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#what really gets me is that they wore the opposite teams hats too so they’re still supporting both boys at the same time 🥺
morganfrost · 2 years
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“maybe they’ll switch halfway through” —Mikey McLeod
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judi & rich during the 1st and 3rd | njd vs edm | 31 dec 2021
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ohheyitsokay · 3 years
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good eye
part 4 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series
pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader
wordcount: 3.5k (I’m only 14% sorry about that)
warnings: strong language, extremely mild injury, Benny Miller working out, a little bit of a cliffhanger ending
summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball. 
“good eye” is an encouragement for batting players, essentially applauding them for having good judgement when and when not to swing.
In this chapter, the guys becoming increasingly aware of how interesting you are to the whole gang - and what they’re going to do about it. 
>>
Bottom of the ninth inning – the end of the game.
Sometimes players fixated on the score, glancing at the flashing lights or acting desperately but for Will, keeping it in his head was just as natural as breathing. Floating around first base made it easy for him to keep an eye on everything, and stay focused under the summer sun. His team was up by two.
The opposition was at bat – their final advantage as the home team. He didn’t feel particularly nervous, but couldn’t breathe easy just yet. They already had two outs, thanks to his little brother’s inhuman speed and some excellent Garcia pitching, and just one more to go before it was all over. Preferably, this would happen before the man on third made it to home base. 
There was a bead of sweat rolling down, down, down his temple over his cheekbone, and into his beard. The clouds from the start of the game were long gone – even with his cap, his blue eyes were getting tired.
They were focused on the batter, not even Pope, and never the crowd, since it was always just a blur of noise and rival colors and waving hands. The closer the game came to an end, the more the mass of people writhed with tension. It was better just to ignore it. There was no reason at all, but he looked up just for a split second and he saw a single, tiny form make itself clear, sending a confusing thrill down his spine.
A familiar crack rang through the air and he snapped back to focus. The batter was hurling towards him, the crowd was holding it’s breath as he looked around, almost frantically.
Where was the ball?!
Your form was still in his minds eye, he didn’t understand, but then – there, in the outfield. No, here. Instinct had taken over.
It was in his glove, and his left toe had found first base. Will heard a curse as the opposing player plowed behind him a second too late, a yell from the umpire, and then the satisfying groans of the other team’s fans.
Pope crashed into him first, then whoever else was the closest. It was giddy and triumphant chaos, hands clapping his shoulder, sweaty hugs, slaps, and high fives, and Will barely noticed any of it. Jogging back to the locker room was quick, the crunch of their shoes in the grit of the field like a stampede, impossibly loud. The locker room wasn’t as bad. It would have been louder if they had lost, like they had expected. Something still felt strange in his gut as they changed and rinsed off and packed their things.
You were interesting to him, he liked how real you were. He was normally the one that grounded others, that kept his head, learned his lessons and left the game on the field. It was nice, spending time with someone he didn’t have to do that for – or really anything for. There wasn’t a need to put on a show for you, or be your steady sidekick. It was nice. But it had only been a lunch and a night at the bar, no reason to know the shape of you, much less be thrown off by it.
He was taking extra care to clean his newest tattoo, absentminded, when the locker-talk caught his attention.
This was the first away game they had won this season, and everyone was debating why their luck had changed. Some of them were arguing loudly, ridiculously, and as usual, his friends started gravitating together, interested, but with lower voices and cooler heads.
“Do you think it was because I wore last weekend’s socks, Fish?” Benny was grinning, as his friends eyebrows answered for him. Frankie was superstitious, but in a way he’d gotten from his abuela, not the game. Will had a thought, the confusing last moment of the game clicking into the conversation, his eyes meeting Pope's for a moment.
“Actually, I have a theory,” he kept his voice quiet. If the rest of the team got wind that William Miller was participating in the banter, they’d be all over him, sure he was right only because he rarely cared. His friends looked at him, curiously, and he chewed on the idea for a moment, liking it more and more until he actually believed himself when he told them.
Their good luck charm?
You.
-
Tom had missed the conversation, occupied with a love-sick staff member in a quiet corner of the stadium.
He would never admit it, but he always needed a distraction when the winning catch had nothing to do with him. And Molly had to travel with the team most weeks anyway, the availability becoming increasingly more appealing than trying his luck with a random fan.
The next day after practice, he found her again and this time, despite the crude nature of the location, he took little more time. It was strange, to grab her without pent up frustration driving his actions, but not an entirely unwelcome change of pace.
He didn’t dwell on it, almost running away, but she did, trailing her fingers over the places his had been as she put herself together again. She wanted to remember each one, to savor them like it was the first time. And maybe it was – the very first time he had even kissed her with no particular personal agenda. Of that, she didn’t feel as guilty about wanting more.
Tom had long since slipped out the door when she finished the process, just slipping on her heels when the someone knocked.
Opening it, she found an eager and awkward shortstop pushing into her office. He seemed nervous, more nervous than she had seen him during photo shoots and press conferences and final innings. It wasn’t what she expected – not the demeanor the players normally held when they asked for favors. Professional athletes were confidant, suave, even. Ben had something else going on, something sweeter, maybe even innocent.
He called her ma’am, and she rolled her eyes when he asked for you number.
“Don’t you boys ever talk?” she was kind of annoyed. Ben was confused, it showed on his face.
“Tom got it awhile ago,” she started, and he got it, immediately. The older man hadn’t told any of them that you would be at the bar last week. He wondered if you knew he had arranged it. Something felt off but before he could ponder it she finished.
“And Santi got it yesterday.” Actually, she was more than annoyed. You hadn’t seemed special at all when you’d been there opening weekend. Your grandfather was sweet but nothing about that day could explain why three of the players were willing to bend the rules to find you again.
Tom’s voice rang in her ears: he’s got it bad for her. That didn’t quite fit what she was seeing, but she cooled down a little.
She didn’t even have to shoo him away, his thank you, ma’am, sorry to bother you made her feel like an old lady as he turned on his heels and trotted off.
The younger Miller was increasingly thoughtful, but he could feel something shift in the air. Then he shrugged it off. He was sure he’d find out, sooner or later.
-
“Ben, where’s your brain?” Catfish had caught him making eyes upside-down at the girl standing by the athletic trainer while he was mid workout. He didn’t really need a partner to work out, but they tried to go together, to spot on another and to argue over who could bench press the most.
He watched as his friend’s brain and body scrambled to put down the weights and he stood up too fast.
Across the room, girlish laughter bubbled and Benny blushed, still not attending as he grabbed the water bottle he was being offered and squirted himself in the mouth.
“What?”
Frankie shot him an amused look, gesturing vaguely, his point now proven. This had happened before. The young player was almost certainly going to tell him some random information now to distract him and trying to avoid the inevitable teasing.
“Did you know Tom got her number?”
It worked. There was almost no context, but he knew immediately and there was a twist in his stomach. It was the answer to a question he didn’t know had been on his mind - Catfish fully short circuited.
Redfly got your number? That was why Frankie had found him putting the moves on you before they were scheduled to meet. He was shaking his head, dazed, when Ben added, “And Santi got it a couple days ago, too.”
A moment of silence, and then,
“Fucking what?!” 
Heads around the private gym turned.
Ben hissed for quiet as he dragged him towards the locker room, and he found himself allowing it as he heart tried to catch up with his mind. No way Pope was going after you too.
“Weird, right?” Frankie felt like ‘weird’ was putting it mildly.
“I just asked for it,”
“You -"
“- because I wanted to be friends, but,” the younger man was ignoring his sputtering panic. He didn’t know if he should be mad or grateful. “Why wouldn’t they tell us?”
That stopped his racing heart. That was the question, wasn’t it? Frankie dragged his hand down his face, smoothed his mustache, readjusted his hat, trying fruitlessly to ground himself.
He said something noncommittal in response, barely hearing himself as he changed the topic. Ben was watching him, he could tell, but it wasn’t as though he could explain why he had reacted so strongly. He didn’t even know why.
It’s not like the feel of you against his hand was all he had been thinking about for the past few days.
His head was spinning, and not in the same way as when he had heard you were at the last game.
Of course other men had their eyes on you. You were gorgeous. His hand twitched on the locker as an image of him pressing you against it flashed through his mind. Shoving it down, he moved on.
You were smart, too, and kind. Certainly he couldn’t be the only one who liked the way you looked when you were thinking, or the little messiness of your hair, or the curve of your neck and shoulders as you leaned against the table.
There was a flare of something green in his chest. He was thinking about your hand on his arm, the way it made him feel like he was your anchor, the white lines on the ground guiding your feet. That, was his. For a moment, his brain reminded him of your lips on Pope’s cheek, your fingers on Benny’s shoulder, and palm on Redfly’s jaw. The locker door resonated in the quiet room as he slammed it shut. Even your eyes in Ironhead's for just a moment… it made him want to kidnap you, press into your space, surround you with his body until all you could see or touch or think about was him. Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe what he was aching for was for there to be a room full of handsome, athletic, perfect men, and for you to seek him. Find his eyes, and hold them in yours until you reached each other. To choose him. 
Either. Or maybe both.
Whatever he’d been saying got lost on his tongue.
Benny was looking at him thoughtfully, and Frankie sighed, his anger slowing to a simmer. It was absurd, he knew that. Knowing didn’t make it go away, but it helped.
Really, he should be lucky he got any of you at all, that alone was a minor league miracle. Hiking his bag up, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and changed the topic once again.
The smell of dirt and grass and sweaty men faded as they walked out of the room, and when someone made a group chat that included you, Frankie remembered that he liked his friends. The bats in his bag clanged like bells, and Ben said something that made him laugh, and he thought he was a fool to have forgotten it.
-
Santiago was the first one there, over half an hour early, by accident or design you had no idea. He made all of James' things look small, and it made you laugh, because you knew it was only the beginning.
You’d been added to a group chat a few days ago. The list of total bizarre things happening to you was increasing every day of knowing them but you couldn’t exactly complain. It was exciting and honestly, you ached for them in a way you couldn’t explain. Seeing Santiago sent sharp excitement through the anxiety of preparation, but even with the handsome man removing his shoes, you couldn’t help but check behind him for Francisco.
It had been a joke, sort of. They had invited you out and you retaliated by saying you owed them a meal. You should’ve known, already, they weren't afraid to take you up on it, and you’d had to use James as your crutch. His house was much bigger than your apartment, and he was so excited to talk to them it was adorable. Before you’d even turned to Santi properly, they were already chatting, and you watched, smiling.
He looked good. It really was almost as if they actually were family – not physically but you could see it in how they interacted. Santi was more cleaned up than he’d been at the bar, thanking your grandfather like it really was an honor to be welcomed into his home. Jimbo was standing as tall as he could to scruff the younger man’s perfect hair, and you laughed as he clarified that they were always welcome, as long as they helped cook. And when Santi grinned, agreeing readily, the line on his forehead smoothed.
The stress of hosting even such strange guests lessened again, and you slipped back into the kitchen.
Not two minutes later, he found you there, and you could feel him watching you, lounging against the door as graceful and powerful as a panther. Slicing vegetables to grill, you let him, for the time being. He would tell you what he was thinking if he wanted to.
It made you smile again, when his large, calloused hands began to make motions for you to let him take over. Determined or maybe even insistent, but not entitled. He mimicked your cuts, checking silently for your approval, and you saw something in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before.
Over food and drinks he had been smart and clever and passionate – an idyllic picture for over-ambitious fans. None of that was gone, but there was another layer under it, something distinctly humble, and if your dreams hadn’t already been occupied, you might’ve fallen in love with him a little bit. Prepping food to the sounds of quiet music and the rhythmic thumps of the knife against the cutting board felt domestic, but in a familial way. There was no pressure for words, for you, and when he did speak, it seemed as though he agreed.
“This might sound fu… uh, stupid but I’m glad there aren’t bobble heads around.” Of him and his friends, he implied. You wondered if he checked his language for your sake, or out of mindfulness for James.
“He really respects you guys,” you shrugged. “He’s always lecturing me on remembering that you’re human, and not overstepping normal people boundaries.”
Pausing your salad assembly, you stole a glance at him, only to find deep brown eyes looking at you curiously. His hand scraped over the stubble on his jaw, and you could almost see his thoughts, running diamonds in his head.
“Is that why you shot Redfly down?” he wasn’t looking at you, so he missed the tilt of you head. You didn’t need to know the nickname to know what he was talking about, but he clarified a moment later.
You weren't prepared for this to come up, but it shouldn’t have surprised you.
“Yes and no,” was the most honest answer. “He’s already got a girl, whether he knows it or not.” You felt good, talking to him, good like laughing, so you did. It was a strange moment, when the team’s outfield dreamboat had leaned in to kiss you, and you turned him away, but it wasn’t weighing on you at all.
Santiago was grinning at you, hands still, and you wondered if this was the first moment the two of you were seeing each other clearly. Biases and judgement and wariness stripped away easily in the kitchen, like the peels of potatoes.
“So,” his tone and eyes were mischievous, and you had never felt more like an almost stranger was your brother. “If one of the other guys asked you out, you would consider it?”
Face flaring with heat, you barely contained a squawk. He let out a triumphant noise and you shoved him. There was no doubt he wasn’t talking about himself, but you still wanted to melt into the floor.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen –”
“Shut up shut up shut up!”
Both of you were laughing when the other men pushed through the front door.
Santi answered their raised eyebrows by sticking out his tongue.
-
There was moments all the time in baseball, where when you have the ball and have to choose which opposing player gets to make it safe and who you’re going to try to get out. It’s a split second where you feel torn in two, and that was exactly how Frankie felt now.
When he had seen you, flushed and laughing, part of him wanted to give a damn thank you speech to Pope for helping bless the world with that, and the other part of him wanted to murder his best friend.
They had all pushed into the little home and he tried to focus on greeting James and looking at the cozy, dated furniture, the humble decorations, clearly cleaned just for them. There had been a moment, where you’d waved at what felt like just him, and his heart rate had doubled. He tried to talk with the guys, the friend you had invited, or help grill or set the table or … anything, but all he wanted was to find you again.
Staying by your side the other night felt as natural and the ball hitting the palm of his glove, time and time again. It was exactly where he was meant to be.
And you were so lovely he wanted you to press into him so close he absorbed just a fraction of your glow. He wanted to wrap you up and take you with him wherever he went, or maybe just settle into your shadow, to follow you forever. It felt greedy, which he didn’t really mind, but the problem was that it was unrealistic.
You were working hard to be a good host, floating around, making sure everyone was content, helping, handling things, or happily having heaping helpings of your cooking. There was another game on the TV, and James was telling stories, and his friends had made themselves right at home. In a strange way, it felt like a Sunday with his abuelos, and cousins, casual and comfortable. It was telling, of you, fitting, and he liked that, but it was distinctly missing... you.
Santi found him, listening to James, trying not to look over his shoulder for you, hand twitching to find it’s place on you again. They kept their voices low, trying to be respectful, as they caught up on the last few minutes, hours, days. Frankie felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he had been subconsciously avoiding his friend. There was still some more private communicating they had to do… He offered Pope a drive. That would do it.
There was an understanding as the looked at each other, under the music and talk, and clatter of dishes. Will was making James laugh, loud and care-free. The uneasiness settled in his gut – he trusted Santi with his life. He could certainly trust him now, with whatever this was.
Not long after, Frankie found himself being herded through the little house, around tables with glasses and napkins, and back into the little kitchen. There was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, and then he was alone with you, for the very first time.
Your eyes were big, staring at him, as you held a pile of dirty dishes.
He wanted to kiss you.
Of course, he didn’t, only cursing himself as he awkwardly offered to help. When you shook your head, your hair fluffed, and with the sunlight through the window, he was having trouble remembering how to function.
Frankie was solid, known for being sturdy and safe. Not like Will was, with his ethics and upbringing like roots into the ground, but that of Atlas, supporting the world on his shoulders.
He was the cornerstone of the team, the background man behind the curtain, with hair and eyes and thighs that Santi swore made women swoon.
And he was doing dishes in the kitchen of your grandfathers house, weak in the knees because you had smiled at him, impressed and grateful. His mind was telling at him to talk to you more, to say something interesting or impressive or to make you laugh when he heard you yelp.
The sound was awful, and adrenaline pumped into his blood as he realized you were hurt. Swinging around he didn’t see you for a moment before registering you had sat down, hard, and were clutching your wrist. There was a thick line, throbbing and an angry red – burnt.
When his knees hit the tile, he didn’t even notice the dull pain. His hands grasped yours as you tried to apologize, explaining the stove was still hot after you had turned it off. Frankie heard you, really he did, but he mind was chanting do something! And stringing Spanish curses, demanding that he protect you, that he fix it.  
He didn’t realize how close he was to you until your eyes found his. it crashed into him the realization that if he leaned forward, tilted his head a bit, and sunk a little lower onto his knees, he could have your mouth against his. 
Panic slowing, he looked at you. You were so sweet and beautiful, collapsed on the kitchen floor with him like the two of you were the only things in the world, and you were trying to tell him you were fine, that it was a silly accident. Frankie felt ridiculous, caught up in his thoughts, and he just... threw aside logic.
Time stopped, and he kissed the burn.
>>
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cloudywriter · 3 years
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camp staghorn - 1
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Okay here is the official first chapter of Camp Staghorn! I know it’s long and maybe not the most entertaining but gotta have that building up first. Now things will start to pick up just you wait. Thank you for all the love on the snippet too! Let me know if you would like to be tagged!
my masterlist
~~~
Aelin sighed as she finally got off the bright yellow bus, her three bags weighing heavily on her arms and shoulder. The sun was already high in the sky and beating down despite Terrasen’s usually mild temperatures. Lysandra hopped down on the gravel path the bus had stopped in front of with a huff, Dorian and Elide followed. 
They were all about to spend the next week as camp counselors for a huge group of kids all in 1st-6th grade. She was just glad they had 6th graders. While Aelin loved kids but she wasn’t particularly looking forward to what she knew would be a long and tiring week. But, being a camp counselor would look great for her college applications. It was the summer right before their senior year, school had ended only a week prior. 
A number of other people who looked around her age shuffled about the area already convening into their respective friend groups. A few sat around old wooden picnic tables that were set up outside of the camp’s entrance. A huge sign was erected overhead with the words Camp Staghorn painted in white block letters. 
Chaol finally exited the bus and came to stand by Aelin.
“Really, Aelin? Three bags?” Chaol commented, shifting his singular black, duffel bag on his shoulder. 
Aelin shrugged, “I didn’t know what all I would need.”
Chaol only half-heartedly shook his head. Although Aelin and Chaol had broken up in the middle of junior year their relationship was still relatively amicable. 
Lys quickly shoved between Aelin and Chaol. “Aelin, look!” She whispered loudly into Aelin’s ear, pointing towards a group of boys occupying the grass near the entrance. 
At that, Aelin perked up, especially when she laid eyes on the group. Seriously, four of some of the best-looking high school boys she had ever seen were huddled there. 
A boy with tan, golden skin and blonde curly hair piled on his head seemed to be the focal point of the group, Aelin could hear his voice all the way where she was but couldn’t discern what he was saying. The boy immediately next to him looked to be his brother but with a brown mop of hair instead. Two other boys were there too, one with long, straight brown hair and a grumpy demeanor radiating off of him. The other boy was who Aelin really noticed though, his hair was a unique blonde, it appeared almost silver and was cut shorter, his skin had a healthy glow. He was in the circle with the other boys but she could tell his mind wasn’t. He was looking out at the expansive, blue lake that could be seen just through the trees with a thoughtful, pensive stare on his features. 
Dorian stepped up behind Aelin, following Lys’s finger to the gathering of boys. 
“Oh, they go to Mistward High. Chaol and I have had a few lacrosse games against them,” Dorian offered nonchalantly. 
“They’re gorgeous,” Lys giggled. 
Aelin shoved Lysandra’s shoulder playfully, “You’re dating my cousin!”
“I know, I know, but maybe you could have a summer camp fling. Oh, my gods! Like Camp Rock, you hear him singing your song, or whatever happened, and boom it’s love at first sight.” Aelin laughed and rolled her eyes. 
At her laugh, the silver-haired boy turned his eyes in her direction and they made brief eye contact, Aelin gave him a small smile and the boy looked away immediately. Well, that was rude. 
A man suddenly stepped up onto one of the empty picnic tables, a clipboard in hand. His hat was embroidered with Camp Staghorn and he wore a matching t-shirt in a deep green hue. 
“Alright, everyone listen up please!” He clapped his hands a few times to grab everyone’s attention. 
“My name is Gavriel, I’m the director of Camp Staghorn so if you have any questions, comments, or concerns I’m the guy to come to. Now, you all have signed off on behaving and being camp counselors who will set a good example but let’s just go over a few ground rules. First, no funny business between boys and girls camps especially at night, stay in your cabins after lights out. Second, remember to clean up after yourselves and your campers. Third, stay on top of your respective schedules. And really, just use common sense please, you’re all seniors you know the difference between right and wrong I don’t want to have to stand up here and list out a bunch of rules for a bunch of hypothetical scenarios, understood?”
A few head nods and murmurs of yes rippled through the crowd. 
“Great, then I’ll skip over that, you all know what’s expected of you. I’m going to call up names and give you a packet and a t-shirt. In that packet will be a list of your campers, your camp number, your cabin number, a map, and your camp’s schedule for the next week. The schedules are very packed so remember to stay on top of things, okay?”
More nods and murmurs of acknowledgment. 
Gavriel began to call names and people milled up to him to grab their new belongings. 
“Fenrys Moonbeam.” A few snickers went through the group and the blonde boy from earlier proudly made his way up to Gavriel. 
A few more names were called, Aelin remembered hearing the other two boys were named Lorcan and Connall but she was focused on learning the silver-haired boy’s name. 
“Rowan Whitethorn.” At that, the boy - Rowan - approached the table. Aelin thought the name fit him. 
“Elide Lochan.” Elide quickly made her way to Gavriel as Dorian, Chaol, and Lysandra got called too. 
“Aelin Galathynius.” Aelin made her way up, her heavy bags hitting her legs as she walked. She acquired the packet and shirt from Gavriel. 
A list of around twelfth names of girls looked back at Aelin. She skimmed them and saw written across the top was her camp number and cabin number with her schedule and map attached. Camp number 6 and cabin 3B. Lys peeked over Aelin’s shoulder.
“Oh, good you have 3B, Elide has 2B and I have 4B.” 
Aelin smiled but the three girls were a little put out when they noticed their schedules didn’t really align besides the designated meal times. “What are Dorian and Chaol’s cabins?”
“I don’t know they were in the E ones, they put the boys and girls on opposite sides,” Elide answered. Aelin nodded her head. 
“Okay, everyone should have everything now. The kids should arrive in about an hour, so make your way to your cabins and get dressed in your camp shirts. Then we will have a get-to-know-you activity and a little kick-off game when everyone arrives,” Gavriel spoke again.
Once they were dismissed everyone headed towards the cabins and mentally prepared themselves for an incoming army of children. 
+++
The introductions had gone fairly well, Aelin could probably name at least seven of the girls’ names off the top of her head. They all appeared friendly and like they would be a solid group, Aelin found herself looking forward to the week surprisingly. 
The girls and Aelin had all gotten settled in their cabin and were dressed in matching deep green shirts with the number 6 printed largely in white on the back. They made their way to the center of the camp which accommodated a large wooden stage and matching benches lined up around it in a semi-circle. It was clear at some point the stage and benches had been painted with bright colors and patterns but the paint had begun to peel off with time. 
Aelin directed the girls to all sit on the middle bench in the third row as she surveyed the area, looking for any sign of Elide and Lysandra. Most groups were finishing up their introduction games and convening in the main area now as instructed. 
Elide appeared from around a group of trees, her girls trailing closely behind. Aelin smiled when she saw her and waved her over. They all quickly settled in and waited for the second part of the day to start. 
“I’m already sweating through this shirt,” Elide sighed, fanning herself with the packet given to them earlier. 
“Do you know what the kick-off game is?” Aelin asked Elide curiously. 
Elide only shook her head.
A few minutes passed and the benches started to get pretty packed with people all chatting noisily. 
A cough into a mic alerted everyone, a dozen heads shifted towards the stage. 
“Alright, I believe we have all the 6th-grade groups here so why don’t we get started,” Gavriel spoke with enthusiasm. 
“So, get ready boys and girls for the great Staghorn mud race! Groups will be pinned against groups, boys vs. girls until there’s only one undefeated girl’s team and one undefeated boy’s team remaining and then we will have the final throw down!”
A few whoops went through the crowd. Fenrys was close to the stage pumping his arm in the air, hyping up his collection of young boys. 
“Follow me to the track and we will announce the beginning brackets!” Gavriel hopped off of the stage, he and a few other officials of the camp led the way down a dirt path steering away from the stage. 
They all stopped after a short trek, huddled around a middle strip of field complete with obstacles. 
“Here you can see what you’ll have to face. First, you have to high knee through the tires, then climb up the wooden wall using the rope and slide down the net on the other side, next crawl through one of the tunnels, and hop from log stump to log stump and book it to the finish line! Of course, you have to do all of that in slippery mud, it will be messy. The first team to get their counselor and all their campers through wins and moves on to the next round,” Gavriel explained. 
Aelin could feel the anticipation and eagerness radiating off of counselors and kids alike. Even Aelin was feeling excited, her overly competitive nature boiling to the surface. 
Aelin swiftly turned to her small army of 12-year-olds. “Okay, girls, I want every single one of you to be booking it the whole way through, we will come out the winners at all costs, I don’t do losing.”
The girls looked up at Aelin with wide eyes, many nodding their agreement.
“Oh, I forgot to mention the overall winning camp gets ice cream after dinner tonight!” Gavriel interjected.
The stakes were high, not only was Aelin competitive to a fault but she also loved sweets. “Yup, that only confirms it, no losing!” 
“We’ll give it our all, promise,” spoke one of her campers. A girl with long brown hair contained in two long braids named Borte, if Aelin remembered correctly. 
Aelin smiled, “That’s the spirit,” and offered Borte a high-five. 
Gavriel called out the first two camp numbers, both boy groups, that would be competing. 
Aelin watched the match closely, noting areas she thought seemed best to avoid and strategizing in her mind. After the race concluded two other camps occupied the starting line, those being made up of girls. 
A few more matches came to a close when Dorian and Chaol’s respective groups were called up. Aelin, Lys, and Elide all gave a little whoop, Aelin patted Dorian on the back as he passed her, he flashed back a dazzling smile. 
Unfortunately, one of the boys on Dorian’s team fell in the mud and tripped a good number of his fellow campmates, wrecking Dorian’s chances of winning as Chaol and his boys slipped by. 
“C’mon Dorian!” Aelin screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth. A few of her girls did the same, encouraging them to get a move on despite them not knowing Dorian; it made Aelin smile. Chaol’s team took the victory and Dorian trudged past Aelin in defeat, his body covered in mud. 
At one point Fenrys’ camp and Rowan’s camp went against each other. Aelin subconsciously watched that match like a hawk. Rowan was fast despite the mud and the t-shirt he had changed into seemed to be a bit small, it clung to his upper body, highlighting his muscles. Not to mention, the green complimented his hair and skin tone beautifully. 
Rowan was effective in herding his campers through the course, offering a helping hand and encouragement the whole way through unlike Fenrys who completed the obstacles first and resolved to yell at his campers to hurry. Unsurprisingly, Rowan and his camp crossed the finish line as a unit, Fenrys did not look happy but Aelin saw Rowan crack a smile, it was small but it was there.
As time went on both Lys and Elide had gone. Elide’s group had lost against a random camp while Lys had won. 
“Alright, last up for the beginning bracket we have camp 6 and camp 9!”
Aelin cracked her knuckles, she had been waiting for camp 6 to be called impatiently. 
“Okay, girls, now is our time to shine. Get out there and make me proud, remember stick to the sides, the middle seems to be the most slippery. If you slip it's okay just get right back up, don’t leave anyone behind.” All of them nodded in response. 
“Hands in,” Aelin said, sticking her hand in the middle of the huddle, “On 3, 1, 2, 3!”
As Aelin yelled three she and all her campers screamed camp 6 and raised their hands in the air and then took their spot on the starting block. 
The counselor of the opposing team seemed snooty, her nose was upturned as if she couldn’t believe she would have to get dirty in a few seconds. Her bright, almost white, blonde hair was braided down her back and she had her arms crossed. 
Aelin didn’t have a chance to say anything before Gavriel blew his whistle signaling the start of the race. 
Aelin exploded forward, focusing on her footing as she went. Luckily, she was athletic and had played a multitude of sports, including track, throughout the years. Aelin easily made her way through the rows of tires, turning back to check her girls’ progress. They all were keeping up and moving as a unit. Aelin didn’t waste the time to check the other group’s position. 
Aelin made it to the wall and grabbed the thick, coarse rope now caked with mud. Her hands slipped but she gritted her teeth and made it to the top of the platform. Borte was right behind her climbing, Aelin reached and grabbed Borte’s hand pulling her up the rest of the way. 
Aelin continued that cycle with the rest, offering support when the girls struggled with their grip on the rope then she slid down the net once they were all over the top. 
“You got it, girls, keep going!” Aelin encouraged. 
