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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

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Raise the Barre (Ch. 1)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight (WHO MADE THIS PERFECTLY GORGEOUS MOODBOARD)

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Word Count: 7,003

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

Thumbs hooked beneath the straps of your backpack, you paused on the sidewalk to tilt your head up. A sign reading Russet Ballet Academy hung from the building above, detailing the location of the next four years of your life.

It was the dream of many to attend and yet, few ever came to walk these halls as its students. Only eighty dancers were accepted to their dance program each year; the fiercest competition from all over the globe.

Somehow, you were amongst them.

The day you’d received your letter still felt like a dream but here you were, standing under the sign and knowing you’d made it. You stared at it a second longer before your mom came up and squeezed your shoulder.

“Wow,” she said, also reading the sign. “Seems like just yesterday you fell on your ass at Hall of Fame, huh?”

“Mom!” You laughed, the moment effectively broken. “Why would you bring that up now? I was twelve!”

She grinned and glanced in your direction. “You just had such enthusiasm! Picked yourself right back up and kept going. I should’ve known then you would make it.”

Despite yourself, you felt your insides soften again. It sounded like something your old dance teacher, Miss Katie, would’ve said. She’d always had faith in your perseverance and ability. You hadn’t started competing until the age of eleven; in dancer years, this was considered late and yet, you grew quickly through the ranks. By the time you reached high school, you were known on the competitive dance circuit as one of the elites.

Your parents joked it was your contrariness that kept you going. Growing up, you’d never much liked hearing the word no – something your parents applauded and bemoaned in equal measure.

Hiking your bag higher, you turned to face your parents. “So, are you going to take a photo, or what?”

“A photo! Great idea.” Scanning the sidewalk, your mom found your dad. “Honey, come here! Honey! Hone – honestly,” she huffed, waving both arms overhead.

Finally, your dad noticed and hurried in your direction. “Have you seen the gargoyles?” he asked, clearly impressed. “The architecture of this building is incredible, Y/N. When you get settled, maybe you can find out for me who the builder –”

“Take the picture, darling,” said your mom, handing over the camera.

She moved beside you, hugging you tight enough to make breathing difficult. You were happy though, smiling brightly as your dad took the shot.

“Okay, okay,” you said, laughing after the tenth frame. “I think you guys have embarrassed me enough for one day, don’t you?”

“Debatable,” said your dad, grabbing your luggage to haul up the steps. “We’ve got to make up for all the days we won’t see you. You’re not coming home until the holidays, right? That’s a long time!”

At this, a small pang went through you and you nodded. He was right – your parents lived a plane flight away and you’d never been the wealthiest of households. You wouldn’t be able to return until three months from now, which was the longest you’d ever spent away from your family.

It was such a strange thought, you didn’t know what to do with it. As crazy as it was, since they often drove you crazy, you hadn’t ever lived far away from home and the thought made you sad. It was just another way your life was being upended.

As you entered the arched door of Grace Hall, your soon-to-be home, your head spun from the newness. In your small suburban town, you’d had a reputation. The best dancer, the straight-A student, the person with her act together – never mind what you did behind the scenes to make it appear that way. The point was, you were known.

Here, you were just another small fish thrown into the big pond. It wasn’t that you were a bad dancer – far from it – but here, everyone was the best. Everyone at Russet had passed the same bar, which meant the stakes would be higher than ever before. You had never danced under that kind of pressure and scrutiny.

Stomach churning, you once again wondered if you’d made the right choice. You’d been accepted into other Universities; ones without dance programs where you’d have a more secure future. Instead, you chose to pursue dance as a career.

It wasn’t that other majors were without risk or difficulty, but there was a certain physical and mental exhaustion associated with dance which most found to be a deterrent. You once had a teacher who said if you needed to think twice about dancing, you shouldn’t do it. Way too many people never made it to the top; if you weren’t prepared to make sacrifices for what you loved, then this wasn’t the path for you.

At the time, you hadn’t thought twice about your decision, but that was before the events of Senior year.

A week before the final dance competition of the season, your tendonitis grew so bad, you physically winced whenever you landed a jump. Your teachers finally caught on and forced you to see a doctor, who forbade you from dancing in the upcoming competition.

It had been the last one of the year; your final chance to compete and show everyone – well, someone – why you were considered the best. You went to the competition despite your injury, determined to cheer on your teammates, but something hollow settled into your chest as you watched, realizing your time on the stage would someday come to an end.

You realized how tenuous your body was and, by extension, your career. Of course, you’d known this before, but it had been your first time to face this knowledge head-on and it scared you. Tendonitis wasn’t something that went away, although it was a condition you could work through and manage. Still, your body would only get worse and although you knew you wanted to dance, now you had doubts.

As you stepped through the doors of Russet Academy, these doubts reared their ugly heads once again.

Hiking your bag further up on your shoulder, you plastered a smile on your face and pushed these thoughts away. That was last year. You were better now, fully recovered and approved to dance by your doctors. So long as you took care of yourself, there was nothing to fear.

More suitcases waited in the trunk of your dad’s rental car, but your roommate had already texted her arrival, so you headed upstairs. Noelle Carmichael was from California, a Sagittarius, had begun dancing at the age of three and loved caramel popcorn more than anything else in the world. All this information had been thrown at you during your first text conversation, which might have seemed like a lot, but after a summer of talking, you knew it to only be Noelle.

As you lugged your bag from the elevator – the singular service vehicle had been repurposed for move-in – a head poked itself from a room down the hall.

“Y/N?”

When you nodded, your roommate whooped and leapt into view.

“It’s me – Noelle!” she called.

She rushed to help you with your bags, chattering excitedly as you walked down the hall. Noelle’s move-in time had been yesterday, and her parents had already left, but they couldn’t wait to meet you the next time they visited.

You found her enthusiasm contagious and before long, most of your worries had been banished to the sidewalk outside. It felt like you’d known Noelle for much longer than the few months you talked over the summer. This greatly relieved you, since you’d been worried about making friends at Russet Academy.

Dancers weren’t always the friendliest, especially when it came to institutions like this. So much of dance was competition – competition for that ranking, that medal or that place in that dance company. It was hard to make teamwork a priority when so much of success was judged on the individual.

Noelle didn’t seem to think this way though, which helped ease some of your fears. You had both entered the ballet track at the Academy. You weren’t naturally a ballerina, but Russet recommended those who wanted to go into jazz or contemporary start with ballet. Smaller majors existed for tap and hip-hop, but those had never been your forte.

Meeting Noelle was enough for minimal tears to be shed while saying goodbye to your parents later that night. Your dad ended up crying, which of course set you off, but by the time they got in their rental car and turned the corner, you’d managed to mostly pull yourself together.

Noelle remained in the dorm while you said goodbye, lounging on her bed with a book in her lap.

You paused on the threshold of your room when you returned, taking in the strangeness of all your surroundings. Your old comforter on a lofted bed, your laptop perched on a strange desk, your clothes hung in an armoire. It was both strange and familiar; the sight of it brought tears to your eyes.

“Oh, no!” Noelle said, hopping down from her bed. “Don’t cry, Y/N! I only just stopped crying this morning. If you cry, then I’ll cry and people will think something terrible is happening here.”

You laughed when she hugged you, hugging her back in the middle of the room. It was comforting to know someone else felt this way; after a moment, you pulled back to wipe your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Damn. I didn’t expect that.”

“I know.” Noelle smiled. “I was so excited to leave I forgot that deep down, I’m a gigantic baby. Huge mama’s girl.”

Stifling a laugh, you crossed the room to grab a Kleenex.

“If it helps,” Noelle said. “Some girls down the hall are having people over tonight. We could go and meet some of our classmates before orientation starts tomorrow. It should be fun!”

“That does sound fun,” you said, and you meant it.

A few hours later, you found yourself seated on equally horrible carpet in a room down the hall. Several other freshmen were seated beside you, sharing similar parting stories, which lifted your spirits.

“I bawled,” said Irene, clutching her chest. “I’ve had this giant countdown in my calendar all summer. I crossed each day off with a marker and then suddenly, I’m here and I miss my sister. Pathetic.”

Noelle laughed. “I’m just glad I was part of yesterday’s move-in day. It means only half of you heard my gigantic breakdown last night. Mad embarrassing. Pretty sure I told my brother I love him.” She shuddered. “He’s only supposed to get that honor on his birthday!”

The room cracked up, another girl chiming in and you swirled your cup, happily buzzed from the drink in your hand. You hadn’t had alcohol many times before, but it seemed appropriate for a night of new experiences. No one here was drinking to get drunk, since orientation began tomorrow, but some social lubricant tended to help in times like this.

Ballet wouldn’t start until Monday morning, so this was your last chance for a while to indulge. It wasn’t that you couldn’t drink during the semester, but you’d learned the hard way hangovers made for terrible class the next day. You’d only done it once before deciding to ban the idea of alcohol the night before dancing.

The other girls on your floor did their best to put you at ease. Aside from your roommate, there were five other girls who’d congregated in the room.

Ari and Jasmine lived in the room you all sat in. Ari lived within driving distance of the city, had the largest collection of gel pens you’d ever seen and had started dancing later in life (at age ten), which made it all the more impressive that she’d gotten in. Jasmine was from a tiny city in the south and was also a studio dancer; you recognized her the moment she spoke, having run into her as a teacher’s assistant at a dance convention you went to.

Also present were Irene, a ballerina from Chicago and Lia, who was on the hip-hop track. They were also roommates and although you probably wouldn’t have many classes with Lia, orientation tomorrow would be the same. As you got to know them better, the bubble of trepidation in your chest slowly deflated. Everyone here seemed nice – intense, but not as though they were out to get anyone.

As though conjured into being by your very thought, a girl appeared in the door.

She was tall, slim and had her hair pulled back in a French twist. Everything about her screamed ballerina, from her light blue warm-ups to her arched expression. The moment she appeared on the threshold, several people in the room quieted.

Noticing this, you glanced at her with renewed interest. It seemed the girl’s reputation preceded her, but you honestly had no idea who she was. Rather than introduce herself though, the girl merely sighed.

“I thought I heard something,” she said, her tone piqued.

Forcing a smile to her lips, Jasmine rose from the floor. “Hey, Sabrina!” she said, making her tone bright. “We were just getting to know one another. Did you change your mind about coming? We have room if you want to join.”

Despite her forced smile, you detected a glimmer of want beneath Jasmine’s words. Clearly, this Sabrina was considered a big deal. Jasmine’s hopes were immediately crushed the second Sabrina opened her mouth.

“No, thanks,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room. “I need to get to sleep soon. I want to wake up early and get in a quick barre before breakfast.”

Noelle, seated beside you, stared at Sabrina in amazement. “You already have access to rooms?”

Sabrina turned; a faint, amused smile crossed her lips. “Yeah. I went to Russet Prep. I’ve known most of the teachers here for years.”

Hearing this, your stomach sank to the floor. You’d known, of course, there was a feeder school into Russet Ballet Academy. You’d received the same audition letter many years ago, but the cost and distance had been too much for your family to consider.

While you’d understood the fact that you’d be amongst great dancers, you hadn’t thought specifically about Russet Prep ballerinas. Sabrina’s presence instantly dampened your mood, since the way she glanced at you confirmed what you already knew.

She had a leg-up, she knew it and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

Leaning back on the futon, you slowly sipped your drink. “Did you just come here to say that?” you asked. “Or did you want something else?”

Multiple heads turned to face you. Irene’s lips twitched and beside you, Noelle let out a laugh. Based on their reactions, you got the feeling that Sabrina wasn’t very well-liked by her peers.

Smile vanishing, Sabrina met your gaze. “That was all,” she said. “Just wanted to ask if you could keep it down. Some of us are trying to take this opportunity seriously.”

With that, she turned and stalked from the room. The door slammed shut behind her and silence lingered – until Noelle snorted and others began to laugh.

“Some of us are trying to take this opportunity seriously,” Noelle mimicked, rolling her eyes. “Give me a break. Like we all didn’t bleed into our pointe shoes to be here.”

The rest nodded in agreement and slowly, the conversation shifted to other topics. Although you joined in, uncertainty lingered in the back of your mind. It seemed some of dance’s cattiness had followed you after all. You weren’t truly surprised by this; after all, you were barely three months older than you’d been in high school. It was too much to expect people to become adults overnight.

Still, at least there was one cause for celebration this evening. The fact that you’d arrived at Russet meant you no longer had to compete against your most fierce rival.

For the next four years, Park Jimin, utter bane of your existence, would be nowhere in sight.

Early the next morning, you stood in line for registration at Danley Hall and awaited your schedule.

“Honestly.” Noelle stood on her toes to peer down the hall. “Why do they insist on handing these things out in person? We could easily get them online and skip all this nonsense.”

“We need to take our ID card photos,” you pointed out. “But yeah, it sucks. You’d think they could’ve at least assigned us time slots.”

“Dancers.” Noelle shook her head. “Great at conceptualizing abstract choreography – not so great at administrative tasks.”

You laughed, facing forward as the line started to move. It stopped shortly thereafter, as did you, rearranging the bag on your shoulder. You recognized several people from last night and waved hello to them all, receiving greetings in turn.

When your phone vibrated in your pocket, you jumped in surprise. Pulling it free, you smiled when you saw the name of your boyfriend.

“Oooo.” Noelle peered over your shoulder. “Who’s that? Boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, swatting her arm as you opened his text. “It’s my boyfriend, Finn.”

“Finn’s a good name.” Noelle moved forward in line. “Strong. Noble. Damn, though – are you two doing long distance? Brave souls.”

“No – thank god. Finn’s at Redfield University. His orientation was last week, so we’re planning to meet up later tonight.”

“Redfield? That’s so close!” Noelle gushed. “Wow, you two are so lucky. And Redfield is a great school, too. I wholeheartedly approve.”

“Well, as long as you do,” you laughed.

“What’s he saying? Wishing you luck with registration?”

“That, and asking where I want to get dinner tonight.”

“Sickeningly cute. I’d be jealous if I weren’t such a great person.”

You snorted, about to respond when someone called your name.

“Y/L/N, Y/N?”

Head jerking up, you saw a man at the office waving you forward. It seemed your time had finally come.

“That’s me!” you said, stepping from line.

The first stop at registration were two, tiny desks set before the main office. Past these, you could see someone finishing up their student photo. A bright flash went off, momentary blinding as you winced and faced forward.

“Here you go!” you said, placing your paperwork down. “Everything should be in order.”

The paperwork man barely nodded, grabbing the folder to rifle through. He seemed content to take his time and you quickly grew bored, glancing around the lobby. Much of your class was waiting in line, looking amusingly enough like a middle school dance. There hadn’t been general orientation yet, so most people had only met those in their (single-sex) dorm last night. Groups of boys and girls awkwardly faced off from across the hall.

While you waited, you began to size people up. It was unintentional, but you knew you’d be paired with someone for ballet and it seemed better to get a head start than not. Most people were unfamiliar to you, and you’d made no meaningful progress when a new voice said your name.

“Y/N?”

Freezing in place, you continued to stare at the hallway before you.

You knew that voice. It was one you could’ve identified in the depths of Tartarus itself – which honestly, was the only place you’d imagined hearing said voice again, since it belonged to Park Jimin. Top hellion of the underworld.

Slowly, you turned and had your worst suspicions confirmed.

Park Jimin stared back at you in the hall.

He wore a jean jacket, white t-shirt and golden sunglasses perched on his head, despite being indoors. Every part of his attire screamed pretentious, but no one around you seemed to notice. Instead, a buzz spread over the crowd as more and more people realized who you were talking to.

Before you could compose yourself, you demanded, “What are you doing here, Park?”

Jimin’s smile disappeared. Slowly, he walked forward and closed the distance between you.

“So, you’re not even going to try and be pleasant?” he asked, coming to a stop. Casually, he looked you up and down. “Surprised to see you here. Thought you’d stopped dancing, or something.”

Subconsciously, your hands balled into fists. Jimin had a way of getting under your skin that no one else did – even though admittedly, you could’ve just said hello. You didn’t have to act like he was the anti-Christ, even if he was.

“I didn’t stop dancing,” you said to him through gritted teeth. “You know that perfectly well.”

Jimin shrugged. “How was I supposed to know that? The last time I saw you, you were limping around like you were on your last legs. I just assumed.”

“I… was not limping,” you said with as much dignity as you could muster.

“Weren’t you on crutches?”

“My doctor made me use those!”

“Aha!” Jimin grinned, triumphant. “So, you were injured.”

“I had tendonitis,” you shot back. “Hardly fatal, Park. I’m fine now.”

“Right.” Jimin glanced at your feet. “Hope it doesn’t come back.”

From anyone else, you might’ve taken the words at face value, but this was Jimin. He’d never wished for your success before, so it would be foolish to imagine otherwise now.

Gaze hardening, you took another step forward until you stood nose-to-nose. Well, nose to chin was more like it. Jimin had grown since you first began competing against one another. You remembered a time when you both were the same height. This had once been a source of great amusement for you, choosing to stand directly before him at awards ceremonies.

You opened your mouth to tell him off when the paperwork man said your name again.

“That’s me!” you blurted, spinning around.

Jimin would have to wait, you decided as you strode forward. The paperwork man looked at you in alarm, clearly not used to having such enthusiastic participants.

“Uh, I know,” he said slowly. “You confirmed your name earlier. The photographer is ready,” he added, nodding towards the room Jimin had vacated.

Cheeks burning, you accepted your paperwork and nodded. Although you purposefully didn’t look at Jimin as you left, you could feel him smirking at you from behind.

Refusing to give him the time of day, you brushed past – or you would’ve, but the space was too small for dramatics. You nearly elbowed him in the spleen as you went, forced to squeeze against the wall in an undignified fashion.

Still, you didn’t look back as you entered the ID office. Some of your anger became transparent in your photo-taking, though – this much was obvious when you were handed your ID. Staring at this in horror, you remained frozen in the hall when Noelle finished and joined you.

“Oh, shit,” she said, glancing at your ID. “I feel a lot better about my photo now.”

“Hey!” you said, hand curling around the photo.

Despite this, you laughed, since she was right. On a scale of model to mug shot, your ID was definitely on the latter end.

As you walked away, you shook your head and shoved the ID in your bag. In the corner of one eye, you could see Jimin lingering while he talked with other students. You recognized no one in his group, except for a guy you thought you’d seen on YouTube. Hope on the Street, or something. Probably on the hip-hop track.

“Seriously, though.” Noelle looked at you sympathetically. “What happened? Photographer tell you he was going to murder your family?”

“Ugh, no,” you groaned. “Just got in my own head.”

“Uh-huh. And the fact that you were talking to Park Jimin right before had nothing to do with it?”

Blinking, you glanced at her in surprise. “You saw that?”

“Kind of.” Noelle looked a bit guilty. “I mean, it’s hard not to notice Park Jimin wandering the halls.”

You couldn’t help but scowl at this.

It was unprofessional, but your feud with Jimin went back so far, it was hard for you to be completely impartial. Your rivalry had begun when you’d both been picked to demonstrate the combination at NUVO dance convention and Jimin had tripped you while in the front row. He’d apologized afterwards, claiming ignorance, but you’d seen enough of his dancing by then to know Jimin didn’t make mistakes.

He’d tripped you on purpose.

Jimin was known on the competitive dance circuit, like you, but he had an almost cult-like following on YouTube and TikTok. Rumor had it, he’d been asked to join Ariana Grande on tour the previous summer, which was why you’d thought for sure you were rid of him. It seemed this was no longer the case.

“Yeah,” you grumbled as you neared Jimin in the hall. “He’s here, alright.”

Noelle hid a smile. “You don’t like him.”

“He’s an ass.”

“Yeah, he does,” said Noelle, gazing wistfully at his butt as you passed.

“Noelle!” you snorted. “That’s not what I said.”

“Huh?” Blinking innocently, she returned to you. “Oh, you said – oh. Sorry. Though you said something different.”

The smile she gave was incorrigible though and, despite your best interests, you laughed.

“I mean, he does have a nice butt,” Noelle argued. “Come on, Y/N. You have to admit that,” she continued once you were out of earshot.

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“I mean, he’s a dancer!” you sputtered. “We all have nice butts.”

“Valid counter-argument,” Noelle said as you walked outside. “But seriously, he’s not a good guy?”

Paused on the sidewalk, you turned to glance at the building. Danley Hall rose above you; the location of class every day for the foreseeable future. Some of that now felt tainted by the prospect of seeing Jimin every day, as well.

With a sigh, you met Noelle’s gaze. “No,” you said at last. “We were rivals all throughout high school and believe me, there aren’t enough terrible superlatives to describe Park Jimin. He’s the most annoying, most childish, least humble–”

“–biggest suck-up, least trustworthy, mind-numbing idiot,” you finished, stabbing your salad with a fork.

Finn laughed at you from across the table. By this point, your feud with Jimin was old news to him. Shaking his head, curly brown hair flopped into his gaze.

“Damn, Y/N,” he said sympathetically. “That sucks. Can’t believe that jerk had the audacity to follow you to Russet. Sounds to me like he can’t get enough of you.”

Ignoring this, you rolled your eyes. “Believe me, it’s not that. Park Jimin doesn’t care about anyone but himself. It’s just Russet, you know? The most prestigious dance academy in the country. I just don’t understand how I didn’t know this,” you sighed, still troubled by the thought. “How come I didn’t know he’d be in the freshman class?”

“I don’t know.” Finn shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t have a Facebook?”

Most of the freshman class had connected on Facebook, at least before someone made a What’s App chat for the group. Finn was probably right about Jimin not giving out his social media.

“That’s probably true,” you grumbled. “But still.”

Finn laughed at your expression. Reaching across the table, he squeezed your hand in his. “Hey,” he said gently. “You beat him for what – four years? So, this is just another four years of putting him in his place. You’ll be fine.”

He was right, although in all honesty, Jimin had won about fifty percent of the time against you. It was one of the reasons you’d pushed yourself so hard in high school.

“You’re right,” you said, somewhat mollified.

“Of course, I am,” Finn said, letting go of your hand. “You’re talking to a man who put his loft bed together alone. By hand.”

You looked at him in alarm. “Did you at least use the manual?”

“Please, Y/N. Men don’t use manuals. We don’t believe in them, much as we don’t believe in cleaning, cooking, or coming in second.”

“Gross,” you groaned, throwing a cherry tomato at him. “Worst ad ever for the male sex. Besides, it’s not true – I beat Jimin in dance plenty of times.”

“Oh, come on,” Finn laughed. “He doesn’t count.”

Something about the way he said this made you sit a bit straighter. Finn resumed cutting into his steak, but you continued to stare at him across the table.

“What do you mean by that?”

Finn looked up in surprise. “Well, you know. It’s not like he’s super manly.”

You stared at him, bewildered.

“I mean, he wears tights, Y/N.”

At this, your eyes narrowed. It wasn’t like you were Jimin’s biggest fan – you despised him, actually – but Finn’s argument was just stupid, even if he meant it as a joke.

“And?” You tilted your head. “He also bench-presses women above his head for fun. Are you being serious? Just because he –”

“Whoa, wait – I was kidding,” Finn said, looking stricken. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just meant it as a joke, you know, since you hate the guy. Truce?”

You hesitated, still miffed, but ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it. Finn truly looked sorry and this was Jimin, after all. Not that this made it better, but sometimes you grew tired of lecturing your boyfriend. Sometimes, it was just easier to let things go.

“I – yeah,” you said after a long pause. “Fine. Truce.”

“Come on.” Finn smiled and reached for your hand again. “You’re not really mad, are you?” He looked hopefully at you from beneath his curls. “Jimin’s the worst. What’s got you this upset?”

Sexism and toxic masculinity, you wanted to say, but he was right. This was Jimin and you hated that guy. It felt kind of weird to want to defend him to your boyfriend.

Still, though. Finn’s comment was annoying; it was one thing for you to insult Jimin. You did it based on Jimin’s merit, his talent, and the way he kept beating you. You’d never once insulted Jimin because of his gender. In the oddest of ways, it felt like your boyfriend had insulted you when he put down male dancers.

“I’m just annoyed by the whole situation,” you said at last, settling on a half-truth. “I hate the fact that Jimin won our bet.”

Finn nodded in sympathy, settling back in his seat to eat the rest of his meal.

You stared at your salad, no longer as hungry as you had been before. Remembering the bet had thoroughly ruined your appetite.

The bet had been made Senior year, a consequence of years of competition with no real declared winner. Jimin had been the one who suggested it, albeit after you goaded him into it.

It had been your first competition of the season and you’d taken home the top trophy – First Overall in the Senior solo category. Jimin had come in second and when you met backstage, both holding your awards, you’d come to a stop to size one another up.

“Nice trophy,” Jimin said, his tone dripping with derision.

“Right?” Turning it over, you examined it. “Not sure where I’ll put it, though. My shelves at home are pretty full.”

“I think you’ll be fine,” Jimin said. “Competition is pretty stiff this season. I doubt you’ll win again.”

