though there was no one on the other end. 

“Hey.” Behind you came a familiar voice. 

You turned around. It was him. Somehow you just knew it. He was tall and broad with dark hair, a few strands of silver. His strong, tan jaw was dotted with patches of scruff. He looked at you nervously, his brows furrowed. His soft, dark eyes were sparkling with longing. 

“Pedro?” you breathed, overwhelmed by the sight of him. None of this made a lick of sense.

He nodded and he broke out in a smile, looking over your face like you were an oasis in the desert. 

---then

“I don’t understand,” Pedro said. 

He was standing at the cafe, looking down at your nervous face. You didn’t have a clue about who he was, it was painfully obvious. And now he could see how anxious he was making you. You were edging your purse into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were someone else.”

He’d hung up the phone. He got out of there as quickly as he could. He couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. He’d seen you there, right in front of him, heard your voice. It was unmistakable. But it wasn’t you. How could you exist in two places at once? He sat in his car for a long time, staring down at the blank screen of his phone, shaken. 

He didn’t get another call for a week. Although he missed you, he had been so confused about the situation and so embarrassed by how much it had disturbed him, he almost didn’t want to hear from you again. But now the phone had decided it was time to connect you. He looked at the phone for a long time, frozen. At the last second, he picked up.

“Hi,” you said. You sounded cheerful.

“What the hell happened?” Pedro asked, resigned.

“It’s you,” you said with a quiet laugh. “This is so weird.”

You had trouble explaining what, exactly, was going on. You told him that he had shown up at the cafe except it wasn’t him exactly, not the same Pedro that had been on the phone. But the two of you had shared a coffee, hit it off. In fact, you’d just met up again for dinner and you’d had such a good time. 

“But-”

“I know,” you said. “You told me.”

He’d told you that he’d been waiting since that first time at the cafe, that he’d been talking to you, even still, for months on the phone. This whole thing was crazy. These phone calls seemed to have jumped the track of time or reality or something. You didn’t really believe in that kind of thing. You barely had to because you had met Pedro as promised. It didn’t matter why it had happened or how. You were just so giddy.

“I think I like you, Pedro,” you said bashfully into the phone.

It made his heart melt but he felt something else. Was it possible to be envious of himself? Some version of himself from the future or some other dimension?

The phone kept ringing and every time, Pedro picked up. It was still you. You spoke to him with even deeper familiarity than you had before. 

“How’s work going, babe?”

You were getting to do more of the things you had talked about.

“We’re going away for the weekend. Driving up the coast.”

It made Pedro even more desperate to be with you. You asked him a lot of questions about what he was doing but it seemed like you already knew the answers. You and Pedro, your Pedro, were growing closer. 

Pedro would go to the cafe every Saturday. He felt like he was insane, sitting inside, watching you write. Wishing that time would speed up so he could start living this life he’d been hearing all about. Sometimes he would see you laughing into your phone and he knew that you were talking to him, a conversation he’d already had. 

Some days, bitterness drove him to doubt and he questioned whether there was truth to anything you were saying. But then you’d mention something that made him realize you knew him like no one else. Things he’d never told anyone.

“You shouldn’t feel so insecure around your neighbors.”

Things he barely remembered.

“It always frightened you as a kid when the wicked witch’s feet rolled up under the house.”

Pedro had it all figured out and he knew soon he wouldn’t have to wait any longer. You’d go to the cafe to meet him and your phone would ring. It was all he could think about. 

When he spoke to you on the phone now, it seemed like you were distracted, distant. You didn’t always linger on the call the way you used to. Maybe it wasn’t going to work and all this waiting was for nothing.

“You sound down,” you said. 

“Just tired,” he lied.

He knew that you knew every intonation in his voice. 

“You can tell me, you know,” you said. “I love you.”

You were both silent for a long moment. Maybe you’d realized that that wasn’t something you’d said to Pedro, this Pedro on the phone. He wasn’t sure how to respond. His mouth went dry and his breath caught in his throat.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said and rushed off of the phone.

It was Saturday. Pedro went to the cafe and sat at the window. There you were with your coffee, your foot bouncing under the table. He was so nervous now. What if this went like the last time? You’d told him that this was what had happened to you but it was impossible to know that for sure. None of this could even be explained so how could it be guaranteed to work out in a particular way?

It had been almost a year since that first call. Maybe he’d been driven completely mad. 

Pedro ran his hand through his hair and steadied himself with a breath. You were on the phone, your head craning to see down the street. He wanted to touch you, to hold you against him and know that you were real. His heart was racing. He tried to push back the memory of the last time he stood in front of you. You were on your feet now, head flipping back and forth frantically. He went out through the door of the cafe. You still had your phone pressed to your ear. Pedro came up behind you.

“Hey.” 

---

tagging everybody that asked for more: @pascalslittlebrat @libbymouse @danniburgh @a-bang-for-your-bucky @fangirl-316 @metalarmsandmanbuns @mouthymandalorian @bisexualolympus @wheresarizona @rebelliouscat @pedro-pastel @sleep-tight1 @pedrocentric @tigpooh67 @christina-loves @dindaddy-ficrec @patternedlantern @freeshavocadoooo @yespolkadotkitty @221bshrlocked @purplepascal042 @starlightmornings 

[jisungsplatforms]

[Chapter III: Hyunjin & Felix- Certified FBI Agents (or b*tches)]

Pairing: Producer/Music Major! Han Jisung x Photographer! fem! reader

Genre: NSFW! Smut; non idol au, college au, strangers to lovers

Warnings: Mature Content! strong language, phone sex, masterbation (m&f) + guided masterbation, use of adult toys

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Taglist: @hyunjeongins @seungstarss @es-kay-zee @hyunjinsplaything @formidxble @freckledquokka @lbxgsunshine (want to be added? send an ask or a dm! <3)

Filthy. You felt absolutely filthy.

You met a cute guy through text- as in an unknown dude you merely glanced at a random party. You sent certain texts to the cute guy- as in, a stranger you just met last night. You masterbated to the cute guy- as in, a man you barely even knew. Worse of all, you’re still thinking about said cute guy and how he affected you in a way you’ve never felt before.

But you loved it.

The next morning, you walked through the halls with a tight chest. Your heart beat rapidly at the thought of seeing your red beanie cutie, or rather, Jisung, in person. ‘Why the hell am I so nervous?’ You gripped your camera bag closer to your form as you made your way to your chemistry class.

“Y/n!” You heard deep voice say. You looked up to see Felix and Hyunjin waving to you. As you were about to greet the two, another person called out your name.

“Y/n!!” It was from a voice you’ve never heard before. You turned around to see Jisung running up to you with a cute smile, his red headphones dangling around his neck as he ran. Your eyes widened. You were about to greet him when he ambushed you with the biggest hug ever. “Good morning, Y/n! It’s so nice seeing you in person!”

‘How warm...’ you thought as you closed your eyes and returned his hug. You had to refrain yourself from whining out a complain when he let go of you. “How are you? Did you sleep well last night?” he asked, placing his hands on your shoulders.

Your mouth was agape. You stared into his pure, star-y eyes, speechless. ‘No way is this the same dude I was sending dirty texts to’. He looked at you expectantly, head tilted, waiting for your response. ‘Fuck. He’s so damn cute!’ “O-oh,” you stammered. “Yeah! I did sleep...good...last night…”

“Awesome! Me too! I really had fun talking with you,” he smiled, his words seemingly innocent. You could only blush. Oh if anyone knew the truth behind his words. “Speaking of talking, let’s hang out later so we can get to know each other a little more!”

“R-really? I mean- great! Yeah, let’s hangout later!” you nervously said.

“Yes! I’ll see you later, Y/n!” Jisung gave you another hug before leaving, waving to you as he walked further away from you. You weakly smiled as you waved back. ‘Why am I so awkward?’ Sighing, you turned around to see Felix and Hyunjin gaping at you. ‘Oh, right. Forgot about them’.

“Morning guys,” you stiffly greeted.

“Uh-good morning to you too, Y/n?” Felix replied. “So...How did the party go?”

You glanced at Hyunjin for a brief moment. “Oh, You know. Same old same old. Loud music. Lots of alcohol. People getting drunk, making out, fucking. Kinda what you expect in a typical college party in those cheesy tv shows.”

“Okay, cut the crap, Y/n,” Hyunjin intervened. “Since when did you and Jisung get close? Did something happen between you two?”

Felix nodded. “Yeah, I have never seen you two interact before today. Something happened during the party that you’re not telling us!”

“What’s this? An interrogation?” you said accusingly, “Nothing happened! We just happened to meet yesterday and got each other’s phone numbers. That’s all!”

“Liar,” Hyunjin scoffed. “I know Jisung. He wouldn’t be so buddy-buddy with someone he just met in less than 24 hours- especially to that extent. Something happened! I know it!”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You wouldn’t remember cause you were dead drunk last night.”

“Seriously, man?!” Felix laughed. “Is that why you were complaining about having a headache?”

“Y/n!” Hyunjin whined. “Look what you did!”

“Not my fault! You kept pestering me!”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s stop now,” your freckled friend pushed you two apart. “We’re gonna be late!”

The bell rang, signaling the end of class...and the continuation of Felix and Hyunjin’s interrogation.

“Tell us.”

“Tell us.”

“Yeah, tell us.”

“Time to tell us~.”

“Come clean, Y/n~.”

“The truth shall set you free~.”

“Are you guys fucking serious?” you said exasperatedly. The boys corned you against the wall like FBI agents. Or more like those cliché high school bullies. Either way, it was suffocating. “I told you! Nothing noteworthy happened! We met, then talked, then texted, and that’s it! End of story!”

“Hm…” Hyunjin looked at you suspiciously. “I smell cap.”

“Something else happened. We can feel it,” Felix said with a sly grin.

“God! You’re both so annoying!”

The boys laughed. “We wouldn’t be so annoying if you just told us!” Hyunjin defended, making you groan.

“Geez…” you muttered as you rubbed your temples.

“Hey! No bullying in the halls!” You all turned to see Minho walking towards you three with an annoying grin.

Felix scoffed before chuckling. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Wait, Minho!” Hyunjin gasped. “You were sober last night. What happened between Y/n and Jisung?”

“They fucked.”

The younger boys gasped in shock, turning to you in disbelief. Meanwhile, you scowled at Minho’s terrible attempt at a joke. You sighed, “First of all: NO, we didn’t. Second of all, don’t lie to them like that, you asshole.” Minho bursted out in laughter while the other two stared in confusion.

“So...y’all didn’t fuck?” Felix asked.

“NO!”

“Then what happened?!”

“Why do guys wanna know so bad?” Minho asked.

Hyunjin pouted. “Because! It’s just a little weird how those two talked as if they’ve known each other their whole lives.”

“What? What did they do?”

“We just witnessed Jisung coming out of nowhere and hugging Y/n as if they were long lost lovers,” Felix explained.

“Oh?” Minho raised a brow, smirking. “What did you two do to make him act like that?”

“Not you too!” you cried. “Why are you all so hung up?!”

“Because this is Han Jisung we’re talking about! I told you, he’s a shy boy, so it’s just surprising to see him warm up to you so fast!”

“Right?!” Hyunjin said. “It took him a while to warm up to us! That’s why we wanna know.”