Aelin crawled through one of the large, black, plastic tunnels, getting covered with mud in the process. Then she jumped from log to log though they too were coated with mud. Aelin finished off strong, leading the last of her girls across the finish line. Aelin turned her attention back to the course and saw the other camp’s counselor still on the track. 
She was truly taking the time to scrap some of the mud off her shoe on the edge of one of the log stumps. 
“Remelle! It’s a race, you have to run!” Fenrys screamed from the side. Remelle, apparently, didn’t deign to respond, she only wrinkled her nose. 
“Well, camp 6 will be moving on!” Gavriel declared. 
Aelin and her girls cheered, jumping at each other forming one big mud hug. 
The cycle continued, camps faced off until the brackets grew smaller and smaller. By the time Aelin and her girls went for a second time, the mud on her body was drying uncomfortably. 
They succeeded in beating the other group once more using the same strategy. 
Before Aelin knew it Gavriel was announcing the final match-up. 
“Let’s get a drumroll please for our final throw down,” Gavriel stated, drumming his hands on his knees along with the crowd. 
“Representing the boys we have camp 12 and representing the girls we have camp 6!”
The crowd yelled and clapped wildly, Aelin knew she was smiling uncontrollably and was ready to claim her sweet, cold prize. 
“Aelin! Aelin! Aelin!” She heard Lys, Elide, and other girls screaming rhythmically. 
The boys started up their own chant, which Dorian and Chaol joined, Aelin would punish them later. It was then Aelin fully realized who she was facing: Rowan. The adrenaline had blinded her the last few rounds and she had barely processed who was winning and losing. Now, Rowan Whitethorn was staring back at her from the opposite side of the start. 
Even with mud covering much of his body and splattered across his face he was still insanely hot. Aelin hoped the same could be said about her. 
Too soon Gavriel announced the beginning of the final race, a loud whistle filled the air and they were off. 
Once again, Aelin and her girls stuck to the less muddy sides, navigating the course expertly but it seems Rowan and his boys were doing the same. Aelin didn’t spare much time analyzing their positions but she could tell it was much closer than the previous races. Once again, Aelin fought her way up the rope and dangled off the platform to pull up strugglers. She spared a glance at Rowan, he was doing the same. She huffed, “C’mon girls, it's the last time you have to climb this, you’ve got it!”
Aelin finally got the last one over and flopped down the net which was saturated with mud at this point. Aelin was really looking forward to washing this all off later while she ate her ice cream. She then dove into the tunnel, slithering through at a record speed. Next came the home stretch, all she had to do was jump across the logs. She hopped from one stump to another until she was almost at the end. But on the second to last log, the mud that gathered atop it faltered and she stumbled. Cursing, Aelin regained her footing and prayed it was still enough.
Little did she know Rowan had had his own little tumble. Now, they were neck and neck making a final dash to the finish line. Rowan was probably a bit faster than Aelin and she panicked, her instincts to win at all costs taking over. It just so happened that Rowan was just close enough for her to give him a little nudge, to maybe upset his balance just enough that she could pull ahead. Aelin did just that and Rowan went down, his foot slipped into a small ditch of mud water. In hindsight, Aelin felt dirty but not enough to feel particularly remorseful when she heard the roar of victory from the crowd and her camp. 
Aelin turned back and saw Rowan was glaring at her, his foot still submerged in mud. She halted her victory dance and made her way over to him, offering him a hand.
Rowan took it, his large hand dwarfing hers but the feeling of mud squishing between them did ruin the moment for her a bit. Instead of using her hand as leverage, Rowan pulled Aelin towards him and she stumbled, slipping back until she was next to him in his mud pit. 
Aelin saw red, although she realized she probably deserved it and was already covered in mud anyway her temper rose. Aelin was just naturally wired to explode at any moment like a nuclear bomb. 
Rowan, however, kept his grip firm on Aelin’s hand and he drew her forward until his mouth aligned with Aelin’s ear. 
“You’ll pay for that one, Aelin.” Rowan’s breath caressed her ear and a shiver traveled down her spine. Despite the fact he was literally threatening her, Aelin’s heart skipped a beat and her breath hitched.
She kept her bravado about her though and only smirked in response, “It’s on.”
~~~
Hope you’re as excited as I am! All comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated, thank you. 
taglist: @live-the-fangirl-life
74 notes · View notes
jamiedc-they-them · 3 years
Text
Sell and Repurchase
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Requested Imagine: While trying to look for an old friend, you find her in the most unexpected of places. Even if, for her, it had been a long time coming.
You typed on your keyboard, getting the pop-up from your newest contact. This one is just asking for the contents that you had stolen from a company. Not the biggest one, but one that would have serious repercussions should you have been caught. 
You hadn’t been, as you had been taught by (who, to you) was one of the best; Skye. 
Saying that name always had a pang in your chest; she was your best friend, one that had helped you learn how to hack and how to do the Rising Tide podcast you had been working on for a few years before…
Well, before it all fell apart. 
Now, the Tide was almost over and done with. Or, rather, you were.
You sold the secrets for money, for a chance to run. You didn’t sell it to some big corpo, just some enemies of the Tide and wanted to see it come crashing down. 
With that, you went dark. You started anew, here in Denver, not really intent on making friends. 
Not when your only one was fuck knows where. 
You knew that those who you sold the info to and who you worked for had other intents with the information. You knew that, despite what everyone said, there was always something else going on in the background, something bad they hid in the shadows. 
“You really think I do, kid?” Your local checkout guy asked you as you paid for your things, “You think I’m just gonna sell you out like that?” 
“Just a matter of time. Plus, I’m helping you out, you help me.” 
“Maybe. But, even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t of anyway.” You looked around as he packed your bag, seeing a customer with a hat on picking out a drink. He seemed to always be there, but so did a lot of other customers.
“Sure.” You brushed it off, going back to your van.
Again, you typed, sending the information off. Now, you waited. Waited for the pingback that would get you one step closer to finding out whether or not your best friend was still alive. 
However, as the ping went off, the door to your van opened, with a man who wore shades and a smirk greeted you. 
“Y/N?” He asked.
“Whose it to?” You replied with, despite already having an idea. 
“SHIELD.” With that, a bag went over your head. 
Your cuffs kept you to the chair, again, as you tried to pull on it, “Fuck.” You cursed. It wasn’t budging. 
The door opened, with that same man walking in, this time without shades, “I’m Phil Coulson, and I’m sure this is really weird right now. But, I have reason to believe you’ve just sold some valuable data to a client that has ties to a very evil corporation.” The man, Coulson, told you as he sat down opposite you. 
“I just get it for them. I knew going in it wasn’t exactly going to be nice.” You confessed. 
Coulson nodded, “Anything else you want to tell me?” He prompted. 
“Nope. I’m sure you SHIELD guys have got a state of the art equipment to find them though, right? I mean, if I can do that from my van….you might need an upgrade.” 
Coulson smiled, “Yeah, maybe we do. But, we’ve got one of our best working on that. She’s been eager to talk to you.” 
“Despite not being interested, I always had a way with women.” You smirked, trying to hide the small amount of fear you had. 
“Yeah, she told us you’d be like that. Managed to make a short file for you.” Ok, now he had your interest. She? There was only one --
The door opened, with the woman you have been trying to find all this time. 
“Thanks, AC. Sorry for taking so long, Y/N’s always been good with this type of stuff.” She apologised. She sounded more mature, not the goofy friend you hand known. 
“Nothing to apologise for, agent Skye.” Agent? He looked back to you, “Don’t worry, we aren’t going to punish you or anything. You didn’t know. As Skye tells us, you’re a good guy. Just, tell her what we need, then we’ll be on our way.” He vowed, before leaving. 
Now it was just the two of you.
She sat down. You could see, in her eyes, that this reunion seemed to carry the same weight as it had to you.
Two best friends. Two siblings by bond coming back together. 
“Hi, Y/N.” Her voice was light. She had lost the professionalism to it the moment she spoke to you.
Now, you just had to find out how the fuck she ended up here. Why she had stayed. That was a big one; you had never stayed in more than one location for this long before. Why change now?
“You ready?” She asked, opening a very small file. Inside was your photo. Ah, so she was looking through what SHIELD had on you. 
You leaned forward, “Oh yeah, I’m ready.” You answered. 
Time to get some answers of your own.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a man Skye had met, just before Miles. The one who came before. Miles and him were friends, but himself and Skye didn’t become a thing until after. His name was Peter. 
“Y/N, born in --”
“You don’t need to read from that, Skye. You know me, just like I know you.” You interrupted with. 
Skye looked at you, eyes hiding the emotion that laid behind them, “Or, I want to know how you ended up here. You wanna catch me up?” 
She fully closed the file, pushing it to one side, “You wanna tell me who you were working for?” She fired back.
“Share for share. I go, you go.” You ‘offered’. 
“You first.” She was waiting. 
“No idea who they were. They just offered me something.”
“Money?” She guessed. 
“Nah, got gigs for that.” You answered. 
“Then what? Give me something, Y/N. Something I can use to help you get out of this.” That’s ironic. 
“You. They said they had information on you. Besides, you not give them enough for me to get out this cleanly anyway.” Something happened in her eyes. They widened, for sure, but there seemed to be a bit of fear in them too. 
However, she was quick to cover it up, “Tried to hack SHIELD to find anything out on my parents. Tried to find some things on yours, too.” She said, voice delicate. 
You looked to the table, before up to her, “Told you, didn’t want to know ‘em --”
“I know...I’m sorry,” You shook your head, telling her to not worry about it, “Anyways, they found me, dragged me into a different room to this. But, same flavour, really: drab colours.” You let out a chuckle at her words. She smiled. 
“Guy said it was a shell company. Just wanted some files. I went and got ‘em.” You said, holding up your end of the deal. 
Peter was good; he was a kind, gentle, soul. Despite everything he had gone through, he had never lost the gentleness he had that his foster father had deemed as weak. 
There was a time when you had a nightmare, and Skye was driving. Peter was there, waking you up and helping you calm down. 
“Are they ok?” Skye asked, looking back at you both through the mirror. 
You nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, they’re good. They’re good.” He assured his (then) girlfriend. 
“I helped them out. I helped them get what they wanted. They wanted Mike, I helped them get him.” She continued to tell you.
“So, you gave him up?” Skye gave you a head tilt and silent glare. 
“No, I didn’t. He had powers, and needed to be brought in.” She defended. 
“I have powers. And you guys didn’t run at me with guns Or you tell them that from the get go, and that’s why you didn’t come running in with guns?” 
“You do. And my intel played a part. Along with other pieces.” Now you looked a bit confused, “Guy who worked in the shop you went to --”
“The cashier?” 
“No, a customer.” Shit. 
“Fuck.” You cursed, leaning back in your chair. 
“I’m sorry, Y/N --” You stopped her.
“Did the cashier know?” She shook her head. 
“Guy with the hat that was always there. That was the agent.” You just nodded.
“We stopped Mike, I was made an offer; I was given the chance to be apart of something, Y/N. Be a part of a team. That, and I got the Tide an in.” 
“Alright, you ready, little sibling?” Skye asked you as you both set up the mics. You nodded. 
She started the broadcast to the rest of the world, telling them what you had found on SHIELD and other organisations like it; the ones who covered things up. 
Peter sat in the driver’s seat, playing look out to see if anyone looked suspicious. He looked at you both through the mirror with a soft smile. His phone went off, it was Miles calling. 
“Used the same backdoor to the place you showed me how to open.” You said. 
“Wait, there was already a back door?” She questioned. 
“Yeah, it’s what I used to get into to get the data.” 
“You remember the company's name?” You shook your head. 
“No, shell company. What for? I do not know. Just know that it existed as a front for something else.” 
“I got my in. Started out not really sure of what to make of them. But, as it went on, we actually worked together well. It was -- It was like we were pieces to a puzzle.” At the pause, she seemed to almost have to catch herself.
“What happened there?” You pushed. This might’ve been it, this might be the key. 
“There was just… this guy. There was...something about him. A pull, in a way. He was like Peter, at first, then more like Miles. His name was -- his name was Grant Ward. He was -- uh….he wasn’t a good guy. I thought he was...but...” 
“I’m sorry.” You were genuine. 
Skye shook her head, “Don’t be, my friends got me out. They had my back, even when they found out why I joined.” 
She then put a pad on a table, “I’ve been using this to talk to Coulson about hte info you’ve been giving me. It’s notes, don’t worry. Just things for the mission. But...I think you’d be good at this.” 
“At what?” 
“At being an agent. Working alongside me, helping me. Just like old times.” 
Now it was your eyes that widened. 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Them? You want me -- you want me to join SHIELD?” You asked, still shocked at the very thought of the offer. 
Skye scrunched her eyebrows together, “Yeah. I mean, these people you’re working for aren’t good people, Y/N.” 
“Oh, and SHIELD is?” 
“SHIELD has done some shitty things, I’ll admit. It’s not perfect. Nothing is. But, it’s trying to do good. We’re actually trying to help people. We’re making a difference.” Skye argued. 
“And I’m not?” 
“You helped people affiliated with fucking Nazi’s!” 
“When?!” You were both getting angry. 
She slammed the file down, opening it pointing at the name of one of your clients, “This. It’s a front for a Nazi organisation called HYDRA. You gave them valuable information.” 
“What information?” 
“On SHIELD agents and their locations. That thing you hacked? That thing with the back door already open? That’s a SHIELD server. You hacked a SHIELD server!” 
“I had to find you --”
“You had Peter.” 
“Had. Had is the keyword there.” That stopped her.
Miles and Skye darted dating. Nothing bad happened with her and Peter, they just realised they didn’t love each other in that way anymore. He was still a good friend to you both. 
“Skye.” Miles said as she stopped the van, “We need to get this new broadcast out.” He said. 
“I’m not leaving Y/N behind. I’m not leaving Peter behind. I’m not leaving our friends.” She said, firm toned. 
“Look, babe,” he took her hands in his own, “Just think about it, ok? You can, you know.” He was keeping it intentionally vague.
“Meanwhile, you two, you got the blowout job, right?” The ‘blowout’ job was one that had a big paycheck to it. 
Part of you should’ve known with the look Miles gave you compared to the one Skye gave you; her’s being one of concern, his being faux-concern. 
“Oh my god.” She breathed out, voice shaking, “He...he’s dead?” 
You only nodded, “I tried to find you both after, but you had both just...gone. It’s why I took off. I wanted to find you, and Miles wouldn’t take any calls or messages.” 
“He ran. He didn’t mention you when I found him, at all.” She said it all coming together for her. 
“How long is it until these guys do it to you, too?” That one stopped her cold. 
“They won’t.” She said, firm. 
“You and I both know they will. We both sold out, just in different directions. At least I’m not fooling myself.” You hated to be harsh, you hated the look of hurt on your best friend’s face. But, you had to be if she was going to see the ‘truth’. 
“I gave you up to protect you! What we did was dangerous!” She argued. 
“You don’t think I don’t know that, Skye? Now, here we you, with me in handcuffs and you playing in the very role we tried to take down. Except, this time, when it crashes and burns, it’ll be you whose left in the dirt as everyone else runs!”
“Y/N...they aren’t like that.” 
“Coulson seems the type. I mean, Miles did it, he has that same look to him.” 
“Stop --” She pleaded. 
“Did they brainwash you or something? Is that why you’re staying? Skye, I just want to know why. I wanna help you get out.” You were desperate for her to see that it was the whole reason for this. 
She leant forward, meeting you in your own movement forward, she had tears in her eyes, “They aren’t like Miles, they aren’t like the nun’s at the orphanage. These are good people, Y/N. They said they’d stay and they stayed. I betrayed them by joining with the intention of taking them down, and they let me stay. I get the hate we used to have for --”
“We? No, just me, Skye. You gave that anarchistic side when you sided with them. Skye, I’m trying to help you out here --”
“And I’m trying to make sure you get out of this without anything bad happening to you.” 
“And you think working with a bunch of suits will fix it?” 
“You think helping a bunch of Nazi’s kill a bunch of people that want to help is good?” 
“Better than selling your soul and your friends, Skye.” 
She stood up, not giving a response. If anything, the slamming off the door was the response.
You may have just lost your best friend. Your best friend in the whole world; someone who was akin to a sister figure for you. Someone who was loyal, and was. Someone like Peter. 
Someone like --
“I’m gonna unlock your cuffs. We’ve gotten the info we needed. Thank you for that.” Coulson said over the comm in the cell, his voice echoing all around it. 
“Sure. Anything for the greater good, right?” There was a sarcastic bite to your words. 
“For once? That’s true. We’ll take it and go after the funders. Any intel we can get is useful on them. I’m just sorry that this one came at a cost.” He sounded like he meant it. 
Then again, Miles also managed to fool you with that one. 
“Skye ever tell you about Peter?” You asked, out loud. 
“No.” Was the response from Coulson.
“That was our last gig together; going in for that one last big gig before we’d all run off together. Plan was to start again, buy ourselves a good home and live there, doing what we could for people in need. Then again, some of those people are the same as those at the top, just money hungry. Miles was one of them. And I -- I didn’t see it sooner.”  You had no idea why you were confessing to this man who you had only seen once. 
Maybe it was the fact that Skye trusted him, looked up to him. 
“I get it,” He said, “I get why you’re cautious. I get why you’re defensive of yourself and her. This worlds a scary place, filled with scary people --”
“I’m not six. Plus, Skye can take care of herself. Guess it’s just....” You paused. Coulson didn’t interrupt the whole time, “It was the way we worked, you know? Just us. Just us and the rising tide, doing the podcast and letting the world know about the truth.” 
“SHIELD has skeletons in it’s past, I won’t deny that. We’ve done things; covered up things and done even worse things. We aren’t clean. But, that was old SHIELD, this is the new SHIELD.” 
“Miles set us up” You admitted, “He sold Peter and me out, then Skye went into SHIELD. I don’t think he planned for her to go in as early, but there were always talks of it. Jesus, that fucker.” 
“How long were you on your own for?” Coulson asked. 
“Three years. Spent it finding any scrap I could on Skye. Then it led me here, with some dead agents on my hands.” 
“They made it out. We managed to warn them just in time. None of them know it’s you. Skye didn’t want you caught in the crossfire. She cares about you.” 
“Like you do with her.” You admitted. A DING! Occurred, and your cuffs unlocked. You scoffed as you rubbed your hands, “Might not have the deepest sympathies for you guys, but you do care about her, that means something. You’ve kept her alive so far.” 
“You did good yourself. Hard to track down. If only you hadn’t gone into that SHIELD server.” There was a hint of humour in his voice. 
You looked at the file she had made on you. Taking it, you opened it up. It was like a biography, with everyone she had known about you. She also had been able to find out some of the jobs you did. 
“You know I’m still pissed she sold me out, right?” You asked.
“That’s understandable.” Coulson said.
“Call her back in, think I’ve got something for her.” 
The door opened, with Skye walking back in. She took a seat at the table. You sat with your arms in front of you, “You ready, little sibling?” She asked, this time with what - almost - sounded like hope in her voice. 
“Ready.” 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You were taken out of your cell, looking around at the area. What you saw was people at work, some mainly in a lab. Skye just kept her eyes forward, leading you into a living area. 
In it, was Coulson and a woman around his age, “Y/N, this is May. She’s like the second in command here, just like you were for when we were in the tide.” Skye nudged you. 
You looked at her and scoffed, “I’m not fully a part of this ragtag group yet, Skye.” 
“Are you trying to do the right thing for the right reasons?” May asked you. 
“Depends on your definition of it.” You challenged. 
“Fight for the innocent.” She boiled it down to. 
You looked at your best friend before back to the others, “Yeah.” 
May nodded, sliding a laptop to the end of the table, “Use that, find us something, we’ll get geared up.” She said, walking passed you. However, as Coulson did, he gave your shoulder a pat in both a ‘thanks’, but also a ‘welcome to the team’. 
You looked at your sister figure, she shrugged, “Welcome to SHIELD.” 
You both went to the laptops, you went back to the message that got you into this in the first place. You traced it, finding a place that was abandoned. You zoomed in, giving the location to them. 
They flew there, with Skye leaving. However, before she did, she gave you a hug before she left. 
“Ok, Y/N, we’re here.” She said over the comms. You had live footage of the area. 
“Ok, the signal goes here. Just...be careful.” Was all you asked of her. 
“Of course.” She assured you, before going in. 
You had two newcomers enter the room, two british people; a man and a woman. 
“Oh, you must be Y/N. Nice to meet you, even if not under the best of circumstances. I’m Jemma.” She said, holding her hand. 
You shook it, before holding it out for the other guy, “Fitz.” He answered the silent question. 
“Is that them?” Jemma asked, taking a seat on one side of you, Fitz the other, both staring at the screen. 
“Should be.” 
“Y/N, we have a problem, it’s empty. The signal just leads to a laptop.” Skye, unfortunately, had to tell you.
“...Shit.” You fell back in your chair, face in hands. 
“Pull up the original message again?” Fitz asked. You did just so, “Look at the end,” You, again, did so, “It’s an anagram. Look, if you -- Jemma, help me.” He asked of his friend. 
“Oh, I see what you mean, Fitz. Yes, if you rearrange it, you get --” She stopped, looking at you for permission. You nodded. 
She typed in the new name you had, getting a ping, “There. They’re there.” She said, pointing to the new place. 
“Guys, we got them.” You said into the comms, giving them the new location. You shared a smile with Simmons. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You sat with Skye in Coulson’s office. He sat on the opposite side to the table, “Today was a success. And, I want to thank you for it, Y/N. Without that intel, we wouldn’t have found them.” He said with a smile. 
“I’m sure you would’ve.” 
“They’re just being modest. We appreciate it, Y/N. Really, you came through in the end.” Skye said, putting you on the shoulder. 
“Y/N, we’d like to offer you a place here. I understand you don’t agree with everything, and that’s fine. To be honest, I think we need that, now more than ever. It’ll be safer here, you’ll have company and you can do some good as you’ve always wanted to.” Coulson offered. 
“Plus, we can work together again. I mean, I’ll be out there sometimes. But...I missed my best friend.” Skye said, sincerely. 
You thought about it, the two just waiting for the answer. 
You finally looked up;
“Ok.” 
44 notes · View notes
all-things-fic · 4 years
Text
Mistletoe Jam
A/N: Merry Christmas from me to you. I don’t where this came from, all I know is I lost a lot of sleep trying to get this finished last night. Hope you all enjoy and thanks to anyone who has ever read anything I’ve posted on here.
Title comes from a Luther Vandross song purely because I like these lyrics in particular - ‘Glad I got big feet cause they're so good for dancin'. Glad you got big legs cause they're so good when we're romancin'
Shoutout to @waitingfortwilight, @harryfeatgaga and @haute-romance-quotidienne for reading this here and there.
~*~
You closed your eyes and let the back of your head hit the headrest behind you in the passenger seat.
“Swear I’m going to change my name,” you muttered under your breath as you heard your son whine Mum for the fifth time in a row.
Harry chuckled in the driver's seat next to you, fore and middle finger resting against his lips as he leaned his elbow on the drivers side door. You were sat in standstill traffic, looking to exit the car park of Cheshire Oaks.
You had a death wish coming here on Christmas Eve but unfortunately in your mad dash attempt to get out of London, you’d left an entire sack of presents behind that were sat next to your tree that had been up for all of a week.
To say you weren’t looking forward to hoovering up after it when you returned to the big smoke in the new year would be an understatement.
However, the actual shopping itself hadn’t been too bad. You’d tag teamed. Harry took your eldest boy with him, leaving you to take your daughter into the one place you knew would keep her occupied: Pets at Home. You’d deal with the constant requests of getting a rabbit over the next 48 hours, if it meant she was quiet enough to allow Harry to grab whatever toy she had suddenly requested from Father Christmas since you’d arrived back up North. 
“Mum,” came the whine again, causing you to look around in your chair and see the culprit. Hidden behind a Barbie doll that had been completely stripped naked, baring a pair of cowboy boots, you found the inquisitive blue eyes of your son.
You spoke his name, watching the way he dropped the doll to show you his cheeky smile. “Can we stay up late and look for Santa?,” he asked, his head slightly tilting as he did so. He really was pulling out all the stops today.
Staying silent, you felt Harry’s gaze look at you from the corner of his eye before he looked up at his son through the rear view mirror. “Doesn’t work like that mate,” he started, causing your little boy to turn his gaze away from yours. “Need to go to sleep, or else he doesn’t show up. Good boys and girls sleep in their own beds,” you heard Harry pause to allow the latter part of his sentence to resonate, as much as it could with a toddler, before he continued anymore.
Staying silent you thought Harry was going to continue, however instead when your gaze moved to look at him, you saw the way he appeared to be holding back an expletive at how someone cut him up to get into a parking space that had become available while you sat in idle traffic.
“Dad’s right, baby,” you agreed, watching the way his face fell into a small frown. His mouth fell slightly agape, you cutting in before he could start to whine. “Hey, you know Father Christmas is watching you right now don’t you-“
His mouth shut as his bottom lip started to protrude, his face rolling to look out the window to his right like he was some moody singer filming a pensive part of an emotive music video. 
“He’s sulking now,” you muttered, turning back in your seat.
“Am not,” he shot back, your mutter obviously not low enough to go unnoticed. You knew it was wrong given he was probably far too over stimulated as it was, but you couldn’t quite help it.
From the corner of your vision your saw that he started to go stiff in his seat, stretched out and showcasing his frustration. Still idle in traffic, you watched Harry turn in his seat to turn his gaze on his son.
“Enough,” he spoke assertively, hand pressing against the taut legs of his son. “You’ve been good all morning,” he continued, seeing no change in his son's temper. 
“One,” he started, causing you to shift slightly in your seat. “Two,” you turned to look at him, seeing the way your little boy shifted, body relaxing. “Good boy, sit back nicely for Dad-“ he manoeuvred back in his drivers seats lowering his voice as he continued, “-so he can get off this bloody car park in one piece.”
***
Anne’s house just smelled like Christmas.
Of fresh baking and spiced Christmas candles. It was cosy too. The kind of warmth that enveloped you the minute you stepped foot into the hallway from the porch. 
She smiled a knowing smile when she saw your frazzled hair once you pulled off your winter hat and quickly took your hand, dragging you in the opposite direction that Harry had taken the kids.
“I have mulled wine,” she passed comment, turning to look at your face from over her shoulder. “No? How about a glass of prosecco?” 
“Isn’t it a bit early?” You said, eyes taking in the mountain of washing up in her sink, as you messed with the waistband of your jeans and sorted out your jumper. 
“Never, not when it’s Christmas,” she smiled. “Besides I think we’ll both need to be a little bit pissed to attack the mountain of washing up.”
Regardless of receiving an actual answer, she poured the prosecco for you, glass being handed over smoothly before she took to pouring her own. As her eyes lifted from the job, she noticed Harry in the kitchen doorway, removing his gloves and shoving them into the pocket of his black coat.
“Or we could get my lovely son to do it,” she let her gaze move over your shoulder as she sipped from her own delicate glass. 
“Barely got me coat off and you’re already giving me jobs,” he spoke deeply, leaning against the doorframe. Turning to look at him you noticed the way his eyes lovingly shone over at his mother, before they scanned the kitchen like it was some sort of crime scene.
He groaned as his eyes stilled on the sink, immediately catching on as to what was being asked of him. “I’ll do it under one condition,” his eyes cut to yours before moving back to his Mum’s. “You let me wear the gloves.”
Anne laughed, hand covering her mouth as she tried not to splutter her prosecco everywhere. “I have new ones,” she said, with glittery eyes. Before you could even catch onto the gloves and the meaning behind them, your mother-in-law had hidden herself away in the pantry.
Eyes fell to Harry as he placed himself next to you. He loved the confused but oh so intrigued look that you wore. “Just wait,” he hummed, hands pressing against the kitchen surface and nudging his head back to where his mother stood, wordlessly making you move your eyes towards the same direction.
“Managed to find these in the pound shop when I popped into town with Louise, they had others but you know how I am with my sparkle-“
Harry hummed, with his lips twitching into the boyish smile. “Come on,” he moved his hand in come hither motion. “Let me ‘ave at ‘em.”
Without another word Anne tossed the pair of gloves onto the kitchen work surface. Your eyes dropped to the item that clattered thanks to the gaudy diamond that sat - from what you could tell - super glued onto the middle finger of the latex gloves. 
“Pound shop upping its game with the introduction of an old Swarovski-esc cocktail ring, I see.”
You didn’t quite know what to say, as you watched your husband marvel with humour at the monstrosities that he seemed eager to don. 
“Where’s the washing up liquid then?” Harry said shaking off his coat and quickly taking to unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt and rolling them up to the crook of his elbow. “Dishes aren’t gonna do themselves.” 
The laughter of sheer delight that left Anne’s chest cause you to cut your eyes over to her. It was nice to see her in such a way, carefree and in awe of her baby over the silliest thing. You often wondered if the face she wore looking at both Gemma and Harry was an expression that flirted across your face over the littlest thing that your own son and daughter did. 
You eyes watched Harry as he snatched at the gloves, pulling the red latex over his hands and making them stretch against his ring-clad fingers.
“Wha’ size did you get these in,” he moaned around a husky laugh, his fingers clenching underneath the latex into a fist before expanding once more.