“Are you referring to yourself as my competition, Park?”

“Who else?”

“I wouldn’t worry about me,” you said, stepping closer. “After all, I beat you today. I can do it again.”

“Really?” He smirked. “What competitions are you going to this season?”

You told him, listing them off one by one without looking away.

Jimin listened and nodded. “I’ll be at four of those. How about a bet, then? Whoever wins First Overall at three of the five competitions declares themselves the winner.”

“Hm. What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

You paused, considering the implications of such a bet. “I don’t get it, though. What does the winner win?”

“Uh, our rivalry? Bragging rights for eternity? Pride? Take your pick, Y/N.”

“Pride,” you said with a snort. “Like you have any of that.”

“I don’t. Let me win it.”

You had to clamp your lips together to keep from laughing; it would’ve ruined your image to laugh at your declared enemy’s joke.

“Alright, fine,” you said with a shake of your head. “But here’s what I want in return – are you listening, Park?”

“Trying to.”

“At the end of this season – when I win – I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me I’m the better dancer.”

Jimin’s smile widened. “And what if I win?”

“Impossible. But if you do,” you allowed. “I’ll tell you you’re the better dancer. Deal?”

“Deal.”

And that had been that.

Shaking your head, you returned yourself to the present and took another bite of your salad.

“We were tied,” you said, the same anger returning. “Jimin had won twice and I had won twice. It wasn’t fair that he just got to win because I forfeited the last competition. I was injured!”

Finn nodded in agreement, just as he had every other time you’d told him this story.

Feeling a little bit guilty, you pushed your tirade aside and tried to focus on dinner. A bet from Senior year wasn’t really important in the long run. All that mattered was that you and Jimin had ended up at the same place.

Still – you couldn’t help but worry he’d pop up one day to make good on the promise. You still hadn’t told him he was the better dancer; it’d be even more humiliating to do so now, surrounded by all your classmates from Russet.

“Anyways,” you said with a sigh. “Enough about him. How was your day?”

Finn began a story about the supposed shower-caddy thief on his floor and you settled back, nodding and laughing at all the right times. Listening to Finn talk was comforting. He reminded you of home, of family dinners and long drives and date nights at the movie theatre.

Being in his presence felt like second semester Senior year – that invincible feeling of knowing where you were headed and feeling unstoppable. Having him in the city made the transition to Russet slightly less terrifying. He was your single known in a future of unknowns.

Well, except for Jimin. Jimin was also known, but in the opposite way. The thought of him was anything but calming; he made your jaw clench, blood pound and heart start to race.

Even in looks, Jimin was the complete opposite of Finn. Where Finn had floppy, brown curls, Jimin’s blonde hair was usually swept back from his face. Finn was a light-hearted guy, always talking with his hands and laughing at nothing, whereas Jimin was nothing but intense. Every time you saw him at competitions, he was either practicing or sleeping. There was no in-between.

Finn took things one day at a time, which was something you envied. You always felt you were hurtling towards something, the days passing by too quickly to do everything that you wanted. It was part of what made you a good couple, you decided. Finn took things slowly and you sped him up.

Aside from his major, Finn’s future was wide open. He had no real direction other than to learn and have fun, which you also envied. As much as you wanted to have fun at Russet, you knew there wasn’t much time on your chosen career path. Each second counted and you couldn’t afford to waste one.

Starting that night.

Finn walked with you back to campus, dropping you off at Grace Hall with a lingering kiss. It became more heated than you anticipated, each of you panting when you broke things off to head inside. It had been a week since he’d come to Redfield, which was the longest you’d been apart since you lost your virginity to Finn at the start of the summer.

The sex had been good as of late, but Noelle was inside and you had no desire to hook up with your boyfriend in the bushes outside your dorm.

Once you’d returned, you collapsed on your futon and groaned when you read the schedule for tomorrow.

Noelle laughed from her bed. “Copson’s ballet class?”

“Copson’s ballet class,” you agreed with a sigh.

Vlad Copson was known, even to the incoming freshmen. He was a brilliant dancer and choreographer, but utterly terrifying as a teacher. Rumor had it every freshman was assigned to him their first year just to lower the class number from eighty to seventy.

You didn’t believe this, of course, but that didn’t keep your insides from churning. As you tried to fall sleep later that night, you realized with certainty that this was a beginning. Everything you’d done before now, everything you’d once achieved no longer mattered.

Everyone at Russet was on the same foot and all that mattered was what lay before you. Not at all cheered by this thought, you pulled up your covers and eventually fell asleep.

Vlad Copson turned out to be exactly what you had pictured; an immaculate man with a stern demeanor, wearing the exact same dress code he expected of his students.

He stood before the class the next morning, next to the stereo with both hands clasped before him.

“Welcome,” he said, looking over his students. “I’m Vlad Copson, but you may call me Mr. Vlad for the duration of class. This is Ballet, Level 1.”

Approximately twenty faces stared back, caught in a mixture of certain awe and terror. You knew yourself to be among them, standing at the back of the room with Irene and Noelle. You’d been relieved to find them both in your classes, since there were two other schedules they could’ve been sorted into.

Unfortunately for you though, prep school Sabrina and hellion Jimin were also part of your schedule. They stood at the front on the opposite side and you did your best not to look at them, knowing no good would come from it.

Everyone in class was dressed exactly the same. The women wore leotards, buns, ballet belts, tights and pointe shoes. By this stage in your career, you were expected to do the entirety of ballet class on pointe. There had been much rosin-ing and banging of shoes before the class had started.

“Thank you to those who were on time,” Mr. Vlad said, casting a pointed glance at a boy near the front. Said boy had entered the room a few seconds after 8:00 AM. “For today, I’ll be lenient and let everyone stay. From now on though, class will start promptly on the hour. Those who aren’t ready will be asked to leave and come back when they can respect my time. Understood?”

A ripple of voices chorused yes.

“Good.” Mr. Vlad arched a brow. “You may have heard I’m a tough teacher. This is true. I am hard on my students, since you’re expected to be the best. Do you know how many applications Russet received this year alone? Nearly two thousand, and these were only from those who felt qualified to apply. Russet is a once in a lifetime opportunity, so I expect everyone who enters my classroom to act like it.”

Listening to him speak sent a bead of sweat down your neck. Although he didn’t say it specifically, you knew what Mr. Vlad meant. There were two thousand qualified individuals waiting to take your place if you failed. And that didn’t even include other students at the Academy, or even other dancers who waited out in the real world.

“For those who make it to the end, this will be a life-changing event.” Mr. Vlad paused. “There are teachers here who are far better than I – and I’m considered to be one of the best in the world. You’ll be pushed to your limits, but you’ll also grow at a tremendous pace. We gave you a spot because we believe in each of you. Prove us wrong, though,” he warned. “And that will be that.”

A lingering silence fell and in that quiet, you and Noelle glanced at each other. Again, you were glad for a friendly face. The entire speech would’ve been unbearable without one.

The boy who’d been late was as red as a tomato, clearly embarrassed at having been singled out. You would’ve felt bad, except you knew it wouldn’t be the last time Mr. Vlad put someone on the spot. The attention could easily swing to you before the end of class.

“That’s enough chit-chat, I think.” Mr. Vlad turned towards the stereo. “We’ll start at the barre.”

No one moved and once he’d reached the music, he arched a brow. “Why is everyone still standing in the center, gawking? Barre!”

Had you been watching from outside, it might’ve seemed comical how quickly everyone scattered. You and Noelle chose a barre near the front, setting water bottles down and moving to stand at the center.

Placing yourself in first position, you turned your head and surveyed yourself in the mirror.

“Eyes on me, not the mirror!” Mr. Vlad called, forcing your gaze his way. “Before we get started, I’ll assign your ballet partners for the semester. You won’t do anything with them until across the floor, but I hate to disrupt our flow later on. When I call your name, raise your hand.”

Your heart sank as you turned to face forward.

This was something you’d known was coming. Ballet partnering was part of the set first year curriculum, but you’d been under the severe misimpression you’d be allowed to choose your own partner. Information on the process had been limited and you’d heard conflicting accounts from upperclassman before your arrival. Apparently, the teachers did something different each year.

“Ahn, Irene!”

Irene raised her hand, waiting awkwardly to hear her partner’s name.

“Olson, Brian! You two are partners.”

The red-faced late boy looked at Irene in alarm, then nodded. Irene nodded as well, lowering her hand and Noelle winced.

“Sucks,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Already paired with trouble.”

Privately, you agreed. It’d be unfortunate to be partnered with someone who’d already been singled out. You could only hope your assigned partner would be better than that.

Mr. Vlad turned. “Y/L/N, Y/N!”

Your hand immediately lifted, waiting for what seemed like forever, until –

“Park, Jimin!”

Author’s Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JIMIN! Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Words: 5,050 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Inside Sanctuary, Y/N tries to figure out where Daryl is and what his condition is as well as developing a plan to get him out.

Your name: submit What is this?

You forgot how much damn time was wasted in that place, just sitting around with the other wives trying to think of something to talk about or something to do with your time. You visited the library frequently but you couldn’t actually focus enough on the books to really read. It was like you just stared and turned the pages in some charade while your mind obsessed over where Daryl was… what state he was in… Days went by and they all felt the same, all tinged with you on edge, wracked with anxiety over finding him. You were worried you were going to lose track of how long you had been there. You were constantly looking for that golden opportunity and watching for danger at the same time. Constantly trying to scout out the building, spy on Dwight, and make sure no one was getting suspicious of you.

Finally, you managed to follow Dwight early one morning as he was delivering something to a cell. And you caught a glimpse of a huddled form as he shut the door, a man with long, wavy brown hair. You heart hammered in your chest as you pressed yourself back against the wall around the corner. Daryl. It was him. You knew it. You only needed to see him for a brief moment to know it was him. He was alive. He was alive.

But you didn’t breathe a sigh of relief for long. You knew what they were likely doing to him. You rushed back to your room and grabbed two slices of bread from your kitchenette. You laid some slices of cheese on each and tucked them into your bag, wrapped in some paper towel. You wished you could give him water, but you could only deliver whatever would fit in the small space beneath the door.

Daryl was sitting in the darkness, staring down at the dogfood sandwich Dwight had delivered him, his stomach turning but panging with hunger, when a soft noise suddenly drew his attention.

He looked to his left and saw that something was partially blocking the light beneath the door. He put his hand down on something soft. He felt it with his fingers and leaned down. Food. Someone had slipped in some bread and cheese beneath the door.

Was this a trick? Daryl stared at it for one moment before he picked it up and took an eager bite. It tasted like ambrosia to him. All he had been given was dogfood between thin slices of stale bread since he had been thrown in there. He’d never tasted something so wonderful in his life… but the question now was who the hell had slipped him the food?

And it continued. At least once a day, often more than that, something, sustenance, was slipped under his door. The archer was baffled, but he wasn’t about to question it.

You never dared to linger outside the door to try and talk to him. That was too risky. But you at least could make sure he had something to eat, something with some nutrients. You got creative with what you could make thin enough to fit—cutting apples into thin slices, vegetables, meat and cheese, cooked egg. Anything. But more than anything, you longed to see him, to inspect his condition, know how he was… to speak to him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. Your heart felt broken, limping along in your chest out of habit, as you thought about how close you were to him and yet how far away.

One day you were gathered with the other wives and Negan in the early evening. It happened.

Dwight walked through, holding Daryl by the back of his filthy sweatshirt. Your heart actually stopped. You concentrated on keeping your face blank even while your heart stalled in your chest. It didn’t take more than two seconds before he saw you there, his blue eyes meeting yours. He actually tried to take another step in toward you, like he was being magnetically pulled and couldn’t help it but Dwight tugged back on him harshly. His brain didn’t comprehend what he was seeing at first. He really thought he was hallucinating it. Maybe he had finally cracked. You were so beautiful. He thought of you so often while he was in there, using his memories of you as an escape from the hell he was in. He thought of how you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating. He thought of that goddamn smile you always gave him. He thought of how you scrunched your nose up at him when you were trying to pretend to be annoyed… But—no. This was something else. This was new. You were there. You were actually there.

You could see that Daryl had black eyes and cuts on his face, bruises. He’d been beat up and he was filthy, but you were relieved to see that he was mostly whole. But he looked broken, somewhat defeated, his shoulders hanging on his frame, so unlike the man you had come to know, except when you caught his eyes… there was a raging inferno there. The sight of you in that room, the realization that you had “given” yourself to Negan, had fanned it. He felt like he could be sick right then and there, just double over and vomit. You managed to shake your head ever so slightly as you held his eyes, hoping he knew that you meant he shouldn’t give away his connection to you. It took everything in him not to just start throwing punches.

Daryl’s mind was spinning. What the hell had happened? How had you come to be there? Had Negan captured you? Had he taken you forcefully? Had he simply convinced you in exchange for some benefit to the group, to Alexandria? How could you possibly be there, with him? And not just there, not just in the Sanctuary. You were one of his wives. The thought of Negan touching you, his hands on you, kissing you… doing more, whatever he wanted… especially having seen the terror in your eyes when you had told him about your past. It was too much. Daryl clenched his jaw, biting down hard and trying to control his breathing, his expression, trying to prevent his hands from balling into fists.

“There he is!” Negan exclaimed with a smile, standing up from his place in an armchair where he was receiving a shoulder massage from his wife, Frankie. “Daryl! How’s it hangin’? Don’t answer that. Don’t care,” he said with a laugh. “Dwight, I think you should take Daryl down for some fence duty. He’s been in time-out in his hole for long enough as punishment for that hilarious escape attempt. Oh—Daryl. You haven’t met my wife Y/N before. Ya see, Y/N here escaped. Just like old Dwighty boy there and Sherry. We’re gonna call that temporary insanity, right, baby?” He shot a look at you. “But she. came. back. Because she realized that there is no better place to be than here.” Negan walked over to where you were standing against the wall. “And all is forgiven,” he said softly. He reached one hand around to your lower back and tugged you against him. He slid his other hand into your hair and kissed you, deeply, heatedly… his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands exploring your body. And Daryl had to avert his eyes. He couldn’t look. He felt bile rising up into his throat. He was worried Dwight would feel him trembling. Anger was bubbling in his chest at a rolling boil. He imagined ripping Negan off you and beating him into the ground… but he had to just stand there. He had to just let it happen. Finally, Negan broke apart from you and smoothed a thumb over your cheek as he clasped your face, unmistakable desire in his eyes. When he looked back at Dwight and Daryl, his eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. “Ya see, Daryl? Just stop fighting it! And your life will get so much cooler!” He laughed and waved a hand to dismiss him and Dwight tugged him out.

You stood there with your chest heaving, staring down at your shoes, thinking only of the condition Daryl seemed to be in. Your heart was breaking and you had to choke down a swelling of nausea which was becoming all too familiar, almost a constant. If you survived this, you were sure you were going to have an ulcer.

Negan soon left with Frankie announcing that he desperately needed one of her full body massages and you felt as if you could collapse with relief that you wouldn’t have to endure him that night. As soon as he was out of the room, you went to the bar and leaned on it, staring vacantly at the wall. You sensed someone beside you suddenly and looked up to see Sherry. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly making sure Negan was really gone and that no one else was close enough to overhear.

“You know him,” she said quietly.

Your eyes snapped over to her in surprise. “What?”

She studied your expression. “It’s alright. I won’t say anything. And it wasn’t you who gave it away,” she said.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you tried to guess at her meaning. “What are you—”

“I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you. His face when Negan kissed you. And how he was looking at you when your eyes were elsewhere…” She looked down at her hands sadly. “It’s how D sometimes looks at me,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke up toward the pendent lights over the bar. “Or, maybe, how he used to. How do you know him?” she asked.

You thought you had to have misheard her. What she was implying was that Daryl… “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, wrapping your hands around your empty drink glass.

She nodded. “You do. But it’s alright.” She sighed and studied your face again. “He helped us.”

Now your eyes met hers. She took another long drag on her cigarette. “When D and I escaped with Tina. He helped us even after we tied him up, threatened to kill him… he helped us. And we screwed him,” she said softly. You could tell this was weighing on her heavily. Her face contorted a little with emotion.

You didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You still wanted to kill Dwight for what he’d done, what he was doing to Daryl. Sherry’s remorse didn’t change that.

That night, when you got back to your room, you were sick in the toilet and sat on the floor, curled up, crying until you had nothing left. Eventually, the pain faded into numbness and you turned the shower on as hot as you could stand it and stood beneath the jet of water for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Joey!” you called, smiling widely at him as he came toward you down the hall. “I have a favor to ask you. That is, unless you’re too busy,” you said, making sure you batted your eyelashes at him.

“N—no. I was just—I’m not too busy. What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, I wanted to move around some of the furniture in the seating area in my room but I just can’t do it myself. Would you mind helping me? It doesn’t have to be now,” you said, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the collar of his button-up shirt.

He gulped and seemed stunned, unable to talk for a moment. “I—I—I can help you with that now,” he stuttered out.

You grinned widely at him. “Oh, thank you so much! Just this way,” you said, leading the way back to your room. It was working. You needed to turn up the heat a little bit. You wanted to keep him off-balance, oblivious, distracted. You stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him after he entered. He was nervously shifting his weight, his eyes fixed on you. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” you said softly. “Being in my bedroom. Just don’t say anything to Negan or he’ll get jealous,” you said, winking. You went over to the bed and sat down, reaching down and pulling off your high heels, making sure to move slowly. You tossed them to the floor and straightened up, closing your eyes and rolling your neck from one side to the other, sliding a hand down the side of your neck. “Mmm. Those heels are torture,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat, wide-eyes still staring at you like he’d never seen a woman before.

You smiled at him and hopped off the bed. “Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “If you could just move that couch over there, and switch the chair and the end table I think it will be perfect.”

Fat Joey nodded rapidly and started trying to heave the couch to one side. He was huffing and puffing, becoming a bit red in the face when you slid in close next to him, bending down so your face was right next to his and pressing your hands onto the arm of the couch that he was pushing on, making sure to brush your finger against his. “I bet we can do it together,” you said, cultivating a dewy expression on your face.

“W—What?”

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Move the couch, silly!” you said, playfully hitting him on the arm. God, even pretending to be this vapid was making you hate yourself.

“R—right. Yeah.”

You both pushed again and when the couch finally started to move, you pretended to slip on your bare feet and brushed against him as you slid to the floor, laughing. He didn’t feel that you had swiped his set of keys as you fell.

“I’m such a clutz!” you said, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet.

“Are you alright? Your ankle—do you need to go see the doctor?” he asked urgently.

You waved him off, rubbing your ankle and flexing your foot. “I’m fine. I’m completely fine. But I think we’ll take the universe’s hint and just leave the furniture the way it is,” you said with a laugh, again catching his eyes and smiling. “Thanks anyway, Joey. I do appreciate it.”

“Oh—okay. Yeah. Sure. Anytime. Let me know if you ever need anything.” You smiled at him and batted your eyelashes one more time before he left. As soon as the door was closed, you rushed to it and locked it.

You withdrew your hand from your pocket, staring down in disbelief at the wad of keys in your palm.

You collapsed backwards onto the bed and clutched them so tightly they cut into your hand.

And then more waiting. Based on the laps you’d been doing around the building late at night, you knew Dwight wouldn’t sleep, but he would be ensconced in his room with the television up loud. And you knew who else was on duty, made sure it was the pair of guards who usually fell asleep at their posts by 3 am.

The upper floors of the Sanctuary were quiet as you slipped out of your room. You hugged the wall, one hand in your pocket, clutching the keys, and the other on the strap of the small bag you had slung over your shoulder. You got to the first corner and peeked around. Empty. You turned. You slipped past Dwight’s door, glancing back over your shoulder in paranoia, half-sure he was somehow going to just know what you were up to.

A few more anxious moments passed as you slipped through the halls but you finally arrived at the door. You were so close. You had spied on Dwight enough to make sure you knew when he usually checked on Daryl. Night was a safe bet. There were fewer guards on duty on the upper floors at night. Most of them were pulled off for the factory floor and perimeter or were otherwise off-duty.

Your heart was pounding so loud you thought half the floor would hear it.

You withdrew the keys as quietly as you could. At first, when you had swiped them, you wondered exactly how you would know which key was the right one—there were too many to try each. You’d certainly be caught if you had to be in the hall that long, fitting every key on the ring into the keyhole. But Fat Joey had done the work for you again.

Apparently, he had a hard time remembering which key went to what, and so he had labeled them. The one to the door of Daryl’s cell was labeled with a #2, matching the number on the door. You were almost lightheaded as you slipped the key into the lock as silently as possible.

Inside, Daryl shot awake where he was huddled in the corner, dozing purely out of sheer exhaustion. He heard the key sliding in and the click of the pins. His heart was immediately pounding wondering what new hell was in store for him now. He had no concept of time in the blackness they kept him in. He assumed it was morning and that Dwight would appear and chuck a dog food sandwich at him like he always did.

But something about the way the key had sounded when it went in was odd… and so was the silent pause before the door handle started to turn excruciatingly slowly.

Daryl steeled himself for whatever or whoever was coming, pressing his back hard against the wall behind him, staring into the darkness, his arms pressed tightly across himself protectively. In keeping with the strangeness, the door began to open at a snail’s pace. Daryl squinted as the dim light in the hallway filtered in. He had a hand up to shield his eyes when the crack revealed you kneeling on the other side of the door. Your face desperate and frantic as you looked in at him.

Daryl’s jaw dropped open and his chest heaved as he took in shuddering breaths, staring in disbelief that you were there in front of him, so close and opening the door of that hellhole. Alone. Just you.

You slipped through the door and into his cell, closing the door softly behind you and returning it to darkness. You could hear Daryl’s ragged breathing in the pitch blackness. Before he could say anything, you grabbed onto him. You threw your arms around him where he was cowered on the floor, kneeling in front of him. You pulled his head against you and he pressed it into the crook of your neck. He didn’t resist. He fell into you. You pressed your hand gently to the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “Daryl…” you whispered to him. “Daryl. You’re okay. Thank God. You’re okay.” You whispered it over and over like a mantra. His name leaving your lips was maybe the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. You could feel him trembling, hear his shuddering breaths, feel the wetness of his tears falling against you. “It’s ok. It’s alright. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay.” You were struggling to hold back your own tears. His hands, which had been tightly crossed over his chest flew around you and clung to you, smoothing over your back and feeling every angle of your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, tangling his fingers into the ends of your silky hair as much as he dared, clutching to you. He again really thought perhaps he’d finally cracked and maybe this wasn’t happening at all, but your hands found the sides of his face in the darkness, even then wiping his tears gently with your thumbs, so light it could have been a breeze, and it rooted him in reality. This was real. He was reeling with the implications. “Just—just a moment. I’ve got—I brought—”

You dug a hand into the bag you had brought with you and pulled out a towel, which you laid across the bottom of the door to block the light from the next item you retrieved from your bag. You pulled out a small camping lantern and turned it on. The sight of you immediately brought Daryl to tears again and for a moment you just looked—you just looked and looked at each other. You grabbed his face in your hands again, being careful to be gentle and mindful of the bruises and cuts. His eyes closed at your touch. He’d had no physical contact with anyone that wasn’t just sheer violence since he’d been taken. Your hands on him were like medicine and he felt ten times stronger instantly. You shut your eyes too and pressed your forehead against his. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” you breathed. His hands clutched to your shoulders and his chest heaved again with shuddering breaths. “Daryl…” You pulled back from him with some effort and looked into his face again. You brushed his hair away from his cheeks. It was hanging in dirty strands, sticking to the wetness left from his tears.

That was when Daryl’s shock waned and he felt the rising creep of humiliation, embarrassment, guilt… God, you looked so beautiful, even there in that fucking hole by the light of a tiny, shitty lantern and he was a filthy disaster. He was like trash someone had discarded… and yet you were touching him with kindness and affection, no care for how dirty he was—he was overwhelmed again and couldn’t meet your eyes any longer. He was struggling with never wanting to look away from you but also feeling unable to hold your gaze.

You saw the change happen and smoothed your hands down his arms. You turned your attention back to your bag and pulled out a canteen full of water for him. “Go slow, okay?” you said, as he desperately grabbed it and drank deeply. “And here,” you pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cut-up apple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get more this evening without drawing attention but—”

He hadn’t said a word to you yet and his voice was hoarse from disuse. In that place he would go days without speaking, maybe longer even… He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the scratchy feeling.

“This is—more than enough,” he rasped, hungrily devouring your offerings. “You’re the one who’s been slippin’ me food.”

You nodded.

“Ya shouldn’t. Ya could get caught.” You watched him with a sad smile and moved beside him so you could press against him better without his bent knees in the way. You just needed to touch him, to remind him that there was more than this place, to show him you were there for him. To prove this was real, to him and to yourself. Your shoulders were pressed together.

He kept stealing tiny glances over at you while he ate and you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. When he had finished eating and drinking, he fidgeted and stretched his legs out in front of him. You could tell he was purposely not looking at you. You knew something was on his mind and that he was working up to speaking it aloud. Finally, he did.

