#and you could tell link was getting a bit angry about having whipped cream all over his shirt and pants

[subterfugespecialist]

Our Greatest Gift

It was Virgil's first birthday with his new parents and things were going perfectly, but a few choice words send Virgil spiraling. Thankfully he has people there to catch him.

AO3 link

Pairing: Familial Anxceit/Familial Moxiety, Moceit, Platonic LAPR

Warnings: incorrect comments about food/weight/health, disordered eating, past parental abuse/neglect (happy ending I promise)

Word count: 3345

Virgil woke up when he heard his bedroom door slowly creak open. His daddies were whispering to each other as they made their way into his bedroom. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his pillow to hide his smile. He wanted to see what they'd say if they thought he was still sleeping.

"Oh, he's still asleep," Patton sighed, "Should we wake him up?”

Virgil pressed his face further into the pillow to try and muffle his giggles.

"No, let the birthday boy get his rest," Janus replied, "We can just go eat all those pancakes all by ourselves-“

"I'm awake! I'm awake!" Virgil exclaimed as he wrestled out of his blankets to sit up straight.

"Oh, good. I thought we'd get sick eating all those by ourselves.”

"Happy birthday, Virgil," Patton said as the two of them sat on the edge of the bed.

"Happy birthday," Janus echoed, "We wanted to let you sleep, but we need to get up and ready for when your friends get here."

"It's okay! I was awake. I was just playing with you.”

Janus' smile twitched wider.

"Well, good. That makes me feel less guilty.”

He held out his arms, asking Virgil for a hug, and Virgil tightly wrapped his arms as far around Janus' waist as they would go. Patton wrapped his arms tightly around the both of them and pressed a kiss to the top of Virgil's head.

It was his first birthday with his new Daddy and Papa, and Virgil was trying to not get too excited, but he was already failing miserably. They had been so nice to him so far. They never yelled or got angry.  They never got annoyed when Virgil spoke and they always wanted to spend time with him. And when Virgil told them he'd never had a birthday party before, they told him he could do whatever he wanted for his upcoming birthday.

Virgil had been a bit worried that they'd forget or they'd change their minds, but those fears quickly dissolved when he was handed a pancake with whipped cream and sprinkles.

”Janus, honey," Patton said as Janus wiped whipped cream off Virgil's face, "I know we planned to open presents later, but I think we should give Virgil one now."

Janus' smile grew the same time Virgil's did.

"I think you're right," Janus said with a boop on Virgil's nose.

"I'll be right back, then" Patton said.

 “What is it, Papa?" Virgil asked, bouncing in his seat and swinging his legs (his old mommy used to get mad at him for fidgeting too much - his new daddies never got mad at that).

 "You'll find out in just a second. Did you get enough to eat, sweetie?”

"Yep!"

Janus gave him a kiss on his forehead before starting to clean the kitchen. And though Virgil went to take his plate to the sink, Janus took it from him insisting that birthday boys don't have to do any work.

When Patton came back with a purple gift bag, Virgil quickly got situated at the end of the table while his parents sat on his left. His wiggles only intensified as he took out all the tissue paper.

He pulled out a dark purple hoodie, and the first thing he did was stick his hand inside. He smiled when he found it was soft - not scratchy like the one he tried on at the store.

"We could tell you were disappointed you didn't get that hoodie in the mall," Patton said as Virgil unfolded it on the table, "So me and Papa looked really hard to find a soft one for you.”

"Look here, darling," Janus said as he tapped his nail on the table next to the sleeve.

Virgil saw on the cuff of the left sleeve were two little embroidered hearts: one yellow and one blue - his parents' favorite colors.

"Daddy put those on himself," Janus said softly as he smoothed out the fabric, "If you ever get worried at school again, look at those and remember we're always with you, okay?”

"And remember how much we love you," Patton added.

Virgil hopped off the chair and threw his arms around his parents, holding them as tight as his little arms would let them.

"We love you, Virgil," Patton said as he squeezed him tight.

"Now let's go get ready," Janus said after Virgil let go," Your friends will be here soon.”

Patton had just helped Virgil into his new hoodie when they heard the doorbell ring. Virgil ran out of his room, practically vibrating with excitement. He struggled with the lock for only a second before swinging the door open.

"Happy birthday!" the twins shouted.

"Happy birthday," Logan echoed with a wave.

Virgil giggled and ran up to pull them inside.

Virgil met Roman and Remus at recess. Once Roman found out that Virgil also liked Power Rangers, he declared the three of them best friends. Now they spend nearly every recess playing Power Rangers together. Remus liked to switch between playing the monsters and the green ranger. Roman was the red ranger - the leader. And they were such good friends, they even let Virgil be a purple ranger because that was his favorite color even though there wasn't actually a purple one.

Logan had been Virgil's roommate in the group foster home they lived in before they got adopted. While Virgil was excited to have new daddies, he was also going to miss his friend. But then Logan got adopted by Roman and Remus' daddies, and now he got to see all three of his best friends nearly every weekend. Logan was now their blue ranger, the smartest one, and Virgil thought there had never been a better team.

Janus and Patton appeared to talk to his friends' parents. Their names were Emile and Remy and they were super nice and helped Virgil not feel nervous when he visited.

"Look what we made!" Roman exclaimed (he wasn't very good at using an indoor voice).

The three brothers held out their hands and Virgil saw they were wearing matching bracelets. Each bracelet had their favorite color on it - red, green, and blue.

"We made you one, too," Remus said, bouncing in excitement.

Logan dug into his pocket and pulled out a bracelet made with the same string as theirs and a bunch of purple beads.

"So now everyone who sees us will know we're best friends," Roman said proudly as he pushed it onto Virgil's wrist.

“Thank you!" Virgil said, bouncing almost as much as Remus at this point, "I'll wear it forever!”

"Alright, we're gonna head back home," Remy said, "You guys have fun. We'll be back this evening to pick you up.”

"Behave for Mr. Janus and Mr. Patton, alright?" Emile said as he knelt down to give his kids hugs and kisses goodbye.

After all the goodbyes and "I love you's" were shared (Roman was insistent on yelling "I love you!" out the door as his parents walked to their care), Virgil dragged his friends to the playroom. As he played with his friends, Virgil decided that even if they weren't planning on going out later, today was already a perfect birthday.

   ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

  When Janus and Patton first offered to help Virgil plan a birthday party, he said he didn't want one. He had been to a few of his classmate's parties, and watching them be the center of attention with private party rooms and birthday crowns and sashes was fun, but the idea of Virgil having all that attention on him from so many people at once made him nervous. So Virgil and his parents decided not to hold a huge party. They would just invite his best friends over to play, go get pizza, and then come back home for cake and presents. And to Virgil, that sounded perfect.

"I'd want my superpower to be shapeshifting!" Roman said, again a bit too loudly, "Then i could be really strong but also change into a cheetah and be super fast.”

"I'd want to move things with my mind," Logan said, pressing his fingers to his temple and staring at his soda cup like he wanted to move it.

“You already have a super power. You're super smart," Roman said. He looked over at Patton and Janus, "He's reading chapter books all by himself."

"Wow! That is very impressive, Logan," Patton said, and Logan preened under the praise. 

"I wanna make fire!" Remus exclaimed, "I could set all my enemies on fire and win!”

"That's nice, Remus," Janus said after a long sip of water.

"What about you, Virgil?" Roman asked.

"Super speed. I could attack the monsters before they could see me.”

The other three nodded.

"That's a very smart power," Logan said.

"Alright, are we all ready to order?" the waitress asked as she walked up.

“Oh, oh! Mr. Janus and Mr. Patton! Can I have two slices of pizza?" Roman asked.

“Of course, kiddo!" Patton answered, "You all can.”

"Me, too!" Remus added.

Logan raised his hand. "Me, three.”

"Me, four," Virgil said with a smile.

The waitress looked over at Virgil.

"Are you sure you need it, sugar?" she asked. Virgil's smile fell off his face, "Why don't you just have-”

"Get all the kids two pieces," Janus said in that voice Virgil only heard when he was angry at someone.

"...If you say so," she tutted.

Virgil sat back in his chair. He didn't worry about listening to the rest of the conversation. His dads would order for him.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't a skinny kid. He didn't have a flat belly, and he had jiggly arms and legs. His cousins used to make fun of him for it. But it had never been a problem with his new daddies, or his new friends, so he hadn't thought about it in a long time.

His old mommy used to tell him he needed to watch his calories - to watch his weight. Virgil didn't even know what a calorie was, but he knew it wasn't good. Was it too late? Had he had too many calories? He knew his daddies wouldn't let him get sick, but did they know what calories were?

Virgil started twisting straw wrappers as all the memories came back to him: his cousin telling him he eats too much, his mommy taking food off his plate and not letting him have dessert, going to bed hungry, stepping on the scale in mommy's bathroom and not knowing what the number meant but knowing it was bad based on mommy's face.

He looked up. Everyone else at the table was skinny. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his feet on the chair. He suddenly didn't want anyone to see his tummy.

"I'm going to find our waitress and have a talk with her," Janus grumbled as he pushed his chair back and stood.

"Virgil?" Patton asked quietly as he leaned in closer, "Are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

"Do you want to talk? We can step outside-“

“No."

"Virgil! We're coming up with superhero names!" Remus called out, and Virgil was grateful to talk about something else.

When the pizza did come out, two pieces for each kid, Virgil nibbled off the end of one, but only got about a quarter through before putting it down. Pizza was one of the foods his mommy didn't like him to eat because she said they were bad for him.

"Virgil, sweetheart, aren't you hungry?" Janus asked.

"No," he muttered as he pushed his plate away.

"...Are you sure you don't want to talk about something?" Patton asked.

Virgil nodded, and Patton and Janus shared glances.

Virgil's mood got better as the evening progressed. He and his friends made up a new superhero team and planned all sorts of adventures to play at recess. But even though he was feeling significantly better by the time they got home, those same anxieties from earlier built back up in his chest when Patton brought in the cake.

It was his favorite: chocolate cake with vanilla frosting.  They even put Power Ranger figurines on top and "Happy Birthday Virgil" was written in purple frosting.

After laughing at his friends scream-singing the birthday song and blowing out the candles, he was cut the first piece of cake - a corner piece with lots of frosting, which was usually exactly what he wanted. This time, however, he took two bites and pushed it away. Cake was another food mommy didn't want him to have.

"Virgil," Patton whispered, leaning in close so others wouldn't hear him (which wasn't hard - Roman was having lots of fun on the noise makers), "Do you not like your cake?"

"Not hungry," he muttered as he folded his arms on the table and rested his head.

"It's your birthday. You can eat as much cake as you want as long as you don't make yourself sick.”

"I don't want more.”

"Mr. Patton, can we give Virgil his presents now?" Logan asked. He had found where Patton had put the gifts on the dining table and already had a gift bag in his hands that had To: Virgil From: Logan written in shaky blue marker.

"Sure we can," Patton said. He held out his hand and Virgil took it. Patton gave his hand a squeeze before getting up to bring the rest of the presents in the room.

At least by the end of the night, Virgil was laughing again. His friends and his parents got him really cool toys for his birthday and he was having a lot of fun trying them out with his friends.

When they heard the doorbell ring, they all ran into Virgil's closet and hid from their parents, hoping they could stay longer (they were found out by their giggles). Virgil waved his friends goodbye through the window until he couldn't see their car down the road.

He was still smiling even though he could feel hunger pangs in his stomach.

"Virgil, can we talk to you?" Janus asked. Virgil nodded and took the hand outstretched towards him. Janus led him to the couch where Patton was waiting.

"You're not in trouble, sweetie," Patton assured him as they sat down, Virgil in the middle, "We're just worried since you haven't eaten much this evening.”

"I wasn't hungry," Virgil mumbled.

“Virgil, dearheart," Janus said, putting a hand to Virgil's cheek, "Does this have anything to do with what the waitress said?”

And hearing the truth from someone else, not just in Virgil's head, caused all the tears that had been building up all day to finally spill from his eyes.

"Oh, honey.”

"Come here," Janus said softly as he pulled Virgil to him.

Virgil fell into his arms, crying into Janus' shirt. He felt Patton wrap his arms around the two of them and hold on tight, rocking the three of them back and forth in slow, soothing motions.  They let Virgil cry until there were just no more tears left. When his crying softened to just sniffles, Virgil let let go, and Janus stood up to get him a glass of water.

"That woman shouldn't have said that," Patton said as he wiped the tears off Virgil's cheeks, "If you were hungry enough for two pieces, then you should eat two pieces. You had a big day and spent a lot of energy playing this afternoon. I wouldn't be surprised if you were that hungry.”

 "Is there a reason those words bothered you so much?" Patton continued, "Is someone being mean to you at school?”

"Mommy didn't like the way I looked," Virgil whimpered, feeling the tears build back up, "She didn't like my tummy.”

 "Well your mother was stupid.”

“Janus."

"Sorry, sorry, that wasn't nice," Janus sighed as he sat down with the water and handed the glass to Virgil, "I didn't mean it.”

"We don't call names," Patton scolded, then softened, "But she was very, very wrong, Virgil. You are such a handsome little boy. I'm sorry that she didn't see that.”

"Did she say anything else to you?" Janus asked.

Virgil stared at the empty glass in his hands.

"We won't be mad at you," Janus said as he pushed the falling hair away from Virgil's face, "We just want to know so we can tell you if she said anything wrong.”

"She said she needed to make me healthy and if I felt hungry that means it was working.”

"No," both his daddies said at the same time, startling him slightly.

"Do you know what the doctor said last time we went? She said that you were a healthy, growing boy. You are perfect. Just like this, and just this size," Patton said in a stern tone, though it was clear he wasn't mad at Virgil.

"And no one knows your body better than you," Janus said as he placed a hand on Virgil's knee, "It is so important to eat when you're hungry. Feeling hungry is your body's way of letting you know you need energy. So if you ever feel hungry, Virgil, let us know and we'll give you a snack or a meal, no questions asked. Do you understand?”

Virgil nodded.

"...She said..."

"What did she say, Virgil?”

"She said no one would like me if I was fat.”

Patton's eyes widened while Janus took a sharp inhale.

"Virgil, look at me. You are such a sweet little boy, you know that right?" Patton asked, and Virgil saw he was tearing up, "You are so kind to everyone you meet. Your teachers tell me how attentive you are of your classmates.  I see how hard you work to try and make your friends smile. And that is why I love you. Because you're you. I'm always telling people how proud I am to have you as my son. And no matter what your body looks like, that is never going to change.”

"We love you so much," Janus said, "And we will love you whatever size or shape you are. And so will your friends. They adore you, Virgil. You should see the way their eyes light up when they see you.”

"And no matter what you look like," he continued, taking Virgil's hands in his, "You will always be that kind, handsome, caring boy that makes me and everyone who loves you proud.”

Virgil looked down at his sleeve that had the hearts embroidered on it. And right above was the bracelet his friends made for him. Right there were two reminders of the people who loved him most, just how he was. And he could always carry that with him.

"Can I have a hug?"

Immediately his parents wrapped him up tight in their arms.

"I love you.”

"I love you, too," they both echoed.

Virgil would have been content to stay right there the rest of the night, warm and safe in his daddies' arms, but he let go when his stomach growled.

"You brought my pizza home, right?”

Patton smiled at him. "Yes, sweetie. I'll go heat it up in the oven right now.”

"Would you like some cake while you wait?" Janus asked.

Virgil's eyes widened. "Dessert before dinner?"

"Sure. It is your birthday after all," he replied with a boop to Virgil's nose.

Virgil smiled and took Janus' hand to drag him into the kitchen. His corner piece with the most frosting was still waiting for him on the table with plastic wrap on top.

"And Virgil?" Patton asked as he joined them at the table, "if you ever start having doubts, or if you start feeling bad about eating again, let us know, okay? We won't be upset with you. We just want to be able to help you work through your thoughts.”

"Okay, daddy.”

Patton ruffled his hair, smiling when it got Virgil to giggle.

Virgil glanced down again at his wrist and ran his thumb over the hearts. He know that he would be okay.

Thanks so much for reading! Requests are open if you’re interested :)

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #familial anxceit #familial moxiety #moceit #virgil #patton #janus #roman #remus #logan

[nxrthmizu]

Crash and Burn

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | salt, lila salt

pairing | n/a

w.c | 3.2k

author's note | hey remember that lila salt fic i promised? this isn't it but this is something i made today so yep. please accept this as an apology for yknow. me promising to write and. not doing it.

Enough was enough.

“Marinette, stop accusing Lila! She just wants to make friends!”

“Take the high road.”

“Be a good model student, Marinette.”

Enough. Was. Enough.

Marinette had the connections, the power, the choice to make Lila’s entire world crumble apart. The only thing that stood between the liar’s demise was the tiniest pinch of morality and self-restraint— And no, that self-restraint did not come in the form of Tikki. Even the kwami, who had to be an aggregation of all the good and nice things in the world, was fed up and ready to retaliate.

“What a joke.” Lila cackled, tossing a chunk of her sausage hair over her shoulder flamboyantly. The two girls were in the bathroom, with Lila smirking in front of the sink and Marinette a little distance away from her. “You can make my world crumble? What is this, a threat?”

“A promise.” Marinette corrected. “Stop telling lies. Come clean to every one. No more lying about knowing celebrities left and right, no more making excuses about not being able to take your own notes, no more making up ‘diseases’ just so your life gets a little more convenient. To be frank, I really don’t care what happens to you— But by making these empty promises to introduce my classmates to great ‘celebrities’, you’re ruining their futures. Stop.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Lila sneered, face twisted into an ugly grin. “You going to cry in front of the class? Try and convince them that I, the one they adore— That I am lying?”

“No.” Marinette’s eyes were clear when she met Lila’s. The clouds of self-doubt that used to hover over the bright, shining star inside her soul had now dissipated, letting the bluenette emit a confident, glowing appearance as she met the liar head on. “I’m just going to keep my promise.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila headed off to a modelling shoot after school, pleased at the prospect of spending more time with Adrien. There were a couple tendrils of Marinette’s words hanging behind in her mind— Did the girl mean what she said? Did she actually… Was she actually capable of causing Lila’s downfall? … Surely not. Marinette may have once been the ‘Everyday Ladybug’, but there was no way she was that competent, there was no way the girl was capable of plotting.

The Italian hummed, brushing away thoughts of the annoying bluenette from her mind. She was going on a photoshoot— One that was going cause the rise and burst of her career, the one that was going to make her name a globally-known one. Unfortunately for Lila, her plans were going to be derailed quite soon— In fact, as soon as Gabriel Agreste’s car rolled into the parking lot of the shoot location.

“Explain this, Mlle. Rossi.” Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he pointed to the tabloid article on his tablet. The Italian girl froze, the headlines seared into her eyes, big and black and bold, shooting poison right into the core of her body, paralysing her cell by cell starting from her heart. “What is the meaning of this?”

‘Adrien Agreste Reported To Be Harassed by Fellow Model’— The image under the caption was one that was clearly taken by a hidden photographer. The picture was framed with leafy foliage, which suggested that the camera was tucked up in a tree. Despite the distance, it was quite obvious in the image that Adrien was reeling away, disgusted and uncomfortable as a faceless woman in an orange blazer, back turned to the camera— Invaded his personal space.

The subtitle was the cream on the cupcake.

‘Witnesses State Gabriel Agreste Ignorant of Workplace Harassment’.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

As if things couldn’t quite go down a worser path, Lila returned home to a fuming mother and an unexpected visitor.

“Lila! You come here right this instant!” The diplomat demanded as soon as the front door opened, her daughter shrinking slightly at the tone and pitch that her mother was using. The last time her mother had been this angry— Well, it was when she got expelled from her last school. “I can’t believe what you’ve done! If it weren’t for your kind classmate, lord knows how long you would’ve continued with this!”

The Italian meekly followed her mother into the living room, eyes widening until they were as large as saucers, mouth agape at the last person she expected to see sitting on the couch.

Marinette smiled kindly, waving at the girl, looking every bit the part of the innocent, pure, kind child that every parent wanted to have. Before Lila could release a torrent of questions about what the hell Marinette Dupain-Cheng was doing in her living room, her mother charged on, beginning to take out her anger on her daughter while a literal angel sat on the sofa, cradling a box of pastries from her family’s bakery.

“Your friend here tells me that you’ve been taking absences from school to go on trips to help humanity!” Mme. Rossi exploded, waving her arms around madly. “She says she’s here to share her notes from the classes you’ve missed! You’ve never left Paris this year! What’s this I hear about flying off to the kingdom of— What was it called again, Marinette dear?”

“Achu.” Provided the bluenette helpfully, the diplomat’s expression instantly softening when she talked to the other teen in the living room.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, dear.” The woman turned back to her daughter, instantly snapping on a mask of anger in a matter of a fraction of a second. “What’s this about flying off to this kingdom of Achu to help homeless orphans with some random prince?”

“Um…” Lila piped up, wriggling as her brain churned at 200 lies per hour, trying to whip up a cover of some sort.

“I’m not done! Your friend here is such a helpful child that she even went as far as to ask her family doctor is there’s a cure for your… Lying disease!” Mme. Rossi practically roared, breathing flames as if she were an intimidating dragon, her daughter flinching away from the heat. “I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous! And then there’s the fact that you lied to your classmates about having tinnitus?!”

“I actually do have tinnitus!” Lila cut in forcibly, widening her eyes to make herself look more pitiful. “I was just afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“Bullshit!”

“Um… Sorry to interrupt, Mme. Rossi,” Marinette piped up, the diplomat instantly cooling down as she faced the bluenette, a soft smile tracing the Italian woman’s lips. “But it’s getting rather late and my parents would love me home soon. I also have some tests to revise for tonight, so I think I should get going.”

“Oh, of course, dear.” Mme. Rossi hastily got up to help the bluenette to the door, shooting a warning glare at her daughter— ‘Sit still and don’t you dare go anywhere’, the glare read. “Feel free to come over again anytime you want, dear. I’m not home often, but you are such a sweet child. I’m sure Lila could learn a lot from you.”

“Thanks for having me as well, Mme. Rossi. I really like your home. I left the pastries on the counter— Make sure to warm the curry puffs before you eat them.” Marinette returned the smile, bowing slightly to the older woman as a sign of respect.

“Thank you for the pastries as well, Marinette. I ought to visit your parents’ bakery sometime when I’m free.” Mme. Rossi opened the door kindly for the bluenette, waving the girl off with an affectionate smile. Her parents must be so lucky to have such a sweet little thing like her, Mme. Rossi sighed internally, turning the key so she locked the door. And she seems to be a high-scoring student as well.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila seethed, having been grounded by her mother. As far as Mme. Rossi was concerned, there was a boarding school not too far away from their current residence, and by the next week, the Italian girl would be transferred over. Lila had never hated Dupain-Cheng as much as she did in that moment.

Still furious, the Italian snapped her laptop open, too angry to bother with the fact she might’ve scratched the surface. Clicking into the web browser, she started to type in the words ‘Ladyblog’— That was, before a news article caught her eye.

‘Jagged Stone Interview Reveals Underage, Obsessed Fan’.

What on Earth…

As soon as Lila clicked into the link, the news footage from the interview immediately begin to play. The date stamp on it showed that it had aired last night— Which meant that she would’ve missed it, since her mother was too busy yelling at her to turn on the television to watch Nadja Chamack’s daily news.

“As soon as I heard this rumour about some underage teenage girl claiming that she had saved my cat on an airport runway, I called Penny and asked her to book a slot for me to clarify this,” Jagged Stone said grimly, dressed in more formal attire as he sat in the comfortable, cushioned chair of the news station, with Nadja nodding equally seriously beside him. “Let me clarify— I’ve never owned a cat. I’m allergic to fur. The only pet I’ve had was Fang, and he’s an al-li-ga-tor. Not a cat. Whatever the girl is claiming, she’s obsessed and making up stories.”

“It’s also kind of bewildering that she saved it on an airport runway,” Nadja continued, shaking her head in disappointment. “That kind of thing only happens in dramas— It’s too dangerous for anyone besides authorised workers to be on airport runways.”

“Right, right!” Jagged agreed instantly. “The whole rumour is just really baffling.”

“M. Jagged, may I ask what kind of effect these rumours have on a celebrities’ career?” Nadja continued, leading the conversation on like a professional.

“Well, rumours that circulate around tend to have really bad effects, and the worse ones can hang around for a long, long time. Tabloids are often spun off from rumours, baseless and with no evidence. Those tabloids will never truly disappear, so they can leave a mark on a celebrity’s reputation as some people will believe anything— Even things they read from un-cited tabloids.”

“That is simply terrible. Have you ever had any cases of rumours created by underaged teens before this?”

“I’ve had quite a number, but none of them really got as big as this one. From what Penny has found from digging around, the teen girl managed to spread the rumour through her school and onto a once-popular blog.” Jagged explained. “Penny has also found out that the same girl has claimed that I’ve written songs for her to thank her for saving my cat! I would never write songs and dedicate them to an underaged girl— Trust me. If I could do such a thing, I’d already have written a dozen in honour of my niece— She’s my favourite designer.”

Nadja smiled at that sentence. “Then—“

The news footage cut off abruptly as Lila slammed her laptop shut, too upset to continue watching.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

On the other side of Paris, Alya was pacing around her room frantically, wondering why on earth Lila wasn’t picking up on her calls. She’d left at least four dozen messages to the Italian, who was absent from school that day. There had been a couple whispers here and there about why she was missing— Rose had suggested another impromptu trip to Achu.

Lila’s absence wasn’t the weirdest part of the day, however.

That award would go to Marinette, who walked into class with a smile, the slightest sprinkles of delight colouring her bluebell eyes when she spotted Lila’s empty seat.

Growing in frustration, Alya threw herself onto her bed, phone clattering onto the mattress with her. Within the next few minutes, however, her phone suddenly started exploding with notifications. Excited at the prospect of Lila finally texting back, Alya turned on her phone, only to be disappointed by the notifications all clamouring from the class group chat.

Kim had sent a link to the chat— Without hesitation, Alya clicked into it, frowning when she saw Nadja and Jagged appear on the screen. Throughout the interview, the colour on the Ladyblogger’s face only paled by the second until she was as white as a sheet, and if it were halloween at that time, she would’ve won the best costume award for being a ghost.

There must… There must’ve been a mistake.

A notification from Lila’s number made the blogger perk up, instantly clicking into the conversation— But her newfound hope didn’t last very long.

[Lila]

Hi, Alya. This is Lila’s mom. She’s currently grounded right now. Is there anything important you need to tell her?

[Alya]

Oh, nothing much… I just wanted to ask where she was.

[Lila]

She’s at home.

[Alya]

Okay, thanks.

Flopping onto her bed, Alya begin thinking, revising over the past few months like it was an old clip. Lila’s exciting adventures and interactions with celebrities of every kind— Lila going overseas and face timing the entire class— Lila letting her in on the secrets of being Ladybug’s friend…

… Marinette trying to tell them that Lila was lying…

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The class was awfully silent the next day. Adrien was absent as well— A social worker was looking into his home life as a result of the tabloid that arose. Things for the blonde could either get better or worse from then on, as the matters were still foggy and things hadn’t cleared up yet. The blonde maintained contact with his friends, however, calling and texting them whenever he could.

“Class, settle down.” Mlle. Bustier stepped into the class, looking very tense and uncomfortable. “Today, we will have a guest, so please be on your best behaviours, alright?”

Just as the teacher finished speaking, a tall, regal-looking Italian woman entered the classroom, a cowering principal and a meek-looking Lila in tow. The class brightened slightly at the sight of their friend— But by the way she wasn’t looking into their eyes… Things weren’t going to be good.

“Good morning. I am Mme. Rossi, Lila’s mother.” The woman begin speaking, her firm and no-nonsense tone instantly making every student sit straight, their eyes too afraid to look anywhere else but the Italian diplomat. “It has come to my attention that my daughter has been taking absences from school to do charity work— And I have to clarify that this is a lie. Lila has been doing nothing but holing herself up in her room, lying to me and saying that there are no classes due to akumas.” The Italian diplomat glowered at Damocles. “What’s even more baffling is the fact that neither her homeroom nor the principal bothered to check up with me despite a student having extended periods of absence with no note or email written whatsoever.”

The class was so quiet that they could hear the quiver of Mlle. Bustier’s trembling lip.

“In addition, I’ve been kindly told that Lila has claimed to have a lying disease, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard this week.” It was impossible to miss the way the Italian diplomat was glaring daggers at both Mlle. Bustier and Damocles. “No one bothered to look it up online to see if it’s actual disorder, nor did anyone call me to confirm and ask for a doctor’s note, which is standard procedure.” Chills burst over the room, making every one shiver as the woman hissed out her words.

“Mme. Rossi, we didn’t want to disturb your busy schedule—” Damocles begin, only to be blown backwards from the sheer intensity of Mme. Rossi’s glower.

“M. Damocles, standard procedures exist for a reason. Unless you’d like to tell me about any other things you’ve been letting my daughter get away with?”

“N— No, Mme.”

The Italian diplomat continued on her war path. “My daughter also claimed to have tinnitus, am I correct?”

“Y— Yes, Mme.” Mlle. Bustier answered when it seemed like no one was going to.

“And I heard that the class seating arrangement was shifted to accommodate for that?” The homeroom teacher didn’t dare answer this time, for it seemed like whatever she said would be the incorrect answer. “And apparently, my daughter has also been faking broken wrists and requesting for her classmates to complete her work for her.” Mme. Rossi was practically breathing flames at that point, “And I am incredibly upset at the lack of action from the homeroom teacher.”

No one could breath.

“I have many concerns about the running of this schooling facility, and I expect to discuss this with M. Damocles privately after this. However, there is still something to be done.” Mme. Rossi swept her gaze towards her daughter, who found the floor incredibly interesting at that point of time. “Lila? Something you’d like to say to your classmates?”

“… I’m sorry for lying to you.” Lila mumbled resentfully.

“Louder, Lila. No one can hear you.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” Lila swallowed, bursting like an explosion that had finally been triggered, tears in her eyes and fists hatefully curled. “I’m sorry for lying about my diseases and injuries. I’m sorry for making you do my work,” She spat. “Sorry for causing any inconveniences.”

Mme. Rossi raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Is that all?”

Lila glared at her mother, who was completely unfazed. “Oh, so you want an apology from me? Fine!” She turned to the class, a maniacal glint in her eyes as she sneered at the class, a few gasps puffing from around the room as they caught their first glimpse of the liar that resided in the ‘harmless’ shell of Lila Rossi. “I’m sorry that you are all such idiots that you all fell for everything. I’m sorry that Marinette has such terrible, untrusting classmates that turned their backs on her even though she was still a goody-two shoes till the end, even though she still wanted to help you sorry peasants. I’m sorry that you were all so goddamn gullible! There! Good enough for you?”

Shock was etched into the faces of every human in the classroom— Including Mlle. Bustier, M. Damocles, and Mme. Rossi themselves. Clearly, that part of the apology had not been part of the plan.

“Did I miss something?” Said a sweet voice, followed by the presence of a bluenette, her hair tied in a half-up. A royal blue blazer decorated her lithe form, accompanied by a smart-looking white blouse and a black plaited skirt. Formal had never looked so good on anyone— And if someone didn't know better, they'd think that the bluenette was a young lawyer, emerging victorious from her first successful case.

“Marinette!” Alya exclaimed.

“I’m sorry that you’re such an annoying, little, pest.” Lila bit in the girl’s face, disdain colouring her features as she ignored her mother’s enraged gasp behind her.

The bluenette simply smiled, unaffected by the liar who had crashed and burned like the liar once wished upon her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood at her full height, the perfect image of grace and poise as she maintained her composure, quite unlike her nemesis, who thrashed under her mother’s restraining hands.