“Didn’t look, darling,” Anne nonchalantly replied, swiping up her phone and snapping a picture of Harry off-guard. He frowned lightly over at her, only for Anne to softly laugh. “Since I’m no longer needed here,” she continued, picking up the bottle from the middle of the kitchen island. “I have some gran-babies to cuddle and annoy since my children no longer enjoy my offers of affection.”
“No, we just enjoy your successful attempts at free labour more. Clearly,” Harry shook his soapy-sud hands out, flicking dishwater in the process.
“I’m letting you stay for free over the festive period and feeding you, ‘s the least you can do.”
He couldn’t argue with that one, his eyes falling to yours as you sipped your drink wearing a smile that was far more triumphant looking than it should be.
“Don’t know why you’ve got a face on you like tha’,” he started, grabbing at the tea towel next to him. “You’re drying.”
The very same tea towel came flying at you, your hand swiping to move your half filled glass to save a spillage and trying to defend yourself. 
You didn’t make any effort to move as Harry turned off the tap and got to making sure that all the pots, pans and plates were submerged underneath the surface.
The way his back looked underneath his shirt as he moved his hands around the sink was attractive. It sounded daft and if you weren’t coherent enough you’d blame the prosecco, but even the back of him glowed from happiness (and maybe an extra serving of dessert or two). 
Breaking the silence Harry said, “Need to up me ring game.”
You watched the way he shook out his hand, soapy suds once again flicking against the kitchen counter. “Old Mrs Claus, looking to play away.”
“What are you on about?” You said, leaning against the kitchen counter, hand reaching for the packet which had once held the washing up gloves. Eyes took in the label, flicking it over to read the product description to yourself. 
“Wearing her diamond on the incorrect finger, innit.”
“Probably got a thing for one of the elves. Husband’s let himself go a bit-“
“Santa or me?” He chuckled.
You smiled against the lip of your champagne flute, eyes moving upwards to see the profile of your husband’s face as he stopped all washing up to look at you. “All I’m saying is maybe only leave one mince pie out for Santa this year when you’re helping the kids set up the plate.”
“Look, Santa is a strapping lad,” he spoke with conviction. “He can’t help it, if Mrs Claus is a feeder.” 
“I am not a feeder, Harry,” you laughed, throwing the tea towel back at him. 
“Darling, I don’t know what kind of role play you’re into but maybe this is something we should pick up after we’ve put the kids to bed.” 
“Was just about to ask you the same thing,” you bit back, eyes once again dropping down the packaging that encased the gloves. “Glamourous red and pearly washing up gloves,” you cleared your throat, eye flickering up to see the way his face had pulled into a smile, as he added another plate to drying rack. 
“These fun and stylish gloves make even the dirtiest jobs look fabulous!”
“I can concur-“
Smiling, and hearing it lace your voice, you continued, “The pair of gloves are not only practical but they are complete with a fur lining, pearl bracelet-“
“To match my necklace-“
“-and a superbly sized diamond.”
“Superbly sized diamond, only the best for Mrs Claus.” 
“Funny Secret Santa gift for women-“
“And men-,” Harry interjected. 
“Both fun and practical for doing the dishes.”
He stayed silent at that one, you too remaining tight lipped waiting for him to say something. When you eyes slowly pulled away from the packet, you met his from across the kitchen island.
You noticed the way his forehead held a light perspiration and the front of his shirt was slightly wet from where he had been leaning a little too closely over the sink.
His hair fell against his forehead and into his eyes, that held an expression that made it so you felt like you couldn’t break your gaze. 
“You know what else rhymes with dishes? Missus.” 
The way his lips twitched as he spoke, the crinkles next to his eyes deepening. “Both fun and practical for doing the missus.”
“Harry,” you chastised him under your breath.
“Wha’,” he drawled, expression mischievous. “I’m telling Mum we’re keeping these.” 
“You do realise that Santa is watching,” you swiped your glass, downing the remainder of your prosecco.
“How’d you know he’s not into it?”
The competitive person in you wanted to counter his question with a question of your own, but instead you chose to give him something to really think about.
Slipping down from the breakfast bar stool, you turned to leave the room, stilling in the doorway.
“That makes two of us then.”
***
Somehow between 1pm and 8pm Harry had managed to remember he was a father of two rather than rampant teenager bringing his girlfriend home for their first Christmas together. 
He’d been the ever-doting Dad after he had left the kitchen, helping the kids put together and decorate the gingerbread house at Anne’s dining table, taking a danger nap with his little girl during an afternoon showing of Frozen on BBC One and cooking a Christmas Eve feast suitable for the whole family. 
Rather than fight against the family pyjamas, instead he lead the charge, helping to encourage the coercing of your son into his along the way. 
He got excited when you pulled out the hand crafted plate that said “Dear Santa” along the top and then “Love from,” followed by the names of your son and daughter along the bottom. 
There was no doubt about it, Harry was all in. 
With a carrot and mince pie now placed on the fireplace, Harry now sat with a sweaty child pressed into his side on Anne’s sofa, with Love Actually on the television going in one ear and out the other. 
Your son had put up a fight to sleep, like his earlier episode in the car let you know he would do. His little body bouncing around before creeping along the landing, only for Harry to peek up the stairs and tell him to come down.
He was a hard child to stay mad at, more so when he cuddled into your side to begin with until getting cosy next to his Dad. Part of you wondered if he was becoming under the weather, given the way his cheeks were rosy and his skin clammy.
“Probably this cheap polyester you’ve forced us into,” Harry playfully jibed, knowing just how mad you’d been when you read that the pyjamas you had bought off the internet under the illusion of being 100% cotton, were in fact only 80% cotton and 20% polyester. 
Your hand was held against his forehead as Harry stood with his limp and sleepy body in the middle of the living room. “He’s definitely coming down with something,” you worried your bottom lip.
Harry dropped his lips to his son's forehead, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper as he reassured you that he just needed to get some rest. 
Falling back into your space on the couch, you half listened as Harry left the room asking you to pause the film so he didn’t miss anything. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at how he and everyone else could by now recite Love Actually considering how it had become a classic for this time of year. 
“I’m just going to nip out and grab those presents from the boot of the car,” he said poking his head around the living room door upon his return. 
Lifting your head from the Radio Times magazine that you’d managed to swipe from Anne as she retired upstairs earlier for a bath and to get straight into bed, you nodded when you met his eyes.
“Want to crack open tha’ bottle of red when I come back?” He suggested, fiddling with the collar of his coat, car keys jingling in his hand. 
“Can’t get too pissed, still gotta wrap some presents-“
“I didn’t hear that,” he replied, shutting the door behind him before heading out to the drive to retrieve the purchases both he and you had made earlier.
In his absence, you took in the cosy living room that surrounded you and felt your body sink into the sofa as you relaxed. This was the least frantic you’d felt all day, regardless of the mountains of wrapping you still had to do.
Your children had been wiped when they finally fell asleep, which was always a win for any parent. It meant that they would probably give you the chance to sleep in a little later than usual for Christmas Day. There was nothing wrong with being hopeful that your gaze met 7am on the alarm clock rather than the usual 5am.
The presents that already sat underneath the tree, made your heart soar. Material things did not mean much at all, but there was no doubt it that every single person in this family - your family - was loved. 
Standing from your seat, you let your feet lead you along the carpet and out into the dimly lit hallway of Anne’s house. Pictures of Harry and Gemma, as children, littered the walls. Some of the frames and pictures replaced since you had first set foot in the family home, with images of your own children and Gemma’s too.
The strong sense of family always comforted you when you stayed at Anne’s. Took a gentle hold of your body and consumed you in the nicest way.
Both glasses and the bottle retrieved, you quickly shut the door of the living room to make sure that barely any of the heat from the roaring fire left the fairly sized and cosy space. 
Sitting on the edge of the couch, you quickly unscrewed the bottle of red and poured two reasonable sized glasses.
Leaving one atop of the coffee table, you plucked up the stem of your glass and sunk back into the cream couch. You knew you’d have to be extra careful as the night went on and more of the rich and acidic drink was consumed. 
The rustling of bags let you know that Harry had returned into the house from outside, with the door of the front room opening not long after. 
“Can feel the cold coming off you,” you commented as he set down the four bags he had retrieved. 
“Cars icing up,” he commented, tugging off his coat and throwing it into the spare armchair over the other side of the room. As he turned, he wore a warm smile once his eyes saw the way you were offering over a glass of wine.
Now stood from your seat, he padded his socked feet against the carpet over to you and gently peeled the stem from your grasp. Sipping the drink and keeping his eyes locked with yours, he noticed the way you dropped your stare to his lips as he licked away the lingering wine residue. 
His free hand cupped at the back of your forearm, cold fingers easy to feel through your thin pyjamas. He soothed his hand up the back of your arm, scooping you into him.
Looking down at you with his softened jawline, he hummed the first thoughts on his mind. “Not kissed you all day-“
And he hadn’t. Things had been manic and the day has mainly been about your children, and present swapping with friends. Outside of the other activities previously thought back on.
“Or night,” you mused in return.
He tutted, “Night’s’not over yet.”
Humming you tilted your head slightly when you felt his hand hit the back of your neck. You shivered from his cold touch as he mumbled his sorry’s against your lips.
With a soft shake of the head you dismissed him and welcomed his tender and gentle kiss. His lips puckered at yours and softly drew you into his every want and desire.
As he went to pull away you lured him back with a soft pull to his top lip, feeling him smile at how you didn’t want to break away. He happily obliged you, opening his mouth wider to devour you, enticed by your plusher figure against his and the warmth radiating off you.
“‘S all this,” he mumbled against your cheek, as he tried to calm his breathing and remember not to lose grip of his wine. 
“Jus’ showing you how much you mean to us-“
“Shouldn’t that be me to you,” he corrected. “Would be lost without you, Mommy.” 
Pulling back you looked at him, welcoming the soft peck he left on your lips as you stared at each other. A small laugh left him as he pressed a second and third peck to your lips in quick succession, “‘s not getting the wrapping done is it?”
“You started it,” you mumbled into your glass as he turned to stand behind you and grabbed for the bags. 
Before he got to them however he stalled all movement, looking at your profile with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll bloody well finish to an’ all, after we’ve done this wrapping.”
“Nothing sexier than a man who gets a job done and get its done proper.”
He laughed down his nose at that, before he groaned as he managed to get his body down to the floor.
“Don’t do things by halves, love. Should know that by now. Now, who’s present was the Barbie kitchen set?”
***
That’s how you spent the majority of the night, rummaging through the plastic bags and putting together two piles of presents for each of your children. 
Once it had been decided who was having what, you did your equal share of the wrapping. Harry actually better at wrapping than you were always led to believe by the man himself. You knew he often opted for the gift wrapping service at a Selfridges or a Harrod’s, but here he was slumming it like everyone else. 
“How’s it feel being like every other peasant and wrapping your own gifts?”
He chuckled, mouth closed as it held onto a piece of sticky tape that was going to be used after he’d neatened up the edges of the LOL drawing set that you’d bought for your little girl.
“Actually very rewarding,” he deadpanned, “‘s probably the wine tha’s making it less of a chore though. That and my incredibly easy on the eye wife cheering me on.”
He did find himself getting bored when he was three quarters of the way through however, finding ways to entertain himself like sticking one of the bows to his forehead to give himself to you as a present, which had you giggling over at him with bleary, wine eyes.
“You’re a daft sod,” you said pressing your outstretched foot into his thigh and enjoying the way he cupped the top of the same foot, keeping it close to him. 
You could tell he was getting restless when he started talking about all manner of different Christmas facts that he’d heard around the studio, or in meetings to break up long sessions of recording or tour logistics. 
“Did you know?” He started, “Paul McCartney earns £250,000 a year off his Christmas song, which is widely regarded as the worst song he ever recorded.”
“Obviously not by you,” you deadpanned, as you concentrated on trying to find the end of the sticky tape as it had stuck itself back together.
“I’ve probably helped up his royalties actually, d’ya think I could get a cut of that?” You laughed, looking up at him from the final present you were wrapping. “I’m serious, I’ll have a word with Sonny and see if he can mention it to his Uncle Paul.”
Rather than responding, you reached for the last of your wine and swallowed it in one gulp. Empty glass on the table, you looked over at your husband who wore a flushed face, either from the wine or the heat within the room. You did notice he had pushed the sleeves of his pyjamas top up into the crook of his elbow.
“Did you know,” he whimsically asked in a whisper.
“Probably not, Harry, but go on-“
“It’s well known that mistletoe is an aphrodisiac, a symbol of fertility,” Harry spoke with concentration as he looked down at the paper which housed the toys that he had done a mad dash to The Entertainer store for, once you daughter mentioned how she had changed her list to Father Christmas. This was his final gift to wrap. 
“You can forget it, Styles,” you bit back, watching the way he smirked around the cello tape that he was biting into, too lazy to reach across for the scissors at the end of his legs. Forever easily amused. “Already one too many in our house as it is.”
“Maybe I’ve asked Father Christmas for a new ‘un,” he patted at the present, looking up at you from under his brow.
“A new baby-“
“Yeah, that as well,” he rolled his lips into his mouth, clearly meaning a house. He frowned, “And wha’ do ya mean with this ‘one too many’? ‘S only two of them.” 
“Three.”
He shook his head, his face reminiscent of a child confused. Point proven. 
“Our two kids,” you paused, for dramatic effect. “And you. So, one too many.”
He was taken aback by your playful nature, a little bit lost for words at how brazenly you had dissed him. 
“Thought you liked ‘em young,” he retorted, hand curling around your calf and tugging you over to him. From the quickness of his movement, you squealed. The two of you shushing each other around soft laughter as your eyes faintly fell towards the television monitor that showed you your sleeping children from where you sat in his lap. 
“Dead to the world, both of ‘em,” he mumbled, breathing along your cheek as he noted the way your soft gaze lingered on your babies.
“Can’t wait to see their faces tomorrow,” you admitted, as his lips skimmed gently down your neck. 
“Need to finish off the magic,” he hummed. “Pass me the plate.”
Leaning over from in his lap, you gave Harry the ample opportunity to softly tap his hand against your pyjama-clad bottom. The sound your ears and his received was a dull thud that didn’t achieve what it intended.
Turning to look at him, his sheepish gaze made you aware that he too wasn’t satisfied from his actions. His eyes dropped down to the plate that you held tightly in your hands at the goodies he had laid out on the idea a mere four hours prior.
“You take the carrot,” he pushed it towards you, eyes meeting yours as they looked up.
“And here I was thinking you were the health conscious one-“
“I need stodge to soak up this,” he scooped up the pouring of whiskey. “‘M mixing drinks, so I’m gonna be a barrel of laughs when they jump on me at 5am as my wake up call.”
You softly laughed before you took a hefty bite out of the carrot and he out of the mince pie. With a gooey smile, you couldn’t stop your hands moving up to his lips and wiping away the crumbs from the pastry that sat on the corners of his mouth.
“Have the last bit,” he spoke once he has swallowed his food, offering the small amount of whiskey left in the tumbler glass to you. 
You sipped the drink that he gave to you and placed the empty glass down with a soft clunk to the plate. 
“Can make some magic of our own now,” he whispered in a light alcohol induced haze, satisfied. 
And under the soft lighting of the living room, who were you to refuse him.
His chuckle of disbelief at this words hit your lips with a warm breath, causing you to blush along with him. If he wasn’t kissing you in that moment, you knew that he would have said the words, “Can’t believe I’ve just said tha’.”
But you would believe it, because things like that were him to a T. 
He was that kind of person sometimes, hidden underneath the incredibly handsome features and put together looks: a geek. A loveable geek. 
A loveable geek who knew how to work his way around your body; your head falling back with the thought as he sucked at the middle of your neck. 
“No lovebites, baby,” you gasped, fingers woven into the hair at the back of his head. “We’re at your Mum’s,” you reminded him, feeling his tongue lave against the area he’d been particularly rough with. Like a cat licking at his wounds, tucking his tail between his legs at how he’d admitted defeat. 
His hands moved up the back of your shirt, raising the pyjama material as he went. Your arms lifted, helping him remove the item of clothing and enjoying the tickling feeling of your hair falling down the bare skin of your back.
Harry’s face went straight into the center of your boobs without much focus on where he’d thrown your discarded top in the living room. Mouth sucked with power on the inside of your chest, he was determined to leave a mark against your skin one way or another. 
His hands clawed at the elastic of your trousers, palming underneath them to feel your bare bum cheeks against his hands,helping to create a rocking motion of your crotch against his.
You mewled, in a breathy tone, “Take ‘em off.”
“‘S nice like this,” he coaxed, looking at your face with hooded eyes and enjoying your mirrored expression.
And he wasn’t lying. Been a while since you’d sat in his lap and found your release against him with your clothes still on. 
“It’s not enough,” you admitted, feeling your hips become slightly more frantic as you pressed back into his awaiting hands with a soft clap. 
“It’s enough for now,” he urged you to rock. “Relax on me, darling. We’ve got time.”
Languid kisses was nice. The friction of your clothes too, worked you up in a way that was way more than you would ever care to admit. Breathing growing heavier as Harry kept his lips to your chest and you fisted at his hair.
Tingles ran through you as you felt Harry growing harder through his trousers, rubbing against your center over and over. He twitched as his hand pulled you with more force against him, his hand slipping down lower to rest in-between your bum cheeks.
The way his fingers ghosted close to your center was enough to have you reaching around and pushing his hand down further. The suction sound his mouth made as it peeled away from your clammy skin, made you moan with a fallen head tilt. 
“Want my fingers that bad,” he whispered, feeling the pressure of your hand on top of his. “Tell me.”
“Please, put ‘em in,” you breathily asked. Your mouth fell agape as you felt the tips of his fingers rest against your wetness. You knew if you rocked back and he held you steady enough, they’d sink right in without any resistance.
“Gonna rub your clit for me while you take my fingers, eh?”
Your breathing was laboured as his fingers brushed at your aching, wet center. You were desperate from some kind of pressure, your center pulsing each time you felt the tips of his fingers get closer. 
“At this rate your gonna be all down your legs and mine,” he paused, enjoying the choked moan you released when he finally slipped his fingers inside your wet warmth. “Not even got started.” 
You hand was against your front and harshly rubbing at your sopping clit that had you softly swiping up and releasing enticing moans, causing Harry to throb. 
He softly shushed you as he pushed your fallen hair, slightly damp from sweat, out of your eyes. 
“No ones ever made me this wet,” you admitted in a whiny plea to him, scooping your arm around his neck to sit tighter onto his lap. 
His eyes dropped down to the way your hand moved over your center underneath your pyjamas trousers. “Hiding from me, darling,” he was obvious.
“I said take them off,” you hummed. “Thought you were a man, my man.”
Harry growled at your goad, fingers slipping without much care and wiping into the waistband of your trousers. He roughly pulled at your bottoms, his limbs and yours unattractively flaying but achieving the ultimate goal of getting naked. 
Bare bum now open to thick heat of the room, you enjoyed the way he tapped his fingers lightly against your left cheek, close to where your bum and thigh met.
“Harry,” you breathed, hips nudging forwards, enough to get his cock to press between your lips, just right. You rolled your hips over him slowly, your wetness enticing and teasing to his cock. Bliss was written across his face as he enjoyed your attentiveness to foreplay. 
“Gonna let me have you,” he stated, no question within his words. He felt the way you nodded against him, as you pressed your forehead to his. 
You gripped his shoulder as you rolled back again, feeling the way his tip slipped into your without much guidance other than the slight lift to your arse from Harry himself.
As you sank down on him, you felt the way his hand pressed to your lower back. Shaky exhales bounced against each other’s lips as you took him in, staying still and relishing in the way his cock felt inside of you.
Throbbing clit flush to his pelvis, you knew even the tiniest of motion would have you losing your mind. 
Wanting to keep him deep, you barely raised your hips more than halfway off him before you were taking him once more. He brushed against the soft spot inside you so wonderfully, that you were admitting your love for him in such a way that had him chuckling. 
“‘S my cock, not me, darling,” he teased. “I know, I know, baby.”
The pace you set was slow, languidly rolling your hips over his. He encouraged you, digging his fingers into your plush hips and throatily moaning as he watched you with lips parted and eyelids hooded. 
The wet kiss you shared with him, had you gripping at his jaw, feeling the way it expanded as he devoured you with his lips and tongue. It was dirty, a quick flick that had your chasing after him, suckling gently and wanting to be just as dirty in return.
You could hear how wet you were, your body wanting the man beneath you to know just much of mess you had made for him. How turned on he had managed to get you. 
He loved it. The sounds. The way he purposefully dragged at your wetness with his fingers over you clit. His roughs pants and throaty moans indicative of just how deeply pleasured he was.
“Hear tha’,” he rhetorically asked. “You’re all over my balls, doll. My thighs are covered.” 
“Oh god,” you gasped as your head fell back and exposed your throat to him, hips rocking and rubbing harshly against his. His hand moved from being cupped underneath your bouncing boobs and took to pressing gently against your throat. 
Somewhere in your mind you thought back to the latex, novelty washing up gloves earlier in the day and how they may feel against your skin, against your throat. It was something you knew you’d have to mention as you hips began to move with more force against him at the idea.
You knew he’d asked, he’d just time the question in the right moment. Probably say your name first to have you looking down at him glassy, fucked our vision.
As he groaned your name, your dropped you head down feeling the way your throat curved against his hand. “Wha’ you thinking ‘bout?”
His face was flushed out, hair sticking to his forehead and you were partly angry at how he’d somehow managed to keep his top on. 
“Need to try the gloves next time,” you confessed. “Want to, want to-“
He watched the way you face crumpled, slightly flushing at how you’d possibly found yourself a kink that was once before totally undiscovered to you. 
He pulled you down to him, “Would try anything wi’you in a heartbeat. So in love wi’you. Love you more when you let me feel you comin’ all over me.”
The two of your were flat against each other as you felt the way he lifted his hips upwards, the angle had him constantly stroking directly on your g spot. Your limbs felt like mush as your body began to shake of its own accord.
“Yea’ darlin’, just like that for me,” he coaxed, “All over me, giving it all to me.”
Your sweaty chest rubbed against the irritating fabric of his top, as you focused on the feel of your clit rolling against him and the feel of his cock tipping you over the edge with a satisfied moan that had you holding him deep inside.  
You fell limp against him, feeling the way his arms wrapped heavy against your clammy back. The only movement came from his hips as they lifted upwards and smacked against you.
His deep groan of your name as his orgasm overtook him, caused you to turn your face into his and leave a wet and heavy kiss to his dropped jaw. His grunts were heavy as they tapered out into soft and wet whimpers. 
Your skin was scorching against his, as you’d came down together next to the roaring fire beside you. The two of you basking the blissful aftermath. 
As you collapsed against him, Harry’s eyes looked up at the tree that he was now somehow partly under. Heaving chest and bleary eyes, he focused on the decorations above his head, as his hand ran soothingly down your clammy back.
With a scoffed chuckle, he caught your attention, enjoying the way you nosed along his neck, to being your lips up to the corner of his.
“What is it?” You asked gently against his lips. His smiled deepened. “What’s tickled you so much?”
Still wearing a blissful expression, he said deeply, “We’re under mistletoe.”
Frowning, you knocked you eyes upwards, spotting the mistletoe that sat tied to two or three baubles on the Christmas tree. 
“Gotta lay on one me, doll,” he cheekily caught your attention. “‘S the rules.”
And if it were the rules, who were you to break them.
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frozen hearts don’t thaw overnight
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(gif credits to @harringtown​, thank you!)
Summary:  After the break-up with Nancy, Steve isn’t sure how to spend his Sunday mornings. He finds himself in the diner you work at week after week
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: mentions of loneliness
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Steve found himself in a never-ending battle with the cold. He hated the goosebumps and stiffness that it brought. Regardless of how many layers he wore, the wind found its way to his skin, frozen fingers running down his spine. No matter how many people he surrounded himself with, he always felt the coldness in their hollow laughs. He could turn on every light in his house, but, the shadows of simpler times lingered in the corners. His house was too big, any warmth dissipated in its sheer volume. 
Nancy was a candle, a small and steady flame that provided warmth and light. She was a comfort, someone who listened and paid attention. She invited him over for family meals that took place in a house full of life. The Wheeler house never felt empty, filled with Mrs. Wheeler’s homemade meals and genuine questions, sibling banter and occasional laughter, Holly’s wide eye gaze, and Mr. Wheeler’s unsolicited advice. As dysfunctional as the whirl-wind was, it the warmest Steve felt. 
The small flame burned for a while, long enough for Steve to get used to it. With a single breath, it was blown out. 
A single word, bullshit. 
It had been months, but the frost she left behind could not be shaken. Steve woke up to an empty house. The January morning air waited for him outside of his comforter, pouncing into his bones after he shrugged off the thick blanket. Sleep did its best to linger, clouding his vision and trapping warmth under his skin so he wouldn’t freeze. Steve would pull whatever sweatshirt he threw on closer to him as he walked down the stairs, footsteps echoing with each step. 
If this were months ago, he’d be rushing out the door, speeding off to Nancy’s house for Sunday brunch. He’d be glaring at Mike and trying whatever new breakfast casserole Mrs. Wheeler would subject him to. Nancy would give polite tight-lipped smiles, her hand would brush his bicep. 
Now, all that waits for him is an empty kitchen and a barely stocked fridge. As much as he’d gotten used to being alone, to cooking half-way decent meals for himself, to silent lonely meals, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out. So like a moth to a flame, he sought out warmth. 
Steve grabs his keys off the hook and drives to the local diner.
 It was perfect. He could sit at a stool, no need to awkwardly ask for a table for one, order some hot food, and people watch. Sunday mornings brought all walks of life to the eatery; older couples share sticky buns and black coffee, parents groan as their children spill maple syrup on freshly pressed church clothes, hungover teenagers laugh as they piece together the night before. 
“Morning! What can I getcha?” A question plucks Steve from his wandering daze. He looks up to find your soft eyes. A white waitress hat, the one that resembles a paper boat, sits crookedly atop your head. He’s instantly entranced by your comforting energy, but realizes he can’t just soak it in, he needs to say something. 
“Um, can I get…” Steve quickly tries to scan the menu, hoping something jumps out to him in the next few milliseconds, “uh, a coffee with cream and sugar?” He looks up to you with a sheepish expression, as if his request was somehow odd and unreasonable. 
“Sure thing. Let me grab that, it’ll give you a bit more time with the menu.” you turn, off to get his coffee and a dish of cream cups and sugar. You’re gone just long enough to let Steve breathe and pick out his breakfast. You try not to over-analyze the somber energy that lingers around him as you set down the dishes and take his order. 
You and Steve didn’t really run in the same circles. Of course you knew of him, he was the king of Hawkins High himself, but you hadn’t known this Steve. This Steve had sunken shoulders and anxious eyes. As his trips to your diner became more frequent, you’d hope the puzzle pieces would fall into place, but it seemed like the opposite was happening. 
It was like watching a masterpiece flake away before your eyes. Every week more chips of paint would fall, the facade crumbling to reveal what was underneath, a sad and confused boy. 
You did pick up little things about what was underneath. You saw how he took his coffee, drowned in cream and sugar, a tower of empty cream cups assembled during his every visit. He held his mug with two hands when it rested on the counter, as if trying to warm up frozen fingertips. Loud noises and dogs barking made him stiff, his grip tightening on whatever was in his hand. He always took his eggs with hot sauce and dipped his potatoes in whatever was left. 
It seemed to be an especially harsh winter, not a week went by without flakes falling. Hawkins was covered in a thick blanket, the snow muffling and quieting the already sleepy town. Steve warmed despite the weather.  After weeks of sitting silently, observing others from his own little world, he tried to bring you into it. 
“Here is your ‘coffee’-” you laugh at the word, seeing as there was barely a drop of coffee amongst the cream and sugar, “and the number one. Need anything else?” You take your rehearsed pause you’ve learned to do after working here for so long. It was just enough time for patrons to look over what you delivered, or think of something they’ve needed since you last helped them. 
“Some warmer weather.” Steve gives a small chuckle to hide some of the seriousness behind his words. It seemed to be an endless winter, but the diner was always warm. You’re used to sarcastic answers like that from patrons, but this was the first time Steve’s joked around with you. 
“Well, l can call the weatherman, see if he can swing anything for ya.” If felt good to see a twinkle in his eyes, and not the distant grey that’s been plaguing them. He picks up his forks, pushing around some of his eggs. He shifts, taking a breath, contemplating his next moment.
“Has this seemed like an especially cold winter to you, too?” His gaze says on the plate, eyebrows knitted together, a small shake to his head. The lure was out, now to see if you’d humor him and bite. 
“Hm, maybe. To be honest, I don’t quite mind it. You know how hot it gets in here by now,” you draw another laugh from him. It feels like the two of you practically live amongst the checkered floor and coffee rings on the counter. “But when I’m not rocking this killer uniform, I usually have on one of the sweaters I knit.” 
A lopsided smirk pulls on Steve’s face, mischief flashing in his eyes. “You knit sweaters?” Steve’s smirk only widens as he notices you shift a bit, ready for your defensive words before they come.
“Ye-yeah. I do. What? It gives me something to do, and they’re warm.” You suddenly don’t know what to do with your arms, opting to cross them in front of your chest. In mere minutes the power dynamic has changed. Steve’s the one with witty comments while you’re left speechless. The sudden flip leaves you disoriented, and off to help other patrons.  
