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deja-you · 4 years

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foreign affairs | part three | d.c.

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: In 2020, Representative Y/n L/n is up for reelection. Lafayette, Y/n’s former best friend and current French socialite and playboy, decides this is the time to walk back into her life.

word count: 5.3k

author’s note: this is the last chapter of this series! it’s been so much fun writing this for you guys, hope you’ve enjoyed it. fair warning, this chapter/ending is pretty melancholic.

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Although his grandmother had wanted him to be, Lafayette wasn’t Catholic.

Like any other Parisian, he might attend a special Christmas or Easter service, but he wouldn’t call himself a Catholic. His grandmother had always wanted him to be more devout in his faith. Since his father had died when he was young and his mother was a young woman just starting off her political career, his grandmother raised him for the most part.

She was an organist and would play for different churches every weekend, never finding a church she liked well enough to stay very long. His grandmother had even taught Lafayette to play a few songs. At one point, she had bought Lafayette a crucifix on a chain to keep with him.

It wasn’t one of those cool, sleek chains you would see people wearing proudly. It was a silver chain with dark beads on it, something you might see an old lady wearing. A silver chain with a tiny Jesus on a tiny cross. He had lost it almost immediately.

Lafayette had always had a habit of misplacing items. In high school, he had conveniently lost his homework on multiple occasions. He was always losing just one half of a pair of socks. Could you imagine how stupid he looked walking around with one black sock and one white sock on? He couldn’t even remember how many times he had woken up hungover with no idea of where his wallet or keys were.

The point is, Lafayette was a grown man who was used to losing things. Yet, no matter how many items he lost, he still wasn’t prepared to lose Y/n.

And yes, he knew it was all his fault. Everything seemed to be his fault these days. Lafayette wasn’t even denying that he had made another huge mistake. What kind of idiot sleeps with the secretary of the girl he was in love with? Seriously, why did I write such an idiot?

It had been eight years since Paris. After all this time, Lafayette was just as proficient at destroying his relationship with Y/n as he had been when they were younger. You would think that he would learn from his mistakes, or Y/n would have been able to forgive him, but no. Maybe they were young and stupid then, but they were still very much young and very much stupid.

Lafayette had made a stupid decision. If it hadn’t been clear to him the night before, it was blatantly apparent to him the next morning while Sybil was getting dressed.

“Last night was a mistake.” He cringed at his words as soon as he said them. Last time he had woken up next to a girl and told her it was a mistake, it didn’t go so well.

“Not in a bad way, I mean,” Lafayette quickly amended. “I am sorry, was that rude to say?”

Sybil gave him a look that he couldn’t quite read. “No, it’s alright. I agree with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “it was unprofessional, and by the looks of it, it didn’t help you get whoever she is off your mind.”

Lafayette rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking at the bed or the floor or the window or at anyone but her. “You are right. I just... Anyway, this can’t happen again.”

“No, never. It was a bad idea to begin with,” Sybil muttered.

There was a silence that fell between them, neither of them knowing what to say until Lafayette awkwardly said, “I’ll see you around, then.”

“Right, right. Are you going to Congresswoman L/n’s election night party?” It was more of a way to fill the silence than actual curiosity.

At the reminder of Y/n, Lafayette had to stop him self from outwardly groaning, but he couldn’t help but grimace. If things with her hadn’t been messed up before, they definitely would be now.

“I should attend that, shouldn’t I? I’m just not sure Y/n will want me there.”

“You are a major donor,” Sybil pointed out. “It would make sense. If you and the Congresswoman don’t get along, why do you come around the office so often and make contributions?”

He didn’t even know how to respond to that, and his silence was telling. Suddenly everything clicked for Sybil. The frequent visits to Congresswoman L/n’s office. The disappointment on his face when she had told him Y/n specifically didn’t want to talk to him. The woman Sybil had asked him about last night. The way he called her by her first name.

“Oh no. The woman you’re in love with is Congresswoman L/n, isn’t it?” Sybil pieced it together.

Lafayette’s mouth hung open silently, his eyes told her she was correct.

“I never would have kissed you if I had known. I never would have done a lot of things with you if I had known. My boss? Please tell me I’m wrong about this.”

“You’re not.”

She groaned. “And it was so obvious, wasn’t it?”

“It’s obvious?”

“Of course! How did I not realize until now? I don’t want to get in the middle of anything, I just didn’t know.”

“You’re not getting in the middle of anything.” Lafayette shook his head. “I ruined any chance I had with Y/n long before last night. I really think she wants me out of her life this time. I should get on the next plane back to France, shouldn’t I?”

“Are you asking me, your one night stand, for advice?” Sybil said. “Not going to lie, this is a first for me. You’re going to miss the election night party if you leave.”

“Does it matter if I go to this event? Y/n doesn’t want to be with me, showing up to a party isn’t going to change that.”

“Look,” Sybil said firmly, “if you really love her, does it really matter if she wants to be with you or not? If you love her, you should want what’s best for her and her career, even if that means she still doesn’t want to be with you.”

He bit his cheek and thought her words over. “I get that, it’s just...”

“It’s your decision. Regardless of whatever happened between the two of you, she could use your support at the election party. Think about it, okay?”

John Adams was going to win the race, he had been ahead in the polls for weeks now. Thomas Jefferson had run an admirable campaign, well, as admirable as a campaign could be that outwardly trashed congress members in the media. Y/n never took his insults personally, even though she knew Jefferson wanted her to.

Tonight she wasn’t going to let thoughts of Jefferson get her down, even though the news anchors on the television would continuously bring him up. Tonight was going to be a big win for the Democratic party. Jefferson was trailing Adams in electoral votes, and there were only a few states left to be accounted for.

Y/n has spent most of the night talking with voters and showing off some of her bartending skills at the venue they had rented out for the election party. She was having a lively conversation with a single-mom when Lafayette walked in the door. Suddenly, it was like she had tunnel vision. Everyone else was dark and blurry, but everything about Lafayette seemed to be vibrant and in focus.

Since the last time she had seen him, Y/n had been doing her best not to waste her time thinking about him. Not that it was an easy task to do, Lafayette had a way of being memorable. Still, Y/n had bigger things to focus on than an old flame.

Now election night had finally rolled around. No politician was bothering Y/n because they were too focused on the presidential election or their own reelections. And at this time at night, the polls in Y/n’s district had closed. There was no more campaigning she could do at this moment, so she had nothing to distract her from her former best friend who was staring at her from the other side of the room.

Saying a brief apology to the woman she was talking to, Y/n began weaving her way through the crowd until she was standing a foot a way from Lafayette. Her red lips formed a cordial smile, and to any onlooker, it looked like a kind greeting between two acquaintances.

“I didn’t think you would show up,” Y/n said cooly.

He bit the inside of his cheek and tilted his head to the said ever so slightly. “I almost didn’t. I know things have been awkward between us lately, but I wanted to show my support for your success. No matter what happens between us, I’m always going to have your back Y/n.”

Her mouth parted slightly, a little surprised and touched by his response. When she didn’t respond, Lafayette quickly added on, “but I can always leave if you don’t want me here.”

“No, no.” She closed her mouth and shook her head. “No, stay. I want you to stay.”

A small smile began making its way across Lafayette’s features. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Nathan had appeared at Y/n’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Nathan said, adjusting his glasses. “Good to see you could make it, Monsieur de Lafayette. You think I could borrow the Congresswoman for a moment?” He turned to face Y/n. “They’re about to call your election.”

“Of course, I’ll see you around, Lafayette.” She gave him another smile before Nathan ushered her to the front of the room where a local newscaster was announcing the results for her district.

The room went quiet and the volume on the tv was turned up. The anchor smiled at the camera and announced, “...and it looks like Representative Y/n L/n has won her reelection campaign by a large margin. Horatio Gates trailed the congresswoman by...”

Y/n wouldn’t know how much she had beaten Horatio Gates by until the next moment. Everything after the anchor announced she had won reelection went unheard. An upbeat victory song had begun playing somewhere in the room, yelling and cheering warmed Y/n from her toes up to her head. Her mouth hung open for the longest time, and before she knew it, she was pulling the nearest person, Nathan, into a tight hug.

At some point, reporters had swarmed the venue and Y/n began giving out answers to all the questions they threw at her. There were a lot of congratulations and thank yous going around, and Y/n nearly lost herself in all the wonderful chaos. There was more wonderful chaos when John Adams was announced the next president of the United States later that evening, but Y/n hadn’t even been given enough time to soak in her own victory.

Don't follow men out to the street at 3 a.m.

The election party officially ended at midnight, but that didn't stop people from staying for a few more hours. At 3 a.m. there were maybe five people left at the party. Now that most people were gone Lafayette decided he would approach Y/n one last time.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure I congratulated you on your win again before I head back to France,” he said.

Y/n blinked. “You’re going home?”

“Early tomorrow morning.”

Y/n’s mouth hung open slightly, but she didn't say anything. Lafayette gave her a thin smile, a polite nod, and then headed out the door.

He had already exited the venue when Y/n processed what had happened. Not heeding my earlier warning, she followed Lafayette out onto the street at 3:00 a.m.

“So that's it, then, is it?” She called after him. “That’s the end?”

He turned around and raised an eyebrow. “The end of what?”

“The end of us. You're just going to leave?”

“Us? What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I regret what I did? That I'm sorry? Because I've already tried that.” He sounded exhausted. “You are just tormenting me now. Do you know how much this is hurting me?”

“You?” Y/n couldn't believe he was acting like the victim. “This is all on you. I can't count how many times you’ve hurt me

“What, you think I don't know that I messed up? You think I don’t regret the decisions I made every day?” Lafayette ran a hand through his hair. “Chèrie, I've used every kind of soap I have, and I still don't feel clean.”

The raw honesty in his words struck both of him deeply. A heavy silence settled between them. Eventually Lafayette reached into his pocket and pulled out two items. He desperately thrusted the objects into her open palm.

“I've been holding on to those for years. I don't want to keep them any longer.”

Y/n looked at the items he had given her. One was an old, worn ticket from a concert. The other item was a necklace. The one she had worn on their one shared night together. Y/n thought she had lost it and never expected to see it again.

“I dated lots of women when I was younger,” he admitted. “It never ended well. I've never been good at being sincere. Every relationship I've been in I ruined. You want to know why we never dated? Because I loved you. To the moon and back.”

“To the moon and back?” She repeated.

He nodded. “I loved you since I've known you. I couldn't let you be another girl I ruin things with. I guess everyone knew we were in love with each other except for us. Even Molly figured it out. That's why we broke up.