“What happened? How are—why are ya here?” he asked. “Did they find you in Alexandria? Did—how?”

You studied his expression. He turned his blue eyes to you again and you saw worry and fear in them. “No. They don’t know that I have any connection to Alexandria, and it needs to stay that way. We don’t need to give them any more leverage than they already have.”

“Then, how?” he asked again.

You averted your eyes away from him now. You knew he wouldn’t take the next bit of news well. “I—I came back. I told Negan I made a mistake running away and that I wanted to be here.”

A shadow darkened his face. “What did he do to ya?” His chest was heaving again, this time in anger. His eyes were whirring over every inch of you that he could see, looking for evidence that you were hurt.

“Nothing. He—he didn’t do anything.” You stared down at your hands.

“Why are ya here? Why d’you come? After everythin’ ya told me—” His questions were desperate.

Your brow flickered down momentarily in confusion that he even had to ask that question. “I came to get you out.” Your eyes searching his face in disbelief that he didn’t know. You sat up on your heels, kneeling beside him again. “Daryl, did you really think we would just leave you here? Did you really think I would? I know what happens in this place.” He had a tortured expression on his face. “Nah. Not like this. Ya gotta go. Ya gotta get out. You can’t be—ya can’t let him—” His face screwed up as the image of you kissing Negan flashed in his mind. He knew what you being his ‘wife’ meant. “Nah. It ain’t worth it,” he argued harshly, his voice raspy. “It ain’t worth that.”

“Yes, it is,” you said forcefully. “Don’t you get it? You are worth it.” Daryl could see tears glistening in your eyes again but you blinked them away. “I’m not leaving you in here. It’s done, Daryl. It’s done. I’m already here.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Hey. Look at me,” you said. His eyes found yours again and you studied his face, reaching out gently to clasp it again. You traced a finger along his jaw, grazing lightly over the stubble there. “I’m getting you out of here.” The feeling of your hands on him was like a tonic for all his pain.

He looked away, ducking his head in that way that was so Daryl. You cleared your throat and dropped your hand to his arm. “Alright. Tell me. How are you? Rick said you were shot or something… And you’re obviously beat up.”

“M’fine,” he said. “Doctor’s been treatin’ me.”

“Let me see.”

Daryl begrudgingly pulled down the neck of his sweatshirt and you lifted the gauze pad taped on his chest to look at the wound. It looked okay. No infection. You smoothed the bandage back over it and nodded. You adjusted his sweatshirt and pressed your hand flatly against his chest. You could feel his heart beating hard beneath your fingers. Daryl felt warmth spreading out from your touch. You examined the bruises on his face and you knew there were surely worse ones beneath his clothes. “Are you hurting? I found some painkillers,” you said, digging in your bag. His hand closed gently on your wrist.

“M’fine. Ya should go before we get caught.”

You didn’t want to leave him. The last thing you wanted to do was return him to being alone in the darkness there. He could read it on your face.

“S’okay. Just—just seein’ ya, talkin’ to ya is enough,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You threw your arms around him one more time, pressing him into you. His hands were strong against your back, stronger even than they had been when you first hugged him, and you squeezed your eyes shut. As you pulled away, you smoothed your hands over his hair and brushed it away from his face one more time. You clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and another to his cheek. Daryl reeled at the action before you tore yourself away from him. He felt speechless. He knew he was a complete mess. It wasn’t like they were letting him bathe or clean up regularly… And still you had just pressed your soft lips to his skin. You were brushing his dirty hair aside. “Okay,” you nodded, gathering up what was left of what you had brought him. “I’m working on a plan to get you out. But it’s going to take me a little time. Just—just hang in there. Don’t do anything rash. I need you in one piece.”

“Where’d ya get the key?”

You held up the ring of keys and showed him. “Keys. All of them.” Daryl’s brow contracted with worry. “Nothing to worry about it. I pinched them off of Fat Joey. I think he has a crush on me,” you murmured, rolling your eyes. “He’s too scared and too incompetent to know. He probably just thinks he lost them and I’m guessing he won’t tell anybody because he’s afraid of what will happen if he admits it.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow if I can.”

“Nah, don’t—”

“I’m coming, Daryl, and you can’t stop me.” You gave him one last look and clicked off the lantern, grabbing the towel you had used to block the light and stuffing it back into your bag. He heard you shuffling in the dark and then saw the expanding sliver of light grow before it was blocked out as you left. You glanced over at him once more as you left, a sad smile on your face. The door shut quietly behind you and he heard the key turn in the lock.

His cell had never felt so empty, so dark, or so silent.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl dixon series #sacrifice

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honeypiehotchner · 3 years

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winter love (all i want for Christmas is you) -- Hotch x Fem!Reader

Hi hi hi!! I have literally been writing this on and off since September, and now I finally get to share it!! A few quick things: this fic has very much Hallmark vibes but does have a good dose of angst too; for the sake of this fic, Aaron was born and raised in Virginia; and Jack was never born (sorry buddy!).

I listened to Michael Bublé’s songs “All I Want for Christmas Is You” and “Cold December Night” a lot while writing this, so feel free to play those while you read! xx.

(The gif is from google because once again, my gif search is broken on here because apparently this post is too long?? Rip me)

Summary: You’ve returned back to your hometown after leaving to get your education, but you didn’t expect to run into your childhood best friend (and first love).

Word count: 9.4k

HOTCH MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

If you told yourself a few months ago that you’d be moving back to Virginia, you would’ve scoffed and probably laughed -- loudly. Your mom, on the other hand, would’ve been elated, and swore she knew it.

Like she’s doing now.

“I’m just so excited to have you home again,” she gushes, helping you carry boxes of your clothes up to your old childhood room.

The room needs some work, like taking down all these embarrassing posters and changing the sheets to something not so cringe-worthy (thankfully, it’s a full-size bed instead of the old twin you grew up sleeping on). But it’ll be fine for the time being. It’s not like you’re going to find an apartment right before Christmas, or that you even want to. It’s been a while since you’ve spent a full Christmas season with your mom.

You’ve been studying out of state for the past six years, working to get your masters and doctorate degrees — which you’ve completed. But now you need a job and a new start, which is why you decided to come home.

You’ve missed Virginia a lot more than you’ll admit. It’s hard not to miss your hometown when you’re gone from it for so long.

“We need a Christmas tree,” you say, as you come back down the stairs. “Christmas is next week, how do you not have a tree up yet?”

“I wasn’t going to get one without you,” your mom says like the fact should’ve been obvious to you.

You laugh as you plop down next to her on the couch. “I know. We should go tomorrow.”

“Whenever you want to,” she smiles, squeezing your arm. “Have you been to your coffee shop yet?”

“My coffee shop?” You raise an eyebrow. “Since when has it been mine?”

“Since you practically lived there during high school,” your mom counters.

She has a point. “Well, no, I haven’t. I just got here.”

“You should go.”

You raise both eyebrows this time, turning your entire body to face her. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you trying to get me to go back there?”

“Why don’t you want to?”

You give her a look. “You know why.”

“I don’t.”

She does. She knows exactly what happened there.

“I’m not repeating it,” you mutter. “And I’ll be finding a new coffee shop, thank you very much.”

“Oh, you can’t let one bad experience stop you from going there!”

“So you do remember!”

“How could I forget? When you were a wreck for months after. I still never forgave him for that, you know.”

You shake your head, settling back against the couch pillows. “It’s been long enough now that I think forgiveness won’t hurt anyone.”

You say that, and yet you don’t want to step foot in that shop ever again.

+++

It was the summer before your junior year. Aaron was a rising senior, so there was the weight of it being his last year already hanging in the air. Especially when he was already looking at a pre-law track for college — meaning he’d be insanely busy after graduation with not much time for you.

Unfortunately, you didn’t realize that his being too busy for you would start before then.

You were a year younger — technically almost two, but the way your birthday fell, you were only one grade younger — but that didn’t stop Aaron from being your friend. At first you thought he had ill intentions (as most older boys in high school did), but he didn’t. He genuinely enjoyed your company, and you genuinely enjoyed his.

More than genuinely. You say now that you don’t believe in love at first sight, but you know that’s because it already happened for you, and you believe it to be a one-time deal.

That one time was when Aaron sat across from you at the lunch table.

You were alone and reading a book. You were a freshman then, and being an extra year younger didn’t exactly help in the whole making friends department. Especially when a lot of your peers were already aware of your age.

But Aaron wasn’t aware, nor did he even care.

He saw that you were alone, and reading, and he decided to sit with you. He wanted to read too, anyway, but he knew he didn’t always like being alone when he read. Something told him you were the same way.

He was correct.

It took almost the entire fall semester before either of you said one word to each other. Sometimes you’d be too engrossed in the book you were reading to even notice he’d sat down in front of you. And when you would finally notice, he would be the one with his nose too deep in the book to notice.

But eventually, you started sharing book recommendations.

Which eventually turned into helping each other with homework. You were always better at math and Spanish than he was (you were already in the sophomore levels of these classes as a freshman), but he was always good with history and English. He must’ve noticed you were in freshman English and history, but he never commented on it — at least not in a way that said he was bullying you.

That winter break was when you started going to the coffee shop together. It was within walking distance of the high school, so the two of you would go at the end of the day until your parents could pick you up. Sometimes your mom would drive him home, or vice versa.

And when Aaron got his license, he’d drive you both there and drop you off at home.

The two of you were inseparable. Almost literally.

Until Aaron met Haley.

Haley was in theatre. She was everything you weren’t. Aaron’s age, pretty, funny, outgoing, and worst of all: popular.

You watched your best friend fall in love.

And that wouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did if it wasn’t Haley he was falling for.

You kept your feelings for Aaron quiet, even to your mom — though you found out later that she always knew. You had almost thought he felt the same, or that he might be beginning to, and then suddenly he was talking about some girl named Haley.

Only she wasn’t just “some girl” to him, or even to you. Everyone knew Haley Brooks.

Slowly, your lunch table conversations were less about what the two of you were going to do the coming weekend, and more about Haley. How he was going to get her to notice him (join theatre, even though he never liked theatre before her). How he was going to ask her on a date (it wouldn’t be a date at first, just dinner after theatre rehearsal, that ended up being with the entire cast, but he sat next to her). How he was going to win her over (he brought flowers to the first performance and surprised her backstage). How he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend (that was the same night as the flowers, completely unplanned, but she said yes).

How he thought he might want to marry her one day.

The last hurt most of all. He confessed it to you one night out of the blue as he was driving you home after school. You knew you could handle him being in love with someone else. Some sick part of you knew — or hoped, rather — that the relationship wouldn’t last. What high school relationship lasts longer than a few months, anyway?

But when Aaron fell for Haley, he fell completely. And hard.

He started cancelling plans with you to spend time with Haley — before they were even dating. When they were dating, he stopped making plans with you altogether.

Then came the summer before his senior year.

It had been months since you saw him last. You had a new lunch period the second half of the year because one of your favorite teachers asked for help during the period, which meant you didn’t have lunch with Aaron — but you don’t even think he noticed.

June came and went. The two of you barely saw one another, barely talked when you did. But when you did, you clung to those moments like they were your only lifeline. In a way, they were.

July finally came and he actually made plans to see you. He said he wanted to get coffee again, catch up, hang out for a few hours, sit in silence, even, whatever you wanted. You were excited.

Some part of you thought that he had broken up with Haley — wishful thinking, but you were sixteen and in love, what else were you supposed to think?

But he hadn’t broken up with her. They were very much in love. You know. You witnessed it.

Apparently, Haley didn’t like the idea of Aaron getting coffee and lunch alone with a female friend. So, she took it upon herself to tag along.

You saw them sharing a kiss through the window, Aaron’s back facing you. When they pulled away, Haley’s eyes caught yours, but she said nothing to Aaron, just pulled him back in for another kiss.

You didn’t go into the shop that day. And you haven’t since.

The last time you saw Aaron was the day before he moved to college. He was stopping by to say goodbye to you.

You were reading a book in your room, and your eyes caught the movement on the driveway. You told your mom to say you weren’t home.

You watched him leave from your bedroom window, hands stuffed in his pockets.

+++

You heard that Aaron and Haley got married. Not because you wanted to hear, but because your mom told you. She probably meant well, but you drank an entire bottle of wine that night. You weren’t even 21 yet at the time.

Of course, it’s been years since then. You’re all fine now, and you’ve got the student loan debt to prove it.

But even with three degrees, job hunting can be a bitch. Especially this time of year.

You need coffee.

You blame the fact that this coffee shop is the best one around. And the fact that it’s Christmas season, meaning they have your favorite drink again.

Dark chocolate peppermint mocha. It’s a godsend. And you haven’t had one in years.

Well, you have. But they haven’t been from here. They haven’t had this shop’s specially made peppermint whipped cream, or the peppermint stick that can be used to stir.

You hate how much you have to psych yourself up before you walk inside. You don’t even know where Aaron is these days or what he’s doing. He could be halfway across the country for all you know.

So, with that fact in mind, you walk inside. You embrace the familiar sight and smells, remembering what it felt like the last time you were here.

You move toward the counter, falling in the short line to the register. And your stomach flips when you see a familiar face standing in front of you.

Well, his back is facing you, so you don’t see his face, but you know it’s him. There’s this thing about first loves. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time you’ve seen them. You’ll always recognize everything about them. The back of their head, their shoulders, their hands, the way they walk.

Their voice. Even if it’s deeper than the last time you heard it.

Maybe he won’t recognize me.

But what you don’t know is that no amount of time could pass to make you unrecognizable to Aaron.

Or that he saw your reflection in the glass case next to him when you got in line, and he’s been internally trying to figure out what the hell to say to you since.

If it hadn’t been for his voice, you wouldn’t have recognized Aaron at all. A black coffee? That’s it?

The barista pours it and slides it over to him before he’s even done paying. He’s at a coffee shop -- this coffee shop, and he orders a black coffee?

Who is he?

You step up to the register as he steps away, and you swear you see him looking at you through the corner of your eyes. But you must be seeing things because why would he do that?

You focus on ordering -- a medium peppermint mocha, complete with the whipped cream and peppermint stick. After paying, you step to the side to wait for your coffee.

You nearly knock right into Aaron, but you stop yourself, well aware of his presence.

Another thing about first loves: you’re always painfully aware of their presence.

“Hi,” he says, awkward and fumbling even though it’s only one word. He’s wearing a stuffy suit and tie, which seems odd, but you’re positive that’s just normal lawyer attire. He probably lives in a suit these days. His hair is shorter than it used to be and he looks older, but so do you. Despite all of this, he’s still Aaron. He’s still the same Aaron Hotchner you fell in love with at sixteen.

“Hi,” you return the awkward smile, tugging on the strap of your purse. After a beat, you nod toward his drink. “Black coffee, huh?” You try to tease. “Who hurt you?”

He laughs loudly then, shoulders and head shaking. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Hotchner,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The conversation dies for a moment, so you busy yourself by looking at the different cakes and pastries in the glass case. You probably should’ve gotten one, but maybe another time.

Another time. Fifteen minutes ago you wouldn’t be caught dead in this shop and now you’re already thinking about another time.

“Are you busy?” Aaron suddenly asks, prompting you to look at him with furrowed brows. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” you smile gently, knowing you might regret this later. But it’s been over a decade since you’ve seen him last. One coffee won’t hurt.

And I’m over him, you remind yourself, no matter how untrue it might be.

Once you have your peppermint mocha -- finally, you think, it’s been too long -- you walk with Aaron to find a table. A lot has changed about this shop, but one thing that hasn’t (because there isn’t much that can be changed) is the seating.

Aaron leads you to your old table. The table the two of you practically lived at.

It makes your heart warm and ache all at once. The drink you decided to order isn’t helping matters either.

“So…” You pause, shifting in your seat. “What are you up to these days?”

“You stole my question,” he jokes.

“Tough,” you smile into your drink. “I asked it first.”

He chuckles, but answers anyway. “I’m working for the BAU now.”

“The B-A-What?”

“The-- FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you… Did you really just say you’re working for the FBI?”

“I think so,” he says. “I’m the unit chief.”

“You’re the-- Okay. So, you don’t work for the...the BAU, they work for you.”

“We’re a team,” he offers.

“Said every boss ever,” you quip, taking a long drink of your mocha. You take the peppermint stick in between your fingers and stir, eyebrows furrowing down at the swirl of coffee and whipped cream. “So...what do you do exactly?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops, hesitating. “Do you really want to know?”

You give him a look. “Of course I do.”

“It’s not great.”

“Aaron, just tell me, or I’ll start reciting my dissertation word for word.” Your statement stuns him to silence, so badly that you almost laugh. “That’s boring. Working for the FBI can’t possibly be boring.”

“Oh, it’s never boring, that’s for sure,” he mutters. “We profile serial killers.”

“You what?”

He laughs. “We look at their behaviors and crimes and build a profile, what they might look like, their age, that stuff.”

“Intriguing.”

“I can’t believe you’re interested.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t be,” you counter. “You know I thrive off this stuff.”

“I remember,” he says quietly.

And just like that, you remember, too.

It’s so easy to forget about all the hurt he caused, all the pain he left behind. Especially because you know he never intended to hurt you. He would never do that, not to you, not on purpose. You never told him how you felt. It’s not his fault he couldn’t read your mind.

“Well, you’ve got a doctorate,” he says, shifting the conversation. “What else are you up to?”

“How did you know it’s a doctorate?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me? Did I use that correctly?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And no, not intentionally. You said you’d recite your dissertation. Those are normally written to get doctorate degrees. You always wanted one, I assumed you met your goal.”

“You assume correct,” you nod. “I’m back to start job and apartment hunting, but after the new year. I wanted to spend some time with my mom.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s good, she--” You pause, shaking your head with a laugh. “She actually brought you up yesterday.”

“Me?” Aaron looks genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, you,” you knock your foot against his leg without thinking, but you pay no mind, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to it. “She’s actually the one who put the bug in my ear to come here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been back here since…”

It takes him a moment, but he nods slowly. “Right.”

“Yeah,” you draw your legs closer to you on instinct. “But that was a long time ago. How are you and Haley?”

You don’t expect the way his face falls. You glance down at his left hand. No ring.

“We got a divorce a few years ago, split up about a good year before that,” Aaron explains. “She’s good, last I heard. Remarried already.”

“Wow,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say. “What-- I mean, what happened?” When he hesitates, you backpedal. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s probably a sensitive question.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron chuckles. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

That sends a dangerous flutter through your stomach. “Okay. Well I’m all ears.”

“Oh, it’s not a long story, it was just my job,” he shrugs. “I took the unit chief position and she was happy at first. But then, there was a period of time where we had what felt like case after case after case.” He shakes his head. “I was barely home, but I was barely in one state for long, anyway. It was a stressful time. We were everywhere at once.”

“That does sound stressful,” you frown. “Has it slowed down now?”

“Kind of, it has its moments,” he admits. “But being gone so much, it took a toll on her. She wanted to start a family, but said she couldn’t do that if I was never there.”

“But I mean she had to have known how your schedule would be with the new job, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, then shrugs. “It’s been so long now that I stopped trying to understand her thought process.”

“I get that,” you say sincerely. You understand not wanting to waste energy on something like that anymore. Sometimes you just have to give it up and have peace with the fact that you’ll never understand.

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. “Seeing anyone?” He adds it quietly, like he’s shy.

Aaron Hotchner. Shy. Around you.

“Oh,” you nearly laugh at the prospect. “No. No, I’m not. Do you really think I would be if I was moving back in with my mom?”

He laughs, bringing his coffee to his lips. “You have a point there.”

A comforting silence settles over the two of you after that.

You shouldn’t feel slightly giddy that his and Haley’s relationship didn’t work out in the end. You’re over him by now, anyway. But something about being right has you fighting a smile. You smother the urge, though, knowing he probably doesn’t want to hear anyone, let alone you, say, “I told you so.”

You do feel bad for him, genuinely. Divorce is never easy for anyone, and you hate he went through that. Especially like that. Haley knew his work schedule would change. Why would she act supportive if she knew this in advance? Just sits uneasy with you, that’s all.

Of course, you feel that overprotective-best-friend nature coming back to you.

“What plans do you have now that you’re back?” He asks, keeping the conversation up, but you can tell he’s earnest — which makes you smile.

“Nothing, really. My mom and I are getting a Christmas tree later, but that’s all I have on my schedule.” You pause, giving him another look. “We both know you were my only friend in high school. Who do you think I’m going to see while I’m here?”

“Hopefully a lot of me,” he replies easily, smiling around his coffee.

And for once, you don’t hesitate to reply. “I hope so, too, actually. I didn’t think you were still around here. And I really didn’t expect you to be working for the FBI.”

“This might be presumptuous of me, but what are you doing this weekend?” He asks, quickly adding on, “A good friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party for the team, and I’ve basically been threatened to bring a plus one.”

“Threatened, huh?” You raise an eyebrow.

He nods seriously. “They won’t let me inside without one.”

You gasp comically, keeping up the act. “Well you can’t miss the party!”

“I know,” he sighs, propping his head in his hand.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to come with,” you say, still deadly serious.

But Aaron’s lips split into a grin the same time yours does. “It’s this Saturday.”

“Lucky for you, I’m free.”

He doesn’t stop grinning. “I can pick you up, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you say. “I should probably give you my number, shouldn’t I?”

“I was going to ask,” he admits.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I figured.”

After exchanging numbers, the two of you return to your idle conversations. Only, they’re less idle than they ever have been before.

He vents about still not understanding how people can be capable of the things he sees. How he knows that everyone is capable of unspeakable things, but it’s how they do it that still makes him stumble sometimes. And you try to sympathize, though you know you can’t. But still you tell him not to try to understand.

“You’re a good man,” you say. “You’re not going to understand it because you’re not like them.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know that, consciously. Sometimes it’s good to hear it from someone else.”

Then he tells you it’s your turn, and again, you don’t feel the need to hesitate.

You tell him how you weren’t planning on moving back here at all. But the job market where you were didn’t...fit you, for some reason. You never felt like you belonged, and so maybe that’s why you wanted to come back here.

Because even though you left this place heartbroken, you still felt like you belonged when you were here. You felt like you belonged when you were with him, but you don’t tell him that.

Something tells you he heard it anyway, though. Being a profiler and all. Which you still don’t quite understand, but you’re sure he’ll have plenty of time to tell you in the coming future.

+++

After an hour or two, you decide it’s time for you to head back home. Partly because you need to make some lunch for yourself, and partly because you’ve watched Aaron dismiss at least three phone calls in the last twenty minutes.

But he didn’t say a word each time, so you know he won’t tell you who it is or if he needs to go. It makes your heart warm at the thought that he wants to spend more time with you, but if it’s his job, then he needs to go.

He walks you to your car and you hug him around his neck, unashamedly taking a deep breath of his cologne when you stretch up to wrap your arms around him. He didn’t wear cologne back in high school. But this one smells good.

You mentally prepare yourself on the way home for the amount of questions your mom is no doubt going to ask.

You’re supposed to be going to pick out a tree with her today, which means you were supposed to be home a little earlier than this, which means your mom probably already knows what happened and you won’t even get a chance to explain yourself.

In the end, your prediction was correct.

“How was your peppermint mocha?” You glance over to the couch and find your mom sitting there, idly reading a book.

The question is as directly indirect as they come. You raise an eyebrow and kick the front door closed (yes, she asked before you even stepped foot inside the house). “It was good,” you reply, shrugging your jacket off your shoulders. “Why?”

“Oh, you enjoyed it for almost two hours, so I was just wondering.” Your mom fights back a grin, but she’s not doing a very good job.

You sigh. “Just go ahead and ask.”

She closes her book. “Alright, fine, I will. How is Aaron?”

There it is.

“He’s good,” you answer rather pointedly, making your way into the living room. “He’s working for the FBI now.”

“Oh, I knew that already.”

You plop down next to her on the couch. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” She cries, like it should be obvious. “Small talk happens when you see someone in the store.”

“Right,” you scoff. “Anyway, thanks for not telling me him and Haley divorced.”

She grimaces.

“Yeah, exactly,” you nod at her expression. “That’s how I felt. I bet it was just awesome of me to ask about how him and his ex-wife are doing.”

“I’m sorry,” your mom says. “It completely slipped my mind. It’s been so long since those two split.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

“Because I didn’t want to bring him up,” she answers sincerely. “You seemed like you had really moved on. I figured it didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to make you start thinking about him again when you had finally gotten over it all.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Well, thank you, then, but...still. I feel like an idiot.”

“Did he seem angry when you asked?”

“No, the opposite,” you sigh. “He explained what happened and I let him talk about it for a second, but he seems mostly moved on from it.”

“I don’t know how he can be,” your mom scoffs. “She’s already remarried, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

Your mom shakes her head. “I should’ve shook some sense into that boy when he came to say goodbye that day.” Then she pauses, poking your leg. “And I should’ve made you say goodbye to him. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“I didn’t wanna talk to him,” you shrug. “We barely had all year, anyway. And one goodbye would not have stopped him from going to college and marrying Haley, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “It’s fun to think about, though.”