Weeks continued to pass, but winter held Hawkins with a firm grip. Spring wouldn’t be coming soon, but the diner was 24/7. It was always warm, not just from the grills but from the people. You and Steve had warmed up to one another. Long gone were the days of observing, now you couldn’t get him to shut up. You often got in trouble for talking to him too often, your manager joking that he was getting special treatment. 
The cold morning air still waited for Steve, but it didn’t seem to have the same edge. He was back to driving somewhere full of life and noise. Steve had found a place with smiling faces and people who cared about him again. He had a designated place to sit, where he’s expected and even anticipated. 
“Moring!” his voice especially chipper this Sunday. 
“Morning Steve!” you call from across the diner, scribbling his usual order on a ticket and handing it to the kitchen, not even needing to ask him what he wants. Before making your way behind the counter, you grab something from your bag. 
“Here” you place the brown paper package on the counter, along with his ‘coffee’ and fixings. 
“What’s this?” Steve raises his hands and eyebrows, eyes dancing from the string to your blushing cheeks. 
“Just open in” you insist, both for his sake and your own. His fingers make quick work of untying the twine you used and tearing through the paper. Underneath is something forest green and soft. He unfolds it to find a hand-made sweater. It takes a few moments to process, a few passes of his fingers against the stitches for him to realize what this means. 
“Did you make this, for me?” his question is soft as the snow outside the window. 
“No, it’s for Donna,” you giggle, nearly blinded by the light in his eyes when he looks at you. They’re wider than you’ve ever seen them, yet somehow harder to read than ever. A million emotions are welling behind them. The ice on his heart has melted, thawed by a new candle. 
“Thank you” is all he can say. It’s all-encompassing. Thank you for taking the time to make him a sweater, for helping him, for listening, for the food, for the laughs, for noticing him, for welcoming him, and for caring. He may be stuck in a never-ending battle with the cold, but now he had someone else on his team, and he was confident that they would be staying for a while.
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taglist: @kurtsbuckethat @harrington-ofhawkins @nxncywheeler @cececroft​
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Chapter 38 - Sports Festival: Off To The Races
AO3 - here
Fanfiction.net - here (seems the site is ok now but if there are any issues please read on AO3 ^____^ )
Get it? Cause it's a cavalry battle...and they're 'horses'? :D Heh heh. Oh, anyone else who keeps up with the manga freaking out about chapter 290? No spoilers but oh man things are spicing up!
Anyway, let's find out the final arrangement of teams and then get right into the first half of the cavalry battle! ^______^ Ready! Set! Go!
Linktree to all the things!
End notes for the chapter are under the line.
And that is the first half of the cavalry battle! :D Most teams are the same because I didn't feel the need to change them too much. Here is the run down of all the teams if you're interested.
So, Izuku's last teammate is Tokoyami! The cliffhanger really left it up in the air but they do that in canon too! Season 2 episode 17 from 12:13 to about 12:23. (My extraness at its finest. :P) We see Izuku reach out and place his hand onto an unknown student's shoulder then it cuts to Monoma's speech keeping it all mystery like. I liked the transition so decided to use it! Tokoyami is one of my favorite characters and I had a lot of fun writing from his pov. Though it took me a bit to get into that bird boy's head. Then I thought, what is the most dramatic way to write this sentence and went with that. Tokoyami is quite the drama bird after all. :P
Hitoshi however went a completely different route from canon. Since he actually has friends I feel like he would resort to brainwashing his way on to a team. It took me a while to figure out who his teammate would be since that would influence future parts of the story. But I hope you like how I did it thus far for this part of the sports festival. ^_____^
Monoma is back in play! Seriously, I want him to become friends with Izuku because I swear there's a less crazy boy in there that only needs someone to believe in him and his copy quirk to bring him out of his shell.
Fun Facts About Japan:
So cavalry battle is a thing and was an event I saw at all three sports festivals I attended. A group of four students made a team of three 'horses' and one 'rider' as seen with most teams in MHA. Each school did the event a little differently. One school only had the boys go against each other, two teams at a time. The riders wore team colored hats and the goal was to take the hats off which would disqualify a team. This was a medium size school so there were three teams. Red went up against blue first and red lost. Then red went up against yellow and yellow won. Then yellow went up against blue and blue won.
Another school had the girls go against girls and boys go against boys. The riders wore team colored hats and gloves with the same goal to take the hat off another team. This was a large school so they had four teams. The girls went first with orange versus red and yellow versus blue. Then orange versus blue and yellow versus red. The boys went next in the opposite order to orange versus blue and yellow versus red. Then orange versus red and yellow versus blue. I don't actually remember which teams won but it was fun to watch!
I have one more school that did the event different but I'll save that for next chapter. ;) Hey! I only have so many fun facts I can share and the length this fic is way longer than I thought so I need to spread them out.
Alright! That's the first half, folks! Next week we'll get the second half of the cavalry battle! Until then be well and safe! Please report any typos or weirdness! :D
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suchdan-veryphil · 4 years
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Wouldn’t You Like To Know? - Kylo Ren Imagine
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Request: May I request for Kylo Ren? The reader is dating him and she likes to mess around sometimes. When she was working with Kylo one day, they’re both bored out of their minds, as they were the only two on board. Kylo gets a wicked idea to mess with her by copying every move she makes. She noticed but doesn’t say anything, and as he continues to do so, she decides to put him to the test. What Kylo doesn’t know about her is that she has a unique talent of wiggling her ears. Kylo had to do a double take and tried his hardest to copy her. She laughs and he looks at her in confusion. He would ask her why she hadn’t shown that him for later, and when she mention no one else there but him knows she can do that. So they decide to share her talent with everyone the next day and see their reactions. 😂
Word Count: 1,715
Trigger Warnings: Swearing possibly? 
A/N: I love writing Kylo Ren... I really do. Please keep them coming. Also... I can wiggle my ears. I hope you like it!
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I stared at my switchboard as I listened to the silence that engulfed me. Working on Kylo Ren’s base was either one of two things.
1. Chaos. People yelling, droids squealing, and often times Kylo Ren himself having a tantrum over the slightest inconvenience.
Or 2. Which was today. Everyone off on their own missions to make sure we were warding off the Rebel Alliance.
Someone had to stay on board to protect the database. Today? It was me. I kicked my feet up and removed my hat as I watched the monitors silently monitor our space. The silence was deafening, but somehow still relaxing. That’s when I heard a voice behind me.
“I knew it. I pay you to sit on your ass all day, (y/n)”
Kylo. Anyone else would have shit themselves at the mere sound of his voice breaking a peaceful silence. Not me, though. I knew Ren on a deeper level, the Kylo Ren that was conflicted. To know a vulnerable Kylo was to love him, even in his worst moment.
“You don’t pay me at all, Mr. Ren.” I playfully poked fun at the large man before turning to face him. Once we faced one another, I couldn’t hold my smile any longer. Kylo took a few quick strides towards me and reached out for my hands.
“That’s right. I just house you, feed you, provide you protection from the dangers of this galaxy, and keep you happy behind closed doors.” He reached up and removed his mask, revealing the face I’ve grown to love over the months. He placed it on a counter space, took my hands, and pulled me close to his chest before leaning down and kissing me sweetly. I returned the kiss and reached up to cup his cheeks gently between my palms.
“This is true, Kylo Ren. This is true,” I whispered against his lips.
For the last year, Kylo Ren and I had been in a relationship. It was a healthy relationship, despite rumors among the First Order. I couldn’t tell you the number of times people have asked me if I’m being held hostage, abused, or threatened. Each time, I smile and shake my head. People thought they knew Kylo Ren, Jedi Knight turned evil through the betrayal of Luke Skywalker.
The misconceptions became funny to hear after a while because I knew how he presented to the rest of the galaxy. Ruthless killer. Anger ridden man. Short-tempered. I was lucky enough to know the vulnerable, lost, and sometimes scared Kylo Ren.
“So, where is the rest of the crew?” He kept me close to his chest, his arms wrapped around me.
“Hux gave the command to go out and check our parameters and stand guard for the day. Rumors of a Rebel fleet are spreading among the base. You haven’t heard?”
“I’ve heard. I just didn’t realize we were moving all of our manpower outside.” Kylo tightened his jaw and he attempted to hide his anger.
My fingertips gently rubbed his jawline as I attempted to comfort him. He leaned his head into my right hand before he kissed my palm. “On the bright side, we have the entire base to ourselves.”
His eyes softened as he nodded. “Yes, we do.”
“Come on my rounds with me. I haven’t done one in almost an hour.” I took his hand and squeezed gently. “And leave the mask here,”
His jaw tightened slightly, and I raised an eyebrow. We stared at one another for a moment, and I could tell he was struggling.
“Let’s go. You have a job to do,” he sounded stern, but I knew he was just trying not to be too vulnerable in his place of work. I held back my smile to contain my excitement for his company.
We were soon on our way to do a quick round of the base, my hand laced with his as I looked for anything suspicious lurking in our hallways. It wouldn’t be the first time that our base was infiltrated by the Rebellion.
I took my time walking, mostly because Kylo was beside me. I could feel him tense up as I squeezed his hand. 
“Hey, it’s okay to be silly here. It’s okay to have feelings. Nobody is here.” 
“I’m just trying to not cross any boundaries, Y/N.” 
“Yea, that ship sailed. Multiple times this week.” I bit my lip to hold back my laugh as I saw his eyebrows raise, and the corners of his mouth pull upward slightly. “Oh laugh! Don’t be a party pooper.” 
“I’m no such thing!” Kylo gently bumped my side with his shoulder. 
“Yea, sure.” I smirked and turned the corner. 
“Yea, sure.” He mocked and followed close behind. I stopped and shifted to face him. 
“Are you... copying me?” I tilted my head slightly and looked at my partner inquisitively. 
“Are you... copying me?” His head tilted as well, making me widen my eyes. Sure enough, he did the same. I took it upon myself to shut my mouth and stand up straight again, continuing with my rounds. 
The rest of our walk was pretty much silent, except for the one sneeze that turned into two thanks to our Supreme Leader. 
Once back in the main control room, I sat back in my chair and logged into the tablet. 
Kylo pulled out a tablet, that I’m pretty sure he was clueless over what it was for and began to fake type on it. I ignored him and continued to log my round for that hour before I sat back and put my feet up once more. Kylo’s feet soon found their way to an empty spot on the dash. 
I took a deep breath to alleviate my annoyance and continued to stare out the windshield. I tapped my leg, and watched from the corner of my eye as my newly proclaimed shadow did the same. It wasn’t long before I decided it was time to mess with him. 
I made sure I was at an angle where he could see my ears, and proceeded to wiggle them. I did it long enough to notice his reaction, and then attempt to do the same. His face was strained, and instead of wiggling his ears, he wiggled his eyebrows. I couldn’t contain my laughter at that point. My hands went to my stomach as I let every “ha” escape from my body.
“Wait- what? How did you do that?” He was very obviously confused, and even a little frustrated.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Supreme Leader? Wouldn’t you like to know?” I spun myself around in my chair so that my back was to him as I laughed. 
“How have we been together for a year, and this is the first time I’m seeing this?” He sounded both amused and quite frankly, confused. 
“I dunno. It’s never come up in conversation before. And you’ve never tried to copy my every move before so we’re all being exposed to new things today.” 
“Can you teach me?” 
I laughed a little and shook my head as I faced him. “I don’t really think this is something I can teach you. It’s just something that I can do.” 
“How did I not know about this?” 
“If it makes you feel better, you’re the only other person in the galaxy who knows I can do that,” I smirked a little and crossed my legs. 
“That does somehow make me feel a little better,” Kylo chuckled and shook his head. “I think you should show the crew at our meeting tomorrow, though. I’m curious to see what their reactions would be. Especially Hux.” 
I did my best to make a serious face as I crossed my arms and sat up straight. “Captain Y/L/N, these shenanigans cannot continue, I command you to focus on the agenda.” 
Kylo crackled a small smile before he stood up and walked over to our file computer. “He wouldn’t dare speak down to the girlfriend of the Supreme Leader in front of me.” 
“Oh, I wouldn’t put it past him,” I smirked and looked at the suns beginning to set, causing the trees to cast their shadows on the ground below us. I took it in for a moment and sighed. “I can’t wait to clock out for the night.” 
“I can’t wait to clock out for the night,” I was echoed. 
The next day, meeting time
“New news, Captain Y/L/N remained on the ship yesterday and stood guard. Any reports?” Hux looked to me, his face emotionless and his stance stiff. 
“It was actually quite quiet. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren came to sit with me for a while, and he joined me on my rounds,” I debated sharing what Kylo was so fascinated by, but he cut me off. 
“Yes, and we made an important discovery. Y/N, share with the crew.” Kylo sat at the opposite head of the long, oval-shaped table. He wore his mask, and his voice held no emotion or a flicker of care. I knew exactly what he meant, and so I pulled my hair back and tied it into a tight knot. 
“While we sat watching the main control room, I revealed something that I had kept to myself for a long time,” I cleared my throat, to add some drama. “So if I could have everyone’s attention...” I began to wiggle my ears. The room fell silent for a moment, but it wasn’t long before people started to notice. 
Some people laughed, and others just awkwardly sat there. 
“Captain, I don’t see what the point of showing us the way you passed the time has been beneficial to the meeting. Is there anything worth reporting that happened during your shift?” General Hux asked, probably the least amused person in the room. 
“General, I expressed yesterday that the base would be quiet and I’d have nothing to share. So no, that was all I had to share with the team. Thank you.” I removed my hair from the constraints of the tie and smirked at Kylo. He was wearing his mask, but I knew he was holding back some sort of smile behind the fiberglass. 
Hux sighed and aggravatedly scribbled something down on his tablet before looking back up. “Noted.” 
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digitalworldbound · 4 years
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Takari Week, Day Two: First Kiss
Hello, again! This was the first fanfiction I ever wrote in middle school, around the age of thirteen (eight years ago!). I found it the other day, and thought it would be cute to post. It’s not the best, but has a cute sentiment . @takariweek 💖
Title: First Kiss
Characters: Takeru x Hikari
We arrived at Daisuke’s house when the party was in full swing. From the overflow of cars in the driveway, it appeared that everybody from the soccer team, dance squad, and student council were there.
“Hey, Takaishi-san!” Daisuke sauntered over and did that guy hand-slap/chest-bump combination that he must have picked up from my brother. “Welcome, welcome, all!” He looked me up and down, and I gave him the stare that made it clear I wasn’t the least bit interested in anything he was looking for. Not all men mature after middle school.
“Hey, man.” Saeki, my boyfriend, said. He side stepped me, putting his body between Daisuke and myself. “Thanks for the invite.” Daisuke grinned wider, sizing Saeki up. Both boys had a competitive streak, something that I wished they left on the soccer field.
“Oh, right, you two are together. See, I keep forgetting that since she’s always with him.” He pointed a grimy finger to a clearly annoyed Takeru.
“Daisuke-san, I don’t believe that you’ve met Nagai-san yet.” Takeru gestured in his girlfriend’s direction. Her glittery eyes popped underneath her smoky eyeshadow, and I absentmindedly wished I had taken the time to apply some.
Our whole lives, people always assumed that Takeru and I were an item. In their defense, most of our time was spent together, and we even had this weird twin-telepathy thing that let us know how the other one was feeling. It wasn’t until high school arrived that our close bond was placed underneath scrutiny.
For whatever reason, Daisuke laughed. “Okay, I get it, I get it.” He reached into a cooler and pulled out some cans of soda.  “I’d say go long, Takaishi-san, but I don’t think my mom would appreciate getting soda on the carpet.” He laughed. I quirked an eyebrow at his jab. “Wow, Daisuke-san, that’s fresh coming from the kid that wore a pair of hand-me-down goggles for over half of his life.”
Saeki stifled a laugh at my outburst, but Takeru remained stoic. The four of us each took a can and made our way over to the corner of the kitchen.
“Don’t let him get to you.” I said to Takeru.
“But he’s right. I can’t seem to catch anything… except grief.” He shook his head. With the basketball season starting up, Takeru hadn’t had as much time to practice as he did in years previous. He game had gotten weaker; a detail that hadn’t slipped even Daisuke’s notice.
I turned my back to Nagai and Saeki. I knew how embarrassed Takeru could get about his skills. He always valued the opinions of others more than his own. “You’re getting much better. The other day, Nii-chan was telling me you catch a ball nearly half-way down the court.”
“I guess.” His voice was faint. “But it is so humiliating sitting on the bench every game.”
“I thought you only wanted to play basketball to make friends and to fit in. Remember? You said that you were more focused on becoming a writer.”
He shrugged. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to play.”
“I know but look around. You’re at a party and Daisuke-san of all people invited you.”
“He invited everybody.” Takeru’s huff of annoyance ruffled his golden locks, and I pretended that the movement didn’t distract me.
“But at least you’re here. And he’s making fun of you. Isn’t that ‘the bro’ way of being friendly?”
“’The bro way.’” He laughed.
“You know, how guys show affection. Or mark their turf. Kind of like how my cat Miko pees on something to let you know it’s hers.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?” A grin teased its way onto his face, and I silently rejoiced at the small victory.
“Of course not,” I admitted. “But does it at least make you feel a little bit better?”
“Yeah, just a little.”
I elbowed him playfully. “Well, that will not do. Clearly my job here is not done. Let me count the ways you are a stud.”
“Wait, wait.” Takeru laughed and pulled out his phone. “I need to record this. I may even make it my new ringtone.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
I grabbed his phone and spoke directly into the mic. “I, Yagami Hikari, do hereby swear the Takaishi Takeru is a total manly man, the ultimate bro. Reason number one, he can quote the entire My Neighbor Totoro movie at the drop of a hat. Reason number two, he knows to always compliment a lady’s photography skills. Um, reason number three. Um…”
“Nice,” he grabbed his phone back. “You can’t even come up with three reasons?”
“See, there are just too many reasons, my poor brain is on overload.”
“Good save.”
“Phew!” I wiped my brow dramatically.
“Hey!” Miyako approached us. “I didn’t see you guys come in. But then I saw your dates outside and figured you were doing that thing you do.” I almost didn’t recognize her with her long hair pulled all the way back. Her face looked more angular, more grown-up.
The best part about Miyako, however, was that she could read the nonverbal exchange Takeru and I shared. “Let me guess. You didn’t realize your dates left.”
I grimaced.
She shook her head, shiny purple hair flowing behind her. “You guys are too much.”
“Clearly,” Takeru and I said in unison.
“Well, may I suggest that you take your party outside and keep your dates company?”
“Thank you so much!” I gave Miyako a quick hug before she returned to her student council friends.
Takeru and I went to the glass patio door and saw Nagai and Saeki leaning against the deck railing. Saeki, all cheekbones and full lips, was telling some story that made Nagai giggle like a little schoolgirl. Her cheeks were rosy against her white camisole, short cropped hair caught on a breeze. ‘Takeru-kun looks at that every day.’ I shut down that train of thought as soon as it arrived. Now was not the time to be jealous.
“Well, at least they’re having a good time.” Takeru remarked. “In fact, it looks like they’re having a better time now than they have all night.”
“Takeru-kun,” I stopped his hand from opening up the door. “I think that maybe it’s not the best idea for us to go on double dates.”
He nodded, letting his palm linger a second too long. “I know. It’s just hard to throw anybody into our mix. I really don’t want to mess things up with Nagai-san.”
“You and I will still hang out; you’re bound to me by the laws of friendship. I’m only saying that maybe date night should just be date night. No forcing our dates to put up with the two of us.”
Takeru’s gaze was fixed straight ahead. His jaw was tightly clenched, blue eyes narrowed to fine points.
“Takeru-kun?” When he didn’t respond, I followed his stare. Saeki moved closer to Nagai and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She blushed further but leaned into him. He put his arm around her, pulling her closer. His jacket dangled from her shoulders as Nagai tucked herself into the warmth.
“Are they flirting?” I gasped out. There was no way this was happening.
Takeru and I remained frozen in place as we watched Saeki and Nagai lean in closer and closer. He said something else that made her laugh. Her giggles bounded off the glass door and shot straight into my heart. She twirled a piece of auburn hair around her finger, the action enticing Saeki lean even further into her. Her smile dropped. They were studying each other. Intensely.
I recognized the look on Saeki’s face. He tilted his head and put his index finger up to her chin. This was not happening.
“I can’t…” The pain etched in Takeru’s voice snapped me into action.
“How could you?” I found myself in front of Nagai. I know I should have been more upset with Saeki, but at that moment I was furious with the green-eyed beauty. Takeru had been on a few dates with her, he’d even asked her to come hang out with his friends and go to a party he was invited to, and this is how she repaid him?
Nagai shrank away from me, but Saeki stepped closer. “Are you being serious right now?” I’d never seen him so mad before. His hands, clenched into fists at his side, were trembling.
“Are you being serious right now?” I threw back.
He looked at me with disgust. “Do you realize how messed up this is? You’re mad at Nagai-san? Do you even care about me? You know what – you don’t even need to answer that. It’s clear that your only concern is Takaishi-san, not your boyfriend. No, wait, your former boyfriend.”
“Let me make sure I’m getting this straight.”  My mind was trying to keep pup with every that had happened in the past few minutes. “You were flirting with another girl. If I hadn’t stepped in, you were probably going to kiss another girl. You were going to cheat on me. Yet you’re mad at me? And you’re breaking up with me?”
“Do you have any idea how much this hurts me?” Saeki’s voice cracked, and I could tell it was completely genuine. I felt awful; maybe I had hurt him. But I certainly knew I didn’t do anything that justified cheating.
“How are you putting this on me?” Confusion swirled around in my head. Saeki and I had never fought; not once. We were talking about traveling to Kyoto for our one-year anniversary. And now he was breaking up with me? “Have you been drinking?”
“You know I don’t drink.” He snapped at me. “Maybe I did this on purpose, for you to see what it’s like to have your boyfriend give another girl all your attention. I really like you, Hikari-chan, but I can’t sit here and play second best to Takaishi-san anymore.”
“You wouldn’t think any of this if he were a girl.” Tears trailed down my cheeks, but I let them fall. I wanted him to see the pain he was causing me.
“But he’s not, and that’s the problem. Why don’t you two just go out already?”
That is what it always came down to. The perception that there was no way Takeru and I could be legitimately best friends and only friends. Nobody seemed to understand it. Mostly because those people never had a best friend of the opposite sex.
Or maybe it was more appropriate to say that none of them have had Takeru as a best friend.
“If you’ve had such a problem with it, why are you only saying something now?”
He groaned. “Because I figured the closer you and I got, the less I would have to deal with him?”
“Deal with him?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard Takeru’s voice say, “I’m so sorry.” I had forgotten that he and Nagai were there. In fact, a whole crowd had started gathering around the door.
Nagai was hunched over in the corner in an attempt to disappear. “I should go,” she said quietly.
“I’ll drive you home.” Saeki walked into the group of observers while Nagai following close behind him.
I heard some clapping. “Dudes,” Daisuke called out, emerging from the crowd. “I know I can always count on you two to bring the entertainment. If only I had some popcorn! That was insane.”
“Really, Motimiya-san?” I asked. Something in my voice must have stopped him.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry, Hikari-chan.”
I stood there waiting for him to make a sarcastic follow up comment, but he had a look of actual sympathy on his face. It made me feel even worse. If Daisuke felt bad for you, you knew your life must be pathetic.
“Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed Takeru by the arm and led us out of the crowded house.
“Um, our ride left,” Takeru said with quiet resignation.
“We’ll figure something out.” I opened the front door and started walking. “I think the fresh air might do us some good.”
Takeru stayed uncharacteristically silent for several minutes. I left him alone with is thoughts, as I had a plethora of my own to muddle through.  Mostly, what had just happened? Maybe I was missing some signals. I racked my brain for signs that Saeki had been unhappy. He’d made lots of jabs at how much time I spent with Takeru and usually pretended to gag whenever I would talk about him. But he was a guy. I’d thought he was teasing me.
Regardless of what I’d done, it didn’t give him any excuse to flirt the second my back was turned. But what made me the most upset was that it had been Takeru’s girlfriend. I would have thought Saeki, of all people, would’ve wanted Takeru to have a girlfriend.
“Is any of this making sense to you?” I asked Takeru. The night air caressed his cheeks, coloring them the shade of rose petals. He shook his head and kept walking. This was bad.
We found ourselves walking to the same place. We didn’t discuss our destination; we just lead each other to the shores of Odaiba Beach. Silently, we strolled towards the abandoned swing set. Carefully, I sat in the middle swing while Takeru occupied the swing to my left. This is how we always sat on the way home in middle school, back when growing up wasn’t so messy.
I started rocking my swing back and forth.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Takeru announced, remaining motionless in his swing. “I think you’re right. We shouldn’t go on anymore double dates.”
I looked over and saw a slight smile pulling at the edges of his lips. “Are you making a joke?”
“Well, it’s either that, or accept the fact that I’ve been cheated on twice.” He was referring to his girlfriend from middle school. At the girl’s New Year’s Eve party, she snuck away to make out with Daisuke while Takeru was visiting his family in France. I was the one that found them in a tangle of limbs on a butterfly comforter. I was also the one that had to break the news to my best friend when he got off the plane six days later.
“Well, if it helps, Nagai-san didn’t technically cheat.”
He clicked his tongue. “Yeah, only because you stopped it.”
“We don’t know what was going to happen.” Truthfully, I didn’t believe the words as they came out of my mouth. I tried to lighten the mood. “I guess I really need to stop going to parties where your girlfriends are. And where there are doors.”
“Tell me about it.” He got up and went behind to push me. I closed my eyes and let the swing take me higher and higher. His hands pressed lightly on my back, and I relished in the comfort while it lasted.
We stayed like that for nearly an hour before I glanced down at my watch. “We either need to start walking home or call one of our parents.”
We decided that it was best to call Takeru’s mom for a ride.  My father and Onii-chan were very protective of me, so I didn’t think they would take it lightly that I’d been essentially abandoned at a party. Although I was with Takeru, which would have made them both feel a bit better. They both really liked Saeki, so I knew they’d be disappointed to hear that it was over.
Over. It was so strange to think about it.
Takeru and I sat on the curb while we waited on his mother to pick us up. He averted his eyes, picking at the toe of his sneaker.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Not really.” He wrapped his arms around his legs. “I don’t know, I’m wondering if there is something wrong with me.” A cheek was pressed against his knee, facing in my direction.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I assured him. His eyes, a stormy gray, refused to meet mine.
“But why do girls keep cheating on me?”
“You’ve had one girl cheat on you, and another to make a bad decision.”
He sighed, his breath shakily blowing his hair out of his eyes. “Maybe I’m a bad kisser.”
“I’m sure it’s not that.”
“How would you know?” He got me there. “Let’s think about it. My first girlfriend was away from me for ten days and sucking face with a guy who was supposed to be my friend the second she was alone with him. Tonight, my girlfriend was away from me for like two seconds before she about to make out with a guy that was already taken. The problem is clearly me.”
“You’re being silly.” I insisted. It hurt me to think that my best friend thought so lowly of himself. He was loyal, kind, and everything a girl could ever need.
“I don’t think I am.” That was all it took for Takeru to become opposite of silent. He spent the next five minutes battling the crickets for his voice to be heard. He went on and on about how it must be that he was a terrible kisser and that he would never be able to keep a girlfriend because of how lousy of a person he was. How he was never going to date another girl because he wouldn’t be able to trust them. How pathetic he must be that every girl jumped at the chance to be with someone the second his back was turned.
It was grinding on my last nerve.
Takeru was usually pretty laid back about most things, so I wasn’t accustomed to him being so hard on himself about some girl.
I kept trying to tell him that it wasn’t about him. It was about how the first girlfriend likes to flirt and couldn’t be “girlfriend material” with how she preferred to play the field. And who knew about Nagai? She was younger than we were. She had made a mistake.
But that wasn’t enough. I was getting so frustrated with Takeru. Part of me wanted to smack him, but I knew he would only keep complaining.
“Nope, that’s it. I’m a horrible kisser. And it’s going to spread around the school and no girl will ever give me a chance.”
“For the love of the gods, Takeru-kun!”
And before I really could register what I was doing, I grabbed his cheeks and pulled his lips to mine. The chilly air had chapped them, and but his face was warm underneath my hands. He was tense, probably from shock, but I forced my eyes shut so that I wouldn’t see any looks of disgust he could give me.  I tried to ingrain the scent of the sea and sandalwood and something uniquely him. Then, his shoulders loosened. His arms wrapped around my middle as he eased his body into mine. My fingers twitched, threatening to caress his hair.
I pulled away and Takeru struggled for breath. “Wh-wh-what …” He stammered, ears pink from excitement.
Ignoring my own rapid heartrate, I discretely tried to catch my breath. “You’re fine. You are not a bad kisser. It has been verified. Moving on.”
His eyes were shiny and wide, mouth agape and speechless. For the first, I cursed myself for leaving my camera at home.
I loved that he was so flustered. The fact that I could have that effect on him was exhilarating.
From across the street, we could see his mom’s headlights approaching. I stood up while he remained seated on the curb. I reached out my hand to help him up, but it took him a second to process it. He got up on his feet, completely stunned.