“Why didn't we ever tell each other?”

“We were just kids,” he suggested. “We spent all our time watching lovers in rom-coms tell each other what we were too afraid to tell ourselves.”

Y/n stared at the items she held in her hand. She let the ticket and the necklace fall from her hand onto the dark street below.

“This doesn't change anything.” She shook her head. “You walk in dreams. Dreams of what once was, what could have been, and what never will be. You hold onto the tangible things a ticket stub from our first concert, the necklace I lost years ago. You hold onto these objects because they make your dreams feel a little more real. Something you can touch or see, but in the end? It's all in your head.”

“What are you saying, Y/n?”

“Lafayette, I don’t doubt for a second that you loved me. Maybe you still love me. It’s just not enough to make up for all the ways we’ve hurt each other. I’m tired of being hurt, okay?” Y/n tugged at the sleeves of her coat, trying to find the words to tell him what needed to be said. “I’m finally happy and successful. I’m changing the world.”

“I knew you would. I always knew you would.”

In the next few months, Y/n would replay that evening again and again in her mind until it would drive her to the brink of madness. “Out of sight, out of mind” was a proverb Y/n wouldn’t understand until four months after the election night, when the words Lafayette had spoken to her on the street seemed like an eternity ago. When a year passed, that night seemed almost like a figment of her imagination now.

Besides, Y/n didn’t have a lot of time to think about events that had conspired over a year ago now. She had legislation to pass and funding to allocate. There was never a slow day in D.C.

“Y/n, you saw what Fox News said about you this morning?” Nathan asked, setting down a cup of coffee.

More focused on the steaming cup of coffee that had been set down in front of her than anything Nathan had said, she gave him a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. Was it anything new?”

Nathan considered for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not really. They were just informing the public that you’re a radical leftist who wants to abolish ICE and free healthcare for all.”

Y/n scoffed. “They figured out I wan’t to keep families together and take care of the health of millions of American citizens? Oh no.”

“You’re not bothered by any of this?”

“Well, they’re not wrong? By all definitions, I am a radical leftist.” She shrugged and pulled the warm cup of coffee closer to her. “Besides, anyone who’s watching Fox News already has a biased opinion toward me. We’ve got bigger things to worry about, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nathan agreed. “For one thing, France announced its support for your foreign aid bill. If your bill gets passed, they pledged to match whatever amount we’re spending on foreign aid.”

This seemed to wake Y/n up in a way that her coffee just couldn’t. “Really? That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’ve lined an interview up for you and a French diplomat in an hour downtown. You ready to go?”

Y/n sat up straight in her chair. “You really sprung this on me! Nathan, I haven’t had anytime to prep.”

He rolled his eyes and handed her a thick binder. “It’ll just be a few questions, mostly just to show the public a picture of you and a French official side by side. You can handle any questions, you wrote the damn bill. Besides, we can prep in the car.”

Y/n figured she had no points left to argue, likely Nathan’s intention. Begrudgingly, she followed Nathan out to the front of the building and they got into the backseat of the car. They began going back and forth, Nathan asking her questions on the foreign aid bill, and Y/n responding with well articulated answers.

“See? I told you you had nothing to worry about,” Nathan said in the elevator, finally closing the binder.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “That’s because I’m just magnificent and well-spoken.”

“Yes, yes you are. You’re going to kill this interview.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They began walking over to a small hair and makeup set up, and Y/n froze when she saw who was already on set laughing with the interviewer. She turned on her heel and jabbed a finger into Nathan’s chest.

“You didn’t tell me Lafayette was the French diplomat!” She hissed.

Nathan’s mouth fell open in mock surprise. “Did I forget to mention that to you? How silly of me.”

“Nathan, I swear to God. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I had known Lafayette would be here!”

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t tell you, huh?”

Y/n scowled at him. “I haven’t spoken to him in over a year, and last time we spoke, well...”

“I know you’re not on the best terms. Maybe this will help bury the hatchet.” Nathan suggested.

“Nathan, we need to can--”

“Oh dear, it seems I’m getting a call. I should really take this. I’ll see you back at the office, Y/n.” He motioned to his phone that was clearly not ringing and retreated back to the elevator.

After quietly cursing Nathan under her breath, Y/n resigned to her fate and allowed for some intern to touch up her hair and makeup. When they were done, she was ushered onto set in a seat next to Lafayette and across from their interviewer, J.P. Martin.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Congresswoman L/n.” J.P. Martin said with a disarming grin. “I’m glad you could make it to this interview on such short notice.”

She forced a smile, “thank you for letting me discuss my foreign aid bill.”

Y/n could feel Lafayette’s lingering gaze on her skin, but she refused to take her eyes off the interviewer in front of her. J.P. Martin said something else flattering that Y/n didn’t take to heart, then someone on the crew began to count down, then they were rolling.

“Today I’m joined with Representative Y/n L/n and Ambassador Lafayette to discuss L/n’s foreign aid bill,” J.P. looked straight into the camera with a wide grin. “Before we get into the details of all that, it’s my understanding that Representative L/n and Ambassador Lafayette have a history. Is this true?”

She froze in her chair. How had this interviewer find out what happened between her and Lafayette? Would this be a scandal she found in the newspaper the next morning? In all the time she had taken with Nathan to prep for this interview, she was already caught off guard by the first question.

“Yes, this is very true. Y/n and I go way back. We met when she was studying abroad in Paris and quickly became close friends,” Lafayette said. Y/n finally glanced over at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Well how about that?” J.P. directed his next question at Y/n. “Was it intimidating being friends with President de La Rivière’s son?”

Y/n was feeling more relaxed now after the initial shock. “At first, yes. Of course it was. I’m pretty sure I tripped over my feet the first time I met President de La Rivière.”

“You didn’t!” J.P. said with an amused gasp.

Lafayette chuckled and nodded. “She did. I remember my mother asking me afterwards why I was friends with that awkward American.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” J.P. was positively beaming.

“I think my mother understands now that Y/n is the youngest woman serving in the United States Congress,” Lafayette was subtlety pointing out Y/n’s accomplishments. “And speaking as her son and an official ambassador from France, I can confidently say President de La Rivière was impressed with Y/n’s foreign aid bill.”

“So impressed that the French government has promised to match the amount the U.S. is spending if the bill gets passed.” J.P. turned to face Y/n, his expression turning more serious. “Tell me, Congresswoman, why do we need to increase the amount of money we spend on foreign aid? We’re already spending 39.2 billion on foreign aid.”

Y/n smiled when he asked this. Really smiled. These were the kind of questions she had prepared to answer, and she knew she had Lafayette to thank for the topic change. “J.P., most Americans think 10% of government spending should be spent on foreign aid.”

“Yes, that seems reasonable,” J.P. nodded.

“39.2 billion might seem like a big number,” Y/n continued, “but that’s less than one percent of our federal budget.”

“Is that true?”

The rest of the interview went fairly well. Y/n had intelligent answers to each question J.P. asked, and Lafayette was there to assure J.P. that France was in full support of Y/n’s bill. Before she knew it, J.P. was saying they were out of time and thanking both her and Lafayette for coming to the interview.

The crew began to disperse quickly once the interview had commenced. Now that the interview was over, the realization that Lafayette was standing beside her begun to sink in. She loved the idea of walking off the set and never seeing him again, but unfortunately, they were both headed in the direction of the singular elevator.

“I assume you’re going to the lobby as well?” Lafayette asked, pressing the down button on the elevator.

Y/n nodded. “I am.”

The elevator opened and Lafayette gestured for her to step in first before following behind her. They stood in silence for a moment. Y/n hated how slow this elevator was moving, a fact that she hadn’t noticed on the ride up.

Finally, Y/n caved and she spoke to fill the silence. “I didn’t know you were back in the United States.”

He gave her a sideways look, doing his best to hide a smile. “I’m the French Ambassador to the United States now, Y/n. Did you really not know that?”

She clicked her head and shrugged. “I might’ve read it somewhere, I guess I just forgot. I’m a busy person.”

“Oh, I know.”

Y/n turned to face Lafayette and considered him for a moment. “I suppose you’re a busy person as well, now. How’d you get this gig, nepotism?”

Lafayette laughed and leaned against the wall of the elevator. “Believe it or not, I’m extremely qualified. I’ve served as a representative for France in the EU for a couple years, worked in the state department, long with other places.”

The elevator finally opened up to the lobby, but now Y/n wasn’t ready to end their conversation. “Huh. I guess I forgot that you’re actually a pretty intelligent person under all those layers.”

“Layers of what?” He asked with an amused grin.

“Layers of stupidity.” Y/n shrugged.

Lafayette chuckled and held the door open for her. “I guess that’s fair.”

“It’s more than fair,” Y/n sighed. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “So what is it that ambassadors actually do? I’ve always been curious.”

“A lot of ceremonial gifts and handshakes,” Lafayette admitted. “But very important handshakes. I met with President Adams last week, and I’m headed to meet with Washington at Mount Vernon now.”

“Sounds luxurious. Maybe I should’ve considered becoming an ambassador if it meant I get to spend time with President Washington.”

He paused. “Well, meeting with Washington is more for personal reasons than anything to do with being an ambassador.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/n raised an eyebrow. “I forgot you were best friends with every prominent American.”

“You’re not wrong,” he grinned. “Can’t help it that everyone loves me. Democrats and Republicans. I’m planning to have dinner with Jefferson next month. And I used to be best friends with the illustrious Representative Y/n L/n.”

His words were teasing, but he noticed when Y/n tensed when he said “used to be.” She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. Shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, Lafayette cleared his throat and asked, “What’s next for you?”

She considered him for a moment before responding earnestly. “The Oval Office, eventually.”

“Really?”

“Are you surprised?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not really. I always knew you were destined for great things, Y/n.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yes, in fact,” Lafayette reached into his pocket and took out a checkbook and a pen. “Let me be one of the first investors to your presidential campaign.”

He handed her the check he had just written. Y/n stared at the check she had been handed, still not entirely processing the extra zero written on the dotted line.

“Is this a joke?”

“No, it takes a lot of money to run for president.”

“I know that, but why would you…” She trailed off, then narrowed her eyes as a thought occurred to her. “This is just you trying to win me over by spending absurd amounts of time and money on things you don’t actually care about. I’ve seen this before.”

“You’ve seen what?”