“And I’m sorry that you didn’t take my promise to heart.”

this can count as adrien redemption depending on you cause ehhh i dont like how passive he is but i havent caught up with the recent episodes, he might have become better. idk.

also where the hell is my miraculous taglist i cant find it so eep. no tagging ppl ig oops

#miraculous ladybug #the tales of ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #lila rossi #lila salt #rossi salt #ml class #ml salt #ml class salt #marinette deserves better #badass marinette #lila rossi lies #lila's lies are exposed #adrien agrete #alya cesaire #cady writesss «

[wormstacheangel]

For The Girl Who Has Everything

Masterpost link for Reelin’ In The Years: Here

AO3 Link: Here

wc: 2.4k Summary:  Claire is too mad to even look at Cas let alone talk to him. Dean knew he had to step up because two people with messed up childhoods and anger issues really need to spend more time together talking about their feelings.

When Chuck was defeated, a lot of people came to the bunker to celebrate. Those times were a big blur to Dean, his focus was on finding a way to save Cas, and it wasn’t until he saw Claire run down those steps that the world focused again. She smiled at him, a rare big grin, before her arms wrapped around his neck to bring him down for a hug with an intoxicating giggle.

‘She didn’t know,’ Dean thought as his arms hung loosely at his sides.

He hid his face in her curls, not knowing how to face another kid Cas left behind because of him. He was holding his breath when she pulled away to look at him. Her eyebrows were raised in a question that Dean didn’t hear. Didn’t want to hear.

She repeated it, “Dude, where’s Cas? Is the old man sleeping or something?”

‘Yes.’ Dean swallowed the hard lump in his throat.

He didn’t look at the audience around them when he finally opened his mouth to say, “Claire, Ca—” He couldn’t say his name. He felt like it would tear the fragile wall that was keeping him on his feet if he did. “I’m sorry.”

Dean watched as her face twisted into confusion, understanding, and then settling into anger.

She was trying to fight the tears, but they fell as she yelled, “No! No, you were—Where were you? Why didn’t you protect him?”

“He protected me. He—he saved me.”

She looked at him with round eyes, shaking her head as if not wanting to believe it.

“Then it should’ve been you! You should’ve died! Not him!” Dean flinched at the words that have been echoing in his head since that night. “It’s not fair!”

Claire’s angry fist collided with his chest. He flinched at every hit but didn’t back away as her punches became sporadic but still filled with grief. Maybe even guilt.

“I’m sorry.” Dean knew those words did nothing to comfort, but he couldn’t help but say them. “I’m so sorry, Claire.”

She screamed in frustration until her punches weakened, and he was holding her. Then, finally, she fell against him, her face hidden in his chest as her grip tightened on his shirt.

She didn’t stay after that.

She walked back up the stairs with Jody and Kaia following behind her. Jack tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t even look at him. Dean couldn’t blame her.

It’s hard to look at the kid when he reminded them of the person they lost.

Of course, Dean never told Cas any of this.

Since coming back, Cas had been dealing with the silent treatment from the killer Barbie. She only replied with the thumbs-up emoji, and when Cas was too much, she responded with the middle finger emoji. A little warning advising Cas to back off.

She only visited him once, but that was when Cas was in the hospital. She freaked out, yelled at him for being stupid, and then passed out by his bed only to leave the next morning like nothing ever happened. Still, it made Cas feel a little better knowing she still cared, but she was dealing with it her way. Or, as Cas liked to say, she was dealing with feelings the Dean Winchester way. Of course, he’ll argue it wasn’t true, but he knows he won’t win that one.

Now he was sitting awkwardly in Jody’s living room watching Kaia and Patience play with Jack on the floor while Claire and Cas had a yelling match in the privacy of the backyard. Well, Claire was yelling while Cas was trying very hard to keep his tone even, which only made Claire angrier.

“I’m done talking to you!” Claire slid the glass door open and stormed through the living room.

“Then try listening to me!” Cas followed behind her, watching as she walked straight past the living room and towards the front door. “Claire. Claire, where are you going?”

She whipped around to glare daggers at Cas, eyes wide filled with tears, but she still looked at him with a pained grimace. “Did you even think of me? When you were out there being a damn hero. Did you-Did you think of me?” Her voice breaking on the last word made Dean flinch.

“Claire, of course-”

“No. No, of course, you didn’t. Cause if you did, then you wouldn’t have-” She bit her cheek as tears started to fall. She stood tall, presenting as strong, as her expression hardened. “You left me, Castiel. And now I-I don’t,” She looked around the room. It was quiet as everyone watched the interaction before her eyes landed on a little Jack in Kaia’s arms. She clicked her tongue before turning back to the door. “I’m leaving.”

“Claire.” Cas tried following her, but Dean quickly rushed up to stop him. “Dean. I may not have my strength, but I will-”

“Calm down, Rocky,” Dean had a hand on Cas’s shoulder to stop him. “I just wanted to stop you from making it worse.”

“I don’t think I can. She hates me.”

“She doesn’t.” He assures his boyfriend with a little smile, but Cas simply rolled his eyes at him. “Okay, you stay here. Talk to your son, and I’ll go talk to the other kid.”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to say to her?”

“I don’t know, but like you said before. Two fuck up’s just understand each other.”

“I didn’t say-”

“Yeah. Yeah. Just let me handle this. You trust me, right?”

Cas made a face at that, not answering quickly enough before he said, “Just bring her home.”

“Gee. Thanks for the confidence, babe.”

Dean ran after Claire, forcing his way to her passenger side as she started to back up on the driveway.

“Thanks for waiting, kid. Where we going?” Dean buckled up just in time for Claire to slam the breaks. Unfortunately, he hit his head on the front dash because the damn seat was scooted forward, his knees were practically pressed against his chest, which made sense knowing a tiny Kaia would usually occupy the seat. “Ow.”

“You aren’t going anywhere. Get out.”

Dean ignored her scary and oddly familiar glare as he pushed the seat back so his legs could fit. “Oh, come on. My treat.”

She didn’t have time to argue because Cas walked out of the front door—his trust in him really was lacking—and Claire decided that dealing with Dean was much easier than having to talk to Cas again. But, of course, he would take that as a compliment.

Claire drove with loud rocker girl music vibrating the windows and didn’t stop until she finally parked outside some ice cream shop.

“I want a shake.” She sniffled, and Dean did his best to ignore her red blotchy eyes for her sake.

“Sure, kid.”

They drank their shakes and shared some fries while sitting on top of Claire’s ugly little red. Well, she sat, and he leaned, but either way, silence remained.

He didn’t want to pressure her to talk—she would probably lie if he did—but still, he wanted to ease the tension between Cas and her, salvage a relationship he knew was important to both of them, but he didn’t know where to start.

Maybe he could start with his own guilt.

“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat as he felt the smooth ice cream start to turn to gum down his throat. He looked down at his shake, lifting the straw up and down to hear the gloppy sound while trying to figure out what to say to her.

She hummed, “‘bout what?”

“Not telling you. About Cas. What happened to him.” He sighed and looked back at her. “Sorry. I should have called, but I wasn’t—I was a mess. I couldn’t be there for you. I couldn’t even be there for Jack. I should have-”

“It’s okay.” She waved her hand up to stop him. “I-I get it. I mean, it’s not, but whatever.”

“So, are you gonna tell me why you’re mad?”

She rolled her eyes, once again the gesture was familiar, before slamming the shake on the hood and sliding off the car. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking so small as she kicked a pebble on the floor.

“He replaced me.”

Her voice was quiet. Almost like she didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“I know it’s stupid and-and I’m acting like a child, but…” She quickly sniffled again before running her hand through her hair nervously. Looking up to stare into the darkening sky, acting like everything was okay. “He’s not my Dad, but he’s the closest thing I have, and I just thought—I just thought that maybe he felt the same way.”

She shrugged, her lips pinching together as if trying to hold something back, before retaking control of her expression. A glare directed towards Dean replaced the lost child stare into the stars, but the lost child was still there.

“Kid…” Dean sighed, head scrambling for words.

“I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me.”

Claire teased with a little smirk. She definitely learned this from Dean or Jody. “Whatever you say, old man.”

“Old—Claire.” She let out a breath of a laugh before rolling her eyes away from Dean. “I’m trying to be serious. Cas… he loves you. He-he loves you like you were his own.” She didn’t look at him, but he could see her face scrunch up, ready to argue. “He worries about you constantly, and Jack knows all about you because he won’t shut up about how awesome you are.”

“He says that? He says I’m awesome?”

“Well, awesome is my word, but you get the gist.” He turns to face her even though she doesn’t meet his gaze. “Cas may not be your Dad, but he loves you like a daughter. Sometimes—yeah, a lot of the time actually—he makes stupid decisions, but it’s cause he is trying his best. And he cares. That dumbass cares way too much about the damn world, but he’s also someone who would give up the whole world if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Stop making excuses for him!”

“Claire, you gotta believe me. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She finally turned to look at him. “But he did. He hurt me! He left me!”

“He left me too!” Dean raised his voice; it sounded broken to admit such a thing out loud. And to Claire of all people. He slumped down against the car again and looked at the ground to ignore her big blue eyes throwing sympathy glares his way. “He left me—more times than you know. And—and don’t tell anyone I told you this—but I…I was scared. Each goddamn time I’m scared that this may be it! That this time…this time he won’t come back to me.”

“But he did.” Her voice sounded so far away.

“Yeah. Had to work a little bit harder on my end, but I got him.” He reached over and patted her shoulder. “We got him back.”

Something in the way her eyes went cold and far away made his fight drain out. He didn’t know what else he could do or say, but he opened his arms just in time to have her fall against him. His face mushed into her curls while he hugged her tight into his chest.

“Were you mad at Cas?”

Dean thought about it for a second. “No. I mean, I was at first. That asshole got himself killed over and over again. Leaving me alone.”

“But you had Sam. Jack.”

“Yeah,” Dean pulled back and looked down at her. “Well, you had Jody. Kaia. Alex. Patience and even Donna. Made it any easier for you?”

“No.”

“No.” He chuckled while she hid her face from him, asking him to continue. “But I was mad at him. Real fucking pissed, actually. At him. At…at everyone. Sam and Jack didn’t even wanna be near me.” He tries to shake off those dark memories of screaming and feeling nothing but agonizing loneliness. “I just shut down and gave up on…a lot of things because he was gone. Couldn’t really see a point, you know?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I get why you’re mad, Claire. Trust me, I do, but he’s back now.”

“And I’m just supposed to forgive him? Did you just forgive him?”

Dean shrugged, looking back down at her sad baby blues. Hoping she would understand and that she won’t tease him about it later on. “I didn’t want to waste any time being mad at him. I love him too much.”

“Gross.” She pushed him away this time, tucking her hair behind her ear before smiling at him. It reminded him of Jack’s little shy smile. “But I-I think you’re right. Maybe I’m done wasting time.”

They drove back with the music luckily a little lower but Dean just watched Claire drive with a growing smile on his face. He’s gonna have to admit that Cas was right, two messed up people can really relate and help each other out.

When they walked into the house, Dean took Jody from marching over to Claire to lecture her. “Just wait,” he whispered to her, and luckily she listened to him. They both held their breath as Claire walked over to Cas—who looked like he had been sitting in that seat freaking out since they left—and asked if they could try talking outside again. He blinked up at her a few times before nodding, following her to the backyard again.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief when the glass door closed behind them.

“Dean.” He looked up towards his kid, who reached for him from Kaia’s arms on the couch. Dean quickly walked over to pick him up, pressing a kiss to his head while trying not to let guilt eat at him. “Is Dad okay?”

“Don’t worry, bud.” Dean watched Jack’s eyes that showed how much he has experienced, how much he understood. “He’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

On the drive back, Cas had a smile plastered across his face. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about what happened, considering Cas walked in, ready to introduce Jack to Claire. Then Cas spent the rest of the night watching his kids getting along, looking the happiest Dean had seen him in a really long time.

“So, what did you and Claire talk about?”

Cas hummed before looking up at Dean as if just remembering that he was there. “Oh. Um, she just made me promise her something.”

“And what’s that?”

“Same thing I promised you. Don’t get dead anymore.”

“Oh. Good. Keep that promise.”

“I’ll do my best.” Cas looked back at Jack before he leaned over and pressed a kiss on Dean’s cheek. “I have a lot to live for now. A family.”

A family. Yeah.

Dean took a peek at Jack with the mirror and then watched as Cas changed his phone background pic to one of Claire spinning Jack around in the living room.

They were a real family.

#shhhh we are gonna pretend it hasn't been months since i updated lol #4 months geez okay well have this #wormstachewrites #dadstiel #destiel #claire #baby!jack #dean #cas #jack #destiel fanfic

[kpop---scenarios]

Sugar Daddy (1)

Pairing: Johnny Seo x Reader

Warnings: None yet..

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Let me know if you wanna be tagged!!

"I don't know about this." You say to Hwasa, tugging on her arm as she tries to walk into the club. 

Your dress is tight, and you feel overly uncomfortable in something so revealing and your heels, especially since you are not small. You are a bigger girl, with a stomach, thick thighs and curves. You have rolls when you sit down, and stretch marks radiating up your sides. You're not like the kind of girls who go to these clubs and it was severely affecting your confidence. 

"Ayn." She smiles. "I promise it'll all be okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." 

With a sigh you nod your head and Hwasa takes your hand leading you inside the club. The music was loud, you could feel the bass thumping on your feet as you walked towards the bar. Your eyes wandered as you were being led by Hwasa. Rich looking men in suits that had become untucked, their sleeves rolled up and collars loosened. They made sure to show off their watches, flashing the expensive ones, not a care in the world here. Most of the men were surrounded by women, some looking quite cozy, but some looking rather uninterested in what their company had to say. 

As you sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of wine, your eyes continued to wander, especially over to a group of men who were by themselves. 

"Those guys rarely find anyone here." Hwasa says, leaning over to whisper in your ear. "They are a few of the most wealthy men and their tastes are very particular." She finishes, sitting back up to take a sip of her wine. 

Not even five minutes later a man approaches Hwasa, asking her if she wants to dance. She looks at you, making you roll your eyes. "Go." You laugh. 

"Are you sure?" She asks. 

"Get out of here, I'm fine." You assure her. 

She takes the man's hand, and heads out to the dance floor. You watch her as she laughs, her head thrown back, the man's eyes watching her intently and in awe. You can already tell he's smitten with her, and they just met. 

You turn back around, and take another sip of your drink, when you feel a warm presence behind you, someone pressing himself against you. You turn around slightly, and see a man with a smirk on his face. He backs up, looking at you and then down to his crotch which very clearly proved he had an election. 

"Want to take care of this for me?" He asks, tilting his head to the side. 

"No." You flat out say, going to turn yourself back around, when he grabs onto your arm, his grip tight as he squeezes your wrist. 

"C'mon sweetheart, don't be like that." He grunts, his eyes wide, motioning down to his crotch. 

"I said no." You yell, trying to shake him off your arm but he tightens his grip. 

You can see his face begin to go red as he begins to get angry at your refusal. You try to fight him off more but he won't let go. He raises his other hand as if he was going to slap you. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact but it never came, and suddenly your arm was free. You open one eye and see the man on the floor, with another man shaking his fist. 

"She said no, fucking respect that." The man yells, giving the man on the ground a swift kick to the ribs. 

"Are you okay?" He asks. 

"Um, yeah.. I'm fine. Thank you." You whisper. You go to turn back around, wanting to leave this place and never let Hwasa convince you to do anything ever again. 

"Would you like to join me at my table?" He asks, causing you to spin back around, mid sip of your cocktail. You try to swallow but slight choke as you nod your head yes  "Sure. I would love to." You sputter, trying to wipe the remnants of your drink from your chin. 

You grab your drinj and follow the man to a table, the table that Hwasa had said before was very particular. 

"Chanyeol this is.." he pauses, motioning to you to speak. 

"Ayn. L/N Ayn." You say with a smile. 

"I'm Park Chanyeol." He smiles, gently shaking your hand.

"And I'm Johnny Seo," He smiles. He eyes trail down your body before going back up to make eye contact.  

"Nice to meet you both." You smile, sitting down on the edge of the couch. Your eyes dart from Johnny to Chanyeol then back to Johnny, but his eyes haven't left you for a moment. You nervously take a sip of your drinj before turning your head and really look at him. 

Fuck, he's absolutely beautiful. His combed brown hair perfectly frames his face, his smile radiates through the entire club, and from what you can see from under his dress shirt, he had a nice body. As much as you tried to ignore it, the feeling that you didn't belong radiated through your body, filling your brain up with possible situations or words that could possibly be said to you. And it made you nervous. Johnny leans over, his lips hovering beside your ears. You can feel his hot breath radiating down your neck. "You are beautiful." He whispers. Your face immediately turns red and hot, a blush forming against your will. Before you can respond, Hwasa runs up to you, grabbing your wrist. "Ayn." She panics. "We have to go. Now!" She yells, yanking on your arm to pull you up. 

"Oh." You partially panic. You sort of toss your glass down and stand up, Johnny's eyes on you. "I'm sorry." You say to him before Hwasa pulls you harder. "Thank you." You mouth before turning your head to watch where you're going. 

A few minutes later you and Hwasa are outside and down the street from the club. You both stop, your hands on your hips as you both catch your breath. Running in heels is not an easy task for anyone. 

"What the hell?" You whine. "Did you see that fine ass man in there?" 

Hwasa laughs. "I'm sorry, Ayn. That guy I was dancing with, oh my god. He was fucking weird. Talking about going back to his mom's house, and how we can be loud because she's partially deaf. I needed to get out of there." 

Your mouth hangs open as Hwasa describes the man she had been flirting with. You burst out laughing at her misfortune, the roles finally having reversed on the two of you. 

"Now you know what I go through most of the time." You joke. You both begin walking back towards your apartment, linking arms as you keep a casual pace, talking and laughing, completely forgetting about Johnny, he was something that likely would have never happened for you anyways. He was a dream that would never have come true.  

**

The next day, you went about your day, the thought of Johnny never crossing your mind. You went to your classes, and after that you headed to your part time job at a Taco Truck. It was perfectly located on a very popular beach, and everyday the truck made a killing and you made minimum wage, which is partially why you had shown up at the club last night. You knew it was a club for sugar daddy's to meet potential sugar babies, and you had thought that maybe you'd meet someone to help you out while you got your masters in Child Psychology. But part of you was happy that things ended up the way that they did, you now wouldn't have to suffer any disappointment of him deciding you weren't worth it, and you didn't have to waste his time realizing he should have picked someone else, in the long run it worked out for both parties. 

With a smile you handed the last person their order, not even looking at the person next in line. You held your pencil and the small notepad you kept in front of you as you let out a big yawn. "Excuse me." You said, clearing your throat. "Welcome to Tacos, Tacos, Tacos, what can I get for you today?" You ask.

"Umm, three of your beef Tacos, and a chicken  Taco please." You hear. Your eyes squint as you try to place where you've heard that voice before. You write down the order, continuing to rack your brain on why it sounds so familiar. You look up and are face to face with Park Chanyeol. He smiles at you, recognizing you immediately. 

"Ayn!" He yells, holding his arms up. "You work here?" He asks. 

"Unfortunately." You laugh, scrunching your nose. 

"How much do I owe you?" He asks, grabbing his wallet. 

"$13.5." You announce. Chanyeol hands you a twenty, telling you to keep the change with a wink, which puts a smile on your face. "It'll be out soon." 

As Chanyeol steps away from the truck, he whips out his phone, dialing a number. You can only hear bits and pieces of the conversation, but you do catch the most important part. "She's here." He says. "That taco truck that we're both obsessed with." He laughs. "Yeah that one." You wave to him, hanging his bag out the window to let him know his order was ready. He hangs up his phone, grabbing his food and waving goodbye to you. 

An hour later, you're told you can go home for the day, and honestly you're relieved as fuck. You're tired, your feet hurt and you just want to go to sleep before you head back to campus tomorrow for another full day of classes and then another seven hours at the food truck. 

Wow your life was so exciting. 

** 

The next day you're walking through the psychology building, heading to your next class. You're on your phone texting Hwasa about how dumb your last professor was, when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. 

"You're a tough woman to track down." 

Your head shoots up as you swing your body around. You see Johnny standing there, a smile on his face. Your eyes trail down his body, his suit fitting perfectly to his body, making you want to cry, drool and cream all at the same time. 

"Why are you looking for me?" You ask, tilting your head to the side, making him laugh. 

"You left so quickly the other night. We never got a chance to talk, have a drink or anything." He says, walking closer towards you. 

"What do you want to talk to me about?" You ask. 

"I want you to be my baby." He grins. 

"Your baby?" You stutter. "Why me?" You ask. 

"Why not you?" He rebuttals. 

"Let's talk. Tonight." He says. 

"I work." You tell him. 

"Food truck?" He asks. 

You nod your head. 

"What time are you off? I'll pick you up." 

"9pm." You say. "But you don't.. " you trial off. 

"Perfect. See you then.. " he pauses with a grin. "Baby." 

#johnny seo #johnny seo smut #sugar daddy johnny #seo johnny #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #sugar daddy nct #nctzen #kpop #kpop sugar daddy #kpop smut #kpop writing #johnny seo writing #johnny fanfic

[granolabird]

Life Is So Busted

Tonights episode had me all kinds of upset that Beth’s parents would just leave her after telling her they’re divorcing so you KNOW I had to fix it with soft Hournite. That’s the only way.  (Sidenote this was entirely written while listening to my Hournite playlist, hence the title. Link to the playlist is in my pinned post!!)

.

The thunderstorm starts as soon as Beth’s parents leave the house. She’s alone, sobbing on the livingroom floor as thunder wracks the home. Fitting weather for the solemn mood she’s in. She should’ve known it would go this way, should’ve known that her parents wouldn’t provide much solace, but she had held out hope. 

Beth was getting tired of holding out hope. 

She’s not entirely sure what to do with herself, so she resolves to call the one person she knows will know what to do. It’s a slow trek as she sniffles her way to where her phone is plugged in, and she winces as lightning illuminates the window. He’s at the top of her contact list, the only person she’s called in the last few days, so all she has to do is press the small green phone icon beside his name, and wait. 

She prays to whatever higher being is out there that he answers.

Rick is in the woods. It’s terrible weather and he’s soaked to the bone but he has to check if Grundy’s shown up. After the Eclipso-induced visions he had of Grundy back at the school he can’t stop himself from checking for the creature, even if it means being out in such terrible weather. There’s no sign of Grundy though, and all Rick has received for his efforts is water weighing him down and a terrible case of the chills. He lets out an exasperated groan as he flops into the driver's seat of his car, slamming the door and letting his head fall onto his steering wheel. He really doesn’t feel like going home to whatever drunken insults Matt is going to throw at him, especially after everything he saw at the school. And so Rick mulls over the idea of staying the night at the Pit Stop, like he usually does on the days when Matt’s being particularly cruel. As he slides his keys into his ignition, his phone rings from where it’s been discarded in a cup holder. He slowly lifts his head and squints at the screen. His heart skips a beat when he reads the name. 

Beth :)

He scrambles to pick the phone up, wet fingers sliding uselessly against the screen as he attempts to answer. By some miracle he manages to hit the right buttons, answering the call. 

He presses the phone to his ear,

“Beth?”

Silence for a moment and then 

“Rick.”

She’s crying. That’s clear the second she speaks, her voice quivering as she says his name.

“I’ll be right over.”

“Beth, hey. What’s up? Are you okay?

“My parents are getting divorced. Or at least, they’re pretty sure they are. They just told me and left. I’m just… I just need someone to talk to. If that’s okay.”

He hears Beth sniffle before she hangs up. Rick grips the wheel of his car and takes off, not caring about the weather, not caring about much of anything really. At this moment, all he cares about is Beth Chapel.

“Rick, the weather is terrible! You don’t have to come all the way over here if it’s not safe-”

“I was planning on coming into town anyway. It’s alright. See you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

Beth hates the way she’s waiting at her door like some sort of sad puppy, but there’s not much else to do. She’s managed to slow her crying as she stares out the small window beside her door, waiting to see a bright yellow car pull into her driveway. She’s starting to get worried, her anxiety telling her Rick had gotten into some terrible car accident, when she sees his car. She can’t help but smile, standing as he parks, and opening her front door when she sees him get out of his car. The storm is forgotten for a moment as she runs down the front steps of her house, leaving her door wide open behind her as she throws herself at Rick, engulfing him in a hug. She’s crying again, sobs wracking her body as she presses herself into his soaked sweater and he holds her. No questions or objections, he just presses one hand on her back and the other into her hair, and holds her. Rick feels his heart break as she looks up at him with tears in her eyes, but he forces himself to stay calm.

“Beth. We should probably go inside. It’s raining.” 

“Right.”

“If you don’t wanna be at home I could drive you to the Pit Stop? That’s where I was headed.”

Beth has gotten Rick a towel and turned on the electric fireplace which he’s not even sure provides heat, but it’s nice anyway. She’s in the kitchen now, steadying herself while she makes hot chocolate, and he towels off his hair and clothes to the best of his abilities as he waits for her to return. After a few minutes Beth enters the living room with two mugs, one with just marshmallows and the other piled high with whipped cream. She offers a soft smile as she hands Rick the whipped cream-topped hot chocolate, before settling in beside him on the sofa. 

She shakes her head.

“You’re soaked. I don’t want you to get sick because of my stupid emotions, come in. I’ll make us some hot chocolate, if you want?” She manages, gesturing for Rick to follow her inside. He nods, and the pair walk into Beth’s house.

“You remembered I like whipped cream.” He laughs and it warms his heart to see her chuckle along with him.

“How could I forget? You scarfed down that whipped cream off the milkshake at the diner like it was your last meal!” 

Rick is fumbling his words and he hates himself for it, but he really is trying his best.

They laugh for a moment, and it’s a relief to see that Beth is feeling at least a little better. After a brief pause Rick knock’s Beth’s knee lightly with his own, and she looks over at him. He searches her face, struggling for the right words to say.

“How are you holding up? I mean, I guess not very well but... I mean, is there anything I can do? I’m not very good with parent things, but if there’s anything I can do…”

“I’m just glad to have you here. I didn’t know what to do, and my parents left me alone, and I really didn’t want to be alone. So I called the one person who I knew would be there for me.”

“Me?”

“You.”

Beth is tearing up again, and she looks down. There’s one question at the front of her mind that she really doesn’t want to dwell on, but she knows she has to ask.

“Do you think it’s my fault? The divorce, I mean.” She sets her mug on the coffee table and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What? No. Beth no, if anything you were what held them together. You talked to them every day, made sure they had at least some time together as a family. There is nothing you could’ve done, this is entirely on them.”

“But I could’ve done something. I know I could’ve. When Eclipso showed up at the school he showed me my parents, and told me it was my fault. Rick, he said it was my fault. I couldn’t fix their relationship.”

Beth slowly lifts her head, still trying to no avail to wipe the tears from her eyes. 

Now Rick is the one to put his mug down on the table as he leans towards Beth.

“Hey. look at me.”

“It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault. You tried so hard, you did everything you could. This is on them. You are the kindest, sweetest person I know, you could never cause something like that. Okay?”

He’s subconsciously laid a hand on top of hers as he spoke, but he leaves it there as she offers a small nod. He smiles at her as they settle into a comfortable silence. Rick is the one to break it.

“How about we watch a movie? Nothing cheers you up like a good movie marathon.” He tips his head towards the TV. This seemingly breaks Beth from her stupor as she leaps up to turn the tv on, separating their hands swiftly. Rick awkwardly picks his hot chocolate, taking a sip as Beth grabs the converter.

“Rick, you’ve never seen Megamind!? Well we have to watch it now!” 

“Yes! Megamind just got put on Netflix, and it’s one of my favourites.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

About halfway into the movie, Beth comes to a rather abrupt realization. She had told Rick all about what Eclipso had shown her, but she hadn’t actually asked him what he had seen. She remembered how shaken he had been when they returned to the Pit Stop after the mission, but he hadn’t talked about it. A feeling of guilt settled into the pit of her stomach, she had forced all her problems onto him, but hadn’t taken the time to listen to his own struggles. 

Beth’s mind is still lingering on her parents, lingering on the way Rick had held her hand, but she can’t dwell on it for too long. Rick is right, she needs to distract herself. So she does, settling back into her spot beside Rick, the duo quietly drinking hot chocolate as the movie begins to play.

“Hey Rick?”

He turns quickly, and she can see he’s scanning her face, trying to gauge what she’s feeling. He does that a lot, and it takes everything Beth has to not smile, knowing that he cares so much. Always checking up on her.

Rick takes a moment to think. As much as he wants to tell Beth the truth, he knows he can’t. He can’t tell her he was too much of a coward to kill Grundy, but he can tell her at least some of the story.

“Yeah?”

“When we fought Eclipso at the school, what did you see? I saw my parents, but you never said what you saw.”

“I saw Grundy. And I saw myself. I saw myself at my worst moment. I was so angry, and I just let my rage take over. I let it consume me. I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself more than that moment. Looking back on it, I was so stupid, just letting myself go like that. And you tried to tell me that, back then. You tried to stop me, and I didn’t listen.” That’s the truth. He does hate himself for that, but he also hates himself for letting Grundy go. It’s a whole whirlpool of conflicted emotions that he hasn’t taken the time to process. He’s not sure he ever will.

Beth is silent for a moment. There’s a lot to unpack there, and she’s not entirely sure what to say. Megamind drones on in the background, entirely forgotten. 

“I’m serious! You’re my closest friend. You’re the only person who listens to me, who’s there for me. Courtney and Yolanda are great, but they don’t stick up for me the way you do. They don’t care about me like you do. There’s no reason you should hate yourself. You let your anger take over, so what? Everyone makes mistakes, there’s no reason that you should hate yourself for having real emotions. I literally sobbed into your sweater in the rain like an hour ago, and do I hate myself for that? No!”

“Rick… You shouldn’t hate yourself.”

“Wow, very insightful.” he lets out a spiteful chuckle, and Beth halfheartedly slaps his arm.

“That was different.”

“It wasn’t! I was feeling really, really sad. You were feeling really, really angry. And you had every right to feel angry. Grundy killed your parents. If I was in that situation, I’d probably have done the same thing.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“You don’t know that.”

Rick locks eyes with Beth when she says that. He feels something inside him break, and he almost slips up,almost tells her how much he cares about her. How much he loves her. He wants nothing more than to kiss her at that moment. But now is not the time, the thoughts of failed love leading to divorce still fresh in her mind.

“I do. Beth, you're always looking for the good in people, always looking on the bright side. And I’m me. I’m always angry, always ready to fight. I hate everyone and everything.”

“You don’t hate me.”

“Beth. Thank you.”

“Rick, I should be saying thank you to you! You’re the one who came rushing through a thunderstorm to rescue me.”

“And yet somehow you’ve managed to find a way to flip the tables. You’ve rescued me.” 

They smile at each other, and lean just a little closer to one another as they turn back to the movie. Things are far from perfect for both of them, but together they’re working to make things at least a little better. And in that moment that’s all that matters.

#OK I'm really proud of this one #Made me almost cry- #Listening to So Busted by Culture Abuse that's where the title is from #Bc it's true they're both struggling with life #but they have eachother :) #Hournite #Beth Chapel #Dr.Midnite #rick tyler #Hourman #Stargirl #stargirl cw #Hournite fic

[spicyspencerreid]

Just Friends| Part Two

A Timothée Chalamet Imagine: Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five

Female!Reader, Dancer/Actress!Reader, CoStar!Reader, FrenchSpeaking!Reader//2800 Words

Summary of part one// Reader and Timothée are best friends. They are going to be costars on a new movie where Y/n plays a dancer and has a small, but still important, role, and Timothée’s a lead. There’s a storm and Y/n’s hotel is having issues, so she has to stay in Timothée’s apartment.  

Warnings// Grammar/spelling and lack of proofreading//Extra soft Timmy; Cursing; Really soft fluff: y/n’s side of it is romantic, but Timothée just sees it in a platonic way, it’s really beautiful in a sad way. IM SORRY ITS SO FUCKING SLOW AND LITERAL SHIT, i like kinda know where I’m going with it, but like I don’t. Just send me a request with how you want it to go please...let me know!