You sighed in irritation for the nth time. The once playful interaction was now getting on your nerves. “Alright, no more bullying Y/n, losers. Only I can,” Minho said, patting your back. “I was just joking with you all. Honestly, Jisung thought Y/n was cute so I did little bit of an exchange and they hit it off, I guess.”

Hyunjin muttered, “Still doesn’t explain why he was so clingy with Y/n but whatever.”

Minho shrugged. “I don’t know either. Connection or something.”

“Hmm...Fine,” Hyunjin and Felix said. You let out a breath of relief. Finally…The school bell rang again, making Felix and Hyunjin panic.

“Shit. Let’s go, Hyunjin!” Felix hissed, pulling the taller male with him. Once they left your field of sight, you turned to Minho with a tired expression.

“My Lord, I offer you my sincerest thanks.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I know I’m the best. You’re welcome,” he said smugly. “Now that they’re gone...Tell me all the dirty shit you guys sent.”

You stared blankly at him. “What?”

“Come on, you don’t think I know? I’ve been friends with you and Jisung long enough to know where this would go. Now spill.”

Your face grew hot as Minho continued to stare you down with a smirk. “Do I have to?”

“Yes! I hooked you two up, so I need to know the details! Not too graphic though.”

You gave him a pouty look. “No.”

“Boo…” Minho chortled. “You’re lame.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey. Be nice. I’m the reason you now have a fuck buddy.”

“Again. Fuck off, you little-” You stopped yourself when you saw a familiar figure with red headphones infront of you. “Jisung!” Minho whipped his head around to see Jisung walking toward the two of you. Your friend offered you a knowing smile. He wiggled his eyebrows at you, prompting you to subtly shove him.

“Oh, hi Y/n! Hi Minho!” Jisung smiled, nodding his head.

Minho waved. “Hey, Ji.”

“What’re you doing? Don’t you have a class?” you asked Jisung.

“Eh...My lit teacher is out so we have a free period today. What about you guys?”

“Same here,” Minho said. “Trig teacher out, Minho out.”

The two of you giggled at Minho’s choice of words. “How about you, Y/N?” Jisung asked.

“I, uh, have a free class.”

“Oh, really?” the blonde haired boy exclaimed, his eyes widened excitedly.

“My literature teacher is out too, so yeah. Boom, I’m free.”

“Wait…” Minho said. “Who’s English class are you guys in?”

You and Jisung answered at the same time. “Mrs. Jung.” Minho stared at the both of you expectantly, waiting for the realization to kick in. And eventually, it did.

“Hold on, you have Mrs. Jung too?!” You both yelled.

Minho chuckled. “Finally. How did you two not notice each other before?”

Shrugging, you said, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s a lecture hall filled with 30 plus people? Of course we wouldn’t have known.”

“Pff, still surprising though.”

Jisung gasped then faced you. “Oh, Y/n! Since we both have a free class, why don’t we hang out now?” he asked, his fingers twiddling with the drawstrings of his white hoodie.

“Oh right. Yeah, we could,” you said. “Wanna come along, Min?”

The older male waved you off. “Pass. Don’t wanna be there to see you two fuck.”

“Minho!”

“Dude!”

You and Jisung felt embarrassment run throughout your bodies, unappreciative of Minho’s joke. He, however, enjoyed the response he got from you both. “Don’t deny it! We’re all adults still in school. We gotta relieve the stress somehow.”

“Stop!”

“Minho!”

Minho bellowed out with laughter, beginning to walk away. “I’m just gonna go to the library. See ya, lovebirds! Remember, no sex in public areas! We’re still at school!”

“Hyung, you fucker!” Jisung called out as you sigh. As Minho walked further away, throwing you both a sly smirk as he did, Jisung started pulling you to face him. “Uhm. Sorry about him, Y/n,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You chuckled, “Nah, it’s fine. I know what he’s like too.”

“So…Since we’re both free for the period. Shall we?” he bowed like a sophisticated nobleman offering to dance with a maiden at a ball. You giggled, curtsying to play along.

“We shall, kind sir.”

Jisung smiled, standing up straight to meet your eyes. He started to walk again. “Awesome! I mean- excellent. I know a wonderfully secluded place where we may chat amongst ourselves.”

“‘Chat’?” you asked cheekily. “Are you sure that’s not code for something?”

Jisung’s face glowed red. “No!” he panicked. “No no no. I swear I didn’t mean anything by that! I just genuinely wanted to talk to you. No sexual innuendos whatsoever!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his shyness. “Relax. I was just messing with you, Jisung.”

“Oh,” he sighed in relief. You laughed even more when you saw his shoulders slump.

“Sorry, but you were just so cute, I couldn’t help it.” Before any of you could dwell on your words and grow flustered, you dragged him through the hallways. “Let’s go? I’m dying to see this ‘wonderfully secluded’ place you’re talking about.”

Jisung led you outside of the building, towards the garden near the back of the campus. “Oh wow,” you breathed, taking in the serenity of the area. “I didn’t even know we had a garden here.” You reached your hand out to run your fingers against the sea of Hydrangeas.

“Right?” he chuckled as he led you down the concrete path. “I didn’t even know about it either until the beginning of the school year.”

“How’d you find it?”

“I-uh-found out about it when I was hiding from Changbin.”

“Changbin?” you looked at him in surprise. “The sweet, muscle-y dude that wore all black at the party?”

“Pff, ‘sweet’ but yeah. Him. I’d...rather not talk about what I did to make him hunt me down.” Jisung shivered as if he had relived a horror movie. You snorted at his reaction, finding it funny. “Yeah...but ever since I found the place, I come here when I feel overwhelmed with life or need inspiration. So, a lot,” he snickered.

The two of you walked further into the garden until you reached an empty patch of grass. “And...here we are!” Before he let you sit, he took off the mismatched flannel he was wearing over his hoodie and laid it on the ground. “After you,” he gestured to it. You laughed as you sat down, finding the act sweet.

“Thank you!”

The two of you spent the last 80 minutes getting to know each other and it felt like it was the fastest 80 minutes spent. You learned about each other’s passions, dreams, fears, everything. Nothing sexual mentioned at all, not even the sinful deeds you’ve both committed the night before.

“Okay okay. Favorite color?” you joked, laughing when Jisung rolled his eyes.

“Really? Are you running out of questions?” he playfully sneered at you.

“Just answer!”

“Red. What’s your favorite subject?”

“Photography, duh. I am an aspiring photographer,” you lightly shoved him with your shoulder which made him chuckle. “Oh! Speaking of, can I take a few pictures of the garden? It’s pretty and I might need them someday.”

“Go ahead.”

You snapped some pictures of the different areas of the garden, taking extra attention to the pink Azaleas and other flowers in the vicinity. Wanting to ask Jisung a question, you turned around to find him already staring at you like a love-struck fool. The both of you blushed; you didn’t even remember what your question was anymore. You heard Jisung chuckle timidly under his breath. Getting the pictures you were looking for, you went back to Jisung, who was now laying down with his eyes closed. Finding the way he looked so relaxed pleasing, you snapped a quick shot of him sunbathing under the cool skies with the flowers swaying in the background. Remembering what you wanted to ask him, you were about to ask him your question before the bell rang. “Crap. second period already ended?”

“For real, right?” Jisung said, looking at the building. “Didn’t even feel like an hour passed.”

“Yeah…” you whispered. You walked back to where Jisung was at to grab your things.

“Where are you going?” you looked up to see Jisung sitting up and giving you his doe eyes- which made your heart thump.

“Don’t you wanna eat?”

“Nah,” he said as he laid back down on the makeshift blanket, closing his eyes. “I’d rather stay here and talk to you more.” You heard him whisper. You felt giddy at the fact that he wanted to spend more time with you. “Oh!” he quickly sat up to look at you. “But if you’re hungry, we can totally go to the canteen!” You lightly nodded, feeling your stomach growl.

“Sorry but I didn’t eat breakfast...”

“No problem! That’s why I said we can go!” He stood up and gathered up his things from the ground. He picked up the flannel and dusted it off. “Ready?” He stuck his left arm out for you to take. You giggled as you wordlessly looped your right arm with his. You snuggled closer to his arm, catching a whiff of his cologne. You felt so safe with him, despite only knowing each other for a day.

And that scared you.

You sat on your desk, writing your notes. The black inked pen glided smoothly on the lined parchment. The only source of light was the white lamp on the left side of your desk. Sighing, you stopped writing, feeling the need to sleep overcome you. You placed your pen down and rubbed your face. The chair lightly screeched as you stood up. You switched your lamp off then climbed to your bed, not even bothering to clean up your study space.

As you pulled your blanket over your body, your phone pinged. You turned your head to check the time on the clock. ‘9:57p.m.’, it read. Your eyebrow ticked in irritation. Grabbing your phone, you wanted to text the person the kindest ‘fuck you’ until you read the name.

Message from Min’s ho3

Seeing that it was from Jisung, you abruptly sat up to reply to him, internally cringing at the fact you were so desperate for him. ‘I need to change this dude’s contact name’ you laughed silently. Your phone unlocked and immediately directed you to the message.

Min’s ho3: u up?

Me: Yeah, I am.

I was about to sleep tho ngl

Min’s ho3: fr? dang you sleep early lol

reminds me of seungmin

You scoffed.

Me: It’s not even that early!

Min’s ho3: hmmm yeah it is... 🤗

Me: Excuse me?

Min’s ho3: jkjk

anyways. how are you? wanna chat?

or if you really wanna sleep, thats fine too

Me: Nah. I’d rather stay and talk to you than sleep

You smiled, wondering if Jisung would get your reference.

Min’s ho3: ohhh you make me blush. really using my own words against me, baby?

Me: What? Did that bother you?

What are you gonna do? Punish me?

You squirmed on your bed, squeezing your legs together after sending that risqué text. You were nervous if Jisung didn’t want to reciprocate your feelings...But you knew he would. Of course he would.

Minho’s ho3: it didn’t bother me before, not even a little, but now?

call me

In a flash, you pressed on his contact and tapped on the telephone icon under the picture-less grey icon. The texts faded and changed to the call screen. Your phone only rang once before Jisung answered.

“Baby…” his voice sounded raspy, sending a delightful chill up your spine. ‘Shit…’

You cleared your throat before speaking. “Jisung?”

“Nuh uh. Don’t ‘Jisung’ me, baby,” he spoke. His voice held an air of authority in it, causing your core clench around nothing. “Are you asking for a punishment?” You nodded your head, not even realizing he couldn’t see you. “Hm, baby? What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?”

“N-no?”

“No? Then answer me. Are you asking for a punishment, angel?”

“N-no…”

Jisung scoffed. “Well too late now, baby,” he said. “Take off your pajamas for me.” You dropped your phone and slowly stripped off your shorts and underwear. You kicked them to the side of your bed and shivered, feeling the cold air hit your wetness. “Off, babe?”

“Y-yeah,” you whimpered. “They’re off.”

“Good. Do you have any sex toys?”

You felt your face heat up. The thought of you revealing to anyone that you own them was humiliating. “I- yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then use it.”

You hesitantly reached under your bed for your dildo. Embarrassment filled your chest. ‘I’ve used it before. Why am I so ashamed to use it now?’ Before you could insert the purple silicone toy inside you, Jisung spoke.

“Don’t fuck it just yet, beautiful. Want you to tease yourself first.”