“Well stop thinking about it,” you mutter. “We are friends and he’s probably seeing someone by now. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here, so.”

Your mom raises her eyebrows. “I never said anything about what you guys are now.”

Damn. Caught. “I know, but I’m just...catching you before you do.”

“Mmm, more like catching yourself.”

“Shut up.”

She lightly hits you with a pillow. “Don’t say that to your mother,” she jokes. “Especially not when I’m right and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you ready to pick out a tree?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Just let me find my shoes.”

While she’s getting ready -- because “finding her shoes” really means fixing her hair and makeup and changing outfits a couple times -- you get a text from Aaron.

Aaron: It was nice catching up with you today

You smile and type your reply. Ditto. We should do it again sometime.

He doesn’t reply, but you figure he’s busy at work, anyway. And you’ve got a tree to pick out and decorate, so you’re technically busy, too.

You try not to think too much about it.

+++

And truthfully, you don’t think much about it, until Aaron finally replies. It’s hours later when you’re decorating the freshly-cut Christmas tree in the living room, with Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing through the stereo speakers. It’s just like when you were younger.

You check your phone and see that it’s Aaron texting you back, but you pocket it before reading the message. You’re busy.

Your mom notices the change on your face. “Everything alright?” She asks as she places a snowflake ornament on one of the smaller branches.

You nod without thinking, hating yourself for even feeling what you’re feeling right now. A glittery red ornament hangs from your index finger as you try to find the right branch to hang it on -- and while your mind wanders all over the place.

“Clearly not,” your mom replies. “But alright.” She turns and reaches into a different box, picking up one of the golden jingle bells that she always hides deep within the tree each year. When you were younger, she’d hide them without you seeing, and then on Christmas Eve you’d have to search the tree for them before you could open one present before going to sleep.

You snort a laugh, always loving her way of getting you to open up: sarcasm. “It’s just Aaron.”

“Aaron?”

“Texting me,” you explain, looking down at the glitter coating your fingertips from the ornaments.

“Aren’t you going to reply?” She asks, grabbing another jingle bell.

“Technically he’s the one replying from earlier today.”

“Okay…”

You sigh. Time to cave. “He invited me to a Christmas party this weekend.”

Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her excitement or her wide grin. “Really? That’s great!”

Is it? You want to ask, but you stop yourself. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I guess so. It’ll be nice to hang out with him more.” You pause, finally hanging the small glittery red ornament on the tree that you’ve been idly holding for the past two minutes. “Apparently a friend of his is hosting it and basically told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside without a plus one.” You chuckle quietly, knowing Aaron had to have rolled his eyes when his friend told him that.

“So it’s...a date, then?”

“What? No,” you shake your head. “No, no. Not a date. He didn’t phrase it that way.”

“Sweetheart, plus one implies date.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone!” Your mom laughs. “Bringing a plus one to a wedding is usually a casual date, if not bringing your significant other along.”

“This isn’t a wedding, it’s just a Christmas get together.”

“Same difference.”

“Well, I think you’re doing that thing again where you try to plant seeds in my brain for things that are unnecessary,” you raise an eyebrow at her when she avoids eye contact, so you know you’ve caught her red-handed. “All that aside,” you sigh. “I’m over him. It’s been so long. If something was going to happen, it would have already.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs indifferently, grabbing the final jingle bell to hide in the top of the tree. For a brief moment, you wish you hadn’t been watching where she hid them, so you could do the search on Christmas Eve one more time.

+++

You bump into Aaron one more time, two days later, at the same coffee shop.

“Back for more?” He teases as he slides into the seat across from you, another black coffee in his right hand.

You’re sitting at the table the two of you call home with yet another peppermint mocha sitting in front of you and your laptop. More job hunting is the task for today, even though you’re ready to give up and just pick it back up after the New Year. It’s not like your mom is making you pay rent, and you have enough in savings to help with groceries (without her knowledge, of course, because she refuses to let you pay for anything) and buy your own coffees. But, you decided to give it one last go today.

That is, until Aaron slid into the seat in front of you. Now, you close your laptop and place it back in your bag. “Just needed some fuel for more job hunting,” you grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I took off for lunch for once and thought I might find you here.”

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows. “Were you seeking me out, Hotchner?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a shy smile. “Are you still good for tomorrow?”

“As long as you are,” you nod. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at five, if that’s good?”

“Perfect,” you smile. “Are you ready to introduce me to your friends?”

“Depends,” he exhales exasperatedly. “Are you ready to meet them?”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They might be. If you aren’t used to them.” He pauses. “They don’t know you’re coming, by the way.”

“What?” You almost laugh. “Why not?”

“I told them I was bringing someone, but I didn’t feel like hearing it all week about who I was bringing.” He pauses again, like he’s holding something back, and then he lets it out. “They know all about you.”

You blink. “They do?”

“Yeah,” he smiles gently. “I talk about you all the time.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No you don’t. There’s no way.”

“You’ll believe it tomorrow,” he chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll try to embarrass me.”

“I-I mean...what do you even say about me?”

He shrugs. “That you were my best friend in high school and...that I missed you and wondered what you were up to these days, and how we used to hang out here.” He looks around the shop, then back to you and your bewildered expression. “What?” He laughs. “You didn’t talk to your friends about me?”

“No, I did,” you laugh quietly. But I said different things. And most of the time I was crying because I missed you, especially my first year of college when my roommate tried to get me to go on a double date with her boyfriend and his roommate, but I refused and had to confess that I wasn’t over you and that you broke my heart, and I was such a mess that she brought ice cream and chocolate back after their date.

But you don’t say any of that. Obviously.

“I just didn’t expect you to even...think about me, I guess,” you finally spit out, still shaking your head. “I mean...we haven’t talked since high school, I figured you’d forgotten or moved on, at least. Especially since you had Haley.”

Aaron’s expression softens and turns sad, quickly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you thought any of that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you wave his worry away. “It’s years ago. Water under the bridge.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. Then, he says, “Haley was jealous of you, you know.”

You immediately look up from your mocha, your eyes wide in shock. “She was what?”

“Oh yeah,” Aaron laughs. “Devastatingly jealous of you. She swore we were dating or that I was in love with you or something.”

Or something. “Wow,” you chuckle, trying to mask your hurt as much as possible. “Why did she even think that?”

You know why. You know exactly why. Because before her, you and Aaron were attached at the hip. You sat together during lunch, walked each other home, hung out at the coffee shop, went to school functions together (well, you’d actually go with a big group, but you two always ended up together anyway), and so on and so forth. Anyone would’ve been an idiot to not assume you two were dating.

“We were so close,” he shrugs. “She said she was so surprised when I asked her to be my girlfriend because she swore I was dating you. She actually asked me that, when I gave her the flowers. She said, “What about Y/N?” And I said, “Y/N? She’s just my best friend.” And she didn’t believe me.”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, but you’re really thinking back to that day you and Aaron had decided to meet up here and hang out after so long. When Haley crashed the hangout. When she locked eyes with you and smirked before pulling him back in for another kiss.

She was jealous. She was jealous and she knew exactly what she was doing that day.

Aaron’s phone starts ringing and he sighs heavily, pulling it out. He almost declines it, but then stops himself. “It’s the boss,” he says. “My boss. I’ve gotta take this. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” you smile, knowing he might forget or get too busy to think about it. But that’s okay. “Good luck with the phone call.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “I’ll need it.” And then he brings his phone up to his ear. “Agent Hotchner,” he says, and you hate that you find it so hot.

+++

You almost cancel with Aaron a dozen times before 2p.m.

You blame the conversation the two of you had yesterday. For some reason, the thought of Haley being jealous of you had never crossed your mind. Because to you, it was so obviously the other way around. Of course, you weren’t vocal about your jealousy, but you were certain she knew. Not that it was the other way around.

Old feelings have already resurfaced, which is bad enough, but the talk about Haley and about how Aaron’s friends know all about you made things worse. Especially the latter.

Why would he talk about you so much if the two of you hadn’t spoken in years? Not even years, but like an entire decade. Why would he still talk about you and think about you that much?

You have dwelled over those questions since he left the coffee shop yesterday.

But now, you have no idea what to wear, and Aaron will be here any minute. You’re assuming the attire is casual, not fancy, since it’s just a get together with his friends -- who all happen to be his team of agents. FBI agents. Because he’s just casually the Unit Chief of the BAU.

It still baffles you. He wanted to be a lawyer. Not in the FBI. God.

He’s still your Aaron. That’s what shocks you the most. He’s experienced law school, marriage, practicing law, working for the FBI, becoming a Unit Chief, divorce, and yet he’s still the Aaron Hotchner you were best friends with in high school.

You wonder if you’re still the girl he was best friends with in high school. Or if you’ve changed so drastically that he doesn’t see you that way anymore.

You take a deep breath, going back to digging through the many boxes of clothes that you have yet to unpack. You need a sweater or something. That’s safe enough, right? It’s too cold for a dress, and frankly, you’re not in the mood for wearing one, anyway.

Finally, you find the sweater you were looking for. You tug it over your head, figuring your jeans are fine enough. You’ll wear some low heels to make it look like you put in a little more effort.

Your quick thinking is to your benefit because the doorbell rings almost as soon as you’re done doing the clasp on your second heel.

But because your mom is quicker than you, she’s already opened the door and let Aaron in before you can make it downstairs. And by the time you are coming down the stairs, Aaron is sitting on the couch with your mom, making idle conversation.

“Hey,” you smile at him, resisting the urge to glare at your mom. “Ready?”

“If you are,” he nods, standing to his feet.

When he turns, you shoot your mom a look. “We’ll be back later.”

“You’re not in high school,” your mom laughs. “You two have fun for as long as you like.”

“I know,” you say. “But I also know you’ll wait up until I get back.”

“And you can’t stop me,” she replies pointedly.

Aaron laughs at the two of you, your banter just as he remembers from all those years ago. Neither of you have changed one bit.

After a final moment of bickering, you bid your mom goodbye and leave with Aaron.

In the car, you ask, “Have you told them about me coming yet?”

From the driver’s seat, he shakes his head. “No, so prepare yourself for a lot of questions.”

“I think you’re the one that’ll be in hot water, but alright,” you chuckle. “I can hear them now. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing her!’”

He laughs loudly. “That’s not a bad impression, actually.”

“Why, thank you,” you smirk. “It’s a hidden talent of mine.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

The two of you share a grin as he keeps driving.

+++

After some time -- long enough that you were beginning to wonder where he’s taking you -- Aaron finally turns into a subdivision. But it’s still not what you were expecting.

You assumed FBI agents must make good money, but not this good. This is a mansion. It’s massive. There has to be at least six bedrooms in there, maybe more.

“Is your friend a millionaire or something?”

Aaron chuckles, “Maybe. Probably. Maybe more.”

“More?” Your eyes widen. “Wow.” And then Aaron pulls into the driveway. “Wow.”

He puts the car in park and says, “Try not to look too surprised. Dave won’t shut up about the house if you get him started.”

“What if I want to hear everything?” You ask, scrambling out of the car to look up at the house. “Jesus Christ.” Then you whip your head around to look at Aaron exasperatedly. “Does your house look like this?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “No. This is too big. Dave’s crazy for buying it.”

“He’s definitely insane,” you nod. “I mean, what do you even need a house this big for?”

Aaron shrugs. “Christmas parties, I guess.” He pauses, holding out his arm for you. “Ready to face the lions?”

You roll your eyes through a laugh, loosely holding onto his arm. “Quit being so dramatic. I bet it’ll be just fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” Aaron replies. Because truthfully, he is a little worried that they might scare you off. They have a habit of doing that.

The two of you walk up to the front door, and you try your best to act like you’ve been in the general vicinity of a house this big before. Dave must be a really good friend of Aaron’s, because instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, Aaron twists the doorknob and walks right in with you on his arm.

“Dave’s making pasta,” Aaron whispers, smelling the air. He shuts the door gently, wanting to surprise the team as much as possible.

You sniff the air, too, smiling happily. “Smells really good. Is that carbonara?”

“Good nose,” a voice says from the kitchen.

“That’s Dave,” Aaron chuckles, walking you down the hall toward the smell.

The team’s eyes all widen dramatically and comically when Aaron Hotchner steps inside the kitchen with a woman on his arm.

“Well, hello,” one of them says, sliding off the stool at the counter to saunter over to you. He’s all suave and swagger.

“Derek Morgan, this is Y/N,” Aaron introduces you quickly, knowing the reaction your name will get.

“Hold up,” Derek pauses, glancing between you and Aaron. “Y/N? As in the Y/N?”

“I don’t know about being the Y/N, but that is my name,” you laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Derek says, a hand over his heart to add to the sincerity. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Getting a doctorate,” you shrug, only now realizing that your hand is still holding onto Aaron’s arm, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it either, so you don’t move.

“Oh, alright,” Derek chuckles. “Hey Reid, we’ve got another doctor here.”

The man in question, Reid, looks up from the book he was reading with furrowed eyebrows. “Hi.” He waves.

“Hey,” you wave back. “What’re you reading?”

“War and Peace. In Russian, though.”

“In-- Wow, okay.”

“He’s a genius,” Morgan explains.

“I see that,” you chuckle.

Aaron finishes the introductions for you. “That’s JJ, handles the press for us because none of us want to do it.”

“He’s not wrong,” JJ replies with a laugh. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you smile.

“You met Reid, his first name’s Spencer,” Aaron supplies, and Reid is too far gone in the book again to notice. “This is Emily Prentiss.”

“And I have been dying to meet you,” Emily says. “You are exactly how he described.”

“In a good way, I hope?” You laugh nervously.

She nods. “Definitely.”

Aaron points to the other woman at the counter. She’s dressed in all sorts of crazy colors with glasses that match her outfit. And before he can introduce her, she says, “I’m Penelope Garcia, technology extraordinaire. I keep them out of trouble.”

“And we love you for it,” Derek adds.

“And this is Dave,” Aaron finishes.

“It is very nice to finally meet you,” Dave says, and actually shakes your hand. “Do you know how to make carbonara?”

“Yes, actually,” you say, earning a surprised look from Aaron. “I went through a phase when I was younger, wanting to make anything and everything that sounded good, so I’ve made this a few times. My mom loves it.”

Dave loves the sound of that. “Would you like to help me?”

You practically light up inside and out. “Seriously? I’d love to!”

“Oh, here we go,” Derek groans. “He’s roped her in.”

You ignore him, slipping away from Aaron to grab the other apron off the hook by the entrance to the kitchen. You slide your head through the loop and tie it at the back in a matter of seconds, too excited to contain it.

“I almost went to culinary school, you know,” you say to no one in particular, but Aaron is listening, and so is Dave.

“Why didn’t you?” Aaron asks.

You shrug. “Didn’t seem practical.” Which isn’t the real answer at all. The real answer is you got your heart broken and needed to do a complete 180 in life, so you did. Culinary school was out. Getting a doctorate was in. You turn on the water in the sink and begin washing your hands. “What do you need me to do?”

For the next hour, you help Dave make the carbonara, occasionally answering any questions Aaron’s friends have for you.

Aaron pours you a glass of wine and sits at the counter, watching you cook. You look more at peace than he’s seen you since a few days ago when he first bumped into you again.

You catch him looking at you more than a handful of times. It feels good. Spending the evening with his friends, his team, with him. You’ve missed spending time with him more than anything else.

Dave serves up the carbonara, telling you to sit down since you helped so much already. You don’t make him ask twice.

+++

After dinner, everyone moves into the living room, scattering on the various couches and chairs. Reid has finished reading War and Peace, so the book sits discarded on one of the coffee tables.

You take the spot on the couch next to Aaron, careful not to spill your wine. Penelope sits on the other side of you, with Derek on her other side, which all but forces you to move closer to Aaron, and something about the look on Penelope’s face tells you it was done on purpose.

You’re not exactly complaining, though. With a full stomach and a fresh glass of wine, Aaron’s presence is even warmer than before. You pay no mind when he shifts his left arm, stretching it over the back of the couch and allowing you to scoot closer, your legs pressed against each other’s.

The conversation continues, and somehow the subject of relationships is brought up.

“Yeah, why was I the only one asked to bring someone?” Aaron asks. “I’d like to see all of you find a last minute date.”

Another warm rush goes through your body at the word date. This is a date. Alright then.

“I think you did just fine,” Dave says, nodding to you. “Don’t you?”

You shrug, not sure of what to make of it. “I’m having fun, so I guess so.”

“See?” Dave gives Aaron a look. “You did fine.”

Aaron gives his friend a tired glare. “Only because she happened to be back from getting her degrees. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck.”

“Nah, man, you could’ve called Beth.”

You feel Aaron tense next to you, but you aren’t sure if he tensed up or if you did. Maybe both. Probably both. You weren’t aware there was someone else.

“Who’s Beth?” You ask as casually as possible, ignoring the heated glares Penelope, JJ, and Emily alike are sending Derek. Seriously, Derek would be dead three times over right now if looks could be deadly.

Aaron shrugs before answering you. “Her and I dated briefly last year.”

You nod slowly, trying not to seem hurt or upset or anything by this because it’s ridiculous of you to be fighting back tears, but you can’t help it.

It’s high school, goddamnit, it’s fucking high school all over again.

The topic of conversation shifts thanks to Reid being the endless supplier of random facts. One question about Russian from Emily and he’s taking over, washing the awkwardness away in two languages.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work as well for you as it does for everyone else.

You set your wine glass down on the table and tell Penelope you’re going to use the bathroom. You have no clue where it is, but she doesn’t know that.

Aaron does. And Aaron hears the tone of voice you use.

He waits until you’re down the hall before he stands to follow you, foregoing any explanation to his friends. They already know what he’s doing.

Aaron’s suspicions are correct when he hears the front door close and sees your coat no longer hanging next to his on the hook by the door. He grabs his and only gets one arm through a sleeve before he’s opening the door, eyes searching the premises for you.

Thankfully, he finds you after two seconds, and his racing heart slows a little. You’re standing by the reindeer lights on Dave’s front lawn. Your coat is only hanging on your shoulders, something you’ve always done since high school when you were upset.

“It feels more like a blanket,” you had told him one day. “Blankets are more comforting than jackets.”

He doesn’t see the difference, but you do, and that was enough for him.

He has both arms through the sleeves by the time he’s next to you. He gently touches your arm to get your attention, adding a soft, “Hey,” for good measure.

You turn your head at the sound, having already known he was coming because you heard the front door open. In the back of your mind, you had wanted him to follow you out here, but now that he’s done it, you aren’t so sure this is what you wanted.

You wanted to ignore the feeling. Get it to disappear on its own. Survive the night, then never talk to him again. You were heartbroken, but it was better when you weren’t speaking to him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says softly. “Beth and I haven’t spoken since our last date a year ago. It was only three dates. We weren’t serious at all.” He pauses. “I have no idea why Derek said that. He doesn’t think before he speaks sometimes.”

You nod, not having it in you to laugh at Aaron’s small jab, even though he is entirely correct. Derek is a quick thinker with a sharp wit, but you can see how it might backfire sometimes. Like tonight.

You believe Aaron, you really do. But it’s so hard. “Did you love her?”

Aaron is stunned for a moment, but says, “No. I don’t think I did.”

“Okay.” You shake your head, looking down at the grass. “I’m just trying to figure out why Derek would’ve brought her up if...if you guys dated so briefly.”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“And is this a date?” You blurt, finally finding the courage to get that one out. “Because if it is, I…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

You shake your head again, trying to find the right words, but they always seem out of reach. “Just...tell me this won’t be like high school.”

This time Aaron is too stunned to form a real answer. “What?”

“Please,” you sound like you’re about to cry and you feel so pathetic that you wish you had never agreed to come tonight. But you’re here anyway. “I was in love with you then, and I’m still in love with you now, but I can’t do that again. So if this is a just friends thing and always will be, I need you to tell me before I hurt myself all over again.”

Aaron can’t believe his ears. He swears he heard you wrong. He must have. “You were in love with me in high school, too?”

“Yes-- Wait, too? What do you mean too?” Now you’re looking at him, eyes wide in confusion, shock, every emotion possible. “Too?”

“I was in love with you, Y/N,” he chuckles, reaching for your hands. “I thought you just saw me as an older brother. That’s why I never...said anything.”

“What?” You breathe, letting him thread his fingers through yours. “Are you serious? You better not be pulling my leg, Hotchner. Don’t do that to me.” You tug on his hands for emphasis, giving him a stern look.

“I’m not joking,” he says, taking a step closer. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“Oh my god,” you say, disbelief a powerful thief of words. “I can’t believe… So you went after Haley because…”

“Because I heard from one of her friends that she had a crush on me,” he admits. “I did love her, but not as much as I loved you. Never as much as I loved you.”

You don’t know what else to do or say. He looks so beautiful in this light that it hurts, and now he’s saying words you never thought you’d ever hear.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks. “For breaking your heart?”

“Only if you forgive me for breaking yours,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I broke my own. I should’ve told you how I felt.” He pauses. “I even talked to you about Haley all the time. Is that why you didn’t say goodbye to me?”

You nod. “It sounds so stupid now, but I was so hurt.”

“I’m an idiot,” he laughs. “I’m the dumbest fool to ever walk the Earth.”

“We both are,” you correct him, taking a step closer. It’s cold out here, but he’s warm. He’s always been so warm. Like home.

And you-- you’ve always been who Aaron thinks of when he thinks about being happy. It’s always been you. A moment like this, and a thousand others. He wants them all. And to think, you do too.

His lips meet yours in a long-awaited kiss, cold noses bumping against one another, his warm hands holding your face, your chilled fingers finding their home on his neck, stealing his warmth.

From the window, the team watches, and Emily exchanges money with Derek.

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raindancer2004 · 3 years

Text

Second Chance at Love

Word Count: 1,683 Marcus x reader Oneshot Warnings: Fluff, NSFW

NSFW Prompt: nsfw promt # 4 with marcus please and thank u For @marcusofthevolturi

Y/N met Marcus when she came to work at the castle as the new Nurse in the Castle’s Medical Wing after the previous Nurse got eaten by one of the lower guards when he woke up mistaking her for his ‘donor.’ The guard was in the Medical Wing for two weeks after a particularly unfortunate fight with a newborn where his left leg and both arms were removed completely, his head and neck cracked.

Heidi knew Y/N from the local hospital and she came highly recommended by Heidi’s doctor friend Dr Jones. Heidi explained to Y/N that the job was based at Castillo Volterra and came with a very generous salary, one month’s paid vacation and on-site accommodation. Heidi also mentioned that there would be quite a bit of down time too due to the occupants of the castle.

Heidi got Demetri, Felix and Santiago to help Y/N pack up and move her stuff from her apartment and into the Castle. Her room was situated in the East Wing of the Castle, where the Medical Wing was based along with Marcus’ rooms.

Aro and Caius met her on the day she moved in, Marcus was having a ‘me’ day. His brothers and the four elite guards knew what that meant; he wanted to be left alone as it was a particularly hard day for him.

Y/N had been at the castle for two days when she met finally Marcus, she had gotten a little lost trying to find the Castle Library and quite literally bumped into Marcus “Oh, I’m sorry” She mumbled her apology as she stumbled back, strong arms catching her before she could fall to the stone floor. “No need to apologise my dear, I wasn’t…” He trailed off as his ruby eyes met Y/C eyes. She smiled up at him “Y-you’re Mar-Marcus” She stuttered “Yes, I am my dear and I’m guessing you’re Y/N” He replied and she nodded “Where were you going?” He asked curiosity shining in his eyes “I was trying to find the library but I didn’t get very far” She chuckled lightly and Marcus chuckled too “How about I take you to my private study? I have some books that might take your interest” She nodded and looped her arm through his when he held out for her to take.

Everyone in the castle noticed how close Marcus and Y/N were becoming, for he would visit the Medical Wing often despite not needing any medical attention. He would accompany her on her walks around the castle gardens and would often lend her books from his private collection. Marcus knew who Y/N was to him but didn’t dare hope that she was truly his; his second chance at love and a happy ending.

Demetri encouraged him to talk to Y/N about being his mate “You deserve to be happy master and if fate has given you a second chance, grab it. Claim her, love her. After all she was born to be with you and only you.” Marcus smiled at the tracker “Thank you Demetri. I’ll be honest, I was a little worried about claiming her as I couldn’t go through losing another mate” “I wasn’t here when you lost Didyme but I’m here now and I have already committed her tenor to my memory and as your personal bodyguard I will help you protect her” Demetri vowed and bowed his head “Thank you, that means a lot” Marcus replied with a smile.

Y/N accepted Marcus as her mate but insisted she be allowed to remain working in the Medical Wing. Marcus agreed but on the condition that they hired a second Nurse, one that wouldn’t missed should an ‘accident’ occur. Y/N agreed although she felt bad about the circumstances the other Nurse was being hired under. Y/N and Heidi interviewed the new Nurse candidates although Marcus sat in on the interviews. They hired a male Nurse called Leon, much to the delight of the single female vampires in the castle.