Key: French writing (english translation), Y/n/n-Your nickname, Y/f/n-Your first name, Y/l/n-Your last name

(Added July 2020) Note: this whole series was written before Ansel Elgort’s allegations arose, and honestly, in the most disrespectful way possible: I hope he rots in hell. I ALWAYS stand with the victim, and if that’s going to be a problem, find another series to read. If the mention of his name is triggering to you, PLEASE do not read. If you or anyone you know has been sexually assaulted or abused, do not be afraid to speak up, but if that’s not the route you personally want to take: you can call 1-800-656-4673, available 24 hours every day and 100% confidential.

this is the apartment I used for inspiration//I put links in the specific rooms when they were mentioned so it would feel more ~real~ lol.

You knocked on the door. It was almost 4:00, but it felt like 2:00AM with the time difference combined with your lack of sleep. You glanced a peak at yourself in the reflection of the door, and your face dropped as you saw yourself, instantly becoming extra conscious of the way you looked. You eyes were still a little a little watery, but it didn’t look like you were crying too much. The rain had wet your hair, and your face, and your mascara stained your under-eyes. You sighed realizing you’d already knocked and didn’t have any time to fix yourself. 

The door opened. You put on a soft smile and let out a weak little hi. Timothée took one look at your mascara-stained face and pulled you into his apartment. His arms wrapped around your waist as you rested your head in the crook of his neck. You peeked your eyes up to look into the apartment. You were both in the small sitting room, but you caught a glimpse of the kitchen. It was beautiful. White, clean, cozy, and perfect. 

“I’m getting your hoodie all wet.” You laughed into his neck, feeling more comfortable in his arms than you had felt in a very long time. You smiled as you pulled away, a tired, but genuine smile. 

“I don’t mind,” he looked into your eyes as you suddenly became super aware of his hands lingering on your waist, “let me show you to your room, Mademoiselle.” 

“Si vous insistez, mon ami.” (If you insist, my friend.)  You reached for your bags, but Timothée practically slapped your hand out of the way, insisting he’d bring them to your room while you were in the shower.  He led you down a short hallway, right by the entrance, adjacent to a bookcase. 

“Well this is it,” he motioned to the room, it was blue, your favorite, which made you smile. You admired the pattern on the walls as he continued to talk about the room, “And this is the bathroom, the storm shut off the power a couple hours ago, so the heat still isn’t back on, but the hot water heater should be good. I’ll bring your stuff in while you shower...and extra blankets,” he giggled as his mind brought him back to your apartment in New York. You had the largest collection of blankets he’d ever seen. 

“Thank you, I swear I’ll be out of here by tomorrow, I’ll call the hotel tomorrow morning to check on their status, but I think the system should be up by-”  “Stop. Please tell me you’re kidding, you’re staying here as long as you need to.” He stood in the doorway of the room, resting his head against the wall.  “Timothée...I couldn’t-” your fear of imposing was crawling back into your system, but to be honest, that wasn’t the biggest issue you had with this. You’re main problem was the idea of being stuck in a small, romantic apartment, in what happened to be the most romantic city on earth, with the last guy you wanted to feel romantic about at the moment. 

“How long do they need you on set?” you sighed, knowing where this was going.

“Four weeks, then I have interviews and cameos lined up for two weeks after, then I’m flying back to New York, so technically six weeks-” 

“Okay, well they need me here for two months and a half, that’s...” you giggled as he did the simple math in his head, “Ten weeks. So you are staying here, with me, in this apartment for the six weeks you need to be here.”

“Timothée...” the exhaustion was starting to really hit you. 

“I’m not taking no for an answer, now go shower.” you caved. 

“TMZ is going to LOVE this one,” you waved your hands in the air as you walked into the bathroom.

“I’m already expecting a very angry call from Celine once Kelsey lets her know,” you giggled as he mentioned his publicist, who always seemed to have an issue with something. You closed the door of the bathroom and sighed as you undressed. 

After showering you dried your hair and picked up your phone, you hadn’t checked it since you were at the hotel. There was a missed call from your mom, so you left her a voicemail and quickly updated her on your situation. Kelsey had called about fifteen times in the past hour, and you did not plan on calling her back. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you dried your hair until was at least damp. You put some blush over your cheeks once you realized it was only a little past 4:30. You put on leggings and a cropped-sweatshirt and you left your cozy room. You walked into the living room and spotted Timothée eating off of a plate of fruit at the kitchen counter while talking to his phone, you admired his outfit. He was wearing a dark green hoodie, simple, but the way it brought out his eyes made the butterflies in your stomach do flips. 

“And there she is...” you heard him say to his screen, “I’m live on instagram. I was telling our fans the situation you’d gotten yourself into...” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed a strawberry and bit into it. He turned around the phone to show you to the camera, you waved and his fans went crazy, of course, “A situation, that wouldn’t have occurred, if you’d agreed to stay with me in the first place,” “Whatever, Timothée,” you laughed. 

“Okay guys I’m gonna sign off...uh...how do I end this thing?” Timothée was probably the most intelligent man you knew, but his lack of energy on social media did not leave him particularly knowledgeable in moments like these. 

“You have to click the ‘end live’ button.”

“Where’s that?”

“C'est dans le coin,” (it’s in the corner)

“Non, c'est ma photo de profil,” (no, that’s my profile picture)

“Ugh, laisse-moi le faire.” (let me do it) You grabbed his phone and waved goodbye to his fans as you ended the live. You laughed with him as you placed a bet on who would get the most calls from your publicists.

“Tu as faim? (are you hungry?) We could go out to a cafe a couple blocks away if you want.” He smiled as he popped a blueberry into his mouth and went to the refrigerator, grabbing whipped cream, your favorite, and a plate, where he put some whipped cream on it. You thanked him while you picked up another strawberry and dipped it in the whipped cream, melting over the fact that you didn’t have to ask. 

“You know, I’m kinda hungry, mais je suis très, très fatigué... (but I am very, very tired)” you usually would’ve toughed it out and gone to dinner, having been pretty good at faking your way through a dinner at this point, but you were at a whole new level of sleep-deprived. 

“Okay, so how about we get a couple margarita pizzas delivered and watch a movie. Sonne bien? (Sound good?)” 

“That sounds amazing.” you sighed out of relief.

“The menu on my nightstand has the number on it, I’ll go call.” he squeezed your shoulder and walked into his room. You walked around, running your fingers over the bookshelves throughout the apartment. You smiled as your eyes laid on Call Me By Your Name, the book cover having the picture of him and Armie on it. You thought back to the night you’d met, and how nervous you were. You pulled the book out from the bookshelves, running your fingers over the cover. You thought about that little crush you’d had on him, how sweet he’d been to you, how he remained to be the same easy to talk to guy no matter how many more lead roles he booked. You felt your face heating up as you realized how it’d already felt too long since Ansel had teased you about it. You skimmed through the book, trying to find your moments, but you shut it as fast as you could once you found yourself imagining Timothée kissing you instead of Armie. 

“L'avez-vous lu?” (Have you read it?) you jumped, dropping the book on the ground. Timothée was once again resting in the doorway of yet another room, he laughed once he realized he’d scared you.

“Yeah, actually, I read it the night after the premiere, wanted to see if it was as good as the move.” you giggled as you picked up the book and put it back in the bookcase while collecting yourself.

“What was the verdict?”

“I still think the movie was better, but if I anyone asks, I never said that...”

“Alright, I won’t say anything, I appreciate it though.” he laughed when he spoke. That smile was killing you. The doorbell rang and Timothée went to grab the pizza. You two ate and talked for a while, discussing the upcoming movie. You talked about how excited you were, you hadn’t danced in a movie since the one you were in with Zendaya. After you finished eating Timothée cleaned up and you argued over a movie to watch in his room. 

“Y/n. You’ve never seen Pride and Prejudice? That has to be illegal in some countries. Everyone’s seen Pride And Prejudice!” You think this might’ve been the maddest you’d ever seen him before.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the opportunity’s never presented itself. Let’s watch Marriage Story, we can watch Pride And Prejudice tomorrow? When I’m not about pass out from exhaustion...?”

“D’accord, d’accord, (okay, okay) fine. Marriage Story it is...” you let out a silent yes as you both walked into his room. He pulled back the closet doors to reveal a rather nice TV.

“Yay!” you giggled flopping down onto the right side of his bed, “This is the first time I’ve officially laid on a bed in about 40 hours.” 

He smiled, typing in Marriage Story on Netflix before laying down on the opposite side of the bed. 

About an hour and a half into the movie, about the fifth time you’d almost drifted off into sleep, you’d noticed Timothée had practically covered his whole body except for his eyes in a blanket. You took one look at him and bursted into laughter.

“Fuck off, I don’t understand how you’re not freezing right now.” he was right, it was pretty cold in the apartment, since the heat still wasn’t up yet. 

“I like the cold...and the sound of the rain, this is all pretty relaxing to me...” you laughed. 

“Okay fine then, come here.” he opened his arm towards you and your eyes snapped to meet his.

“What?”

“Come here, I’m cold, I need your body heat.” You’d cuddled with Timothée on multiple occasions, but all of them led to you stuck in your thoughts at night as feelings resurfaced, and most of them led to you realizing you never wanted to leave his arms. You looked into his pleading green eyes and melted, moving over and shifting yourself so you were right up against him. His arm reached around you and you laid your head on his chest. A couple minutes later, he spoke again.

“You know, you can go to sleep if you want.” he whispered as he started to lightly drag his hand up and down your back, you felt lucky you were way too tired to give it a second thought. You looked over to the clock on the nightstand, it was only 6:00. 

“Non, je ne peux pas. (no, I can’t) I have to wake up early tomorrow and start learning a turn sequence for rehearsal. I can’t really risk my sleep schedule right now, you know that.” you muttered into his chest. You knew if you went to sleep now, you’d wake up at midnight and not be able to sleep, then fall into a schedule of going to bed at dinner time, which wouldn’t work out well with your schedule for the movie.  

“There’s only a half hour or so left in the movie, go to sleep and I promise I’ll wake you up when it ends, you haven’t slept in so long,” he started to draw circles on the exposed space between your leggings and your sweatshirt, his cold, soft, fingers giving you goosebumps, “détends-toi.” (just relax) You sighed into his chest as his hands started to lull you to sleep. 

“Y/n, the movie’s over,” You awoke to Timothée lightly whispering in your ear. You leaned up and rubbed your eyes. 

“Hi.” your eyes met his. 

“Hi sleeping beauty.” He smiled and you blushed at the nickname. He knew it reminded of you the ballet, making your eyes light up every time you spoke about it. You realized how close his face was to yours. You became strongly aware of how close his lips were to yours, how easy it would be to just inch a little closer, and meet them with yours, and more importantly, how bad you wanted to. How bad you wanted to make that tiny little space vanish. You snapped out of it once you’d realized you were staring, hoping he didn’t notice too, but he did, he always did, you just didn’t know it. It was a quarter till seven, you sat up on the bed, and he did with you, needing to keep yourself busy so you wouldn’t fall asleep again. He kept his arm around you, and you two started to talk. You loved the late night talks you had, wether it was at midnight or just after lunch. You eventually made your way to the living room, and Timothée poured you both glasses of wine as you took your seat on the couch. 

“So, are you nervous for your first day of rehearsals?” He handed you your glass and put his arm back around you. It was a stupid question, of course you were nervous, you were always nervous, about every new opportunity that came your way.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta a couple turn sequences to memorize tomorrow. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself too much.” you were beyond nervous to work with the choreographer on this movie.

“Stop, you’ll be fine, they didn’t even audition you. They practically begged you to be in this film.” he wasn’t wrong, the director had reached out himself, saying he didn’t even need to see you, he’d just send you the script and wait for your response. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m good enough for the role though, you know? They haven’t even seen me in the choreography, or how I fit with the other dancers, or any of it. I could be a total mess and they couldn’t do anything about it.” 

“You’ve got to stop doubting yourself, do I have to remind you who you are?” He playfully shoved you, “I’ll never understand how you flawlessly played Sleeping Beauty in front of 3,800 people once a week for six months, but you somehow still doubt yourself when you’re just going to be in a room with a couple people?” he had a good point, but you didn’t see it like that. 

“First of all, and you know this better than I do, the lights block out the audience when you’re on stage. And second of all, doing that show every day is ten million times less scary than being judged in a small room with people that matter.” “I know what you mean..., but I still think you’re too good to doubt yourself...”

“Oh really Mr. Hotshot?” it was you shoving him this time. 

“One day...y/n/n...,” he took a sip of his wine, “...one day I’m gonna get you to realize how amazing you are.” You looked at him and sighed.

“One day...,” you took a sip of your wine before sitting in down on the coffee table, it was finally past ten, you’d been talking for hours and barely realized. You could finally go to bed without ruining your sleep schedule, “I should probably head to bed.”

“I’ll get your glass, goodnight Y/n.”

“Goodnight Timothée.” 

And there it was again, there you were again. You were doing what you knew you’d be doing the second you caved and allowed yourself to fall into his arms during the movie. The same as you did any time the two of you had gotten remotely close to each other. Every time you sat together on the couch in Z’s apartment. Every time Ansel had made a joke about your little crush, the one that was beginning to grow larger and larger. Damn. You were in for a long night of over-thinking. 

Some of you asked to be tagged holy shit you guys have no idea how happy that makes me oh my god, I’m still tagging ppl btw, my phone’s dead lol so I’m on my mac:

@sspidermanss @fandom-food-fire​ @gigi-maria-argu @meaganl124 @danidomm​

I DONT LIKE THIS NEARLY AS MUCH AS I LIKE THE FIRST PART IM SORRY :(( I LOVE YOU GUYS THOUGH THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE FIRST PART. IDK WHAT IM GONNA DO FOR PART THREE. I wanted to like make him start dating Lily and then y/n like cries to Zendaya and I had a lot of thought about that...please let me know about part 3!!!!!!

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet #timothée smut #timothée x reader #armie x timothee #zendaya #ansel elgort #timothee fanfic #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee red carpet #timotheetea #timothée #just friends

[wishingupontheskyandstars]

Our Secret This Holiday ❄️ Chp. 8

Fic Summary: As the Holidays approach, Arya and Gendry are a new couple spending a lot of time together before they reveal to everyone else that they are dating and what better day to reveal that than on Christmas…

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | AO3 Link Here | Rated M | Inspired Christmas Prompts Link

Chapter 8: Shopping List

It was not yet morning, but Arya could still see snow falling. She stared through her window, feet away. The moonlight was the only light that lingered in her room. She turned around in bed, making sure the blanket covered her naked breasts as her eyes fell on Gendry. He laid on his back with his eyes closed; the blanket was just above his hips.

Arya licked her bottom lip as she gently traced his taut skin with her blunt fingertips. She traced her fingers to his neck, then his left shoulder.

"That felt good," Gendry said in a groggy but deep voice. He opened his eyes and met her stare. "Is it morning yet?"

Arya shook her head, then leaned towards him and kissed him. "I don't want you to go," she mumbled against his lips, feeling his breath on hers. She lifted her left leg and wrapped it around his, making her sit on his thigh.

"Arya, I should go," Gendry whispered.

She shook her head as she gently moved against his thigh, instantly feeling the start of—"Oh..." she moaned as Gendry kissed her, as he brought them both in a sitting position. Arya's hand landed on his cock. She pushed it to be inside her as he gulped.

Arya positioned herself, moved forward, and licked his bottom lip, seeking entrance. Once her tongue touched his, their hips moved together in a fast rhythm, both seeking release.

Gendry kept moving with Arya as he stopped kissing her and lifted a lock of hair from her face, to behind her ear. She grinned as she held on to him while moving with him. "A few more minutes it is," he said before kissing her again.

Sansa drank a tall glass of water in the kitchen downstairs, feeling like she went on one of her runs and not just having three rounds of the most intense orgasms. She put the glass down, wiping any water from her lips, feeling refreshed. She straightened Theon's oversized shirt and made sure it went over her butt.

She opened the fridge and spotted the whipped cream she was looking for. She half-grinned, knowing precisely what she was going to do with it. She stepped back, closing the door until something caught her eye. On the top shelf was a plate of leftover lemon cakes. She smirked, grabbing the plate, and closed the door with her right hip.

With whip cream and lemon cakes in her hands, she started to walk upstairs. If she had not been careful to be quiet, she would not have heard the noise of a door close. Feeling curious, she walked up the stairs faster, and before she reached the landing, she heard the sound of a door closing again as if trying not to make any noise at all. She looked down the hall, one side then the other, and saw no one. She shook her head as she walked to her room, where her boyfriend awaited her.

Hours later, in the dining room, Arya sat across from Jon, both eating breakfast. Jon looked at his younger cousin before drinking a sip of his coffee.

Arya could feel Jon's stare. She ate a link of sausage before her eyes met his. "What is it?" she asked.

"What?"

"I know you're looking at me, and I want to know why." She raised a brow at him.

Jon sighed and pushed his plate away as he crossed his arms. "Why didn't you tell us you were dating?"

Arya's eyes enlarged. "Excuse me?"

"Ygritte and I saw you in front of that Christmas tree in town."

Arya looked down at her plate of food. "You spying on me?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "We stepped out of a shop and saw you two kissing."

"So, I'm not allowed to kiss anyone, am I?"

"Of course you are—I would like to meet the boy that's finally captured your heart. Does he live locally?"

Arya was relieved and thankful to the gods that he didn't see Gendry that night. "Not really," she said finally.

"Well, I would like to—"

"Morning!" Gendry said as he walked into the room, oblivious to what the Stark cousins were talking about.

Jon smiled. "Hey—sleep well?"

"Umm...yes—very good."

Arya bit her lip from grinning as Gendry sat next to Jon and filled his plate with fruit, potatoes, bacon, and eggs.

"It can get cold up here, sometimes unbearable. Hopefully, you had the heater on in your room," Jon said.

Gendry didn't dare look at Arya as he smiled uncomfortably. "Uhh—Yes, heater—on—Mmm." He nodded and poured orange juice in his glass before drinking half of it.

"I don't go to sleep until I know that heater is on," Arya said matter-of-factly, giving Gendry a wink as Jon looked away from them to take another sip of his coffee.

Jon put down his cup and looked over at Gendry and was going to ask him another question when he was blind-sighted by the brown leather jacket he was wearing—like the one he saw the previous evening on the guy that was kissing Arya. His eyes enlarged in realization as he looked at Arya then Gendry, who were both eating, but she caught Arya looking at Gendry. "You!" Was all he said.

Arya wrinkled her nose. "What?"

Jon then turned to Gendry. "And you!" He pointed at him. "It was you I saw with Arya last night—"

"Jon!" Arya exclaimed. She looked worried as she dropped her fork and knife. The sound of cutlery clattering on the plate was the only noise heard.

Gendry swallowed the strawberry he was eating, and he just felt cold, looking at Jon's protective facial expression. He sighed and said, "Yes, we're together."

"Gendry!" Arya crossed her arms in annoyance.

At that second, Catelyn walked into the room, carrying a piece of paper. She nodded towards Gendry and Jon before placing the paper on the table.

Jon whispered to Gendry in an almost angry tone, "I want to talk to you after breakfast, alone."

Gendry only nodded in response then looked at his plate.

Arya, not wanting her mother to ask what just happened, said, "Morning, mother," looking at the paper suspiciously but knowing what it was.

"Good morning, Arya. Here is a list of things to buy today. I recommend going as soon as you finished with breakfast. No doubt the mall will be filled with people by noon."

Arya nodded, looking at the list, front and back. Catelyn then placed a credit card on the table. "Bring back the receipts," she said in a no-nonsense tone.

Arya nodded. "Of course."

Catelyn turned to Gendry. "Thank you again, Gendry, for driving with Arya up here."

"No problem, Mrs. Stark. It was a pleasure." He smiled then almost grimaced at what he just said. "Arya and I caught up on a lot of things driving up here."

"We did," Arya said with an almost smile. Gendry coughed and drank more of his juice.

Jon looked away, eating more food from his plate.

Oblivious to their interaction, Catelyn smiled. "Good, well I—"

"I'm going to need help with the bags and running around," Arya started. She shrugged and asked Gendry, "Do you mind coming with me?" She bit her lip as if in anticipation. "Sorry for asking, but—"

"Yeah—okay." Gendry nodded.

Catelyn smiled, grateful for his help. "Wonderful, you can take Ned's truck. It's big enough to fit everything from the list."

"Super," Arya said, grinning at Gendry. Jon looked at Arya, looking at Gendry. He furrowed his brows, then shook his head as he finished his cup of coffee.

"Gah! How are we supposed to find everything with so many stores—We're lost! I hate shopping!" Arya said with frustration looking at all the stores around them.

Gendry sighed. "Me too." He looked at all the people walking around to the different stores and food court. He shivered as he tried to keep warm with his brown leather jacket. "And it's freezing in here!" He scowled.

Arya chuckled. "You're always cold up here." She leaned into him and looked up at his beautiful face. "I'm here to keep you warm." She kissed his lips softly.

Gendry leaned into the kiss, feeling warm already.

"Did that work?"

"Mmm."

Arya sighed, dreading what she knew she had to ask. "Okay, what did he say to you? He couldn't even look at me—the jerk."

He sighed. "He wanted to know when our relationship started and if it was serious and not a fling."

"So, what if we were? We're grown-ass adults." Arya rolled her eyes. "What did you say?"

"I told the truth, we're in love, and we plan to tell your parents and family Christmas day."

Arya grinned. "Did he say anything else?"

He shrugged. "He was surprised, but you know Jon, he can't stay mad for too long. He only said if I did anything to cause you to hurt, he would umm kill me."

"Ah, so the usual then."

"Yup."

Arya chuckled. "Well, there's someone else that knows." She leaned against Gendry and read the list her mother gave her. "Let's see...for Sansa...Scented candles..." Arya gives a wide smile. "Hmm, instead of vanilla, lavender, and rose...we'll get bubblegum, licorice, and pumpkin—she hates licorice."

"You're wicked."

"Ha—and for Jon and Ygritte, she will get her ugg slippers, but for Jon, all they had were croc sandals."

Gendry shook his head as he started to walk with Arya still leaning on him. "Come on, you Grinch," he said playfully.

"Bran—warm sweaters—or in the deal section, we'll find summer clothes like caps, shorts, and tank tops." She laughed. "Okay, this shopping might be better than I thought."

#gendrya #arya x gendry #ao3 #fanfic #multi chapter fic #inspired by Tumblr prompt #Holidays #Christmas #my fanfic

[callboxkat]

Second Chances Part 7: The Phone Call

Author’s note:  As you guys will see, this installment has a lot of Spanish in it. I've tried to include enough context clues for anyone who doesn't speak the language, but if you still want any translations or clarification, just let me know!

Summary:  The time has come for Roman to call his parents for the first time since he disappeared five years ago. But do they even want to hear from him?

Warnings: talk of homelessness, fear of rejection, lying, arguing, food mention, death mention

Word Count: 6812

Second Chances Masterpost!

Ao3 Link

...

Patton rolled over in the bed yet again, trying to get comfortable. It was very late, and he should have been asleep hours ago, but his brain just wouldn’t turn off. Given all that had been revealed that day, all that there was to do, he wasn’t exactly surprised. But he wished that he could be able to forget about that, at least for a while, at least until he’d gotten some sleep. That didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon, given how wide-awake he still felt. He didn’t know exactly what time it was; but if he were to look at the clock on the bedside table, he would probably wince.

A sleepy grumble sounded next to him. “Patton?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lo,” Patton whispered, his heart sinking. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You’ve—” Logan yawned, shifting in the bed and pulling himself closer to his boyfriend. “You’ve been tossing and turning all night. What’s wrong?” He blinked tired eyes at Patton in the dimly lit room.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Roman said,” Patton admitted, still whispering. “I just… His parents have no idea what happened. They haven’t seen him in five years! He just went off to school, and disappeared, and you know they tried to find him—they had to—and, oh, Logan, how do you think they felt when they found out he never even made it to school? They probably think he hated them, or—or maybe even that he’s dead.”

“Shhh,” Logan soothed, clearly more awake now because of the stress in Patton’s voice. “I know,” he murmured. “I know. It is a difficult situation. I assure you, though, we will do what we can to find them.”

“I just want to find that boyfriend of his, and—and fight him.”

“Even if you could do that without facing legal ramifications, it wouldn’t do any good.”

“But he deserves it.” Patton sounded unusually angry.

“Maybe,” Logan admitted, tracing a geometric pattern on Patton’s arm through his pajama sleeve in an attempt to soothe him.

“I can’t sleep, Lo,” Patton said sadly. “I should be doing something. Trying to find his parents, so they know he’s okay.”

“Even if we did find them now, I doubt they would appreciate a phone call at—” he sat up slightly to see the clock— “four in the morning.”

Patton sighed. Logan was right, of course, that it was too late to do anything now; but he didn’t have to like it.

“Come here,” Logan invited, lifting up one arm. “The only thing you should be doing right now is sleeping. You don’t have school tomorrow. You can try to find them then.”

“You had him write down their names, right?” Patton mumbled, nestling himself into Logan’s arms. Roman would be leaving early in the morning, so they wouldn’t have the chance to ask him then.

“Correct. As well as their last known address.”

“Good.”

Logan adjusted how the blankets draped over them both, and Patton closed his eyes. It was a while longer before he managed to drift off to sleep, still buzzing with a frenzied energy even as he lay curled in his boyfriend’s embrace; but finally, he did.

…

Roman couldn’t help but worry that he’d made a mistake. Maybe he should have kept quiet about what had happened and why he was homeless. He hadn’t shared any specific details of what exactly his ex-boyfriend had said about him, but that didn’t mean that Logan and Patton wouldn’t believe that he’d been lying. What if they decided Roman really was an irredeemable person, like everyone else had? What if they decided to throw him out again now that they knew just how much at fault he was for his own situation? What if they couldn’t find his parents, and he never got the chance to apologize?

What if they did manage to contact his parents, and they rejected him?

Suffice to say, Roman was very distracted the day after he shared his story, which was not a good state of mind to have at only his second day on the job at the Sanders Café. Barely an hour into his shift, he ended up dropping a container of coffee grounds, its contents spilling across the floor. It had only been half-full, but this latest mistake only made Roman feel like more of a screw up. He stared down at the mess, his mouth falling open as he was jerked out of his fog.

His fellow barista—Alex, today, apparently—groaned and turned away, hands thrown up in the air. “Seriously, Princey?”

Roman stammered something about getting a broom, very aware of the snickers and annoyed mutterings of a few customers waiting in line, only to run right into Thomas, their manager, who had clearly seen the whole thing. Of course, he had. The area behind the counter wasn’t exactly huge.

Thomas took a step back, eyebrows furrowed as he steadied the flustered barista. “Hey, Roman?” he said, “why don’t you go take a ten minute break in the back? I’ll clean this up.”

Roman immediately jerked upright, eyes widening. “Thomas, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I swear it was an accident—”

“Woah, Roman,” Thomas said, his voice a little higher than usual. “You’re not in trouble, I promise. It’s only your second day. Just go take a break. Sit down for a bit. Reset. I’ll clean up and man the register.”

Roman nodded and sheepishly walked off, glancing back in time to see the other barista take the broom from Thomas and shoo him towards the register.

He sat down in the office in the back, putting his head in his hand. He glanced at the time on his watch, a cheap but nice-looking piece with a red band that Logan and Patton had bought for him, and sighed through his nose. He’d already messed up so bad that he’d been put in time out, and he had several hours left in his shift. Plenty of time to get himself fired, at the rate he was messing things up.

He had to focus if he wanted to do well and actually keep this job; but all he could think about was the night before and the daunting prospect of what was to come.

Not for the first time, Roman wished he still had a phone. Maybe if he could message Patton and Logan, he could put his mind at ease. They’d reacted sympathetically the night before, but he couldn’t help but think that they very well could have changed their minds. And he suspected that they were going to tell Val a condensed version of the tale, if they hadn’t already. They hadn’t really talked about that, but they should have. Roman would have asked them to hold off. Yet another worry of his was that she would hear about how this was all his fault and decide to kick him out again.

There’s nothing you can do about it right now, he told himself, shaking his head harshly. He sat up suddenly straight. He shouldn’t be worrying about all of this now; he was at work. He had a job. People were counting on him, even if it was only to help give people their caffeine and pastry fix. Thomas and ‘Alex’ shouldn’t have to do the job all by themselves.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, his posture erect. It was no different to a performance, he told himself. He just needed to put everything else aside and get into the right mindset.

Eventually, the ten minutes passed, and Roman made his way back to the front. He straightened his company shirt and apron, squared his shoulders, and stepped out. Thomas was seated on a stool behind the register, while ‘Alex’ was busy making some kind of chocolate syrup, sprinkle, and whipped cream-covered drink. It looked like a pile of sugar in a cup, and it looked absolutely delicious. The mess of coffee grounds was gone.

“Grab me a lid,” ‘Alex’ said, not looking up as he approached.

Roman did, picking one up off the stack and handing it over. He was probably more pleased with himself that he grabbed the correct kind than the moment warranted; but to be fair, the bar for success was currently set at not dropping everything on the floor.

The barista grunted as if to substitute a “thank you,” then handed over the drink to a college-aged girl with enough colorful barrettes in her hair to create a double rainbow.

“Thanks,” she drawled, dropping a quarter in the tip jar.

“Thank you!” Thomas said with a smile as she swaggered off.

“Do you want me to take over?” Roman asked, coming up next to Thomas.

Thomas hummed. “Well, you can if you’d like, but I’d appreciate if you helped make drinks. That okay with you?”

Roman nodded, biting his lip. He still didn’t know how to actually work the machines, but he wasn’t going to refuse. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Thomas.”

It turned out that he needn’t have worried about not knowing how to operate the machines. As he probably should have expected given the coffee grounds incident, his coworker was rather reluctant to let him put together the drinks. ‘Alex’ mostly had him fetch things, like the caramel or chocolate syrup, whipped cream bottles, lids, and firmly closed containers of coffee or milk.

Because nothing was perfect, while Roman was definitely more on his game than before, he did still make a few mistakes. One time, Roman handed over the almond milk instead of soy milk, and the other barista groaned like Roman had just made the screw-up of the century.

“Princey. This is almond milk. I asked for soy milk. They are not the same thing. What if the customer was allergic to almonds? You could have just put someone in the hospital!”

Roman opened his mouth and shut it again. Finally, he just huffed, took the almond milk back, and switched it out for the correct one.

“Thank you,” the barista said in an exaggerated tone, adding the milk to the drink.

Thomas glanced over. “Storm Cloud,” he said, making ‘Alex’s’ face redden under its pale foundation, “it was an honest mistake. We all have off days.”

Roman felt a rush of gratefulness for Thomas.

“Right, right,” the other barista grumbled. “It just happens that some of us have more of them than others.”

Roman felt his face turn pink. He wanted to argue that it was only his second day, that the other barista was judging him before even getting to know him, that he could do much better than this. But he also really wanted to keep this job. And besides—with how Roman’s life had turned out so far, who was he to say that he could do anything right?

So, instead, he just irritably got back to being ‘Alex’s’ errand boy, fetching lids and straws and ingredients, until finally the end of their shift arrived, and Roman could go home. Or at least, back to what he hoped he could still consider his home. At least he didn’t mess anything else up that day.

“Good job today, Roman,” Thomas said as he took off his apron. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, can’t wait for him to mess up more stuff,” ‘Alex’ muttered, too quietly for Thomas to hear, and just barely loud enough for Roman to make out. “Just wait until he actually tries to pour a cup of coffee.”

Roman shot a glance at the other barista, then flashed a strained smile at Thomas. “See you tomorrow.”

…

Roman walked back home—or at least, to Logan’s house—slowly. He would have been scuffing his feet along the sidewalk if he weren’t so reluctant to damage the shoes that Logan and Patton had bought for him. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the others, knowing they’d probably want to talk about the night before.