You huffed in frustration, not liking how Jisung stopped you but still listened to him. You brushed the dildo on your clit, sighing when you felt the stimulation. You continued rubbing yourself, your hips raising once in a while. Through the phone, you could hear Jisung panting, signaling that he started touching himself as well. The thought made you wetter. “Fuck. Jisung,” you whimpered, biting your lip.

“Not yet, baby,” he sighed. “Keep playing with yourself until I tell you otherwise.”

You wanted to cry. The feeling was good but didn’t want anymore teasing. You moved the toy from your clit to your core, teasing your entrance. You felt yourself clench when it touched you. “Jisung…” you pouted, wanting him to give you permission to fuck yourself.

“I said not yet, brat,” he growled, faintly hearing wet slapping in the background. “Keep asking and you’re not gonna cum at all.”

All you could do was to shut up, not wanting to piss him off any further. You threw your head back, toying with your clit again. You whined and moaned, feeling the beginning of your release bubbling. You called out Jisung’s name again, warning him that you wanted to cum.

“Close already, baby?” he chuckled darkly. “So fast.” You put more pressure on your sensitive bud, core clench rapidly. You were on the brink of cumming when…

“Stop.”

As if you were possessed by his words, you immediately removed the dildo from your clit, making you whine. Tears began streaming down your face at the loss of your orgasm. ‘That fucking sadist’.

Hearing your sniffles, Jisung laughed darkly. “Aww,” he sarcastically sympathized. “Were about to cum?”

“Y-yes…” you said quietly, trying not to back talk to him in case he decides to be crueler to you.

“You were? Aw, I’m sorry, darling,” Jisung snickered. “How about I let you fuck your dildo, hm? To make up for it?”

“Yes, please!”

“Then go for it, angel.”

Finally, you let the silicone toy invade your sopping pussy, letting out a loud moan as it slowly entered you. Hearing your cries of pleasure made Jisung throw his head back with a moan of his own, loving the sinful sounds that escaped your lips. He stroked his cock faster when we heard another moan from his phone.

“Oh shit, Y/n,” he hissed. Your eyes rolled back when you heard him, moving the toy faster inside you. Because of your denied orgasm prior, it didn’t take too long for you to grow close to your second attempt of a release. You moaned, your core clench tighter and tighter with every pump.

“Jisung!” you cried. “‘M so close! Shit!”

“W-wait. ‘Want you to hold it,” Jisung ordered. His breath was heavy, hips bucking as he drew nearer to his orgasm. “Want to- fuck. Wanna cum together, baby.” The thought of cumming together sounded hot. You tried slowing your movements only by a little, still keeping the strength of each thrust. That proved to be useless, however, because you could still feel the warmth in your lower stomach grow hotter and tighter. You bit your lip, feeling the need to scream.

“Jisung, please!” you were full on sobbing at this point, the need to cum was overpowering.

“Shit, ‘m close, Y/n!” he moaned. “J-just a little more!”

Fuck it. You snapped your wrist faster, hoping that Jisung would hurry and catch up to you. On the other line, Jisung was nearing his end, spurred on by the sound of your filthy cries of his name. His hand pumped himself faster, twisting when he was at his tip. Hearing your breathy moans and whines was driving him mad. It was addicting; so addicting that it was the main reason why he was moaning quieter-just to hear you.

“Holy fuck- Y/n!” Jisung cried, his dick spurting steaks of white all over his hand and stomach. Hearing him moan brought you to your own release, twisting and twitching as you cummed around the purple dildo. You called out his name the same manner he did. You shook, quietly whimpering, as you continued to ride out your orgasm until you slowly pulled it out of you. The both of you could only hear the sound of each other’s heavy breathing through your phone. Jisung was the first to speak, though he was still too breathless to speak completely coherent.

“Ah-shit. D-did you feel good, Y/n?”

You hummed as an answer, not having enough energy to do or say anything. The round cheeked boy giggled when he realized this. His chest surged with pride. He smiled lazily to himself. “Really? Sweet,” he sighed. “I’ll go now to let you sleep, yeah?”

You hum again in acknowledgment. “Goodnight, beautiful. Sleep tight.” You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of your phone beeping, signifying the end of your call. As you sat up to clean yourself up, you caught sight of your messages with Jisung.

‘Crap, what am I doing with this boy?’

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER] 📱 [NEXT CHAPTER]

[ohheyitsokay]

spectators

part 8 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

paring: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings: strong language, kissing, enough fluff for a rich person chair

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, the Frankie and you appease the people who have been invested in their relationship this whole time.

>>

Pope threw the ball straight up, and caught it.

Then he did it again – he was thinking.

Right hand, then left. Right, left. The ball was in the air less and less time, but the speed didn’t increase. Eventually he was just tossing it straight into his own palm, slowly, thoughtfully, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.

Frankie watched, not even nervous. Of all the reactions he could’ve predicted this was more or less what he expected.

“I’m proud of you,” this throw was for Catfish.

“Thanks.” He caught it.

“You’re fucking lucky,” Pope grinned.

“I know.” Frankie threw it back.

“When is the next date?” Benny plucked it out of the air, a strange look in his eyes. The rest of the team was already back in the locker rooms, but they had held Frankie back, curious. He had spent the morning practice practically glowing, playing well, but suspiciously distracted. Initially, there was an onslaught of teasing and questions and exaggerated berating, but now they had quieted, actually processing this, as friends. Will look satisfied, happy even, but Frankie kicked himself, remembering too late that Ben’s most recent romance hadn’t worked out.

“Tonight – she thinks the parties are bad news,” he said it carefully - Ironhead had been the one to start sharing their pasts with you, but it was really out there now, for you to take or leave. He moved past them towards the showers and he heard Tom snort, making an exaggerated whipping sound. The older man had listened to his abbreviated story with a stoic face, just raised eyebrows and his arms crossed. Frankie’s jaw clenched, wondering if he should retort, but he didn’t get the chance.

It was quiet, but Will added, “She’s not wrong,” in that even, reasonable tone of his. The tension fell, and then rose, sharply, a testament to the respect they all held for the first-baseman's opinion. Trudging through the hallway suddenly felt too fast, too dangerous, like the conversation should’ve stayed outside. A long moment filled only by footsteps as they all considered, before Ben spoke. 

“Can I come?” Frankie stopped walking, turning incredulously and Santi smacked the rookie on the back of his head. Benny glared, but without any real bite. “Ow, fuck you - I’d rather hang out than go to another one of those stupid parties, wouldn’t you?” He looked defiant, meeting each of their eyes and gesturing with both of his arms, goading them to answer him, to disagree.

No one did, not even Tom, who glowered, the leather of his glove folded into deep wrinkles. Will’s blue eyes met the brown of Santi’s, and his mouth hooked into a smile. Deep laughter went a long way to thawing tension when it was genuine, and it was.

“Ben, you can’t crash Fish's date, we can do something else,” Will took his own turn smacking his brother but it was a bit of a bold statement. There were days when it felt like they really couldn’t so anything else, like there wasn’t other options that felt real – but they should be able to.

Frankie dragged a hand over his face before groaning a muffled, “Wait,” and sighing. He cursed, not even aware of what language it was in, occupied by the thought of what you would say if you were here. It was ridiculous but it felt right, and it was an opportunity for him to slow down again. “Honestly she would probably love if you guys hung out.”

There was a beat, where they stared at him, before the debate began. It didn’t last long, hushing as they reached the locker room, but by the time they were clean and dried and settled, it was decided. There really wasn’t a downside to it and really, they were all figuring you out, too. The lure of your smiles and home cooked food far outweighed the temptation of loud music and sticky floors and girls too tipsy to talk with, at least this time.

In the lull between the practice and the game, Frankie tried not to jump whenever his phone made a noise. One date in, and he was already daydreaming about just driving to your house and just kissing you until one of you had somewhere better to be. But you had a job, and things to finish so you had time for his game that evening, and he was acutely aware that while you had let that incredible evening – yesterday? – happen, he would need to slow down. He had already told you, he wanted to do this right.

He confirmed the plans for the evening, smiling as you agreed to host all his friends, and then tossed his phone into his bag. Then put a jacket on top of the bag, folded twice so it balanced precariously. When it buzzed he made himself take a lap around the building, and wanted to bang his head against the wall when it was a random email.

And all evening the thought of you. The game rolled in, and he squatted bitterly, annoyed his position left his back to the crowd. It meant he couldn’t look for you, and James. Logically he knew, even if you had told him your exact seats, he wouldn’t be able to make you out unless you were close, but that didn’t stop him from wishful thinking. 

Catch, catch, walk, sit, swing, hit, run, walk, sit. Repeat. 

The game built, and tensions were high as the scores stayed close and the crowd whispered about playoffs. It was the worst time for him to be batting, the pressure too high to be on the shoulders of a catcher, but it couldn’t be helped.

He walked out, listening to the blast of an old song too familiar to recognize, and the rumble of the announcer.

Frankie looked towards the crowd, knowing you were out there and fruitlessly wishing he could see you. He stopped at the plate, shifting on the balls of his feet, feeling the dirt under his cleats and trying to imagine your eyes on him. His hands tightened, loosened, tightened again, the wrap on the handle of the bat protested the movement, and he tried to hear you whispering his name.

You were cheering for him, right?

The ball hit his bat with a satisfying crack, and he didn’t watch where it went before he ran.

-

James was stalling.

You were supposed to drive him home, as always, but after spending most of the game filling him in about you and Francisco, there was no convincing him to move faster.

He wanted to see the man who had kissed his granddaughter – more than once! – and look him over again. The sweet, elderly man could be quite determined, especially when it involved two of his favorite people in the whole world. It meant waiting until the crowds fled and dodging staff who would no doubt shoo you away, but the eagerness on his little, wrinkled face made him impossible to deny.

“Jimbo, you’ve already met him,” you tried again, listening to the shrieks of a fangirl. After the surprising home run, the catcher was in high demand, and it made your stomach twist.

You had woken up this morning still shy and baffled at what you were to him, what was happening. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, and you talked a lot, but not about... you, together. But James was certain, this was it, and he wanted to look Francisco in the eyes before he gave you his blessing.

His hand was in your elbow and you tugged, again, before withering under his look. He began lecturing you, about this being his job and you offered a compromise. This time, you weren’t invited, but you guided him towards the lobby where friends and family met the players, and when they let you in, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

Santiago found you first, and both of you got big hugs from him and the Miller boys, as they told you animatedly about how much hell they gave Frankie for bringing you home the first date. You barely got a word in, but you grinned as James joined their indignation.

In truth, your eyes were looking for Frankie, and you chided yourself at how much you ached for him, as always.

After a few minutes, Will pushed you towards the locker room, and you shot him a grateful smile. All the other players were clear, he told you, Frankie was being a baby about facing the fans. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, confirming that he was at loathe to run into anyone but you. They kept your grandfather occupied, and you knew they were in good hands as he was insisting he was hosting game night, that night.

Ducking into the hall, you followed the tile and the gaudy decorations, and found him.

Frankie, your Francisco was freshly showered, tshirt and jeans marked with drips from his curls, fiddling with his phone like he was waiting for you to text back. When he saw you, he dropped it into his bag, and your arms and eyes were suddenly full of him.

It was a crushing hug, he was eager and almost bursting with pride. You made a noise, you know you did, when only your toes were touching the ground, but he didn’t spin you around before he set you down.