“So brother how are you and the lovely Y/N getting along?” Aro asked “She’s a real Nurse with the uniform and everything, I think they’re getting along just fine” Caius answered before Marcus could, with a playful smirk on his lips. Aro chuckled “Not quite what I meant but judging by the goofy smile he has on his face I’d say you’re onto to something brother” Aro said looking at Caius “Y/N and I are very happy and our sex life is not up for discussion” Marcus informed his brothers.

Y/N found her mate in his private study “It’s late my love, will you not join me in bed?” She asked softly as she entered the room, Marcus looked up from his papers “I’m sorry my dear, I lost track of time. Forgive me?” Y/N shook her head a little a small smile playing at her lips “Come here, let me make it up to you” He replied pushing his chair away from his desk a little.

Y/N walked over to her mate and he pulled her down onto his lap so she was straddling him. Marcus placed his hands on her cheeks and gave her a sweet kiss. He pulled away slightly to allow her to breath before capturing her lips again and gently bit her bottom lip. She parted her lips a little and he slipped his tongue inside her warm mouth, their tongues moving in sync with each other whilst fighting for dominance too. He moved his hands to her waist and pulled her closer to him, she felt his hardening length beneath her and moaned into the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and grinded against him. It was his turn to smile into the next kiss. “I want to bury myself deep inside you before I hold in my arms for the night” He whispered, his voice seductive and eyes black with lust “Come on then my love. Let’s go to bed” Y/N winked at him and went to get off his lap but he stopped her “Forget the bed…let’s do it right here” He moved his hands to her thighs and slid his hands upwards disappearing under her blue silk nightie “No panties…how naughty of you” He purred in her ear “Figured it would save you ripping yet another pair from me” Amusement clear in her voice “Very thoughtful my dear.”

Marcus lifted Y/N from lap so he could remove his trousers and boxers freeing his erection, which stood proud against his stomach. Y/N perched herself on the edge of his desk and eyed him from head to toe, eyes lingering on her mate’s hard cock as she took her bottom lip between her teeth “See something you like my dear?” He asked, voice low in the quiet room “Yes my love” She stepped forward, pushing him back so he sat back down on his desk chair and climbed on his lap. She wrapped her warm fingers around his cock and ran her hand up and down his length a few times, her thumb swirling around the tip. She guided his cock to her entrance and sank down slowly until he was fully inside her, soft gasps leaving them both as she tilted her hips slightly to ensure she took all of his nine and a half inches.

She moved her hips slowly over and over again watching as his eyes closed and a warm smile graced his lips. She kissed him, nipping at his bottom lip and he parted them to grant her access; their tongues moving against each other like a slow sensuous dance. She lifted off of him so only the tip of his cock was left inside her and she sank herself back down hard, they both moaned loudly in unison as she proceeded to be a little rough with him.

His hands squeezed her ass gently “Still so tight and warm” He purred into her ear “Still so big and thick” She whispered back; a low chuckle left his lips before he captured hers in a passionate kiss and placed his hands on her hips taking control and began lifting her off his length and back down again setting a steady pace. “Oh…Ahh” He loved hearing every moan and mewl that left her lips.

She felt him pull out of her before slowly re-entering her; filling her deeper with every thrust “Yes…yes” She breathed out, her eyes closing. Her hands moved to rest on his shoulders and he leant in to kiss her. He kissed along her jawline to her neck as he continued to thrust up into her. She pulled back slightly and began leaving kisses on his shoulders working her way up his neck to leave a kiss below his ear before gently biting his earlobe. He growled and thrusted back inside her hard “Marcus” She cried out and again he thrust up into her hard continuing this new pace as he could sense she was getting close to her release.

He took both breasts into his hands massaging them gently; thumbs brushing her nipples lightly, a satisfied sigh falling from her lips as she felt herself on the edge her release. A few more hard thrusts and brushes of her nipples and she felt herself fall over the edge as her walls clench around his hard length. “Marcus” She cried out as she came, her vision cloudy as she felt him fill her up with his cold seed. “Y/N” He called out and continued to move within her, riding out their highs together.

“I love you Marcus” She whispered, her voice sounded sleepy “And I love you Y/N” He said softly and held her in his arms, his still hard cock buried inside her as she fell asleep. They stayed in that position for some time before he carried her back to their shared room, gently cleaning her whilst she slept. Once he had cleaned himself he climbed into bed beside her and held as she slept for the night, silently thanking the gods for his second chance at love.

#marcus volturi #demetri volturi #felix volturi #jane volturi #alec volturi #aro volturi #caius volturi #heidi volturi #volturi #twilight #oneshot

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pemfrost · 3 years

Note

For bingo! How about parksborn with a secret relationship? Maybe with Harry scared his dad will find out, up to you 🤗

❤😊

Bingo fic 2/?

"Or, we could just… you know," Peter drew a small circle in the air with his index finger, "tell your dad about us."

For the first time in the 10 minutes they'd been on the subject, Harry stopped pacing through their living room apartment. Normally, Peter would take any win he could get- and calming Harry down would definitely be a win. However, the fact they were even having the conversation -again- was enough to overshadow any sense of victory. And, judging from the clenched fist at his side, Harry was not calm and only paused his nervous walking to stare incredulously at Peter.

"Tell him? Just- Peter!" He threw his arms in the air and resumed his pacing. "Do you know how hard I've worked to keep this from him?"

Peter maintained a neutral face and stepped into Harry's path. "We can't keep it from him forever."

Harry didn't protest when Peter pulled him close, but remained stiff despite the attempt at intimacy. "We've done great so far."

"Well, yea. It's easy to keep a new relationship secret at first, but it's not new anymore, Harry. How long can we keep up a lie?" His fingers dug into the back of Harry's sweater, clinging onto what he could of his boyfriend.

They'd been together nearly a year, officially anyway. At first it was easy to maintain Harry's desire for secrecy, to keep the media -even their friends- from finding out. Even though they had always been close, eventually people in their lives began to catch on. M.J, of course, was the first to confront them. But, when they moved into a new apartment together the previous month, the rest of their friends did the proverbial math.

"As long as it takes." Harry's breath was warm on Peter's neck. "With him officially out of prison, he's going to be around more. And- I can't deal with his disapproval. You know how he feels about us being friends- how do you think he would react to us dating?"

Peter sighed into Harry's hair and didn't respond.

___

The following weekend, Harry agreed to meet his father for dinner. For once, Peter didn't press the mater when Harry asked him to stay home, and for that he was thankful. Meeting with his father was always stressful, he didn't need an additional layer of worry.

Norman was not a subtle man. If he wanted something he asked for it. Or, as, was known to happen on occasion, he demanded it. Directly saying no to Norman Osborne was not something many people possessed the courage to do, and few were ever in a position to say no a second time..

For most of his childhood, even Harry was not immune to his father's intensity. He craved his approval and love. It was only when Harry befriended Peter that he realized what family could actually mean.

Now, Harry was in charge of the family business, and ran things differently. He expected their dinner conversation to revolve around his management practices, and the money he spent on community projects.

He hadn't expected his father to steer the conversation straight into the one subject matter Harry wanted to avoid.

"That- that is not necessary." Harry cleared his throat, partially regretting all the times he wished his dad would be more involved in his life. When he was younger, he just wanted him to show up to school events, his graduation, hell, even just listen to him talk about his day.

Perhaps his dad was trying to make up for lost time, but getting involved in his love life was crossing a line. He'd taken great care to keep his love life out of the press, and was being even more careful to keep it from his father.

"It's just a suggestion." Norman held up his hands over his empty plate. "I only meant… Harry, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to meet someone? Working so much… being alone…? It's not healthy, I would know."

"You weren't alone!" His fist slammed on the table as he stood.

"I know," Norman's voice was soft. "I know. I only mean…" he trailed off, then cleared his throat and tried again. "I know I didn't have to be alone. You were there, and I- I wasn't there for you. I don't want to see you make the same mistakes and purposefully be alone."

Harry studied a shadow on the wall, mulling over his father's words. He thought of Peter, and wondered what he was doing at that moment. "I'm not alone."

"Friends are different, Harry. What I'm talking about is-"

Harry gripped the edge of the table as he stood, leaning forward with the beginnings of a snarl. He wanted to yell, tell Norman that friendship was plenty satisfying to some people. Tell him he was happily dating someone. Tell him he didn't get to suddenly decide to be a father figure and offer life advice after years of neglect.

Yelling would definitely have felt good. Great, even. It wouldn't help repair the rift between them, and Norman was.. trying, in his own misguided way.

Harry released the breath he was holding and relaxed back into his seat. "I don't want to fight tonight."

Norman nodded and reached for the bottle of wine. "Agreed. I am sorry, I didn't know this would be such a delicate subject. Perhaps we can talk about something else?"

Harry accepted the offered wine, "Gladly."

"So, how are your friends?" Norman asked. "How is Peter? I've heard you're roommates now?"

---

"And then-" Harry dropped himself to the couch without any grace, "-he just had to ruin it all again!"

Peter slid next to him, scooting down to rest his head against Harry's chest. He wished he could have been there as a buffer between Harry and his father, but he had to settle for comforting him afterwards. "What did he do?"

"We were fine. Talked about my friends, and that book Ava recommended to me. And that art gallery we went to last month."

"Sounds nice."

"Yea, until he circled back around to the fact we live together." Harry couldn't keep the venom from his voice. They discussed it before Harry went over; it wasn't worth hiding their living… situation. It was common knowledge.

"Does he suspect-"

"He said having a roommate will hurt my chances of finding a partner. And that there are better ways to support my 'less fortunate' friends."

Peter didn't say anything. He couldn't, even if he wanted to; his throat constricted painfully as Harry's words reverberated in his head. He angled his face down so Harry couldn't see the unshed tears in his eyes.

"I told him to mind his own business and stop messing with my personal life then stormed out."

They remained on the couch for a while; Peter lost track of exactly how long they sat in silence. Eventually, they went to bed. Peter hummed and nodded the few times Harry said something as they changed for bed, but none of the words registered.

Sleep didn't find him for several hours, and when Peter woke up he was alone. It wasn't abnormal for Harry to leave before Peter woke up, he often had early morning meetings and snuck out as quietly as he could.

Peter groaned and ran a hand over his face. He still felt numb from the previous night and replayed the conversation over and over as he dragged himself out of bed and to the kitchen. The thought of eating made his stomach churn so he settled for instant coffee.

His laptop was on the table where he left it. He drummed his fingers on the table a moment before opening the laptop and leaning over as if to hide the screen from the empty apartment.

He loved Harry, of that he was sure. Yet-

Yet- he needed to have a very difficult conversation with Harry when he returned from work.

Peter sighed as he pulled up the website he'd fallen asleep thinking about. At the very least it would be cathartic to know what his options were should it come to it.

After some time there was a knock on the front door. Which wasn't rare, they had an elderly neighbor who often asked for favors- or brought over homemade treats.

"Good morning, Nancy I-" Peter sputtered as he opened the door, "Mr. Osborne! I- uh- good morning."

"Ah, Mr. Parker." He raised an eyebrow when Peter just stared.

"Um, Harry is at work." Peter wasn't sure what to do, but he erred on the side of caution and stepped aside. "Did you want to come in?"

Norman swept passed without hesitation. "Actually, I was hoping to speak with you."

Peter bit his cheek to keep from grimacing. Nothing good ever really came from them having a conversation in the past, and with his relationship with Harry on the line he doubted this conversation would break the pattern.

Norman made himself at home, either unaware or ignoring Peter's uncertainty. Peter wasn't concerned as he walked through the living room, Harry had been strict about not having any photographs of them outside of their bedroom. There was nothing to point to them being more than roommates.

"I had dinner with Harry last night and he-" Norman paused as he circled the table. In Peter's rush to the door he'd left his laptop open. "Apartment shopping?"

"Uh…"

Norman turned to look Peter over, his eyes hard and unreadable. "I see." He paused again before nodding once. "I spoke out of turn last night. I didn't intend for Harry to actually…"

"Oh. He told me a bit of your… concerns. This was my idea," Peter unfroze and crossed the room, closing the laptop in a vain hope to end the conversation.

"You've always been there for him." Norman glided over to their couch but didn't sit. He hesitated a moment before continuing, "You truly care about him."

Peter was skeptical of his motives. "He's my best friend."

"... Truly."

"You said you came to talk to me?" Peter stepped towards him, keeping the couch between them.

"That was all," Norman said as he slipped his phone from his pocket. He typed for a few seconds before nodding in Peter's direction. "I'll see you around, Peter."

Peter let him out and stumbled onto the couch, reeling from the odd conversation with Norman Osborne. Before he could contemplate it further, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Not a great time, Harry." He sat it next to him and let it ring out.

It rang again. And then a third time. Then, Harry sent a text. 'Call me asap'

Peter groaned, he still had so much to think about before he talked to Harry. Still, he called Harry back, concerned by Harry's sudden calls.

"Peter!" Harry sounded out of breath. "Shit, I was worried- I thought- Peter, I love you."

"Is everything okay? Where are you?" Peter didn't like the crack in Harry's voice.

"I just got in my car, I'm on my way home."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Did- are you ok? What-"

"I'm sorry. Peter, I'm sorry. I didn't think- I can't- don't leave."

"Babe, calm down. What's going on?"

"My dad- he text me, said he stopped by to talk to you--" His breath hitched. "He said I should ask you out before you put a deposit down on a new apartment. Why are you- did you-"

"Harry. Hey- that's- I was going to talk to you tonight. But I-"

"So it is true? It's not something he made up to get his way?"

"I wanted to see what there was. I don't want to- I love you Harry."

"If you didn't want to move out then why look for a new apartment?"

Peter tightened his grip on his phone. "Because I- I was afraid of what- of how- I wanted to know my options. I can't keep living a lie. Pretending you're not the love of my life whenever we're-"

"Don't leave. I'm almost home."

"I'm not going anywhere. Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry sniffled.

"I love you."

"Love you."

"And, hey, Harry?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Did your dad really tell you to ask me out?"

"..."

"Harry?"

"Oh my God. He did."

___

Thanks for reading! This one went way long too. I wanted some Norman trying to reconcile but still fucking it up but ultimately helping.

#pem writes #parksborn #harry osborn #peter parker

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unholyobsessions · 3 years

Text

Story of Another Us

Pairing: Luke Patterson x fem!Reader

Description: After Julie finds a song Luke wrote about you, he reminisces on his moments with you

A/N: The song Luke wrote is Story of Another Us by 5 Seconds of Summer i highly recommend listening to it

Warnings: Cussing

Word count: 1.7k

Part 2

Julie is a curious person by nature, nobody can deny that. So when Luke gave her his journal and told her to look at all the dog eared songs, she couldn’t stop herself from reading them all. When she got to the last song in the journal she hesitated. It was not dog eared and looked to be the newest written. Most words were crossed out and corrections were written between the margins, she turned the page to find the final version of the song, written coherently. She raised her brows at the wet spots that stained some of the words. She read through it, her own eyes tearing up and threatening to smudge the beautiful lyrics composed by her lead guitarist.

The faint pop Julie has grown to recognize startles her. She meets Luke’s eyes and tries to flip the notebook back to another page but he catches sight of it before she can.

He stays quiet for a second and Julie bites her lip in anticipation.

“What is it that you always say Jules? Boundaries?” The look in his eyes is a mixture of anger, betrayal, and pure sadness, and it breaks Julie’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She doesn’t know what else to say and ultimately decides to risk asking the question that is on the forefront of her mind. “Luke, who is the song about?”

He sighs and takes a sit next to her on the bed, there’s no point in lying to her. “My girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Julie asks, both confused and surprised.

“Yeah ex-girlfriend I guess. We uh dated back in the 90s,” a sad smile on his face as he spoke. “She was there the night of the concert but she hated hotdogs so she stayed back with Bobby at the Orpheum. I didn’t want to think about her when we first came back but last week I looked her up and I went to see her. She has a family, married, children everything that we talked about having together.” Tears were falling down his face and Julie wanted nothing more than to be able to hug him.

“I-“ she started but what was she supposed to say? Luke shook his head, not finished talking.

“Her youngest son, his name is-“ he pressed a fist against his mouth, biting back a sob. “She named him Luke.” It’s something that took him by surprise when he heard her call his name. For a second he thought she meant him, but then he saw the cute nine-year-old dashing into the room, smiling brightly at his mother.

“Oh.”

“And I am so happy for her but I just, I guess I finally realized just how much I lost that night.” He finally turned his head and made eye contact with Julie.

“Tell me about her,” she said. Luke’s eyes widened, not expecting that to be her response. He regained his composure and nodded his head, thinking back to the moments you shared together.

. . .

You’re sitting on the couch, waiting for the boys to get back to the studio after playing at the pier for change. You actually had school and therefore could not go and watch them but you have the rest of the day off and decided to spend it with your favorite people.

The loud, excited voice of your boyfriend breaks you from your thoughts. He pushes the door of the garage turned studio open and smiles when he spots you. He rushes to the couch and throws himself on top of you. You grunt and try to push him off, which only causes him to hold you tighter.

“Get off me you doofus. You’re sweaty and gross,” you exclaim. He looks at you in mock hurt and you use his surprise to your advantage and push him off the couch. You sit up and wave at the rest of the guys.

Bobby smiles and shakes his head walking forward to ruffle your hair. Alex and Reggie make it seem like they will throw themselves on top of you too and you scream, raising your arms over your head in defense, making everyone laugh. You stick your tongue out at them and look down at your boyfriend still laying on the floor.

“How was your physics test?” He asks, remembering last night’s mental breakdown about you not understanding anything. He always felt useless in those situations, never having taken physics himself after dropping out, so he couldn’t help you study. He normally just holds you close and hopes you stop crying, because regardless of what Alex says, he would never leave you to cry alone.

“Meh, pretty sure I passed but I never know.” You shrug your shoulders dismissing any thoughts of your grades.

Bobby laughs and points an accusatory finger at you, “You always say that and you always end up being the highest score. Don’t give us that ‘meh’ bullshit.”

You throw a pillow at him but he easily catches it and throws it at Reggie, who gets hit in the head. Reggie complains and both you and Bobby chuckle at his inconvenience.

Luke finally gets up from the floor and sits next to you on the couch, pulling your body to lean against his. You’re used to this proximity, realizing early in your relationship that Luke is a very touchy person and has to have physical contact with someone at all times.

You smile and look up to him, asking how the performance at the pier went. He excitedly goes on about how people complemented them and how he knows that they are on their way to becoming big and you can’t help but agree. If there is one thing you know is that Sunset Curve is on their way to greatness.

. . .

“She believed in me, in all of us. Every second of spare time she had, she spent helping us get gigs. She would even sit on that old coach while we practiced and do her homework.”

Julie smiled at the way his eyes lit up. “She sounds amazing. Though I am surprised she was able to concentrate with you guys playing.”

Luke laughs and shakes his head. “She was not. She would yell at us and blame us if she didn’t do well on a test, but we always convinced her to stay when she tried to leave.”

. . .

You tried to block out the loud playing of instruments as you read Lord of the Flies for your english class. You snap the book shut and let out a frustrated sigh standing up abruptly and making your way out the door.

Luke stops singing and slips his guitar off before rushing over to you.

“Hey where are you going?” Luke asks a little breathless, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his body still full of adrenaline.

“I can’t concentrate,” you reply. “I’m pretty sure I have a test on the first four chapters tomorrow.” You look up to find him pouting adorably at you. You roll your eyes and try to leave again but he grabs your arm.

“We’re almost done. Let us just finish this song and then we were all just going to write. Just don’t leave.” His eyes are pleading with you and you know that you won’t decline. You let him lead you back to the couch and you sit down, reopening your book and trying to finish the chapters assigned.

Five minutes later the guys were all milling on different areas of the studio with a pen and an instrument, working on melodies as Luke works on lyrics on the floor in front of you leaning back against your legs. You run your hand absentmindedly through his hair as the other holds up the book.

The pager clipped to your jeans beeps and you glance down at it, your eyes widening when you see the message. You stand up quickly, dropping your book on Luke’s head in the process. You ignore the calls of pain and protest from your boyfriend as you run out of the shed and into the house. You greet Bobby’s mom and walk to the living room where the landline is at. You dial the number quickly and mumble “pick up” repeatedly under your breath. The club owner picks up and you talk for about fifteen minutes. At the end confirming a gig for Sunset Curve every Saturday this month at one of the hottest clubs in LA.

You scream with joy and run back to the studio yelling for their attention.

“Guess who just booked you guys a gig!” You exclaim, a joyous smile on your lips. The boys all jump up from their places around the room and rush to hug you but you raise your hands stopping them in their tracks. “Sunset Curve will be performing every Saturday this March at The Reserve!”

They all freeze, mouths opening in shock before they tackle you in a hug and jumping around in excitement. Luke pulls you close against him and kisses you desperately, trying to convey every emotion he is feeling at the moment. The guys cheer like they always do whenever Luke kisses you in front of them.

They all give you their thanks and a hug before Luke pulls you back to the couch, picking up his lyric journal and placing your hand back in his hair. The room is still buzzing with excitement but your force yourself to concentrate as you pick your book back up and continued reading.

. . .

Luke looks down at his hands, “She was the love of my life, quite literally, and I guess that now in my death I have to learn to live without her.”

Julie let her hand hover over his and if she concentrated hard enough she swears she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “It’s a beautiful song Luke and she sounds like she loved you very much. Just remember that getting over her doesn’t mean forgetting her.”

Luke smiles at his friend, thankful to have met her and have her be a part of his (after)life. He looks down at his journal, eyes skimming over the song. “Do you think,” he pauses. “Do you think it’s good enough to perform?”

Julie stares him like he’s insane. “Anything you write is good enough to perform, especially this song.” Luke turns away, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Thanks Jules.”

#luke patterson #luke x reader #luke x oc #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #julie and the himbos #jatp netflix #jatp fanfic #julie and the phantoms fanfic #alex jatp #reggie jatp #jatp #julie molina

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babybluebex · 3 years

Text

the proposal [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: ceo!tom holland x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 3.9k ➽ summary:your pushy boss forces you, his assitant, to marry him in order to keep his visa status and avoid deportation. ➽ warnings: forced marriage?? except not really?? ➽ a/n: this is loosely based off the sandra bullock movie of the same name which i recommend you watch bc it’s good classic rom com, but i just see tom being a dickhead and bodying this

I gasped as hot coffee spilled down my front, and I looked at the mail cart that had run into me. “Sorry,” the person steering the cart shrugged, and he continued on his way, totally unaware that he had just ruined my day. I gritted my teeth and looked down at my black-coffee stained shirt, knowing that my boss would be out of his morning coffee, had I not ordered a second. I always ordered a second coffee in case a disaster like this occurred. Mr. Holland could be just awful sometimes, and I only made the mistake of forgetting his coffee once.

The door to the office opened, and I looked to see my boss striding in. Mr. Thomas Holland was one of the foremost editor-in-chiefs in the world, and he was deserving of it. While he was a great editor-in-chief, he was the meanest man I had ever met. He expected everything to be just his way and, if they weren’t, he would work to make it that way. Past assistants had been fired for less than forgetting a coffee.

I followed him into his office for his morning briefing, and a single sculpted eyebrow lifted at the stain on my shirt. “Rough morning, Y/N?” he asked with a laugh. I kept my comments to myself and handed him his coffee, and he sat down at his desk.

“You could say that, sir,” I mumbled. “You have a meeting at eleven, and Penguin needs that manuscript by tomorrow--”

“Who is Jake?” Mr. Holland asked suddenly. “And why does he want me to call him?”

I stopped talking and noticed my boss staring at the coffee that was at first mine, and my face went pale. Written on my cup was the name of the barista that made my coffee every morning, along with his phone number. Mr. Holland looked at me, expecting an answer, and the look in his blue eyes made me want to puke. “Oh,” I stuttered. “That is-- He’s--”

“Do I want to know?” Tom asked.

“No, it’s better if you don’t,” I replied. “Um, also, you got a call from Immigration Services last night. They need you to come in and do some paperwork.”

“I sent it in last week,” Tom said cooly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Not according to them,” I said. “Umm… Can I ask a question, sir?”

“You just did,” Tom said. His dark eyes stared deep into me, and I held down my shiver.

I sighed. “You know what I mean,” I said. “I thought you were a citizen?”

“Nope,” Tom replied, popping his lips. “I’m in America on a work visa. What time do they want me to come in?”

“They said ‘at your earliest convenience’,” I told him.

Tom sighed. “Let’s go get this over with,” he mumbled. “Umm… You might want a change of clothes.”