“This exact scene.” Looking around seemed to solidify Y/n’s conception. They were standing on a sidewalk. Maybe Y/n and been young and naïve in the past, but now she knew how to recognize patterns. She recognized this one. How many times before had the pair of them ended up on a sidewalk together? And how had it ended for Y/n each time?

She counted five times now. The first was the day she had met him. It was Paris, and he had a completely disarming smile that made Y/n trust him immediately.

The next time it was late, both of them were drunk, and they were laughing in the dark while they waited for a cab to drive by.

The third time was in New York, ice cream cones in both of their hands and heartbreak on the agenda. That night she had remembered especially well.

The fourth had been about a year ago now, and although she had tried to forget it, it had been burned into the back of her mind like a scar that would never heal.

This would be the fifth time, and this time she knew better.

Each sidewalk rendezvous went the same way. Every time. And worse yet, they always ended the same.

“What is this scene?” Lafayette asked, genuinely confused.

“It starts innocent enough, doesn’t it? Just two friends on a sidewalk. But this is how it goes,” she laid out the scene for him. “You’ll reach into your pocket and pull out a cigarette. I’ll tell you how unhealthy it is, but you’ll smoke anyway. We’ll smile and laugh, until it gets to the point where we don’t want to be friends anymore. Then you’ll lean in and kiss me, or, at least, I’ll be wishing you’d kiss me.

Not such a bad scene, is it? Except every time it ends the same. You’ll wake up in someone else’s bed and break my heart. I’m just so tired of letting you do this to me! I’ve finally figured you out, and it’s not going to happen again. You’re my best friend, Lafayette, but I can’t keep letting you hurt me.”

When she had finished her rant, a quietness settled between the two of them. Lafayette watched her carefully, waiting to see if she had anything else to say, but it seemed that she had gotten everything off her chest now.

“That’s not what’s going to happen this time,” he finally said.

She looked into his eyes to figure out if she really believed him. Did she really want to believe him? “No? How can you be sure?”

“There are a few things in your “Lafayette breaks Y/n’s heart” equation that have changed. First of all, I stopped smoking a while ago,” he informed her.

Y/n was beyond surprised. For as long as she had known him, he had always been a smoker. It was part of his personality and was synonymous with his name. If there were two things that she was sure she could count on, it would be Lafayette smoking cigarettes and breaking her heart. Had he really quit?

“Second,” Lafayette continued on, “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“You’re not?” She almost sounded disappointed.

“Not this time. We learned our lesson, didn’t we?” He sighed, adjusted his jacket, and let his eyes fall to the cement at his feet. “You’ve ruined me. I’m never going to be able to love anyone the way I love you. And God, I love you so much.”

His heart felt heavy, like it was sinking further and further into his chest and he didn’t know if he would be able to find it again. There was a moment of silence to mourn something that had been lost. “You know I love you. You know that, right?”

Another certain truth. “Of course I do.”

“Good. I couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t know. I love you, and I can’t tell you how much I hate that that isn’t enough.”

She smiled. The kind of smile you give when you know that something lovely is coming to an end. Sometimes there is nothing you can do but smile.

His voice was tender when he spoke again. “No one ever told me that being in love would hurt this much. Am I a sadist for wanting to love you more?”

“No, darling, you’re just a romantic. That’s the worst we could be.”

Lafayette nodded because he couldn’t find it inside himself to smile. His town car showed up to take him to the airport at that moment. He bit the inside of his cheek, considering the different things he had enough time to say. Lafayette shook his head when he came to the decision that there was nothing left to say. He had already made it to the car and opened the door when he changed his mind.

“You know,” Y/n addressed Lafayette once more. “This might be crazy, but no matter what happened between us, I always thought it would be you and I in the end.”

Lafayette paused and pulled away from the car. He hesitated before making his way to Y/n. He gently held her chin between two fingers, looking her deep in her eyes as if he was searching for her soul.

“To the moon and back, remember?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then parted from her and got in the waiting car.

Not everyone gets the fairytale ending you see in movies. But they loved. Really loved. And that was enough.

Real love isn’t like the movies. No, it’s painful and warm and terribly strong. Mostly it’s good.

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

The Monogamy Monologues (Preview)

Status: Currently writing

Posting Date: February 7th (tentative)

Creative Contributor: @underthejoon for this lovely banner!

Genre: Rom-Com / Humor / Smut

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: The year? Some point after college. The occasion? Namjoon is getting married and the Rich Man’s Crochet Club has convened once again. Somewhere between the drinks and the laughter, everyone has the same realization: Jungkook has never been in a serious relationship. In the name of all that is holy (Overwatch and booze), the club’s mission is revived. Now though, their goal is much more perilous. Now, they aim to find Jeon Jungkook a girlfriend. (Part of The Rich Man’s Crochet Club series)

Estimated WC: 40K

Rating: 18+

Preview: 2,088

“JIMIN!”

“JEON!” Waving wildly, Jimin flags Jungkook down as he steps off the escalator.

There are still several people between them, but none of them prove to be a match for Jungkook. Dodging them easily – spinning, at one point around a family of five – Jungkook dramatically runs towards the exit.

“JIMIN-SSI!” he yells. “I’M COMING!”

Jimin rolls his eyes at the display. “Get your ass over here, Jeon! Sorry,” he apologizes to the same family of five.

Although the mother shoots them both a dirty look, she hurries her kids towards the Taxi stand and does not look back. Jimin opens his arms just as Jungkook crashes into his chest.

Lowering his cheek to Jimin’s hair, Jungkook closes his eyes to whisper, “I think you got shorter.”

“Fuck off,” Jimin grunts, shoving him away before laughing.

Jungkook grins. “Anyways,” he says, slinging an arm about Jimin’s neck. “Are you ready for the best weekend of our lives?”

With a good-natured shake of his head, Jimin leads Jungkook out of the terminal. Always the excellent host, Jimin actually parked his car at the airport and walked inside to greet him. Jungkook cannot remember the last time his family did that for him, let alone a friend.

“Ready to assist Namjoon, you mean?” Jimin gives Jungkook a look. “You know – on his wedding day?”

“Yeah, yeah. That.” The moment they step outside, Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Ahh,” he groans, slowly exhaling. “You smell that, Jimin?”

“Car exhaust?”

“No. Lack of humidity.”

Jimin snorts, striding forward when the crosswalk turns green. “Still not sold on Miami?”

Jungkook opens one eye. “Miami’s fine,” he says automatically, following Jimin as they enter the garage.

Over his shoulder, the garment bag keeps banging his ass. As much as Jungkook hoped this would keep his suit from wrinkling, it is looking more and more like he will need an iron.

Not believing a word Jungkook says, Jimin raises a brow. “If you say so.”

As they reach the next aisle, Jungkook takes in deep gulps of air. Jimin shakes his head at his antics, but Jungkook could not care less. This city always smells like home to him. When they reach Jimin’s car, though – a sensible, gray Subaru – Jungkook’s feet falter.

“What happened to Liz?” he blurts, taken aback by the trade.

Liz was their college nickname for Jimin’s car, stemming from the infamous Liz Lemon of 30 Rock. So dubbed because Jimin’s old car was a complete piece of crap – a lemon, from the time he drove it off the lot.

Jimin pauses, flipping the keys in one hand. “Traded it in,” he says stiffly, pulling open the door. “Too many memories.”

Realizing what Jimin means, Jungkook winces. He had nearly forgotten about the break-up. Granted, it has been almost four months since Jimin and Olivia called it quits, but the two had been dating since college. Slightly longer than Namjoon and his fiancée.

Whereas Namjoon and his fiancée grew closer after University though, Jimin and Olivia were the opposite. Jimin graduated summa cum laude with an acceptance to one of the top medical schools in the country. His painful notetaking really paid off, as Namjoon was wont to say. When he moved to Chicago and began med school in earnest, Olivia left for New York to join a consulting company.

With their busy schedules and early twenties lives, the two drifted apart. Jimin was the one who held on, not wanting to end things with the first girl he loved. It was only when he surprised Olivia in New York over Valentine’s Day he realized it was over. Not that Olivia was cheating on him, or anything – maybe it would have been easier if she were. At least then, there would be somebody to blame.

No, Jimin merely realized they did not fit anymore. Olivia had her friends and interests; he had his and the two no longer meshed. Without realizing it, they had both reached a fork in the woods and turned down different paths.

Ever since their break-up, the chat has been wary of even mentioning her name.

Jungkook glances hesitantly at his profile. “You okay, man?” he asks as they enter the car. Tossing his duffle bag over the backseat, he prays it does not land on his suit.

“Okay?” Jimin places the car in reverse. “Could be better, I guess. Could be worse.”

Jungkook nods as they pull from the spot. Slouched in his seat, he stares out the window because in times like this, he is useless. When it comes to matters of the heart, Jungkook considers himself to be woefully inept.

“Sorry man,” he says quietly. A car honks in response as they get on the highway. “Wish I could say we always hated her, but you know that’s not true.”

Jimin snorts from the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I know. I can’t really bring myself to say that, either.”

“Well, maybe you two will –”

“No. We won’t.”

Seeing Jimin’s face, Jungkook shrugs and resumes looking out the window.

After a minute, Jimin exhales. “So, how’s Miami really going?”

Jungkook’s head whips sideways to face him.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “Thought you hid it well, huh?”

“Better than five minutes into the car ride, yeah.”

“Well, you don’t.”

Jungkook snorts. “Miami is… fine. I don’t know. It’s not really Miami I have a problem with.”

“Your job, then?”

“Yeah, and… I don’t know. Everything.”

“Be a little more vague.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “I just…” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “It was so much simpler in college, you know? Things were difficult, but it all had an end date. Right? Get through four years, and you’re done. I’m starting to realize… this doesn’t have an end date.”

Jimin’s lips purse at the road. “The end date is whenever you want it to be, JK.”

“I guess,” Jungkook grumbles, slouching lower in the seat. Any further, and he might slip off the edge. “But then I’d have to admit that I failed. That I spent eight fucking years of my life either in this job, or working towards it. What was the point if I quit?”

“What’s the point of spending another eight years doing something you hate?”

Jungkook stubbornly chews the inside of his cheek, knowing Jimin is right. The problem is, though – even if he quits, Jungkook has no idea what to do. Sure, he likes photography, but the field is competitive as hell. Jungkook wants to do something he loves, but he also wants to succeed. Taking such a massive leap terrifies him.

“Let’s talk about something else,” he mumbles, turning to Jimin.

Although Jimin arches a brow, he reluctantly lets the subject go. “Sure. Let’s talk instead about how Seokjin is bringing a date to the wedding.”