He tried to pull away, he really did, but he couldn’t help but stay close, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were flushed as you congratulated him, telling him admiringly about how exciting his home run was.

Feeling him against you again was surreal. Mere weeks ago you had been watching him from a distance, and then burying ridiculous daydreams under the rug in your mind. And yet here he was, looking at you with the same softness as he had the night before, without regret, and like reality was better than a dream.

When he asked why and how you were here – not that he was complaining, you told him and explained about James. He only smiled, shifting closer to you again, telling you after all you put up with yesterday, he could certainly do this for you.

There was a pause, the air both clear and thick at the same time, and his head tilted, hands shifting on your hips. Thoughts of your family and friends and food slipped from your mind as his face drew closer, the tip of his nose tapping yours.

Brown eyes, searching your face, you almost felt like you could count his eye lashes. Frankie had little freckles, faint, spattered across the tan skin of his neck and face, and there were sweet little sparse patches in his beard.

“You know, we wont get any time alone, tonight.”

His tone was thoughtful, but he said it like he almost didn’t hear himself, and you could feel the edges of the words against your lips.

The hand on your hip slid up. Up and up, until it settled on the back of your head and he was pressing into you. Frankie’s kisses were deep and slow, like he couldn’t believe last night was not a figment of his imagination, and you wound your arms around him before you got lost in them. There were words in them, distant proclamations and promises and you pulled him into you, yearning to hear them clearly.

It could’ve been a minute or half an hour, between that moment and when he pulled away. With shock, you realized you had been pushed against the locker with his name on it, and his palm was cushioning your head.

There was a clatter of aluminum against the floor, and you jumped like caught teenagers. Then you were firmly planted on the ground again, and Frankie was turned around, shielding you like it was already instinct. Neither of you saw anyone, and his laughter was bashful and sweet. When he said you should probably go, and took your hand, you heard a genuine roughness in his voice.

Behind another row of lockers, Molly whispered into Tom’s neck, “Do you need to go, too? There’s that party tonight.” And he shrugged.

-

The environment at James' home was completely different than last time they were there. Things were less clean, there was less food, and everyone was twice as comfortable. 

It was strange, what really knowing them did - they teased you more, and breathed easier, as if they had never met someone who hadn’t minded it all. 

“Juice packets?” Will asked, confused at the drink selection, and you smiled when Santi winked at you. Tom hadn’t come but you thought it would be best to play it safe. It was important to you, that if they were choosing this over a party that it was lighthearted, sincere and simple.

“I just thought it would be fun,” you gave as your only explanation and he didn’t question it further. He did drink them three at a time, though, and when you laughed, you swore you saw his smile lines.

Benny was on your team, yelling and by far the most competitive, Santi and Will’s luck encouraging it every step of the way. They bickered like kids, bellowing laughter and rambunctious celebrations included. You made an extra rule – anyone who hit you with a pillow or playing piece had to buy you ice cream, next time the opportunity came up.

If should’ve been distracting, how James had pulled Frankie to the side to talk, but it warmed your heart. You didn’t need to swoop in and rescue him – they were talking like old friends, like Frankie was genuinely interested and invested in your beloved grandfather.

Every once in awhile, he would look up and meet your eyes, watching you with his friends with one corner of his mouth pulling higher. Once, you blew him a kiss and he scrunched his nose, like it hit him between the eyes.

Later, you scooted over to them, trying to steal him back, James leaned over and ruffled your hair before sternly, adorably telling you to let him have his turn with Frankie. When Frankie joined him, jokingly telling you to back off, you thought if it didn’t work out with him, Jimbo would adopt him. 

The night stretched beautifully late, before your grandfather lectured them on the importance of sleep and Benny spun you around in victory. There were stars in the sky, and you listened to their chatter fade as they piled into their cars, surprised at how affectionate you felt for all of them, after so little time and such unlikely circumstances. 

Frankie had stayed back, accepting goodbye hugs, and leaning against your car as you waved the other’s off. Of course, you asked, but he didn’t tell you what they talked about and he didn’t linger as long as you had hoped he would. 

His kiss was sweet and chaste, like he knew he had all the time in the world.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

[script-nef]

#bokutoisblessed | Bokuto Koutarou

Category: crack, fluff

2.2k words; MSBY fans dying over Bokuto and his family

Bokuto uploaded another photo

It seems like just yesterday little Hana was swaddled in his arms and now look at her. Like. Holy [censored] look at the [censored] post. 

Dudes like. She can walk now. Her steps are so wobbly but also so cute and my heart like????? Just exploded when we were gifted with the sight of her??? AND THE WAY SHE GIGGLED WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT HER MUM’S LAP A SAFJAKFDL I CAN’T BREATHE

Comments [Anon]: Honestly we the fans of Black Jackals are so blessed because we get to experience this joy and bundle of life thanks to our lord and saviour Bokuto Koutarou and his amazing wife, who will hereby be named Kami-sama. Because God is a woman I called it.

[Anon]: I agree with 97% of this, except for the Kami-sama part. She said it’s uncomfortable and embarrassing so we have to call her something else. How about Wife-sama. That should be fine, right?

[Anon]: Oh I saw that post Bokuto put up! Saying how much he’s thankful for the support but not to call her that! The upload was a short video of her turning red after he called her Kami-sama and it’s a treasure I will keep for the rest of my life. And into the afterlife. Death can try to pull it out of my cold, dead hand but I won’t let it. YOU HEAR ME DEATH???? YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS FROM MEEEEEE

[Anon]: Bokuto said Wife-sama is fine! Apparently she was still red and it was the cutest thing ever. Bokuto is so biased (*cough cough* whipped *cough cough*) but hey I’m not complaining. I don’t think my imagination will ever come close to the actual reaction but I hope it does.

[Anon]: Do you guys remember, when he just started dating her, how he flooded us with posts of her and her only? Like, practically 95% of my feed was her since he was putting so much of them up. She could literally be doing nothing and he’ll be like “HOLY [censored] LOOK AT MY GIRLFRIEND!!!” Without swearing because he doesn’t do that, but still.

[Anon]: OH AND THEN HE GOT INTO TROUBLE WITH HIS SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER ASKJDSKDJF THAT WAS GOLD

[Anon]: THEY LITERALLY PUT A VIDEO UP OF THEM TRYING TO TELL BOKUTO WHY HE SHOULDN’T DO THAT AND HE CONSTANTLY SAID “BUT I’M DATING HER AND THIS IS MY WAY OF SAYING I LOVE HER!!” LIKE BOI WE GET IT EVEN ALIENS WILL GET IT

[Anon]: And it started up again when she was pregnant with Hana. Like I could make a time-lapse video or whatever of her pregnancy just from the photos he put up

[Anon]: I honestly wonder how many photos he has of her and Hana

[Anon]: Probably a couple thousand. I mean like, I have a couple thousand of MBSY members but my love for them pales in front of Bokuto for Wife-sama, so.

→ Continue thread

Holy [censored] I just met Bokuto

Okay so there was news about a new resident coming into our apartment, more specifically my neighbouring unit. It was previously occupied by this really old couple and we had this small farewell party. They dropped hints that the new residents might be kind of loud but that they were great.

A few days later, my doorbell rings and who do I see? It’s [censored] Bokuto. Like, straight up. In his casual clothes. Exactly the same as the photo on his Insta page where he said he was moving. Which I liked practically a few hours ago.

He was standing there with the biggest smile and saying that he’s the new resident and that they’re giving out homemade cookies because of the baby and Bokuto’s volume. And invited me to a small dinner. And I’m. Like my brain. Literally. Like my brain is even blank now. Bokuto. Invited me. To his house. So I could have dinner. And see his wife. And little Hana. 

So I am here now, raiding my wardrobe to see if I have anything wearable because HOLY [censored] [censored] [censored] I’M GOING TO HAVE DINNER WITH BOKUTO AND HIS FAMILY I’LL REPORT BACK LATER IF HE’S FINE WITH ME SHARING THIS EXPERIENCE OKAY I REALLY GOTTA GO BECAUSE MY HEART IS BEATING WAY TOO FAST AND I NEED TO HAVE SOME MEDICINE

[Edit]: This was riddled with spelling mistakes because my hands were shaking from the aftershock.

Comments [Anon]: ???? What did you do in your past life to be awarded the opportunity of being neighbours with Bokuto???? Did you like, save the country or something? Is that what it takes to be blessed with him?

[Anon]: No you gotta at least save the entire Earth for this damn dude thanks for your service I guess

[Anon]: But if you gotta save the world to be neighbours with Bokuto, then what the hell did Wife-sama do to be married to him?

[Anon]: She saved the universe

[Anon]: But I think Bokuto will be the one to say he saved the universe to be with her that cheesy dork ugh I love you

[Anon]: LMAO I CAN HEAR HIM SCREAMING THAT

[Anon]: Are you back yet? Are you alive? Are you blinded by the magnificence that is Bokuto Koutarou and his family? I know I would be. So in order to kill me as well, TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED YOU CAN’T KEEP US OUT LIKE THIS I AM KNEELING ON THE FLOOR AND BEGGING FOR THE INTERACTION PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I BEG OF THEE I WANT SOME MORE SIR

[OP]: That’s really weird so stop that. I’m just about to go out now! I’ll spend the dinner over there, experience heaven, hope I don’t die of heart failure and possibly come back with a war story. If they allow me. Wish me luck guys.

[Anon]: GO BRAVELY SOLDIER AND MAKE US PROUD I AM PRAYING THAT THEY’LL BE KIND ENOUGH TO LET YOU SHARE THIS WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE

I’M BACK

Okay so that could only be described as one of the best moments in my entire life. Don’t worry, they said it’s fine if I share this. #actualsaints

So I finally found an outfit and took the chocolate that I was saving for myself, but since I can give my arm and leg for Bokuto what the [censored] is a chocolate, right?

I’m greeted by Wife-sama herself. Like. Less than a metre from me, saying “good afternoon” and smiling like the saint of tranquillity. (A side note but how do you have that when you live with Bokuto? And a child? My brother wants to know your secrets.) And she’s wearing what I think is Bokuto’s shirt since it’s way too big for her, I mean the end comes to her thighs. Sharing shirts is the most romantic thing a couple can do I don’t make the rules I’m just the messenger.

Anyway she invites me into their house, their amazingly aesthetical and cozy house. There’s a display case for all of Bokuto’s trophies, awards, certificates and everything. There are photographs of them together all over the walls, hung from strings spanning the entire house. There was a wall section dedicated entirely to Hana-chan. I felt like an uncivilised cave gremlin there.

Wife-sama was still making dinner and I was going to help her but little Hana-chan came to me. Like, she tottered over to me in the blue frilly dresses and tugged on my pants, babbling and smiling. Y’all I nearly died. I literally saw the gates of heaven and had a foot in but Wife-sama saved me by pulling me back into reality. By asking me if I wanted to play with Hana-chan. Which killed me again. And she was apologetic about it too? Like she doesn’t think I would give my kidney to spend time with her?

So I was playing with Hana but sneakily looking at the two of them being cute as hell in the kitchen. Bokuto was attached to her at the hip for the whole time except for when she asked him to get some ingredients. He was a puppy incarnate. They were sneaking kisses, whispering to each other and it was honestly so cute like I was getting diabetes just from one night. 