“So, that’s one thing that I have on all of your basketball friends and your other ‘bros’” I said to him, flashing him the smile I reserved for quiet moments like these. He returned a blank stare.
I laughed and playfully punched him in the shoulder. “I don’t think any of them would’ve had the nerve to prove to you that you’re not a bad kisser. You’re welcome, by the way.”
He stayed mostly silent on the ride back to my house. Every so often, his finger would reach up to brush across his lips, and I had to stop myself from doing the same. ‘Remember, you’re better off as friends.’
I laughed silently to myself while my thigh was pressed against his in the backseat. All it really takes to fluster a guy is a simple kiss.
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pixiedst · 4 years
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Dance With Me 03 // KYG
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Request from @lost-midnight-flower​​​
Hiii can I request a got7 fic? Maybe something along the lines of meeting the guys at a fan meeting or something and one of them falling head over heals with the reader? That seems pretty cute to me, is that weird? If you choose to write this, you can pick which member you want to write about ^^ have a great day/evening ahead!
Genre: Fluff Pairing: Reader x Yugyeom Rating: PG-13 Warnings: None Description: Dance studio owner Y/N meets Yugyeom at a fan sign. Word Count: 3,769 A/N: Hello! I apologize for the late upload. It’s been rough lately. I hope this chapter is good enough 🥺
Index // Part One // Part Two // Part Four
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If Y/N had it her way, she and Yugyeom would have finished the dance by now. 
Their second practice is slow, but she tries to accept that progress is still progress. Meeting only once a week, it’s difficult to quicken the pace, but she can’t blame him. Her life as a small dance instructor is nothing compared to that of an idol. 
“Okay, right here. Yeah, then I can slide my hand behind your waist when I move to this side so it flows naturally. Wanna try that from the beginning?” he says. 
Y/N nods. Their reflection stares back at them as Yugyeom instructs her. It’s a fresh feeling. She’s gotten used to being the one in charge, so following someone else’s command is peculiar. But it also feels good. She doesn’t know how, but she likes Yugyeom taking control. Maybe it’s the way his aura changes when he dances, the glint in his eye both domineering and open. He makes a talented teacher. He knows what to do and how to communicate. They make a good team. 
His body is behind hers, his head lowered beside her own. His breath tickles her skin as she tries to remain calm. His hands are soft on her waist, and she knows he’s playing safe. Even though they know this dance means getting close, she notices the subtle steps he takes to stay respectful. 
“Ready?” he asks. The breathlessness in his voice makes Y/N bite her lip. 
She nods, and without the music, they dance. Their bodies move in perfect sync, like two hearts beating at once. They dance like they’ve practiced for months and let the song in their heads control them. Her body shivers at every touch, from his hands to her waist, to hers on his neck. 
Their eyes meet in the mirror, and electricity pulses through her skin. Her heart races when their faces are barely apart, when his body is pressed against hers. She feels his pulse against her chest. Her fantasies of dancing with Yugyeom could never compare to the way he holds her now, to the way his eyes glimmer when they meet hers. 
He slides his hand behind her waist and steps to his right, as planned. Their progress ends here, with their bodies apart. Y/N wishes nothing more than to be close to him again. They stand in silence, and only the sound of their breaths fill the room. 
“Water?” she asks softly. 
“Sure.” 
But they both know he has a bottle on the bench. 
They drink quietly on the floor, and Y/N doesn’t know what to say. His proposal of friendship is two weeks old, but with their rationed meetings, it’s still fresh. Their discussions mainly include the choreography, but he slides some off camera GOT7 moments now and then. If only he could break the ice with something like that right now. 
“Where do you wanna eat dinner?” he asks.
Dinner was his idea. He thought just dancing would keep them busy on the performance and delay their friendship from truly growing. She agreed. Food is usually the best way to get to know somebody, and awkward silences could easily be avoided by eating slowly. 
“I’m craving some kogi.”
“Kogi? Okay. Let’s call it a night and get changed.” 
He gets up and offers his hand. As she makes her way to the bathroom, she can’t help but smile. Their weekly dinner is her favorite part of the night.
-
Hiding from the media is ambitious. 
Neither of them expected any of this to happen when they became friends three months ago. Weekly dinners seemed harmless, but things change when fans take charge of the game. If only they knew they would get stuck like this. 
The photos are spreading like wildfire. #YugyeomsMysteryGirlfriend is trending worldwide, and it’s making Y/N sick. Her stomach clenches as she listens to the girls erupt at the news. 
“Whoever she is, does she think being a dancer will keep Yugyeom pining after her?” Areum scoffs. “Well, guess what, MG! We’re dancers too. You’re not special!” 
Sunhee roughly wipes a tear with a napkin. Y/N isn’t sure when it began, but Sunhee suddenly announced her undying love for Yugyeom one day and has been the most heartbroken about this. 
Jia shakes her head. “Look at them. Just look at them! Eating dinner like it’s no big deal?” 
But it isn’t a big deal. If only she could scream at the world to stop, to let them live in peace, to tell them they are human and have the right to privacy. The supportive comments have slowly become meaningless. As much as she hates to admit it, they’re easier to forget than the opposing side. 
Were they too careless? They could have sworn the booths in the steakhouse would keep them well hidden. They even wore hats to hide their faces. 
Y/N sighs. There’s no use trying to figure it out. The damage is done, and they are left with the debris. It’s been a week since the news and it could not have been worse. 
Maybe they should stop everything. Would that make things better? No more practice, no more dinners, no more drama. But that would mean no more Yugyeom. He has been the best thing to happen to her. Despite this hell of a week, he made things better. He checked up on her, called her. And the best part? He sang to her. 
All of this has to be worth it. There is no way the universe gave her Kim Yugyeom for nothing. There must be a reason, and she will go through the hate to find it.
-
“How are you feeling?” Yugyeom asks as he takes off his hoodie. 
He’s wearing a black t-shirt and joggers, and even though they’ve been meeting every week for three months, she can’t help but gape at him. 
“I’m all right,” she says. “A little stressed out.”
He smiles and sits next to her. “That’s why we’re here, right? Dancing to relieve the stress.” 
“Yeah. But…  maybe we shouldn’t have dinner together later. What do you think?” 
He walks toward the speakers and plugs his phone. “I think we should think about that later. You know, when we’re not stressed?” Y/N laughs and walks to the center of the studio. “Shall we dance?” 
She nods. They dance to I am Yours. Three months is a long time to practice one song, but the only thing keeping them from perfection is Y/N’s sudden need to change things. She knows it’s stupid, but she can’t focus when their bodies are too close. So she changes them. Their reflection glares at her every time she looks up. 
“You know,” he says when he pulls her closer to him. “This song is very romantic, and our dance is looking… less and less romantic.” 
She bites her lip. He’s right. He always is. But what can she do? She has partnered with guys for dances loads of times, but none of them made her feel the way he does. Sure, maybe it’s because he’s her idol, but the tugging in her stomach when their eyes meet screams something else. 
It doesn’t matter. It’s not like she can perform this with him in public, anyway. The media would freak out more than they already are now. 
“I-” but her breath locks in her throat. The ground sways, and her knees buckle. 
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” 
She shakes her head and falls to her knees. She hides her face behind her palms like it’ll shield her from the world. Yugyeom rushes to the water dispenser and hands her a glass. He sits across her, watching closely as if breaking his gaze would make her disappear. 
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice muffled behind her hands. “It’s just so much to take in. You’re used to cameras and rumors, but I’m just a dance instructor with a small studio.” 
He sighs. “I understand. The media has no compassion. But as time goes on, you learn to get used to it. You realize that cameras and comments are just that: cameras and comments. They can’t touch you unless you let them.” 
She looks up. “I’m just worried about my friends finding out. I really don’t care about anything else besides that.”
“Why do you stay with them? You said you don’t wanna be alone and that they’re your employees, but you can hire new ones, right?” 
“It’s not as easy as that. My business isn’t big. I can’t just suddenly hire replacements in a snap. And they’re talented dancers. The students love them. I really have no reason to fire them.” 
He nods, and they sit in silence. Somehow, even when they don’t say a word, Y/N is comforted. His presence relaxes her, just as it always had. When their friendship was fresh, she was worried she’d lose this sense of ease around him. She’s glad she didn’t. 
“I think idols can date whoever they want,” she says. Their eyes lock. “I mean, I know we’re just friends, and you’ve even made that clear in your Vlives, but the media keeps acting like we’re not. It’s not fair to you guys. You’re just people. You’re allowed to fall in love and date, and even if you’re just having dinner with someone of the opposite sex, you don’t deserve to be closely monitored because of it. It’s so rude, and it affects the people around you, you know? It’s affecting me, and it’s all because we had dinner.” 
“Yeah,” he mutters. 
She stands, fire pulsing through her veins. “It’s so frustrating! I listen to those three raging about idols’ lives, when it doesn’t even affect theirs! It’s so dumb! Even if I told them we’re just friends, they’d hate me, anyway! How much more if we were actually dating? Could you imagine?” 
He rises and meets her gaze. “I could.” 
“Right? They’d go crazy! Everyone would! I see the headlines already. ‘Kim Yugyeom dating a low-rate dancer’.” 
“I think-”
“I could see the comments, too. They wouldn’t be too different from now. ‘Why would he choose her? I didn’t know his standards were so low’.” 
“Y/N, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. But you’re also being a hypocrite.”
She freezes. “What do you mean?” 
He steps forward. “You just went on about how idols are human, but here you are, claiming yourself inferior to me. Aren’t we all equal?” She nods slowly but keeps her eyes averted. He takes another step forward. “You asked if I could imagine us dating. I said I could. And you’re right, the world would freak out. But it would quiet down eventually because we wouldn’t let it affect us.” 
She looks up and loses her breath at their proximity. “Yugyeom,” she whispers. “What-”
“I like you.” 
He licks his lips, and she swears she’s going crazy. The words echo in her mind and beat through her chest, and she doesn’t know what to do. His eyes are so focused, she can’t look away. She doesn’t want to. Why doesn’t she want to? Why is he so close? Why is he so-
“I like you, Y/N. I know the media sucks, and that it feels like the world is closing in on us because of some dumb photo. I know that it takes time getting used to the cameras and comments and pretending like it’s no big deal. And I know the risk of everything I’m saying and asking of you right now, but, God. I like you.” 
“Yugyeom, I- I don’t know what to say.”
He takes her hands. “Let’s be together. We can keep it a secret. It’ll be okay.” 
“The media is freaking out as it is. If they find out we’re together…” she shakes her head. “It’s too risky. Maybe we should stop seeing each other.” 
“Please,” he says. “Tell me you feel what I feel. Tell me you like me too.”
The pieces come together. He’s been in the industry for so long, he probably hasn’t been in a relationship before. Could this be why he is so desperate to hold on to something he’s new to? 
She can’t lie to him. It would be too cruel. But to take the step and risk everything is something she doesn’t know she can do.
Y/N sighs. “If I say I do, we would be walking on thin ice. Our entire relationship would be dangerous.”
“You spent your entire life fighting for what you love. You took risks knowing the very chance of failure, but you did it anyway. How is that any different from now?”
Heat rises in her cheeks. She hates it when he’s right. She isn’t one to back down from a few challenges, a couple cameras and comments. Who said they could keep her from being happy? They can’t touch her unless she lets them. 
She meets his eyes. 
Every nerve in her body screams at her to say no, but she silences them. She grips his hand tight and nods. 
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
-
I can do this. 
She can, right? How hard could it be? All they have to do is wear baseball caps and masks and slip into the restaurant unnoticed. It shouldn’t be too hard. 
Deep breaths. Yugyeom is going to pick her up any moment now. Although they’ve met several times, her stomach erupts in butterflies, and her face sweats. But that just might be the mask. 
Her phone lights up. He’s here. 
“Don’t we look like spies?” she asks when she enters the car. “Black car, black hats, black masks, and most of all, a secret meeting. We could definitely pull off being a spy couple.”
He smiles at her. “Spy couple, huh?”
Heat rises in her cheeks. “What? No- I mean- like- a duo, like s-spy duo. Like a team. Like-”
“Like a couple. Why are you stuttering? That’s what we are, right?” he shakes his head and pinches her cheeks. “You’re adorable.” 
He holds her hand the whole ride to the restaurant.
-
“Why haven’t we gone to places like these before?” Y/N asks as she takes a seat. 
A square table sits low in the center of the room with two white pillows at its sides. The room is dim, as the lights near the wall and at the center of the ceiling cast a faint glow. It’s not too dark to make eating difficult, but perhaps enough to make the room feel romantic. 
The food must be expensive. 
“Just because I’m an idol doesn’t mean I always want to pay extra to reserve a room in a restaurant,” he says and sits across her. 
“What changed?” 
“Today’s special.” he leans in and whispers, “I’m on a secret mission.” 
Y/N hasn’t had Japanese in a long time. She never had the money. She could only afford cheap ramen in cheap places, so she almost feels guilty when Yugyeom pays. As much as she would love to be the strong, independent woman who insists to pay on the first date, she just can’t. Hopefully, only for tonight. Business is running a little slow. Maybe she needs to hang a couple more posters. 
When they walk in the Han River park, Y/N can’t say she’s thrilled. Sure, she’s holding hands with her idol, but there’s something that tugs in her stomach. She stops. 
“Everything okay?” he asks. “Let’s sit down.” 
He leads her to the grass, and they sit. She sighs. 
“I love this. I love being with you, and tonight has been great so far.”
“So, what’s wrong?” 
“I can’t see you,” she says. When he cocks his head, she continues. “I wanna see how the moonlight looks on you. Corny, I know. I just saw your face at the restaurant, but… I wanna see you at night.” 
“I’m sorry. I wanna see you too.”
“Can we take our masks off for a few seconds? There’s nobody here. I just… wanna see you.” 
He pauses for a few moments, and just when she’s about to cancel the request, he says, “Okay. Just a few seconds, so we can stare into each other's eyes.” 
She laughs. He always knew how to lift her mood. It’s still hard to believe she’s with him, like he jumped out of her phone screen and asked her to dinner. The thought makes her smile, and before she knows it, Yugyeom takes a photo of her. She looks up. 
“What?” she asks.
“You look pretty.” 
“Shut up.”
She looks away and silently thanks the universe it’s too dark for him to see her blush.
“I’m not kidding, though!” he laughs. “You always caught my eye in the fan signs. The boys make fun of me all the time for it.” 
Her eyes widen. “They know?” 
“Yeah, way before we became friends. They like you, you know. They think you’re really talented. Jaebeom hyung even said you’d make a great instructor in JYP.” 
Y/N freezes. An instructor in JYP? The company her favorite group works at? She can see it already. Helping GOT7 choreograph their songs, teaching trainees, and the one image that makes her heart soar: working with Yugyeom. They wouldn’t have to be afraid of people seeing them, only meeting at night to avoid eyes. They could be together longer, see each other more, and be an actual… couple. No more secret missions.
But just because Jaebeom thinks she could do it, doesn’t mean she can. Plus, it’s not like he has an influence in the HR department. There is no way JYP Entertainment would want a low-rate dancer like her. 
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she sighs. “My studio’s just around the corner. Wanna dance?”
-
Yugyeom rushes to the speakers and plugs in his phone. 
“I’m actually glad we’re here. I wanna to show you something,” he says. “I’m working on a new song for my SoundCloud, and I wanted you to be the first one to hear it.” 
She takes her place in the center of the room, ready to freestyle. When the music begins, her body moves with the melody. Yugyeom’s eyes glint as he watches her dance to his song. She finally meets his gaze as the confidence rises in her chest. Dancing has always been her favorite antidote. 
“That was fast. Already got a dance in mind?” he asks and walks toward her. 
She nods, but before she could say anything, her phone catches her attention.
Sunhee: Hey, boss, I forgot my earphones at the studio. Can I come by your place to borrow the keys and return them tomorrow? 
“Shit,” she mutters. 
“What’s wrong?” 
“Sunhee left her earphones here and wants to get them.”
“Why don’t you just tell her to get them tomorrow?” 
Y/N shakes her head. “She lives with her brothers, and they’re really loud, so she watches her dramas with earphones. I’ll just tell her I’m here and ask her to call me when she’s near so you could hide in the bathroom or something.”
He nods and walks back to the center to mimic the moves she did before. When she’s done texting, she runs back to him. 
“Can you show me what you did again?” he asks. 
He replays the song, and she dances. It’s just a freestyle, but there is something about the way his voice fills the room. Like silk on her skin. Every drop of anxiety from the night dissolves, and all that’s left is the music. She focuses her gaze on the mirror. But that also means looking at him. She shivers. 
“This could work,” he says. “If I could make a little video for this song, I wanna use this.” 
They get lost in the choreography. The song is unfinished, but the dance is building fast. This is not how Y/N thought their first date would come to, but she could not wish for it to go any other way. Besides, this is where it all began. 
Yugyeom plops on the floor, defeated, and looks up at her. 
“I think you’re a better dancer than me,” he pouts. 
If her heart could burst, it would be at this moment. She coos at him as she bends down and cups his cheeks. “Don’t be so hard on yourself! Did you forget who you are?” He sighs. “You’re ‘Hit the Stage’!” 
“That was four years ago.” 
“That doesn’t mean you’re less talented. You’re still GOT7’s main dancer,” she says. 
Maybe it’s a little quick, but it should be fine, right? She plants a kiss on his cheek and quickly pulls away. His eyes widen, his body completely frozen. Heat rises in his cheeks, but she’s sure she’s just as red. 
Her heart races. She’s never done that to anyone before. Romance was always a tough song to dance to. 
He gets up, and his eyes remain on hers. She bites her lip to keep from smiling too much, but it only makes her lower lip ache. The air is thick. She struggles to breathe. The distance between them is so painful to notice, but she remains still. 
“Y/N,” his voice is so low, she almost feels the rumble in her chest. “I don’t know how long I can hold myself together. I know it’s only our first date, but...” 
He grips her shoulders. Can he feel her heartbeat from there? He leans closer. 
“What do you wanna do?” 
He takes a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?” 
The words leave her lips. She could only nod. 
He doesn’t waste a second. His lips collide on hers, and the force makes her stumble. Everything, from every moment in the fan signs, to their bodies intertwined when they dance, falls into place like a puzzle piece they’ve been longing to attach. 
There is no thought to think or breath to breathe. There are only his lips and hands on her body like magnets, not opposing, but the same, and they are grasping to connect, like letting go would keep them apart forever. She runs her hands through his hair. He bites her bottom lip. She moans. This pushes him further. He holds her tight and walks them to the wall. Every second on the clock stops. Time is theirs, and theirs alone. She kisses him deeper. 
One of them gasps, and she knows it’s not from her, so she opens her eyes. Her heart stops. It came from the side. 
It came from Sunhee.
-
Part Four
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neroesecuzioni · 4 years
Text
watching your devil side
two.
The conference room in the Passione headquarters was barren with small windows and harsh white lights. You lounged in the leather office chair at the table, already regretting making a deal with Giorno. The convincing little shit.
You crossed your legs and waited.
La Squadra di Esecuzioni had said they’d meet you at headquarters if only to assess the proposal you sent to Giorno. The deal you’d cut them was nearly too perfect for people in their field. A steady flow of money wasn’t always guaranteed for the mafia, especially assassins. It was nearly perfect, if their client wasn’t you.
The conference room doors opened and you blinked when three men walked through.
Three extremely attractive men walked in.
No one warned you about that.
Two were giants in their own right and would tower over you even in heels while the other was tall but dwarfed by the others in comparison. They were all built like Grecian statues and wore outfits on par with Buccellati’s gang’s penchant for flashiness.
In the center was a man with tanned skin, deep rep eyes, and silver hair hidden beneath a hat with bells. His serious but serene expression rested on you with a weight you were used to. To his left was a taller man with a much deeper tan and deep brown locks tied into several pigtails but his plum purple eyes sparked with a mischief. His outfit looked...a little strange but you forgave it considering it clung to every inch of him. The man to the right was the shortest with bright blond hair tied back into several little buns and he wore a fashionable suit complimenting his blue eyes. Despite being the shortest of the three of them, he looked the sternest.
Armani, you surmised.
“Hello.” You stood up to greet them. “La Squadra di Esecuzioni. I’m your client... people in the business know me as Devil Yin but you can just call me Yin.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” the man at the centre said, eyes surveying you. “My name is Risotto Nero. The Capo of La Squadra di Esecuzioni. This is Prosciutto and Illuso.”
Prosciutto? Risotto?
Well, Bruno had Pannacotta and you couldn’t exactly rag on anyone when people still referred to you as Devil Yin.
“It’s a pleasure. Take a seat. I trust you have some questions considering my proposal isn’t....one of your typical assignments.”
They all sat on the opposite end of the conference table and settled in, all of them guarded and packed. They all carried some type of weapon on them along with their stands.
“You’ve requested us as your bodyguards,” Risotto said, eyes intent, “are you aware of our position in the Passione?”
“You’re assassins,” you acknowledged, “and stand users. I’m well acquainted with the inner workings of the Passione.”
“There are squads dedicated to protection and guarding. Why did you ask for us?” Prosciutto asked, his shoulders tensed beneath the sleek indigo suit
“The squad is ran by Bruno Buccellati, I’m well aware,” you said and decided to drop the bomb. “I’m friends with Giorno.”
The three of them exchanged glances.
“Friends with Don Giorno?” Illuso asked flatly.
“Long before he came into contact with the Passione,” you said, “I also know Buccellati.”
“You would not prefer Buccellati’s squad as your protection detail?” Risotto rested his arms on the table.
You tried not to run your eyes along the defined muscles on his arm. It was a terribly difficult thing to do.
“I’ve had Buccellati as a bodyguard before and while we are...friends, it is not an arrangement I’d prefer. I’d be scolded the entire time for my lifestyle,” you said breezily. “I hope some of you don’t sleep early. I typically don’t get home until four in the morning but I have rooms in my villa for you to stay in when you’re guarding me overnight.”
“What do you need guarding from?” Prosciutto’s eyes narrowed.
“Kidnapping, being held hostage, someone trying to steal my art from the studio, those kinds of things. It’s pretty mundane.” You shrugged. “Giorno didn’t appreciate the fact I was held hostage a few months ago and insisted I take on some bodyguards. I offered a payment plan for the whole group since I know your specialties might be needed for different hits outside of my schedule. As long as there’s two of you for most of the time, I don’t mind whatever you do outside of guarding me.”
“And the pay?” Risotto’s deep voice filled the quiet room.
You didn’t know what you regretted more; stepping foot into Italy, contacting Giorno, or thinking of this idea.
“As outlined in the contract. Two hundred dollars per hour per guard on a twenty-four hour detail. I’ll even pay overtime if someone clocks in more hours than they’re supposed to and you’ve seen the clause about vacation pay? I’d also prefer if you’re able to allow two members travel around Europe or to the Americas on short notice when needed.”
Anything to get Giorno off your back about becoming an assassin again when you finally got out of the business.
"And you can afford us?" Risotto asked.
"I thought you'd ask that." You stood up and reached under the table. The men tensed but you brought out a few briefcases and set them down on the table. You slid them over. "Here's two-hundred sixty-nine thousand dollars in payment for the first month to split between your seven members."
The three of them flipped open the briefcases and scanned through the euros.
"So, do we have a deal?"
Risotto glanced at his companions before he gave an imperceptible nod.
“Fantastic, here’s my schedule on a daily basis and the addresses of the places I’ll be frequenting. The safest trade-off times would be nine in the morning, five in the evening, and one in the morning and you can start tomorrow if your team is ready." You slid over a folder towards them.
“It would be best if you met the team beforehand,” Risotto said after he finished flipping through the papers.
///
La Squadra di Esecuzioni’s headquarters was a discreet series of townhouses connected together, hidden behind walls, gates, and bushes. The pale stone exteriors were a little worn by time but the iron gates were polished despite age dulling the metal slightly.
You walked along the paved path towards the front door obscured by foliage, behind Risotto, Illuso, and Prosciutto. They opened double-layered iron-wrought doors to a barren entryway.
You frowned as you looked around. This place had so much untouched potential with the stone floors and walls; a house like this would cost a fortune to make today but there were few decorations and even fewer signs of life. It was as if no one had inhabited this place in years and from what you knew, La Squadra lived here.
Risotto lead you to a larger room with threadbare couches where four other men lounged. 
“This is our long-term client,” Risotto said, tone brooking for no arguments. “Become familiar with her. Formaggio, Melone, you begin with her tomorrow at nine in the morning. I’ll give everyone their schedules tonight.”
“You can call me Yin,” you said and stepped up. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The man with a buzzed grey-blue hair and a playful smirk leaned deep into the couch. His studded jacket clung to his lean muscles as he flexed subtly and winked at you. “Well, if you had said we’d be guarding such a cute girl, I wouldn’t have argued at all. I’m Formaggio, babe. You’ll be spending the day with me tomorrow.”
“...hello?” you said.
“Don’t mind him.” A man with pale lilac hair and bright blue eyes framed by thick lashes smiled at you and took your hand into his, placing a kiss onto your knuckles. “I’m Melone. It’s rare we have such a beautiful woman for a client. I’ll also be guarding you tomorrow.”
“Thank you?” You pulled your hand out of his. How were you supposed to introduce yourself to fellow assassins outside of the job and not across rooftops or while on the run? “I hope we’ll get along.”
Prosciutto clicked his tongue. “Pesci, Ghiaccio, introduce yourself.”
A man with neon green hair styled upwards and black eyes shining with hesitance stepped up. “H-hello, I’m Pesci! It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” you said, sending him a gentle smile.
The last man on the end of the couch scowled harshly, the red glasses perched on his nose contrasted against his bright blue hair and barely obscured his black eyes.
“I’m Ghiaccio,” he mumbled reluctantly.
“And now you’ve met all of us,” Illuso said, smirking as he looked down at you. “Regretting your decision yet?”
“Better than being kidnapped,” you said and turned to Melone and Formaggio, handing them a sheet of paper. “Well, here’s the address to meet me at tomorrow. I hope you bring yourself something to prevent boredom...I’m not really doing anything interesting as of yet.”
///
Prosciutto rested in the chair across from Risotto in his office, long legs crossed as he leaned in the chair.
He rolled a cigarette between his two fingers.
“Do you think Giovanna is planning something?” he asked lowly, meeting Risotto's black and red gaze.
His Capo folded his hands on his desk bare of anything besides pens, paperwork, and a laptop. “Be prepared for anything. We’ll warn the others tonight.”
He ran his tongue along his overbite.
///
The sun gleamed through the front door of your villa.
You waited in your entryway for your newly hired bodyguards, already dressed for the day in sleek black leggings beneath a loose, blue one-shoulder sweater and a black lace tank top.
A knock sounded at the door five minutes before nine.
You opened the door to Formaggio and Melone. The former was dressed similarly to yesterday in studded clothes, leather pants, and a half-open top from the bottom. The latter, however, was dressed in a skin tight purple outfit revealing a lot of skin unlike the long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants from yesterday. Somehow, you were the only normal looking one in this trio.
Formaggio whistled as he looked into your home and ran his eyes over you. "Hello, hello."
“Uh, hello, welcome to my home? Sorry, I’d offer refreshments but the driver is arriving in five minutes.”
“It’s not a problem, babe.” Formaggio grinned. “We’re all ready to go.”
“We always come prepared, bella.” Melone rested his hip against the door, lips curled almost like a cat. “We’ll be given a tour of your home another time, yes?”
"If you'd like?" you said. "Oh, there's the driver. We better go."
///
The driver parked outside of a large apartment building near an old library close to the heart of Naples.
Your bodyguards followed you out and into the building, past the security already patrolling, and you took the elevator to your new studio.
It was a second-floor, concrete loft you bought to convert into a studio and there were already boxes of furniture, unfinished seating, and decorations sitting on palettes inside. The small kitchen was tucked beneath the stairs leading to the second floor. A drink fridge with a clear door was the most prominent feature besides the bar counter on the opposite side.
"This will be the most boring job you've ever had I hope you know,” you said idly as you dragged a sofa off the palette. "At least until my brand of luck turns up. Hold on, please take a seat on the bar stools. I'll have the sitting area built soon."
"Your brand of luck?" Formaggio grinned. "Want a hand, babe?"
You sent him a dry look. "Have you ever had to learn archery to prevent a Prince of Brunei from marrying your friend while being held hostage in his palace?"
"And he didn't want to marry you, cara?" Melone leaned over your shoulder, voice barely a murmur.
"Not at all," you said idly as you set down the couch on it's back and flounced back to the kitchen. "Hold on, do you have a drink preference? I don't think there's much besides iced coffee and flavoured sparkling water."
"Aren't we your bodyguards?" Melone asked, lips tugging into a smile.
You blinked. "I guess Risotto didn't explain everything? Your team is just a precautionary measure but really, this is a way you're making quick money unless another Prince decides I'm a good morsel to kidnap. Oh, we have fruit juices as well."
"We'll get our own drinks, babe." Formaggio leaned against the bar counter. "You didn't answer my question though, need any help? Looks like a lot of work for someone like you."
You hummed and went back to the sofa to start attached the legs from the box it came with. "Not right now."
You glanced at the two men's heavy gazes following you and went back to building the sitting area. You weren't sure what to make of them but they definitely were better than becoming an assassin again when you could be an artist.