“Seokjin?” Jungkook’s brows shoot so far up, they near-disappear. “Who?”

“Some girl from LA.”

“No shit,” Jungkook exhales, slowly shaking his head. “Wow. We’re all settling down, huh? Soon, it’ll just be you and me, Jimin,” he grins, leaning over to punch Jimin in the arm.

The wheel jerks at the action, swerving them towards the next lane. “Hey!” Jimin blurts, straightening them out with a scowl. “At least I dated someone during the past five years, Jeon. Who’ve you been seeing?”

“No comment.”

“Huh. I don’t remember her. Was she the blonde?”

“Shut up,” Jungkook laughs, reaching out for the stereo. As the latest pop song fills the car, he pointedly stares out the window.

Jimin smiles, shaking his head. Namjoon’s wedding is being held in the city. His fiancée’s father is some big shot at a downtown law firm. From what Jungkook has gathered, the ceremony spiraled from a small, romantic affair into one of the biggest events of the season.

Jungkook’s lip quirks. That is how you know Namjoon’s fiancée’s family is rich. They use phrases like event of the season and christen their yachts with only the most expensive champagne. Having been to several yacht-christenings in Miami, Jungkook has never understood the event. What is the point of buying something expensive, only to ruin it?

Actually, maybe that is the point.

Pushing Miami from mind, Jungkook stares at the highway as they drive towards the city. The wedding has taken on a mind of its own, according to Namjoon. So detailed, so elaborate, they were forced to hire a wedding planner. Jungkook can only imagine Namjoon, micro-manager to the extreme, being forced to trust someone else with his life.

It has been a while since Jungkook last visited Chicago. Namjoon’s family is from here, and whenever they visited in college, they always had a great time. His mom sent them off each morning with fresh fruit and eggs – it was sweet; reminded Jungkook of home.

The familiar skyline arching above brings a smile to his lips. All in all, Jimin and Hoseok do not realize how lucky they are. If Jungkook lived here, he would – cutting the thought off, Jungkook sits up in his seat. Jungkook does not live here, so there is no point pretending.

Glancing down at his phone, Jungkook feels a modicum of guilt. After placing himself in airplane mode, he has not turned the device back on since he landed. Jungkook knows there will be a fresh wave of texts from his boss and for now, wishes to delay the inevitable.

“Where’s the wedding again?” Jungkook asks, turning his head.

Jimin shrugs as he rolls down his window. The night wind ruffles his hair, sending strands flying all over the place. “Some hotel by the river. Hear it has a great view.”

“And what’s the plan for the weekend?”

“Jungkook!” Jimin scolds, turning down the radio. “Did you even read the agenda Seokjin sent?”

Jungkook glances at him guiltily. “Um, I looked at it.”

Seokjin’s is Namjoon’s best man for the wedding. It makes sense – the two of them have been roommates since sophomore year of college, not to mention they both live in LA. Jungkook knows Jimin has also helped Namjoon with wedding details, since he lives in Chicago.

The look Jimin gives says he knows Jungkook is full of bullshit. “There’s a copy of the itinerary in my glove compartment,” he says with a nod. “I printed out a few just in case.”

“Why the fuck,” Jungkook grumbles as he opens the clasp. “Alright, here we go. Wednesday.”

“That’s today,” Jimin prompts.

“I know what day it is.” Jungkook clears his throat. “Alright, Wednesday. Bridesmaids and groomsmen arrive.”

“That’s us,” Jimin adds, shooting Jungkook a look.

“Yep, yep. Thursday – booze cruise. Woo! Seriously?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You really didn’t read this, did you?”

Ignoring him, Jungkook continues. “Friday – rehearsal ceremony and dinner. Be at the church by 4:00 PM.”

“Dressed.”

“Doesn’t seem like a necessary clarification,” Jungkook says, flipping over the paper. “Saturday, ceremony starts at 2:00 PM. Photos and reception following. Sunday, brunch.”

Jimin nods. “Don’t be late.”

“Jimin.” Jungkook lowers the sheet. “It’s Wednesday. How can you seriously tell me not to be late to brunch on Sunday?”

“Because I know you.”

“Touché.” Jungkook grins, crumpling the paper despite Jimin’s groans.

There are not many people heading into the city on a Wednesday night – turning on his blinker, Jimin switches lanes to pull off on an exit. As they slow, the buildings around them seem to stretch towards the night sky. Craning his head out the window, Jungkook exhales. When he pulls back, he finds Jimin watching.

“What?” Jungkook asks, somewhat defensive.

Jimin’s upper lip curls. “Nothing. You know, Hoseok and I’s roommate leaves at the end of the month. If you ever wanted to come to Chicago…”

Jungkook glances away. “C’mon, man. I can’t quit my job.”

“Can’t… won’t…” Jimin trails off at Jungkook’s expression in the mirror. “Anyways, the offer stands. Think about it, okay?”

Slowly, Jungkook nods. “Alright, I’ll think about.”

Jimin smiles, appeased and returns to the road. His hands stay firmly at the ten and two ‘o’clock position, which is so Jimin, it makes Jungkook smile. As they wind through the streets, Jungkook cannot help but think about what it would be like to live here.

He would probably be miserable if he simply transferred to Chicago. Maybe a little less so, since Hoseok and Jimin would be here – but nothing would really change in the long run. If he quit his job, though. Jungkook sighs. For now, that type of change remains firmly in the abstract.

“There!” Jimin squints at the building ahead. “That’s the hotel.”

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

#preview #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

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quarantinebreakup412081121 · 3 years

Text

Day 1: Long Story Short It Was The Wrong Guy (AGAIN)

After nearly a year of being miserable after my ex and I broke up, and about 8 overlapping months of attempting to date, I finally met someone.

He seemed genuinely nice. He met me at my neighborhood park and we walked his dog, around and around and around for probably a couple hours. We talked nonstop- about 90% of the conversation was about our dogs. We left and he hugged me goodbye (I turned to the side because- COVID- and I wasn’t expecting it... but it turns out he was vaccinated already) and said we’d do it again.

The next time he came to my house, met my dogs, and we walked his dog around my neighborhood. My dogs aren’t up for more than about a half a mile walk, so they stayed at home. We talked and talked, we ended up back at the house before we were finished, so we re-walked half of the route, then walked part of the neighborhood beside mine. By the time we got back, we still weren’t finished talking, but it was getting late. We attempted the hug again. He was vaccinated, I was going to be vaccinated the next month. His dog lunged when we were going in for the hug and it ended up being kind of a 101 Dalmatians, tangled hug moment. It was funny and a but awkward, but definitely memorable.

He said we’d do it again.

Then he asked me to go to his apartment so he could cook for me; he called it a date. It was a little fast, but I made the hour long drive and went over for shrimp and fake meat tacos. We also watched a movie. It was nice. He kissed me on the way out. It was sweet. I wasn’t sure that I wanted it to happen so soon, but I left with butterflies.

The next few dates alternated between him coming here to do outdoorsy things and me going to his apartment for a meal and a movie. It was beginning to feel like a real relationship.

Over the next 5 months, he introduced me to all of his friends and we went to game nights together, coordinated to play video games with his friends when I went over, attended his friend’s post elopement wedding party, and he had me sign the photo matte that they had in place of a guest book. It felt real, it felt solid, it felt like it would be long term and like he really cared about me. It felt like the opposite of what I had with my ex.

He had me meet his dad. He came over and met my family. He said he’d go to Disney with me and he asked me to go skiing with him and his family. He said he loved the beach and that it was his favorite place to go- so I anticipated multiple beach trips over the summer. He listened to Taylor Swift with me, we watched dumb movies together, went grocery shopping and made Target runs together- aka “couple shit” as he called it. I loved it. I never got to do everyday couple activities with my ex. He’d cook for me, I’d cook for him, he’d make random Taco Bell stops for me and he knew my order.

A few weeks ago, I finally decided to open up to him about some of my anxiety and worries. I thought that the person I’d gotten to know over the last few months would be a person I could talk to and be real with- something I could never do with my ex unless I wanted to be judged and then ignored about it. He listened, and attempted to offer a helpful response- which wasn’t really helpful, but he TRIED. That was much more than I’d ever gotten from my ex. A few days later, I went over to his apartment for the night. We had dinner, it was off. The conversation was off. The movie was uncomfortable- like we were just sitting through it to get it over with. He went to bed early but I was so wide awake that I sat in the living room playing on my phone and watching the storm outside for another 3 or 4 hours so I wouldn’t toss and turn in bed and keep him up sine he had to work in the morning. In the morning, I had to drive home at 7am on only a few hours of sleep. I was cranky from that and the way the previous evening had panned out.

I laid in bed for a bit and snuggled his dog. She’s so sweet. She loves me and I love her-- so do my boys. I laid there thinking “this feels like it might be the last time I ever see her... so I just scratched her head and took a photo to remember the moment.

The goodbye was awkward, and I texted him when I got home and apologized for acting weird the night before and that morning. I told him things felt off for some reason and laid out some things that were on my mind. I thought open communication would be a good thing and that it would help him to understand my headspace and show him that I felt comfortable enough with him to talk to him about these things.

The next week, he avoided hanging out with me. The week after that, same story. I asked him to come to a concert with me on a Sunday night- he said he’d love to if it wasn’t on a Sunday. Then I asked him about another concert on the following Tuesday night- I jokingly asked him to play hooky from work and come with me. He said he couldn’t- but I understood that; it made sense. I went out of town for the weekend to visit my brother and he said that we’d plan time to get together once I returned. I returned and he mentioned nothing about getting together. I brought it up once and he didn’t acknowledge it, but he still talked to me, just a lot less than usual.

The conversations we were having sounded like repeats of previous conversations- and I honestly don’t know if he didn’t remember telling me some of those things, but he liked to partake in a beer or two or three... pretty frequently- so I’m not certain that some of the time he talked to me, he wasn’t 100% there. But that wasn’t the point- he was just sending me pleasantries and fillers as texts. No real conversation.

I started getting worried because my mind went to the worst possibility. He was checking out. We were done- or almost done. I asked him if we were good because it seemed like we weren’t. He said he was good and that work was just really rough lately and he was basically working and sleeping all the time. All of my worries melted away and I instantly felt a sense of relief-- I had been worrying for nothing! So I asked him if he had time for an evening hangout on Friday or Saturday or a different night if those didn’t work. I’d come to him and bring food and we could watch a movie and veg out for a bit.

That was last night.