The food was amazing, the dinner talk was so fun and delightful, Hana-chan was the cutest little angel ever, this was probably the best day of my life. AND WHEN I LEFT FOR THE NIGHT, THEY BOTH HUGGED ME AND IT WAS LIKE BEING HUGGED BY CLOUDS BUT THEY SMELLED SO NICE!!

I shall never forget this day. Mark my words y’all.

Comments [Anon]: How beautiful was their place? I feel like she would go with a pastel tone or black and white. And have cute things littered around everywhere.

[OP]: The house was really unique in the sense that it felt like two houses smashed together. Like they took turns decorating each section of the house. Looked like polar opposites. It was kind of weird at first but the aesthetics flowed well the longer I stayed there, if you can understand what I’m saying.

[Anon]: The fact that Bokuto and Wife-sama are practically opposites in many things but still formed a romantic relationship with each other and the fact that their taste or preferences complement each other perfectly is proof that they are soulmates. In this essay I will

[Anon]: Where’s the essay. Dude where’s the [censored] essay

[Anon]: HEY MAN COME BACK WHERE’S MY ESSAY

[Anon]: NOOOOOOOOOOO THE SACRED TEXTS

[Anon]: Bruh just a kidney? Take my [censored] liver. Take my heart. Oh no wait, she already has it in her squishy widdle hands.

[Anon]: I bid my left arm

[Anon]: Right arm

[Anon]: Lungs

[Anon]: I really love my brain but I barely use it so off it goes I guess

[OP]: ???? Guys? What are you doing? Stop this illegal organ trade in my post.

[Anon]: Shhhhh we’re showing our love

I saw Bokuto shopping and it was so cute

I do not do clickbait, it was genuinely adorable and my cheeks are about to fall off. As was everyone else’s in the entire mall.

I was just doing some shopping, getting some snacks and popcorn for the movie marathon I was going to have and who do I hear? Yeah, it’s Bokuto. And little Hana-chan whining to Wife-sama about how she’s not getting the snacks they want. It’s from memory since I didn’t take a video, I’m not a creep and I understand boundaries unlike some of you assholes, but it went something like this.

Bokuto: But think of all the caramel popcorn we could eat! Hana: Mama, sweeties. Sweeties. (What an angel, am I right?) Wife-sama: I already said no, it’s going to ruin your dinner. Hana: But it’s tasty! Bokuto: Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase? I’ll do all of the dishes and cleaning today! Wife-sama: You already do that every day, Kou. It’s not much of a bribe. (Husband goals) And Hana, we have other snacks at home. Caramel is bad for your teeth. Bokuto: But babe! Wife-sama: I said no, and that’s it. Hana: Mama!

It was just this repeated for like 10 minutes with Bokuto and Hana-chan alternating their whines. I would have snapped after 5 times but wow, this lady has the mental fortitude of Fort Knox.

They both sulked and followed her around as she finished her shopping. I can tell Hana is Bokuto’s daughter because her hair droops down like his and a cloud forms over her head. It was practically magic.

In the end, they bought one (1) salted caramel popcorn because Wife-sama is too soft-hearted and they literally clung onto her for 5 minutes peppering her with kisses. And Bokuto actually lifted her in his embrace. In the middle of the sweets section. Where everyone was looking.

Needless to say, she was very very red.

Comments [Anon]: Conspiracy theory: factoring in Bokuto’s godlike physical ability, inhumane and endless sunny disposition, his hair’s ability to reflect his moods, it can be concluded that Bokuto is, in fact, a God.

[Anon]: Well someone has a big brain

[Anon]: Wait then Wife-sama would be a Goddess. Gasp SHE DIDN’T WANT PEOPLE CALLING HER KAMI-SAMA BECAUSE IT WOULD BLOW HER COVER

[Anon]: Oh yeah, it’s all coming together

[Anon]: I can kind of see Bokuto and Hana sneaking in sweets and snacks into the trolley while Wife-sama isn’t looking lmao

[OP]: THEY ACTUALLY DID THAT I nearly ran into them again and heard her berating Bokuto for sneaking in chocolate and shoving it beneath all the meat so she wouldn’t notice. My man, please. You can never outsmart your wife.

[Anon]: Next time I go to the MSBY fan meeting, I’m bringing all the sweets I can for Bokuto and Hana. It’s the least I can do.

[Anon]: They’re so cute and I can’t wait for the MSBY match in three days where Bokuto’s family is going to attend. I promise I’ll post about it afterwards.

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 18

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

NOTE: Third Person POV starts after this sign: " ✪ "

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

With Bucky, three short days felt like three months.

The next few days were spent oh-so-blisfully slow with Bucky constantly next to you, either naked or clothed. You were always at each other's skin and flesh the second you would close your laptop (you have been busy doing your end of the presentation you had to pitch in next week for Sam, after Steve gets you formally and officially fired). You’d be making out on the couch and soon afterwards, clothes flew around like money being tossed carelessly. No matter what the situation was, it always ended up with you naked, grasping each other's bodies, grazing each other's skin — in your bedroom, in the kitchen, in the shower, and on the living room floor. He wore you like a necklace, your thighs wrapped around his neck as you sat on the kitchen counter, him on his knees, devouring every bit of you. That time, you tried your best to stare at him as he ate you.

Tantalizing were his eyes, his mouth moving against your core. Legs shaking, you’d scream his name over and over again as you came all over his mouth, your screams clashing with the sounds of pots clanging against each other.

Then, you’d move to the shower where you had your thighs wrapped around his waist, your bare back against the bathroom's slippery walls as he thrusted inside you. His strong hands kept you steady the whole time as your legs trembled around him, making you weaker and weaker each second, like your knees had been struck by a wrecking ball.

He gave and he gave and he gave pleasure, riding you into your euphoria, into your oblivion. You were no longer the master of your body. You became his, as he was yours. You submitted fully to his godly control. The phrases "fuck, babydoll" and "you feel so fucking good" and "say my name, sweetheart" were forever etched in your brain. You kept the frustration of not being in control to yourself. You kept it all as he instructed you to say his name, say it louder until you could no longer remember yours, until you could no longer hear the dripping noise of the water droplets against the floor.

His face, the epitome of a god and a devil. A god that brought your voice and soul to heaven, so bright and glorious. And a devil that brought unholy things to your body.

As much as you had your thighs wrapped around him, you knew he had you wrapped around his finger. You knew it all too well.

Since then, you couldn't hear the clinking of utensils against each other or the faucet leaking or any kind of liquid dripping without seeing what Bucky looked like during those hours — knees on the ground, head between your thighs, body dripping with water along with your juices. And how he made you feel. God, the thought of him alone already brought you to heaven.

Afraid that you won't be able to get your mind (and body) off of Bucky, you texted Nat to meet you in a coffee shop a few blocks away from the apartment, hoping she could accompany you while working on the pitch deck. If you spent one more time with Bucky with your presentation undone you would be — well... Either way, you would be screwed.

This morning, you left a note on the nightstand, letting Bucky know you were with Nat. You planted a fleeting kiss on his forehead one last time, smiling at him, hating to leave his side, before heading out to meet with Nat who was almost an hour late, anyway. Still, you didn't get much done, missing Bucky's presence.

Then the hopes of getting your mind off my man went down the drain, hearing the clinking of glasses and the dripping liquid from espresso machines on the café counter. You bit your lip, staring at the laptop screen in front. Your screams echoed on the walls of your brain, together with morphed images of you and Bucky leaving your traces everywhere in the apartment, tainting lust everywhere. You bit your lower lip harder. A sudden rush of heat climbing on your body, from your toes, to your thighs, and your center.

Why didn't I just go to the public library?

"... Y/n? Hello? Earth to y/n?"

The images vanished like dust in the wind, and were replaced by Nat snapping her fingers on your face. Bucky's voice, together with yours that were echoing in your mind soon became faint street noise, along with the café's playlist. "Are you okay?" She asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

With your throat dry, you cleared your throat (which hurt even more). "Y-yeah." You finally managed to say. "Yeah, no, I was just having a tiny problem. You know what, I'm thirsty," You tapped a waitress' shoulder, "Hi, can I please have a glass of cold water? Thank you."

With that, she nodded and turned around, fetching what you needed. As soon as she handed you the glass, you immediately downed the whole thing but it still didn't quench your thirst.

"Is he riding you?"

You nearly choked on your water, hearing Nat's question. "W-what?"

"Sam Wilson. I mean, the work. With Sam?" Nat frowned, stirring her cup of coffee. "Is he?"

"Oh no, not at all! He's been really great and very appreciative." You replied. "But he has this assistant who's a complete total bitch. Even Bucky doesn't like her."

"Oohhh, interesting." she said. "Tell me all about it."

Thankfully, telling Nat about the meeting that happened three days ago did get your mind off Bucky. Highlighting the little banter you and Sharon had in line with the models and the whole marketing strategy was Nat's favorite. Of course, Nat lived for the drama. Especially if it were others'. To her, you were just characters on a television show. Now, all she needed was a bucket of popcorn.

"You should've seen the whole thing, Nat." You smirked. "The look on her face when Sam agreed with me? Priceless!"

"Wow, you ate her up." Nat chuckled. "Now, I'm sad I missed the show. If I were there, I would've taken a photo of her disappointed, sad ass and had it framed and had it hung on the bar. Steve would approve of it."

You raised your eyebrows, shaking your head. Even though that was pretty badass of you to do, Sharon was a woman living in a man's world and as you thought about that encounter, she was just doing her job. If she were a man, you would've still said the same thing. "Too harsh. A little cheer would suffice."

Nat rolled her eyes. "Like a woop, woop?"

"I mean not literally but sure. Whatever floats your little boat."

"Peter was right. You're a boring old hag." A sip of coffee. "Hey, how's the little skipper, anyway? I miss that little kid."

You fowned. She always had a nickname for Peter. If it's not skipper, it's slugger, or sport, or tiger, or any nickname for a kid you could think of. "You know he's just as young as I am, right?"

"The guy looks like a kid and sometimes acts like one." Nat pursed her lips, pointing it out. "So, when's he getting back from his corporate retreat?"

The last you heard from Peter was yesterday when he sent photos of him and the rest of his team somewhere by the lake. He looked a bit worn-out by the deep bags under his eyes but his wide smile said otherwise. Winston Schimdt was with him in all the photos, hair still perfectly gelled, spiking up in one direction. You wondered how much gel he always had to consume. And then felt sad for his sticky hair.

"Some time on Tuesday, I think." Then, you showed the photos to Nat who carelessly took the phone from your hands.

"Where on earth is this?"

You shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I couldn't even pin his location. It seems like he's literally off the radar."

"Maybe he's in a galaxy far, far away." Nat joked, remembering Peter's fondness for Star Wars. "What do you even do on a corporate retreat? Think about money?"

"I don't know but whatever it is, he says it'll help keep his mind off things." You said, leaving out the part that Peter was, dare you say, "lovesick." You honestly didn't mind telling it to her but you just knew that she'd ask you a bunch of questions you don't even know the answers to.

Nat nodded while scrolling mindlessly on your phone like it was her own. You tried to get it back but she gripped it tighter.

"Hope Bucky's taking care of you? Oh," she lifted her eyes back to yours, the light on your screen illuminating her smirking face, "he's taking care of you, alright. I heard you two haven't been able to keep your hands off each other. You're like... leeches."