I looked down at my stained shirt and huffed out a frustrated grunt, and Tom scoffed. “Alright, then,” he chuckled plaintively, his London accent rolling off of his tongue. I wasn’t blind, I knew that my boss was attractive— a strong jaw that was always clean shaven, brown eyes that shifted golden in the right light, and dark hair, usually styled down with just the ends showing their true curly nature. He was tall and built like a Greek god, and his wonderful accented voice would have been appealing if the words he said with it didn’t cut right through me. Some would say Mr. Thomas Holland was mean; others would say he was blunt. I would say he’s just a dick. “Don’t have to get so worked up.”

“I—“ I began and sighed. “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Tom cocked his head thoughtfully. “Have you ever seen The Bodyguard?” he asked. When I didn’t respond, he said, “It’s a show on the BBC, I should have known you wouldn’t have seen it.” With that, he pulled off his jacket and draped it against his desk chair, and he loosened his tie around his neck.

“Mr. Holland, what are you doing?” I asked quickly, jerking forward to stop him.

He looked at me with those honey eyes as he set his tie on his desk. “I am giving you the shirt off of my back,” he said. “Like the kind soul I am.”

I nearly protested, but I knew that he had a spare; I had brought it from the dry cleaners two days ago. I searched for something to say to him as he disrobed, and the sight of his bare chest made me say “Thank you. It is very kind.”

“Most would say uncharacteristic,” Tom said, handing his shirt. The hand clutching his shirt had a shining watch on the wrist, and, while the sight was enticing, it only served to remind me of how late we were going to be. The shirt was still warm from him having worn it, and he crossed the room to retrieve his spare from the storage closet.

“Most would,” I agreed. I pulled my blazer off and began to undo my shirt, but I felt as if Tom was staring at me. I looked over my shoulder to him, already doing up the buttons on his shirt, and his eyes lifted to mine.

“Do you need help, Y/N?” Tom asked, a snide bite to his words.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Can you…” I started. “Ya know, turn around?”

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Americans are so prudish,” he said. “I undressed in front of you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but it’s different,” I said. “Just close your eyes, something, please.”

Tom laughed lightly, and he made a show of covering his eyes with his hands. “Is that better?”

I rolled my eyes. It would have to be good enough. I pulled my shirt off and exchanged it for his and, once I was fully dressed again, I said, “Alright. Thank you.”

“Great,” Tom said and uncovered his eyes. “Are you ready to go now?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Sure.”

Once we arrived at the Immigration office, Tom was brought in almost immediately, and he had me come in to take notes. A secretary’s job is never done, I guess. I stood by the door as he sat before the officer, and I watched the scene unfold before me.

“Mr. Holland, you’re here on a work visa,” the officer began. “Which means you’re not allowed to leave the country.”

“Yes,” Tom said, and he raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you went to an international book fair…” the officer began as he shuffled some papers around. “In Germany, last month.”

Tom scoffed and flipped his tie in annoyance. “It was for my job,” he said. “Can’t I go to work functions?”

“Not when it violates the rules of your visa,” the officer said. “Because you violated those rules, you have to leave the country and go back to your home country for one year.”

Tom straightened in his seat suddenly and gave a laugh. “I can’t do that,” he said seriously. “I can’t work from a different country for a full year. I’d lose my job.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holland, but it’s federal law,” the officer said. “The only way you can stay in the country is if you get married by the end of this month, and--”

I had worked for Thomas Holland for a long time. I knew him well. I knew what shampoo he used, what pants size he wore, and, most importantly, I knew what he looked like when he got an idea. His chin went up, his shoulders went back, and he smiled. He rarely smiled, at least where I was concerned. “Um, yeah, w-what if I am getting married?” Tom asked. “What-What then?”

“Well, it would have to be filed appropriately and the service would need to be witnessed,” the officer said. “But, if everything was legal, you would be allowed to stay in the country.”

Tom turned around to look at me and he gestured for me to step closer. “C’mere, darling,” he said, and his honey eyes widened at me. “Don’t be shy, c’mon.” He turned back to the officer and gave a smile to him. “She’s so shy, it’s adorable.”

I stepped closer to him, and Tom stood up and wrapped his arm around my waist. I was confused as hell about what he was doing, but it clicked when he captured my chin between his forefinger and thumb and planted a quick kiss to my mouth. Oh fuck. If he was fired, I would be out of a job too. I needed Tom to stay in the country, which meant that he had to get married. And who better to marry than somebody who already knows everything about you? Fuck. That’s me. “You two?” the immigration officer asked. “Is she not your secretary?”

“She is, yes,” Tom said, and he laughed nervously. “But it wouldn’t be the first time that someone fell for their secretary, would it?” He then gave a deep laugh, and I quickly giggled to ease the tension. “Yes, no, but… Y/N and I are getting married. We were planning on a spring wedding-- you know how girls and spring weddings are-- but we could fast-track it, if it keeps me here… With her.”

The immigration officer raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said. “Where is your ring?”

I looked down at my hands, certainly missing an engagement ring. “Oh, umm…” I began. “Well, you see, we don’t want our coworkers to know yet. Seeing as I’m being promoted to editor, we thought it would be inappropriate for our relationship to be… Known to the office. I have a ring, but I don’t wear it.”

“Yes, editor…” Tom began and looked at me, a flash of annoyance crossing his face for just a moment. “Sure, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Alright, Ms. Y/L/N,” the immigration officer began. “You do understand that, if you are caught in a lie, it’s five years in a federal prison?”

I nodded and gave a tight smile. “Good thing we’re not lying.”

I watched Tom as we left the building and, once we were outside, I stopped walking. “Wanna explain that?” I called.

Tom stopped and turned on his heel, his phone already pressed to his ear. “What is it?” He asked. “I’m on a call.”

I huffed and pulled his phone away. “Mr. Holland has business to attend to,” I said. “He’ll call back.” I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket, and I crossed my arms. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Tom asked, and I gestured back to the building with a huff. “Oh. It’s the only way for me to stay in the country and keep my job. We’ll get a legal marriage by the end of the month, then, when the appropriate amount of time passes, I’ll set up a quickie divorce and you can forget that this funny little thing ever happened.”

“What if I don’t want to get married?” I asked. “What about my boyfriend?”

Tom scoffed. “As if you have a boyfriend.”

“Hey!” I cried. “You don’t know that!”

“You wake up at four in the morning, every morning, in order to get ready and get my breakfast,” Tom rattled off. “You work from eight to four every day, most times until five. You are on call at all times; your phone never rings twice before you answer it, especially if I am calling you. You bring me food at one in the morning if I need it. No boyfriend would be okay with a work schedule like that. So, Y/N, unless you have any other unfounded issues with this, I suggest we start to learn things about each other that an engaged couple would know.”

“No.”

“No?” Tom repeated.

I smiled sweetly. “Ask me nicely.”

“Ask you what?” Tom asked with a grimace.

“Ask me nicely to marry you,” I said.

Tom gave me a look of boredom, and he rolled his eyes before he took my hand. “Will you please marry me?” He asked, his voice full of sarcasm.

“No, no,” I said. “Down on one knee. You’re an Englishman, Mr. Holland, have some manners, for God’s sake.”

“Y/N--” Tom began.

“I wonder what airfare is like to London,” I began. “And moving all your stuff over there, it’ll take forever.”

Tom sighed heavily, and he looked around us at the busy New York street corner. “Damn it, Y/N,” he mumbled, and he worked himself down to kneel on one knee. “Y/N, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars, my darling girl. Provider of late-night sushi and witty comebacks. Will you please marry me, with cherries on top?”

I chuckled lightly. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but yes,” I said. “I will marry you… Tom.”

“Well, thank God you’re on time.”

“I know, it’s shocking,” I chirped. “It’s almost as if I haven’t been reminding you of appointments for the past few years.”

Tom gave a shallow laugh and welcomed me into his apartment. I had been a few times-- he didn’t call me ‘provider of late-night sushi’ in his proposal for nothing-- but never long enough to take in the place. It was nice, a lot nicer than the apartment I lived in. In my apartment, I could extend my arms all the way and touch either side of my living space.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Tom said. He wore mostly the same outfit from the day, sans the jacket and tie and the first two buttons on his shirt. It yawned open to expose his chest, dusted with thin, light hair, and, under normal circumstances, I would have liked the sight. Absolutely nothing about this was normal, though. “We have to learn enough about each other to pass the questionnaire that the immigration department is giving us.”

“Won’t be hard for me to do,” I said. “It might be difficult for you, Tom.”

“Nothing is difficult for me, Y/N,” Tom laughed. “Right, we can start right there: what’s my legal name?”

“Thomas Stanley Holland,” I replied. “Son of Dominic and Nicola.”

Tom blinked in surprise a few times, and nodded slowly. “How did you know that?” He asked.

“I had to fill out paperwork for you to make an appearance at a book signing about three years ago,” I said. “One of the forms asked for a middle name, so I asked you, and you told me that exactly.”

Tom nodded. “Umm… My birthday?”

“June 1,” I said. “You’re a Gemini, even though you think astrology is fake.”

“How do you--”

“For the past couple of years, you always sneer at the horoscope section of any magazine,” I told him. “It’s not hard to figure out what you think of it.”

“You’re right,” Tom said slowly. He looked over to a pad of paper with his scribbled writing on it, and he picked it up and scanned the list. “I found this list online… A list of questions similar to what they’ll ask us. Alright, there’s no way you know this: my childhood nickname?”

“Which one, Dutchy or Billy?”

“How in the fuck do you--”

“On your last birthday, you got a letter in the mail from your mom,” I began. “It was addressed to Dutchy. That was easy; Holland, Dutch, Dutchy. Kinda cute, actually.”

“And Billy?” Tom winced. “How did you find out about that?”

“One of your old uni friends works for a publishing company in Glasgow,” I said. “You sent him a letter to catch up-- but really to get him to do something for you-- and you signed it Billy.”

“Do you know why I was called that?” Tom asked. His honey eyes were unwavering as he watched me, and he seemed to deflate when I shook my head.

“I have no idea,” I said. “If it’s anything like my college nickname, it came from a night of drinking and something unfortunate happened.”

“What was your college nickname?” Tom asked, suddenly amused.

“Oh, right, you don’t know everything about me,” I laughed. “Well… It was DongNose. My senior year, me and some friends decided to go to a-a… Ha, a male strip club. Things happened and… I ended up getting hit, on the nose, with… Yeah. It fractured my nose and my face bruised up really bad.”

“Oh, shit,” Tom chuckled. The corner of his mouth twitched, and I rolled my eyes.

“It’s alright, you can laugh,” I said. “It’s a funny story.”

“No, I’m not laughing at you,” Tom said. “Just… Thinking about you in uni. Would we have been friends, do you think?”

“I doubt it,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “You would have been playing rugby or whatever Brits do at uni. I was a TA for a long time, so I hardly left my office at all.”

“Oh, that’s a question,” Tom said, looking at the list. “Where did I go to uni? Or, I guess, college, as you Yanks call it.”

“Umm, your first semester was at the BRIT School,” I began. “You still get mail from them, asking for donations. But you transferred to Cambridge and graduated from there.”

“Well, Y/N, you’re wrong,” Tom said. “I went to Oxford, not Cambridge. My little brother goes to Cambridge. I don’t usually like to tell people that, it feels too uppity to me.”

“You say as we sit in your New York City apartment,” I scoffed.

“See, that’s different,” Tom began pointedly. “I didn’t grow up with much. Me and my mum and dad and brothers lived in this little town outside of London. It was a sort-of poverty area, so we only had what we could get by with. I was young when I told myself that I was going to work to get myself out of that. And…” He gestured to the apartment. “I did. And I was able to get my parents out of that as well.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “What was the name Billy all about? You never said.”

For the first time since I knew him, I watched color rise in Tom’s cheeks. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? “Umm…” He began. He looked to the coffee table and to the shelf underneath it, and he quickly pulled out a leather-bound scrapbook. “Mum made this for me before I moved to the States. Just some pictures of home and all. But…” He opened the book and spread it out next to us on the couch, forcing me just a few inches closer to him. There were pictures of him and his family in the gray background of London, most of them stamped with the date and time. A picture from when he was in secondary school appeared on a page, taken beautifully and professionally. A black blazer and striped tie adorned his frame, an insignia for his school on the right breast of his jacket. His hair was short and done in the spiked look that was oh-so popular with young boys several years back, and he gave the camera a closed-mouth smile, probably to hide a set of braces.

“I was about twelve here,” Tom began. “This was around the time the nickname came around. I did dance all growing up-- Mum said I was too energetic and chucked me there to tire me out, but I ended up loving it. I ended up auditioning for Billy Elliot, and I got the part. I was on the fuckin’ West End when I was twelve, doing ballet every single day. It was great, but… I went to a Catholic school then, and the other boys in my class didn’t think it was all that cool.” Tom chuckled, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. “But then the nickname came around. People at school called me Billy, even after the show closed. I was tormented with it for years. It carried into college, and then uni. And, even though I’ve long since quit dancing, I still have people from uni that call me Billy.”

“Why did you quit?” I asked.

“I just lost interest.” Tom mumbled with a shrug. “I was being bullied so much that I quit enjoying it. I sometimes wish I never stopped, but what’s done is done.”

The silence was tense between us, and I lightly cleared my throat to diffuse the tension. “Billy Elliot,” I said softly. “Really?”

Tom’s flush came back, but a smile came with it. “C’mon, I was twelve! And I looked like that! What d’ya want from me, Swan Lake?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” I exclaimed. “Besides, it isn’t any worse than what I did in high school.”

“What did you do?” Tom asked.

“You’re deflecting my question, Tommy,” I pointed out.

“Answer my question, Y/N,” Tom rebutted instantly.

“Alright, alright!” I grinned. “When I was fifteen, I played Juliet in my school’s production of Romeo and Juliet. Which would have been great, but my director was so inspired by Baz Luhrmann’s movie that he made it set in the 1950s, but had us keep the dialogue. It was… Not good.”

“Say a line, won’t you?” Tom asked. “Just a few words of Juliet.”

I sighed, and tried in vain to recall even a single line from the play. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more?” Tom mused, looking down at his lap. “Or shall I speak at this? I take thee at thy word: call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

A smile slowly filled my lips. “You know Shakespeare?” I asked.

“My darling, I’m British,” Tom laughed. “I would have my citizenship revoked if I didn’t.”

I nearly didn’t catch how he called me that name. My darling. A slip of the tongue, a thought from Romeo’s mind? Or more? “I guess we’re more alike than we first thought, huh?” I chuckled. “Anyway, I don’t think Billy Elliot is anything to be ashamed of. It’s a beautiful story.”

Tom sighed. “I hope this works,” he mumbled. “I need this job. I’m sure you do too. We both get something out of it. Which, I was meaning to talk to you about that. Editor?”

“Tommy, if I get caught doing this, I could go to jail,” I said firmly. “I’m not going to commit a federal offense if I’m not going to get some benefits afterwards. You get me?”

Tom nodded slowly. “You are a lovely girl,” he said softly. “Any man would be thrilled to call you his.”

“You do,” I said. “At least, for the next few months, you do.”

Tom looked at me with those warm honey eyes. “Have you ever been kissed, Y/N?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, yeah,” I sputtered out. “Of course.”

“Who was your first kiss?” Tom asked.

“Who was yours?” I said quickly.

“Zendaya Coleman, one of my best mates from college,” Tom said quickly. “Answer my question. What was his name?”

I hesitated as I tried to come up with the name of any boy I went to high school with for me to lie about, but my hesitation was answer enough. A slow smile crept up on Tom’s pink lips, and he bit his bottom lip in amusement. “You’ve never been kissed, have you?” he chuckled. “Earlier today, when I kissed you at the office, that was your first, wasn’t it?”

“Jesus, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” I scoffed.

“It’s not,” Tom said. “It’s just hard to believe. You are smart and witty, beautiful, with a sense of humor… I can’t imagine that boys weren’t falling over themselves to catch you.”

“Well, nobody’s caught me yet,” I laughed softly.

“Thank God,” Tom said with a smile. “Or our plan wouldn’t work.”

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #fanfiction #fluff #peter parker #spiderman #arvin russell #the devil all the time #tom holland x reader fluff

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daydream-believin · 3 years

Text

What About the Smaller Picture (2)

Summary: Merlin knows best. And what he feels is best for you and Douxie right now is to sit around and wait for him to come back from New Jersey, Merlin-knows-when. (2) Your first day in Arcadia, it sure is something. (1) - (3)

Warnings: swearing, proofing is for nerds

Word Count: 2211

a/n: i hope to be able to make you feel the awkwardness radiating off of every part of this series

Hisirdoux’s special welcome tour didn’t exactly do its job of making you feel welcome. You supposed that was more of a problem with you than the town. It definitely wasn’t of any fault of Hisirdoux’s. If anything, he was being a little too warm. It almost felt fake.

People appeared to like Hisirdoux. All across town, he would greet friends, introduce you to them. Kinda like he was showing you off. You did not know what for. He barely knew you, yet he talked about you like you were an old friend returned to him. Like he was proud of you or something. You supposed he was establishing a cover story. And you weren’t sure why. Why not just say you were new in town? What tracks was he trying to cover here.

You stopped paying too much attention to what Hisirdoux was telling others about you. He was telling them that he cared for you. That he missed you. It was a lie, sure. But just hearing those words come out of someone else’s mouth were making you melt. It had been so long that it was hard for you to recall the last time a person said such nice things about you. That was sad. You supposed the blush on your face did good to add to the story he was telling. Made it more believable. You felt really pathetic that this guy you barely knew lying through his teeth about you was actually making you blush as if it was real. As if anyone really thought those nice things he said about you in real life. Man that’s really sad. Moving on.

The town itself looked a little rough. Like it had seen better days. It was apparently a hub of magic, so it probably had. A lot of the damage you saw looked very recent though. That made sense. The whole reason you wound up here was because you befriended a girl traveling with a pack of trolls migrating from this very town. When asked why they were migrating, Claire, the girl, had told you that their home had been destroyed in a recent battle. “The Eternal Night” they called the battle. You, of course, knew about such eternal night. You had heard of the prophecy, you just didn’t expect it to happen in your lifetime. And you may had freaked out just a tad when it came along earlier that month, the unexpected solar eclipse confusing you and your studies before you figured out what was happening. However, you had assumed the battle took place underground, you know, cause trolls. The town you explored with Hisirdoux told a different story. At one point you saw a troll walking by, under an umbrella, following a red-headed human woman with a baby in her arms. And the locals didn’t seem to care. No one batted an eye. Strange town.

What really baffled you though was what happened later in the day, back at the bookstore, when you cast a simple spell. Nothing too flashy, just a little levitation on a book Hisirdoux had sent you to find up on a high shelf you couldn’t reach. When he saw you, Doux made a really panicked gasping sound. He threw himself in front of you, shielding you from the people who were not even there, startling you, and throwing off your focus. The book landed on both of you with a thunk.

“You can’t do that,” his voice was hushed despite you two being the only ones in the shop at the moment, “It’s business hours. The mortals don’t know about wizards and they shouldn’t see magic,” he stressed.

“But- uh,, They look just fine with the trolls?” Confusion was written across your face.

“That’s different. It’s different. Look, the situation is weird, okay,” He made a little X with his hands. “But I can’t have you casting spells around the shop. Or in public, period. The mortals can’t see anything, okay?”

“Okay, okay. My bad. I won’t do it again- Promise.” Your face was hot with embarrassment. This was your fault for assuming. Fuck, he probably thinks you’re a wild card now or something. Not a good start to your professional life here. Or your relationship with this Adonis who’s reprimanding you.

“While there are some other wizards around town that I’ll introduce you to tonight, to stay safe, generally just keep the magic for when we’re alone and out of sight.”

“Oh, yeah, uh- Okay”

He grinned. Suddenly, he leaned in, catching you off guard. “It can be a special thing,” His voice was even softer as he was so close to you, “just between the two of us.”

Oh. So he meant when just You and Him were alone and out of sight. Ooookaaaayyyy. He winked to you as he separated himself from your side, and went off to the back of the store to continue unpacking a shipment he had just got in. He left you there, clutching that damn book to your chest, face now hotter than before, if that was even possible at all. Oh no.

Fuck, it was fucking day one. Day one! Day fucking one and you were developing a crush. NOPE. This was not something you were going to do. Uh-uh. Nein. There was no fucking time for this. Well, you didn’t really know how much time you had with Merlin and his addiction to being perceived as mysterious or whatever the hell was wrong with that asshole you worked for now, but the point is you did not have time for this! Hisirdoux was too much. Merlin really should have had the decency to warn you that he was hot. This wasn’t fair. Not only was Doux beautiful, but he was a touchy person. You weren’t going to stand a chance.

The thing is you had been sooo worried about how you and Hisirdoux were going to get along, you even brought up the concern to Merlin. To be honest, you had thought the old wizard to just be annoyed at your worrying, and that’s why he reassured you it’d all be fine. That you and Hisirdoux would get along swimmingly or whatever just get out of my hair kid. You were so afraid Hisirdoux would have to warm up to you like a cat being introduced to a new kitten. Afraid that he’d resent you since you were technically Merlin’s apprentice too now in a sense. And he was used to being number one, no one else to compete with for Merlin’s sparse pride since Morgana went astray. Merlin assured you Hisirdoux was very friendly. But like, would it kill the geezer to give you a warning that he’d be too friendly.

While you were having your little crisis, Douxie was humming along to the song in his head, stacking up the new books onto a display, trying his absolute dilly darndest not to think about what just happened. What he did. That wasn’t weird, right? Oh fuzzbuckets, he did something weird. He was just so used to playing up the flirty persona he’d developed he hadn’t even stopped to think about if he’d be making you uncomfortable. And he really wanted you to be comfortable. Plus, he felt pretty guilty he had to stop your tour around town to go accept a shipment he forgot. Strangely, he was really concerned about the impression he was giving you. Caring about what another person thought of him was not very in character for him. Not counting Merlin, of course. He was going to have to make this up to you. He really needed you to think he was cool. For professional reasons, of course. Definitely.

~ ~ ~

“SO! I recommend the steak because it’s the least disgusting thing on the menu.”

You gaped at the wizard sitting across from you in this sticky booth, peeping your head over the kitschy French-themed menu you held. He had no menu. In fact he refused to even touch it. Great. What did he know.

“I- What do mean ‘least disgusting’, Casperan.” You were almost afraid to ask.

“I mean that kitchen is filthy and the steak is your best bet for something edible.”

“Why. Why would you bring me here if the food is terrible.”

You were always weary of greasy chain restaurants, but you had expected this one to be at least a little decent, since it was a smaller Cali chain and Hisirdoux had fucking brought you to it your first day in the town. Surely he was kidding.

“I just wanted to show you where I worked nights. So you’d be able to find me easier if there’s any trouble. Besides, you can’t say you’ve been to California if you haven’t had Mr. Benoit’s. It’s like In-N-Out burger. Remind me to take you to an In-N-Out burger later this week.”

You blinked. “Oh – uh, okay.”

Hisirdoux continued, “I can’t have my phone turned on during my shifts so you’ll have to come get me directly if it’s a big enough problem. Make up an emergency. Are you good at improve?”

You looked around the restaurant, getting a feel for its layout, taking notice of where the kitchen and back doors were located, making mental notes of all exits. “Ah, well, I’m good at lying, if that’s what you’re asking…”

“Good enough.”

The waiter came to take your orders. Hisirdoux shared an inside joke with him. It should have been awkward, them laughing away at something you didn’t understand why you sat there quietly, but you were a little too fixated on how pretty Hisirdoux looked when he laughed. It was mesmerizing. The waiter took your order. You got the steak.

~ ~ ~

It was very important for you to establish connections in Arcadia’s wizard underground. Or at least that’s what Hisirdoux thought. You weren’t particularly a social butterfly. It’s not that you didn’t like having a large group of friends or anything, you just never really had a reason to have one. And Doux was hell bent on introducing you to every person in this town in one day apparently. You had met twenty-three wizards in counting over the last hour being shepherded through this off-brand apple store. You had so far learned no names. How did he expect you to remember these peoples names. Scratch that. You knew one name. Zoe. Just because she was very annoyed at your and Hisirdoux’s presence in her workplace, and was very vocal about it. That being said, she didn’t make any real effort to get you to leave. You wished she would though. You were getting overwhelmed. Today had been incredibly stressful, with a lot of information to take in, and with only a brief rest when Doux was handling things at the bookstore. You wanted to go home. Geez, home. You realized that Hisirdoux had yet to show you home. Where was home.

You tugged on his hand to grab his attention. “Hey, I’m- uh – tired? Really tired. Can - can we go home?”

“OH. Yes! Home. Right away. Yes.”

Douxie possibly maybe had been avoiding home all day. It just, it wasn’t much. He had no idea how you were going to react. His space was small already without adding another person to it. Of course, it wasn’t any smaller than any of the one-room cottages that entire families used to share, but it was tiny for modern standards. Okay to be frank it was a back room. Not technically even an actual apartment. But it was his home. And now it was your home too.