///
(ao3 link)
Author Notes: I normally write fiction that’s more literary but this is purely here for self indulgence so if you see something that you squint your eyes at....skim over it. We’re in horny hours.
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puffwriter1998 · 3 years
Text
The Things We Let Go Ch.3
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Summary: Addison’s experience at the 422nd Quidditch World cup.
Character Pairings: Fred Weasley X OC (not really in this chapter)
Word Count: 2.2K
A/N: This is a shorter chapter, but I really enjoyed writing it. If you’ve been following along: thank you so much! I can’t wait to let the rest of this story unfold. I have so much written. Some dialog in this chapter comes from the original works.  
As the day wore on, the excitement amongst the ever-growing crowd of wizards around me multiplied. When the sun began to go down, it boiled over and all pretense of a muggle façade was dropped. Merchants for both teams were Apparating here and there, carrying armloads of hats with dancing shamrocks and red scarves with lions that really roared. Children flew through the rows on toy brooms that only rose a few feet off the ground. Surely the ministry would be modifying a few memories before it was all said and done. 
 The Weasley bunch left us a little early with Harry and Hermione in tow, to be able to make their way up to the Top Box to sit with the Minister of Magic and a few other top officials who organized the Cup. Harry looked about as excited as I felt, gazing around at the scene in wonder as they walked away through the crowd. 
It soon came time for us to head into the woods towards what I assumed would be a pretty large stadium. Mr. Abbott led Hannah, Charlie and me onto a trail that was magnificently lit with floating lanterns. The excitement of the thousands of people, all walking through the trees, was contagious. A smile had spread across my face from ear to ear and there was no chance of losing it. There were chants supporting both teams, laughter, and from a little further off, a lighthearted song in favor of the Irish. 
We walked like this for a few minutes before I began to be able to pick out glimpses of a gargantuan stadium through the trees ahead. As we grew closer, I got a sense of just how big it was. 
 “Mr. Abbot,” I called to him, a few feet ahead of me, “Just how many people does this stadium hold?” 
 “A hundred thousand!” he replied gleefully. 
 A hundred thousand. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that there were a hundred thousand magical people on the globe, let alone at one event. Magical communities were so few and far between in Britain, and there were so few students at Hogwarts, that I had assumed we had relatively small numbers. 
 The golden walls surrounding the field rose higher and higher in front of me as we approached. A stream of wizards narrowed into one of the nearest entrances in front of us. A ministry witch at the gate peered down at the tickets Mr. Abbott handed her. 
 “Not too bad, not too bad. Straight up the stairs, about halfway up, there’ll be someone there to show you to your seats,” she said and waved us through. 
 We began our climb upwards on the carpeted stairs amongst the tight crowd of people. People exited through doors at various levels and filed into the stands. About half way up the height of the stadium, Mr. Abbott said “Ah, here we are,” and led us through a doorway. He handed another Ministry worker our tickets, and we were pointed into a long row of folding seats.
 As we sat, I looked out over the field and marveled at the sight of a hundred thousand wizards all taking their seats around me. The entire stadium seemed to be bathed in a marvelous golden light. The field was a smooth green lake below us, and the stands rose like a fortress above us. We were seated about halfway up, and halfway between the towering golden goalposts. Beautiful gold script danced across a huge blackboard at the top of the stadium on the side across from us that flashed various advertisements for magical goods and services. 
 I was in absolute awe. I tried to remember why I ever felt guilty for loving this life, and I couldn’t. The scene in front of me was almost too good to be true. The excitement radiating through the stands was tangible. My cheeks were aching from smiling so widely, but I knew they’d be getting no relief anytime soon. 
 Before I knew it, the voice of Ludo Bagman was audible over the roaring of the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen… welcome!” The crowd exploded in response and Bagman waited for the noise level to go back down before continuing. “Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” 
 Flags of green and scarlet waved all around the stadium as fans clapped and cheered. The blackboard across the stadium was wiped clean of the golden advertisements and they were replaced with BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0. 
 “And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…” Mr.Bagman’s voice shouted, “the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” 
 The Bulgaria side, an endless sea of scarlet, erupted in excitement. At that moment, a least a hundred beautiful women strutted out onto the field. 
 “Their mascots are women?” I leaned in and asked Charlie. 
 “They’re Veela! Look closer!” She shouted back over the deafening crowd. 
 I started to ask her what Veela were, but I was immediately distracted by the perfection of the creatures on the field. Charlie, was right, they definitely weren’t regular women. Their skin looked like porcelain that was reflected in a most beautiful moonlight. The platinum, white-gold hair that hung down their backs splayed out behind them like they were walking in front of a wind-machine. I had never seen such dazzling creatures. 
 And then they started to dance. They twisted their bodies and moved across the field as if their feet weren’t touching the ground. It was such a wonderful display of beauty that I couldn’t tear my eyes away. That was, until Charlie’s voice cut into the blissful emptiness that had overcome my mind. 
 “Dad? Dad, what’re you doing?” she asked. 
 “Huh?” Mr. Abbott had risen from his seat and looked like he was about to swan dive off the edge of the wall in front of him. He blinked like he had just woken up from an incredibly confusing dream. He cleared his throat, “Goodness, forgive me. Those Veela, they’re really something aren’t they?” 
 His face flushed red with embarrassment, but as I gazed around the stadium, it seems that he had no reason to. About every man in the stadium had risen from their seats and were in varying states of trying to climb down the rows in front of them to get to the field. The Veela dance came to an end, and all around me, people began to wake up the way Mr. Abbott did. 
 “And now,” Ludo roared over the crowd, “kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!” 
 As the words left his mouth, a great ball of gold and green light burst into the stadium. It did one full lap around the perimeter and then broke off into two smaller orbs and shot towards the goalposts on the ends. Then, just as suddenly as the balls of light had appeared, a magnificent rainbow arced down and connected the two. Hannah, Charlie, and I gazed in amazement, along with the rest of the crowd. 
 The rainbow faded and was replaced by a giant shimmering shamrock, that rose high into the sky and began doing laps over the stands. A beautiful golden rain seemed to be falling from beneath it as it flew. When it soared over us, I realized they were Galleons, the biggest and most valuable of the wizard currency. 
 “Goodness!” I exclaimed as I ducked out of the way of the heavy gold coins.
 “You won’t want to pick any of that up,” yelled Mr. Abbott to me over the girls’ heads. “That’s fools gold!” 
 “Fools gold?” I hollered back and squinted up at the shamrock. 
 “They’re leprechauns!” As soon as he said it, I realized that the entire shape was made up of hundreds and hundreds of tiny bearded men, all holding a small lamp of gold or green. Many people around the stadium were scrambling around, and it looked like a few fights had even broken out over the gold. 
 “It’ll disappear before the night is out,” said Charlie, “That’s why it’s fool’s gold, only a fool would think they’d rain down millions of real Galleons at the World Cup.” 
 The giant shamrock finished its parade, and the leprechauns put out their lanterns to drift down onto the opposite side of the field as the Veela. 
 Ludo Bagman then welcomed the Bulgarian and Irish players to the field, but my eyes never left Krum. His thick black hair shone in the golden light that I still hadn’t found the source of. He looked much too big to be able to control his broom with such precision. He didn’t even look nervous, he looked like the whole thing was beneath him. 
 The match began as flashes of scarlet and green raced around the field. Bagman tried to keep up with quaffle, but they played at such speed that he only had time to say the player’s names. “It’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!” 
 I had never seen such a display of skill and athleticism. The speed of the players was so great that my eyes were having trouble following them. Ireland scored three times within the first ten minutes of the match, and I could see why. They worked flawlessly as a unit, rather than individual players. It was simply amazing. 
 A while later, Ireland was pummeling Bulgaria. They were up 170 to 10, with no intention of going easy on the players in red. Krum had just had his nose smashed by taking a bludger square in the face. The official had been distracted by a Veela who had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom ablaze. Blood sprayed out from behind Krum has he flew through the air.
 Suddenly, Lynch, the Irish seeker had gone into a dive. It mimicked the Wronski Feint that Krum had used earlier in the game to get Lynch to crash into the field, but this dive had much more purpose to it. 
 “Look, Lynch is after the snitch!” I cried and pointed towards the streak of green rushing down at the field. Irish supporters, including the Abbotts screamed in support of their seeker. However, Krum was right behind him. Blood covered his face, and I wondered how he had any earthly idea what direction the snitch was in. He was catching up to Lynch though, every milisecond that passed gaining another few feet. As they drew level, they were hurtling towards the ground at an impossible speed, and I sensed a second crash coming. 
 I was at least partly right, as Lynch collided with the ground with a thud that I swore I could hear over the roaring crowd. A mob of vicious Veela, so different from the beautiful creatures they were when they took the field, surrounded Lynch and blocked him from view. 
 Krum rose slowly into the air, blood still pouring from his nose like a faucet someone forgot to turn off. The tiny golden snitch was clasped between his fingers in a raised fist. My eyes flashed up to the scoreboard and my heart dropped; BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170. 
 The Ireland supporters slowly began to realize what had happened and a deafening roar came from the green in the crowd. 
 “IRELAND WINS!” Exclaimed the voice of Ludo Bagman, obviously surprised by the sudden end to such an exciting match. “KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WINS – good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”
 The Abbotts next to me began jumping up and down and cheering with the rest of the people dressed in green. 
 “Blimey!” yelled Charlie. “Wonder what he did that for?” 
 I knew exactly why Krum caught the snitch when the Bulgarians were 160 points behind. He saw that they were being destroyed by the Irish, and he wanted to end it himself, before it got any more messy. 
 “What a match, eh Addison?” called Mr. Abbott from over Charlie’s head, “bet you didn’t expect that one. That Krum is a wonder though, I’ll admit.” 
 I felt slightly deflated, a feeling that usually came to me after we lost our own quidditch match at school. I had really been hoping for Bulgaria to win, but seeing Krum beat Lynch to the snitch almost made up for it. 
 Suddenly it dawned on me that Fred and George had won their bet. Against all odds, Ireland had won, but Krum caught the snitch. They’d probably be rich after they got done with Bagman. A small grin spread across my face as I realized this is the outcome I should have preferred. 
 The Irish supporters were already beginning to celebrate as we made our way back down the purple carpeted stairs. I’d have to congratulate Fred and George on their win. I’m sure the high they were riding right then was on a whole different level than the rest of the fans. The joyous energy pouring from the sea of green in front of me was infectious. The night was still young, and I couldn’t help but have the feeling that the most exciting part of my world cup experience was yet to come.
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star-birthmark · 4 years
Text
A Type of Man: Mista x Reader x Formaggio
This is one of the older works that I had done on my two favorite boys of Vento Aureo. Hope you like it! Give it some love if you do!
You had joined the mafia in search of your lost love but in your seemingly hopeless search, you found a new love that you cannot deny. You’ve got a type alright, the two goofballs of Passione. (3.8k words)
Ever since hearing the news, weeks went by with Little Feet’s user growing more and more annoyed with his teammates. Tonight was the last straw. 
At first, he disguised as a need to focus work. Who the hell could focus when Prosciutto was too busy rocking the bed next door with the first broad that caught his eye at a bar? Then he tried to disguise it as trying to sleep when he heard Melone and one of his latest nightstands getting it on shamelessly. His frustration was spiraling out of control. He grumbled out of jealousy whenever Sorbet and Gelato would get just a tad too touchy in front of everyone, not so subtly muttering for the two to get a room. When Risotto brought a member of the intel squad to his office for a meeting and eyed her with something other than lust, right in front of everyone, Formaggio couldn’t help but feel angry with him. Didn’t he know how dangerous it was to even think about romance in this life? 
It wasn’t until Illuso jokingly called him Ghiaccio for all his sneering that he really lost it.  The assassin (who had had quite a bit of alcohol that night, and was more than a little tipsy) stormed out of the living room, going across the hideout to a balcony overlooking the city. The man gripped onto the metal handles till his knuckles grew white and he bit the inside of his cheek. After a couple of seconds of violent shaking, the man slumped forward over the bar with a heavy sigh. 
“What the fuck’s happened to you?”
Formaggio turned around to see Prosciutto standing in the doorway, lighting a cigarette before tossing the match off the side of the balcony. The redhead scoffed and shook his head, staring out into the city. 
“Go away, man.”
“If you’re so jealous of the rest of us for getting some, you could always get off your lazy ass, get to a bar and get one yourse-”
“That’s not it Pros.” 
The blond turned to look over at his teammate, not recognizing the sincerity and heartbreak that was plastered all over his face. He sighed and exhaled some smoke, looking out into the city. 
“What is it then? You got a mission next week. A big one. If you let something little like this screw it up, it could make the squad look bad-”
“Oh my fucking- You don’t get it. You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it!”
Formaggio groaned, hands rubbing his face before he turned to Prosciutto with a scowl, only to look up at the entirely unfazed face of his senior assassin. The gang member stood up, straightening his back and rubbing the back of his neck. With his eyes staring into the city below them, he opened his mouth to explain. 
“I overheard Illuso tell Ris something in a private meeting and I can’t stop thinking about it.” Prosciutto raised an eyebrow and Formaggio continued.
“He… oh god. He said there’s someone new that’s coming to Passione. They’re taking Polpo’s test tomorrow.” Grateful Dead’s wielder furrowed his brow in questioning. 
“So? There’s always someone taking the test. Passione’s a big organization, it bound to have stand users everywhere.” 
“But that’s not it… Not really.”
Formaggio gulped. Why the fuck was this so difficult to admit?! What if Prosciutto thought if him as lesser after this? Either way, the blond was getting impatient. 
“Out with it.” Formaggio rubbed the back of his neck in nerves. 
“Well… I know who she is… The woman that’s taking the test that is. She’s… she’s an old girlfriend of mine. From before I joined the gang. I thought I’d never get to hear about her again, so when I heard from Illuso that she was taking the test, all those memories came back and I guess I… I just want to see her again. A-and I see that look on your face. I know it’s stupid. And I’ve tried to replace the same way you all do but after every night with someone else, I still think about her and realize I left her without saying goodbye before I joined you all. And I was fine with that until I heard her name again and now I can’t bring myself to forget her again. That’s why I’ve been acting so weird, so jealous I guess… Women have come and gone Pros, but (y/n)… oh man…  She meant the world to me… I guess she still does. And if I had lived a different life this past few years, I bet I’d still be with her.” 
He sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration and glancing up at Prosciutto, who was genuinely shocked at his teammate’s words of affection. The older squad member let out a heavy breath and patted Formaggio on the back. He shrugged.
“I guess you can only wait to see what kind of stand she gets. Risotto will be keeping a close watch to see if she’ll fit the team; you should keep a close watch as well.” 
You always were attracted to the wild ones.
The boys that lived for the laughter of others, that found meaning in their jokes and the warmth that they radiated. You reveled in their grins, lopsided posture and handsome low chuckles that sprung from deep in their chest. You loved their bear hugs and broad chests, how they would adorably nuzzle their face into your neck like a sad puppy whenever sad.
Oh god, you had a type. And you’ve dated that type before, and you certainly will in the future.
When you had joined Passione, your stand immediately landed under Bruno Buccellati’s radar. It had a precision that would complement the more powerful but inaccurate stands like Purple Haze or Aerosmith. By the time you stepped out of prison having received your pin from Polpo, there was already a man waiting for you. The capo had instructed you to wear the pin to alert your escort that you were the newbie. The glint of the metallic pin alerted the man, straightening himself out from leaning on the lamp post nearby. The two of you made eye contact until he motioned for you to take the pin off, which you did, albeit with slightly nervous and shaky fingers. This was all so new to you. You had no idea what was in store. But you were determined to reach your goal. To get back to him. 
To get back to Formaggio.
Your guide was approaching, his lips pierced together in a serious, business only grimace. He looked around for anyone that could be watching, before turning down to you.
“Are you (y/n) (l/n)?” 
You raised your chin, refusing to seem as nervous as you felt. Though that point you couldn’t tell if you were nervous from the new life of crime awaiting you, or from the handsome stare of the man in front of you. You looked his up and down, raising an eyebrow. He was handsome for sure, but not what you were expecting. You shake away your thoughts about the other’s looks and speak.
“Yes, I am. Who are you? Polpo said Buccellati wore a black and white suit.” 
A smirk came over the man’s face and he snickered. Well, he didn’t seem that intimidating. He was probably your age anyway.
“Well (y/n), Buccellati was too busy with a meeting to pick you up from Polpo, so I’m be escorting you to the gang. A pleasure to meet you.” 
With that, the two of you were on your way, weaving through the streets of Naples to get to Libeccio. You were having trouble following your guide, often lagging behind him in the crowded streets.
“Pardon me (y/n), but we’re in kind of a hurry. We can’t really risk anyone seeing us.” 
“Well pardon me, sir, I don’t know the way and you’re walking too fast for me.” 
You stumbled out a response as you bumped shoulders with a few people going the opposite way. Your extremely ineffective escort smiled before reaching over and grabbing your hand and hurrying, even more, causing you to yelp at the sudden speed change. 
“W-wait! Hold on! Slow down!”
“You’re the one that’s taking too long!”
By the time the two of you reached Libeccio, you were panting, hunched over in fatigue and out of breath from all the man’s running. When you finally found your composure, you looked up to what seemed like the rest of your crew. You stood up straight, then bowed before all of them.
“My name is (f/n) (l/n)…. Please to meet you Buccellati, everyone. I hope we can still become a good team.” 
You watched their faces. Wait a second… none of them fit the description of Buccellati that Polpo gave. There was a man with long silver hair and lipstick, one with shaggy dark hair and a bandana, and another blond with… holes in his suit. None of them had the bowl cut and hair clips that the capo described.
“Wait… which one of you is Buccellati?” The group looked at each other, all chuckling at bit at your expense. The bandana one finally spoke up. 
“Buccellati left to pick you up from jail about 10 minutes ago. We wanted to trick him.” He got up from his seat and high fived the hatted man that had been escorting you across town. The holed suit one rolled his eyes. 
“I didn’t think it was a good idea Mista.” The lipstick one nodded in agreement.
“It’s not even a good prank.” Your beloved guide quit his chuckling with a pat at the top of your head, causing her cheeks to flush a bit more than you’d like. 
“Maybe so, but Buccellati wouldn’t have gotten this slowpoke here so fast. I think I broke a new record.” He let out a booming laugh along with his bandana pal. You looked up at your teaser. So that’s your trickster’s name. Mista. You had to refocus your annoyance, a bit distracted by his dynamic smile and laugh. 
Once you regained your fearlessness, however, a swift hand came swinging at the back of the mobster’s clothed head. He flinched and pouted at you while everyone else chuckled.
“The hell was that for beautiful?” Your face flushed bright red and you sneered.
“Forget Buccellati! You tricked me, you dick!” You reached to hit the back of his head again when he playfully ducked and the two of you began to chase each other while all the others howled in laughter, appreciating your boldness if nothing else. 
An hour later, Buccellati finally got back into Libeccio after uselessly being across town, confused that Polpo had no one for him to pick up. When he walked to his team’s table, the sight before him was nothing short of endearing. The group was already playing a game of card together, Mista sitting closely next to the new recruit, the two of them taking turns applying ice packs to each other after their little spat. The leader shook his head and took a seat next to his silver-haired right-hand man in the circle. Introductions would have to come later. 
From that point on, you and Mista only got closer. He found in you something that wasn’t previously seen in the team’s dynamic. An emotional concern for them all. Making sure they were all okay. Sure, Buccellati had done more than enough to establish himself as a leader that cared for his men, and sure, Giorno had the power to heal any of them at a moment’s notice. But even so, Buccellati could be a bit too “tough love” for Mista’s liking, and Giorno’s healing was merely physical. Here you came along. Someone who could turn his nonsensical descriptions of the food he had a child, into a recipe for her and Fugo to cook for dinner for them all. Someone who laughed at his jokes and wasn’t Narancia. Someone who scolded him for being immature, and praised him when he was professional and well-dressed for Passione meetings. In the beginning, he had to admit that he was wary of you. Of course, he thought you were beautiful, but a gentleman like him couldn’t just outright say that. He was nervous that he would be too forward with you and push you away. Someone who would sit next to him on the couch and lean again his shoulder. However, as the months went by, and the novelty of you being new to the group was beginning to wear off, Mista was getting more and more comfortable with you.
Until that comfort turned back into nerves when he realized he had feelings for you. 
And you. You were too distracted with your goal. Your goal to get back to Formaggio. In the first few weeks of being in Buccellati’s group, you searched through Passione’s archives for any sign of your former boyfriend. When he suddenly disappeared all those years ago, you could only hope it wasn’t the mafia. Of course, it was, your Formaggio always got into trouble with the law, even when the two of you were younger. So you figured joining the mob was your way to get to him. You knew what you were getting into. You had had your scuffles with the police more than a fair share along with your former boyfriend and were ready for anything Buccellati ever threw at you. There was just one problem. 
You were falling in love with one of your teammates. 
Mista reminded you so much of Formaggio. Both had laughs worse than their bites, you loved to take care of both of them, and they both would stop at nothing to make you smile. You and Mista were getting closer and closer and the memories of Formaggio were fading. When Buccellati finally asked you why you joined the mob in the first place, you couldn’t find it in your heart to tell him that you joined just to reconnect with the love of your life. Not when Mista was so nearby to hear it all. Instead, you told him in private in the leader’s office, careful not to hurt anyone’s feelings.  
Besides, when you finally found your dear Formaggio’s file in the archives, it stated in a sobering bold font “missing: 3/29/01”. Little did you know the whole of La Squadra had done that to conceal their identity. They were about to go up against the Boss, but all you could think of was the pain in your chest that the reason you were in organized crime was now “missing”. 
Well… now you had Mista as your reason. That first night when he revealed at a romantic dinner (which Buccellati and Fugo’s help) that he was in love, he became your reason. The first time you two kissed in the doorway to your room, he became your reason. The first time the two of you held each other in the moonlight gleaming outside your bedroom window, he became your reason. You lost your knight but met another. 
Formaggio never stopped looking for you. When you first took your test, he hoped and prayed that Risotto would see a use for you in La Squadra. But, of course, perfect little Buccellati had to swoop in and take you under his wing first. He tried several times to spy on Buccellati’s team, claiming the intel would help them defeat the boss when all he wanted was just to see you. After a while, Prosciutto, the only other member that knew about Formaggio’s plight, told him to let it go. The mob was an ocean of people, and he was looking like an idiot searching for one small fish. With a heavy heart, Formaggio nodded to his senior member and continued on as if you had never reappeared in his life. 
Until the last gala of the year, a giant party for all of the capos and their cronies to meet and negotiate territory and trade dealings. You were in your room getting dressed when Mista walked in with his tuxedo, leaning against the door and smiling. 
“My my… bella. Venus herself couldn’t look better if she tried.” He chuckled, looking down at you as you walked up and pecked him on the lips. 
“Maybe so… but you need to take this hat off.” You pouted. You loved his curls. You wished you could see them more often. Mista huffed. 
“In good time, in good time. Don’t worry.” 
The party kicked off in full swing, the whole squad arriving right on time and beginning to dance. Sure, your boyfriend may be a bit clumsy on his feet, but when he finally got into the rhythm, the two of you made your turns gracefully enough across the dance floor. You couldn’t stop looking at him. He was the perfect man when you thought you had lost the perfect man. He made you laugh, he comforted you. He made this dark world that the two of you were part of, seem all the more livable. The dancing soon ended with a slow extension of the last note and both of you stopped, Mista now the one out of breath out of the two of you. 
“I’ll be right back…  Getting something to drink.” You nod, standing on the dance floor alone, watching him leave with a small smile on your face. 
“No way… (y/n)?” Your eyes widened. That voice. With a shudder down your spine, you turn around, stunned at the person in front of you.
“Formaggio…  Oh my god!”
 You gasped, running up to him across the dance floor. You had planned on a mere hug, but your former lover had other things in mind. With a quick motion, he scooped you up and twirled you around, the two of you laughing together right in front of his stunned teammates. He sets you down, the two of you staring into each other’s eyes before you rested your head into his chest, whispering “Dante… I can’t believe it” only to him. Formaggio placed his chin on top of your head. It was so nice to hear his real name for once. From your voice too. He looked down at you, taking his hands in his. 
“I’ve waited… so long (y/n), till maybe, just maybe, I could go back to see you… I didn’t think you’d go so far as to come here see me.” You smiled, stroking his cheek. 
 “I did everything just to see you…” You whispered before a sudden wave of nerves approached as his face drew nearer and nearer. You took a step back, avoiding his kiss with an insecure smile, but keeping your hand on his chest.
“It’s been lovely to see you again, Formaggio-” 
“(y/n)? There you are.” 
Your chest hurt as you looked to the side to see Mista approaching with your drinks. The man looked between the two of you, and you quickly took your hand off your Dante’s chest. You turned your head back to Formaggio and smiled softly, feeling the heat behind your eyes begin to pool into small tears. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle as Formaggio looked between you and Mista, his brain slowly but surely processing what was going on. You tried to wipe your tears. He always had been an idiot. But even an idiot can put two and two together. 
“Hey. An old friend of hers… You’re a real lucky man. You’ve got the greatest woman on your arm… Don’t lose her.” You couldn’t help but shudder and stare down at the floor, Mista watching your reactions. He turned to Formaggio and smiled. 
“I can tell what’s happening here. I’m not stupid. I heard (y/n) tell Buccellati why she joined Passione. Not because she was in trouble or in debt. It was because of you…”
You watched his face turn shy and timid, so unlike him. You reached forward to hug Mista closely. Formaggio sighed. 
“Congrats man. You got slowpoke over there.” The assassin chuckled sadly, trying to recall a nickname he gave you when you two were dating. Mista nodded quickly. 
“I know right? She’s such a slowpoke. Everyone says I’m just being mean by calling her that, but I can’t take her anywhere without it taking three extra hours.” The remark caused Formaggio to chuckle while you just looked at the two of them annoyed. 
“You don’t even know the half of it. When she and I were dating, I tried to get her to join a game of pick up soccer I was in, and she could never get to the position in time.” 
“Wait you play pick up soccer? What position?” 
“Power Forward.”
“Me too!” 
You backed away from the two of them, shocked now that their sad gazes and sneers had turned into bright-eyed glints and the smiles of a blooming friendship. You wiped your eyes, unable to stop yourself from chuckling as they made you laugh together. 
“And then there was this one time the two of us wanted to go to the movies together and she took forever to get ready. I tell her, ‘Babe. It’s a dark movie theater and you already look beautiful’, but this princess over here wasn’t having it. She had to look more beautiful.” 
“What movie were you seeing?” 
“Eh, some Clint Eastwood film.”
“I love Clint Eastwood!”
“Me too! You gotta come over and watch ‘em! (y/n) as well I guess.” You were left stunned as the two men bonded out of nowhere.
“You know what. I like you, man. I think I heard (y/n) say your name was Formaggio. You seem like an honest to god guy.”
“Hey, you don’t seem so bad yourself man. Hey, maybe we should hang out or something. Us and (y/n).” 
You playfully scoffed at the two goofballs, walking ahead of the two of them to your seat for dinner. The two men lingered behind, watching your back as you retreated, then turning their gazes further down. Mista grinned. 
“You know… we could share her too. If you catch what I mean.” Both Formaggio’s eyes and smirk widened in pleasant shock. 
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” 
The two of them shook on it and went to join you, each sitting on either side of you, caging you in a warmth that can only come from someone that loves you. 
Theirs was a type of love that you much preferred. Plain, simple, fun, love. Love that didn’t take itself too seriously. The love between two that could blossom into fun adventures of three. 
And the two goofballs of Passione both had something that they loved more than anything. You.
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rena-rain · 5 years
Text
Miraculous Hogwarts AU (First Day)
“Adrien.” Gabriel Agreste called out his son’s name as he was about to step onto the train. Adrien turned to be greeted with his fathers hands on his shoulders and steel-colored eyes boring holes into his soul. He received no further warning than that before being pulled into a rare, rare hug. Adrien froze for a second then relaxed into the embrace.
Far too soon Mr. Agreste pulled away. “Be good, son.”
“I will, Father.” He gave him one last smile then stepped onto the train.
He opened a door behind which sat a small girl with pink ribbons in her black pigtails. She wore muggle clothing and sat curled up in her seat, staring out the window. An unusually red tawny owl was perched on her knee.
“Hey.”
His voice made her start. “Um. Hi.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Sure, yeah. No! That is I don’t mind, I mean - go ahead?” The girl’s cheeks went pink and she seemed to shrink into herself even more. Adrien guessed she was a muggle-born; she was alone, clearly nervous, and seemed pretty out of her element.
He smiled and took the seat opposite her. “Thanks. I’m Adrien, by the way.”
“Marinette. Nice to meet you, Adrien.” She put her feet down and stuck her hand out. He shook it.
“Likewise, Marinette. So, are you excited to finally see Hogwarts?”
“I guess so. This is all so new to me I don’t really know what to expect. My parents are, well, they don’t have magic, you see.” So he was right. “I guess you grew up waiting to go to Hogwarts, huh?”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“I thought I heard some other kids talking about houses? I thought we were going to live in a castle.”