"Ew. Think of another metaphor." You scrunched your nose up, cringing.

Nat took it way too seriously, thinking off into the far distance. "Barnacles on a boat?"

"No."

"Sorry, that's all I can think of."

You chuckled. "Where did you hear that, anyway?"

"I didn't."

"So, how did you — "

"Remember how you found out about me and Steve?" She cut you off.

You hid your face on your palms as soon as the realization dawned on you. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." She took another sip of her hot coffee, her eyes fixed on you. "Babydoll, you've been wearing him like a damn perfume since day one and you love it."

And just when you thought you had kept Bucky away from your mind, there he was again, slithering his way back. The images flashed back, like a montage in a romance film — however cliche that sounded.

"Well, I don't not love it." You shied away, looking down on your shoes which still had a tiny bit of mud from your previous running sessions.

"So, you two are dating now?"

You sheepishly nodded your head, avoiding her stare. You told her about that same day you had your meeting: Sam's confrontation and the conversation you and Bucky had that night. As much as you didn't want to put a label on things, and as much as you hated the god-awful "talk", you fat did it anyway, under the stars as you lied on your backs in that little tent of yours.

"Sometimes, I think," Bucky traced the stars in the pitch-black skies with his finger, "that the stars aligned for us." He finished by poking your nose which elicited a giggle from you. A weird sound you only used with Bucky, and for Bucky.

You turned around and wrapped your arm around his torso. "You're getting cheesier and cheesier each day, Mr. Barnes."

"You bring it out of me, doll." He chuckled.

"Hey, why do you call me doll?" You asked in a whisper. "I'm sure as hell do not look like one."

He looked at you and traced your jaw with his finger, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. "Dolls are sweet yet fun to play with. Remember when I made you that drink? You said it tasted fruity and minty — "

"Fruity and minty." You laughed, reminiscing.

"And I've never played with quite a doll before." Then, he met your eyes. "Then, you happened."

"When you say play, not like, playing with my feelings, right? 'Cause you know this doll can punch, James. I won't hesitate."

"Don't worry, y/n." he kissed the tip of your nose.

The word "dating" wasn't explicit at that moment, but you didn't need to, anyway. All you needed to hear from him was the next words he uttered:

"I won't give you any reason to."

"What have you guys been doing when you're not having sex, anyway?"

"Nat." You scolded but answered anyway. "We watch movies."

"Boring."

"Oh, you know what's a good movie?" You asked, ignoring Nat's little comment. "The Grand Budapest Hotel."

"It's Budapesht."

You tilted your head to the side, frowning. "I'm pretty sure it's Budapest. 'Cause y'know, Budapest is the Budabest."

"No. Budapesht." She insisted.

"Budapesht is the Budabesht?" She nodded. "Yeah, that doesn't sit right with me. I'm gonna stick with Budapest."

"Anyway... will you tell Peter about you two when he gets back from... wherever the hell he is?"

"Well, yeah of course. It's Parker." You replied, chewing your inner cheek. "But not right away." Bucky's words echoed in yours.

"Oh, you're gonna butter him up." Nat chuckled, finishing her cup of coffee. "I know how. Give him free drinks for life."

"Even if I wanted to, I can't 'cause last night was my last shift at the bar." You smiled proudly, thinking back to the last drink you ever made last night. Everyone was there to witness it — except Sam. When you sent the photos to Peter, you were bombarded with a series of questions that you promised to answer once he gets back.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Nat suddenly exclaimed, catching other people's attention, clearly annoyed with her. She stifled a giggle, looking away from them. "That reminds me." She said it quietly this time. "We're throwing you a little party tonight. Steve's idea."

"Like a surprise party?"

"Well, it's not a surprise anymore 'cause I blabbed. So, act surprised when you get there and finish up your presentation."

You posed no further questions, the idea of a surprise party warming your heart. You just smiled at Nat, and got back to the laptop screen. "Yes, ma'am."

Later that night, you did as you were instructed to do as you opened the door to the bar: act surprised. "Oh my god, you guys!" You exclaimed, putting on a wide smile on your face. The small party might have been a surprise but the decorations put up wasn't. Hanging from the ceiling on multiple threads were your photos which used to be on the walls.

Every single one of them.

Below were everyone waiting —Nat, Steve, Nick, Bucky and even Sam — and watching your reaction as you adored the whole set-up. Steve was the first one to approach you, enveloping you in a hug.

"Oh my god, Steve." You muttered, hugging him back.

"Surprised?"

"Not really." You pulled away. "A pretty little number may have told me." you said, looking over at Nat who already had a beer in her hand. She acknowledged you by winking.

"Natasha." Steve sighed, also looking at Nat. Caught, she turned around and took a big gulp of her beer.

You began to walk towards the little group; an odd combination of people, you might as well add. "This is amazing, Steve."

"The whole party was my idea but these photos?" He said, pushing you carefully towards Bucky's direction who took delight in your expression. "Was your man's."

You walked towards Bucky, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Hey, you."

"Hey, doll." He greeted, kissing your cheek. "Like the place?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it!" With your arm still around his neck, you admired the photos hanging from the ceiling once more. Bucky let you go, greeting the others as well.

Nick engulfed you in a hug, and whispered. "If he hurts you, I'll kick his ass."

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Nick, you can't even hurt a fly. But thanks, anyway. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"You better." He said. “We actually got acquainted while we were decorating the place. He's a good man, y/n. It's a good thing you didn't go out with me."

"If you want, I'll set you up with Parker." You joked.

"Ha-ha, you're a very funny girl."

With all the tables drawn towards one side of the bar, a big space on the center was in view, perfect for dancing or any kind of performance you could possibly think of. You all went towards one of the largest booths that could accommodate all of you. On the table were a bunch of American food — wings, fries, burger, you name it. And of course, cold beer.

While eating and finishing your first bottle of beer, you asked the group to settle a tiny debate, which Nat didn't like.

"It's Budapesht!" Nat exclaimed, insistent. A crack on her voice was evident.

"Budapest!" Nick boomed, downing his first bottle. "Don't you know how to spell? It's clearly Budapest!"

"I told you, it's not Budapesht! Budapesht is not the Budabest. Budapest is!" You argued with Nat, high-giving Nick. "Team Budapest for the win!"

"Take it easy there, honey." Bucky chuckled, grabbing you by the waist.

"Budapesht!"

"Budapest!" You and Nick exclaimed.

"I'm Russian, it's Budapesht!"

"Bup-bup-bup-bup." Sam butted in, one elbow on the table, a finger pointing up the ceiling. "If there's a swarm of termites in my house, do I call the pest control, or the pesht control?"

"Ha! Budapest wins!" You yelled which annoyed Nat to no end. She threw a stick of fries to your face. "Hey!"

"Come to Russia." She said in an accent. "I dare you."

You all broke out in a laugh.

After eating most of the food, Steve stood up, retrieving something from the back of the bar. When he came out, a big karaoke machine was wheeled in. "Rented this baby for a special occasion." Steve said proudly, slapping the top of the karaoke machine. On his other hand was "Who wants to go first?"

"Hell yeah, I'd go first!" Sam shouted.

You couldn't even begin to describe the first few hours of that night. Sam and Nick were the most wasted among all of us, quickly developing a weird friendship. They hogged the karaoke machine the most, singing duets, singing a LOT of Adele, and Lady Gaga. At one point, Sam even sang a Taylor Swift classic, We are Never Ever Getting Back Together, and made a weird "weeee" sound while singing the song which cracked you all up. Steve sang an old mellow song. Nat sang American Pie, her raspy voice blending all too well with the melody. The only people left who haven't got a chance to sing and dance on the floor were you and Bucky.

"Come on, you lovebirds!" Sam groaned, shoving the songbook in front of your faces.

The others joined in a chant, finally convincing you and Bucky. You stood up, hand in hand, and approached the machine. "Wait, before we start," Bucky said, holding up a bottle of beer, "let me raise a toast to the girl I like most — "

"Oh, Bucky."

"To y/n!" He said your name proudly, raising his bottle. The others did as well, saying your name.

"And to Steve!" You raised your own. "For having the guts to fire me."

"To Steve!"

"And to you," you turned towards Bucky, "for believing in me."

"Oh, cut the crap already!" Nat shouted, cupping her mouth with her hands. "Sing, bitches!"

And on cue, Bucky punched in some numbers. A familiar melody came out, which made you shake your head at Bucky. "Oh god no."

"You love this song!" Bucky said.

"No, you love this song!"

He started to sing the first verses and when he almost came to the chorus, he offered his hand. "Come on, doll. Sing it with me... Now, I've got you in my sights. With these..."

"Hungry eyes!" You finally gave him, letting him pull you towards his body so you can share the microphone.

"One look at you and I can't disguise!"

"I've got hungry eyes. I feel the magic between you and I!"

"I feel the magic between you and I!"

You continued to sing, your backs facing the door. Suddenly, another voice chimed in, making you and Bucky turn around.

"Hey, guys!" Peter closed the door behind him, dropping his bags on the floor. "What did I miss?"

✪

On a high-rise building in the Upper East Side, Tony Stark of Stark Industries sat on his office chair, looking over the never-sleeping New York City. He watched the cars and people go by, like watching ants do their work in an ant-farm. So tiny. He thought, happily sitting on his empire he had been building for decades. He watched in amusement as more and more car lights appeared. The hues of red and yellow looked like teeny little dots in his view, which reminded him of stars, making himself the glimmering moon which stood high up on the skies, unreachable yet adored by the many.

A knock on the door interrupted his high. "Come in." Tony said.

A tall figure walked in, with legs that could go for miles and with hair as golden as the sun. "Sir." He spoke.

Tony didn't turn around in his chair, rather he looked at the tall glass windows in front of him. The city lights became blurry. All Tony could see now was his reflection staring back at him, and Jarvis'. He glanced at Jarvis on his right, then back at his own. "Jarvis." He acknowledged. "You have something for me, I believe."

"Yes, sir." Jarvis replied, the English accent heavy on his tone. "But I'm afraid you're not going to like it."

A frown started to form on Tony's face. "James?"

"Yes, sir." The tall blonde replied.

Bucky had been missing quite some appointments with potential partners and investors. Not that he did most of the work, anyway. He would sit in on meetings on end, letting his assistant or Leonard, his concierge, deal with the negotiations. In the end, Bucky gets most of the profit "running" the hotel. He was merely a figure, a presence needed for signatures on piles of papers. But he would know if he was being undermined, if he was being scammed. He knew how to handle business but he just chooses not to. No one knew this, of course, not even Peter; except the parties involved on Bucky's side and Tony Stark. Tony lets it slide, only because the White Wolf had been improving the past years but God did he hate that name.

"I gave you that hotel and no way in hell are you changing the name." Tony sternly said. They were eating dinner at a fancy restaurant in the Upper East Side.

Bucky's treat to butter him up for his good news. Well, good news for Bucky but not so much for Tony.

"I knew you'd say that." Bucky replied. "That's why I went ahead and scrapped the old name and changed it into something new while the renovation was happening."

"Oh, James." Tony sighed, his knife stopping midway through the juicy steak. "What's the name?"

"White Wolf."

"Oh for fuck's sakes."

"Mr. Stark?" Jarvis repeated for the third time, finally grabbing Tony's attention.