Okay, so Hisirdoux lived in his bookstore. What was probably supposed to be a break room was his entire living space. It was… cozy. You set the backpack that carried everything you owned down on the floor and headed for the lumpy plaid sofa. It was nice and old, like a sofa should be. The plaid pattern covered any stains that might have been there. Hisirdoux sat down next to you, starting to fiddle with his hands. You looked around, took it all in. The was a kitchenette off to one side, a bed to the other side. The sofa was in the sort of middle ground. Notably, there was no table, barely any counter space, and various teacups on the coffee table, so it was a safe bet that he just ordered take out every night and ate it on the sofa. The twin bed was on the ground, and the quilts that covered it had visible holes. It struck you that this bed was the only one in the room. The one room.

“So I’ll take the sofa, until we get you a bed. I’ll, uh, figure something out with the space. We can put up curtains or something.” It was if he had read your mind.

You nodded, unsure of anything to add. This was,,,, going to be fun. A challenge. A test to see how long you can act normal while living in extremely close quarters with a funny medieval supermodel. Merlin help you. Something moved in the corner of your eye. You gasped.

“Kitty!”

“Oh, that’s Archie.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Talking kitty. How bout that.

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x y/n #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #Douxie Casperan x reader #douxie casperan imagine #tales of arcadia x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #my writing #watsp

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char-lotta · 3 years

Text

Forget me not (Part 1/3)

Pairing: Jake x MC

Words: 1,6k

Summary: Forgetting is hard but forgiving is harder.

Warnings: -

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Forget me not - part one

You looked on the screen without thought in your head. The download bar was moving so slowly, that you couldn’t even pin it to actually move. The quiet humming coming from the countless computers filled the dark room with only you in there. Although, you were used to be alone, since that was the way of living you had performed for years already. You were alone and empty. You wouldn’t describe yourself alive, just plainly existing.

Something interrupted your catatonic state of just being alive and it took you a while to realize what it was. You looked your phone which had dim light with simple text on the screen.

MC: Please, could we just talk? I miss you.

Those blue eyes of yours read the message again and again and something warm sparked inside of you. You quickly diminished it when you found yourself thinking of her, the subject what you had forbidden yourself for weeks now. You swiped the message away from your screen and turned the phone screen down on the table. She would eventually stop.

-_-_-_-_-

Few days later, you received another message. You unlocked your screen and looked those words written by someone, who you didn’t deserve, but still wanted to be with you. God knows why.

MC: Jake, I really need to talk to you.

Something ached in your heart when you closed the message again and you sighed heavily. Why couldn’t she just let go? You had explained to her that this was for her own protection, and the image of her hurt face was burned in your mind. You could almost hear the sobs if you closed your eyes now. She didn’t know that you saw her though, because you were too coward to tell her that straight and instead took care of that by sending a text to her, but you had watched her from afar. How lame of you, but what else could you expect from twisted image of a man as you were.

You couldn’t resist yourself and you opened a CCTV in one of your screens. It showed her at work, in her tiny cubicle, as you knew her working schedule. You promised yourself that just this one time, you would allow yourself to look at her: her long brown curls, the worried face of hers and your favorite part; her neck. Oh, how you missed to be close to her, bury your face in her neck and smell that enchanting scent of lilies in her skin and shampoo on her hair. You couldn’t see it on the blurry CCTV, but she had a small mole just below her ear, where you had drawn circles in your finger when she slept. She was beautiful, as always; those soft lips of hers and you could remember them to whisper you all kinds of sweet words at the morning dusk, when she thought you were asleep. I love you; she had said and all you wanted to do, was embrace her and never let go of her.

But you did.

She was biting her lip again, what she always did when she was nervous. And it was because of you, and you knew it. She looked so fucking sad when she held her phone in her lap, looking at the screen, hoping that you would answer to her. But you couldn’t, and it was completely your own fault. You closed the CCTV and let your mind drift again to that emptiness, what had been your loyal companion always.

-_-_-_-_-_-

You received the next message in the same night, but you weren’t asleep since you never slept. You had only these nightmares what would follow you from dream to dream and sometimes you saw them during the days too.

MC: Don’t you think that I can decide myself what is good for me?

MC: You promised me that you would always be there for me, but there you are; not answering any of my text or calls.

You clenched your fists and saw that she was writing again. No, she was not capable of deciding where she should put herself in danger or not. She let her emotions cloud her judgment, and you had warned her since the beginning of the mission to find Hannah, that there should not be emotions involved because they would just make things harder. She couldn’t see it, but you could. Your pursuers had been on your tails and they were getting closer and closer.

When they had sent you that image, something broke inside of you and you just knew, that this happiness of yours was short-term. You had promised to her that you would always be there, but she forgot the most important promise that you had made to her; you would always protect her. And that was the promise which you were keeping, and you could never forgive yourself if something happened to her. She was dragged in to this involuntary, she hadn’t asked for it. Why should you put your feelings towards her to be more important that her life was?

The message coming from that image that your pursuers had sent you couldn’t be any clearer; it showed her coming out of her apartment door. They knew who she was and where she lived and what she meant to you. In that moment you had realized that she already was in mortal danger and you had put her in this position just simply loving her. It had to be stopped and no one else couldn’t do that for you, so it had to be you. You were going to break her.

MC: I fucking hate you

MC: I loathe you

MC: How can you do this to me?

The texts were coming quickly now, and you could see that she was frustrated and angry. Her words I fucking hate you and I loathe you felt like daggers in your abdomen, but at the same time, you were satisfied. The anger of hers would help her cope losing you and moving on. She deserved someone who could be there for her without putting her at risk, although even the thought of her being with someone else killed you slowly. But this had to be done.

MC: I loved you and I would have given my life for you

MC: And you threw me away like I am garbage

MC: I don’t want to hear from you ever again

Good, you thought, you never will. And with that thought you muted your phone and returned to your computer.

-_-_-_-_--

It had been two months now from the last message of hers and four since you had last met. You could see the sun getting up between the curtains and you switched your screen to her workplace’s system, just for the check up on her, as you did every morning. You searched her name in the list of employees logged on, but you couldn’t find her. You frowned and checked again, but she wasn’t there. With a few buttons you had opened the CCTV and looked at her cubicle, but it was empty.

Where was she?

The cubicle looked plain, and you realized that her plants and pictures were missing too. Personally, you didn’t understand of the concept of having all kind of distracting things on your desk, but considering that she always bought a new plant for substitute of what she had involuntary killed, she seemed to love them. Confused, you rewind the security tape to last day and stopped when she was shown on the tape and looked closely. She had a box with her, and she was picking up all her personal things from her desk and when she was done, she left. You followed her via the cameras of the elevator.

Maybe she got promotion and had gotten herself a new room?

But no, she went with her stuff to the elevator and took the trip down and left the building.

“What the fuck” you muttered and switched to her apartment’s hallway camera. You zoomed in her apartments door and saw that there was apparently a small family moving in. There was no sight of her in the video and her apartment seemed empty. You felt your heartbeat rising and your palms turned sweaty. You tried to log on her phone and use the GPS to track her, but she had turned her phone off.

“FUCK!” you yelled and threw the coffee mug you had, into the wall. Where had she gone?

You logged on her social medias, but she had updated those months ago, so they weren’t helpful. You had promised to her that you wouldn’t read her messages, but she didn’t leave you a choice, you had to know where she was. You saw that she had discussed with her friends, but the topics were daily stuff and chit chat.

You opened up her emails, but they weren’t important, containing only work-related mails and some recommendations from HBO, which suggested that she needed to re-watch Game of Thrones sixtieth time this year. She knew that you would investigate those while looking for you and she was doing her best on covering her tracks.

Few flying coffee cups later and you were shouting from frustration. You breathed heavily and stared the monitors. You had taught her well, but that was the point, you had taught her. You had told her that when she was booking any tickets or making any travel plans, she wasn’t supposed to use her own email as a verification, but spam email you had created to her, which servers were located some tiny island on the Caribbean Sea. You typed the address on your browser, and there it was, ticket confirmation mail.

Thank you for booking your trip to Duskwood from us!

Here are some tips for your journey –

You tried to read the message, but your brains didn’t oblige with you and you just kept looking those letters what didn’t make any sense. No fucking way…

Why was she going to Duskwood?

#duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake #duskwood #everbyte duskwood #jake x mc #jake x player #jake x reader #duskwood fanfiction

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weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

Amortentia | Draco x Reader

Prompt: After having a large crush on Draco for two years, you decide to move on for your own sake. But what happens when you are in potions class and what you smell is not that of your current boyfriend, but of an old flame?

Warnings: angst, a lil fluff at the end

Requests status: Open and ready for some requests

A/N: New fandom, same old writer hehe. I thought I’d come back after a long hiatus and write a little something. Quarantine/the pandemic has me back in my teenage self. In this, we go through year 4 to year 6, so GoF to HBP :)

The bellows of the professor at the front of the classroom fall into muffled murmurs as you go in and out of daydreams, fiddling with the quill in your writing hand. As you draw nonsense pictures in the margins in your notebook, you fantasize scenarios in your head of the boy you’ve had your eye on since the beginning of year four at Hogwarts. In your head, it all made sense. The two of you were pure blood Slytherins, competitive and ballsy, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. That’s what you adored so much about the blonde boy. He may have his moments, but he always seemed to be ready for whatever.

The corners of your mouth twirl upwards into a smile as you think about being able to wear his jumper, smelling his cologne on the collar. You think about his hands on your hip bones, squeezing them lightly as he peppers small, soft kisses on your neck and collarbones. Yearning to lace your fingers with his as he dips down his head to place a tender kiss to your l-

“Miss (Y/L/N), do you have anything to add?” Professor Moody snaps you from your daydream as you sit straight up, feet planted on the foot, picking your quill up back in writing position. You clear your throat and shake your head back and forth. “If you have nothing to add, I’d recommend you quit daydreaming and focus on what is going on at the front of the classroom.”

You breathe out a small, “Yessir,” before returning your attention back to your work. Small giggles are let out across the classroom, relishing in your embarrassment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you try to make yourself smaller by sinking into your chair a little and ducking your head downward. Peering up through your eyelashes, you try to sneak a look a Draco who is seated only two tables ahead and to the left of you. As you do so, you see that he was looking at you the whole time, him chuckling with Blaise Zabini before returning their focus to the blackboard. Embarrassment washes over you yet again, caught in the act of looking at the boy you fancied.

Within the hour, Moody dismisses class and you gather your things swiftly, trying to leave class without Moody stopping you to ask why your mind was elsewhere today. As you fling your satchel across your body and tuck your notebook under your arm, you scurry out the door only to be stopped by Blaise.

“Would you move it, Zabini? I have to get to astronomy,” you push Blaises large chest with your hand, before booking it in the opposite direction. You can’t escape him, or so it seems, because he walks beside you now down the corridor to your next class. “Are you obsessed with me or something? What’s your deal?”

Blaise laughs, “I didn’t know that you get so distracted during class, doodling and dreaming, (Y/N). What’s more interesting than a class with Moody?” He nudges his shoulder into you, making you stumble a little bit as you walk.

Now getting really annoyed since he brought up what happened in class, you stop in your tracks and hit him with your notebook. “Leave. Me. Alone. You. Arse,” you speak in between slaps and Blaise just laughs as you swat him. Before you can walk away from him, he quickly snatches your notebook from your hands and your eyes grow wide. If he flipped through the pages just right, he could see all of your Draco doodles. “Hey, give that back! That’s private!”

You jump for your notebook, but with no avail since Blaise was significantly taller than you. He carelessly flips through pages, “Now what does Miss (Y/L/N) write about in class? Taking diligent notes?” With one final shove, your notebook falls onto the ground, wide open to the page where you have written Draco Malfoy in script in the margins of your notebook, so much so that it creates a border around your note in the center of the page. Blaise lets out a deep chuckle, “Ho-ho! That’s where little Miss (Y/L/N)’s thoughts have been! The Slytherin Prince!”

Before Blaise can torment you anymore, you grab your notebook off the floor and slam it shut. Your heart is racing, Blaise is in Draco’s inner circle and if Blaise knew about your crush, that meant Draco was bound to find out. Your anxiety swells and your chest tightens. Your grip becomes iron on your notebook now, unwilling to surrender it if someone dares to snatch it away from you again. You look up at Blaise and if you look up any longer at the shit-eating grin he has on his face, you’ll start crying. As if this day could not get any worse. Blaise immediately recognizes your facial expression as a girl who has just been hurt and he instantly retaliates, regretting what he just did. “I told you that was private,” you manage to speak out before walking away briskly.

The sound of quickened footsteps follow you and Blaise voice says, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just thought we were having fun, that’s all!” he attempts to rationalize. You ignore his feeble attempt at an apology. “I won’t tell Malfoy. It’ll just inflate his ego,” he attempts to humor you.

“I would hope not. That would be the most human thing to do,” you spit at him. “Just leave me alone, okay? I think you’ve done enough damage for today.”

“(Y/N)!” Blaise calls out before you turn around to enter your next class. “Please. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it.”

You look at him and by the look on his face, you can tell he means it, which is surprising. You sigh, “I believe you. Just...don’t do it again. And please, don’t tell...” you don’t want to say his name in fear if you say it, he’ll come right around the corner. “...him.”

Blaise offers you a warm smile. “Your secret is safe with me.” You let go of your held breath, some tension releasing from your shoulders. “Can I just ask? What is the fascination of him? Is it his hair?” he asks, making you laugh lightly. There were many reasons you liked Draco; his personality, his smile, his drive, the cool blue gray color of his eyes, the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed. There was so much to like. Blaise notices your pregnant pause and smiles, “Never mind me asking. I have a feeling it will take too long to get your response.”

“Goodbye, Zabini,” you trail off, trying to slip into your class before he stops you yet again.

“Wait! Um,” Blaise stutters. “So, the Yule Ball is coming up soon. And I know maybe you were hoping to get asked by a certain...someone else,” he winks as you roll your eyes, “but I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?” he delivers the last part confidently, like he was giving you a sales pitch.

You quickly thought about it. Although the chances of Draco asking you were slim to none, you still were holding out that maybe he noticed you and wanted to take you to the Yule Ball. But the proposition with Blaise sounded like fun. Blaise knew how to have a good time and you rather go with another Slytherin than with some half-blood from another house. And as selfish as it was to say, you would probably be invited to get ready with the other Slytherin girls like Pansy which meant more time to see Draco. Offering him a sweet smile you reply, “I’d like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go to class, Zabini.”

Blaise smiles and lightly blushes, but turns away, hoping you would not catch it. But you did before you slipped into your astronomy class before the professor started.

Soon enough, the Yule Ball rolled around and like you had previously thought, you found yourself in Pansy’s room, getting ready for the ball. You lightly tugged the rollers out of Pansy’s hair, helping her finish getting ready as she rambles on and on to Daphne Greengrass about their magical creatures class. A small smile tugs on your lips as you remain bystander to the conversation, enjoying the ridiculousness of the conversation. Your thoughts are disturbed when Pansy says, “Oh, wow, (Y/N). When you said you could do hair, you meant it!” She shakes her head side to side, causing her loose curls to shimmy across her shoulders. You had to admit she looked beautiful.

You shrug, “Don’t mention it. Could you zip up the back of my dress?” You turn around, feeling the zipper close, the dress fitting around your figure tighter. When you turn around, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Iridescent green fabric clung to your body fabulously, a deep v plunging down to your chest, your dècolletage shimmering in the light. It was a stunning dress; your mom had sent it over from London. It was her dress when she went to the Yule Ball at your age.

“You look radiant,” Daphne tells you, placing her hands on your shoulders. “Blaise is going to be drooling.” Pansy and Daphne giggle, hoping you would join in. But you just offer them a small smile in return, secretly wishing there was another boy who would be gawking over how radiant you looked. “Something wrong?” Daphne asks.

Pansy looks at your face, “Do you not wanna go to the ball anymore?”

“No!” you exclaim. “I do! I do want to go!” You calm down both the girls as they dramatically sigh. “I just did not picture myself going to the ball with Blaise,” you confess.

The girls exchange confused expressions before looking back at you. “What do you mean? Do you not fancy Blaise?” Pansy asks.

“No! I like Blaise! He’s a charming boy, don’t get me wrong. And he’s very handsome.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Pansy asks.

He’s not Draco, you think to yourself. But instead of that you say, “I just fancy someone else.” That was probably too much information to give to the girls, you know they would take and spread some sort of rumor, but you give them the benefit of the doubt. “This does not leave this room,” you say sternly. You extend both of your pinky fingers to Daphne and Pansy, making them pinky promise and kiss their thumbs: your ritual for making promises.

“So...” Daphne starts. “Can we know who you do fancy then?”

Your anxiety peaks again. If you even murmured that you liked Draco, Pansy would probably loose her mind. Pansy basically called dibs on Draco when you stepped foot at Hogwarts. In all seriousness, Pansy has fancied Draco longer than you, so it just seemed inconsiderate and rude to tell her that you had feelings for the same platinum haired boy. “You’ll find out later. Besides, we should get going now,” you change the subject.

You make your way down the stairs and the winding halls of Hogwarts before arriving at a tall staircase leading to the Ball’s entrance. Your arms are linked with both Daphne and Pansy’s as you descend the staircase. Your eyes roam the floor, looking for a certain blonde haired Slytherin and you almost immediately find him. And to your surprise, his eyes have found you. Your pair of eyes burns into his, creating a tunnel vision. The orchestra that plays in the other room becomes white noise and everyone else seems to disappear. It is just you and him now. He look absolutely dashing. His suit fits him excellently and his hair is perfectly swept back. His eyes are open in wonder as he watches you descent the staircase, looking absolutely regal. This moment feels like forever and you never wanted it to end. But it sadly does when you both realize you haven’t looked at either of your actual dates to the ball. Your eyes drift away from his blue ones and they meet Blaise’s brown ones instead. He is smiling big at you which makes you laugh. When you make it down the stairs, he meets you at the bottom and grabs your hand like an absolute gentleman. “You are unearthly, (Y/L/N),” he whispers before kissing the back of your hand.

Smiling at the compliment, you thank him. “You are not too bad yourself, Zabini.” He did look great. His suit was tailored perfectly to his tall, muscular figure and his shoes were shined so bright that you could practically see your reflection in them.

“Shall we head in there?” he asks, offering his arm to you to hold. You smile and take his arm. But not before taking one look at Draco. He kisses Pansy’s hand gently, but as he does this, his gaze is on you the whole time and only breaks when he comes back up to look at Pansy and give her a smile.

This was going to be a long night.

Since that night, your relationship with Blaise grew. You went from friends, to something more than friends, to boyfriend and girlfriend. You didn’t expect to end up dating Zabini after the Yule Ball, but you decided that maybe pursing something with him was more realistic than chasing after Draco. He obviously had a thing for Pansy and Pansy for him and who were you to ruin that? So you let yourself use Blaise as a distraction or someone else to focus on rather than pining over Draco. However, it did drive you mad when you would all be in Slytherin common room and you sat on the floor next to Blaise and Pansy would sit on Draco’s lap when there was plenty of room on the couch. You also did not feel bad when Blaise would make fun on Pansy having an obvious crush on him. You would hide your laugh as Blaise pulled you closer to him.

That being said, as you got closer with Blaise, you got closer with his friends. Which meant having to face Draco and swallow your feelings. You always felt like such a poser when you were with Blaise. You knew it was wrong to date someone who genuinely liked you and you liked someone else. But you just crossed your fingers and hoped that your feelings for Malfoy would melt away and your feelings for Blaise would grow. Of course, with your luck, nothing happened. Your feelings for Draco were just solidified if anything. He was cheeky and smart mouthed, which you just loved. He kept you on your toes. Blaise wasn’t like that; he was predictable. Draco would make jokes that only you two would hear and you would laugh until your ribs shook. Blaise has never done that. But it wasn’t right to compare Blaise to Draco; it was an unfair competition.

Regardless, you stayed with Blaise. Too afraid to break up with him and too afraid to tell Draco how you felt, you stayed in a relationship where you lied not only to yourself but to another person every day. A good person at that. Blaise was a great guy and every day you held his hand, shared a kiss, cuddled up together, you felt guilty. You were hurting him more and more with everyday. And you were hurting yourself by being in this relationship for so long. But you stayed.

Back in a classroom, this time Slughorn’s potions class, you stood next to Pansy waiting for the class to begin. You looked across the room to see your boyfriend toss you a wink as you lightly smiled. “I love you,” he mouthed as you sighed.

You did love Blaise. So much. But not in the way he wanted. And yet, here you were, mouthing an “I love you too” back to him, causing him to smile wide. You turn to Pansy, “So what are we supposed to be doing today? If it’s boring, I’m going to use the washroom.” Using the washroom was always code for going back to your room.

Pansy giggled, “Today’s class should be good. I heard Slughorn has Amortentia today.” Your heart sank. Amortentia: the most powerful love potion in the world. People say that it smells different for everyone according to what they are most attracted to. “Your should be easy. Smells just like Zabini I bet,” she nudges your side as you offer a convincing smile and girlish giggle. “I’m sure I know what mine smells of...” she trails off before looking over to Draco who was too involved talking to Zabini to notice her gaze.

Slughorn starts class, reciting off lists of potions to which Granger completes his every question without fail. You roll your eyes, “Some people are just such show offs,” you whisper to Pansy, making her laugh. You join her, causing Draco to look your way, more interested in what you were laughing at rather than the lesson Slughorn was giving. You look away from Draco and focus back on the lesson, hoping it would distract you from those familiar gray eyes.

Hermoine talks more about Amortentia before prompting Slughorn to ask your classmates to come up at random and speak what they smell. Granger goes first and describes a horrific combination of mowed grass and spearmint toothpaste. Others go after and then Blaise volunteers to go next. “Mr. Zabini, please, go head,” Slughorn says before Blaise steps up to the small caldron and take a whiff.

“I smell...morning rain...vanilla...and jasmine,” he smiles as he finishes his sentence, looking right at you. Your heart sinks. Blaise had smelt your perfume and everyone in the class knew it. Those who were friends with him laughed as Pansy let out an ooooh. You told her to shut up with a jab to the side as she continued to tease you.

“Miss (Y/L/N), you’ve been awfully quiet this class. How about you come up and smell?” Slughorn proposes.

You freeze. Absolutely not. There was no way you were going to get up there and smell the Amortentia. You knew exactly what you were going to smell and you were not prepared to tell the class and your boyfriend that what you were smelling was Draco Malfoy.

“I’m fine, actually.”

“That was less of a question and more of a demand, Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn rephrases, earning a few laughs from Gryffindors to which you shoot them a dirty look, causing them to stop. “Well?”

You look at Slughorn and gulp. He offers you a gentle smile and you can’t deny the man any further. You sigh and slowly walk up to the caldron. You are a foot away and already the scent slaps you in the face. It almost makes you cough from how strong it is. Right next to the pot, you look down at the bubbling liquid with pink fumes evaporating from it. Closing your eyes and iInhaling deeply, you get chills. The scent makes you forget where you are. What time it is. Who is watching. It’s euphoric. It’s perfect. It’s him. The smell of musky cologne, leather polish, and green apples dance around your nose and your stomach erupts with butterflies.

“What do you smell?” Slughorn asks, snapping you out of your daydream.

“I’m sorry?” you ask.

“What do you smell?” he repeats.

Suddenly, you remember that you have to tell the class what you are smelling. Or who you are smelling. Once you said what you smelled, everyone would know who you were talking about. Pansy would know. Blaise would know. Draco would know. You try to think. What in the world does Blaise smell like? Can you lie about this stuff? For Merlin’s sake, what does Blaise smell like?! “Um...” you try to concoct your way out of this situation. You try to think of what your boyfriend smells like, but the scent of Malfoy is clogging every single sense.

“Say it then,” Slughorn urges you.

“Cologne, leather polish, and green apples,” you blurt, confessing what you were most afraid of to the class. You slowly open your eyes and see the smile that was once on Blaise face quickly fall. His eyes pang with hurt and pain and your heart drops into your stomach. You wanna run over to him and tell him how sorry you were and how much you loved him, but this thing with the Slytherin prince was unshakeable. Too hurt to look at Blaise anymore, you glance at Pansy, who is just enraged. Her ears are bright red, eye locked onto you, unwavering. Her eyes dig into your soul and you can hear her saying in your head, “You’re bloody joking, right?” You don’t dare look at Draco, but in the periphery you see him just staring at you, lips parted, breathing softly, eyes burning into the back of your head.

Slughorn notices the tension and attempts to diffuse the situation. “Alright, everyone take your seats,” he dismisses. You walk quickly to Pansy who swiftly moves away to you and toward Blaise who sits with Draco, taking up a whole table with no room for you like usual. Instead, you find yourself sitting with random Ravenclaws for the rest of class, unable to think straight about what just happened. The look on Blaise’s face was enough to have you in tears and the look of betrayal on Pansy’s face drove you mad. You spent the whole class thinking, what have I done?

As soon as class is dismissed, you watch Blaise’s movements, wanting to catch him or Pansy after class. Pansy leaps off her chair and to the door and you quickly follow suit. “Pansy!” you call after her. “Pans, please! Please can we talk about this? Please do not shut me out!”