He arrived and let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn’t see anyone right away, so he just plodded up to the guest room—“his” room, for however much longer that would last—and threw himself down on the bed.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, his face pressed into the comforter, before he heard a quiet knock at his door.

“Roman?”

Roman sighed in resignation, pushed himself up off of the bed, and went to answer the door. He pulled it open, and there was Patton, standing with a few pieces of paper in his arms and a simultaneously concerned and hopeful look on his face.

“Sorry, kiddo, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No—no, you didn’t,” Roman assured him, shifting on his feet. He offered a dazzling smile. “Um, what brings you here?”

Patton smiled, perking up instantly. “I think I found them,” he said, starting to rock back and forth where he stood. “Can I show you? I wanted to make sure, before we tried to contact them or anything. But I think I did it!”

Roman’s gaze drifted to the papers in Patton’s arms. The cold feeling of dread settled in his chest. He had found them? In one day? Roman supposed that made sense, since they probably weren’t exactly hiding; but that still felt like far too fast. He knew he ought to be excited, but the feeling wouldn’t come.

Patton hesitated, searching Roman’s face. His rocking slowed to a stop. “Maybe this could wait?” he suggested hesitantly.

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but could only nod.

“Have you had lunch?”

Roman shook his head.

“Okay!” Patton said. “After lunch it is.”

“You didn’t eat yet?” Roman’s eyebrows furrowed, looking up from the papers in Patton’s hands. It had to be nearly 3 PM by now, right? Roman had gotten off work at 2.

“Nope! I wanted to wait for you. It’s just the two of us today; that okay?”

“Yeah, Pat, of course,” Roman had expected to be eating alone, after all. “I don’t mind.”

“So, how was work?” Patton asked as they made their way downstairs.

“Oh, uh… it was alright.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Roman smiled for good measure.

“Well, I’m glad. Maybe you can tell me about it while we eat.”

“Oh, there’s not much to tell. Just making coffee, thanking people for 25 cent tips.”

“But you like it there?”

Roman shrugged. “Might be too soon to tell, but it’s alright.” Thomas was nice, at least. As for Alex, or Enrique, or Terrence, or whatever… Roman couldn’t say. He hoped they’d get along eventually.

…

Roman stared down at the phone in his hand, borrowed from Patton. His mamá’s name was displayed on the screen. All he had to do was press a button, and he could talk to her. Assuming she answered.

“Do you want to be alone, maybe?” Patton asked gently. “Logan and I can go.” He and his boyfriend were seated on either side of Roman, for moral support.

“No—no, that’s okay,” Roman said. His mouth was dry. He took a shaky breath, hesitated, and took another. He pressed the button.

The phone rang. Once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” a lightly accented voice asked. “Who—?”

Roman’s thumb smacked the end call button.

Logan looked confused. “Was that not her?”

Patton shushed him, murmuring quietly, before turning back to Roman. “Roman, there’s no rush. If you’re not ready, we can wait.”

“No… I’m sorry, I don’t… I panicked a little there.” He laughed nervously. “That was… that was her.”

“Should we try again?”

Roman nodded, staring at the phone. He proceeded to sit there, staring at it, for several minutes in silence. Patton put a hand between his shoulder blades and rested it there.

Roman hit the call button.

The phone rang. Only once this time.

“Hello, who is this?”  

Roman inhaled shakily.

“Hola, Mamá,” he said, fleetingly proud of the fact that his voice hardly wobbled.

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. Roman’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“¿Mijo, por qué me llamas?”

Roman swallowed, his heart sinking even further at her tone. She didn’t want to hear from him; of course she didn’t want to hear from him; why would she? He should have just stayed away. What had he thought would happen? Of course she hated him. He would have ended the call right then, but he felt too devastated to move.

“¿Ya estás en problemas de nuevo? Re—”

Roman gasped loudly, realization hitting him; and his mamá broke off in surprise. She thought he was his brother. Of course, he should have realized sooner.

“No, no, Mamá,” he said desperately. “Soy yo. Soy Roman.”

There was a pause. Roman could feel himself sweating. His heart pattered discordantly, like a stone falling down a staircase. A tiny flame of hope flared within him, one he didn’t dare allow to grow. He beat it down in silence, waiting. It felt like decades before his mamá responded.

“¿Es un chiste? ¿Te estás burlando de mí?”

She thought it was a joke, that he—or rather, Roman’s twin brother—was making fun of her. “No, Mamá, te prometo. Soy Roman.” His voice broke, shaking as he fought to get the words out. That must have been what convinced her.

“¿…Roman?” she repeated, breathy, shocked.

Patton’s hand rubbed his back in slow circles. Logan was silent, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to help; but he hadn’t left, which Roman appreciated.

“Sí,” Roman confirmed once more. “Sí, soy yo.” He took a breath. “Mamá, lo siento, lo siento muchísimo—”

Roman’s mamá found her voice at the same time. “Roman, mijito, ¿dónde estás? ¿Qué te pasó? Cariño, cariño—”  She was crying, talking so fast Roman could barely keep up, asking what had happened, where he had been all this time, if he was okay, why he had disappeared.

All Roman could seem to do was to keep repeating that he was okay and that he was sorry. Patton kept rubbing between his shoulder blades. Logan was studying the floor.

…

Patton was slowly rubbing Roman’s back, trying to offer his silent support as his friend called his mom for the first time since he’d disappeared five years before. He could only properly hear half the conversation, although he could hear Roman’s mamá muffled voice through the speaker—she must have been practically shouting, and Patton couldn’t exactly blame her. He didn’t speak Spanish, but he caught a few words here and there. Names, phrases like “soy yo” and “lo siento” that were repeated over and over again. At one point, he heard Roman’s mamá shout, very clearly, something that Patton was pretty sure meant “We thought you were dead!”

Slowly, as time went on, the exchange began to calm down, becoming more of a proper conversation. Patton couldn’t have told you what exactly they said; but he didn’t mind not being able to listen in, or that Roman had probably chosen to speak in Spanish for this exact reason. This way, he could be supportive without any guilt about eavesdropping.

He just kept rubbing a hand between Roman’s shoulder blades, waiting.

After a while, Roman moved the phone away from his lips, glancing furtively at Patton. “She, um… she wants me to come see her.”

Patton smiled at him. “That’s good, isn’t it? I’m sure she’s missed you.”

Roman nodded, looking worried.

“If you are concerned about potentially missing work,” Logan offered, “you can call and ask for the time off. You could also utilize a weekend, and minimize any potential missed time.”

Roman still looked unsure.

Patton opened his mouth, to ask what he was thinking, but Roman was already returning to the call.

…

“Está Dad en casa?” Roman asked, avoiding answering his mamá’s question about a visit for the moment.

His mamá hesitated, then responded, “Lo siento, Roman, no está. Trabaja hoy. Lo siento. Sé que quieres hablar con él también.”

Roman’s eyes flicked downwards. He felt a conflicting mixture of relieved and disappointed that his dad wasn’t there to answer the call. “No, no, no te preocupes. Puedo llamar otra vez.” There would be plenty of time to talk to him later, surely?

“Lo siento. ¿Y, Roman? Por favor, dime. ¿Estás seguro? ¿No estás en peligro?”

“Estoy seguro,” he reassured her. He was safe now, anyway. “Estoy con… con unos amigos, en una ciudad al suroeste de Saint Gabriel. Les llaman Logan, Patton y Val. Me están ayudando. Te llamo en el celular de Patton, de hecho.”

“Me alegro de que estés seguro, y con amigos. Pero, mijo, todavía no me has respondido. ¿Dónde estabas por tanto tiempo? ¿Dónde estás ahora? ¿Qué te pasó?”

Roman swallowed. “Pues…”

The conversation was a bit of a blur after that. His mamá was very upset, of course, as Roman had known she would be. She wanted answers, and Roman knew he owed them to her. Still, there was only so much he could say without breaking down completely.

He told her the basics. That he had been rejected from Saint Gabriel, that he had been embarrassed to tell his parents, and that he had ended up homeless until very recently. He told her that he had a job now, and that he was staying with some friends. There were certain things that he left out, a lot of things; but regardless, Roman’s mamá sounded absolutely heartbroken.

At one point while he spoke, Logan had left and come back with a few glasses of water. Roman took a sip from his, casting a brief, grateful glance in Logan’s direction.

Finally, they agreed that they would talk about everything in person as soon as possible, and that Roman would call her every night until then—this, of course, he okayed with Patton, first.

“¿Cuándo puedo llamar a Dad?” Roman asked. He would like to talk with his dad as soon as possible. Now that he’d ripped off the band-aid, contacting his parents at all, putting it off would only draw out his stress.

“Hmm… debo hablar con él primero.”

“¿No puedo llamarlo esta noche?” Roman frowned. He supposed he understood his mamá wanting to talk to his dad before he did, so that he wasn’t as taken off guard as she was; but she was talking like Roman might not be able to call him that night at all.

She hesitated. “Roman, hay algo que necesitas saber…”

…

Logan stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the bedroom door behind him. He sighed and padded down the hall and down the staircase. His boyfriend looked up as he entered the living room.

“Any news?”

“No, he simply asked to be left alone. He claims to want to get some extra rest for his shift tomorrow.”

“It’s only seven,” Patton said, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“Clearly, something was said on the call that upset him,” Logan said, sitting beside Patton, who leaned over and rested his head on his shoulder. “He will speak to us when he is ready.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed him into this,” Patton mumbled. “This is my fault.”

“No, love,” Logan said. “Whatever happened, it is not your fault. You only desired to help him, and you did help. He needed to contact his parents, whatever the outcome. They deserve to know that he is well, and he deserves to have a relationship with them if he desires it. Even if something went wrong, this was only the first contact he has had with either of them in years. His mother requested that he call every night, did she not?”

“Yes…”

“So it follows that there will be plenty of time to work out any issues. I’d imagine that Roman’s parents are upset at his disappearance, and at the situation he found himself in.”

“What if it’s more than that?”

“Well, even if there is something more going on, something that cannot be fixed with patience and communication, we are here.”

Patton nodded, his head still resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Logan leaned over and kissed his forehead.

…

“Knock, knock,” Patton called, knocking on the closed door. He waited a second, but received no answer. He bit his lip. “Can I come in, kiddo?”

Still no response.

“I’m opening the door, okay?”

He turned the knob and nudged the door open. The bedroom within was dark. Patton could see Roman lying facedown on the bed, his arms wrapped around the pillow.

“Ro?” Patton asked, softening his voice.

“I’m asleep,” Roman said into the pillow, very clearly not asleep.

“Dinner’s ready,” Patton tempted. “Val made quesadillas. And there’s a couple of sides, if you’re not feeling like those.”

“Hmph.”

Patton stepped closer. “Kiddo, what happened? Can you talk to me?”

Roman’s response was too muffled to make out. Patton wasn’t sure it was even real words.

“Do you want me to go? I can just bring you a plate, and let you rest.”

Roman didn’t say anything to that, so Patton walked up to the bed and sat down at Roman’s side.

“Roman, I want to help, but I don’t know how. Can you tell me?”

Roman didn’t answer for a while. They sat there in near silence, Val and Logan’s conversation just audible from the dining room below. Finally, Roman turned his head so that his face was no longer smushed into the pillow. “It’s my dad,” he mumbled.

“Your dad?”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

“You can’t know that. You haven’t even talked to him. Did your mom say that?”

“She didn’t have to. He thinks I’m like him. That I’m just….” Roman let out a heavy sigh. “That I’m no good.”

Patton decided not to ask who “him” was. “Why would he think that?”

Roman snorted. His tone was bitter as he responded, “You’ve already forgotten what I told you?”

“You mean the plagiarism? Roman, as soon as you explain, they’ll know that wasn’t your fault. Just tell them what you told me and Logan. They’ll understand. It’s obvious they love you. I don’t speak Spanish, sure, but I heard it in your mom’s voice.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Because—why would they believe me? And even if they did, I still lied, and I ghosted them. That was all me.”

“You were scared. Kids do stupid stuff when they’re scared.”

“I wasn’t a kid.”

“Okay, so you were eighteen. I’m twenty-one and I still do stupid stuff.”

“Not that stupid.”

Patton shrugged. “You’re trying to fix it now, right?”

Roman was silent.

“That’s all we can do, Roman. We mess up, and we try to do better. You’re trying to do better, here. Your dad will see that. And even if he doesn’t, well, I do. Logan does. Val does, too.”

And, hey, if Val could warm up to Roman, a homeless man she didn’t even know, and Logan could befriend his former “nemesis,” then surely Roman’s own dad would come around, too.

“I know you’re worried about what he’s going to say. But you haven’t even talked to him yet. I think we just have to be careful not to get ahead of ourselves.”

Roman shifted. “Maybe,” he admitted.

Patton figured that that was the best he was going to get, at least until Roman had spoken with his dad. “Do you want to come down for dinner? Or I could bring you something.”

“No… I think I’m just going to stay here. Long day. Work tomorrow. You know.”

“That’s fine. Just make sure you eat some breakfast tomorrow, okay? Can’t have you going to work hungry.”

“Yeah, Pat, I will.” He yawned. Whether it was for show or not, Patton couldn’t say.

“I could stay here a bit, if you want?”

“I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.” He buried his face back in the pillow, as if to end the conversation.

Patton nodded to himself, then got to his feet. He went back out into the hall and quietly closed the door behind him. He hoped things went well for Roman. He deserved that.

…

“Roman. Roman, wake up.”

“Mph?” Roman shifted, his mind still murky, and lifted his head from where his face had been smushed into the pillow beneath it. He looked to the side, and saw a large, dark figure leaning over him. “Ahh!!”

It drew back sharply, and the light fell across its face.

It was Logan, wearing pajamas and with a towel around his shoulders. He looked startled.

“Apologies, Roman, but you need to wake up,” he said. “You overslept.”

“What?!”

“I was getting ready, and I saw your door was still shut. You must have forgotten to set your alarm, or fallen back asleep by mistake.”

Roman shot upright. “What time is it?!”

“Almost seven—”

“I’m an hour late? Oh my god, I’m going to get fired!” Roman fisted his hands in the blankets, looking up at Logan in horror.

“There’s no need to panic, I’m sure they’ll forgive one mistake. Get dressed, I’ll drive you to work.”

“Okay, okay, okay…” Roman leapt out of bed and ushered Logan out. He got dressed as fast as possible and ran downstairs, taking the steps two at a time and nearly sending himself sprawling at the bottom.

Logan was by the front door, holding his car keys. He was still in pajama pants, his hair damp, but wearing shoes instead of slippers now.

“Won’t you be late if you drive me?” Roman asked, thinking out loud.

“Don’t worry about me,” Logan assured. “This is for the best, anyhow. It’s raining outside this morning.” He held out an umbrella. “It’s Patton’s. In case it’s still raining this afternoon. We can pick one up for you later.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, taking the umbrella. He would have protested, but they were short on time, and he knew that Patton didn’t plan to go anywhere that day.

They walked out to the car and drove to the café. Logan passed over a couple of breakfast bars for Roman to eat along the way, which he hardly tasted. When they finally arrived, Roman barely paused to thank Logan for the ride before he hopped out and all but ran inside.

His fellow barista was alone behind the counter, today wearing a name tag labelled ‘Ángel’ on his Sanders Café shirt.

“Have a great day,” he was saying as he approached, a customer-service smile in place. Then he turned to Roman with a thunderous expression. “About time you showed up!” he whisper-yelled, glaring. The difference between his former tone and the biting one he snapped at Roman with was jarring.

“I am so, so sorry,” Roman said, speed-walking towards him. “Where’s Thomas? Is he here?”

“I had the great fortune of both of you being late today,” he answered, moving to grab a coffee cup. “Now get on the register, you have no idea how much of a pain it is to do two jobs at once.”

Roman left his jacket and Patton’s umbrella in the back and grabbed his apron. He came back out, still tying it behind his back. “So it was just you here?” he checked, guilt churning in his stomach.

“Obviously! Now get, like, cashier-ing!”

On the bright side, that meant that Thomas didn’t know he’d been late; but Roman highly doubted that ‘Ángel’ would neglect to tell him about Roman’s tardiness. He didn’t owe Roman anything, and he certainly didn’t seem in a forgiving mood.

Maybe Thomas would go easy on him, since he was late, too? Or had Roman used up his leniency the day before with his clumsiness?

He got through the next few orders; and when the line was gone for the moment, Roman turned back to ‘Ángel’.

“I am so sorry,” he said again. “I overslept. It was stupid, but it was a one-time thing, I promise.”

“Oh, you overslept?” he said dryly. “Boo-freaking-hoo. My neighbor’s stupid polka music kept me up until two in the freaking morning, and I still managed to show up on time.”

Roman looked at him in dismay, but he could tell he was getting nowhere with this, so he just sighed and turned back to the register.

…

Ten minutes later, Thomas arrived. He pulled up in one of the spaces closest to the building, turned off the car, and stepped out. As Roman had noticed the day before, he again paused to casually lean on the side of his car for a moment. He’d pegged it on Thomas enjoying some sunshine before being stuck inside for the next eight hours; but it was raining this morning. He would be soaked if he stayed out there much longer.

‘Ángel’ sighed and looked at Roman. “I’ll be right back. Try not to break anything.” Then he grabbed a drink carrier, put it over his head like an improvised umbrella, and went outside. Roman watched, confused, as he spoke to Thomas for a couple of seconds, then took his arm and walked them both back inside.

“Is everything okay?” Roman asked.

“Yeah, just move your butt.”

“Everything’s fine, Roman,” Thomas said, smiling, sitting down on the stool that Roman vacated. He looked a little breathless, shrugging off his rain jacket. The other barista took it from him and walked to the back, glaring at Roman once more as if this was somehow his fault. He came back with an apron instead of the jacket, which he handed to Thomas along with a few paper towels. “Thanks, V.”

V? Roman glanced at the other barista as Thomas rubbed at his face with the towels, slotting away that information for later.

“Now,” Thomas glanced around the coffee shop as he put on his apron. “There seems to be a bit of a lull, so why don’t you show Roman how to use some of the machines? I don’t think we’ve gotten the chance to train him yet.”

“Maybe I could have earlier, if he’d shown up on time,” V muttered.

Roman’s heart sank.

“He was late?” Thomas turned to Roman.

“A little…” Roman admitted, mortified.

“He showed up just before you did.”

Thomas paused. “Well, it is the first time, isn’t it? And I think I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I was mad at him for being late today, of all days.”

“That’s different,” V claimed.

“How?”

“Well—well, you’re the manager, for one. Aren’t your hours flexible anyway?”

“Yes, but I did promise to be here early today. Sorry about that, by the way. I got held up.”

V looked away and made an annoyed sound in his throat. It sounded almost like a hiss.

Thomas studied his face. “You feeling alright, Storm Cloud?”

“I’m great. Fantastic. Never been better.”

Thomas squinted disbelievingly. “How’d you sleep last night?”

“Fine.”

“Big polka music fan?” Roman dared to ask in a low voice.

Thomas glanced at Roman, a look of understanding growing on his face. This must not have been the first time V was kept up by his neighbor’s musical taste. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “You’re going to show Roman how to work everything, and then you’re going to go lie down in the back. I can give Roman a hand if he needs it, and if we really need you, I’ll come get you.”

V grumbled again; but he just jerked a hand, beckoning Roman over to the machines.

…

The machines turned out to not be as complicated as Roman had feared, once he actually knew what he was doing. V was a reluctant teacher, making everything sound like it should have been obvious, but it could have been much worse. He clearly wanted to be done with it as soon as possible, but he did make sure Roman understood everything before he pronounced his training complete.

Now, he was alone, making drinks and doling out pastries while Thomas sat at the register, taking the orders. V was in the back, taking a nap.

Roman couldn’t believe that. Thomas had actually told V to take a nap on company time. And he hadn’t been angry with Roman for being late for his third day on the job. Thomas was just too nice.

Out of gratefulness for his manager’s kindness, and the still-present fear that he was messing up too much to hope to keep this job, Roman took great care to make his drinks as perfectly and timely as possible. And by some miracle, he managed not to mess anything up. The biggest mistake he made was spilling a couple of drops of milk on the counter, something easily wiped away and not even noticed by anyone else.

V returned after a couple of hours, whispered something to Thomas, and joined Roman in making drinks. He seemed relieved when he saw how Roman was doing, and he didn’t snap at him for the rest of the shift. Perhaps he had just been tired earlier, and stressed from having to do the first hour of their shift alone. Roman couldn’t fault him for that.

So, the rest of the shift went without incident. It wasn’t even until it was over that Roman remembered that he was supposed to call his parents again that afternoon.

…

“Here you go, kiddo,” Patton said, handing over his cell phone.

“Thanks,” Roman said, looking down at it.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Roman shook his head. Patton didn’t need to hear his dad’s anger. “Thanks, though.”

Patton nodded, smiled at him, and went out into the hall.

Roman pulled his legs up on the bed and crossed them, still looking down at the phone. When he decided he was about as ready as he was going to get, he selected his mamá’s contact and hit the call button.

She picked up almost immediately. “¿Roman? ¿Estás tú?”

Roman smiled weakly, rubbing his jeans with one hand. “Hola, Mamá.”

“¿Cómo estás?”

“Bien… ¿y tú?”

“Estoy bien, mijo, muy bien. Me hace muy feliz oír tu voz.”

Roman looked down, a little embarrassed. “I missed you, too.”

“I have your dad here, si quieres hablarle.”

Roman hesitated. Was he ready to talk to his dad?

“…Um. Sí. Yes.”

There was a brief pause, and then a different voice came on the phone.

“Hi, Roman. Is that really you?”

“Hi, Dad… yeah, it’s me. I promise.”

“And you’re okay?”

Roman swallows. “Yes. I am.”

“Good.” There was a heavy pause. “Roman, if you were in trouble, why didn’t you just come to us for help? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Dad—”

“You lied to us, for how long? And then you just disappeared, no warning, nothing, for five years? Roman, why on Earth would you do something like that? Don’t you know how worried we were? We thought you were dead! We thought you were dead; and the police wouldn’t even help us because you were already eighteen; and then when we finally got Saint Gabriel to talk to us, they said you were never even a student there. Do you know what you put your mamá through?”

Tears welled up in Roman’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Dad, I’m sorry. Please… I made a mistake. A stupid mistake.”

Roman could hear his mamá’s muffled voice on the other end of the line, talking to his dad.

His dad let out a long sigh. “I know,” he said. “I know you’re sorry. And you have no idea how glad I am to hear from you, to know that you’re okay. “

There was a lump in Roman’s throat.

“But I hope you know we have a lot to talk about. You can’t just disappear for five years and not have us ask any questions.”

“I know.” Roman paused to rub the tears away from his eyes.

“Your mamá says you’re coming to visit. Do you know when that’ll be?”

“Um. Soon. I still have to figure that out. I have work and stuff.”

“Yes, your mamá mentioned that. You’re at a café, you said?”

“Yeah. I’m a—I’m a barista.”

“Not Starbucks, I hope.”

Roman huffed out a laugh. His dad hated Starbucks, for reasons Roman never understood. “No, it’s not Starbucks.”

“And they’ll give you the time off?”

“I hope so. I haven’t been there very long, but my manager’s pretty understanding.” Very understanding, honestly, with the sub-par—to put it lightly—performance Roman had been giving.

“That’s good. So, your mamá says you’re staying with friends. What are they like?”

“They’re nice, Dad, really nice. They’ve been helping me out. I owe them a lot.”

He and his dad spoke for a while longer. Things gradually grew less tense, more comfortable. Most of the more awkward topics were avoided, but they could talk about that later. They would be able to piece things back together, Roman hoped. This was just the start.

...

(If you would like to read Roman’s conversations with his mamá in English, you can find them here)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fan fiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas #ts sides #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #ts virgil #ts fanfic #fanfiction #second chances fic #logicality #platonic thvi #platonic moralogince #romantic logicality

[cha-melodius]

The Definition of Madness Chapter 4

Whumptober No. 25: Ringing Ears

Fandom: The Man from UNCLE (2015)

Pairings: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo & Illya Kuryakin & Gaby Teller

Summary: They say the definition of madness is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.

Or, Illya gets stuck in a very whumpy time loop.

Ao3 Link

*****

Previous Chapter

The next morning, Illya doesn’t save Napoleon from burning his hand on the pan. He feels bad, even though it’s not his fault that his partner is too stupid to use a mitt, but he needs the additional excuse. His left shin is aching already as he lies in bed, thanks to the fact that the bone had been shattered in the previous iteration, and he hopes that the combination of his inevitable limp and Napoleon’s injury is enough to convince his team to put off the operation for a day.

Illya desperately needs a break, and this loop he’s going to damn well get it.

Napoleon is predictably holding his burned hand under the tap when Illya hobbles out into the kitchen. He does a double take at Illya’s gait, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What happened, Peril?”

Illya waves him off as he limps toward the bathroom to get the medical kit. “Old injury acting up.”

It’s a weak lie, but Napoleon doesn’t call him on it. From the bathroom, Illya hears Gaby sarcastically ask if they’re being attacked and then huff at Napoleon’s answer before she returns to her room. He carries the medical supply bag out to the kitchen, setting it on the counter next to the sink before wordlessly grabbing Napoleon’s hand from under the tap and pulling it toward him.

“Peril—” Napoleon starts, but whatever he was going to say is cut off by a hiss as Illya gently dabs the water off his hand with a towel.

“Cheap pans, Cowboy,” Illya murmurs. He grabs the burn cream and a roll of gauze, then carefully applies the cream to the angry red welt on Napoleon’s palm. “You should use a mitt.”

“Little late for that,” Napoleon huffs quietly, an odd note in his voice.

Illya glances up and finds Napoleon watching him work closely. There’s a faint flush of pink dusting his cheekbones, which could just be a reaction to the burn. Of course, the fact that his eyes drop and the blush deepens when Illya catches him staring seems to be a mark against that.

It’s certainly not what Illya expected. They’ve patched each other up more than a few times over the past year, in safe houses and hotels, with everything from full med kits to bandages torn from their clothing. He doesn’t know why bandaging a burned hand should be different, except perhaps that Illya’s assistance isn’t strictly necessary.

Well, it’s not important. Illya finishes wrapping the gauze around Napoleon’s hand and tapes it securely, but then, for some reason, he just… doesn’t let go. Nor does Napoleon withdraw his hand.

This is how Gaby finds them when she re-emerges, geared up for the day. “Is it bad?” she asks, and the sudden interruption makes them both jerk backwards.

“It’s not good,” Illya says, even as Napoleon asserts the opposite. He busies himself packing up the medical supplies, trying not to think about what had passed between them moments before. “I think we should put off the op.”

Gaby’s eyebrows shoot up at this, because Illya is always the last person on the team to  advise moderation. If he’s lucky, that will work to his advantage.

“I’m fine,” Napoleon protests, “it’s not even my dominant hand.”

“You are injured, and I am… not at my best,” Illya grits out. “It is not worth the risk.”

It’s hard for him to admit, even now. Years of training and discipline scream at him to push through the pain, and the terrible part is that he knows he could, but he just doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to climb the mountain today. Doesn’t want to watch his teammates die. If that makes him weak—if that makes him a bad agent—then so be it.

He hobbles back to the bathroom to sell his point, and when he returns Gaby and Napoleon are talking quietly. They both look up at him, clearly concerned, and he suspects that his somewhat dramatic shift in temperment is more worrying to them than his unexplained limp.

“Ok,” Gaby says with a small nod. “We agree. We’ll put it off until tomorrow.”

Illya drops heavily into a chair at the small table in the kitchen, barely able to hold back his sigh of relief. “Good.” He looks up at Napoleon and arcs an eyebrow expectantly. “Breakfast?” *****

Illya doesn’t know the last time he had such a pleasant day, which is really saying something considering the circumstances. Illya reads the book he carries on missions but never really gets a chance to dive into and plays several games of chess against himself. He even manages to rope Napoleon into a few games, when he can convince him to take a break from messing around in the kitchen. Gaby digs a phonograph and some old 78s out of a closet and puts them on while she takes the opportunity to paint her toenails.

As night falls, Illya cannot help but wonder what will happen when the day ends. Will the loop reset when he falls asleep? Will the fact that they have all survived somehow break the cycle? He finds himself getting wound tighter the later it gets, and he knows his partners can tell.

He should have fucking known it wouldn’t be that easy.

They’re all crammed in the the kitchen after dinner, Illya washing the dishes as Gaby dries them. Napoleon is still sitting at the dinner table, nursing his glass of wine while he hems and haws over what dessert he should make, because of course he’s going to make one. 

“This is wholly unnecessary, Cowboy,” Illya tells him. “We don’t need dessert.”

Napoleon scoffs at him. “It’s not about need, Peril. What if things go south tomorrow? Wouldn’t you want to have had one last dessert?”

Illya has to suppress a shudder and falls silent, not quite trusting himself to speak. If only they knew. His partners, however, don’t seem to notice.

“If it makes you happy, do it,” Gaby tells Napoleon. Done drying, she shakes out the towel and hangs it back on the hook. “I, for one, will never turn down a Solo dessert.”

Napoleon finishes his wine and stands up from the table, walking to the oven to turn it on. “See? Someone appreciates my work.”

Illya hums, frowning. Is that what Napoleon thinks? That Illya doesn’t appreciate his work? Something in him wants to protest, to tell his partner that of course he appreciates him, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, “Don’t burn yourself again.”

This nets him an eye roll, but Gaby laughs as she leaves the kitchen. “You two, play nice,” she scolds. “I’m going to go shower, and I expect something delicious when I’m done.” “At your service, my dear,” Napoleon says with an exaggerated bow, grinning broadly. Then he turns toward Illya and points a finger at him, eyebrows waggling. “And you, I’ll thank you to leave my kitchen if you’re just going to be a grump. See if you get any dessert from me, with that attitude.”

Illya just stares at him, momentarily lost in thought. Watching him here, laughing and joking, it’s almost possible to believe that the day that Illya has been reliving really is nothing more than a long nightmare. The ache in his shin has almost faded away, and if he can still picture Napoleon’s multiple deaths, it now feels that the memories could ebb to nothing if given enough time.

“Cowboy…” he starts, but immediately hesitates. He doesn’t quite know what he wants to say; there are too many thoughts and feelings crowding his throat, and he can barely make sense of them. Napoleon looks at him expectantly, pausing in gathering his ingredients, and Illya sighs. “Have fun making dessert.”

Napoleon smiles at him, bright and open, and something uncomfortably warm blooms deep in Illya’s chest. “Why, thank you Peril,” he says. “I will.”

His partner starts humming as soon as Illya leaves the kitchen, immediately lost in his cooking, and Illya shoves his hands deep in his pants pockets as he shuffles down the hall. The warm feeling hasn’t left him, and a small smile plays on his lips. He’s more than a little glad that no one is currently around to see it.

He’s halfway down the hall when he hears a beep. It’s quiet, and probably means nothing more than the oven is done preheating, but as soon as he thinks that he knows with a deep, unsettling certainty that it’s not true.

“Napoleon!” he yells as he whips around and sprints back toward the kitchen.

He just makes it to the doorframe when the entire kitchen explodes. The blast blows him backward and into the wall on the far side of the hallway, knocking all the air from his lungs. He collapses to the floor, gasping and choking on dust and smoke, but he almost immediately pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. There are numerous cuts all over his body from the shrapnel, and he slips on his own blood pooling on the ground as he tries desperately to get into the kitchen.

What he finds when he gets through the door is nothing short of horrifying. There is a giant hole in the side of the house, open to the outside, and very little left of the counters, cabinets, and appliances. Planks of wood litter the ground, and he pulls them frantically to the side, looking for some sign of his partner. “Napoleon!” he yells, over and over again. His ears are ringing so loudly he can hardly hear his own voice, so it’s probably pointless given that Napoleon was even closer to the blast than he was. If Napoleon is even still alive.