This morning I woke up early to go to a sunflower field to take some fun summer photos. With covid apparently flaring up again, I was trying to find safe summer activities to do before the season’s over. Since I couldn’t get my guy to go with me to basically anything, I decided I’d do the things he didn’t want to do with me on my own and do the other things with him. It wasn’t so much a compromise as it was me just learning to be okay with having someone who didn’t want to take part in activities with me. My mom went with me an we got some gorgeous photos. I kept an eye on my phone expecting him to reply to my hangout request, because once he said yes- I’d also ask him to go with me to visit my brother in a couple weeks an have a fun beach weekend.

On the way home, I went through the drive thru at the bank and while I was waiting, I noticed my phone blinking.

It was a text. From him.

I don’t think we’re a good match for each other. There has been numerous occasions where you’ve said or done something (even in the name of “joking”) that hasn’t sat right with me. I’m sure there have been times you felt the same about me as well. I don’t want to waste any more of your time either. I hope you find a man who is a better match for you.

First of all, what the actual fuck. Secondly, there *have* been numerous occasions. Third- I have no idea what I said or did... Best I can muster is that since I’m pro equal rights and pretty liberal, maybe it came across as offensive because I think he has family members who are... trump-esque. I barely brought up politics because I didn’t want to make things weird. He is a cop and I never made jokes unless he did first (he’d regularly joke about cop stuff and talk about how he isn’t a typical cop and how he doesn’t like hanging out with other cops or doing cop stuff or even talking about cop stuff outside of work.) He gave me a whole spiel about he’s not a “cop cop” when we first met, like he was trying to sell himself to me-- which he didn’t need to do, but I thought it was cute.

I asked him if we could talk for a few minutes later in the day because I wasn’t understanding what was happening. I told him that I wasn’t trying to change his feelings about anything, but I wanted to talk. He totally blindsided me.

He never responded.

It’s basically midnight and he’s had most of the day to respond. Five months and he can’t even give me an explanation.

This is what I get for trying to trust people.

Tomorrow- or later tonight- I’m sending one last text and blocking him. He knew that’s how my ex ended things and how insensitive it was and how wrong it was. We had this conversation. And after five months, he just strings me along for the last few months and then ends things with a text. So goddamn insensitive.

I know I’m better off without someone like him in my life, but this hurts so much more than the last time because at least my first ex was a jerk and it was on brand for him. This one... my second ex... he was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be nice. He wasn’t supposed to hurt me, not like this.

#quarantine #quarantine breakup #breakup #love #loss #heartbreak #heartache #quarantinebreakup #lockdown #betrayal #folklore #longstoryshort #taylor swift #taylorswift

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gyll-yee-haw · 4 years

Text

Birthday special

Hi! I know it's late, but I had a huge block in the middle of this one! Anyways, happy birthday to the love of my life ❤

Prompt: (requested) teasing Jake in front of his family.

Warnings: teasing in public, daddy kink, praise kink.

Like 1.9k words

---

It was Jake's birthday. One of your favorite days of the year, because you loved to spoil him. Not only with presents, but it was the perfect excuse to let your inner slut out.

But this year, your plans were kinda crushed. All these last years, you two would celebrate it with his family on the weekend, but this year, he decided to have dinner at his mother's house on the actual day of his birthday.

There was nothing you could do. You just wanted to see him happy… And you loved his family. Even thought his epic birthday sex would have to be just a quickie now, if he didn't come back too tired from dinner and decided to sleep. You wouldn't let that happen.

You put on a red dress. Simple, but looked great on you. No underwear. You wouldn't have time for that. And finally… That one perfume. The one you would always use when you wanted to drive Jake crazy, even though you two had never actually talked about it, you simply knew him.

"Babe, are you ready?" Jake entered the room, making you hide the perfume in your purse. "Wow… You look so beautiful."

"Thank you." You turned to face him and smiled like nothing happened. "Yes, I'm ready now."

Everything was normal until you got in the car. He froze for a second, staring at nothing and thinking. You sat there in silence for a while.

"Are you okay?" You finally asked.

"What are you doing, Y/N?" He said, without looking at you.

"Waiting for you to drive." You chuckled.

"That's the perfume you use when you've got something filthy in mind." He finally started the car. "I hope you're not planning anything, we're going to see my family now."

"What?" You tried your best to play innocent. "I had never noticed this, Jake. I mean it. It's a fancy perfume, I only use it on special occasions."

"Right. Sorry." He was truly ashamed.

That reaction was better than you expected. Not only he was turned on, but he thought it was all in his head… That meant you could tease him a little more.

---

You played with his nieces until Maggie sent them to bed. Of course you wouldn't do anything

inappropriate while they were in the room. After you said goodnight to them, the games started.

When Maggie was in the kid's bedroom, putting them to bed and Peter was in the kitchen, helping Jake's mom with something, you were left alone with him in the living room. You knew you didn't have much time.

You were both sitting on the sofa quietly until the idea hit you. You threw your phone on the floor, carefully not to break it, but trying to make it look like an accident.

Before he could pick it up for you, you stood up and bended over in front of him, unnecessarily much, until you exposed your unclothed pussy. You kept that position until you were sure he took a good look, then picked your phone up and sat beside him innocently.

When you looked at his face, you had to bite your lip to hold back a smirk. His eyes were wide and his lips were partly open.

"I knew you were planning something." He whispered.

"What are you talking about?" You batted your eyes.

"Why aren't you wearing anything under your dress?" He pulled your dress up and squeezed the fabric between his fingers.

"We left the house in a hurry." You spreaded your legs a little. "Guess I forgot."

"Oh, you forgot?" He used his other hand to run two fingers through your folds, making you gasp and buck your hips. "Because I clearly remember telling you not to be a little slut earlier in the car."

You heard steps approaching and Jake quickly removed his hand and fixed your dress.

"Peter prepared some drinks for us." His mom announced. "Won't you join?"

"Of course." You smiled politely.

Jake looked at you surprised at how fast you could change your tone.

---

You decided to give Jake a break, so he could actually enjoy some family time. But while everyone was laughing and drinking, you were planning your next step. And now you wouldn't be alone, so you had to be careful.

You and Jake were sitting side by side, Maggie, Peter and Naomi were on the other side of the table.

Then you remembered that your perfume was in your purse. You touched Jake's leg to make him look under the table. When he did, you opened your purse and showed him the perfume. His eyes landed on yours and you knew that expression. It was a challenge.

So you stood up and excused yourself to go to the bathroom. The look on Jake's face made it clear you would regret that. But you knew you wouldn't. At least, not for now.

While you were gone, Jake kept checking his phone every second. He thought you were going to send him a nude or some naughty text. But no. You came back and sat by his side like nothing happened. He took a look at your entire body, but there was nothing different. Then he realised you took your purse to the bathroom with you. So he leaned towards your neck slowly, to see if you had put more perfume on. But the smell was still the same too.

You grabbed your phone and he could see you were typing something for him, but he couldn't see what it was.

It was driving him crazy, he knew you were doing something, but he couldn't figure it out.

Then his phone vibrated and he almost dropped his glass.

"Are you okay?" Maggie asked.

"Yeah, sorry." He placed the glass on the table and you couldn't help but laugh.

He eagerly unlocked his phone and saw it was a message from you.

'It's not on my neck. It's on my thighs.'

He looked down again and you spread your legs a little, making the perfume fill the air.

"You know what?" He said out loud, making the blood leave your skin for a second. "I guess I already drank too much. We should go home."

"I hope Y/N is driving, then." His mom said.

"Of course." You smiled, trying not to sound too happy.

---

You got in the car ready to be yelled at, but he didn't say anything in the first 10 minutes. He was planning his words very carefully.

"As I was saying..." He finally broke the silence. "I asked you to behave tonight."

"Didn't I?" You asked innocently.

"What do you think?" He chuckled. "You know what? If I could ask anything for my birthday, I'd ask you to be a good girl. At least for once."

"I am a good girl." You whispered, keeping your eyes on the road.

"Good girls don't go visit their mother-in-law with no panties." He lifted your skirt.

"Jake." You squeezed the wheel. "I'm driving."

"Okay." He fixed your dress again.

Silence again.

"It's still your birthday, though." You shrugged.

"Yeah?"

"I can be a good girl for you."

"I think it's a little too late now."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Let me be a good girl for you."

"If you think you can make up for what you've done earlier." He sighed. "This is how it's gonna be..."

---

By the time you got home, Jake had finished explaining his plan. You were soaked just by hearing what he was going to do to you, and you wouldn't dare to disrespect him now.

The first thing you had to do was take off your dress and wait for you in the bedroom. On your knees. A few minutes on that position felt like hours, until he entered the bedroom with your purse in his hand.

"You see this?" He picked your perfume up. "From now, you'll only wear this when I tell you to, do you understand?"

"Yes, daddy." You nodded, watching him placing it inside his drawer.

"Okay." He approached, towering you. "Now I'll remember you of tonight's rule. You're only allowed you to come when I decide that you've been a good girl. So far, you've been the worst."

"Sorry, daddy."

"Don't waste your time apologizing." He lifted your chin with his fingers. "Make me change my mind."

He moved his fingers from your chin to your lips, and you opened your mouth allowing him to push them inside. You kept your eyes locked on his and sucked his fingers.

"Do you wanna sit on daddy's cock?" He asked casually, and you nodded eagerly, and he removed his fingers from your mouth so you could speak. "Why should I let you?"

"Wanna make you feel good." You begged. "Please, sir."

"Just because you used your manners." He started taking his clothes off and you were about to stand up. "Don't move until I tell you to."

You waited on your knees, trying your best not to rub your thighs together, he always punished you for that.

When he was finally naked, he sat on the bed and began to stroke himself.

"You're so so beautiful." You looked at him with love in your eyes. If there was something that made him lose his mind harder than your perfume, was hearing you praise him.

"Stand up, come here." He patted his lap.

You didn't waste any time and did as he said, but when you sat on his lap, he grabbed your thighs and forced them open, pulling you close. He placed the tip of his dick on your entrance and kissed you passionately. His hands went from your thighs to your hips and he pulled you down, finally entering you.

"You're so big." You moaned against his lips, still working on his praise kink.

"Fuck, y/n." He groaned, controlling your hips movement with his tight grip.

"You love it when I tell you that you got a big cock, don't you, daddy?" You took his lower lip between your teeth.

"Yeah. Cause it just shows what a fucking slut you are. A slut that likes to feel full, don't I make you feel full?" He kept going faster and deeper, moving his hips with yours now.