Adrien grinned. “Houses as in groups inside the school. A house is kind of like one big team, and they compete against each other. You get sorted into a house depending on your personality.”
Marinette’s eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “The professors separate us then pit us against each other?”
“I - I think it’s more like having a place to belong even on the first day of school. Each house is named after one of the Hogwarts founders: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Everyone in my family has been a Gryffindor for generations.”
Marinette hummed thoughtfully. Before she had a chance to respond, another girl opened the compartment door. She wore muggle clothes too, but the button-down oxford and jogging pants combination clashed so that it was clear she grew up in witch’s robes. She had rich red-brown hair, soft ochre skin, and a cute mole above her right eyebrow that made her look permanently sassy. She had an owl cage tucked under her arm and dark-rimmed glasses threatening to slide off her nose.
“Oh, thank god, all the other compartments are packed. Can my friend and I join you?”
Adrien looked to Marinette, who said, “Of course. Are you a first year, too?”
“Yep. I’m Alya - one sec.” She leaned out the door into the corridor. “Nino! I found a place!” 
She sat down, and another boy came in right behind her. He was already wearing black wizard’s robes. “Thank you so much, dudes. We barely got on the train before it started moving.” He held out his hand to Adrien, who was closest to him. “I’m Nino, by the way.”
He shook it, smiling. “Adrien. And this is Marinette.” Marinette gave a shy little wave.
“Whoa, sweet bird, dudette. I’ve only seen a color like that a few times before!” Nino switched seats so he was closer to Marinette and held out a finger. “May I?”
“Sure.” Nino stroked the owl’s head delicately. It closed its eyes contentedly.
“She likes you.”
“What’s her name?” Alya asked.
“I’ve been calling her Tikki. Is that a dumb name for an owl? I’m sorry this is all new to me.”
“Nah. I once heard of an owl called Pigwidgen. You said new? Are you a muggleborn?”
“Uh, yes, yes I am.”
“Well don’t worry,” Alya wrapped an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, making her smile. “We’ll get you all caught up, right boys?”
They both responded in the affirmative. Marinette respondes, “Adrien’s been telling me about the Hogwarts houses.”
“Oh yeah? Have a guess where you’ll be sorted, pretty boy?”
Adrien sighed. Alya’s face and voice were good-naturedly teasing, but he’d long since tired of that nickname. “My whole family’s been Gryffindors for generations.”
“Dude same for mine and Hufflepuff.” Nino gently shoulder bumped him. “Maybe we’ll break the pattern.”
Alya snorted. “Nino if you’re not a Hufflepuff I’ll eat my wand.”
“Why’re you so sure?” Marinette asked.
“Hufflepuff is the most inclusive house. The founder only wanted her students to work hard and be fair, and Nino’s scolded me for taking some of his ice cream.”
“If you wanted a double scoop then you should have bought a double scoop!”
The compartment door slammed open, startling them all. A girl with brand new, jet black robes, red earrings, and a high blonde ponytail posed in the doorway. Unfortunately, Adrien recognized her as Chloe Bourgeois, and old family friend.
“Adrikins! Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. Sabrina and I have a compartment farther up the train. Let’s go, no need to hang out with these losers.”
Marinette folded back into a ball, making her body as small as possible. Nino glowered, and Alya crossed her arms. “Watch who you’re calling loser, you brat.”
Chloe gasped. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Chloe - ” Adrien tried. But she interrupted him.
“My daddy is the Minister of Magic, for your information!”
“Oh who cares?” Startled, Adrien looked to see Marinette clasp her hands over her mouth, apparently just as surprised by her outburst as he was.
Chloe sneered. “If you know what’s good for you, you should. He’s the most powerful wizard in Britain.”
“Most influential, maybe,” Adrien said.
“Et tu, Adrikins?”
Marinette huffed. “Just get out of here. No matter who you are, you don’t get to talk to us like that!”
“Ugh. I’m over this dumb compartment. Let’s go, Adrien.”
Adrien glanced between his oldest - and only - friend, and the three kids who’d been friendlier with him in five minutes than Chloe had in five years. “I think I’m staying. You go ahead.”
“Fine.” She huffed off and the compartment door slid shut on her wake.
Alta crossed her arms. “That girl’s a piece of work.”
“She’s a lot.”
“Let me guess: she’s sweet once you get to know her?”
Adrien thought for a second then shook his head. A faint call in the corridor from the sweets trolley witch reached his ears and he jumped up. “Trolley’s coming, you guys want anything? My treat.”
Marinette and Nino started.
“Oh no you don’t have to”
“I’ve got a little pocket money here”
“Are you two seriously turning down free candy? Guys, he’s offering!” Alya looked perplexed.
Adrien opened the door. “I’ll just get a bit of everything.” He was out before they could make any more protests. Adrien figured they should introduce Marinette to as many wizard of sweets as they could.
As it turned out, Marinette loved the licorice wands but was appalled by the Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.
“Why on earth would anyone want a glass-flavored sweet?” she exclaimed. Adrien hid his chuckle behind his hand.
Alya shook the box, peering inside. “It’s about the dare. And pranking your siblings. I convinced my little sister that a dirt-flavored bean was chocolate. I swear, she was so mad, pink sparks burst out of her ears.”
“Speaking of,” Nino scooped up a couple chocolate frogs, tossing one to Marinette. Adrien had just stuffed his fourth into his mouth. “You gotta try these, they’re the best chocolate in the world and they come with collector cards!”
Besides the ribbeting noises while she swallowed, she seemed to like the chocolate frogs a lot more. She examined the that came inside. “Ooooh, I’ve heard of her! I got Morgana. She was a real witch?”
“As real as a salty ghost,” Alya replied. Marinette gazed in wonder at the card in her hands. Adrien gathered his chocolate frog cards and held them out to her.
“Here, you can have mine, I don’t collect them.”
Her face flushed. “Oh. Oh! Um, th-thanks Adrien that’s sweet really. I mean, that’s really sweet, thank you.” She grabbed them from his outstretched hand and huddled back into her seat. For the thousandth time Adrien cursed his heritage. He didn’t want a cute, nice girl getting nervous around him just because of how he looked.
Marinette was rifling through her chocolate frog cards. “There are witches and wizards on here from throughout history...some are even still alive...why are they all wearing the same thing?”
Nino frowned. “Huh?”
“Look at the chocolate frog cards, the robes hardly change at all. Isn’t fashion a thing in the wizarding world?”
“Of course it is,” Alya said. “It’s just not as finicky as muggle fashion.”
“The clothes just never change...that’s so odd...”
“Wizards are very traditional,” Adrien explained. “Magical artists and designers tend to focus on preserving our cultures and histories.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t accessorize a bit,” Marinette pointed out. “There’s so much potential here. I wonder if I could get a dress form at Hogwarts...”
She pulled a sketchpad out of her purse and began drawing. They were rough, quick sketches, but Adrien could tell the moves were well practiced. With a few strokes of a...not a quill, what’s that writing thing called?...whatever it was, a few quick lines and he could see the clothes she imagined like a projection from her mind.
Adrien noticed Marinette worked with the tip of her pink tongue sticking out the corner of her moth. He decided he definitely wanted to be her friend.
--
Adrien had been called up first for the sorting, and had been sitting with the deliberating old hat on his head for ages. Marinette checked her watch. Six minutes had gone by. “Is this normal?”
“No.” Alya sounded fascinated. “If the sorting takes longer than five minutes we call it a ‘hatstall.’ It’s supposed to be incredibly rare.”
“I wonder which houses he’s deciding between.”
“I don’t know. That boy’s hard to get a read on.”
Her watch was approaching the six minutes and thirty second mark when she heard the hat boom out its choice. “HUFFLEPUFF!”
Alya snorted. “Chloe does not look happy.”
Marinette watched Adrien find a place among his new house mates. They hugged him and ruffled his hair and the lines of his robes became yellow. He already seemed to glow with an alluring, metallic shine, but the big smile on his face made him ten times more beautiful. Marinette shook herself when she realized she was staring.
Chloe Bourgeois got sorted into Gryffindor after a comparatively brief stint on the stood. She proudly and happily strutted to her table as scarlet dripped down her robes.
When it was her turn, the hat blocked Alya’s vision and the hundreds of eyes staring at her. A rumbly voice spoke in her ears. Or was it directly into her mind?
“Mmmm, interesting, I sense fire in this one. Very brave, very stubborn, very noble. But you are a cunning one, as well; I sense great ambition in your heart.”
Alya’s chest clenched. That sounds like a Slytherin thing. But you said brave...
“Little fox, you would thrive in Slytherin or Gryffindor. You straddle a line of values. Ahh, I see you’re another Cesaire.”
You remember sorting my sister?
“And your father. You have their passion in your blood. You all are deeply magnanimous. But you, oh you’re so very clever and resourceful. I’m inclined to place you in Slytherin, if you have no objection...”
...I don’t.
“Very well. Welcome to the house of SLYTHERIN!” The sorting hat shouted the last word to the whole hall and was lifted from her head. She slid off the stool and walked to the table applauding raucously. As she sat and older students shook her hand and patted her back, she watched in wonder as the trimmings of her robes shimmered and turned emerald green.
“Oh, yes, I know precisely where you belong.”
Is it Gryffindor? Marinette dreaded the notion of living in the same place as Chloe Bourgeois.
“I can see your dreams, young lady. You may look all sugary sweet to the outside world, but you’re scrappy. You hunger for your destiny.”
All this was news to Marinette, but she didn’t protest as the hat called out “SLYTHERIN!”
In a daze she found a seat next to Alya. She nudged her. “Girl that was fast. You wore the hat for maybe five, ten seconds?”
“It was very adamant I be sorted into Slytherin,” Marinette confused. “Yours took longer.”
Alya pinched her thumb and forefinger so they were a centimeter apart. “I was this close to joining the Gryffindors.”
Marinette smiled. “Well, I’m glad we’re in the same house.”
They watched as one by one the other first years got sorted. As Alya predicted, the sorting hat barely touched Nino’s head before it bellowed out HUFFLEPUFF! He scooted next to Adrien and gave him a big hug. He looks good with yellow on his robes, Alya thought.
Ko-fi
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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years
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#ShipWars by mattzerella-sticks (ao3)
Zatanna Zatara expected date night with Kara would be uneventful. Chat about their days, enjoy some delicious treats at Sweet Justice, and soak up as much love as she could from her girlfriend like Kara does with the sun. However all these expectations explode into glitter when they run into Oliver Queen and his boyfriend, Carter. The boys chose Sweet Justice as their destination for date night, too.
Can Zatanna and Oliver work through a simple ceasefire, or will their competitive natures overtake their dates?
Zatanna hooked her arm comfortably in the crook of Kara’s elbow, leaning into her as the chill winds of early winter breezed past. She felt a shiver roll through her all while her girlfriend chuckled.
“Y’know,” Kara said, “you’d be less cold if you wore an actual jacket.”
Scoffing, Zatanna cuddled further into Kara’s warmth. “Please,” she said, “it might not be functional but it’s the height of fashion! I should know, I’m great friends with the designer.” Zatanna ran a hand down her jacket, the purple fabric shimmering under the street lamps. “Besides,” she continued, “you love it when I use you as my personal heater.”
“I like it when you’re close to me,” Kara rolled her eyes, “don’t confuse the two.”
“You’re the one who absorbs sunlight like a solar panel, not me.”
Zatanna carried on, then, filling Kara in on her day. They’ve been too busy to meet up until now for their date. Schedules packed despite the tempting laziness a Saturday offered. Kara stuck helping her cousin as his bodyguard. Not to aid him in crises, instead relegated to distracting Hal Jordan long enough for Clark to make his escape.
“Why doesn’t he just tell Hal he’s not interested?” Zatanna asked when Kara finished explaining how Hal tried convincing Kara to put in a good word for him with tickets to Homecoming.
Kara smirked. “Because he loves the attention, even though he won’t admit it. If Hal cooled it a bit with the hero worship I think Clark would take him seriously… if he can survive Star Sapphire, that is.” They laughed, imagining Carol and her violet ring chasing Clark around the city.
Zatanna’s day wasn’t as irritating as Kara’s, thankfully. Except with her dad not trapped in meetings or rehearsal meant double the stress. John Zatara used his free day to push Zatanna past her magical limits that nearly broke her wand in the process. “If I didn’t notice the clock I wouldn’t have had time to get ready for tonight,” she sighed, “I’d be with him practicing palindromes until morning!”
“Palindromes?”
“Sentences that mean the same thing forwards and backwards,” Zatanna said, “he thinks that the better I am with them the quicker I can think on my feet in case something unexpected happens in an act. Or… in our case, fighting evil. Thankfully he understands how important my social life is…” She grinned, pecking Kara’s cheek. “He says hi, by the way, and expects me home by ten.”
Kara pulled Zatanna closer. “Well, there goes my plans to take you to the Lazarus Pit for a special midnight concert.”
“I know for a fact they’re closed tonight for renovations after someone moshed too hard in their pits.” Sheepishly rubbing her neck, Kara fought against the blush climbing across her face. Zatanna pressed another kiss to Kara’s cheek, smiling against the skin there.
“Not my fault the Black Canaries are awesome ,” she said, glancing down at Zatanna with an arched brow, “Why were you even checking in the first place?”
“Because I’m not taking any chances like last time.”
It was one of their first dates. They were fighting against robots from a recently ungrounded Lena Luthor, and Kara bet she could beat more of them. Winner chose where they went out on Friday. Zatanna wanted to win and finally show Kara how fantastic a spa could be. Except Kara won by snatching the controller from Lena’s hands and pressing the self-destruct button. She was played , and forced to attend a deafening performance from a Scottish screamer. While watching Kara in her element was delightful, Zatanna’s hearing suffered and she missed a handful of cues for her and her father’s act the following day. Now she checked the club’s social pages on date nights to ensure Kara wouldn’t try dragging her to another show.
“Fine,” Kara sighed, “I guess we’ll have to stick with Sweet Justice, then. Is that okay with you?”
“Sounds perfect .” The pink and yellow neon beckoned them closer, Zatanna vibrating with excitement. “Hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies is exactly what I was craving.” She reached out for the handle and wrapped her hand around the cold brass. Before she can pull, however, another hand covered hers.
“Why, Zatanna Zatara ... fancy running into you here, isn’t it?”
Another tremor wracked her body, the cause this time being the boy across from her in the brown leather jacket and ridiculous green ascot. A burning anger erupted in her stomach that spread to her head, flames caught on the grey matter when their eyes met.
She glared, “ Oliver . What are you doing here?”
“For the same reason as everyone else, I suppose,” he said, an imitation of a smile plastered on his face, “to enjoy some delightful treats safe from the frigid weather with my gorgeous boyfriend.” Oliver gestured to the other boy with him, Carter standing behind with a friendly gleam in his hard gaze. His hands were tucked deep in the pockets of his golden jacket and dark hair hidden under a similarly colored hat.
“What a coincidence,” Zatanna mirrored Oliver’s expression, “I had the same idea. Me and my stupendously beautiful girlfriend, Kara , thought that Sweet Justice would be a great place to be alone together .”
“I think the cold might be getting to you, dear,” Oliver huffed, “there were a lot of contradictions in that statement...”
Her smile fell in the same instant his did. They stood with their hands on the handle, neither willing to budge an inch in a sign of defeat.
Kara perked up beside Zatanna. “Hey Carter, how’s it hangin’?”
Carter shrugged, smirking. “Doin’ okay. Shoulder hurts though, think I landed on it wrong during flight training.”
“That sucks. Think you’ll be fine in case of an emergency?”
“Probably feel better in the morning, nothing serious-”
“And what’s not helping his shoulder injury,” Oliver cut in, dragging Carter closer to him, “is standing outside in the cold! He needs the warm comforts of baked goods!”
Zatanna grimaced, squinting at him. “Really? I heard of icing an injury but I don’t think they meant with frosting,” she said through clenched teeth, “Better Carter go home and rest, you two can come by any other night.”
“But it’s so perfect tonight,” Oliver insisted, squeezing her hand tighter, “as long as he doesn’t overexert himself he’ll be fine. Which is why I was going to feed him bites of his favorite cake to aid in his recovery!” He stepped closer, voice rising. Zatanna matched his bluff, making sure there was barely an inch of space between them. Then she racked her brain for a quick spell she could fire off to send Oliver crying home to his mansion.
“Woah, there,” Kara squeezed between them, prying them apart, “let’s cool it you two, I’d rather not get into a fight - which, coming from me, is saying a lot.”
Zatanna turned to face her girlfriend’s soft, pleading stare and found the burn churning within her slowly doused. She deflated for a moment only to straighten and addressed Oliver. “It’s a large space,” she said, “we can share.”
Oliver mulled it over. A tug at his wrist and a stern frown from Carter broke his resolve. “Agreed. We’ll sit at opposite ends if we have to.”
“Good.” She opened the door finally, gesturing to them. “Please, I insist you enter first. Age before beauty, as they say.”
“You’re lucky I’m going to let that slide,” he hissed, following Carter into Sweet Justice. Zatanna attempted to gloat, only for the smug expression to fall when Kara ushered her inside. They didn’t get far, though, Zatanna slamming into Oliver’s back.
“Hey,” she said, “why’d you stop?”
“There seems to be a… problem,” Oliver said, jerking a thumb behind him. Zatanna peeked behind him and understood what he meant.
Sweet Justice overflowed with customers, teens like them hanging out and enjoying the treats the store offered. She jumped from table to table, searching for an empty one. Even the bar had a person on every stool. There was a booth near the back, unfortunately Zatanna found it the only unoccupied part of the shop.
“Or actually,” Oliver continued, smirking, “a problem for you . Since Carter and I were here first - really, thank you for letting us in ahead of you - that booth rightfully belongs to… us .”
Zatanna growled, rounding on Oliver. “Oh no! Technically Kara and I were here first! My hand touched the door handle!”
Oliver tutted and crossed his arms over his chest, reminding Zatanna of every tutor she had growing up on tour with her father. It only served to stoke the fires of her anger more, resurging after the initial snuff. “That argument wouldn’t hold up in court much less here.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, “I’m willing to take this to court if you are!”
“I wouldn’t bother - my family’s lawyers could easily settle this with your family’s lawyers without ever needing a judge to get involved. Only to save your legal team the public embarrassment...”
“As if! Our lawyers were able to litigate against the Luthors when they stiffed us after a birthday party. Compared to the team we faced then, your retainer is like your facial hair - small and pathetic.”
Oliver gasped, petting his chin. “How dare you insult my goatee! It’s not pathetic, it’s stylish .”
Zatanna flipped her hair, smirking. “Please… you clearly don’t know anything about style. Otherwise you’d lose the ascot.”
He shrieked again, one hand moving from his goatee to his beloved ascot. “I will not allow you to ruin our date night,” Oliver said, stomping his foot, “Carter and I are going to order our desserts, and then we are going to sit in that booth. You and your girlfriend can do whatever you want as long as it’s not within this establishment.”
“Is that so?” she asked, tapping her foot rhythmically on the linoleum. Zatanna glanced over at the counter, an idea coming to mind. Grinning, she took a step away from Oliver. “Well… not if we get there first!”
She dashed towards the counter while ignoring the undignified huff behind her. Zatanna leapt into an open space and startled an already distracted Barry, cell phone perched between his ear and shoulder. “Two hot cocoas - extra whipped cream, extra cinnamon - and a half-dozen double chocolate chip cookies please!”
Oliver barged in after her, shoulder pressed hard against hers. “Two slices of cake - one red velvet, the other devil’s food - with generous helpings of whipped cream please, and tea with lemon! Please!”
“I ordered first Barry,” Zatanna growled, shoving at Oliver’s face, “serve me!”
“The bond of brotherhood, Barry,” he reminded the other boy, “deliver my order before hers !”
Barry’s eyes spun darting back and forth between them. As their voices grew and their behavior became more raucous, Zatanna felt a sense of shame building in the back of her mind. The whole building seemed to stare at them making fools of each other. She ignored all of this, though, and shoved her boot in Oliver’s stomach. However Zatanna couldn’t do the same for the force tugging her by her jacket cowl.
Kara held her tightly, a bored expression painted across her face. Carter did the same with Oliver, the smaller boy still kicking in his arms.
“Barry!” Oliver carried on, “if you bring us ours first I’ll tip you as handsomely as my boyfriend!”
“No!” Zatanna said, “I’m a better tipper!”
Barry’s face fell, darkening. He slammed his hands on the counter, “ Enough !” She and Oliver lost their voices - too stunned by the irritation laced within their normally cheerful friend. In the silence a tinny voice warbled. Sighing, Barry directed his attention to his phone. “No, Hal, not you. I’m a little busy can we - can we just pause for a sec? ...Okay.” Glancing between the couples he asked, “Why are you two acting like this… this time ?”
Zatanna answered. “Oliver was trying to steal our booth -”
“Your booth?” he gasped, “That booth rightfully belonged to Carter and I !”
“You’re fighting over a booth ?” Barry scoffed, pouting, “It’s a booth . Booths can fit four people… share .”
“Share?” Both Zatanna and Oliver cried, and then glared for the unexpected echo.
“It’s either that or no one gets the booth,” Barry told them, “I’m already busy enough as it is so answer quickly.” Then, to his phone, “Hal… this is the fourth time you’ve called me about Big Blue. You’re as obsessed with him as much as Carol is with you. ...No, I won’t take that back!”
Kara let go of Zatanna, frowning. “I’m not in the mood to find another spot for our date,” she told her, “so are you and Oliver gonna play nice or what?”
Zatanna huffed, crossing her arms. Unfortunately her girlfriend didn’t let up, and the guilt burned like her heat vision. Sighing, Zatanna faced an equally chewed out Oliver. “I guess we can share for tonight…”
“I agree,” he said, puffing his chest forward “a double date it shall be!”
She groaned, dragging her hand down her face. While spending an evening with an insufferable jerk like Oliver wasn’t exactly how she pictured tonight, it was better than if they were thrown from the establishment and Kara flew home in a bad mood. Zatanna could swallow her pride for an hour or two, no matter how large it may be.
“Barry,” Zatanna said, calmer now, “do you remember our orders?” He nodded, serving ice cream to a small child with their parent. “Good, we’ll be at the booth, then.”
They walked over and each couple slid into one of the vinyl booth cushions. Kara spread her legs comfortably, laying one arm against the back of the booth in invitation. Zatanna curled against her happily.
Oliver yawned, drawing her attention away from Kara. He relaxed into Carter, nuzzling against his chest. Peeking one eye open, Oliver raised a brow at Zatanna as a non-verbal raise. She squinted, tamping down the urge to meet his challenge.
While she wanted to give Kara an enjoyable night the habit of overshadowing Oliver bubbled within like a horribly shaken can of soda.
It was awful when they were competing to prove who was the most talented performer and only became worse when they entered into relationships. Now it wasn’t satisfying in confirming their talent but also showing off their significant others so everyone knew who had snagged the best catch.
Thinking back Zatanna would say this contest began in the library during a free period. She and Kara were studying for an exam they would have later on in the day, Zatanna quizzing her girlfriend on different chemicals and their attributes. After spouting off all she knew about Krypton - along with some extra tidbits - Zatanna threw her notebook in the air and kissed her cheek. “You’re going to do so well on this quiz Kara!” she whispered, “and when you get an A I can parade you around school so everyone knows how much of a genius you are!”
If they were anywhere else Zatanna might not have heard the scoff. But due to the reigning quiet in the library it stood out easily. Her smile fell and she whipped around to see who made the offensive sound.
Oliver tipped his chair as far as it could go, resting his feet on the table next to them. Carter sat to his right focused on his book.
“You have something to say, Oliver?” she asked.
“Why yes I do,” Oliver said, “I find it funny is all... that you would try and celebrate  your girlfriend for that when everyone already knows how smart my boyfriend is.” Carter glanced up from his book with a blush. “On the Honor Roll, exemplary tutor, President of the Archaeology club and the Oliver Queen fan club-”
“I’d say that last one would count as a mark against his intelligence,” Zatanna smirked, “and his taste .”
He nearly upended from his seat. Righting himself, Oliver glared at Zatanna and she matched his fury.
“My boyfriend is the best!”
“No,” Zatanna huffed, “my girlfriend is! She’s like the sun, so radiant, brings joy wherever she shines, and hot - she makes everything better!”
“Well Carter’s better than the sun! He is like - like - like the moon ! Mysterious, magnificent, and beautiful !”
“Ha! We all know the moon’s just a sad reflection of the sun! ”
Oliver gasped, slamming his hands on the table. “You take that back! Carter is the best person in the entire world!”
“No!” Zatanna argued, voice rising to Oliver’s level, “Kara’s the best person in this galaxy !”
“Carter’s had past lives better than the one Kara lives now!”
“Sorry to trash his past lives, but she only needs to do well in the one !”
A heavy book slammed, disrupting them. The librarian scowled their way, tapping her sharp nails on the cover of the dropped book. Without speaking she pointed towards the door. All four of them shuffled out of the library, Zatanna and Oliver still simmering and their feud far from over.
They went above and beyond in further installments of their competition. Once when Oliver bought Carter a book, Zatanna gifted Kara a guitar and it ended with both of them getting their credit cards revoked for a month after an incredible shopping spree. And another memorable moment was during lunch one afternoon when Zatanna posted a cute picture of her and Kara that accrued over one hundred likes. Only Oliver posted one of him and Carter that garnered more than theirs. Unacceptable . This led to her and Oliver taking different pictures with their partners in a variety of places and, ultimately, being sent to detention for sneaking into the principal’s office because at one in the afternoon the light from the window was perfect.
Every time they fell into one of their stubborn, competitive streaks both she and Oliver rode a short high and suffered in the long run.
But then Barry dropped off their orders. He placed the plates and mugs on their table all the while chatting with Hal. “If you’re only going to cry if I tell you Superman doesn’t think you’re handsome than how can you trust my answer is really genuine? No, no - don’t!” Barry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Frowning, he looked at the group. “If you need anything else just wave, I’ll spot you.” Walking away they heard him mutter, “I was talking to customers… Because it’s my job and I’m at work , Hal!”
Oliver reached for his fork. Instead of spearing a bite from the devil’s food cake in front of him, he took from the red velvet and guided it towards Carter’s mouth. “You sit tight Carter,” he told him, “I’ll take care of this for you.”
Between bites, while Carter’s eyes were closed, Oliver glanced over at her and winked. Zatanna crushed one of the cookies in her hand. Letting the crumbs fall, she grabbed another and held it out to Kara. “Darling, you have to try these cookies. They are fantastic! ”
Kara, cheeks stuffed already with a cookie of her own, tried pushing Zatanna’s offering away. “It’s okay,” she said, crumbs spraying, “I’ve got my own -”
“There!” Zatanna stuffed it into her mouth, grinning at Oliver, “All the hard work you’ve done today, you deserve as many cookies as you can get!” She used her hand to help her chew, then, relishing the sound of it until Kara swallowed.
Oliver nearly bent the fork with his shaking grip. Setting it down, he used his free hand to wave. Barry sped over.
“I think we’ll be needing more desserts,” he said, not breaking eye contact with Zatanna, “can you prepare a sundae?”
“Kara and I could use a couple of milkshakes as well,” Zatanna added, lips curling maliciously from cheek to cheek.
“Three dozen macarons.”
“Cake with fresh strawberries on it.”
“We’ll take the whole of the red velvet off your hands, Barry.”
“I think I saw some brownies, can we get two trays of them?”
“And some rice pudding!” Oliver slammed his fist on the table, “Because my boyfriend deserves it!”
“Kara deserves chocolate-covered cherries!”
Barry gaped at the order, head bobbing between them. “Uh,” he started, “are you sure -”
“Give it to us!” both Zatanna and Oliver yelled, startling the other boy into action. He zipped over to the counter and into the kitchen, gathering what they asked. In the meantime they helped Carter and Kara finish the treats already given to them.
“Don’t you - gnnk - think that - brrsh,” Kara choked out, “we should slow down and savor - nggh - this ?”
Zatanna paused, staring at Kara with a golden fire burning in her purple eyes. “We can savor the fact that you’re about to be treated to a buffet of delectable delicacies by your loving and appreciative girlfriend!”
Kara groaned, “But all I wanted was - gah!” She shoved another cookie in Kara’s mouth and poured the hot chocolate down there to melt it.
Barry dropped more plates off, clearing the table when Zatanna and Oliver finished stuffing the contents into their partners’ mouths. They didn’t wait for Barry’s grip to loosen on the dessert before taking it and force-feeding their respective dates. Oliver dumped a tray of macarons down Carter’s mouth and Zatanna held Kara’s face to the straw of her milkshake and wouldn’t let up until it was gone.
When Barry dropped a single donut on the table, Zatanna and Oliver went for it at the same time. Their hands brushed and instantly recoiled.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Zatanna asked, “That’s Kara’s donut!”
“I think you mean Carter’s ,” he growled, “and if you know what’s good for you you’ll let us have it.”
“Know what’s good?” she scoffed, smirking, “Talking big for a man without his bow . And his weapon .”
Oliver squinted, his teeth bared. “You’d be surprised how resourceful I can be when something as important as my boyfriend’s happiness is on the line.”
“I would say the entire dictionary backwards if it meant Kara would never have to frown again!”
“Uh… guys?”