Finally he catches sight of a bit of Napoleon’s shirt under the debris and yanks what appears to be a chunk of countertop off his body. Miraculously, Napoleon groans when he does, his limbs moving weakly as he apparently tries to push himself up.

“Don’t move, Cowboy,” Illya tells him, falling to his knees next to his partner. “You’re ok, you’re ok.”

Almost immediately he knows it’s a lie. There is a large, twisted hunk of metal sticking out of Napoleon’s side, and he is rapidly losing a large amount of blood. Without really thinking, Illya gathers Napoleon into his arms and presses one hand futilely to the wound. Thick, dark blood oozes between his fingers, and Napoleon coughs wetly.

“Peril,” he groans, just audible over the ringing in Illya’s ears. His eyes are screwed closed in pain, but his hands find Illya’s arms and cling with surprising strength. “What…?” “Shhh,” Illya hushes him, “it was a trap, Cowboy. They knew we were here.”

Napoleon winces and shakes his head like he can’t believe this information. Illya, unfortunately, can believe it far too readily.

“Gaby,” Napoleon coughs, “where…?”

“I don’t know,” Illya admits. She should have been across the house in the bathroom, presumably, so maybe she’s ok, but she also hasn’t appeared yet. Then again, he has no idea how much time has actually passed, or if there’s a clear path to the kitchen anymore.

“You should go. Find her,” Napoleon manages past another groan, although his grip on Illya doesn’t weaken. “Leave me. M’not gonna make it anyway.”

Illya shakes his head, though Napoleon’s eyes are still closed. “No, Cowboy. No,” he insists. “You’ll be fine. It’s not bad.” Napoleon actually smiles at that, and his eyes flutter open. Blue eyes, stormy as the ocean, full of pain and fear and something else more difficult to name. “You’re a terrible liar, Peril.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

“Oh, Peril,” Napoleon sighs through a shaky breath, and even through the ringing Illya can hear emotion thickening his voice. 

One of his hands releases Illya’s wrist and he reaches up to grab behind Illya’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads meet. Illya breath shudders through his chest, and abruptly he realizes there are tears streaking down his cheeks. Somehow, in all the previous iterations of the day, they never had a final moment like this. The deaths were always too fast, which should be a blessing, but now, as Napoleon’s nose brushes his, it doesn’t feel that way.

“Illya,” Napoleon breathes into the space between them. “You should know—” he breaks off, wincing in pain again. His grip loosens slightly and Illya pulls back to look at him, but not very far.

“Don’t,” Illya whispers. “Napoleon—”

“No, let me,” Napoleon says, and when he opens his eyes again they are full of determination. He laughs through a wet cough, shaking his head. “This is horribly selfish of me, I know, but… I need to say it. I was too much of a coward to do it before, and I can’t die that way.” He breaks off after this rather impressive amount of speaking and takes a couple of shaking breaths that wrack his chest.

“You’re not a coward,” Illya insists. “You’re the bravest person I know. Believe me, I’ve seen you die so many times now. Stupid, stupid, brave Cowboy.”

Napoleon furrows his brow at Illya, momentarily bewildered by this assertion. “What?”

Whatever Napoleon had been about to tell him, Illya doesn’t get to hear it. The ratatat of gunfire shatters the air around them. Somewhere nearby, Gaby must be returning fire, based on the sound of the shooting.

Illya doesn’t see the merceneries entering the gaping hole in the side of the kitchen. He doesn’t feel the bullets. All he can focus on is the man bleeding out in his arms as Illya cups a bloody hand to his pale cheek.

All he can think is, what were you going to say?

*****

Illya is out of bed only moments after he wakes, immediately shoving gear into his duffle bag. He clears his room in record time and only pauses for a moment to bang on Gaby’s door before rushing to the kitchen. Napoleon is no doubt looking at him with a supremely confused expression, but that is honestly par for the course these days. Illya doesn’t even glance at him as he packs up what little gear is in the kitchen.

“We have to leave. Now. Go pack your gear. And don’t touch the pan handle.”

He blows out of the door and down the hall before Napoleon can reply. There isn’t much in the living room, but there are a few weapons laid out in preparation for the day’s planned op. They go haphazardly into bags and cases. Right now, he doesn't really care. Illya spins around, checking the room for anything he might have missed, and sees Gaby and Napoleon gaping at him from the doorway.

“Why are you just standing there?” he demands. “You need to pack up.” “Illya, wait. Stop,” Napoleon says, and he’s using that tone again, the gentle, cautious one that colors his voice whenever Illya is on the verge of losing control.

He’s not losing control, not this time. But he’s certainly aware that it looks that way. Illya growls in frustration and makes to push past them, because if they won’t pack then he will do it for them.

Gaby catches his arm, and he allows himself to be halted, if only for a second. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” she asks.

“This is a trap. All of it. They know we are coming tonight. They know we are here, in this safehouse. We have to get out of here, now.”

Gaby and Napoleon look at each other, and some nonverbal discussion passes between them in an instant.

“How…?” Napoleon says, shaking his head in confusion. “There haven’t been any messages since we got here. Did Waverly contact you some other way?”

Illya snarls in frustration. “Look, I can’t tell you how I know. I just know. The mission is compromised. Do you trust me?”

“Illya—” Gaby starts.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course we do, Peril,” Napoleon answers, and Gaby nods her agreement. “We trust you.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

They’re ambushed not far outside the small mountain village by a large contingent of armed men who very clearly came from the compound. Illya even recongizes some of them, at this point. He swears, and sighs, and waits to wake up again.

*****

It takes six more loops and exhausting every possible exit route out of the area for him to fully realize there is no way they will get off this mountain by running. In every loop, he tries not to think about what happened in the kitchen after the explosion. Getting them out of this terrible situation takes first priority in his head, and he can’t let himself get distracted.

It weighs on him anyway, though. Every time Napoleon speaks to him gently when he thinks Illya is losing it, every time his partner throws himself in the path of the bullets when they’re ambushed. He can’t get the look in Napoleon’s eyes out of his head, nor the sound of the emotion in his voice.

But. A way out of this loop first, and then he’ll let himself think about it.

Next Chapter

#whumptober2020 #no.25 #ringing ears #the man from u.n.c.l.e. #fic #the man from uncle #tmfu #napollya #napoleon x illya #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #gaby teller #my fic

[l-sincline]

Cybernetics- Cyberpunk!Sonic AU- Chapter 6

Amy Rose has been working tirelessly at her broken down booth for as long as she can imagine. Ever since Tails left their work to join forces with the revered hero of Mobius, ‘The Blue Blur’, she’s grown lonely and desperate to make her life exciting. A strange customer comes in one day asking her to fix his cyborg arm, what she didn’t know was that he would be the catalyst for a brand new life.

AO3 Tags:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Amy Rose/Shadow the Hedgehog, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles “Tails” Prower, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Rouge the Bat, Whisper the Wolf, Cream the Rabbit, Knuckles the Echidna, Badnik (Sonic the Hedgehog), E-123 Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Slow Burn, Partners in Crime

AO3 Link

Previous/Next

Amy’s eyelids felt heavy as she forced them open, head pounding and body overall sore. She groaned and tried to lift her head off the floor, only causing her headache to scream at her to stop. Her head thumped back on the floor, causing a jolt of pain to shoot through to her eyes, she squinted and hissed in discomfort.

“Don’t force yourself to get up.” She suddenly heard a familiar voice speak quietly, as if catering to her pounding head.

There was some rustling and suddenly her head was lifted gently just a few centimeters by a cold hand, followed by a bit more rustling. When her head was put back down, there was something softer than the cold, hard floor, it wasn’t any pillow, but it was a lot better than just the floor.

“The height wasn’t the big issue, but the speed definitely caused a bit of damage.” He explained softly, voice trailing away as his shoes clanked quietly on the ground.

Clanked... they were made out of some sort of metal. Not being able to bring herself to speak, she merely grunted in response and took the silence as a chance to take in what she could about her surroundings with her eyes remaining closed. Overall, it was slightly cold, the floor felt as if it was some sort of cement covered in a layer of dirt and grime. There was a cool breeze that entered where ever she was. At first she assumed it was a window, but there was too much of a breeze for it to just be a window or even a door frame. When she inhaled, she mostly smelled moss and dusty air. She hardly heard anything, the clanking and talking had stopped, now there was just a slight whistling of wind and an occasional bird. No crowd... definitely not the outer ring then. Honestly, the silence was very new to her. She breathed deeply as the initial shock of the headache continued to fade, now it just sat clustered behind her eyes, pounding still, but somewhat manageable. Her body still ached, but it was becoming tolerable as well. She tried opening her eyes again, the bright light of day caused her to squint slightly, but instead of just closing them again, she let her eyes get adjusted and finally got a chance to look around the room.

It seemed to be a very old apartment building, the entire room was gutted, though she could see some marks scorched onto the wall from where kitchen appliances had once sat. Vines and moss grew all over, and the entire place seemed to be coated in dirt, grime, and dust. The doorway sat with no door, leading to the hall of the building and allowing the smallest of looks into the apartment across from this one. She turned her head and finally saw where the breeze was coming from.

There was a giant hole blown in the wall and part of the ceiling. They must be on the very top floor, as all that she could see out of the ceiling was sky, though looking out the side she saw the tops of some buildings that also looked worse for wear. In front of the hole stood ‘Myst’, arms crossed as he stared out on the city below. His cloak must be what’s under her head right now, she figured. He wore a utility vest of sorts, it seemed to be protective, but she could see straps on the back that would probably lead to holding small pouches on the front. The shoes still intrigued her, they had seemingly given him the ability to glide, she wanted to know how they worked. Eventually she dragged her gaze away, finding it rude to stare, and saw that he’d apparently grabbed her hammer and brought it as well. He must’ve somehow figured out how to collapse it, because it was back to being a bag.

Amy tried lifting her head once more, it was easier this time, and she propped herself up on her elbow, stopping to allow her body a moment to acclimate to the change as her muscles screamed stop. The cement floor probably wasn’t helping her heal any faster.  She pushed herself up again so that now she was sitting upright on her butt, she shuffled a bit so she could lean against the wall, breathing through clenched teeth as her body objected yet another hard surface, she picked the folded cloak up off the ground and shoved it between the lower end of her back and the wall to create a cushion.

“How do you feel?” He asked, still facing away.

“Like dying would’ve been preferable.” She responded with a huff as she rubbed her forehead.

“You’re lucky you didn’t hit a wall or anything, I’m already surprised you didn’t break a bone.” He commented.

“Hooray for me.” She breathed out monotonously.

A blanket of silence covered the room, leaving only the wind and the birds to fill it. She frowned, looking back to where he stood rather nonchalantly before finally sucking in a breath of air and taking the first step.

“So are you going to tell me why I was almost arrested by Mobius’ hero for assisting a criminal?” ‘Myst’ scoffed.

“He’s hardly a hero.” He muttered finally uncrossing his arms with a swish and holding them up as if to say ‘I don’t know.’ “I thought I’d done my research well enough.”

“Research?”

“Well I can’t just go to any old mechanic.” He spoke as if it was obvious. “Just like I told you, I needed someone that wouldn’t have the media on their doorstep, someone with no rep. But more than that, I needed someone who could figure this shit out.” He gestured once to his right arm and once to his left. “That was you. I didn’t know that you’d be closer to the Blue Blur than I thought until after you’d mentioned his little buddy, and that was on the night I took you to dinner.” ‘Myst’ shrugged.

“So I did just do this to myself, didn’t I? I ran my mouth too much.” She sighed in defeat.

“No.” He cut in aggressively “I brought you in to this. If I hadn’t come to you in the first place you’d be back if your shop painting that damn hammer you designed and maybe getting an actual check up from your friend instead of a ploy to arrest you.”

He seemed more angry at himself than her, she frowned. It didn’t feel good, to be the reason someone felt guilty. He turned around and kicked a stone, eyes narrow as he made his way over to her.

“And now, you’re stuck in it, so I might as well make you a proposition or else you’re gonna want to go launch yourself up into space on a stolen spaceship and just embrace the criminal lifestyle.”

He towered over her, she had to crane her neck to look up at him, and she gasped, hands instinctively flying up to cover her mouth as she looked at his face.

“...your eye.” She spoke in awe. In his left eye, the camera that served as a pupil narrowed its shutter slightly before widening again as he stepped back and looked away.

“I’m sixty percent cyborg.” He answered the question she hadn’t spoken yet.

“What... how?” Her hands lowered.

“Two arms, an eye, one lung, half of my heart, a part of my spine, ten ribs, plus all connecting pieces that run Thuluhide to my heart and electric signals from my brain.” His explanation was cold. “I’m as close to a machine as a living thing can get.”

“It’s... amazing. A true technological advancement.”

“It’s a little less amazing when the doc himself made it, but sure, we can go with that.” He practically spat, turning on his heel to step back to where he had stood by the hole before standing to face her again. “All you need to know right now, is that the Blue Blur is mad because I stole these-“ ‘Myst’ reached to his arm that she hadn’t fixed and pressed a button embedded in his wrist, the forearm popped open to reveal seven ports for microchips, at another press of a button, two microchips popped out. One green and one red. Gently, he removed them and held them up, there was something written on them, but they were too small for her to be able to see it. “-These are very powerful microchips that Robotnik’s grandfather made to be able to give power to the user. They’re microchips, so they can really go in anything, but they’re meant for cyborgs.”

“What do they do?” She asked.

He seemingly opted for a visual demonstration. Without either chip in, he extended his palm out the hole and shot a blast to hit a building. It didn’t do too much, there was a small sound of a crack and some dust that rose. Then, he pressed both chips back into place, shut the forearm compartment and held his hand up once more. This blast was more familiar, as his lights spent a slightly longer time growing brighter, along with growing significantly brighter than they had with the last blast. He aimed at a different building, and easily blasted a hole in the wall, dust exploding around the impact point as pieces of cement fell to the abandoned street below.

“And if you were wondering how you got here,” he turned back to her a spoke once more, but suddenly, he was gone in a flash of light. Amy jerked foreword, looking around. There was another flash of light and she whipped around to look at the doorway in which he now stood. “That would be how.”

“But... how does any of that work?” She questioned confusedly.

“Hell if I know.” He responded. “All I know if that there’s one in the Blue Blur’s leg, the other four are missing and Robotnik wants them.”

“So... you just want to get them all before the others?”

He was silent, gaze seeming to go from passionate will to distanced upset.

“That’s the base of it, sure.”

“What will you do when you get them?” She pressed. He quietly turned to look back out the hole.

“... It’s said that if one collects all seven they may be able to go through time.” He said quietly. “I don’t know that for certain, but I do know there’s I wrong I need to right that is worth the risk.”

Amy was silent, she looked down to her boots on her feet that were stretched out in front of her. She didn’t bother pressing any further anymore, she doubted she’d be getting anymore than she already had, which was certainly a lot more than she’d previously known.

“You’re wrapped up in this now, which means you have three choices.” He began as he turned back to her once more. “Go get yourself arrested, tell them everything you know about me, maybe even earn yourself a spot on the illustrious ‘team blue blur’, or you could just run away, live on your own outside the cities doing gods knows what. Or, you can work for me.”

“Work for you?”

“I know your jealous of your little buddy, he got the job and you didn’t, but I’d like to think I could give a better opportunity.”

“How so?”

“I’m not a prick that’s too far up on his high horse to see the ground.” He responded matter of factly.

Amy’s jaw dropped before she began to laugh. It felt good to finally relax her shoulders and just laugh, though it did make her headache pound a little harder. She looked up to see him staring at her expectantly.

“Well can I at least know who I’m working for?” He smiled slightly.

“You’re working for Shadow.”

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #my writing #shadow the hedgehog #Amy Rose #cyberpunk au #Shadamy

[kohanayaki]

Caught in the Middle (Steve Harrington x Reader x Billy Hargrove) Ch 7

Links: Ch 1   Ch 2   Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7

______________________________________________________

Ch 7 .:Conflicted:.

Your expression was blank as you slowly walked in the general direction of your house, kicking a small pebble across the dirt road. It wasn't really a rational plan to just walk home. Hawkins was small, but you lived on the other side of town, and it would be way past sunset before you even made it to your neighborhood on foot.

As the sounds of people talking around you grew louder you looked up as you were crossing near town square to see the lights of Starcourt Mall, brighter than ever. You bit your lip as you looked around you, trying to avoid seeing anyone from school. Suddenly, your eyes drifted to the main part of the mall, landing on that same blue and striped striped sign you'd noticed your first day back in Hawkins. 

You knew Steve would be there, but you were out of options at this point. Quickly deciding the possible payoff was worth the risk, you found yourself swinging open the door to Scoops Ahoy, the bell on the door frame ringing out as you did. 

As soon as Steve saw you walk in he was worried. Your eyes were red from crying and devoid of that little sparkle that always seemed present in them. Your shoes were covered in dust from your trek over here, and you knew you probably looked just as shitty as you felt. 

“(Y/n)? What's wrong?” Steve asked, his brows knitting together. 

“It's fine,” you said, “Just. . . can I use your guys' phone? It'll be quick, I promise.”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve said, “It's in the back.”

You thanked him quietly and pushed open the door to the storage and break room, leaving Steve and Robin alone in the front. 

As soon as you disappeared Robin leaned in to whisper to Steve.

“This is your chance, dingus.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve's eyes widened.

“Oh come on, don't act like you haven't been obsessed with her since she got back here,” Robin said, rolling her eyes. Steve's face flushed red.

“ 'Obsessed' is not the right word,” he grumbled.

“Sure,” Robin said, unconvinced, “In any case, you need to make your move right now or you're screwed.”

“I'm already screwed, Robin,” Steve said, “She'd with Billy now, for some reason. . .” he said that last part under his breath, and Robin bit back a chuckle as he did. 

“Listen, it's not too late. I'll bet you five dollars she's upset because something happened with Billy.”

“Five?” Steve said, a brow raising, “You're on. And you know why? Because they were in their own little universe of gag inducing cuddles this morning. He would have to seriously fuck up to make her cry.”

“And you think he's incapable of that?” Robin scoffed. 

Steve went silent for a moment, but he didn't exactly get the chance to think too deeply as you came out from the backroom. 

Once again you had dialed your home phone and once again you wanted to slam your head into the wall when it went straight to voice message. 

“Thanks,” you said, getting ready to leave and make the long walk back home. 

“Uh, wait!” Steve said, a little too fast.

“Yeah?” You turned around to look at him.

“It's just. . . look,” Steve took a deep breath before he spoke, “I know something's wrong even if you say it isn't, and you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'm your friend and I hate seeing you sad, so if there's someone I need to beat the shit out of, please tell me.”

As you stared at him you looked for any sign of insincerity in his dark eyes but found none. And just like that your walls started crumbling. You felt tears start to well up in your eyes again, and you stifled a sob as they spilled over. 

Steve started to panic as he saw you cry, but when you pulled him in for a hug he felt the tension leave his shoulders. He gingerly wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. He inhaled the faint scent of your shampoo, stroking your hair gently as you cried into his chest. Your bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, and Steve wondered if you could feel it too. Everything about this just felt. . . right. 

“Something happened with Billy,” you admitted, wiping away your tears. 

Robin smirked at Steve from behind you, mouthing 'I told you' before pulling five dollar bills from Steve's tip jar.

Steve rolled his eyes, pulling his focus back to you.

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“It's kind of a long story,” you mumbled.

“We got all night,” Steve said. Suddenly an idea popped into his head, “Oh, wait, I have just the thing!”

Before you could protest you were being lead into one of the booths while Steve started scooping ice cream into a large bowl. He topped it with whipped cream, caramel sauce, hot fudge, and a cherry before setting it down on the table and sliding into the booth next to you. 

“The USS Butterscotch Supreme,” he grinned proudly, producing two spoons from his apron pocket, “And don't even think about saying 'I can't' because it's on me.”

A small laugh escaped you and Steve's smile grew just a little wider. 

“I think this is just an excuse for you to eat free ice cream from your own store,” you said. 

“You caught me,” Steve said, scooping a spoonful of fudge into his mouth, “Now what happened?”

You told him everything- how Billy kissed you in your bedroom weeks ago and was sort of seeing you in secret since then, how you heard Tommy, Carol, and him talking in the hallway, and how you were basically left stranded after your fight since he'd given you a ride that morning. 

“Hold on, you walked all the way here from school?” Steve asked, surprised.

“Yep,” you sighed, shoving another spoonful of the sundae into your mouth, “That's why I asked to use your phone, so I could call for a ride. I gave my stupid brother the keys and now he won't pick up the home phone so he's probably still out. I'm not sure if I should be mad that he didn't take the car straight home or worried that he might be out committing arson somewhere.”

“Probably both,” Steve laughed.

After a few moments of eating ice cream in silence Steve set his spoon down. 

“God, I seriously want to punch Billy in his stupid face right now,” he said.

“Yeah, me too. But the worst part is that I still really like him,” You chuckled weakly as you picked at the cherry on top of the sundae, “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“I mean, your words, not mine,” Steve said playfully. 

You shook your head, laughing as you took your last bite of ice cream.

Steve was angry, that much went without saying. Billy had always pissed him off, but hearing that he hurt you? Steve was livid. The fact that Billy, the rudimentary asshole, had somehow ended up with you made him think that maybe karma wasn't a real thing after all. But not only did Billy manage to steal your heart, he threw it away in an instant, and that made Steve more mad than anything. If he ever got the chance to be with you he'd never want to let you go, much less disrespect you and say shit behind your back just to impress his stupid friends. But he forced all of his emotions down for your sake. He knew you wouldn't want someone starting a fight on your behalf, it's not the kind of person you were. You handled your own problems, sometimes to fault, but your tenacity and resilience were some of the many things he liked about you. 

“I should probably get going soon,” you sighed, snapping him out of his thoughts, “I've still got a long walk ahead of me.”

Steve looked at you like you'd just grown a second head.

“I can give you a ride,” he said as if it was obvious.

“Really?” 

“Of course,” Steve said, “You think I'd make you walk home in the dark? I'm not that much of an asshole. . . anymore.” he grinned as he nudged your shoulder.

Steve caught sight of movement in his peripheral vision and saw Robin waving her arms around behind you. As you leaned over to grab your backpack Steve mouthed 'What?' Robin rolled her eyes, pointing to you and making a 'go on' gesture with her hands.

“Um, hey,” Steve said suddenly.

“Hi?” you chuckled. 

“Do you want to go see a movie?” he asked.

Robin face palmed hard and you turned at the sound, only to see her whistling and leaning ever so casually on the counter when you did. 

“N-not like, right now,” Steve stuttered out, “Obviously, that's crazy. You probably have things to do when you get home. I meant, like, later. Any time you’re not busy if you even want to-“

“I'm free for the rest of the night,” you said, cutting his rambling off, “And I'd love to.”

Steve's heart pounded in his chest as you agreed and he had to mentally slap himself to get out of his head. 

'This isn't a date,' he told himself, 'She just broke up with Billy, don't be a douchebag.'

“I, uh, kind of don't have money right now, though,” you admitted, bringing Steve back to reality.

“Don't worry about it,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, “Neither do I.”

He lead you by the hand to the back room and looked over his shoulder before unlocking the panel on the wall that lead to the storage passage. 

“After you,” he grinned. 

You couldn't believe it, you could see the lights of the movie theater flickering underneath the door at the end of the hallway. 

“Didn't think you were one to break company policy,” you snickered. 

“Hey, I can be bad sometimes,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek immediately after. Did he really just say that? Luckily for him you just laughed before starting to head down the hall. 

“I'll catch up with you,” Steve said, “Just give me a second.”

He turned to Robin and panicked slightly.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't even think about my shift-”

“I'll cover you,” Robin said, “This is the first girl in a while that's actually made you feel something. It's written all over your face, lover boy. So go get her.”

Steve's eyes twinkled with silent thanks as he bounded down the hall after you.

“Don't embarrass yourself too much!” Robin called after him. 

As she watched Steve's back disappear into the theater she smiled to herself, taking out her whiteboard and placing the very first tally under “You rule”.

Steve found you situated in the center of the back row, and he slid into the seat beside you.

“What'd I miss?” he asked.

“The main character's trying to bang his mom,” you said. Steve nearly choked on his spit and you laughed at his expression. 

“He went back in time and met his mom when she was his age,” you explained, “Now he's trying to go back to his time.”

“Wait, I thought the movie was called Back to the Future,” Steve said in confusion.

“Well yeah,” you said, “He's trying to go back to the future because since he's in the past the 'future' is technically the present which is his time.”

Steve just looked at you, and you could practically see the gears struggling to turn in his head.

“Okay, it's official- You're way smarter than me,” he said.

“You're just now noticing?” you grinned.

“You're mean,” he said with a fake pout. 

You both laughed, much to the chagrin of the viewers around you. Throughout the movie Steve would give the occasional useless but funny commentary. You actually ended up having a really nice time. This wasn't like the banter between you and Billy. With Steve everything was lighter- he was more carefree and loved making you laugh. You looked over to him at your side and smiled slightly. He was watching the movie with child like enthusiasm, that dumb little grin on his face illuminated only by the screen. 

Never in a million years did you imagine you'd be at a movie with Steve Harrington, especially not tonight. If Billy wasn't such an ass today you would've gone to that record shop across the street, making out in his car and getting some greasy diner food after. You bit your lip slightly. You didn't want to think about that right now. 

Nonetheless you had an amazing time, and it was just what you needed to take your mind off things. Your day had been a hell of an emotional roller coaster, and as Steve pulled up to your house you couldn't wait to go to sleep. 

He got out of the driver's seat, opening your door for you. 

“Such a gentleman,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Well you know me,” he chuckled. 

As you reached your front door you turned to him, hands in your pockets.

“Thank you for tonight, Steve. Really,” you said, “We should do that again sometime.”

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly finding the doormat really interesting.

Neither of you noticed how close you were until that moment. You could smell the warm caramel on his breath from the ice cream you two had shared, and your breath hitched as his face inched closer to yours. Before you could register what was happening Steve pressed his lips softly to yours. It seemed to last for an eternity but in reality it was no more than a second, because you both seemed to realize what you were doing at the same time.

You quickly pulled away from each other and Steve immediately felt guilty. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“It's fine,” you said at an equal volume, your head spinning.

“I should go,” Steve said, turning around. 

“Yeah,” you agreed.

Part of Steve wanted you to ask him to stay, but he knew that was just a fleeting thought as the sound of your door closing echoed almost tauntingly in the night air. 

Steve felt like shit. What the hell was he thinking? You told him you still had feelings for Billy and he goes and kisses you just a few hours later?

“God I'm such an idiot,” he groaned, kicking the tire of his car before climbing in and driving away.

You heard everything go quiet as he left, and as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling with millions of thoughts swirling through your head, you knew you wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. 

_________________________________________________________

When you walked into school the next day you could feel the eyes on you. News spread fast at Hawkins High, and unfortunately your love life was no exception. You tried to keep your head low and get to your first period as quickly as possible. Of course, the universe wouldn't let you be so lucky. 

“(Y/n), I need to talk to you, please,” Steve said, running up to you. Kyle gave him a dirty look and he backed away slightly. “Look I shouldn't have-”

“Steve, please don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't want to talk to anyone right now,” you said, picking up your pace and wishing you had the ability to just teleport to your first period. 

“Well if it isn’t the Hawkins whore,” Tommy grinned, walking up to you. Carol was glued to his side as usual and Billy was right there with them, unable to meet your eyes. 

'Great,' you thought. Couldn't you catch a break?

“Just ignore them,” Kyle said, gritting his teeth as he pulled you away and continuing to walk.

“Two hours after Billy and you go running to Harrington, huh?” Tommy continued, “Gotta say, I always knew you were a bitch but I never took you for a slut. Guess looks can be deceiving.”

Steve's fists balled at his sides as Tommy said that, about to defend you when you spoke up for yourself.

“Does it really matter?” you spun around, eyeing at Billy who was still looking anywhere but at you, “It was nothing serious, right?”

As you quoted Billy's words he winced slightly and it gave you a bit of satisfaction to know he at least felt half as shitty as you. 

“That doesn't change anything, slut,” Carol glared with an annoying pop of her gum.

“That's rich coming from you,” you snapped, “Don’t you have a football team to milk somewhere else?”

“That's it,” Tommy growled, slamming you into the lockers by the lapels of you jacket. You grunted as the hard metal made contact with your back. 

“Get off of her!” Kyle shouted, grabbing his arm. Tommy just scoffed, twisting around to sock your brother in the stomach. He gasped as the wind was knocked out of him and he stumbled to the floor. 

You shoved Tommy off of you while he was off balance, running to your brother.

“Ouch,” Kyle chuckled weakly.

“You idiot, why did you do that?” you said, your eyes full of worry. 

“You've always been the one protecting me,” he said, “I don't know, I just thought I'd try to do that for you. Guess it backfired.” 

Even when he just got punched your brother always managed to crack a joke. You smiled down at him, but the moment was broken by Tommy's laughter.

“Aw, isn't that sweet?” he mocked, the rest of his group laughing along expect for Billy who didn't say a word. 

You felt red hot anger start to burn in your chest as you turned around to face Tommy. Everyone went silent when they saw your expression. No one in the school had ever seen you that mad before.

“Listen to me, you sorry sack of shit,” you said, your voice deathly calm, “Don't you ever touch my brother again, you understand me?”

“Or what?” Tommy smirked, getting in your face. 

You grit your teeth so hard you thought they'd break, your nails breaking threads in the cuffs of your jacket. 

“He's not worth it,” Kyle said, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You sighed through your nose, taking a deep breath. 

“Yeah,” you said, “I know.”

You turned around with your brother, starting to walk away. But Tommy wasn't going to let it end there.

“Yeah that’s what I thought!” he taunted loudly, following your pace down the hall, “Just run away like you always did! You’re all bark and no bite, (L/n). You’d never have the guts to-”

CRACK!

You whipped around, slamming your fist right into Tommy's face.

He howled in pain, recoiling as he held his bleeding nose. 

“You bitch!” he snarled, charging at you. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped to the side, letting him run into the lockers, following up with a knee to his gut. It was like instinct took over you, and you hated it. This was the part of you that you wanted to leave behind, but in the moment you couldn't be bothered to care.

Before you knew it there were teachers out in the hallway, pulling you two away from each other. Well, more like pulling you away from him. It was a fairly one-sided encounter.

“What the hell is going on here?” the principal asked, his arms crossed.

“She just punched me!” Tommy said, playing victim.

“He hit my brother,” you countered.

“Now, miss (L/n), violence isn't always the answer,” the principal said in his usual condescending tone that drove you crazy, “If you really did punch him first you have to be held accountable. Besides, even if he hit you first, you should never respond by hitting back.”

“So I'm just supposed to sit there and let someone beat the shit out of me?” you said incredulously.

“Miss (L/n)!” the principal gasped at your language.

You scoffed, pulling away from the science teacher's weak hold and heading towards the door. 

“I don't have to listen to this bullshit,” you said, digging for your keys in your bag, “I already know I'm suspended,” you called over your shoulder, “And don't bother calling the house, because when my dad finds out what really happened he'll go ballistic on your asses.”

You ignored the protesting shouts of the faculty and the sound of Steve and Billy calling your name as you got into your car and headed towards the nearest gas station. You needed a smoke, and it wasn't as if it'd be your first relapse of bad choices in the last few weeks. 

You ended up a mile north at a 7-11 just outside the Hawkin's county line where you knew you could get a package for free. You haphazardly parked your car outside and walked into the store, heading over to the cashier.

“(Y/n) is that you? Holy shit!” the boy at the register smiled widely. 

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a tight-lipped smile, “It's good to see you, Jason.”

“You know it's on me. Need a light?” he asked, already getting you a pack of Marlboros from behind the counter. 

“Yeah, thanks,” you said.   

As you started tearing the plastic off of the box you spotted a rough-looking figure in the back of the store, grumbling to himself. His clothes were charred, somehow, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Your brows knit together as you recognized who it was.