"Yes, daddy. You do. Fill me up so good." You almost screamed as you threw your head back.

"But you can take all of it." He said, absolutely pounding you. "Do you know what I think you are?"

He positioned your hips in a way that your clit constantly collided with his hips, making you scream his name.

"Please, say it." You tried to focus, but everything felt to good at that moment: the pressure on your clit, his cock deep inside you and his lips marking your neck. "Please, daddy, I can't hold it anymore."

"I think you're a very good girl." He said cockly and that was the sign that meant you were allowed to come.

Didn't take you much longer after those words finally left his lips. And soon, he was spilling himself inside you as well.

You collapsed into his chest and he held you lovingly.

"Happy birthday, daddy." You sighed.

"Thank you, babygirl." He chuckled. "I swear my presents just get better every year. But just wait until we're spending your birthday with your family…"

#jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal one shot #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal x y/n #jake gyllenhaal x you

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apocalypsewriters · 4 years

Text

Secret Identities

Summary: Freddie's overeager adoptive parents jump at the chance of securing a new friend for their kid. The person they have in mind is Zach, someone Freddie has not typically gotten along with. Can they settle their differences? Or will their already fragile relationship be torn asunder?

"It'll be so much fun!" his mom, or as most knew her, Violetta, squealed, pulling Freddie in for a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're hanging out with kids your age!"

"Or, at least, close to your age," Aster, or Mama as he called her, remarked. She dropped a soft kiss on his head once Violetta reluctantly let him out of the hug.

"Plus, you already know him so well- from that time you guys spent living together!"

Freddie had shared the past traumatic experiences of his life with his new mums, and they had been very supportive, sending him to therapy and making sure he had a happy and secure environment to fall back on. Unfortunately, this also meant expanding his friend group, something he generally found difficult to do. His superior intellect, while it helped him make leaps and bounds in different research projects with prominent scientists of the time, meant he struggled to relate to many other people. He had been a lot closer to Bella than he’d been to Zach, though he tolerated her since she shared his love of learning. Zach was nice enough, but not generally his taste. His mums had already met Bella and practically fallen in love; Bella’s social skills made it difficult for anyone to be repulsed by her. They’d been ecstatic by the first “friend” they’d met, so it made sense they’d jump at the opportunity for him to make another.

A phone call later, Zach was scheduled to come over that coming weekend. Freddie had spent the entire week mentally preparing for the visit. When his studies and various scientific projects hadn’t served as enough of a distraction, he decided to spend Thursday and Friday behind his closet. Shortly after moving in with his adoptive moms, he had divided his spacious closet in two - the front was his sparse wardrobe and behind was a secret compartment. Inside it was a haven to him. His prized comics made up one wall, while the other was plastered in superhero posters. A display case proudly presented the Spidey-serum along with an imitation of most of Hawkeye's arrows, and a round shield he'd started experimenting with. He picked it up and made his way to the workbench underneath a poster. He'd been experimenting with different compounds to coat the shield in that would make it significantly more durable.

Before he knew it, hours had ticked by on Friday afternoon, and his momma was calling him down to dinner. Throughout the affair, his mom eagerly asked questions about Zach. Momma was a lot less apparent with her enthusiasm, but Freddie could see her happy at the thought of his life being improved. He sighed inwardly and answered Mom's barrage of questions as genuinely as possible, trying not to let his apathy and somewhat distaste of the situation seep through.

Finally, Saturday afternoon rolled around. Freddie had spent the morning the same way he'd spent the previous two afternoons - working on the chemical compound for the mock Captain America shield.

"Freddie! He's here baby!" Mom's voice broke into his treasured workflow. Freddie groaned, tilting his head back to roll his eyes at the ceiling. Reluctantly, he traipsed downstairs. Zach was standing in the doorway taking his shoes off, his hair a much darker blond than usual, damp with a few strands dangling in front of his eyes. The boy on the doorstep grinned winningly, a sharp contrast to the sneer on the boy on the stair's face. He flicked his eyes over his mothers' faces. Mom was beaming while Momma's lips quirked into a small smirk, the equivalent of her jumping up and down in excitement.

Freddie stifled another groan. "Come on then." Zach's smile morphed in a mischievous grin. The main reason the pair tolerated one another during the apocalypse was because of the need to survive. That and Bella, who could be relied on to break up any of their fights. Zach loved getting on Freddie's nerves and judging by the smug look on his face and the exaggerated swagger he was looking forward to that afternoon. Freddie pushed open the door to his room. Without hesitation or prompting, Zach fell into the beanbag by the window. Freddie sniffed and looked Zach up and down. "You smell like chlorine."

His lanky figure sprawled out on the beanbag, Zach shrugged. "I went swimming this morning." His curly hair was in larger clumps than usual and stuck out at odd angles.

"And you didn't shower?" Freddie’s voice was full of contempt.

“I did,” the brevity of Zach’s reply irked the smaller boy.

“But you didn’t smell like chlorine before.”

The older boy shrugged again. “It’s swim season. The smell won’t go away until it’s over. Though I’m thinking of doing it the whole year this time.” His gaze lifted to the ceiling thoughtfully.

Freddie wrinkled his nose in disgust. He understood the health appeal of extreme physical exertion as sports, but he couldn’t imagine how anyone could enjoy them, or the ludicrous lengths people pursued them.

“Freddie!” his Mom hollered from downstairs.

“Coming!” he called back, before turning to Zach. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll be back soon.”

Zach waited until he heard Freddie's methodical footsteps fade downstairs before springing up from his beanbag. He dashed to the bedside table and started going through the drawers. He almost slammed them shut when they yielded nothing blackmail-worthy, the fear of Freddie hearing him stopping him. After peering under the bed, Zach sauntered to the wardrobe and poked his head inside. He almost gave up when a sliver of light caught his eye. He squeezed into the wardrobe, and, ignoring the faintly glowing keypad, swung the loose back panel open. Inside was a veritable treasure trove of posters, collectibles, and comics of various heroes. Zach grinned and whipped out his phone.

Suddenly Freddie called. "I'm back!" Zach groaned under his breath. "You'd better be in that beanbag...oh no." Freddie's quiet pacing drew up to the wardrobe. "GET OUT! I don't care what my moms will say. OUT! OUT NOW! Put your phone on the bed and stand by the door." Reluctantly, Zach retreated from the hidden room. He put his phone on the bed and went to lean on the wall by the door.

"So, you like comics," Zach said lightly.

Freddie was bright red as he tapped on the older boy's phone. "Quiet," he seethed. He handed the phone back to Zach, having gone through it, looking for photos of his treasured room. "If you tell anyone about this your reputation will be ruined before you can say 'tesseract.'"

"Okay, Sheesh. You need to chill out little man."

"Get out of my house."

"Fine, fine. What am I going to tell your moms?" He asked around the door as he started down the hall.

"That's your problem now." With that, Freddie slammed the door, clipping Zach's nose.

Zach shrugged. Once downstairs he called out, "I just got a text. I have to go, I'm so sorry. Thank you for having me in your lovely home!"

"So soon? That's a shame." The more spritely woman skidded around the corner, the quieter one following closely behind at a more stately pace. "Do come back sometime."

He grimaced at the door before turning around with a winning smile. "We'll see." He waved as he walked down the path, and, swinging one leg over his bike, called out one more time. "Bye! Have a great weekend!"

The last thing he heard before he rounded the corner was, "You too, sweetie!"

“So you yelled at him then kicked him from your house?” Freddie could hear the stifled laughter over the phone. After banishing Zach from his home the day before, he'd called Bella to get a second opinion on the situation.

He sighed, "Yeah. But I'm in the right! He was snooping when he wasn't supposed to!"

"I guess. Did you talk to him or did you just interrogate him?" Freddie could hear her smirk at his silence over the phone. "That's what I thought. So do you want my advice on how to fix this?"

Freddie mumbled, "I mean, I don't really want to. He's not that great of a person anyw-"

"What was that?" Bella cut him off.

"Nothing. Please help me," the plea stuck in his throat.

"I thought so." she was unbearably smug. "Now, I want you to invite him over again. Apologize, then show him the room."

"What?!" he exploded.

"Calm down and hear me out. You will show him your room and give him a comic."

"WHAT!?"

"Just follow my advice and you'll be fine." her voice was soft as if she was soothing a spooked animal.

"You know what? I don't think I will," with that, he hung up.

On the other end of the line, Bella smirked at the silent phone. "I'll give him until Friday," she said to herself.

He broke on Thursday.

On Thursday night, he was sitting at dinner, his issue with Zach gnawing at him. He pushed his dinner around the plate.

"Not hungry, baby?" Mom asked, concerned.

He sighed and put down his fork. "I am. I was just wondering if Zach could come over this weekend," he choked the words out.

Momma raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure? You seemed a bit te-"

Mom cut her off with an elbow to her gut. "Of course, honey! I'll text his family after dinner. But no guarantees. We don't know how busy he is."

"Thanks." Freddie went back to his dinner, zoning out of the conversation while reliving last Saturday and planning and replanning the coming weekend.

Luckily, Zach was free that weekend. He came over the same time as the week before, in much the same state - damp, messy hair, chlorine smell, cocky attitude. He steeled himself against the older boy's smug and brazen attitude and managed not to snap on multiple occasions as they tramped up to his room.

"I never thought I'd be back here," remarked Zach incredulously as he strode up and sat on the beanbag he'd been on the week before.

"Mmm." Freddie was on the bed, head in his hands, feet dangling, his legs not long enough to brush the ground. He was seriously reconsidering inviting over the other boy again.

Zach sat forward in the beanbag, "I think it's safe to assume you didn't just invite me here to hang out."

The smaller boy sighed and threw himself backward onto his bed. He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it. Zach winced from his seat but didn't move, looking on with more curiosity. Freddie heaved himself up, a few strands of his carefully gelled back inky hair astray and began speaking again, his eyes slit, "I brought you here to propose a truce." He plowed through the stunned, heavy silence. "I thought over our last interaction and -" he was cut off with a cough from Zach which clumsily masked "totally Bella". Freddie glared down at him. "And I want to attempt to improve the terms between us, so," he scooched over to his bedside table and opened a drawer, flipping up a secret compartment and pulling out three well-loved comics - Spiderman, Ironman, and Guardians of the Galaxy, some of Freddie's favorites. The bottom corner was thin and a little frayed, and the spines were white with creases but other than that, they were in pristine condition. "I'm going to lend you some of my graphic novels."