"Sorry." He replied. "So, what is it? What did you find?"

"Mr. Barnes has been seeing a girl."

Tony rolled his eyes and finally turned around in his chair, looking at Jarvis. "He's always seeing girls."

"I'm afraid it's different this time, sir. It's why he's been missing a lot of meetings lately. And it's just not a girl." He said.

"Apparently, she's Peter's best friend."

"Huh, that's a twist. Around Peter's age?"

"Yes."

"That is new."

"But that's not all, sir. I'm afraid James is getting acquainted with Mr. Rogers once more."

Tony's body stiffened. Eyes unblinking. "Rogers? Steve Rogers? Are you sure?"

"A hundred percent. This girl James has been seeing is an employee of Mr. Rogers. Some kind of bar underneath an apartment building on the Upper West Side."

Tony frowned. "I thought Rogers had been taken care of."

"He was, sir. This was just some... big coincidence."

"It's a big mistake." He spoke. "I need you to keep an eye on James and pull out Rogers' files. Find anything — everything you can about this new life of his."

"Understood, sir. How about the girl?"

Tony frowned, not seeing anything wrong with it. "I won't worry about it too much. If he falls in love, then that's good." His eyes flickered to the photo of Peter's mom who passed away years ago. "I mean, I did before."

"Alright, sir. I'll be heading out now."

He nodded, watching Jarvis walk away from him. "Jarvis."

Jarvis stopped in his tracks and turned around to face his boss once more. "James can never know, Vis. He can never know."

[ironmandeficiency]

rain clouds

pairing: maxwell lord / reader

word count: 2813

summary: i don’t even know what to say abt this one except it’s filled with yearning

a/n: this was gonna be super soft and happy but then it got soft and sad and then soft and happy again. posting from mobile yet again. tbh idek if this makes a lick of sense, we will see

warnings: mentions of shitty parents (maxwell’s dad & alistair’s mom), hints at child neglect & cps, anxious max, don't worry it gets fluffy

maxwell lord hasn’t had a day off since he founded black gold cooperative. that business was his baby long before he had a living baby with his ex wife, and loved both just as much. there was no such thing as a “sick day” to max; any day spent sleeping or healing is a day lost in the pursuit of greatness, the pilgrimage to the top of the corporate food chain. the only one he would ever make an exception for is alistair, and even then work would sometimes interrupt.

there was a time, almost too long ago for him to vividly remember, where maxwell did more than work. when he actually got his hands dirty in something that didn’t have anything to do with corporate schemes, and laughed with genuine glee more often than scowled. it was a long time ago now, and no one would ever believe it if they were told that maxwell lord ever got dirty with, well, dirt.

“come on! you gotta try this, it’s great!” the memories of his only friend have become worn with constant reminiscing, his mind unsure as to what’s real and what he imagined to fill in the gaps left by age and new priorities.

maxwell had found a secluded section of the park down the street from the apartment you both lived in, one safe from the eyes of bullies and adults alike. his feet were bare as the day he was born while making leaps and bounds in the abundant mud puddles from yesterday’s rain. he did his best to not let what little joy he found be dwindled by circumstance — his shitty father and reticent mother and the lingering ghost of poverty — the way others lost theirs. max believed himself different than that and carried himself as such no matter what others said.

you were still on the sidewalk, watching your best friend with awe and curiosity. the idea of traipsing through mud barefooted was exhilarating, but you knew that if your clothes got dirty, your mother would hang you out to dry alongside the clothes you were wearing. how did it feel to have the mud between your toes, the rainwater soaking into your skin? you didn’t remember, but you would like to.

to be honest, maxwell didn’t expect you to join him. he didn’t think you would ever try to break out of the box of propriety your family shoved you in, not now or ever. but the next thing he knew, he heard another set of feet splashing around in the puddles he had just vacated, making a path to where he stood. a playful shriek he knew as yours rang through the air and he immediately turned to you, wanting to see your face as you enjoyed yourself for the first time in a long time. “maxwell, this is wonderful! why didn’t you get me to do this earlier?”

you never looked more beautiful to him than when the afternoon sun shone on you, your smile bright and laughter clear and joyous. you were free as lady liberty, splashing around like there wasn’t a single other thing you had to do. then you take his hand and max swears that he’s seeing stars. before you know it, you’re dancing in the mud to the song of the birds in the trees. is it just max’s imagination, or do you tell him you love him?

your lips are on his and it’s magic. his shirt is being gripped in tight fists and his hands are magnetized to your waist, holding each other tight enough to need a crowbar to separate you. there’s nowhere he would rather be than back there with you…

but it’s been far too many years since he’s seen or heard from you, there’s no telling if you’re even in the country still at this point. it took a long time for him to not dolefully gaze at every door you could walk through once he left for college, hoping to see that radiant smile and hear you say his name so reverently.

but these days, reverence is the last thing maxwell thinks he deserves, not after the dreamstone debacle. hell, he isn’t even completely convinced that he can adequately take care of alistair despite the low standards his father and his ex-wife have presented him with. despite these doubts (and the perplexing way that everyone acted as if he never almost took over the world), he was just given full custody of alistair when the school called cps on his ex-wife for neglect. it was a terrible way to get a second chance at doing right by his son, but it’s a second chance nonetheless.

after seeing sense and liquidating black gold while he still could get something to survive with, he and alistair found a two bedroom apartment in a nice part of town. it was miniscule compared to what he had but it was a sight more than what he could have ended up with. besides, max had no time to be frivolous when he had his son to protect.

back to the grindstone he went. he knew that people would recognize him if he kept his current appearance and name, so he retired the lord name and decided on another fresh start. he slowly adjusted to using lorenzano after so many years rejecting it, got the blond removed from his hair. he found a job in financial advisory, and ironically enough, he was damn good at it. he knows what he’s doing when it comes to money that isn’t his, who’d have thought?

he actually knew a couple people from work that he almost considered friends. honestly he wasn’t sure what that word meant anymore, didn’t remember the feelings that were supposed to be associated with having them. but it was enough, truly more than enough; because this progress meant that he was dragging himself out of the grave he dug, because he was taking care of his son first and foremost.

alistair was put into a new school; nothing fancy, just the nicer public school that was a pleasing midpoint between work and their apartment. the first day he attended, alistair came home with so many good stories about the friends he made and the games they played at recess. within a few months he had been contacted by his teacher who had nothing but praise for little alistair lorenzano. his little boy was excelling and max couldn’t have been more proud than he was during that phone call. seconds after he hung up, he found alistair in his bedroom and wrapped him in a massive hug, making sure to emphasize the fact that max was proud of his son.

and then there was his neighbor. they lived across the hall from him and max would only catch the tail end of their arrivals and departures to their apartment. he did think it was rather odd, their strangely adept ability at avoiding him. if he didn’t know any better he’d think it was on purpose.

it wasn't intentional — not quite.

you had been avoiding your neighbor, but it had nothing to do with the oil commercials or dreamstone debacle — your new neighbor made you sad. the feeling would hit every time you saw him. his mere presence dusted off long-worn and cherished memories of a time where the sun felt warmer on your skin, where smiles came easier than heartache.

it took a long while before you realized why: it was because this mystery man reminded you of a love long lost to the dagger of circumstance. something about his walk, or maybe his hands during the times you’d see him open his apartment door, reminded you of what an older maxwell lorenzano could have been. the section of your heart that housed your thoughts of maxwell had been wrapped in caution tape with every hazard sign known to man flashing around it for many years, not wanting to venture there for more than a few moments in fear of hurting yourself even more.

if only you realized it was really max that you were so adamantly avoiding.

three months went by of max wondering why he still has yet to meet his neighbor. not that it was imperative to his daily survival, but his curiosity was all but tearing him apart at the seams. he didn’t know what else to do; yes he wanted to know his neighbor, but how did he go about that when they never saw each other?

“just knock on their door, daddy. be their friend, like you tell me to do when i go to school.” the childlike innocence alistair speaks with betrays the actual feasibility of the idea. maxwell was overthinking everything! people talked to their neighbors all the time! this could just be a simple “hey are you doing okay?” and the chips would fall where they may.

maxwell ruffles his son’s hair affectionately, pulling him into a small hug. “you know what? that’s exactly what i’m gonna do. thanks buddy, i’ll be right back.” it’s only across the hall, max isn’t gonna be gone long.

it’s been years since he’s done anything this casually daring. everything he did for decades was all high risk yielding high reward. talking to his neighbor should seem simple in comparison — it presented no drastic consequence if it went belly up, he almost never saw his neighbor anyway. that wouldn’t change after he finally sated his curiosity, certainly not.

once alistair’s homework is finished and is entranced by the television, maxwell decides to head next door, being sure that the house keys are in his pocket before shutting the door. he probably should have thought it out more than he did — he had no idea about his neighbor’s work schedule or if they had kids or a spouse, if they were a serial killer or an introvert. or even worse, if they happened to be someone who remembers everything he’s done. that would be his luck, his first true attempt at making a friend being thwarted with the magnitude of his past sins.

he doesn’t hear his own front door open, alistair’s head poking out to watch his dad. “knock, daddy!” he whisper-shouts and nearly shakes maxwell out of his skin. the little boy laughs at his dad’s startled expression before nodding and shutting the door back.

max went to knock but realized with his knuckles only an inch from the wood that his hands were peculiarly slippery. when did maxwell’s hands get so clammy? there was nothing to be nervous about. he was just going to attempt to make a friend, like his son simplified.

but the thing is, maxwell knows that it’s been decades since he’s had a friend. the last time someone outside of his son was kind to him not for the zeroes he wrote in checkbooks was you, and sometimes he even doubted that you were real. there are hazy memories of him as a teen that splashed in mud puddles and kissed a being of pure sunshine with the innocence of youth. he hopes they’re real, for his sake and for the sunshine he romped around the park with. maybe memories of him are keeping you sane the way your memory did for him.

as his thoughts spiraled, maxwell lost his nerve. with a heaping dose of irrationality, he didn’t want to disappoint whoever was on the other side of the door. turns out, there was no one on the other side.

“excuse me, did you need something?”

your first instinct when seeing a man almost knocking on your apartment door, on a normal day, was not to be so polite. but you were having a strangely good day and there was no reason to bring down the positive energy with an abrasive attitude. plus, the man looked so conflicted. he seemed to need a friend.

“i, uh, live across the hall, have been for a few months and never got to meet you.” a small gesture to the side shifted your attention to the door across from yours — and the little boy who had the door cracked just enough to see the interaction between you and who you think must be his dad.

this man’s voice, something about it was familiar. he moved from in front of your door and extended his hand towards you in an effort for a decent introduction. “i’m maxwell lor-lorenzano.”

maxwell lorenzano. you never would have thought that out of all the people to have graced this apartment building, he would be one. his hands were still softly strong and shoulders still broad. his eyes were still the same striking shade of brown, but there was a lot more pain there, a lot of experience that was clearly pushing him down by his shoulders and into the depths of anguish. yet there he was, keeping his head above water and still being kind. this truly was your max.

you take his hand with a soft smile, squeezing it gently as you give your name. “it’s been a long time, max.”

max couldn’t believe it. after all these years, it was you.

you had moved in across the street from him in his early teenage years and had become acquainted when walking to school and home. the two of you trekked through high school together, ignoring the cruelty of classmates and focusing on getting to the future, to freedom. hope of being friends after high school was abundant in the beginning, but soon your paths sent you further and further away from each other and towards a future neither of you were sure you wanted without the other.