“Hopper?”

Read chapter 8 here !

Taglist: @in-my-dreams-2000 @ggclarissa @iris1697 @5sosxgrethan @ohnoniella @sarcasticalphaofthelooserspack @aspiring-fangirls-world @wow-im-so-tired @hopesxxhigh @justanothercrazyassfangirl @too-many-lanes @whimsylavender @bish-ima-clown @amarachoren @mosiacbrokenheartstf @mcuvlxgs @xapham @metuel18 @immirandaq @nellaphine @multi-madison @gingertalksshit @jojo-buttercup @kyberhearts @mvdelaine @minnie-marvel @caitlin-rose28 @zandaleekrz @r3inventedd @void-fire-rose @macymafia @wanna-be-idle @newtsshelbys @kimmydespell @weyheyokay @r4ttusr4ttus @cynthianokamaria @spookyartisanmuffineggs @youcanstandundermyamberella @ashadowoftheforest @shrektiledysfunction @arithatonegirl @banannie25 @daddyuwuss @truthdaze @supervoldejaygent @gigi-maria-argu @dolan-mendes 

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #billy hargove x reader #Billy Hargrove #stranger things season 3 #reader insert #x reader #love triangle #jim hopper #will byers #Lucas Sinclair #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #original characters #alexei #alexei smirnoff

[bennyboyjones]

The Getaway (Ben Hardy FanFic) Chapter 2

A/N: Hi! So, here is chapter two to my Ben Hardy  AU Fanfic! There are currently several chapters written, which you can find on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to also upload it here as well. It might be a bit behind, but you’ll still get all the chaps eventually.

What it is: basically, a girl from a small town who is bored of her life decides to take a trip to Nice where she runs into ben, who is also running away from some shit and some romance ensues.

Word count: 4.7k

in this chapter: our main lady meets ben

WATTPAD LINK IF YOU WANT TO READ AHEAD

Spotify playlist

In case you missed it: MASTERLIST

here we go:

day one

My limbs felt heavier than the luggage I was pulling behind me as I trudged through the small airport, following the signs to the buses. I was a lot more relaxed now that I was here and knew what I needed to do and where to go.

When I stepped out of the airport and into the warm sun, I was greeted by the familiar sign: NICE, in huge red letters, stacked on top of one another a few feet away from where I was standing. I let out a sigh of relief and turned to my right, where there was a tiny ticket booth with a woman in a red cap behind the glass.

“Bonjour! Can I have two tickets for bus number seven? To Nice. Please?” I held my phone screen up to the window, knowing that this worked better last time instead of stammering for five minutes, trying to tell her where exactly I was going. She nodded her head while telling me the total. I handed over €10 and took my tickets, shoving one into my wallet and the other into my pocket. “Merci.” Admittedly, I didn’t know much French—barely any at all—but I had tried my best to learn the absolute basics in the three weeks before coming here, something I wish I had done the first time around. I knew how to ask for a cappuccino, how much something was, where the bathroom was, how to ask for several pastries, and more polite phrases such as “how are you” and “have a nice day”.

I stretched my arms out and shook them, then tied my hair into a messy bun before grabbing the handles of my luggage and walking over to the waiting area for my bus. The only other people waiting for bus #7 was a couple, probably mid-fifties, who were acting like they were on their honeymoon. I stood a few feet away from them, sat on my bigger suitcase and pulled out my phone to send a quick text to my mom letting her know I was alive.

I kept the bus route pulled up on my phone, with all the stops that would come before mine, and gripped it tightly in my hands while my eyes scanned the time table for the buses behind me. It was 12:30 now and the next bus wouldn’t come for another thirty-minutes. No one from home was awake at this hour so I had no one to talk to but I hadn’t been on social media for a while and so I turned on my data, opened up Instagram and started scrolling.

I had several direct messages, all from Liam. I rolled my eyes and opened them; every message was full of drunk ramblings: him telling me he didn’t need me, wouldn’t miss me, I was the one losing something, not him, I was making a mistake, but he still loved me and would be willing to forgive me and it went on and on for another ten messages. On impulse, I clicked on his profile and blocked him completely. I planned on posting about my trip, about the fun I planned on having and I didn’t need him storming into my direct messages every time I did so, or texting me his opinions, or commenting on any of it. Whatever we had wasn’t worth the stress anymore.

After exactly thirty-six minutes of mindless scrolling, my bus pulled up and I was the first one on. I smiled at the driver as I handed over my ticket and took a seat in the front row, right next to the doors. Last time, I got on this exact bus and when my stop came I pressed the red button but the bus never stopped and I was stuck walking forty-five minutes back the way the bus had come. That was not happening again.

I sat at the edge of my seat, holding onto my stuff so it wouldn’t roll around the bus as the driver took fast and tight turns, my body rocking back and forth with every one. My phone was in my lap and my eyes darted from the small screen that showed the stops, to the window as I watched stop after stop whizz past me.

I wrapped my legs around one of my suitcases to hold it in place and lifted my hand, poising my thumb over the red button, getting ready to push it. The second Gare de Nice Ville was announced by the lady with the mechanical voice, I slammed my thumb down on the button—twice, but the driver didn’t slow down and I could see the stop coming up through the window. There was another ding as the couple also pushed the button, panic in their eyes. I couldn’t believe that this was about to happen again. I stood up and slammed the red button three more times, the panic rising in my throat. I could feel that I was going to cry, really cry, because I was tired, and anxious, and fucking frustrated that this was happening a second time and I couldn’t understand it.

“Excuse me?” I called as I took a few steps forward in the direction of the driver. The couple was still pressing the button as my stop whipped past the window. “Excusez-moi!” I raised my voice and the driver finally turned his head to look once we were at a stop light. I didn’t know how to say, “you made me miss my stop, dickhead” in French so I settled for looking angry, raising my eyebrows and pointing to my thumb on the red button, which had not stopped pushing on it since he passed the stop. The driver didn’t say anything; he simply nodded, turned back towards the road and started driving again. I refused to sit down and stared at the back of his bald head, taking slow deep breaths in and out, afraid of losing what little composure I had left on this fucking bus.

At the next stop, he let me off and I had no idea where I was. It looked like a pavilion with a fountain in the center of the patio, shops and cafes situated around it. People were outside sipping from coffee cups and laughing, families strolling in and out of the small shops and I stood there watching it all—the people, the water shooting up from the large fountain—and felt myself take a huge breath. As frustrated and tired as I was, I was happy because I was here again. I could feel the sun beating down on my forehead, the warmth causing goosebumps up my arms before a light breeze rolled through the loose strands of my hair, fluttering my blazer behind me.

I took that moment to remind myself that I was safe, that a short walk wouldn’t kill me and that I was in fucking France for God’s sake and I shouldn’t let a bus driver’s lack of brain cells drive me to hysterics. I was never good with dealing with stress that wasn’t of my own creation; as in, I worked really well under pressure and often procrastinated projects or school work in order to induce said pressure, but when my stress came at the hands of the universe or of other people, I always nearly combusted or cried.

After pulling up Google Maps (again) and mapping out my route (a whole twenty minute walk), I pulled off my blazer and shoved it into my duffel and started on my way.

When I finally found the AirBnb I was way past out of breath and sweaty, so, so sweaty and my arms felt like they were going to fall off. I looked around at the shops next to it, Hermes and small bakery and already knew I made the right choice. I punched in the code the host had emailed me the day before and walked in. The small lobby was all beautifully tiles in blue and cream. Thankfully, there was an elevator straight across from the entry way and I wouldn’t have to figure out how to get all my stuff up three flights of stairs. I stopped in front of the wall of mail boxes to the left of the elevator and searched for mailbox #2B. It was left slightly open, just as the host said, and I reached in and pulled out the small key. I hit the “up” button of the elevator and waited until the door unlocked before opening it and stepping inside the tiny elevator. It was a short trip up and once the door unlocked again, I stepped out into the narrow hall. The apartment was the first one on the right and when I opened the door, I was happy to see it looked just as it did online.

It was a studio, with clean white walls and minimal furniture, all natural wood. There were a few pendant lights hanging from the ceiling every few feet; the full size bed was directly to the left of the door, a door leading to the small balcony directly across from the front door, on the left wall there was a small clothing rack and a book case filled with what looked like super old novels. I pulled off my duffel bag and purse, let my luggage tip over onto the floor, kicked my sneakers off and walked towards the balcony doors. Next to the doors, in a little alcove, was a very small kitchen with just a countertop, a toaster, a small stovetop, and a relatively small fridge; right off the small kitchen was the bathroom with a standing shower, toilet and washing machine.

The first thing I did was shower; airplanes and airports have an uncanny ability to make a person feel dirty and in-between that and my stress sweating I knew I smelled.

Once I was clean, I helped myself to a coffee in the kitchen and stepped out onto the balcony. I shouldn’t have been out there in a towel; there were other people out on their balconies and I was only on the third floor, not very high up and it was midday. I was sure at least some people could see me, but I didn’t care as much as I should’ve. This particular moment fit right in with my romanticization of this trip and so I was going to see it through. I stood there for a long while, sipping the coffee (because it was black as there was no milk in the fridge), leaning against the cool metal railing whose light green paint was slowly chipping, my hair being lightly dried by the small breeze that passed every few moments.

Later on, after I unpacked my luggage and managed to locate an iron, I started getting ready to go out. I curled my hair into waves before slipping on a loose, long sleeved, low-cut, white linen top and a pair of light blue cigarette trousers. In the spirit of the French, I stuck with minimal makeup, just some mascara and a bright red lip. Once I was ready, I grabbed my phone off the charger, my purse, and one of the disposables and slipped on my tan leather mules.

I walked straight ahead to the Promenade de Anglais so I could walk up and down along the water. This was my favorite thing I did the last time I was here. My first night, I walked back and forth for three hours just enjoying the chill of the wind blowing off the sea, keeping my scarf wrapped tightly around my neck with my hands deep in my pockets (it was mid-January). This evening, the feeling was so different but still so familiar. I remembered walking this exact path, passing benches, kids on skateboards, people sitting on the ledge before the promenade dropped into the beach, couples walking along the beach, the restaurants nestled on rocks, the wind traveling through my hair, the salty smell—but I wouldn’t be able to get that first time back. The feeling I had was no longer accessible and active; instead, it lived in nostalgia and imagination.

I wrote about that first time a lot; my journal was filled with poem after poem about the water, the promenade, the sounds of the waves crashing and the voices of people mingling, how I felt like such an outsider but at the same time so welcomed—how I felt so much like myself in a way I had never experienced before. Ever since then, I’ve been chasing her, the girl I was when I was here. Back in New York, I wasn’t the same and I felt as if I was always itchy in my own skin; it didn’t always feel right—the way I acted, spoke, dressed, cared about both others and myself. I wanted to get her back and I was so convinced that coming here would help me find her.

After about an hour or aimless walking I decided to take a seat on one of the many benches on the promenade that faced the beach. It was getting cooler out now, the faint breeze picking up and passing by more frequently.

I watched as a young couple ran around the rocky beach, playfully chasing one another, their mouths opened in what I imagined was laughter, but their voices were drowned out by the sound of the light blue waves coming down on the rocks. There was a longing that formed in my chest; a feeling that I was growing more and more familiar with the past year. It bloomed often, when I saw two people who looked so in love, a girl my age experiencing success, my friends running off to internships and career opportunities, families that were whole.

I pulled out the disposable and snapped a picture of them; him behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, her feet of the floor, hair blowing around like a halo, her eyes shut tight and mouth open in glee, and his head buried in her hair.

I cleared my throat, forcing the longing back down and put the camera away, exchanging it for one of my favorite books, The Bell Jar. My copy was slightly tattered and every page was covered in notes. I really needed a new one, but there was comfort in reading this same copy over and over, rereading the thoughts of an old self.

I was softly reading my book aloud when my stomach growled so loud I checked around me to see if anyone else had heard it.

I hadn’t eaten since the plane, but I also hadn’t been hungry since then because the time difference was messing with my body’s time clock. My eating schedule and sleeping schedule were going to be a bit off for the next few days until I got better adjusted. I checked the time and saw I had around thirty minutes until most of the restaurants opened for dinner service and decided to roam into the winding roads in search of somewhere to eat.

As I walked away from the sea, I kept my eyes trained upwards, locked on the buildings I passed; taking notice of the pale pinks, yellows, and oranges they were painted, the iron window sills and balconies, the soft blues and greens of their window shutters. My eyes roamed over flower shops and bakeries getting ready to close, cafes still packed with people sipping from tiny cups, cigarette smoke floating between them. Every few feet I stopped to skim a menu plastered to the outside of a restaurant, making a mental note when I could read it and found several things I liked and taking a picture of the name with my phone when the whole menu was in French so I could go back to it later.

I stopped at a small stand to buy a post card to send to my mom and brothers; “Merci,” I said as I took my change, postcard and stamp from the large man’s hand. I turned around with my head down and my shoulder hit into something hard.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I shook my head and repeated myself, “Je suis désolé.”

“Oh my god, hey!”

I squeezed my eyes shut before slowly raising my head, painting on a smile and looking at the man in front of me. I was sure the universe was out to get me; I knew Nice was small, but what were the odds of running into enthusiastic Eric—they had to be miniscule.

“Hi.”

“I can’t believe I’m running into you! This is crazy. It really is a small world, isn’t it?” He smiled and ran a hands through his thin hair.

“It must be,” I muttered.

“I know I gave you my number but are you busy right now? Are you hungry? Would you want to grab a bite?”

“Actually,” I hiked my bag further up onto my shoulder and pointed towards the entrance of a restaurant behind him, “I actually have dinner plans. I’m meeting a friend and she’s expecting me any minute.”

His smile faltered slightly, “Oh, well, enjoy!” I started to step around him before he said, “Don’t be afraid to give me a call!”

I threw a thumbs up in his direction and turned to see him still watching me. I had no other choice but to pull open the door and step into the small restaurant I had pointed out.

It was dark inside, the only light coming from the small candles sat atop every table, the overhead lights giving off only a hazy glow. I wasn’t sure if they were exactly open yet, since there was no one in sight, but door was open and the dining room looked set up for dinner.

I reached forward and rang the tiny bell that was on the host stand in front of me.

“Hello?” a man’s voice called out in a thick French accent.

“Hi!” I smiled when he came around from the corner where I assumed the bar was placed. “Are you open?”

“Yes, just still early,” he said while grabbing two menus.

“Oh, no, just one,” I held up a finger and sent him a sheepish smile. I followed him through a labyrinth of empty tables, finally stopping at one that was against the wall on the right side of the room. The man pulled my chair out for me, the dark wooden legs screeching against the deep wine tiled flooring. He placed the menu on the white tablecloth, careful to move the small candle away and collected the extra place setting. “Merci,” I said before he walked away.

I ordered a class of red wine and as I waited for my waiter to return, I heard another person enter the restaurant. Out of pure instinct, I turned my head to look but turned back quickly when I saw the man’s eyes flicker to mine. After a few short murmurs, I heard footsteps as the maître d’ led him to his table—right in front of mine. I kept my eyes trained on the menu trying so hard to keep my nosiness at bay.

“Thank you.” The accent was English, I noted.

Café Gustav turned out to be an Italian restaurant, which I didn’t mind since Italian food was my one of my favorites, but it partially felt wrong to be eating pasta my first night in France. There were so many things that looked so good and so many words I had to punch into Google Translate that, by time my waiter returned, I still wasn’t ready to order. Too embarrassed to ask for a few more minutes again, I scanned the menu quickly one more time and ordered the rigatoni truffes blanches et girolles because truffle was always a good idea.

As I gave the waiter my menu, I snuck a peek at the man in front of me and noticed his eyes glued to his menu, giving me the opportunity to take him in; he was blond, his hair long on top but short on the sides, and he was muscular, I could tell from the way his biceps were outlined through his thin white t-shirt and from the veins lacing the back of his hands. He had a nice jawline, square but slightly heart shaped, and his nose was masculine—not too big and not too small—his lips were small but pink, his cupids bow pronounced, I noticed, as his tongue slipped over them. Look up, look up, look up, I begged, wanting so badly to know what color his eyes were.

“Seems we’re a bit early aren’t we?” I jumped at the sound of his voice, my eyes snapping away from his lips to meet his—green.

My cheeks flushed and embarrassment crawled so far up my neck I felt the tops of my ears burn, “Seems so. I forgot how late people had dinner here.” I grabbed my glass and took a sip, attempting to cover my blush.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Well, not here,” I placed my hands on the table in front of me, “but here,” I started waving my hands around me, “as in Nice.”

He chuckled, “Yes, I assumed we were talking about the city.”

“Oh,” I took another quick sip of my wine and thankfully, my waiter arrived with my food and saved me from embarrassing myself further.

It smelled amazing and my mouth watered as the steam tickled my nose, but I could still feel his eyes on me and was so worried that I ate like an animal that I moved the contents of my dish around with my fork until I heard him place his order with the waiter, “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

A few moments later, another glass was placed in front of me even though I hadn’t ordered one and wasn’t finished with my first. I gave the waiter a confused look and he pointed to the Brit across from me. When I turned my eyes to him, he held up his own glass and gave me a wink before bringing his drink to his lips. I smiled and raised mine back.

I ate slowly, making sure to savor every bite and not wanting to leave before he did. He was hot and so far extremely charming and British. I wanted this flirtation to go on for as long as possible. We both ate in silence and I periodically stopped to look at him every time his eyes went to his food.

It wasn’t until the waiter took his plate away that he spoke, “You have great taste; the food and the wine were great.”

I had finished a bit before, but had ordered a third glass of wine. The restaurant was about half filled by then, the low murmur of the people around us causing him to slightly raise his voice.

“I know,” I gave him a smile and played with the stem of my glass.

“I’m Ben.”

“Josie.”

“Care to have a drink, Josie?”

I tilted my head to the side, turning his offer over in my mind. “I don’t know…” I trailed off. I didn’t know him, as hot as he was. He was confident and charming and I couldn’t tell where the confidence was stemming from. Was he confident because he saw me as an easy mark? Did I look lonely? Did I look desperate?

“One drink.”

I held up my almost empty glass, “Three is my limit,” I downed the rest, “and this was my third.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back, “A coffee then!”

I hummed as though I was considering it. I watched his face, the hope in his eyes and knew I couldn’t say no. I told myself that I would be crazy to pass up a drink with a man who looked that good, with that accent, in a place like Nice. “I think I could do coffee.”

He broke out into a smile and waved me over. I paid for my meal and slipped into the seat opposite him. He reached out and shook my hand before calling the waiter over, “Deux noissettes, s'il vous plaît.”

“You speak French.” I observed, slightly impressed by the accuracy of his accent.

“Only the basics.” He corrected, “I know how to ask for certain things and make very simple conversation, but that’s about it. I used to go to Paris for work once or twice a year so I learned a little bit to get me through.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“Right now, nothing,” he let out a sigh and brushed a fallen blond lock out of his eyes, “I was in advertising, but it’s not really for me. I mean, I was good at it but I don’t know…” he trailed off and narrowed his eyes at me, “Sorry, you don’t want to hear this.”

“No, I do.” I assured him, “If I didn’t I wouldn’t have agreed to have coffee.”

“What do you do?” he asked once our coffees were placed in front of us.

“Nothing.” I laughed and shook my head when I saw the look on his face, “I swear I’m not making fun of you. I literally do nothing. I’m still in college so I’m a student which means I don’t really do anything.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“Write—and maybe edit, maybe be a professor? I don’t know it’s all kind of up in the air right now.”

“Hm, the bookish type.” He took a drink from his small cup and watched me roll my eyes in his direction.

“I wouldn’t say bookish. I read, but I’m not a nerd or anything.” I thought for a moment, “At least, I don’t think I am.”

He chuckled before asking me questions about what I liked to read, why I wanted to write. I kept trying to bring him back to his “nothing,” curious as to what it was he left advertising for but he always deflected and so I dropped it; I didn’t know him well enough to push and I didn’t want to completely obliterate my chances of seeing him again—because I would like to see him again, I found myself thinking. He was sweet and he smelled good, he looked great in his t-shirt and his hair looked soft and his lips looked warm and his eyes were bright and I wanted to see him again.

I found myself disappointed when our cups were empty and the check was on the table, neither of us really able to find an excuse to stay. I could see his eyes searching for something, looking for a reason to stay and I really hoped he would find one because I couldn’t. We needed a reason because we were strangers—we weren’t friends or lovers or business partners, we were two loners who just so happened to end up across from one another. We couldn’t stay simply because we wanted to, it couldn’t be that easy.

“I guess that’s it then,” Ben said before pulling his black leather wallet out of his pocket, dropping money onto the mini tray where the check is.

“I guess it is.” I sighed as I grabbed my bag from off the back of my chair and brushed my hair out of my face.

“It was really nice meeting you,” he said as he scribbled what I assumed was his signature on the receipt.

“You too,” I smiled at him but didn’t walk away.

He slid a piece of paper over to me, his phone number slightly illegible. “We’ll both be here for a while, it would be a shame if you didn’t give me a call.”

I picked it up, “It really would be, wouldn’t it?” I folded the piece of paper neatly, careful not to rip it or smear the ink and placed it in between the pages of my book before tucking it into my bag.

He walked to stand beside me, placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, “Goodnight, Josie.”

#ben hardy #ben hardy fanfiction #ben jones #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fic #ben hardy blurb #ben hardy one shot #borhap cast #borhap #borhap imagine #borhap fanfic #borhap fic #borhap on shot #borhap blurb #four 6 underground #billy 6 underground #6 underground

[jung1one]

Memories of You

➺ summary: because every picture tells a story

➺ paring: jihoon/reader

➺ genre: low-key angst?? idk ahh

➺ word count: je ne sais pas

A/N: I thought this would be a cute (actually it’s kinda sad now that I think about it) idea for a story so hope you all agree haha

It had been a month since you and Jihoon parted ways. A month since he last saw you. A month since he last kissed you. A month since he last broke your heart.

He can still picture that day in his head. A painful breakup, resulting with two hearts, so broken that the strongest glue in the world wouldn’t be able to bring its pieces back together. As much as he wishes to forget you, everywhere he looks, it’s you. The bed, the cup, even when he closes his eyes, you’re there. That day has been replaying in his head for a month, from the moment the sun rises until the moment it sets, creating an emotionless boy, who isn’t able to smile, laugh, or even cry.

He does  paint on a smile and a laugh in front of his friends though, not wanting to worry them.

But due to the fact that he was the one to break up with you, they all thought he was fine. He’s the one who fell out of love with you right? He's the one that wanted to focus more on his career.. right?

I mean, at least that’s what he told them. 

After dance practice for Treasure 13, Yedam ran to Jihoon, wrapping his arm around his shoulder, “Aye Jihoon, we’re going to go to Byounggon’s house after practice, you’re coming right?” 

“Sorry, I’m so tired. If I go I’ll probably just ruin the fun.”

“C’mon just sleep at his house if you get tired, we all haven’t hung out with Seunghun and Byounggon since ygtb ended.”

“Yeah that’s true.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Do I even have a choice haha.”

Yedam brings his lips up into a big smile, hugging Jihoon, so happy that all his friends have a chance to hang out again after such a busy schedule. 

Jihoon on the other hand, while being a bit excited about finally hanging out with his friends again, was completely terrified of the fact that this was the first time going out of the dorm, except for the studio, since you guys have broken up. A month since he met up with his friends for fun. A month since he actually had fun. He was terrified if he could even have fun ever again.

But time passed by quick and soon he ended up sitting on Byounggon’s couch, hugging a pillow and talking to his friends about what movie they should watch.

“No. You know I can’t watch scary movies.”

“Junkyu if you can live through ygtb I think you can live through watching The Conjuring.” 

They ended up with just watching Train to Busan (”If I can’t sleep tonight and keep you guys up then you only have yourselves to blame” -Junkyu) and all the boys were completely sobbing at the end of it. Except one.

“Jihoon what the heck how are you not crying,” Hyunsuk asks, blowing his nose into what appeared to look like Junkyu’s beret

He shrugged. Not knowing how to respond.

“Jihoon didn't cry? Mr. Crybaby?” Junkyu teases, while also punching Hyunsuk in the arm

“I guess it just wasn't sad enough for me?”

“Pft this isn’t fair, you look all tough now because we all cried. Hey whoever makes Mr. Tough over here cry first wins” Byounggon whipped out phone and began looking for sad videos on youtube that can get some tears out of his friend.

The other boys followed his lead and soon ended up with Jihoon watching sad videos left and right, from cute animal videos to sad asian commercials that always get people choked up (a/n: don’t tell me you don't know what I’m talking about).

But nobody won.

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I haven’t really been able to cry every since Y/N-”

He looked down at the ground from the sound of your name coming out of his mouth. A sound he didn’t expect to hear himself utter for a long time.

Seunghun looked at him, worried about his best friend, “Hey hoon, you alright?”

The boys gathered around him and looked at him with both confusion, thinking Jihoon was completely over you, and sympathy, worrying if their friend is hurt.

“Yeah I’m fine, I guess I just kinda miss being in a relationship. It was really nice having someone around me all the time, taking pictures together, being together. I just miss the relationship aspect of it all, not her, don't get me wrong.” 

“Um, I don’t know if this’ll help at all but if you miss that then I have that photo album that y/n left here. After you guys broke up I wasn't sure if I should’ve still given it to you but she was going to give it to you for your anniversary. Do you want to me to go get it?” Byounggon asks, rubbing the back of his neck, thinking if this was an okay thing to bring up. 

Jihoon’s eyes eagerly shoot up, “Yes, please, can I see it?”

Byounggon brings back a fully packed white photo album, the cover having both of your names written on it in calligraphy, below it saying, “3 years of you and me” The boys continued to find another movie to watch as Jihoon began opening the cover, welcomed by the first picture you two took together.

A selfie: his arm wrapped around your neck, your cheek pressed against his cheek, and both of you laughing so hard that your eyes are shut:

He smiles, reliving the memory hidden in the picture:

“Y/N, this is probably your best first date ever, let’s be real.”

“Yes because you forgetting your wallet and me having to pay for ice cream for the both of us AND having to pay for yours again because you dropped it just screams best date ever.”

Jihoon gives you an annoyed look, making you laugh and link your arm with his and lean your head against his shoulder.

“I’m joking, this has been amazing Jihoon,” You smile up at him and he looks down, blushing.

“Hmph, I told you.” He kisses the top of your head and leans his head on top of yours, both of you sitting on the park bench looking out onto the sunset, “and there’ll be 100 million more best dates after this. Just you wait.”

He flipped the page, the next picture was one of his favorites. You were making breakfast and he had his arms wrapped around you from behind, his head was softly placed on your shoulder as he watched you cook. It was a really nice picture, the sun was hitting your face making you look absolutely breathtaking, and you were wearing his sweatshirt. It was just a normal sweatshirt when he wore it but whenever you wore it, it looked stunning:

The morning sunlight acted as your alarm as you both woke up in each others arms. Jihoon pulls himself into your chest, squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting to wake up.

“Jihooon.” 

“No.”

You giggled at his blunt remark and brought your hand up to brush his hair.

“Jihoon we have to wake up, you gotta get ready for your lessons and I have work.”

You hear him groan into your chest and he brings his head out to look up at you, smiling.

“You're so pretty y/nnn.”

You blush at the sudden compliment, “Ew Jihoon, it’s too early to be cheesy.”

“I’m only cheesy because you're pretty, if you don’t want me to be cheesy then you’ll have to be not pretty which is impossible so looks like you’re stuck with cheesy me.”

“You are such a dork.”

“I call you pretty and you call me cheesy and a dork, this is bullying. I won’t condone it. I think you’re going to have to make up for it and make me chocolate chip pancakes."

“Oh really, and what if I don’t”

“Well then I’m sorry but I will be forced to go tell on you to Yoonbin who will be very mad at you for bullying his favorite person in the world.” 

“I swear Jihoon,” you say, pulling him off of you and putting on one of his sweatshirts, “you’re lucky I love you.”

Jihoon smiles, watching you put on his clothes and walk out the room, getting ready to make him food.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this happy in his life. He finally has someone to laugh with him when he’s happy, hold him when he’s sad, cuddle with him when he's tired, rant with him when he's angry, and love him the way he loves you. He was absolutely so downright in love with you that it scared him. But he knew with you by his side, nothing in the world could be terrifying.

Curiously, he flipped to the very last page, his heart beginning to ache with what he saw

It was a picture of the day before that day. The day before the day he cried more than he has in his life. The day before the day his heart permanently broke. The day before the day he lost you:

“Jihoon, I’m going to have to talk to you about y/n” 

“Yes, what about her.”

“You’ll be debuting soon, in a group that already has millions of fans. You know what having a girlfriend will do to your image. To your group’s image.”

Jihoon sat there, hearing what his manager said over and over again in his head, thinking that he probably just misinterpreted it or something.

“So you’re telling me I’m just going to have to keep it private right?”

“No. I’m saying you’re going to have to break up with her. Keeping it private is too risky for rookies.”

He began to start feeling as if the world was running out of air to breathe, “But we’ve been together for 3 years? I- I thought you said if I kept in down low then it wouldn't be a problem.”

“Jihoon, I know this is going to be hard but this is for your career. Trust me, having a girlfriend even if the public doesn’t find out will be hard once you’re an idol, especially because she’s not one. And you’re young, you’ll find someone else once you're older.”

His manager stood up, finishing the conversation and left the room.

The walk back home was one of the most agonizing experiences in his life. 

How was he supposed to tell you?

Should he even listen to his manager?

Should he just hid your relationship?

But then he heard his manager saying, “your group’s image.” If he screws up, then not only he will go down, but all his friends. The ones who worked just as hard as he did will have their career’s ruined because of him. 

The minute he walked in, you ran into his arms.

“Jihoon!! I got an A on my Chemistry exam!! The one you helped me study for!!”

You squeezed your arms around him and smiled against his chest.

Jihoon automatically wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead, wanting to forget everything and just run away with you.

But his group rang into his head again. He couldn’t do this to them.

But could he do this to you?

Needing a moment to think he pulled away and asked you if he could have some alone time for a bit. You easily accepted, a bit worried, but didn’t question him.

Jihoon went into his room and sat on his bed, thinking. Not exactly creating a solution, but just thinking. He tried to think of loopholes in order to keep you but just couldn't.

“Am I stupid? Why can’t I think of anything.” 

The only thing he could think of was you hating him. If you hate him, you’ll be mad at him, not sad because of the break up, right. You’ll just hate him and you won't be hurting..right. He didn’t care if he got hurt out of this, he just didn’t want you to.

So this was the only answer to this situation. Right??

Before he could even think about what he said to you and what you said to him after that, Jihoon immediately flipped back to the beginning. He landed on another beautiful picture. One with you two kissing in a big field. His arms wrapped around your waist and your- Wait. Why couldn’t he see the picture anymore? Why is it so blurry? What’s going on?

Jihoon brought his hand up to his eyes and immediately felt something wet. 

Was he....crying?

He looked back down at the picture, drops soon beginning to splatter on it. He attempted to wipe them away but they kept falling. He couldn’t see the picture. He desperately wanted to see the picture. No, He desperately needed to see the picture.

No. 

He desperately needed to see you.

Soon tears flowed down and wouldn’t stop. His cheeks started to become drenched and Jihoon couldn't do anything about it, but just sit there.

“Hey guys guess what.”

The boys look back at Jihoon and gasp.

“I win.”

#idk if I should do a part 2 #omg does this suck #aH #THANKS FOR READING IT ALL IF YOU DID #ygtb #yg treasure box #treasure 13 #treasure #magnum #yg treasure box scenarios #yg treasure box imagines #yg treasure box drabbles #treasure 13 scenarios #ha yoonbin #mashiho #bang yedam #kim doyoung #kim junkyu #park jihoon #park jeongwoo #haruto #choi hyunsuk #lee byounggon #asahi #yoshinori #Kpop scenarios #ygtb scenarios #ygtb reactions #ygtb drabbles

[silverlightqueen]

Ruin My Life - Part 2

RML masterlist

(fratboy!Jimin ft. fratboy!Jungkook) - smut, fluff, angst to come

Summary - You and Jimin have a very domestic morning after, so you make up for it with a very not domestic night...