Zach snorted, "You mean comics?"

"Sure," huffed Freddie. "Read them, and then you can understand why I like them. But understand this." He hopped down from the bed and stalked over to where Zach was lounging on the beanbag. He grabbed the collar of the bigger boy's shirt and yanked it upward, lifting Zach's indifferent gaze to meet his own smoldering eyes. Zach gulped, never having been so scared of someone so much smaller than him. "If you crease, tear or so much as think of damaging those comics, your life will be ruined before you can say 'vibranium.'" With that, he released his grip on the shirt.

"Yes, sir," Zach playfully saluted Freddie, who rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "So now what?"

Freddie shrugged, "Do what you like. Leave, stay, I don't care. I'll be working on a project in the room. Don't disturb me. However," he paused at the doorway of the closet. "I'd advise you to stay here at least twenty to thirty minutes to avoid Mom's suspicion. Unless you want her to perform an investigation on your social life to try and determine why you're so flighty…"

"Got it, thanks," said Zach, grateful. He pulled out his phone and played around for a bit.

About half an hour later, he called out he was leaving. Miraculously, Freddie emerged from his "lab", if only to give him a plastic bag for the comics. With a final threat over the safety of the lent material, he sent Zach off, whose trip home was uneventful.

Once he arrived home, Zach thumped up to his room. He pulled out one of the comics and flipped through the pages, skimming the fading words and pops of color. He rolled his eyes, dismissing the childish trinkets. He pulled out the rest of the comics and stuffed them into his school bag, promising himself that he’d read them later, and pulled out his homework.

At his desk, he sighed and slumped forward, resting his head on the hard, cool wood. His leg bounced with unspent energy. Sitting up again, he attempted two more questions, but his mind remained fuzzy and blank. He leaned back on his chair, eyeing his window and the tree branch that brushed it. Resigning himself to an unproductive afternoon, he jumped up and made his way to the window. Leaping with practiced ease, he swung his way to the floor, mucking around with a basketball until it was too dark to play.

The comics sat unbothered until Tuesday afternoon, at which point they were smushed and creased by a tennis racket. They settled further into his bag and drifted further into the back of Zach’s head, the upcoming swim tournament, and tennis trials taking priority in his week. Any time not spent on homework or sports practice was on his phone, winding down for the day by texting friends and playing video games.

The next two weeks flew by in a similar pattern, the comics lay forgotten at the bottom of his bag, keeping half a year’s worth of forgotten permission slips company. Finally, a free weekend rolled around, so Zach made his way over to Freddie’s house, the plastic bag the younger boy had given him dangling carelessly from his bicycle handles. As he pulled up to the gate, Zach glimpsed a small black head duck away from the partially closed blinds. He smirked. Pulling up to the front door, he leaned his bike on sturdier shrubbery and walked up to the door and knocked twice before ringing the doorbell, obeying the flowy writing on the flowery sign underneath the house number. He heard rhythmic tapping approach the door before it was flung open and he was enveloped by the more eager of Freddie’s mums. She brushed his cheeks with her own, making kissing sounds like in French greeting, as the other stood to the side, stifling laughter at Zach’s reddening face, his discomfort at the overwhelming attention apparent. When he finally escaped, he gave the pair a two-fingered salute before dashing upstairs. He burst into Freddie’s room, panting. “Wow, your mom can be a bit…”

“Much, I know,” Freddie sighed. “Now sit. Tell me how you enjoyed the simpler side of my refined taste.”

“Um,” Zach awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “I didn’t read any.”

“You’re kidding me.” Zach shook his head, making Freddie huff exasperatedly. “You had two weeks. Surely you had some free time.”

Shrugging, Zach said, “I did. I just spent it on other things.”

“Did you at least start one?”

The older boy shook his head.

“Maybe we can find something more your taste. Pass the ones I lent you to me.”

“You’re really trying to make this work, aren’t you,” remarked Zach as he passed the bag over.

“I guess. I don’t like giving up, and besides, I have nothing better to d- what did you do?” Freddie’s casual statement darkened as he peered at the contents of the bag. Inside, the comics were warped and horribly creased. “Ironman” even had a rip in the back cover. Freddie took a deep shuddering breath and pinned the damaged comics on his closet doors with his shaking hands. “Where were these for the past fortnight?” His voice quavered with pent up rage.

“In my school bag. They must've been pushed to the bottom and jostled around a bit. Sorry, I didn’t realize they meant so much to you.”

Freddie let out a burst of hollow laughter, “Surely you can’t be serious, I threatened you multiple times, and I have an entire room dedicated to those. How much more could someone care about something?”

Zach scuffed the floor from the bed. “Not much, I guess. I really am sorry. I got distracted during the week and didn’t pay them enough attention. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Freddie paused in the preparation of a rant. The older boy seemed genuinely remorseful. I might seriously regret this, he thought, as he decided to give Zach another chance. “N-no. I’ll patch them up myself, I don’t trust you not to ruin them more.” Zach winced. Freddie continued, “I think I have the perfect comic for you. And this time, it’s staying in my room so it doesn’t get damaged and so I can make sure you’re reading it. I ought to have a copy, so maybe…” he trailed off, continuing his speculations in his head as he disappeared into the back room. In the silent bedroom, Zach got up from the bed, which creaked in relief from the removed strain, and made himself comfortable on the beanbag.

Finally, Freddie emerged from the room, brandishing identical comics that declared “Captain America.” He handed him the comic before flopping onto the bed himself and opening his own. They sat in silence for five minutes until Freddie spoke up, "Get off your phone."

"What are you talking about?" The telltale click of the screen shutting off made Freddie smirk at Zach's faux innocent statement.

"I'm not deaf I heard you turn it off just now."

"Fine," Zach huffed. "How did you know anyway?"

"You weren't turning pages. And five minutes is plenty of time to finish at least one page, especially for a comic. Besides, the beginning has action and suspense and you didn't react to anything."

"Huh," Zach mused.

"Please just try. I know you don't read much, but this is mostly pictures. Even your small brain ought to be able to process it. Maybe you can put your phone on the floor?" Freddie's voice pitched up at his last statement.

Zach rolled his eyes and slid his phone to the ground, deciding to humor the small boy. His efforts seemed genuine and his earnestness was sweet.

Sure enough, not three minutes later, Zach was enraptured in Steve Roger's story. Freddie smirked on the bed which widened into a smug grin at every gasp, occasionally sneaking glances at Zach's awed face. A little over half an hour later, Zach carefully tossed the comic at Freddie's feet, landing it on the other copy. "Please tell me you have more," Zach's voice was taut with hope.

Freddie scoffed, a triumphant grin plastered across his face, "Didn't you see my room? I have almost every single comic. Not all of them are on display, though."

The rest of that afternoon was spent in near silence. It was punctured by a few gasps, giggles, and triumphant whoops and some of the sweeter victories. Miraculously, Zach finished all the Captain America comics and started Spiderman.

Halfway through the first Spiderman comic, Zach looked outside for the first time in hours. "Geez! It's dark already?"

"Huh," Freddie was unsurprised. Spending hours rereading comics and working on his favorite projects made him lose track of time more often than not, so sudden unnoticed hours flying by wasn't out of the ordinary.

"I should probably go," Zach was forlorn, before perking up slightly. "Do you mind if I take a few comics home."

Zach sighed, lifting his gaze to the ceiling thoughtfully. "I suppose. You seem to see the value in the graphic novels now, so you probably won't damage them." His eyes drifted back to the older boy, who was on the edge of his seat in anticipation. "Fine, take them. But come back sooner this time so you haven't fewer chances to ruin them."

"Of course!" Zach reassured the boy sprawled out on the bed, "There's no way any of these will be so much as creased under my watchful eye." He winked.

Freddie rolled his eyes. "What day this week will you come over?"

"Umm… I don't have any fr-" Zach started to explain.

"Make time. You are coming over."

Zach huffed, exasperated. "I'd forgotten," he muttered under his breath, "how annoying you can be."

Freddie ignored the comment as he emerged from the secret room with two comics, handing them to Zach, who was still on the beanbag. "Now leave before I change my mind."

"You got it chief," Zach gave him a two-fingered salute as he strode out the room, pausing at the door as his movement in his peripheral vision caused him to whip around, catching Freddie with his tongue out. He raised an eyebrow at him, causing the tips of his ears to redden. Zach snorted.

"Go," spluttered Freddie.

Zach flew down the stairs two at a time. "I'm going now," he hollered, "thanks for having me!"

Aster and Violetta, as they insisted he address them, rounded the corner. The only reason Violetta wasn't skipping around the corner ten paces ahead of her wife was Aster's hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

"Surely, you're not planning on cycling home alone, in the dark?" Violetta simpered.

"Uh, I guess?" replied Zach.

"Absolutely not! It's not safe for someone your age." Violetta rebuked.

"It's really not," agreed Aster. "We'll drive you home."

"Oh, no," Zach protested, finishing lacing his shoes. "It's fine. I know my way, it'll be fine."

"Nonsense," insisted Violetta. "Our car has plenty of room for both you and your bike."

Zach sighed, knowing they wouldn't let up until he caved. "Okay. Thank you so much."

"It's no trouble."

Over text, Zach managed to organize to come over on Wednesday. He burst through Freddie's bedroom door to an empty room. "Hello? Freddie?" He heard sniggering from somewhere in the room. He peeked into the comic room and rifled through the wardrobe in front.

"Look up, moron," He heard from above him. Freddie was crouched against the ceiling. "Pass the comics up." Zach handed the comics up for inspection before laying back on the floor to avoid straining his neck. "Not bad," Freddie remarked. "You didn't do any damage. Well, no major damage. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're one of the heathens that doggy-ears pages." He glared down at Zach, who shrugged.

Sensing the building annoyance, Zach quickly changed the subject. He hauled himself off the floor and sat on the bed, tilting his head to focus on Freddie, who was still in the middle of the roof. "So now I know where that's from. I knew you couldn't come up with good original ideas."

"Hey!" Freddie protested, before suggesting "I have a few other projects back there. One in particular I think you'll like."

Zach's eyes shone with excitement. "What are you waiting for then?"

Freddie grinned back before motioning to the beanbag. "Would you mind pulling that over? I don't feel like walking down the walls." Once the cushioning system was below him, Freddie jumped hard and curled himself into a ball, landing with an "oomph". Picking himself up, he strode into the back room, so light on his feet he was practically skipping. He returned with a large metal circle and several souped-up arrows. "Catch," he called, frisbeeing the disk, Zach diving to catch it, saving it from clattering to the ground, as the throw fell short.