“it really has been a while. i- i uh,” he could barely string a sentence together anymore. his shock and joy of seeing you again had his brain melting into goo and his tongue an almost immovable weight. “i missed you.” the blood rushed to your face the way it always did when you were with max. even when stuttering over his words and a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, he was still charming.

max noticed your attire and the wet umbrella in hand and was immediately taken back to that day spent in the park after it rained, when he . the sunshine on his skin, your smile that never failed to take his breath away…

a soft smile was on max’s lips but his eyes were somewhere else. “max? is everything okay?”

“do you remember the day we went to the park, when we splashed in the puddles and-“

“and when i kissed you? i could never forget if i tried.”

you really did kiss him! it made him want to do it again, as many times as you would let him. but that brought one little stipulation with it: alistair.

what would you say when you found out he had a son?

before max’s thoughts could dampen your reunion, you continued, and with every word, you solidified your place in his heart. “maybe we could do that again some time, just like we used to. and you could bring your son too, if you’d like.” you were jumping out on a limb by assuming that the little boy was his son, but with the apparent protectiveness max displayed around him when you see them together, what else could he be?

“that sounds so fun! can we, dad?” alistair made his presence known by pummeling into max’s legs, nearly knocking him over with an excited hug. you grinned at the affection, watching max’s eyes fill with warmth as he gazed at his son. “i don’t see why not. just change into some play clothes and get your raincoat from the hall closet.”

alistair shoots with glee and is immediately running back to the apartment, excited to change clothes and play in the rain. you watch max’s eyes as they light up at alistair’s happiness, that flicker reminding of you of when you were younger and the world was kinder to you both.

here was your second chance with max, another opportunity to be with someone who never stopped loving you even as the seasons changed and the zeroes increased. “i’ll let you guys get changed, come knock when you’re ready to go.”

feeling an uptick in bravery, max placed a quick peck to your cheek before he turned toward his apartment. “will do, see you in a few.” the risk he took was well worth seeing you grow bashful at the affection, eyes flitting to your shoes before back at him, a soft smile across your lips. you watched him walk away before going back into your apartment, waiting for the rest of your life to begin at the rapping of knuckles on solid oak.

maxwell lord taglist & others: @phoenixhalliwell @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @obirain @themarcusmoreno @captainrexstan @battletales @stardustsunrisekisses @senator-nahberries @max--phillips @jedi-mando @veracruz-djarin @andysficrecs @purelypascal @whovianwar @iv7867 @kaermorons @princess76179 @pedropasscals

[evabellasworld]

An Unforgettable Honeymoon

For @10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat , this is my gift for you as part of the @starwarsfandomfests event. Thank you to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this event. I really enjoyed it so far.——————————————————————————————

Summary:  Bly and Aayla head to a tropical island planet for their honeymoon, where they create an everlasting memory as a newly-wedded couple

——————————————————————————————

AO3 Link

Arriving at a tropical, humid planet, Bly and Aayla got off from the cargo ship as they had their suitcases in their hands, standing in a station full of tourists and locals from all walks of life. Bly noticed a blue Twi'lek girl, who shared similar resemblances with his wife and was around 4 or 5 years old, held both her parent's hands as they made sure that their daughter was well-protected from danger.

This might be us in the future, Bly let his lips curl upwards as he rested his head on his right palm, and he saw three Rodian boys in their shirts and beach shorts, carrying their own surfboards. They reminded him of his closest siblings, Ares and Ahri, who hung out with him whenever they’re on a break from war. Ahri and Ares would love surfboarding at the beach.

Aayla glanced at her husband's curiosity and placed her hand on his shoulder, prompting him to shift his focus towards her. “You seemed deep in your thoughts, dear,” the blue Twi'lek teased. “First time on a vacation, commander?”

“Yes, general,” he replied, his voice laced with doubts. “This is my first time I’m going on a vacation with you.”

Aayla let out a chuckle, leaving his cheeks turned pink. “Did I do anything wrong, general?”

“Bly, you know the war is over, right?” she grinned. “Besides, we just got married two days ago, so you can just refer to me by my first name.”

Scratching the back of his head, he nodded slowly as he squirmed his lips and released an agitated laugh. “My apologies, general, I mean, Aayla. I'm still getting used to this new life as a clone. Besides, you referred to me as commander, so I thought I was fighting battle droids on the battlefield.”

“Don't worry about it, dear,” his newly wedded wife smiled, caressing his tan, tattooed cheeks. “You'll get through with this. Besides, I'm also getting the hang of this as a Jedi Master. It’s really difficult to adjust myself after three years of chaos. It’s strange that I have to get used to a peaceful life.”

“Yeah, it is strange,” he bobbed his head solemnly as he reached out his arms and took her hands, reminding him just how lucky both of them finally got to spend quality time with each other, without any interruptions from protocols and orders from a higher authority. “Should we head to our hotel now? I can’t wait to have some privacy together,” he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows twice.

“Lead the way, my love.”

Placing their suitcases on the red, carpeted floor, Aayla sighed in relief as the couple were greeted with scarlet rose petals on their bed, making them feel welcomed. Feeling a bit of exhaustion from the journey from Coruscant to Moluqu, she slid open the balcony door and gazed at the picturesque view of the beach from their room.

With the warm breeze blowing from the west and the illuminating pink sunlight, she sat on the rattan chair with a delicate, pearly cushion, her legs crossed.

Listening to the cheerful laughter of children, she was brought back down the memory lanes as a young Padawan, who used to sprint around the garden, which was filled with a cherry blossom tree, honeysuckles that were grown in shrubs, and morning glories that tangled around the black, iron gates. Whenever she tried to pluck a blue daisy from a pot, Master Vos always caught her red-handed and chased after her, but Aayla always outran him in the Temple.

I was such a mischievous child in the past, Aayla snickered to herself, looking at the horizon. But I'm grateful for the lessons he taught me, walked me down the aisle and accepted Bly.

The clone trooper glimpsed his wife, who was relaxing on the balcony. Changing into his beach attire, he put on his shades and leaned behind the sliding door, clearing his throat. “Hey, Aayla. We're heading to the beach right now. Are you coming? We haven’t got all day.”

“Of course, dear,” she answered him and got up from her seat. "I'll be right there in a minute.”

As she headed inside, she drew the curtains and changed into an ultramarine strapless bikini top with a high-waisted bikini bottom, carrying her towel by her forearm. Putting on her blueberry flip flops which she bought yesterday at a Coruscant night market, the couple linked arms with each other as they left their hotel room and strolled leisurely towards the beach, feeling the fine, warm sand underneath their bare feet as they took off their shoes.

Despite memorising the colours of the ocean, Bly felt like it was the first time he had experienced the shimmering sea in front of his eyes. He fought at a beach during the second year of the Clone Wars, but his eyes glimmered at the turquoise and deep blue palette of the ocean, where children and adults alike of all species gathered and swam. Rows of coconut trees were swaying with the balmy wind as tourists lay underneath the cooling shade, forgetting all their troubles at the present moment.

Aayla spread out their lemon-patterned beach mat underneath the palm tree, which was stubbier than the coconut trees. The only worst thing that could happen to the couple was a bunch of squirrels invading their peace, which occurred once during a scouting mission. “Well, we found a perfect spot to rest,” he jestered, squeezing her thighs. “Don't you agree, general?”

“Yes, commander,” bemused the Jedi Master, finding his touch rather ticklish. “We managed to find a good spot for us to rest and have a little privacy from the rest.”

He raised one eyebrow at her reply, before realising that he addressed her in a formal tone, just like how it was during the war. “My apologies, Aayla. I swear to the Maker that it was a slip of my tongue.”

“To be honest with you, I still don't mind you calling me general,” she quipped, leaning against the bark of the tree. “After all, I was the one who proposed to you in the first place.”

His smile grew wider as Aayla brought him back to that particular day, one he would never forget. “I still remember that day,” Bly reminisced as he moved his eyes upwards, before gazing at her hazel eyes. “It's as if you got down on your knees yesterday and asked me to be your husband.”

“And you were hesitating to say yes,” she recalled. “It's like you weren't expecting that day to actually come to you.”

“I was overjoyed, but I didn't really know what to say. It's funny that I dreamed of settling down with you when we were secretly together, but yet, my mind went blank when it actually came true.”

Chortling, Aayla slapped her knees and covered her mouth, leaving his cheeks turned red as a beet. “That is completely valid,” she assured him. “Honestly, your feelings that day were valid. It is normal to be nervous about moving on to the next step in life. Believe me, I've been there before and it wasn't easy for me to adapt.”

His eyes widened. “You were jittery before? But you seem so confident and calm all the time.”

“Yeah, it's surprising to see me anxious, but it's normal, you know. Everyone goes through that when they have to step out of their comfort zone. I felt the same way as you did when I decided to marry you.”

“So, how did you cope with your overwhelming doubts?” he asked, leaning closer to her. “Like, what is your secret?”

Aayla took a deep breath as she felt his warmth and gazed at his burnt cocoa eyes, ready to pull him into the other side of her mind. “When I'm in doubt, when my inner voice tells me that it is impossible to do something, when I feel like I'm never going to make it through my obstacles in front of me, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I clear my mind, I remind myself of all the blessings that I have with me and my own strength. That's how I cope with my doubts.”

What an amazing woman, Bly praised, when he heard her smooth voice in his ears. I envy her for sharing her vulnerable side with me. She is as courageous as a lioness on a golden throne. “So what are your blessings in life so far?” he wondered, gazing at the cloudless, azure sky.

Aayla tilted her head upwards as she hummed softly, before shifting her eyes towards him. “Besides surviving the war and getting a chance to see the beauty of life, I am blessed that you have become part of my life. I will never regret meeting you on Kamino, I am glad to see you develop into a better version of yourself, and I am proud to call you my loving, sweet, husband. So thank you, Bly, for choosing to stay with me.”

For a moment, he was speechless. In his mind, he desperately searched for a word that would go well with hers, but for some reason, it was empty. He felt frantic and blamed himself for always keeping quiet in the tender moments with his wife, but then, he remembered every single word she told her, about how she overcame her doubts. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I clear my mind, I remind myself of all the blessings that I have with me and my own strength.

And when he did so, the words that he wanted to spill to her finally popped up in his mind. “Aayla,” he finally spoke, after a few minutes of silence between them. “When I first met you, I only saw you as my superior. Nothing more, nothing less. But then, you sparked a couple of conversations between us, and wow, I actually felt something for you. I mean, I didn't think much about it, though, but as time went by, as battles got brutal and as we spent more time hopping from one planet to another, I realized that I loved you so much. I accepted your flaws, I commend your strength, I acknowledged your quirks, and yeah, I adored your beauty but you know what I loved most about you?”

“What is it, Bly?”

“I cherished your heart. Your valiant, compassionate, heart. That's what attracted me to you in the first place. And you know what? I never regret choosing to love you as my partner, as my confidant, and as my plucky, unfaltering wife.”

As they let their lips brush together, Aayla stood up and dragged Bly for a swim in the shallow part of the ocean, underneath the rosy sunlight. Like their love, the waves flowed with the rhythm as they lived and laughed together, creating everlasting memories on their first day of their honeymoon.