Word Count - 8k+

Warnings - smuttier than part 1 (if you can believe it), threesome, light choking, orgasm denial, oral, dirty talk, intercourse, double penetration, overstimulation, fingering, just a lil bit of everything lol

a/n: so here’s part 2! this hasn’t been edited so excuse any mistakes. I hope y’all enjoy it and pls message me and give me feedback! if you like this, check out my other work, all linked in my masterlist💕

Edit: Part 3 is out now, link in my masterlist 💕

silverlightqueen masterlist

I blink drowsily, slowly tumbling out of my slumber, as I arch my back, stretching in the warm bed. I sit up, rubbing at my eyes to see the bright morning light streaming in through the gaps in the curtains. The other side of the bed is empty, and I remember last night, when it was full. Has he really left? I think before spotting his jeans bunched up on the floor. And then I hear a quiet humming and realise he’s definitely still here. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand up, stretching again, before heading out of the room, my bare feet soundless on the soft carpet of my bedroom. As I near the kitchen, his humming gets louder along with the occasional clink of kitchenware. When I reach the kitchen, I peer in to see Jimin stood in there, in just his boxers, mixing something up in one of my baking bowls. When I step into the room, he looks up, noticing me, and a big smile breaks across his face, hiding his eyes behind their lids, making my heart contract. 

‘Morning, princess,’ he says, his voice much deeper and huskier than usual, and taps his cheek. ‘Morning, babe,’ I reply as I get up onto my tip toes and press a kiss to his soft skin. ‘How long have you been awake?’ I ask, standing behind him and putting my arms around him, resting my cheek against his strong back. ‘Not long. Thought I’d make a bit of breakfast,’ he says, and I can feel the vibrations of his words through his body. ‘What time is it?’ I ask. ‘It’s nearly half past eleven. You didn’t have a morning lecture, did you?’ he asks. ‘Nuh-uh,’ I reply as he begins walking towards the fridge, and I stay holding onto him, shuffling along behind him. ‘You’re so clingy in the morning. I thought maybe you’d changed but you’re still exactly the same,’ he chuckles, and I nuzzle further into him. ‘Princess, can we cuddle after I’ve made breakfast? You’re making it a little hard to cook,’ he says lightly, and I whine, holding onto him. He detaches me from his torso and I pout.

‘Go find something to watch on the TV and I’ll be done in like fifteen minutes,’ he says, and I frown jokingly, stomping off to the living room. My phone, sat on the coffee table, lights up as I sit down on the sofa and I pick it up, turning on the TV with the remote at the same time. I flick through the channels, finally settling on Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, whilst checking my phone. I’ve had a load of texts from Mija asking what happened. I type a quick message filling her in and ask when she wants to come back, so I can send Jimin home. She lets me know that she’s currently in a lecture and then going out for a late lunch with some of her classmates, so she won’t be back for a few hours yet. Jimin comes in then, two plates in his hands and a big smile on his face. ‘What did you make?’ I ask, getting comfy. ‘Pancakes,’ he replies, handing me my plate with a flourish. He’s garnished them with strawberries and golden syrup and a little bit of whipped cream, just how I like them. I smile at him, picking up the fork and breaking off a bite, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. ‘So?’ he asks the second I put it in my mouth. ‘Really good,’ I say truthfully once I’ve swallowed it down, and a proud smile breaks across his face. ‘Jin hyung taught me how to make them,’ he tells me, tucking into his own plate.

We sit in a comfortable silence, eating our breakfast and watching the film, and once we’re both done, I take our plates into the kitchen and quickly wash up, joining him back in the living room after ten minutes. He’s under a load of blankets that he must have found in the cupboard, and he looks absolutely adorable bundled up like this. He looks up at me when I walk in and a smirk breaks across his face, turning him from adorable to something else. ‘You look so good in my clothes, princess,’ he praises, making some space for me to sit. I throw myself down beside him and he instantly pulls me into his side, his arm around me. It’s only after a few minutes of being so comfortable, physically and mentally, that it hits me how weird this is. Cuddling with him like this and watching a Disney film after he made us breakfast, it feels so… domestic. And it feels like the most normal thing in the world, like I could wake up to this every morning without complaint. My heart starts beating so fast at the thought and I nearly hurtle out of his arms and kick him out of the apartment. But before I can, Jimin begins to speak.

‘You coming to the party at the frat tonight?’ he asks. ‘I didn’t know you were having one,’ I reply, and he rests his head on top of mine. ‘Well, now you do,’ he points out, his jaw moving against the top of my head. ‘I’m not invited,’ I say pointedly, waiting for him to explicitly say he wants me to come. ‘Well, that’s why I’m inviting you now. I want you there,’ he says, and I feel my heart contract. ‘I’ve got exams next week,’ I say, and he chuckles. ‘What’s that got to do with our party?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes, though he can’t see me do so. ‘I need to study,’ I say. ‘Okay, A) no, you don’t, and B) if you want to study, do it on the weekend, or during the week next week,’ he says, and I sigh. ‘Come on, princess. You can be my date,’ he says, and I nearly choke, moving to look at him. ‘Your date? Did the infamous Park Jimin really just ask me to be his date? When there’s gonna be so many ‘hot chicks’ whose pants you can try to get into?’ I say sarcastically, and he rolls his eyes amusedly. ‘Infamous? And also, for the record, I’ve never said ‘hot chicks’ in my entire life,’ he points out. ‘The point still stands.’ ‘Yeah, and my point about wanting you as my date still stands. We haven’t spent time together for so long, it’ll be nice to hang out together in a party environment,’ he says. ‘As opposed to this environment?’ I ask. ‘This is nice and all, but it feels too… relationshipy for me. A party’s a different story,’ he says, and my heart sinks. I don’t know what I expected. Of course, he wasn’t gonna suddenly change his mind and ask me to be his girlfriend. But I… I had a bit of hope, I guess. ‘Okay,’ I say, giving in to what I want rather than what’s best for me, ‘I’ll come.’ ‘Good,’ he replies, a huge smile appearing on his face.

We settle back down together, watching the film, but I can’t even enjoy myself in the moment, feeling myself falling for him again. And it hurts even more that I don’t have a chance with him at all. If I continue with this, I know I’ll fall in love with him, just like I did last time. And I don’t want to wait until I’m too far gone to come back, just like I did last time, but I know myself, and I know I can’t resist him. One of his eye smiles and a gentle hand at my waist, and I’m putty in his hands. But when I’ve missed him so much over these past two years, so much that I couldn’t go a day without thinking about him, it’s hard to resist. So, it’s a choice between distancing myself like the last two years or continuing to fall in love with him and keep it to myself so I can carry on seeing him. And, unfortunately, I already know which it is I’m going to choose. I already know he’s going to ruin my life.

‘Ready to go, y/n?’ Mija shouts from the living room. ‘Two minutes!’ I shout back, searching frantically for my black heels as I swipe my lipstick across my lips. I finally find them and pull them on, my shaky hands fumbling with the straps. I frantically shove things into my black clutch, lipstick, pads, oil-blotting sheets, phone, phone charger and the like. I run out of my room into the living room and Mija screams at my appearance. ‘You look so fucking good, bitch!’ she shrieks, and I shush her embarrassedly. I’m dressed in a lowcut, dark red velvet dress that ends mid-thigh, and Jimin’s leather jacket that he left here earlier. My hair is in big, bouncy curls, opposite to my usual dead straight locks. ‘You look so fucking good too, bitch,’ I say, a lot quieter than she did. She’s dressed in a black mesh bodysuit with a cute lace bralette beneath, and a pair of white jeans with a pair of black heels of mine ‘I don’t recognise that jacket,’ Mija says, and I nearly blush. ‘It’s Jimin’s,’ I say, and she shrieks again. ‘Yes, bitch! I’ve already got a plan for you to win him over!’ she says, and I roll my eyes. I told her about my head being in a whirl and my mixed feelings earlier, and she’s made up her mind that she’s gonna get us together, one way or another. ‘You show up, wearing his jacket, and flirt with another boy!’ she says. ‘Are you crazy?’ I ask, and she shakes her head. ‘Mija, Jimin used to get angry when I flirted with other boys in front of him. And he’s asked me to be his date to this party. He’ll be furious if he sees,’ I say, and she shrugs. ‘Even better. It’ll help him realise that he can’t let you pass him by because he won’t find anyone like you,’ she says, and I roll my eyes. ‘Stop with the soppy shit, and let’s go,’ I say, and she laughs.

We head out of the apartment and down to the front of our accommodation building to where an Uber is waiting. A mere ten minute drive and we’re there, and all I can think about is Jimin doing this drive but the opposite way last night. He must have literally dropped what he was doing and then sped over straight away, and the thought makes me feel warm inside. When we get out, we see that the street is packed full of cars and the party is well in full swing, music pounding out into the street. We head up the lawn, passing groups of drunk gigglers, high stoners and making-out couples. Mija shoulders her way past a couple kissing in the doorway and leads me through into the front room. We push our way back into the kitchen, Mija making a beeline to where she knows the boys will be. The second we walk in, all eyes turn to us, and I understand why this room is a lot emptier than the others. This room is exclusive, for close friends of the boys only, and I can see why people stick to that unspoken rule, having all eyes falling upon them instantly when they walk in. We don’t get the stony reception that others must do though.

‘y/n!’ Taehyung practically shouts the second his eyes land on me, cutting off the speech of the girl who was talking to him and pushing his way over to me. He pulls me into a hug and I can’t help but smile at his sweet drunken behaviour, able to smell the alcohol on him. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he says, his hands on my arms. His hair is a new colour now, no longer the ashy grey of yesterday, now a vivid blond. It suits him. ‘Thank, Tae,’ I reply, unable to keep a smile off my face. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks. ‘None of what you’ve been drinking. I’ll have a vodka coke, not too strong, please,’ I ask, and he turns to a freshman in the frat. ‘Get her a strong vodka coke!’ he instructs, and the poor freshman instantly begins fixing my drink. I feel sorry for the poor kid, but I can’t help but laugh at him, trying to hide my giggles behind my hand. ‘I said not strong,’ I sigh, and he shrugs. ‘You look good. Red suits you. And I like the jacket,’ Tae compliments, the girl he was speaking to before barging past with a scowl. ‘Thanks, Tae, thought I’d dress up for once,’ I reply, feeling eyes on me, though I can’t be sure whose. I don’t even know if Jimin’s in here or not, having not had a chance to look around. ‘For me? Or in general?’ he asks in his deep voice, an eyebrow raised. ‘Maybe a bit of both,’ I lie, knowing it’s not him I dressed up for, and he grins a boxy smile down at me. ‘You’re cute, y/n. Rejecting me yesterday, flirting with me today,’ he points out, and I laugh. ‘I wasn’t exactly in the mood yesterday.’ ‘But you were in the mood for Kook, Joon hyung and Yoongi hyung,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘They managed to persuade me. You told me I was clever and pretty and stuff,’ I point out, and he chuckles deeply. ‘Fair enough. I was nervous though. You’re a little scary, you know,’ he says, before turning to the freshman boy. ‘Hurry up! She hasn’t got all day!’ he barks. ‘Tae! Don’t! It’s okay, babe, take all the time you need,’ I say as nicely as I can, and the boys smiles weakly, going back to putting ice in my drink. ‘So you can call him babe, but when I said it yesterday…?’ Tae says. ‘You know that I meant it in a different way than you did,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘Here you are, noona,’ the freshman boy says nervously, pressing the drink into my hand. ‘Thank you,’ I reply, taking a sip through the straw of the drink, Tae’s eyes on my lips. ‘Tae! Keg stand!’ I hear someone shout from through the open back door, and Tae sighs. ‘I’d better go. I’ll speak to you later, y/n, save a dance for me,’ he says, heading outside.

Before I can even turn to look around the room, Namjoon is stood in front of me. ‘Hey, y/n,’ he says, pulling me into a hug. ‘Hey, Joon,’ I reply, giving him a hug. ‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ he says. ‘Oh, Jimin invited me,’ I say before thinking, not realising my mistake until Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow together. ‘When? I thought you two didn’t really talk anymore,’ he asks. ‘Yesterday, when he came over to speak to me,’ I say, and Namjoon nods. ‘To be fair, he was really vague about what your guys conversation was about so we all figured he was embarrassed about being rejected, but I guess he was trying to cover up how he was trying to reconnect with you,’ Namjoon says. He doesn’t know the full story about mine and Jimin’s history; he just thinks we used to talk, and then we didn’t anymore. ‘Hmm, I guess,’ I say, taking a sip of my vodka, thanking my lucky stars that Joon believed my story. ‘y/n, dance with me!’ Mija says, appearing at my side, an already half empty solo cup in hand. ‘Come on then,’ I give in, letting her drag me into the living room. ‘I’ll talk to you later, Joon!’ I call over my shoulder, Joon giving me an amused wave goodbye.

Mija and I are sucked into the throng of people dancing, and we get caught up in it too. A couple hours, and several vodka cokes later, and I feel a pair of hands land on my waist. I turn around instantly, ready to slap whoever it is, before I see Jungkook’s face. I roll my eyes, and he grins at me, looking unbelievably good in a white t-shirt and blue ripped jeans, a black bomber jacket over the top. His hair is slightly wavy today, not dead straight like normally. ‘Dance with me?’ he asks. ‘I’m dancing with Mija,’ I say, turning to look at where she was stood just a few seconds ago, but has now disappeared. ‘Sure you are,’ he says, turning me around to face him, his arms around my waist. ‘I like this dress,’ he says, looking down at me, and I already know that he’s got a perfect view down the top of it. ‘I bet you do,’ I say pointedly, moving his chin so his eyes meet mine rather than being lost in my bosom. He chuckles, eyes on mine, as we move fluidly together, his hands straying further and further down my back. When they go just a little too far, I grab them and move them up, and he chuckles again, his breath stirring my hair. ‘Come on,’ he says, holding my hand in his and leading me through into the nearly empty kitchen. ‘I thought you wanted to dance,’ I say as he leads us into the corner. ‘I changed my mind, I wanted to talk to you instead,’ he says. ‘What about?’ I ask with a raised eyebrow. ‘Can’t I just talk to you, noona?’ he asks innocently, leaning back against the counter, his head tilted to one side. ‘Fine, I guess,’ I say, beginning to pour myself a drink. ‘You look really nice, noona,’ he says, and I roll my eyes. ‘Thank you, Kookie. I guess you look nice too,’ I say, taking a sip of my seventh vodka coke, and he laughs. ‘You’re too coy. I feel like I recognise that jacket,’ he says, squinting at it, and I shrug, trying not to laugh. He moves closer to me, backing me up against the counter with one hand on my waist. ‘It looks nice on you. But it’d look nicer on my bedroom floor,’ he says under his breath. ‘Don’t use cheesy pick-up lines on me,’ I reply lowly, trying not to let on my reaction to it. ‘It worked though,’ he replies, his deep voice doing unspeakable things to me. ‘Did it?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘I’m pretty sure it did, noona, considering how hard your heart is beating,’ he says, his chest pressed against mine. ‘Yours is too,’ I reply, and he grins. ‘I won’t deny it like you are,’ he says. ‘I didn’t deny it,’ I retort. ‘So you’re admitting it?’ he asks, grin even wider. ‘I didn’t say that either, don’t get your hopes up,’ I reply. ‘You’re so difficult, noona,’ he says. ‘I’m difficult? You’re hard to be around,’ I joke. ‘That’s not the only thing that’s hard,’ he smirks, and I groan. ‘God, you were just waiting for an excuse to say that, weren’t you?’ I ask, and he nods honestly. ‘You’re just too good to resist, noona,’ he says, and then the door opens.

Jimin walks in, both of us looking over at him as he looks up at us, my heart stopping. ‘Hey, hyung,’ Jungkook says, and Jimin smiles at him. ‘Hey, Kook. Hi, y/n,’ he says, smiling at me widely, and I’m disheartened. He doesn’t care in the slightest that he’s just walked in to see Kook stood virtually on top of me, hands on my waist. I guess he really doesn’t care about me at all. ‘Hey, Jimin,’ I reply, neither Jungkook or I moving as Jimin begins to pour himself a drink, back to us. Jungkook looks back down at me, smiling, and begins to speak again. ‘How can I help myself when you’re dressed like that? Wearing that dress, and that jacket. You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?’ he asks, voice low but not low enough for Jimin not to notice. But again, no reaction. He doesn’t tense up at all, just continues pouring out a drink. ‘Maybe I do, Kook. Maybe I wore this on purpose, to get some kind of reaction,’ I say, wanting Jimin to hear my words. But nothing. ‘From me?’ Jungkook asks, grinning. ‘Who else?’ I ask, and he licks his lips. ‘Just what I wanted to hear, noona. I knew you had a soft spot for me,’ he says, and I roll my eyes. ‘Am I that transparent?’ I say sarcastically. ‘I wish this dress was transparent,’ he says shamelessly, hands travelling up and down my sides. ‘Jungkook!’ I exclaim. ‘It’s doesn’t matter, noona. Jimin doesn’t mind, do you, hyung?’ Jungkook asks, oblivious, and Jimin turns around with an amiable smile. ‘No, of course not, Kook. You and y/n carry on,’ he says, giving a Kook an encouraging smirk, and my mouth nearly falls open. Is he kidding me? He turns and leaves with one last smirk at Kook, and I want to scream at him.

‘God, y/n, so fucking sexy, this dress is killing me,’ Jungkook groans, taking a step back to look me up and down. His words do entice me, I won’t deny it, but I can’t focus on him anymore, my mind with Jimin and his nonchalance. He really didn’t care in the slightest. After a couple more minutes of going back and forth with Kook, his phone buzzes and it’s a text from Tae telling him there’s someone in his room. Jungkook groans, telling me he’ll be back in a minute, and runs out of the room, leaving me alone with my vodka coke. And then I get a text from Namjoon, asking me to come to his room because he’s got an emergency. I rush up, knowing where it is from before when we were friends, worried something serious has happened, and I practically burst into the room. It’s dark and I can’t see a single thing. ‘Joon?’ I call out, and then the door shuts behind me, the light flicking on. Jimin is stood by the door, staring at me, and I take a few steps back out of surprise, my back hitting the wall. He looks amazing again today, dressed in an oversized white jumper and a pair of black ripped jeans, his thighs on show again.

‘Jimin? But Namjoon texted me…?’ I say, confused. ‘I took his phone. And we switched rooms last year,’ Jimin says neutrally, and my eyebrows furrow. ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘I wanted his room and he let me switch,’ Jimin says with a small grin. ‘You know that’s not what I’m asking,’ I reply. ‘Oh, you wanna know why I told you to come up here?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘I’ll tell you why,’ he says, his voice losing its light-heartedness as he takes a few steps, pressing his body against mine, one of his hands coming to my throat. ‘What the fuck do you think you were doing? Flirting with Taehyung when you first walked in, and then dancing with Kook. Then the two of you disappear and when I finally manage to shake off the bitches that were clinging to me, I walk in to see that. You’re here as my date, you’re wearing my jacket, and yet you haven’t spoken to me once, spending all your time with Jungkook. You think you can get away with that?’ he says, his voice low, his fingers tight on my throat, his words going straight to my heat. ‘I didn’t… I’m sorry, daddy,’ I say, and he scoffs. ‘It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? Jungkook’s already had his hands all over you. You don’t deserve to be touched, princess,’ he says, his fingers tightening even more, my brain becoming numb. ‘Please, daddy,’ I beg, his words making me moan, and he shakes his head. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and taps away for a few seconds, not losing his grip on my neck. Once he’s done, he tucks his phone back into his back pocket.

‘Such a dirty slut, y/n. You’re supposed to be mine, and mine only. Understand me, princess?’ he asks, and I nod, feeling lightheaded at my lack of oxygen. ‘I don’t think you do. I think you need to get it out of your system, because then you’ll just get worse. Right? I’m right, aren’t I?’ he asks, and I nod, knowing not to disagree with him. He puts a hand up my dress, pulling my pants aside and swiping a finger along my slit. ‘God, you’re so fucking wet, princess. Is this for me, or for Jungkook?’ he asks, and I can’t lie, it may be both, but I won’t admit it to him. ‘You, daddy, only you,’ I say, and he lets out a harsh laugh. ‘I think you’re a liar, princess. I think it’s for both of us,’ he says, seeing right through me, and I don’t say a thing. ‘Just as I thought,’ he says, just before the door opens and Jungkook walks in to see me pushed up against the wall, one hand up my dress and the other still around my neck. ‘Am I interrupting something?’ Jungkook asks, hesitating at the door, and Jimin pushes one finger in between my folds without warning. I moan out, my head falling back against the wall, and Jimin grins at Jungkook. ‘Look at this, Kook,’ he says, pulling out his finger and holding it up for Jungkook to see it, dripping with my slick. Jungkook’s eyes widen and he shuts the door behind him, clearly already knowing what’s coming. ‘Wow, noona,’ Jungkook says, and Jimin grins. ‘This is for you and me, Jungkook,’ Jimin says, and then brings his hand up to my mouth. I open my mouth and he pops his finger in, waiting until my tongue has licked it clean before he pulls it out, holding it up to Kook, covered in my saliva now. ‘So dirty, noona,’ Jungkook whispers, and Jimin laughs. ‘You don’t know the half of it. Does he, princess?’ Jimin asks. ‘No, daddy,’ I reply dutifully, my voice hoarse due to his hand around my neck. ‘Daddy, huh? I never would’ve guessed,’ Jungkook chuckles.

Jimin moves his hand and I take a deep breath, my head clearing, and Jimin laughs. ‘You expect me to feel sorry for you, princess, after how naughty you’ve been? I’m taking this back,’ Jimin says, pulling his jacket off me and throwing it across the room. ‘I knew I’d seen it before,’ Jungkook chuckles. ‘Dress off now,’ Jimin instructs, and I hesitate, self-conscious to undress in front of the two fully clothed men. ‘Oh, so you wanted to be a slut earlier, but now you’re shy? Hurry up, princess, you’re lucky I’ve decided not to punish you,’ Jimin threatens and I turn around, holding my hair out of the way for someone to undo the zip. ‘Go ahead, Kook,’ Jimin instructs, and I feel his hand appear at my back, pulling down the zip that goes all the way down to my lower back. Once he’s done, I pull it off, leaving me in black lace underwear, different to the ones from yesterday. ‘Look at you, wearing pretty lingerie. You were planning on getting fucked tonight, weren’t you? Who by, princess?’ Jimin asks. ‘You, daddy,’ I reply, and he shakes his head. ‘Dirty girl. So you planned on getting fucked by me, but flirted with Kook. So naughty,’ Jimin says, taking a seat on the bed. ‘On your knees, princess,’ Jimin says, leaning back on his elbows, and I quickly drop to my knees. ‘Go ahead, Kook,’ Jimin prompts. ‘You sure, hyung?’ Jungkook asks, and Jimin nods. Jungkook steps in front of me, beginning to unzip his jeans, and I open my mouth in advance. ‘Look at her, mouth open already. Such a dirty slut,’ Jimin says, and Jungkook looks down at me, all trace of the mischievous light-hearted boy gone, an intimidating man stood before me. ‘Is he fucking my face, daddy?’ I ask Jimin, and he laughs. ‘Ask Jungkook,’ he instructs, and I look up at him. ‘Do you want to fuck my face, Kook, or do you want me to suck you off?’ I ask, and he groans. ‘Fuck, noona, so dirty. Suck me off first,’ he says, pulling his jeans and boxers down just enough for his hardening length to spring free.

He's incredibly long, slightly longer than Jimin, not as thick, but still making my mouth water. I spit on my hands and work them up and down his length, getting it completely hard before I take his head into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his tip, feeling his hand knot into my hair for grip, his head falling back with a low groan as I lick up the precum. ‘That’s it, princess, make daddy proud,’ Jimin encourages me from the bed as I take him out of my mouth, placing my tongue at his base and licking the entire way up along his vein before moving back to the base, swirling my tongue around his balls one at a time, my hand gently rubbing up and down his length. ‘Fuck, that’s it, baby,’ Jungkook groans, watching me as I bring his head into my mouth, sinking as far down onto his length as I can, looking up at him through my lashes. He groans again as I begin bobbing up and down, building up a steady pace as I work more and more of him into my mouth. When he hits the back of my throat, he bucks his hips and I gag, eyes watering and saliva beginning to drip down my chin. ‘Now, now, princess, no gagging,’ Jimin reprimands sternly, and I know he’ll punish me if I do it again. Jungkook gets impatient then and knots his hand into my hair firmly, beginning to thrust into my mouth, and it takes all of my self-control not to gag. I grip onto the backs of his thighs, my nails scraping against the denim and his balls hit my chin, my nose bumping against his crotch repeatedly.

‘Fuck, you look so pretty choking on my cock, noona,’ Jungkook says, his words making me moan and I can feel the slick starting to pool in my pants. ‘Quiet, princess, you’re pleasing Kook, not the other way ‘round. Understand?’ Jimin instructs harshly, and I try to nod as best as I can, tears dripping down my cheeks as I hollow out my cheeks, trying not to gag. ‘Fuck, noona, your mouth feels amazing, baby,’ Jungkook groans again, and I try so hard not to react, dutifully staying still as he thrusts into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat over and over again. ‘Fuck, y/n, I’m gonna cum,’ he groans, his thrusts faster and harder, the tears streaming down my face now, my breathing laboured, and I feel him twitch in my mouth, knowing he’s close. ‘In your mouth, noona?’ he breathes out, and I nod as best as I can, feeling his hot cum hit the back of my throat as he moans out, head thrown back and body tensed. His thrusts slow down so I start bobbing my head, milking him for all he’s worth until he pulls out. ‘Open your mouth, princess,’ Jimin says, and I do so, Jungkook’s cum mingled with my saliva dripping down my chin when I do so, eyes streaming and hair a wild mess of curls. ‘Swallow it, princess. Every last drop,’ Jimin says, and I do so, opening my mouth once I’m done. ‘Wow, hyung, you’ve got her well trained,’ Jungkook says, looking down at me incredulously. ‘I’m not a dog,’ I say indignantly, not knowing when to keep my mouth shut, and I see Jungkook try to hold back a laugh. Jimin, chuckling, gets up off the bed and walks over, and I already regret opening my mouth, waiting for a punishment. ‘That’s one thing I’ve learned, Kook. Don’t seriously degrade or dehumanize her, or she’ll get her own back,’ Jimin says, talking as though I’m not there, and I know we’re both thinking of the time when he went a touch too far, calling me a name that had me furious, and I left his house mid hook-up, leaving him naked on the bed with a painfully hard boner. A small smile slips onto my face at the thought, and Jimin taps my chin with two fingers, making me look up at him. ‘Up, princess,’ he says, and I get up off my knees. He holds a small towel in his hand and cleans off my face, neck and chest with it, knowing I hate being sticky. ‘How’d you want her, Kook?’ Jimin asks Jungkook. ‘I… hyung, don’t you want to…?’ Jungkook trails off, and Jimin chuckles. ‘I have all the time in the world to do what I want with her, Kook. You have this evening,’ Jimin says, the subliminal message obvious. ‘I… I wanna taste her,’ Jungkook says, and I almost grin at the thought. ‘You heard him. Lie on the bed. Sideways, princess,’ Jimin says, and I go over to his bed, lying down horizontally.

After Jimin whispers something to Jungkook under his breath, the two men make their way over to the bed after me. Jungkook stands between my legs, his vascular hands slowly travelling up my legs to my pants, before pulling them down my legs, just as Jimin appears above me. ‘Can I rip this one off?’ he asks, hand on my bra. ‘No, daddy, it’s expensive,’ I say, and he rolls his eyes, hands going under my back to open the clasp before pulling it off, leaving me completely naked before the two men. ‘God, noona, so fucking sexy,’ Jungkook groans, hands spreading my legs apart, the cold air hitting my heat. ‘y/n, you’re so wet. Oh, my god, you’re soaked,’ he says, kneeling down. He licks up along my slit, and I let out a shaky breath. ‘No noise, princess,’ Jimin tells me, and I sigh inwardly, knowing it’ll be hard to stay quiet. Jungkook takes slow, languorous licks along my slit, his nose nuzzling against my clit, and I bite my lip, trying to stop any noise from coming out. His tongue dips in between my folds, and I nearly cry out at the feeling, my hands threading into his soft, silky curls. ‘No hands, princess,’ Jimin says, and I reluctantly move my hands from Jungkook’s hair, Jimin holding them above my head instead. Jungkook wraps his lips around my clit, sucking harshly, and my back arches. ‘Stay still, y/n! So naughty, princess,’ Jimin says sternly, and I try to force myself to still on the bed. Without warning, Jungkook plunges a finger in between my folds, and I bite down so hard on my lip, my body shaking slightly. ‘Fuck, you’re so responsive, y/n,’ Jungkook whispers. ‘She is, isn’t she? Only the tip of your finger goes into her tight little pussy, and she’s already clenching around it, trying to pull it further in,’ Jimin says, his words going straight to my core, and I have to bite down on my lip even harder. Jungkook slowly pumps his finger in and out, his lips still around my clit, before he adds another digit. ‘So fucking tight,’ Jungkook groans against my clit, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through me. He adds yet another finger, working them in as far as he can, knuckle deep inside me whilst his mouth still works at my clit. I begin commending myself on my excellent self-control, having managed to keep quiet for this long. And then Jimin changes the goal posts.

‘Open your mouth, princess,’ he says, and I do so, my head tilted back slightly, nervous due to only having done this with him once. He plunges straight into my mouth and I nearly choke, gagging around his cock. ‘Stop gagging, princess, take it like a good girl,’ he says, and I compose myself, hollowing out my cheeks to accommodate him. He slowly thrusts in and out of my mouth, gradually building up his pace as Jungkook continues his attack between my legs, his mouth and fingers working at an incredible speed. I can feel myself getting closer as Jimin’s pace quickens, still holding my hands above my head. And then, in perfect synchrony, the two increase their paces, Jungkook’s fingers and mouth moving impossibly fast as Jimin’s hips snap forward and backward violently. The tears stream from my eyes, spit bubbling around my mouth, the only noises in the room being my choked breaths, lewd wet sounds from Jungkook’s mouth and fingers, and Jimin’s heavy breathing. I can feel my head spinning, drifting away from the current events, and my eyes begin to slide shut. ‘Deep breath, princess,’ Jimin says, pulling out of my mouth, and I automatically do so, the air finally entering my lungs like I’ve just come out of deep waters. Jungkook doesn’t stop his attack on my core, his fingers brushing against my g-spot, and I let out a loud moan, just as Jimin slides back into my mouth, groaning aloud. I feel myself hurtling towards my orgasm, letting out choked moans around Jimin’s cock. ‘Such a good girl, princess, choking on my cock like that. You look so pretty, baby girl, so pretty and wrecked. Do you like having daddy’s cock in your mouth while Jungkook fucks you with his fingers and mouth, huh?’ he asks, and I nod with a muffled moan. I don’t even realise how close Jimin is until his cock twitches in my mouth and his releases hits the back of my throat. My name falls from his lips repeatedly as he thrusts sloppily into my mouth until he’s emptied all of his cum into my mouth. Jungkook stays at a steadily rapid pace, and I’m so close to my climax as I swallow down Jimin’s cum. ‘Daddy, I’m gonna…’ I trail off, letting out a moan at the feeling of Jungkook licking at my clit like he hasn’t eaten for days. My orgasm is just within reach, so close I can feel it, and then Jimin speaks; ‘Stop, Jungkook.’