“Why not?” she yells back. “You lied to me! You could have told me how you felt! You knew how i felt and yet you still lied to me!”

“I know, but I thought what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. But I just ended up hurting you anyway and I am sorry, Pansy. I am so sorry,” you attempt to reconcile with your best friend as she fumes.

Pansy shakes her head. “I just need space. Away from you. Can you at least respect that?” she sarcastically says. “There’s someone else you owe a bigger apology to,” she tells you before trotting away down the hall back to the Slytherin common room.

You turn around and there stands Blaise, stoic and tall. His eyes are soft and full of so much pain. You could cry. You start to cry. “Blaise,” you croak out. “I didn't mean to hurt you. Please know that is the last thing I wanted to do. When you asked me to the Yule Ball, I thought that it would be a good way to get over Draco, but I-I don’t know what happened? Nothing happened, I guess. I value you and your friendship so much. Blaise, I love you, I’m so sorry. I thought not tell you how I really, truly felt would protect you.”

Blaise sighs, “(Y/N), I know you didn’t mean to. For Merlin’s sake, I’m not a git. I knew you still liked Malfoy.” Your eyes widen. Huh? Before you could ask every single question that flurried into your brain, Blaise stops you and says, “From that moment in the hallway during year four until now, I knew. I thought that the longer I stayed with you, I could convince you that I could love you more than he could. But I don’t think that’s true...(Y/N), I love you. What either of us did was not right and I think we just need space from each other right now.”

You shake your head. You couldn’t lose Pansy and Blaise. That would be too much. “No, I can’t lose you, Blaise. I need you,” you beg, holding onto his forearms.

“It isn’t for forever, darling. Just for a little. I think we both a need a little space from each other right now,” he holds your face in one of his hands and you lean into his touch, soothing you almost instantly like it has done so many times before. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” You nod, him wiping away your tears before replacing it with a gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek. “Besides, I think you have to talk to someone else,” he whispers in your ear, before walking away, revealing Draco standing behind him.

Your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes burn into yours just like that night at the Yule Ball. A small smile on his lips dances as a last tear strolls down your cheek. He takes a few steps towards you and you instinctively take a few steps back. Draco looks a little hurt that you moved away from him so quickly. You gulp, not knowing what to say, what to do. Who would in a situation like this? Lightly sniffling, you wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your robe, not breaking eye contact with him. Draco opens up his mouth to say something, but then chooses not to. He closes his mouth, pressing his lips into a line, thinking of what to say. You watch him think, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he finds the right words to say.

“Uh,” he starts. “How lo-”

“Year four,” you answer, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

He lightly laughs at how prepared you were to answer him. He nods. “I thought,” he lightly speaks, looking at you with a small smile. He is trying so hard to get you to open up to him. Or even crack a small smile at him. But that seemed really impossible right now. The two people who you cared about more than anything just told you they needed time away from you. You felt like an awful person. Although you should be in Draco’s arm right now, stroking his hair, kissing his lips, telling him how happy you were, you were standing four feet away from him, a shaking mess, tears still flowing from your eyes. “Here,” he reaches into his pocket and offers you a handkerchief.

“Thanks,” you mumble, accepting his token, blotting your eyes with the green silky cloth. You blow your nose into it, loudly. You look at him, watching his reaction, wondering if you should return a snotty handkerchief. “I...I can wash it for you.”

He chuckles, “Don’t worry about it. Keep it if you need it.” You smile and tug it away in your bag. Silence falls over you two again. “Can I stand next to you?” he asks permission, knowing how fragile you are right now. You nod and he slowly makes his way towards you, stopping about three inches away from you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you look up and see the proximity of your faces from each other. “May I hold you hand?” he asks, you shaking your head yes slowly. With that, he grabs your left hand in his large hand, pressing yours flat against his before intertwining the fingers. It makes you smile softly which makes his heart flutter at your excitement. Draco so desperately wants to hug you, squeeze you, kiss you. But he knows he needs tread lightly. “I wanted to take you to the Yule Ball,” he confesses as he looks at your hands intertwined.

Your head shoots up and your eyebrows furrow. “You did?” you ask, not believing him. He shakes his head yes. You pause. This made no sense. “Then why didn’t you ask me?” you ask.

Draco sighs. “I didn’t know you well. Zabini said he wanted to ask you. I stepped back.” So much has happened today you cannot wrap your brain around what has just been said. “But now...I know you better. And now that you and Zabini are no longer...” he trails off, looking up at you with those chilling blue eyes that make your knees weak and heart putty.

You want to scream yes. Wrap your arms around him. Kiss him. Hard. Breath in his scent that has haunted you for nights on end. Finally, he was yours. You were his. But that would not be right. It wouldn’t be fair to Blaise. Or Pansy. Or you. Or Draco. You needed time. “Draco...” you say, breathily.

“Yes?” he asks, eyes so bright and shimmering with so much hope and longing. Merlin’s beard, he wanted to kiss your tear stained cheeks and hold you close, bodies becoming one. “Is something wrong?” he asks, worry creeping into his words, his free hand that isn’t holding your hand, cups your cheek. “Please tell me. I don’t want to wait any longer. I can’t wait any longer.”

His words make your heart break, knowing that you needed to wait longer. Just a little bit longer. “Draco...” you repeat, the tears welling back up in your eyes, slowly dripping own your cheek, but Draco is quick to wipe them away. “I...” you start, but your voice fails you.

“Take your time,” he breathes. Oh, how he was so right.

“I need time,” you repeat after him.

“Yes, take your time. Breathe,” he says, thinking that what you are saying is applying to just now.

“No, Draco,” you tell him, reaching up to his wrist, pushing his hand away from your face. “I need time. To process this. Blaise, Pansy...us...I need time.”

His eyes fall and the once happy expression on his face is fading fast. But he knows that you were right. It would be too fast. Too much for the both of you. You both needed time to think, recover, and come back to each other.

“And I will wait for you,” he reassures you, both of his hands cupping your small ones. “If I waited this long already, I can wait a little while longer.”

It’s like he knew exactly what to say. His words make you smile softly and you feel just a little bit better. Your smile makes me him smile. So you just stand there, your hand in his two large ones, smiling at each other. He places a tender kiss on your knuckles and then another to your forehead. His actions make your heart flutter, knowing that if this is what a relationship with Draco was like right now, you were in for a treat. You whisper a weak thank you and he shakes his head, laughing that you would thank him for something like this.

“Now go get some rest, darling,” he presses his forehead against yours and you flutter your eyes closed, loving the feeling of him being so close to you. It felt so good to finally have him next to you. You pull away, give him a gentle smile, and start to walk back to the Slytherin common room.

Draco watches you walk away, down the hall. In his head, he thought to himself, I can wait a little longer. Because you are worth waiting for.

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

Elementary

falling for Ushijima was straightforward and uncomplicated—despite the complicated circumstances in which it occurred

Ushijima x f!reader

a/n: my first hq piece and it’s centered around mr. perfect himself. fluff and light angst

wc: 4k

It wasn’t until you saw Miyagi prefecture’s top ace, Ushijima Wakatoshi, walk behind your mother’s old friend that the real reason behind this meeting smacked you like a volleyball to the face. You were transferring to Shiratorizawa for your third year of high school after attending Aoba Josai for only a year because—well, because your mom decided and that was that. Like everything else in your life since your father left, your mom controlled every aspect of your life from the clothes you wore, the food you ate, the length of your hair, even the way you smelled—or so she thought.

Transferring to another prefecture in your second year of high school had been the icing on the cake when it came to your mother’s obsession with molding you into her ideal of a teenage girl. After the honeymoon stage of her remarriage was over, she decided that Tokyo was too hectic and the three of you would move back to her childhood home of rural Miyagi. Aoba Josai hadn’t been her first choice but Shiratorizawa wouldn’t accept you a month into the school year. There you met your friend, Hanamaki Takahiro, and got talked into managing the boys’ volleyball team for the simple reason that you were new and didn’t fawn over their setter, Oikawa Toru.

At first, your decision had everything to do with rebelling against your mother and joining a club she wouldn’t approve of; however, you soon found yourself enjoying the sport and befriending the team. Managing Seijoh meant you’d crossed paths with Ushijima prior to the awkward lunch you were currently having but you doubted he ever noticed you. Then again, you doubted a ‘volleyball monster’ like him noticed anything that wasn’t a volleyball or the net.

You were perfectly content with eating good sushi and drowning out the chatty women while ignoring your old rival now soon-to-be classmate but Ushijima-san turned her attention to you.

“Y/N, your mother told me you managed the boys’ volleyball team back at Aoba Josai.”

“Yes, I did.” You replied with a polite smile while remembering your mother’s outrage when she’d caught you after a game. Leave it to your mother to turn your rebellious stunt into a wonderful coincidence between you and your soon-to-be suitor, Ushijima.

“Wakatoshi, you’ve played Aoba Josai before. Do you recognize, Y/N?”

Ushijima took his eyes off his food and regarded you. The longer his olive eyes examined your face, the deeper he furrowed his brow—a clear indication he was trying hard to remember your face to no avail. You found yourself pitying him, a fact you would never admit to Oikawa, and spoke up before Ushijima could open his mouth.

“I wasn’t on the court much during the matches so Ushijima probably doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh, I see.” She then turned to her son. “Since Y/N will be attending Shiratorizawa and she has experience managing, why don’t you recommend her for a manager position with your team, Wakatoshi?”

“What?!”

Three sets of eyes were immediately on you while the pair next to you reached under the table and pinched your thigh in silent warning. You immediately lowered your eyes demurely and corrected your outburst.

“It’s just that I don’t have much experience and Shiratorizawa probably already has managers that are more than capable. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

“It’s no burden,” Ushijima deadpanned. “We need a new manager this year and since you have experience, I’ll recommend you to the coach.”

“Ah, you really don’t have to go out of your way for me by asking your coach. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with him!” You gave him an obvious forced smile and ignored the kick from your mother who read you like a book. The last thing you wanted was to manage a team that wasn’t Seijoh, especially if that team was Shiratorizawa.

“I see the coach everyday during practice so I won’t be going out of my way. He also trusts my judgement so I’m sure he’ll approve of you.”

You were sure any other girl would have jumped at the opportunity to manage a team like them but you weren’t just any girl. You were Seijoh’s ex-manager and couldn’t just switch teams like nothing. The looks of betrayal on the team’s face when they’d see you clad in the white and violet track jacket would be too much to take. Your mother, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about the Seijoh boys and dug her heel into your foot to the point that you had no choice but to thank Ushijima for his thoughtfulness.

“…Thank you, Ushijima.”

Shiratorizawa was a pleasant surprise for you. The academics were challenging but the support from your teachers and classmates made up for it. The fact that you stayed in dorms also helped ease the tension between you and your mom’s relationship. You argued less when you visited home on the weekends and even found yourself stalling your return on Sunday evenings. Your move to Shiratorizawa was almost perfect except for the whole volleyball manager situation. In the end, Coach Washijo and Ushijima approached you on the first day of school and you cowered under their intimidating gaze to accept the position.

The differences between Seijoh and Shiratorizawa were big and despite your experience, it was a struggle adapting to your new team. The team was very different from their style of play to the way they interacted with each other. You hated to admit it but they practiced long hours and it definitely showed during their matches. Shiratorizawa truly was a team that belonged in Nationals but whether you belonged there alongside them was still to be determined. Three months in and you were still struggling with the paperwork Coach Saito would demand from you after every practice.

“I need the documentation on their serves not their receives, L/N,” Saito stated shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, Coach. I’ll bring it to your office first thing tomorrow!” You bowed in apology only straightening when he walked away. Biting your lip, you noticed Tendou and Ushijima’s eyes on you and walked away mortified that they witnessed you getting chewed out once again. You ignored the whispers from the other boys as you helped put away the equipment wanting nothing more than to return to your dorm and collapse on your bed. That was only wishful thinking, however, because the paperwork on the teams’ serves needed to be done, so you scribbled away on your notebook while the boys exited the gym.

“Do you need help?”

Ushijima stood in front of you with his signature blank face as his eyes trailed down to the figures on your notebook. You looked around expecting to see Tendou only to realize the two of you were alone.

“Uh, not really. I just have to get the numbers together but thank you, Ushijima.” You went back to flipping through your notebook hoping he’d get the message but instead he sat down next to you on the bleachers and watched you work. Over the past few months, you’d realized that Ushijima wasn’t good with non-verbals. After a while he cleared his throat and you looked up knowing he was about to speak.

“I wanted to thank you for accepting the position. I know it hasn’t been easy for you but we all appreciate your efforts.” His olive orbs were earnest despite the seriousness of his voice. Praise was rare for the team members and even rarer for you. So far, Reon was the only one who expressed his appreciation of you with quick thanks, high fives, or encouraging smiles. You chuckled to Ushijima’s confusion.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to being praised by you guys—well, except for Reon. Thank you, though, for checking up on me.” Your smile was genuine and his brow relaxed. You looked at the clock and realized the lights would go off soon so you packed your things and decided to head to the library to finish your work and start your homework.

“I’m gonna head to the library to finish this. Will you be going back to the dorms?”

“Yes, to shower and study for the history exam.”

You groaned at the reminder of your exam tomorrow which you meant to study for tonight. “I completely forgot about the exam tomorrow. I should really get going so I’ll see you later!” You bounded for the door but stopped when Ushijima called after you and met you by the door.

“We can study together. I am meeting with the other third years. We can help you finish the paperwork and then study for the exam.”

Being around the other third years, Tendou in particular, made you uncomfortable but you really needed to do well on the exam so you accepted and the two of you walked towards the dorms together. That night you learned more about the boys than you had over the past three months in practice. Semi and you bonded over music and sushi, Tendou cracked jokes about Ushijima that made you burst out laughing, and Reon answered all of the questions you had about the first and second years. You were so absorbed in your conversation with Tendou that you didn’t notice the small smile on Ushijiima’s face with his gaze solely fixed on you.

It was almost curfew when Ushijima and you walked towards your dorm after he insisted on escorting you. After spending time with him and the others, you felt more relaxed by his side and the urge to learn more about him ate away at you. You asked him about volleyball and that got him talking about his dad and his parents—a topic you could easily relate to.

“My dad isn’t around either,” You admitted. “He left when I was ten. I haven’t seen him since but he was never around much before anyway.”

“You seemed close with your mother,” He observed and you chortled in return.

“She’s my only parent so I don’t have much of a choice. That and she takes pleasure in controlling every aspect of my life to mold me into the perfect daughter.”

“My mother is also life that. She was very strict about my upbringing.”

“That’s probably why they’re such good friends,” you muttered and Ushijima did something you’d never seen him do—he chuckled. It was a low rumble in his chest that shouldn’t have sounded that pleasant but it did and you grinned satisfied that you got THE Ushijima to chuckle.

“How did your mom react to you playing volleyball?” You asked sitting on the bench near your dorm while Ushijima sat next to you.

“She was against it at first and only accepted it when I showed promise in it.” While Ushijima’s voice didn’t show much emotion, you found his eyes to be more expressive and fixed your attention on them as he stared ahead lost in thought.

“My mother freaked out when she found out I was managing Seijoh. It was the one thing I fought her tooth and nail on and actually won.”

“Really? She seemed pleased when I suggested you manage our team.” You giggled at his obliviousness to the plan your mothers had hatched since that fateful sushi lunch.

“I’m sure she found some merit in me managing the volleyball team.” With that you stood up and Ushijima mimicked you once again. “Anyway, thanks for tonight.”

The corners of Ushijima’s mouth twitched into an approximation of a smile that you found amusing. “You’re welcome. Have a good night, L/N.”

After getting to know Ushijima, you found yourself relying on him more and more during practice and games. It was only natural, of course, that you would interact with the captain the most and found your closeness to him reasonable. Just as you had grown closer to him, you had also gotten comfortable with the rest of the team and vice versa. Tendou, in particular, noticed you were clinging more to Ushijima than normal during the team’s first away game of the season. He made quips about you throughout the various sets the team played.

“Wakatoshi is over there, Y/N.”

“Do you want me to get Wakatoshi?”

“Need Wakatoshi again, Y/N?”

As the evening went on, you went from ignoring him to chucking a water bottle at him. It seemed that the more you reacted to his comments the more he wanted to tease you. Tendou found the perfect opportunity after the last set when you were reviewing your observations with Ushijima on his spikes and serves. While you found the proximity of your bodies perfectly reasonable, Tendou thought otherwise and voiced his opinion to the rest of the team.

“Wow, you guys look real good together. Like a couple!” The team mostly ignored him, used to Tendou’s outbursts, but the smug look on his face riled you up and you gripped your notebook ready to launch it at his face.

“L/N always looks good. She doesn’t need me for that.”

You could have heard a pin drop from how silent the gym had gone. Everyone’s attention was on the three of you—even the coach’s, to your mortification. You avoided looking at the person who’d caused the commotion and instead glared at Tendou until you saw the rare shock on his face that quickly melted into one of his genuine grin’s.

“Haaa...if you say so, Wakatoshi-kun.” He stalked passed your side but not before addressing you. “You heard him, Y/N.”

With burning cheeks, you turned to face Ushijima, who scanned your face in confusion. The longer he stared the redder your face got until he voiced the concern eating at him.

“Do you have a fever? Your face is flushed.”

You backed away and made up an excuse about the heat in the gym before putting away your notebook. Needing space to clear your head, you told Ushijima you would send him his data from the match later before you grabbed the water bottle bag and scrambled out of the gym to the bus. You tried blaming your scarlet face on the scene Tendou had caused but your traitorous heart raced as Ushijima’s words rang in your head like a mantra.

“L/N always looks good”

“L/N. always. looks. good”

While you knew that it would be inevitable, the match between Seijoh had you more nervous than usual. The boys knew you were Shiratorizawa’s manager and most of them had taken it pretty well. Hanamaki and Matsukawa still went to the movies with you and Iwaizumi occasionally texted you about volleyball but the one who it the hardest was, of course, Oikawa. He blocked your number when you tried reaching out and Hanamaki told you to give him time so you stopped trying. Seeing him again ate at you during the bus ride to your old school and judging from the worried looks the team sent you, they were well aware of your inner turmoil.

It began with Goshiki, your favorite underclassman, reassuring you everything would be okay and walking next to you when Reon and Semi joined him until the entire team surrounded you. Ushijima walked behind you and his confident aura comforted you as you stepped into the gym and your old team regarded you with guarded expressions.

The match ended after three sets but Shiratorizawa won yet again despite Aoba Josai playing better than you’d ever seen them play. Knowing better than to avoid the team, you went to refill your team’s bottles near where Seijoh would exit hoping you would get a chance to greet them. Sure enough, they filed out the double doors and greeted you with waves and nods before Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi walked out and approached you. They smiled and joked with you despite losing and your heart felt lighter knowing you could still joke around with the boys like this. They left to find the coach for the post-match meeting and you were about to look for your boys when Oikawa rushed out of the gym before stopping in his tracks when he saw you. His usual cocky smile was nowhere to be found and instead he wore a scowl on his face which you knew meant he was upset.

“Well look who we have here. If it isn’t our traitor ex-manager.” You weren’t used to him addressing you coldly and your throat closed.

“O-Oikawa, I kno—”

“Having fun running around with that bastard Ushiwaka?” He stalked towards you and backed you up into the wall.

“I didn’t have a choice, Oikawa. I swear I wasn’t going to do it but things got complicated.”

“I don’t wanna hear your excuses, Y/N. Was this your plan all along? Manage us for a year until Shiratorizawa let you in and then run to them and disclose all our plays, strengths, and weaknesses?” Oikawa closed in on you, his ugly smirk contrasting with his pretty features. “You’re pathetic—”

“Oikawa, don’t take out your anger on our manager. It’s not her fault you lost.”

There was an edge to Ushijima’s normal emotionless tone as he stood next to you. Seeing his strong confident body made you realize you were trembling like a leaf. Oikawa ignored you and placed his full attention on his greatest enemy.

“We’ll beat you next time. Even with a traitor like her by your side we’ll win!” With that, Oikawa threw one last sneer in your direction before stalking away. With all of the fight sucked out of you by Oikawa, you kept your face lowered as you reached for the heavy bag but Ushijima beat you to it and slung the bag over his shoulder.

“Let’s go, Y/N.”

You didn’t know if it was the confrontation with Oikawa or the fact that Ushijima stood by your side but hearing him call you by your first name triggered an emotional switch within you and sobs escaped the confines of your mouth. Before Ushijima could turn around, you gripped his jacket and buried your face in it to muffle your cries; the last thing you wanted was to cause another scene. Ushijima stayed still until your cries ceased and that was when you discovered that he also radiated comforting warmth. You stuck by his side the rest of the day ignoring the surprised looks from the team.

On the rare weekends that you didn’t have volleyball or schoolwork to do, you still spent them with Ushijima—and your respective families. Your mothers had stopped being discrete about their intentions regarding the two of you but Ushijima seemed blissfully unaware. You had already accepted your feelings for Ushijima but the smug look on your mother’s face every time Ushijima would pull your chair during dinner or would wait for you to walk together fueled your determination not to show them, at least not in her presence. Years of quietly rebelling against your mother’s control made it hard to accept the fact that she was right about Ushijima.

When you weren’t with your families, you clung to Ushijima more. He was your pillar not only on the team but in school as well. You sought him out regularly until the two of you did everything together, occasionally joined by Tendou, Semi, or Reon. Having a crush on Ushijima was easy for you because no matter how much you clung to him or showed your affection with cold water, soft towels, and snacks; he would never think too much of it. He was completely devoted to volleyball and had no mind to ponder over your tentative glances, tinted cheeks, and lingering touches—or so you thought.

It was the end of the year and volleyball season had ended on a bittersweet note for the third years. While everyone else, including you, scrambled to figure out what to do after graduation, Ushijima knew his place was on the volleyball court and was deciding on what professional team’s offer to accept.

The two of you were sitting on his bed with applications and paperwork spread around the two of you. While Ushijima flipped over contracts from various teams, you looked over the acceptance letters and scholarship offers from universities. You had been on the fence between two schools—one in Tokyo and the other in Osaka—but after reviewing the scholarship money and the program, you decided on Tokyo.

“I’m going with Tokyo,” you declared picking up that school’s acceptance letter. Ushijima glanced at the letter and leaned in to read it. “It’s a good school. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“What about you? Have you decided on a team?” He turned his attention back to the various papers before fishing out a particular contract. “I just did.”

He showed you the contract for the Schweiden Adlers, a Tokyo based team, and your heart stopped. You searched his face for a hint of hesitation but, true to his character, Ushijima’s face betrayed nothing.

“What do you mean you just did?” You needed to know what he meant because your heart wouldn’t stop racing unless he disproved what you were hoping.

“Since you chose a school in Tokyo, I’d have to choose a team in Tokyo to stay by your side.” He was as earnest as ever but you needed more.

“That’s not a valid reason, Wakatoshi. You need to prioritize your future and pick a team that will let you accomplish your goals.” You choked on your words knowing that his response would most likely break your heart.

“I am thinking about my future,” he replied and your eyes were met by a burning expression you’d only seen during volleyball matches. “My goals are to play professional volleyball and marry you in the future.”

You didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. Your body was frozen on the spot but your heart thumped erratically in your chest. After his words registered, your nose began to sting and tears of joy streamed down your face. A panicked look flashed on Ushijima’s face and you punched his arm.

“How can you say that when we aren’t even dating officially?!”

“I thought we were. We’ve gone on multiple dates, Y/N.” He seemed genuinely surprised by your question and it only riled you up even more.

“You. Never. Confessed! How am I supposed to know?!” You hit him again and again letting out your pent-up frustration. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear your confession or rejection?! I’ve liked you for a while, you know!”

With a gentleness he only showed around you, Ushijima reached over and wiped the tears from your cheeks. “I like you too, Y/N. I’ve felt this way for quite some time but I figured you knew.”

You clasped his hands and brought them down to your lap. His confession warmed your heart in the way that only he could and you calmed down.

“Since when? How long have you felt this way?” Giving his hands a gentle squeeze, you asked the question you needed to know.

“The first lunch we had with our mothers. I wanted to get to know you better but didn’t know how. When my mother mentioned you managing Aoba Josai, I knew it was my chance. That was why I insisted on you managing the team. It was the only way I could get to know you better.”

You chuckled realizing that he had been uncommonly insistent that day in regard to you managing. Ushijima gave you one of his rare smiles and you acted on your impulses by leaning forward and pressing your lips on his, in a gentle caressing kiss.

Your mother had controlled everything in your life. You would fight her on certain things but, most of the time, she won. You became so accustomed to opposing her decisions that you immediately rejected Ushijima without giving him a proper chance. It wasn’t until you got to know the ‘Super Volleyball Idiot’ that you concluded your mother had been right about one thing—Ushijima Wakatoshi was the only man for you.

#hq #hq fanfic #ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima fanfic #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #ushijima fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #navs.hq

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