“ What ?” They turned manically towards their intruder, Barry yelping and hiding behind a chocolate-smeared plate. Shaking, he holds out a small, black leather booklet.
Zatanna arched a brow at him, “What’s this supposed to be?”
“Your-your check …”
“Check?” Oliver asked, “But we haven’t finished ordering!”
“Finished?” Barry gasped, emerging from his ineffective shield. He shifted from fear to irritation with lightning speed, gesturing towards his barren workstation. “You two ordered everything we had left ! There’s no more food to order!”
“There… isn’t?”
Zatanna’s vision zoomed out from the tunnel it was trapped and finally noticed her girlfriend. Kara collapsed against the window, raspberry filling at the corner of her lips. One hand was curled protectively around her protruding stomach while the other hovered by her mouth in case she needed to vomit. Carter didn’t fare any better. He laid face down on the table and moaned every few seconds.
She looked to Oliver, heat steadily creeping up her neck. His face burned with shared embarrassment as they realized the consequences of their actions.
Barry’s cell phone rang, interrupting the awkward tension. He checked it and rolled his eyes. “Come find me when you decide who’s paying,” he said, hitting the answer button, “Hal… if this is about Superman again I swear on every science textbook I own…” Barry dropped the check on the table and walked away.
Neither Zatanna nor Oliver wanted to speak first. However, knowing how bad it would look if their silence stretched any farther, Zatanna decided to go first. “This might have gotten… a little out of hand.”
“For once,” Oliver said, “I agree. Maybe we don’t have to compete over who has the better relationship.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, “Because, if we think about it, I have the best girlfriend -”
“And I have the best boyfriend,” he finished for her, smiling naturally for the first time tonight. Her cheeks ached with the natural stretch of her own grin. “Excellent thinking Zatanna! And to celebrate and cement this declaration, allow me to foot the bill.”
“Oh no, no, no,” Zatanna said, laying her hand over Oliver’s, “ I’ll cover this one.”
Oliver’s expression shrunk and became something more familiar to Zatanna. “But I was the one who started this whole feeding frenzy to begin with.”
Zatanna didn’t budge. “I think this began when I dashed to the counter, if memory serves me right.”
A beat of silence drifted between them like a dusty tumbleweed. “I’m paying for this Zatanna, it’d be barely a blip on my parent’s bills.”
“My father’s bought artwork that cost ten times what this check says.”
Peace shattered as quickly as they forged it, Oliver and Zatanna played tug-o-war with the check. They argued well into the night while their dates groaned from the sidelines, too worn from eating to intervene. Zatanna would apologize to Kara later, learn her lesson tomorrow - tonight she fought Oliver with all her might to slip her credit card into the booklet.
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insideoutstory · 4 years
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Inside Out - Chapter Thirteen
summary: The party ventures to Hawkins Middle to test their plan. They won’t like what they find. word count: 5.5k warnings: n/a
[ masterlist ]   [ FF.net ]
Christine—Needed a bigger radio. Gone to AV club. Be back soon. 
Christine crumpled the note in her hand as she trudged up the steps to Hawkins Middle School. Her legs were screaming at her to stop moving, just for a while. She was getting seriously tired of all the running around. She was gonna kill Mike Wheeler when she found him. 
Walking into the middle school always felt weird. Well, it hadn’t when she was still a student. She was only a year and a half out and already the halls seemed smaller than she remembered. Had she really sat at a desk that tiny in her English class? Or was that desk the same as the one she used now, only shrunken by memories? 
That was one thing that made the hallways seem weird. All those memories. Her locker had been down this hallway one year. She remembered getting the zipper of her sweatshirt stuck in the door, and Barb nearly tearing her arm off trying to get it open again. That was the side door she usually left through when it was time to go to the high school for science. There was the athletics department corkboard, still full of photos of the school’s teams. Once she’d stolen a polaroid of Steve off when she thought no one was looking. It was probably still sitting in her desk at home. 
The other thing that made it weird was the people. Or rather, the lack thereof. Christine had spent the entire ride to the school thinking of excuses, prepared to run into a concerned teacher who would want her off premises. But there was no one in sight. She peeked into a few classrooms, swung by the cafeteria, only to be met by silence at every turn. No one was hanging around. 
She wasn’t surprised to find the door to the AV closet locked. It usually stayed that way until it was time for a meeting. She knocked hopefully anyway, and called through the door. 
“Guys? Dustin? Mike? It’s Christine. Anyone in there?” 
No response. 
Christine sagged, chewing on her tongue. If they weren’t inside the AV room, they must be with everyone else. Besides a fire alarm, there was only one thing she could think of that would get everyone out of class like that. And seeing as a student’s body had been found at the quarry yesterday, she was willing to bet ‘assembly’ was the winning answer. 
She made her way to the gymnasium. The distorted bass of the crappy sound system was echoing down the hallway. Knowing she was on the right track, she picked up the pace. 
 “The school counselor will be available should any of you need to talk,” the principal announced as she drew level with the doors. “But remember. Counselors aren’t the only people to ask for help. Turn to your parents, your teachers, your peers. We can all help each other, and keep Will Byers in our hearts. Thank you.” 
Christine peeked through the window, but everyone was already getting up. The crowd stormed the doors, full of indifferent students who would rather be in class than pretend to care about Will. Christine had to scramble back against the opposite wall to avoid being flattened. She inspected the crowd, looking for Dustin’s hat or Eleven’s close-cropped hair. But none of the party was in sight. 
“Christine?” 
She whirled on the spot, and had to hide her disappointment when it wasn’t one of the kids. 
“Oh, uh—hey Mr. Clarke!” 
“What are you doing here?” he asked. His pleasant surprise turned stern as he added, “Shouldn’t you be in class?” 
“Um…yeah, I know,” she said, running a hand through her hair and inventing on the spot. “But with everything going on, you know, with Will I just…I just wanted to be there for the boys.” 
Mr. Clarke softened. He always did, at stuff like that. He was easily one of the most compassionate teachers at the middle school. It was what made him Christine’s favorite. 
“I understand,” he said solemnly. “Still, skipping class…” 
“My dad already knows. And…well, between you and me, Dustin’s missed curfew a couple times this week. The boys were so sure they were gonna find Will. So, his mom asked me to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t run off.” 
“Well, that’s good,” he agreed. “I mean, the whole thing is horrible, but I’m glad the boys have someone on their side.” 
Christine smiled nervously. Kids were still rushing out of the gym, no nerds in sight. It was getting harder to hide her panic. 
“You don’t know where they are, do you?” she asked fervently. 
“Oh! Um…well, I don’t see…They were definitely here—I walked them down to the assembly a couple minutes late—but they could’ve slipped past us. I gave Michael the keys to the AV room, though, so that’s probably where they’re headed.” 
“Okay, great! Well, it was nice seeing…” 
“Nonsense! I’ll walk with you.” 
“Oh…okay…” 
Mr. Clarke led the way through the sea of students. Christine was still scanning the crowd routinely, but couldn’t find anyone she recognized. She was so focused she almost didn’t notice when Mr. Clarke spoke. 
“So how are things going up at the high school?” 
“Hm? Oh, um…they’re good. Normal. Mostly.” 
“You’re still enjoying science?” 
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m taking physics now. It’s not chemistry, but I still like it.” 
Mr. Clarke smiled proudly. “A mind like yours, I’m sure Mr. Austin’s class is no match.” 
“I don’t know,” Christine said airily, her mind drifting to a certain head of brunette hair. “Physics has its perks.” 
“You know, I remember watching you in biology. You were always staring out the window or—or disassembling your mechanical pencil. That’s when I knew you needed a real challenge. I always knew we made the right call advancing you. One of the best decisions I’ve made as a teacher. Oh, and one of the hardest, mind you. But I’m proud of it. That, and pairing you with Barbara Holland for your first lab project.” 
Christine was glad that he couldn’t see her miserable smile. “Yeah. I think that was a pretty good decision too.” 
Mr. Clarke continued to talk as they walked to the AV room, talking about their latest ham shack and what kind of students he had in his classes these days. Christine listened, interested but too tired to truly participate in the conversation. It was a relief when they got to the AV closet. He let her be with an enthusiastic farewell, and a promise to catch up when all the craziness had passed. He was just about to leave when he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 
“I know things have been tough this week. But you’re a smart kid, Chrissy. I don’t think the boys could ask for a better mentor, or a better friend.” 
Christine had been too embarrassed to muster a response. Thankfully, her bashful smile seemed to be enough. With a pat on the back, Mr. Clarke headed back for his own classroom. 
It was a few minutes before the boys caught up to her. 
“Christine!” 
Mike skid around the corner first, grinning and out of breath. Dustin and Lucas almost collided with his back. They were giggling as well, impervious to her stern glare. 
“Yeah, it’s me. What the hell is going on?” 
“Aw man, it was sick,” said Dustin jovially. “We were at the assembly right? And Troy was being an asshole about Will, laughing through all of Principal Sherman’s speech. And then Mike goes up to him, right? And he shoves him over like…!” 
“Not at the assembly,” Christine hissed. “I told you idiots to stay at the house! What are you even doing here? Someone could… Eleven?” 
She almost hadn’t recognized her. Standing nervously at the back of the group was a small girl with light blonde hair. She wore high tube socks and a vividly pink dress, which looked at odds with her blue windbreaker. Gone were the circles under her eyes, the pale skin that almost showed her veins. It looked like she was actually wearing makeup. 
Christine narrowed her eyes at the dress. 
“Where did you get that? That’s not mine.” 
“It’s Nancy’s,” Mike explained. “We had to go back to my house for the wig.” 
“You had to—You went back to your house? Mike! What if someone had seen her?” 
“They didn’t!” Lucas assured her. “We were super careful!” 
“And it worked, didn’t it?” asked Dustin. “Even you didn’t notice!” 
“Alright, if you were going to leave, why couldn’t you just use my clothes?” 
“Cause you didn’t have a wig. Duh. Also cause Lucas was afraid to go in your closet.” 
Lucas promptly shoved Dustin into the wall. 
Christine sighed, rubbing her hands down her face. These kids were easily going to be the death of her. But before she could get too stressed, Eleven walked up to her side. She pulled on the sleeve of Christine’s flannel, and then pointed to her own hair. 
“Same,” she said with a soft smile. “Pretty.” 
The anger slipped out of her, which was very inconvenient. 
“Yeah,” said Christine with a smile. She poked El on the nose, making her jump. “You’re very pretty, El.” 
Lucas elbowed Mike, who rolled his eyes. “Can we get on with this now?” 
Mike unlocked the door to the AV room, and all five of them piled inside. Just like the hallway, the room seemed smaller than she remembered. There were more electronics piled on the shelves. Mr. Clarke was always acquiring new toys without throwing out the old ones. However, there was one toy that stood out from the rest. 
“Holy shit!” Christine was unable to contain a gasp of delight as she saw the radio on the table. She pushed through the boys, ignoring their complaints as she plopped down into the chair. “Holy shit! You guys weren’t kidding! This thing is huge! The signal alone—geez, this thing is a proper, international radio! And with technology like this? Shit, you could pick up walkies, pick up ham shacks, radios. Across oceans! You could hear anything!” 
“Yeah,” Mike said sourly. “That’s kinda the point?” 
“Come on, Chris,” said Dustin, easing her out of the chair. “You can geek out over the Heathkit later.” 
Mike shook his head. “It’s like working with little kids.” 
Eleven was ushered into the chair in front of the radio while Lucas locked the door. Then they all gathered around to watch. 
“So how does this work?” asked Dustin. “Will doesn’t even have his supercomm.” 
“It’s not a manual connection,” Christine explained. She leaned over the radio, powering it up and pulling El’s hand to the tuner. “She navigates the stations herself. Like she’s finding Will’s frequency, not his radio.” 
She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolding it to reveal another one of Will’s missing posters. She laid it out in front of Eleven, who looked nervous. 
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Christine asked. 
Eleven nodded stubbornly. She closed her eyes, and began to focus on the radio. 
 Loud static filled the room. Just like last night, the sound was enough to put her on edge. Something about it sent a shiver up her spine. She couldn’t tell if it was her anxiety, or some sixth sense that knew something unnatural was going on. 
“She’s doing it,” said Mike in amazement. “She’s finding him!” 
“This is crazy,” Dustin breathed. 
“Calm down,” Lucas scoffed. “She just closed her eyes.” 
On cue, the light over their head blew out. Everyone except Eleven jumped. Christine fixed the boys with a hard glare in the semi-darkness. 
“Will the three of you shut up? She’s trying to concentrate.” 
Dustin smacked Lucas on the shoulder. “Yeah, dude. She’s trying to concentrate.” 
They quieted down to listen to the radio once more. It was definitely picking up something. There was a repetitive thud or—no, a clang. It sounded metallic, whatever it was. Too steady to be anything human, too slow to be much else. 
Christine furrowed her brow. “What is that? Some kind of interference?” 
She reached for the dial, only for Mike to grab her wrist. 
“I don’t think so. Listen.” 
It was quiet. Then a little louder, then a little more, like Eleven was honing in on the sound. In a matter of seconds, it had clarified to a whimper. That was unmistakably human. 
“Mom?” 
Just the boys’ reaction was enough to confirm Christine’s suspicions. Will’s voice pleaded from the radio, the clanging getting louder around him. 
“Mom! Please!” 
“No way,” said Lucas, and Christine shushed him again. But they were too frantic to listen to her. 
Mike grabbed the microphone, repeatedly jamming his finger on the button. “Will!” 
“Will, it’s us! Are you there?” 
“Can you here us? We’re here!” 
“Guys, stop,” Christine ordered. “Stop!” 
“No!” Lucas yelled. Will was still pleading on the radio. “Why can’t he hear us?!” 
“I don’t know,” Mike groaned. He jammed his finger on the buttons again. “Will?!” 
“Guys, I don’t think it works like that,” Christine pleaded. “Will doesn’t have his supercomm, remember? This isn’t a real connection. There’s nowhere for your voices to go.” 
The boys were ready to argue. But at that exact moment, the banging stopped. Will’s voice faltered, and another sound swelled in the speakers. It was…something she couldn’t place. Familiar in the way that crept up the back of your neck but didn’t quite connect in her brain. The only thing she could think to describe it was clicking, but not in the way a machine would. It was the way an animal might, if it was blind or making a call of distress. She racked her brains, trying to think of an animal that fit, but fell short. 
The clicking grew into a growl, then a roar, and the boys turned to look at her in fear. 
“Chrissy?” Dustin asked weakly. “What is that?” 
“I—I don’t know…” 
Will’s voice was growing frantic. 
“Mom! It’s coming! It’s—It’s like home, but it’s so dark! It’s so dark and empty! And it’s cold! Mom? Mom, please!” 
The roar turned into a high pitched screech, and all four of them stumbled back from the radio. They responded just in time. A moment later, the entire Heathkit radio went up in flames. Sparks flew out in all directions, and a cloud of smoke encircled the room. 
“Shit!” Christine cursed. She scrambled around the table, pulling the kids back. “Shit, get down! Dustin! Fire extinguisher!” 
Dustin was already a step ahead of her. No sooner had the words left her mouth than a stream of white shot at the desk. It kept the flames at bay, but the smoke had already triggered the alarm. Christine resisted the urge to cover her ears. She dove over Eleven instead, as if her body might be able to block her from the harsh, loud noises. 
“It’s okay, El. It’s gonna be…El?” 
For the second time in a matter of minutes, Christine was too shocked to finish her sentence. She knew that Eleven’s powers took a toll on her, but yesterday hadn’t looked like this. Already, she could see the blood seeping from her nose, the dark veins crawling over her head. Yesterday they’d been purple. Now, they were a dark and alarming black. 
“El!” Mike was trying to elbow Christine out of the way. “Are you okay?!” 
He and Lucas both let out gasps of concern when they saw her. But Eleven was completely nonresponsive. Her eyes wouldn’t focus on them, like part of her was still stuck someplace else. 
“We need to get her out of here,” Christine ordered. “Now. Go! Move!” 
She swept Eleven up into her arms, and the entire party fled for the door. The fire alarm was giving her anxiety, but it had its benefits. The whole school had been swept up into a frenzy. With everyone running up and down the hallway, no one looked twice at the nerds sprinting like they were being chased, or the random teenage girl carrying a sick child that didn’t even go to their school. 
They had a short argument when they reached bike rack. Christine was reluctant to let go of Eleven, but Mike insisted that his bike would be better to transport El. In the end, Christine relented and gently loaded Eleven on the back of his bike. She slumped heavily against his back and Mike had to steer with one hand, the other holding her arms tight around his waist. Christine rode close behind them, just in case. 
The fact that they made it back to her house without any major calamities was a miracle itself. 
Christine ushered everyone through the back door, leaving their bikes toppled and askew in the backyard. She swept Eleven back up into her arms and carried her to the bedroom. Then she darted back to the kitchen, grabbing the same supplies as the night before, and returning to take care of Eleven. This was very difficult with the three boys hovering around her. Mike wouldn’t move away from the bed, and Dustin and Lucas seemed to be glued to Christine’s sides. After several minutes urging him to back up so she could wash Eleven’s face, Christine finally snapped. 
“Out! All of you! Get out of my room!” 
“But, Christine—!” 
“Nope! Wait in the living room! You can check the windows, you can lock the doors, you can raid the kitchen, I don’t care! Just get the hell out of my room!” 
She had to shove them into the hallway, and slammed the door behind them. 
It was easier after that. She cleaned Eleven’s face and tried to get her to drink some water. The problem was, El was still in shock. Her arms hung like deadweight, and Christine couldn’t even change her out of the dress and into something more comfortable. The only time she got a response was when she tried to take off the blonde wig. 
“No…” 
Eleven couldn’t lift and arm to stop her, but she whined as Christine pulled it from her head. 
“I know,” she whispered gently, running a hand over Eleven’s natural hair. “But you’ll sleep better like this. And you don’t want to get blood on it, right?” 
She whined again, looking longingly at the wig. 
“How about this? I’ll let you hold it, and you can keep it right here. This way if you want to put it on when you feel better, you can.” 
The offer was good enough that Eleven summoned the strength to take the wig from her, and hugged it to her chest. It broke Christine’s heart in a way. This tiny girl had superpowers, but the thing she cared about at that moment was keeping the wig that made her feel pretty. 
“I’m gonna go talk to the boys,” Christine said, patting the blankets. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?” 
Eleven nodded. Or she tried to, but she already appeared to be half asleep. Christine waited until she’d stopped moving, checked to make sure she was still breathing steadily, and then headed out to the living room. 
“Is she okay?” Mike demanded as soon as he saw her. 
“She’s fine,” Christine assured him. “I told you, it drains her. I think holding the connection for so long was risky, especially after she was pushing it last night.” 
She collapsed into the armchair, rubbing her temples. The boys were scattered throughout the room. Lucas was sitting on the couch, his head similarly in his hands. Dustin sat on the floor, his legs in front of him, his arms limp. His mouth was hanging open as he stared into space, like he was still trying to process everything that had happened since that morning. And Mike, of course, was pacing around the room. Christine wasn’t going to waste energy telling him to stop. 
 At a loss for anything else, she cleared her throat. “Lunch?” 
There was no response. But what other choice did she have? So she dragged herself to the kitchen and started making sandwiches. 
Christine wracked her memory for the next hour or so, but she couldn’t think of a time the party had been this quiet for this long. She couldn’t remember a time where just Dustin had been quiet for this long. It was unsettling. She didn’t blame them, of course. Not after what they’d heard. But she couldn’t figure out what to say. Any assurance that Will was fine would be sickeningly hollow. She wasn’t prepared to make anyone believe that, not when she could still hear the unearthly clicking in her ears. And she knew the others must be hearing it too. 
It wasn’t until later, when the boys had picked apart their food, when Christine had tired of watching them pretend to eat, when she’d taken the plates back into the kitchen to wash, that someone finally spoke. 
“Is this seriously all we’re gonna do?” It was no surprise that Lucas asked. “We’re just gonna sit here eating PB and J’s while Will’s somewhere out there being hunted?” 
“We don’t know that,” tried Mike. 
“Yes, we do! You heard it! I heard it! We all heard it!” 
“What was it?” asked Dustin shakily. 
“We know what it was. It was the Demogorgon!” 
“You said the Demogorgon wasn’t real!” 
“Did that thing sound real to you? Cause it sure as shit didn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before!” 
“Okay, hold on,” Christine interrupted. She threw her towel down on the back of the couch, hoping she seemed more authoritative than tired. “One thing at a time, remember? We can’t help Will until we know where he is.” 
“But we don’t,” said Lucas. “All of that, and we still don’t know! I mean, what was even the point of this?” 
“Because El was telling the truth,” Mike said fervently. “We know she wasn’t lying. We know Will’s alive.” 
“Yeah, but for how long?” Dustin asked. 
It sent a chill around the group, which Christine did her best to push out of the room. 
“Focus. First thing’s first. What did we learn from the radio?” 
“Right,” Mike agreed. He was pacing again. “What was Will saying? Like home…Like home…but dark?” 
“And empty,” Lucas added. 
“Empty and cold,” said Dustin. “…wait, did he say cold?” 
“I don’t know! The stupid radio kept going in and out.” 
“It’s like riddles in the dark,” Dustin sighed. 
“He kept calling for his mom,” Christine supplied. 
Mike gave her a weird look. “What does that matter? He’s scared. Of course he was calling for his mom.” 
“I don’t know. It sounded more like he was talking to her. One half of a conversation.” 
“Okay,” Lucas said slowly. “But Will’s mom isn’t missing.” 
Christine frowned. That was a point. If Will was…somewhere, and his mom wasn’t, how was she talking to him too? Unless she’d also found a powerful superchild to help her contact “the other side.” She wanted to ask, but she couldn’t imagine how that conversation would go. Was she just supposed to call up the Byers house and ask if Mrs. Byers had spoken to Will lately? She couldn’t even tell her about Eleven. What if Christine was wrong, and she just pushed a grieving mother to the edge? What if Jonathan picked up the phone instead? 
“Like home,” Mike was still muttering. “Like his house?” 
“Or maybe like Hawkins,” said Lucas. 
“Upside down.”
Everyone turned to the hallway, where Eleven had reappeared. The circles under her eyes had faded a bit, but she still looked unsteady on her feet. Her wig was back in place, albeit slightly off center. 
Christine would have rushed to her side, but Mike beat her to it. He grabbed her by the arm, helping her over to the couch so she could lie down. Lucas scooted out of her way, wrinkling his nose. 
“What did she say?” 
“Upside down,” Mike repeated. “Upside down!” 
“What?” 
“When El showed us where Will was, she flipped over the board, remember? Upside down!” 
“Wait, when was this?” Christine asked. “The board?” 
“For our campaign. We were in my basement, and she said Will was hiding. Then she flipped the game board upside down. Dark, empty!” 
“Do you understand what he’s talking about?” Lucas asked Dustin, who shook his head. 
“No.” 
“Guys, come on, just think about it,” Mike complained. “When El took us to find Will, she took us to his house, right?” 
“Yeah,” Lucas said flatly. “And he wasn’t there.” 
“But what if he was there? What if we just couldn’t see him? What if he was on the other side?” 
“Wait, the other side?” Christine asked, squinting. “Are we back to the ghost theory?” 
Mike groaned. Without invitation, he grabbed one of the magazines off the coffee table. Then he went to Christine’s card table and grabbed the sharpie she’d been using to do flashcards. Uncapping it, he began scribbling over the back of the magazine. 
“Hey! I was reading that!” 
“Shut up, it’s just an add.” 
 He scribbled until the whole thing was black, then tossed the marker aside. He tapped on the front of the magazine. 
“Look, what if this is Hawkins, and this…” He flipped it around to show them the black side. “…is where Will is? The Upside Down.” 
“Like the Vale of Shadows,” said Dustin, finally catching on. 
“Beyond the veil?” Christine asked. “It still sounds like we’re talking ghosts.” 
“No, not ghosts. Dungeons and Dragons.” 
Dustin held up a finger, running to his backpack. He pulled out a thick black binder, which he slammed on the coffee table next to the ruined magazine. Christine watched as he flipped through pages and pages, all adorned with pictures of large dragons, elves, and dark forests. Involuntarily, she raised an eyebrow. 
“You carry your rulebook around with you?” 
Dustin glared at her. 
“Here,” he said, when he’d found the correct page. “The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you and you don’t even see it.” 
There was a heavy beat as all four of them exchanged dark looks. 
“An alternate dimension,” Mike breathed into the silence. 
“But…how…how do we get there?” Lucas asked. 
Dustin checked the page. “You cast Shadow Walk.” 
“In real life, dummy.” 
“We can’t shadow walk, but…maybe she can.” 
In unison, they all turned to look at Eleven. She was dozing on the couch, still half asleep, but her eyes were open. 
“Do you know how we get there?” Mike asked, and somehow Christine was still surprised by the gentleness in his voice. “To the Upside Down?” 
Eleven shook her head into the pillow. 
Lucas groaned, but Christine shook her head. 
“Forget about getting there. How do we even find it?” 
“Well it’s the Upside Down, right?” Dustin tapped the floor underneath him. “Hypothetically, you open a portal and there it is.” 
“Yeah, but what if you open the portal and get the wrong one?” 
“What do you mean?” asked Mike. 
“Well, we’re talking about alternate dimensions, right? The multiverse?” 
The boys blinked at her. 
Resigned, Christine walked around to the coffee table. She kneeled next to Dustin and picked up the magazine. 
“You’re talking about the Upside Down like it’s the only other possibility. But quantum physics suggests that if there’s more than one dimension, then there’s thousands of them. Infinite dimensions stacked on top of each other. And because they each exist in a relative state, there’s no definitive order to them. Kinda like this.” 
Christine held up the magazine. She showed them the front, then the back, then all the pages in between. 
“So the front is Hawkins, the back is the Upside Down, and in between you have infinite possible alternate universes. And every time I open the magazine, the pages are moving around. I’ve got no way to know if I’m gonna open up on Hawkins version one, twenty, or seven million three hundred and sixty-seven.” 
“So how do we get to the Upside Down?” Lucas asked. 
���I don’t know,” said Christine. “That’s what I just asked.” 
“You don’t know?” Dustin asked incredulously. “How can you know all of this and not know?” 
“This is theory, Dustin! None of this shit has been proven until now. If Will’s in another dimension, it’s the first time in scientific history it’s happened.” 
“Then guess! You’re in physics, right?” 
“I’m in high school physics! Not quantum physics, dumbass!” 
“She’s right,” said Mike. He was looking warily at the magazine. “We need someone who knows more about this than we do. Someone who really knows their stuff.” 
“Mr. Clarke,” Dustin answered almost instantly. Lucas and Christine shot him the same disbelieving look. 
“Really?” Lucas asked. “You wanna ask our science teacher how to open up a portal between infinite dimensions on the forefront of scientific research?” 
“Yeah. Do you have a better idea?” 
Lucas turned to Christine, who shook her head. Ideas were something they were fresh out of. 
“Okay,” said Mike, slipping back into plan mode. “So we bike back to school and find Mr. Clarke. Then we can ask him…” 
“No one is biking anywhere,” said Christine. 
“What? Why not?” 
“Mike, we just set fire to the most expensive radio AV club has ever owned. Do you want to go back and face Mr. Clarke right now?” 
There was a grumble as the boys agreed with her. 
“Whatever you want to ask Mr. Clarke can wait until tomorrow.” 
“Shit,” Dustin groaned. “Tomorrow!” 
“What?” 
“It’s Will’s funeral.” 
Christine sighed. “Alright. So we go to the funeral, and afterwards…” 
“Why do we have to go to his funeral?” Lucas asked. “He’s not dead, he’s in trouble. We can’t waste time going to his fake funeral.” 
“And you don’t think it’s gonna look weird if Will’s three best friends don’t show up?” 
“Who cares if it looks weird?” asked Mike. “We’ll just say we were grieving and it was too painful to go.” 
“No,” Christine said again, putting her foot down. “Look, setting off the fire alarm today was bad enough. We’re not supposed to be drawing any attention to ourselves, remember? Incognito. Eleven has to stay hidden.” 
“Then she can stay here with you,” said Mike. “We’ll go to the school, and…” 
“Mike, you’re not listening to me. You said there are people looking for Eleven, right? The bad men? And that they have insane resources that could probably monitor even an anonymous tip to the police station and get her caught?” 
“Yeah, so?” 
“So, don’t you think they’d be monitoring this whole town for weird things? Will is the only kid to go missing in this town for probably like a century. And if the three of you don’t keep up appearances there, it’s gonna qualify as a really weird thing. We go to the funeral, and deal with Mr. Clarke after. He’ll probably be there anyway.” 
“What about Eleven?” Mike asked. “She can’t come with us.” 
“She’ll be fine here by herself. The funeral will be an hour, tops.” Mike made to argue, but Christine held up a hand. “I will come directly back here, Michael. There’s no adults, she won’t go near the windows, and no one will see her. It will be okay.” 
Mike turned to the other three kids. Again, they were out of ideas and options. Lucas and Dustin merely shrugged. Eleven just followed the conversation with wide eyes and no input. Finally, after staring at her for several seconds, Mike sighed. 
“Don’t call me Michael,” he grumbled. “What are you, my mom?” 
As the planning continued on, Christine couldn’t help but think that she certainly felt like it.
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