Jungkook instantly stops his movements, and I look down at him in confusion as he licks his fingers clean, smirking at me. ‘You think you’ve been good enough to cum, princess?’ Jimin chuckles, and I nearly scream, knowing the torture that I’ve got coming. ‘Daddy, please,’ I whine, feeling my orgasm ebbing away, the knot in my stomach loosening completely. ‘You can earn it,’ Jimin says harshly. ‘How do you want her now, Kook?’ Jimin asks the younger boy as tears stream down my face. ‘I want her to ride me,’ Jungkook says with a grin at me, and I nearly stick out my tongue at him out of anger. Nearly. ‘Undress him, princess,’ Jimin instructs and I climb up off the bed shakily. His jacket is already lying on the floor so I pull his t-shirt up over his head, hands skimming over hard abs before I go to his jeans, unzipping them and pushing them down his legs. He steps out of them along with his shoes and socks, before I push down his boxers, leaving his length, already hard again, free to spring up against his stomach. He sits at the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor, and I look over at Jimin. ‘Condom, daddy?’ I ask, and he throws one to me skilfully, already prepared. ‘Go on, princess,’ Jimin says, motioning towards Jungkook, and I stand in front of the boy. Slowly, I roll the condom onto his length, hearing him hiss at the feeling.

‘Go ahead, noona,’ Jungkook urges, and I slowly sink down onto his length, feeling him go deeper than I thought possible. ‘Fuck, Jungkook,’ I moan out as his head drops back, mouth open in a silent groan. I start to grind down on him slowly, both of us letting out moans in synchrony. ‘Fuck, noona, you’re so fucking tight,’ Jungkook moans as I increase my pace, his hands on my waist helping. ‘Look at you, bouncing on my cock like a good girl,’ he groans, and I let out a moan at his words, my back arching, his face in between my breasts. He attaches his mouth to one hard nipple, tongue swirling around the tip, and I can’t stop the moans that fall from my mouth in quick succession. He gets impatient at my pace after a while and begins thrusting up into me instead, and my head falls back out of pleasure. His balls slap against my ass as he grinds up against me, his head repeatedly hitting the spot inside me that has me nearly screaming. And then Jimin’s hands appear on my back, just as Jungkook’s mouth moves to the other nipple. ‘Can we try something, princess?’ Jimin asks, his mouth against my ear, before I feel a finger in the place between the dimples at the bottom of my back. ‘Daddy,’ I say warningly, knowing that he knows how against anal I am. We tried it once, and let’s just say, it wasn’t pretty. ‘No, princess, not that,’ he chuckles, ‘do you think you can take me and Jungkook?’ ‘Where, daddy?’ I ask, confused, and he lets out a soft laugh again. Jungkook thrusts into me particularly hard and I let out a loud moan, head falling back against Jimin’s now bare chest. ‘In your tight little pussy,’ he says, and I feel myself getting wetter at the thought, Jungkook instantly sliding in and out much easier. ‘I think she likes the sound of that, hyung,’ Jungkook grins, hair pasted to his forehead with perspiration.

‘Turn her around, Kook,’ Jimin says, and Jungkook lifts me up, turning me around so my back presses against his front. He slides back into me easily, and I shudder as I look up at Jimin, who hands me a condom. I rip it open and slide it onto him, pumping his length a few times before he begins. He drags his head along my clit before bringing it lower, nudging against Jungkook’s length. ‘Do you think you can take it, princess?’ he asks, less of a question than a challenge, and I nod nervously. He presses his head against Jungkook’s shaft, slowly inching up into the tiny gap. The pain is almost unbearable, the sensation of being so completely full foreign, and I lean back against Jungkook’s shoulder, a cry leaving my throat. ‘Remember the safe word?’ Jimin asks me and I nod. ‘What is it?’ Jungkook asks. ‘Red,’ I reply breathlessly, Jimin nodding at my confirmation. As he slides further and further in, the pain ebbs away into pleasure and it isn’t long before I’m eager. ‘Please, daddy, move,’ I moan, and he chuckles, thrusting into me gently. All three of us moan, Jungkook’s mouth coming to my shoulder and biting gently, my head falling back against him, Jimin watching me intently. Slowly but surely, Jimin increases his pace, his cock scraping against my walls and Jungkook’s own length. The sound of wet squelches, moans, grunts, groans and skin slapping against skin fill the room, Jungkook’s hands digging into my waist as Jimin grips onto my shoulders. ‘Daddy, harder, please,’ I moan, Jimin obliging, the three of us letting out moans at the faster pace. Jimin’s fingers come to my clit just as Jungkook begins to knead my breasts, and my orgasm washes over me without an inch of warning. I moan out, my head against Jungkook’s chest, Jungkook now rocking up to alternate with Jimin’s thrusts.

‘Princess, you’re gonna regret cumming,’ Jimin warns with a grin, increasing his pace so much that he’s fucking me into oblivion, Jungkook speeding up to match him. The two of them scrape against my walls as I come down from my high. ‘Daddy, I can’t,’ I whine, the overstimulation kicking in, and he only grins in response. ‘You’re a big girl, princess, you can handle it,’ he says, the two men going impossibly fast. Jimin thrusts particularly hard, having tears running down my face, and I let out load moans of both of their names. ‘Rub yourself, princess,’ Jimin groans, cheeks flushed and face screwed up in pleasure. ‘I can’t, daddy,’ I whine, my head whirling. ‘I’m not gonna tell you again. Rub your fucking clit like the dirty girl you are,’ he spits out, and I do as he says, my limp hand beginning to rub at my clit. ‘Fuck, daddy! Ah, Jungkook! Oh, god, feels so good,’ I moan out, the two of their thrusts beginning sloppier. ‘Such a good girl, noona, so good. I’m not gonna last long, hyung,’ Jungkook groans. ‘Fuck, me neither,’ Jimin says, slapping my hand away and replacing it with his own, his insanely rapid pace having my legs shaking and body convulsing between the two men. I already feel my orgasm approaching, my moans getting louder and quicker. ‘Fuck, Jungkook! Daddy, I’m gonna cum,’ I moan. ‘Not yet, princess, wait for me and Jungkook,’ Jimin says, his hand moving so fast that I can barely think straight. And then together, the two of them thrust into me hard, going deeper than possible, and I feel my orgasm washing over me with a scream of their names. Jungkook follows straight after, Jimin only a few seconds after him, and they wait until we’ve all come down from our highs until they stop thrusting, dicks already softening inside me. Jimin pulls out first, pulling off his condom and throwing it in the bin. I climb off Jungkook then, and my slick mixed with a milky white substance drips down the inside of my leg.

‘Fuck, noona, is that your cum? God, I’ve never seen a girl’s cum so… white,’ Jungkook says as he gets up, throwing away his condom too. I freeze, looking down at my leg, my entire body going cold. ‘That’s not mine,’ I whisper. ‘What? Speak up, princess,’ Jimin says. ‘That’s not my cum. That’s one of yours,’ I breathe out, having to sit down from my light-headedness. ‘Wait, seriously?’ Jungkook asks, grin disappearing from his face, and I nod, feeling faint. ‘You’re on the pill, though, right?’ Jungkook asks. ‘It doesn’t always work. And I haven’t been great with my timings recently, because of exams,’ I whisper, and the two of them look like they’ve seen a ghost. ‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. We don’t even know whose it was,’ Jimin groans, pacing the floor. ‘I think I’m gonna pass out,’ I whisper. ‘Jungkook, put some clothes on and go get her some food from downstairs,’ Jimin instructs and Jungkook nods, instantly following orders from his hyung. ‘Here, y/n,’ Jimin says, pressing a glass of water into my hand, and I sip some down, the liquid easing the tightness of my throat. ‘Lie down,’ he says, and I do so, Jimin using a damp towel to clean in between my legs. ‘I need to shower. And take a morning after pill, just in case,’ I whisper, and Jimin shakes his head. ‘You can do that in the morning. Right now, you need to go pee, have something to eat and then go to sleep,’ Jimin says, helping me to the bathroom. I quickly do a wee and when I come back into the bedroom, Jimin is redressed and holding out a pair of pants and a black hoodie to me. ‘Whose are these?’ I ask, eyeing the pants suspiciously, and he sighs with a small smile. ‘Yours, from two years ago. You left them here, so I washed them,’ he says, and I pull them on, followed by the hoodie. Jungkook walks back in then, pale, with a plate of mac and cheese. Jimin feeds me the food, the two of them talking quietly, but I’m too tired to pay attention to their conversation. Once I’m finished, Jimin tucks me into bed and turns off the lights, leaving with a kiss on the forehead. Once I fall asleep, a pretty boy plagues my dreams.

#bts #bts smut #jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts au #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction

[imagine-always-and-forever]

Flutterings & Tequila - Part 10

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: you’ve decided to go clubbing with your best friend the last summer before college starts to take your mind off of the Mikaelsons who have invaded your life this summer. Specifically, you’re trying to distract yourself from Niklaus Mikaelson and the flutterings he has caused you. Tequila is your friend tonight.

Part Summary: the next morning.  You know how Klaus deals with his feelings really well :) This is going to be interesting.

Warnings: typical stuff you’d see in the show

Word count: 2,222

Tags:  elle88531,  violentmommabear42 (let me know if you want to be tagged or I missed you out on the tag list!)

Authors note: does anyone else ever want to shake Klaus and tell Kol to shut up or is that just me? I’m kind of really excited for what I’ve got planned for the rest of this and I’m kind of even more excited to share it with everyone. What do you think of this part? Are you guys excited, too?

Part 1  |   Part 2  | Part 3  | Part 4  | Part 5  |  Part 6  | Part 7  | Part 8  | Part 9

As the smell of coffee and sausage drifted into your nose, you turned over in bed and took a deep breath. Your eyes were still closed as the smile came over your face. They were still closed as you remembered the events of the last twenty-four hours.

Gingerly, you sat up in bed.

There was definitely breakfast cooking downstairs. You could hear soft voices and plates being moved about. Quietly, you got out of bed and pulled out a simple summer dress from your wardrobe. You shuffled into the bathroom, feeling your muscles tensing up.

It was probably a result of the torture. Though Elijah had been right and that shower had made you feel so much better, emotionally and physically, your body still ached from the strung up position it had been forced to hold.

When you emerged from the bathroom, you crept downstairs. Stopping half-way, you listened to see if you could hear Elijah. The Original’s voice came a few seconds later, calmly informing someone that they ought to be more careful or they’d burn the sausage. You wondered if it was Josie that he was speaking with and if she knew what had happened last night.

“You may join us if you’d like. It is, after all, your house,” Elijah said, his voice a little louder for you to hear.

Caught, you walked the rest of the way downstairs and into the kitchen. You were surprised to find all four of the Mikaelson siblings in your kitchen. Even Kol.

“Morning,” Kol said as he lifted his mug up towards you before taking a generous mouthful of what smelled like strong black coffee.

Rebekah was mixing in some milk to her coffee, but she lifted her gaze for a moment to acknowledge your presence. Beside her Elijah had a bowl of eggs he was whipping for what looked like a mountain of scrambled eggs to add to the generous pile in the bowl on the counter. Klaus had his back to you, cooking the little sausage links with care.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly.

“Heard you had an interesting day yesterday,” Kol said.

You nodded. “You could say that.”

“This is what happens when you go on a date with my brother,” he said.

The smile in his eyes and the cheeky twist to his lips told you that he was trying to get a rise out of his brother. You glanced to Klaus and then Elijah. Klaus didn’t seem to acknowledge his brother’s words but Elijah rolled his eyes.

“Kol,” he warned.

“I know I don’t get out much but I didn’t know kidnapping, torture, and hostage exchange was a part of dating,” you answered Kol, who gave you an approving smug smile in return for your quip.

“So you admit that you’re dating my brother then?”

“Kol,” Elijah warned him again, this time with a firmer voice.

Rebekah was watching the whole exchange with interest. At Elijah’s end to the conversation, she slid into a seat by Kol and pulled a plate towards herself. Kol was already piling his plate high with scrambled eggs. There seemed to be two sausage links left from a previous batch and Rebekah took them before Kol could get to them.

Elijah placed a plate with freshly scrambled eggs in front of an open seat at the kitchen island. You slid into the seat as he put a mug of coffee down as well.

“Thanks,” you said and picked the coffee up first.

Klaus turned finally and without looking at you, slid three sausage links onto your plate. They were still sizzling.

“Thanks,” you said, glancing up at him. He didn’t meet your gaze or acknowledge your words. You looked up at Elijah in concern. “Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

“No,” Kol answered before Elijah could.

“Nik doesn’t deal with his emotions very well and he’s just angry at himself for you getting kidnapped under his very nose,” Rebekah finished for her brother.

You glanced at Klaus, who had his back to you once more. You could see his shoulders were rigid this time. You looked back down at your plate and picked up your fork. If you knew him better, you might say his siblings were close to pushing him too far. Other than his tense shoulders, however, Klaus seemed perfectly calm.

Chewing on your eggs, you sliced into your sizzling sausage. It split and spit at you, the burning hot liquid scalding your hand. You dropped your fork as you gasped in surprised pain. You sucked on the burn and sighed in annoyance.

“So was that better or worse than your day of torture yesterday?” Kol asked.

“Enough,” Klaus yelled, throwing the pan with the sausages down on the stove top before he spun around to glare angrily at his brother.

“I was hoping to discuss the events of yesterday in a calm and civilized manner over breakfast, but if you keep provoking our brother, I won’t bother trying to stop him from any uncivilized activities,” Elijah told Kol, his voice suggestive of very uncivilized and decidedly not calm things that Klaus might do if pushed any further right now.

Rebekah didn’t seem too concerned at any of this. She stabbed a sausage and popped it in her mouth.

“I don’t really remember much, honestly,” you said. The Mikaelsons looked at you. You kept your eyes on your breakfast. “One minute I was standing outside waiting for Klaus to get our ice-creams, the next someone had hit me over the head and everything went dark. I woke up in a basement, my arms tied above me with a bag over my head.” You played with your eggs a bit as you continued. “Jess didn’t believe that I wasn’t on vervain so he bled me.” You assumed they could figure out how. “Then he told me about how Klaus had stolen something from him –“

“I didn’t steal anything from him!” Klaus interrupted angrily. “It was never his to begin with.”

“ – and he said he was going to trade me for the item. I didn’t expect it to be Elijah who called. I didn’t expect a call at all,” you said honestly.  Your eggs had grown cold. “Jess left to do something and his brother was put in charge in making me presentable.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” Rebekah asked with a frown.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“They hosed me down to get the blood off and gave me new clothes.”

Nobody asked how they got your old clothes off. From the obvious way you were avoiding their gaze, you figured they could put it together. You did risk a glance up to Elijah when you recalled how he had ripped Cooper’s heart out when he’d found out what he’d done and planned to do. Elijah’s jaw was tight with the memory.

“Those little shits,” Rebekah said. She stood from the table. “I do hope we’re going to kill them, yes?”

“One of them is already taken care of,” Elijah announced.

“You let one get away, brother? Not losing your touch are you?” Kol asked, a wicked grin on his face.

“He ran like the coward he is and I saw no reason to chase,” Elijah explained in a bored tone.

“He left his brother to die?” Rebekah asked with a frown, clearly unable to fathom doing something like that.

Elijah nodded.

“What’s in the box?” you asked, interrupting their side conversation.

Everyone in the room tensed at that. You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t worry about it little witch,” Kol said.

“I almost died because of it. I want to know,” you insisted.

“Believe me it's better if you don’t,” Rebekah assured you.

There was an itching feeling in your mind. You suddenly recalled Jess’s compulsion. You wanted to find out what was in the box and what the Mikaelsons wanted with it so you could tell him. That damn compulsion. Worse yet, you couldn’t tell the Mikaelsons or you might take the knife by your plate and slice your throat open with it.

Great.

“Did Jess say anything else?” Elijah asked.

You shook your head. Until you could figure out a way out of this compulsion, you weren’t risking saying anything.

“He won’t be finished with you. If he’s gotten to you once, we have no reason that he can’t get to you again. One of us will have to remain here at the house to protect you,” Elijah stated.

You didn’t get the feeling this was negotiable.

“I’ll do it,” Klaus volunteered.

His siblings didn’t seem to think it was a good idea but they also didn’t seem to think voicing that opinion was a good one either. They kept their mouths shut but shared a look with each other that said it all.

“It’s my fault she’s involved in this at all, so I’ll protect her,” Klaus said, resolute in his decision.

“We’ll take turns,” Elijah said.

“No,” Klaus responded firmly. “I’ll protect her.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Rebekah said. “Besides, she’s a witch, isn’t she? Aren’t you?” she looked to you and you nodded. “She’s capable of protecting herself.”

“Is that why she spent all day tortured by my enemies?” Klaus asked, his voice raised and his eyes flashing in anger.

Rebekah went quiet.

“We’ll go deal with Jess then,” Kol sighed, getting up.

“No,” Klaus said, glaring at his brother. “I’ll be the one to kill him,” he vowed.

“So what do you want us to do?” Rebekah asked, crossing her arms.

“What we came here for. Find answers.”

“What answers are you looking for?” you asked.

Nobody said anything.

“Let me guess, better if I didn’t know?” you asked.

Four heads nodded at you.

“Go. I’ll stay here,” Klaus told his siblings.

They hesitated for a second but the look on Klaus’s face was enough to tell them this wasn’t a fight worth having. One by one, they left the kitchen and the house. You heard the front door shut with the last of them.

It was just you and Klaus now.

You got up and started clearing the plates into the trash. Klaus didn’t move from where he had been standing by the stove all morning. You placed everything into the dishwasher in silence.

What should you do? What should you say?

The phone rang.

Thankful for the distraction, you rushed to the other room to answer it. It was your best friend.

“Y/N?!” she yelled down the phone. You had to hold the phone away from your ear. “Oh my god, what the hell happened? I’ve been calling you for two days!”

“My phone broke,” you lied. You weren’t sure if she’d buy it. You waited for her next words to see if you’d get away with the lie. You were never very good at lying to her.

“Oh, did it break during the date?” she asked.

You honestly had almost forgotten about that. Considering everything that happened after, the last thing you thought you’d be talking about was whatever that was you had with Klaus. You had decided to think of it as a date at the end of it, but that was before you were kidnapped.

“Yeah, I dropped it and it completely cracked,” you lied again.

“Did you drop because you kissed and it was so amazing that you forgot you had your phone in your hand?” she asked all in one breath.

You were highly aware of Klaus in the other room and his heightened hearing. You really didn’t want to do this right now. With him here or not.

“Listen, I kind of can’t talk right now,” you said.

“Oh my god is he there?” an excited squeal came.

Your eyes closed. Could this get any worse?

“I can’t believe you let him sleep over. I mean I know he’s living in your guest house but sleeping in your house! You’ve never – I mean this is the first time – this is huge! I can’t believe you made me wait this long to –“

“I didn’t-“ you almost squeaked into the phone, cutting her off before cutting yourself off. You took a deep breath. “Nothing happened.” You really wanted this conversation to end. Right now. “I really have to go.”

“But I need details!”

“Nothing happened,” you said adamantly.

“That’s impossible; you can practically see the sparks between you too. I could feel the sexual tension in the air from the bathroom! You –“

“I’m hanging up,” you told her.

“ – definitely have a connection super scary vampire or not. Something happened on that date and you’re not telling me!” she accused you, ignoring your threat.

“Nothing happened,” you insisted.

“Not even a tiny kiss?” she teased.

“No,” you said. You were being honest.

“What the hell did you do to the guy?” she huffed in response.

You prickled at the suggestion that it was your fault but this had gone on long enough. You needed to hang up before this got any worse. God forbid she mention the flutterings or even worse – the “L” word.

“Bye,” you said before putting the phone down.

You sighed. Klaus definitely heard every word of that. How were you going to face him? It was bad enough already with how breakfast went. Now, this.

#the originals #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #flutterings & tequlia #niklaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #niklaus mikaelson x reader #part 10

[officerjennie]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui Characters: Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Kagami, Uchiha Mikoto, Uchiha Fugaku Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mostly pre-slash, Rating May Change, No Underage Sex, Not promising regular updates Summary:

Snippets of Shisui's life, often revolving around his favorite, albeit rather withdrawn, cousin.

Click the link or continue below the line to read!

Also, I officially have a Ko-Fi (link in header) :)

October came and went, Shisui’s smile waxing and waning with the moon. Even Halloween had little flare, the chill in the air flushing his cheeks red and cracking the skin of his palms.

After November began too soon, he briefly considered making a fuss - but the dark circles under his mom’s eyes gave him pause, and the ever-growing distant look on his father’s face made up his mind.

Instead, Shisui sat in the floor of his room with a few of his old toys around him, quietly celebrating his late birthday with an imaginary too-sweet cake and hand-me-down presents.

His mother startled him awake the next morning with near desperate shaking of his shoulder. “Shisui, you sleep like the dead!” Shisui sat up, barely aware of his mother’s huffing and grumbling as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Kaa-san, it’s Saturday.” He continued to whine as his mother went about his room. She stopped at the toys in his floor, still placed in a semi-circle from his late-night celebration, and tisked before shoving them all into his toy basket.

“Must you leave your floor a wreck? And no, it’s Sunday - come on, Shisui, you need to get dressed.”

He held back a groan, but only barely, as she searched through his clothes for who-knows-what. As she went on mumbling to herself, he turned his head, eyeing his pillow briefly before shrugging and flopping back down. He threw the top of his futon over his head and once again was graced by the blissful warmth and darkness.

When his mother woke him up again, she was practically hissing in anger. She tossed his clothes down on the bed next to him, demanding he put them on quickly before coming down for breakfast.

“And,” she stopped in the doorway, a hand on the doorknob and her eyes narrowed, “do not. Make me come dress you.” She shut his door hard, the frame shaking slightly and leaving the room quiet.

Shisui pouted, fiddling with his night shirt. It was probably best to do as she said. He wasn’t the smartest kid in his class - his no-better-than-average grades would testify to that - but he could tell she was getting angry, and he hated when his mom was angry with him. So he abandoned the warmth and comfort of his futon, this time not bothering to hold back his groan, wondering where they could be going in such a hurry on a Sunday.

He got dressed quickly and headed out to the living room, sticking his legs under the kotatsu as he settled in - it wouldn’t be turned on for at least another month, but it was still warmer underneath the blanket. While he waited for breakfast, he poked at a small hole in his pants, rolling his eyes around the living room in hopes something would catch his attention.

The living room was small. Everything here was smaller - the bathroom, the kitchen, his room. There wasn’t even a balcony here for his mom’s plants like their last place. He remembered she had looked sad giving most of them away when they moved here.

They’d only been here a few months, and Shisui still didn’t like it. There was no upstairs, their neighbors were too loud, and everything felt too tight and too big all at once. Thinking about it for too long made his head and chest hurt.

His mother brought two plates from the kitchen and sat across the kotatsu from him. Leftover curry and rice. He scrunched up his nose but said nothing, picking up his spoon to at least poke at a carrot or two.

She didn’t let him laze around like usual, rushing them both out of the house and ignoring Shisui’s grumbling protests.

“Kaa-san, are we going to the shrine?” They were already walking down the stairs to the train station when he bothered to ask. Every month or so she would drag him to the local shrine. It hadn’t been something they’d done when he was younger, at least as far as he remembered, but it wasn’t like he minded the trips. He liked walking through the gardens, even if his mom often had to scold him for being too loud.

“No, we’re visiting my sister.” The gate beeped as they went through, his mom sticking their train card back in her wallet as they walked down yet another set of stairs.

Shisui frowned, scuffing his feet on the ground as they stopped to wait for the next train. He remembered he had an aunt. Sort of. She had long hair...and she was pale.. And she was at the doctor’s when- “Oh! The one who had akachan?” He’d only seen his baby cousin once, the one with really small hands and fingers and toes. “I forgot his name.”

“Itachi-chan, yes.” His mother had a faint smile on her face, the train blowing her hair even as it slowed in front of them. It was odd, because her eyes looked really sad. “He’s finally home, so I thought we should visit.”

“He wasn’t home? Where was he?”

“Shisui, he was sick, remember?” She smoothed a hand through his hair, keeping it on the back of his head as they entered the train cart and sat down.

“So he’s all better now?” A hand on his knee kept him from kicking his feet, as did a short and sharp look from his mother.

“No. He’s still sick. But Oba-san was a nurse, so she knows how to care for him.”

Shisui couldn’t recall ever visiting his oba-san and oji-san. Their house was a long walk away from the train station, and was an actual house! No apartment complex, it was a separate building from those around it, with its own garden in the back. The whole neighborhood was in private awe with Shisui as he stood staring. His mother was less impressed, shooing him up the walkway to the front door.

The lady who answered the door was a lot warmer than the last time he saw her. Her hair was no longer dull, her skin not sick and wet - there were a lot of lines around her eyes though, and there was something off about her wide smile that Shisui couldn’t quite put his finger on.

They were quickly ushered into the living room - Sakiko making sure to turn Shisui’s shoes at the entry, scolding him quietly as Mikoto, ever the perfect host, immediately brought out a tray of snacks and turned the electric kettle on. There were some snacks Shisui didn’t recognize, and he couldn’t read the kanji on them either. Mikoto noticed him hesistating and handed him one.

“Ringo Otome. They’re famous in Nagano. Fugaku just went on a business trip there. They go beautifully with green tea.”

It took nearly half an hour for Shisui to remember why they were there. He had eaten several of the ringo things, some ice cream mochi, and had started on his second cup of tea. His mother and aunt had been chatting back and forth. Most of the conversation bored Shisui - talk of his uncle, work, medication, uncle’s smoking habits. The last bit seemed to upset his aunt, her pleasant smile vanishing from her face.

“He tries to hide it, but comes home reeking of smoke, Saki.” Mikoto sat her tea cup down, reaching for one of the neatly folded cloth napkins she had placed out for them. Shisui watched as she refolded it, pressing each crease carefully. “It’s bad enough he’s smoking again, but lying to me?”

Shisui peeked up at her from behind his own cup. She was dabbing at the corners of her eyes. They looked full and unhappy, but she laughed and brushed it all away when Sakiko tried to comfort her.

“It’s just a lying husband. It’s not all that bad.”

Shisui scrunched up his eyebrows. He was always told not to lie, and got in big trouble when he did. Especially when he lied to kaa-san. If it hurt Mikoto oba-san so much, why wasn’t she upset? Or was she upset?

He nibbled on another otome. He didn’t really understand his oba-san, but he liked her well enough. And he decidedly did not like his oji-san already.

“...I know it’s hard on him, Saki, but I’m the one taking care of him. I give him his medication. I see what happened - what is happening - to our little boy. And yet he’s the one who’s sneaking around.” Mikoto’s voice got small again, and she looked exhausted, as if mentioning her son brought all the pain she hid to the surface.

Wait, her son...?

“Ita-chan is home, right?” Shisui forgot instantly why he was brought up, excitement bubbling up and causing him to grin wide. “Where is he?” Even knowing he wasn’t in the room couldn’t stop him from whipping his head back and forth, hoping to catch a glimpse of his little cousin.

Mikoto frowned ever so slightly. “He’s in his room resting at-”

“Where’s his room?” Shisui was up in a heartbeat, ready to make a beeline for his cousin. Sweets and tea were nice, but his legs were itchy, and his thoughts got too loud and fast when he had to sit still for so long. Maybe they could play tag? Or build something? Maybe he had video games?

His thoughts were cut short by his aunt’s stern but gentle voice. “Shisui, Itachi is ill. He can’t play like normal boys. He needs to sleep.”

Shisui whined and pouted at that, much to his mother’s embarrassment and horror, but eventually was scolded into sitting quietly as the two women went back to chatting away. He eyed the two warily, plotting his escape.

It turned out his plotting was unnecessary - though he was sad to scrap the great Bathroom plan (pretend he had to pee and wander the house until he found his cousin). His aunt had recently started a tiered herb garden - “I can’t leave Itachi alone,” she explained, a slight pained expression on her face, “and a normal babysitter just can’t handle him” - and insisted on showing Sakiko. To his delight, Shisui was told to stay inside at the kotatsu. He put on his most innocent face, big eyes and smile, and promised not to move an inch.

Mikoto gushed at how cute Saki’s boy was. Sakiko looked unconvinced, but followed her imouto outside anyway.

He jumped up as soon as the backdoor shut behind them. They had passed some stairs on their way in, and he bolted up them now. He tried a few doors in his search, finding a bathroom, a large bedroom, a drab room with a desk and far too many cabinets, until at last he found the right one.

Itachi’s room was larger than his own, but the space didn’t make it as inviting as it should. The whole room seemed cold. There were no pictures on the wall, no toys scattered about. Shisui suddenly remembered where he first met his aunt, in a cold room that smelled so clean it burned his nose. Everything about this room made him want to leave.

Until a big pair of tired eyes caught his own.

Tiny, pale fists wiped at those big eyes, the small boy yawning as he sat up in his bed. He peeked at Shisui curiously, but didn’t make to get up or greet him.

Shisui didn’t know why he expected Itachi to be his age - he puffed out a cheek, upset at himself. Of course his cousin was younger. Of course he was smaller.

Was he supposed to be that small though?

Now, Shisui wasn’t great at a lot of things. He hated numbers, refused to type at computers, and had nearly sprained his ankle the last time he “played” baseball. But he knew he was great at talking to people. He made friends easily, and people loved being around him.

He was told Itachi wasn’t like normal boys, but Shisui wouldn’t let that stop him. He grinned wide at the boy as he plopped right next to him on the bed, earning an even bigger eyed stare than before.

“Hi. i’m Shisui. We’re cousins, but I don’t have any brothers, so call me Shisui-nii, okay?”

The boy blinked his doe eyes at Shisui in response. Shisui looked around the room again, his smile unwavering. “You don’t have any video games, do you?” Blink. “Well, what do you do for fun?” Blink.

Shisui huffed and threw his hands back at the bed, leaning on them. He frowned up at the ceiling for a minute before looking back over at his cousin. “You have toys, don’t you?”

Itachi cocked his head to one side, staring at Shisui for another minute. He didn’t look sad, or happy, or angry, or even tired anymore. Shisui scrunched up his nose, studying his little cousin as Itachi did the same with him. Eventually, ever so slowly, the younger boy crawled out from underneath his covers and placed his bare feet on the floor, heading for his closet. Shisui noted his night clothes had little black birds on them, and found it utterly adorable.

Itachi came out of the closet with his arms full. He gingerly placed his findings on the bed, then sat himself in-between Shisui and the stack of books.

He nearly groaned as Itachi carefully looked at each book. “Those aren’t toys. Those are booooorrring.”

Itachi seemed to ignore his whining, carefully picking up his books and studying the covers until he found the right one. With his decision made, he handed it to Shisui and looked up at him, big, quiet eyes and long lashes and too-pale skin.

Shisui looked down at his cousin. He had bandaids on his upper arms, pink with kittens on them. His wrists were so small he looked fragile. “What do you want me to do with this?” He finally looked at the book in his lap, and remembered seeing it somewhere before - it was about a turtle and a cat. One for little kids, too.

“Read to me?”

Shisui blinked down at his little cousin. His voice was small, but he didn’t sound nervous. Just quiet. He nodded slowly, though he wasn’t nearly as reluctant as he made himself out to be. “But just one, I’m too big to read this stuff.”

Itachi’s smile wasn’t big like Shisui’s. It was quiet, just like his voice and eyes. But Shisui found it fit his Itachi perfectly, and grinned right back at him before launching into the story.

By the time Sakuko and Mikoto discovered them, Shisui had read through the stack and started over, Itachi curled up tight against his chest with his eyes barely open. He was scolded the whole way home for not listening, but he found, for once, he couldn’t feel sorry for what he did - even if he was grounded and told several times how serious Itachi’s “condition” was.

He curled up in bed that night and slept peacefully. For once, he didn’t dream about moving or his father’s raised voice, but of ways to make Itachi smile.

#shiita #shisui #itachi #fanfiction #mywriting