He examined it, flipping it over and spinning it a few times. "Is this?"

Freddie nodded earnestly, "A replica of Cap's shield. I'm experimenting with a chemical compound that will increase its durability. And these," he brandished the arrows, "are replicas of Hawkeye's arrows. I'm pretty sure you've seen him once or twice by now."

"I have. Hey...can I try the Spiderman thing out were using?"

Freddie hesitated, "Well, it's a bit of a pain to make, so I generally save it for special occasions."

"Like scaring me?" scoffed Zach.

"Shut up and read," Freddie tossed him the next issue of Spiderman, confidant in the athlete's catching ability to make up for his poor hand-eye coordination.

They were barely four pages in before Zach spoke up, "I wish there was something I could do to bring another...hero item to life."

"Other than being my lab rat to test the supersoldier serum and other stuff, there's not much more you're good for."

They sat in silence for a little longer before Freddie made a suggestion. "Maybe an Avengers comic can spark an idea in your weak brain."

Zach protested weakly as he accepted the comic, eager to get sucked into another hero's journey. To his delight, he found six heroes to invest in. As he read, he turned over different possibilities for weapons to bring to life. Finally, something clicked. "Hey, Freddie?"

"What?" The small boy poked his head out of the makeshift lab, where he was working on the shield.

"What about an Ironman suit?"

"No," he dismissed. "It's way too complicated. As much as I hate to admit it, it's out of my depth."

"Why don't we ask Bella?" Zach heard something clatter to the ground at his statement. He smirked, pleased he'd come up with something Freddie hadn't.

"Grab my phone, now." Freddie dashed out of the room and launched himself onto the bed. Zach grabbed it from the bedside table and sat next to him. After a quick squabble over who would ask, the phone ended up between them on speaker.

"Hey, boys," Bella answered after the second ring.

"Wh- how did you know?" Zach asked.

"Simple. Freddie doesn't normally call me on a weekday and I knew you two would reconcile."

"Oh."

"And I heard rumors you'd gotten into superheroes recently, which only confirmed my suspicions."

"You are a woman of many talents, Anabella."

"Thanks. Now," she cut off Freddie who was about to speak, "What do you need?"

Freddie held back his initial question, "Who said we needed something?"

"You never call me unless you need something. That goes for both of you."

Zach said sheepishly, "That's fair."

Freddie sighed, "Yeah, we do. Can you make an Ironman suit?"

"That's a tall order," she commented. "As friendly as I am with you two, that's going to require funding or hands-on help. Preferably both."

"Okay. When can you get started?"

The line was silent for a moment as she pondered the proposition further. "This coming break. I'm swamped with work right now, and I'm sure you are too, Zach."

He winced. "Yeah, I am."

A faint tapping and rustling filtered across the line. "If you send the money soon, I should be able to get the material to start early. It might even be ready before the break if everything goes according to plan."

"Thank you, Bella," they chorused.

She chuckled, "No problem boys. Bye." She hung up.

The pair exchanged fervent looks, eyes brimming with eager fire.

"This is going to be awesome."

#writing #fiction #original characters #freddie moore #zachary williamson #my writing #short story #a new infection #a new infection au #cof(fee)#crown of flowers #technically speaking since they have roles here #the perfect family #anabella silvette

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imaginesrus · 5 years

Text

A Knock In The Night

Here it is my first Steve Harrington imagine, this has been a lot of fun to write and fun to get to try out a new style.

I have a few ideas for some other imagines but if you would like to send in a request to give a new writer in the fandom a go that would be awesome.

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None, just pure fluffy goodness

Word Count: 1910

Summary: Your younger brother Dustin has managed to convince your parents to go for a road trip to Utah leaving you home alone without the usual gang hanging around. As you settle for a quiet night in, a knock at the door brings an unexpected and not necessarily unwelcome surprise.

The house was empty.

Blissfully empty and quiet.

After the last few weeks of Summer Break, the fire at Starcourt Mall, Dustin’s gang visiting most days having the house to yourself was a luxury you were going to enjoy full heartedly. A final chance to relax before you headed off for your first year of college.

Your parents had taken Dustin to Salt Lake City for the week and you were almost certain Dustin’s eagerness to travel with them was due to proximity that he would be to Suzie. You had seen him looking at maps while packing, no doubt plotting some elaborate rendezvous at a secret location, by the moonlight of course.

Ah, young love.

You opened the cupboard, smiling to yourself that they were all still there, carefully selecting your snacks for an evening of uninterrupted reading and quite possibly passing out mid chapter in the lounge room. Since the Starcourt Mall incident your house had been full with Dustin and his friends, occupying the lounge watching scary movies on the new VHS player your dad had excitedly purchased last week.

You grabbed a packet of Twizzlers from the cupboard, poured yourself a Coke and made your way back to the empty lounge, breathing in a deep sigh at the sheer peacefulness of it all. You collapsed on the sofa pulling out your book from behind your cushion and placed your drink and snack on the small table next to you.

Opening your book to your marked chapter as your eyes began to flick across the words, losing yourself in the story of resurrected pets and Indian graveyards.

A knock at the door, made you jump, the drink in your hand sloshing and splashing onto your top.

‘Shit, shit,” you ran to the kitchen, blotting your top with the kitchen towel, while another, more urgent knock, sounded through the house again. Holding the towel to your chest, you moved cautiously to the front door.

Maybe reading Pet Cemetery while alone in your house was not quite your best idea yet.

You looked around briefly for a weapon of some kind, your imagination in complete overdrive at this point. Deciding on an umbrella disused in the walkway, left over from winter long passed.

You moved slowly to the window, moving the curtain just enough to be able to look at the front doorstep. Your heart stopping for an entirely different reason.

Steve Harrington.

‘Fuck,’ you muttered under your breath as you dropped the umbrella to the side of the wall and opened the door, Steve’s hand raised again, poised for another knock.

“Y/N,” he says, clearly surprised not to see his usual accomplice and instead his older sister. Surprise is quickly changed to concern as he notes the towel clutched to your chest “Are you okay?”

“What?”

He gestures to the front of your top, “Yeah, I spilled some Coke.” You hadn’t yet quite met his eyes, flitting to the side instead.

You weren’t sure exactly how this ‘friendship’ between your younger brother and Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington developed, but over the course of a weekend it seemed that they had become friends and this resulted in Steve being in your home not the uncommon event you would have thought it would be.

And yet you still felt uncomfortable every time you are near him.

“Is Dusty home?” he asks casually leaning against the door frame, craning his neck to look further into the home.

“He’s gone with mom and dad, somehow he convinced them to a road trip to Utah.”

“Suzie,” Steve says with a smile. Almost like a proud parent.

“Suzie,” you confirm. Still standing in the doorway, nervously shifting under his gaze.

“I was hoping that maybe he would want to watch this with me?” Steve held up a copy of a VHS from the video store where he worked. You had visited the video store on numerous occasions usually dropping off Dustin and his friends to pick up a new movie. And there he would be again. It had seemed that for most of this summer you hadn’t been able to escape him and here he was again.

You examined the video in his hand, “Cujo?”

“Yeah, I mean I was going to watch with him of course, parental supervision and all.” Steve quickly explains as you raise an eyebrow at his choice of movie.

“Well, Dustin’s not here so-”

“Right,” Steve gives a nod and you see the disappointment written all over his face. As much as you may hate to admit it your brother and Steve had developed a friendship that had you questioning some of the long formed opinions you had about Steve Harrington.

You give a shrug of your shoulders, an attempt at cool and casual, “I’m just reading, if you wanted to watch it here. I wouldn’t mind.”

Which was a lie, because you very much would mind. The sensible decision would be to send Steve back to his car and on his merry way, but you opened the door wider allowing him to enter.

“You know where the player is,” you said closing the door behind him, “I’m just going to change,” you pointed to your shirt and made your way to your room.

You closed the bedroom door behind you, pulling off your shirt and digging around your drawer for another. Deliberating between two before reaching a decision. You were all alone in your house with Steve Harrington. You stared at yourself in the mirror, pushing your hair behind your ears before taking a deep. You were just two people watching a movie in the same house, that was all it was. You wouldn’t even been watching the movie. You felt sorry for him, that was all this was.

You had started sitting at the furthest corner of the couch, intent on focusing on your book, but eventually found yourself distracted by the TV and placing the book back to it’s safe spot under your cushion. Gradually edging closer to the middle of the couch, closer to Steve who was engrossed.

Your gaze drifted from the movie, to the way the light moved across his face, highlighting his lips, and of course that hair.

You considered the pack of Twizzlers on your lap, moving closer still and holding the pack between the two of you, a peace offering of sorts. As Steve was focused on the screen in front you tapped the packet gently on his arm, managing to gain his attention.

He moved to take one, a small smile, before focusing on the screen again. You moved closer as you kept the packet between you, chewing on the Twizzler as you focused on the screen. The two of you engrossed, as you passed the packet between you. Neither one speaking, despite the occasional gasp, or ooh in response to the movie.

His hand brushed against yours as you handed the packet back and you paused your movements, holding your breath as he did the same. A tension settling over both of you as your eyes focused intently on the screen. Not game enough to see his reaction.

“Popcorn,” you shouted unexpectedly, earning a jump from Steve. “I’m going to make some.” You quickly got up and moved to the kitchen, muttering to yourself about how exactly you had gotten yourself into this situation.

You placed the popcorn on the stove, trying to focus on the steps instead of the boy leaning casually against your kitchen bench, watching as you fiddled with the gas.

“I was an asshole in high school,” he says breaking the silence. Memories of yourself with him in a closet with at Shellie Marino’s 16th birthday party during a game of seven minutes in heaven come flooding back, followed by the teasing, the jibes, cruel words from her peers that he didn’t dispute.

“No argument here,” you mutter under your breath.

“But I’m not the same person, things have happened that made me realise that the things I thought were important in high school weren’t. Being popular, being cool, even the hair,” he added with a chuckle.

“Blasphemy,” you added.

“I can see why you would be worried about the guy that I was in high school hanging out with your kid brother, I get it. But Dustin is a really cool kid, and for his age kind of wise.”

“Well don’t you go telling him that. Since that Camp Know Where he has a big enough head as it is.”

“So-”

“Truce,” Steve said holding out his hand towards you.

“Truce,” you agree taking his hand in your own and giving it a firm shake. The sound of the first pop of popcorn had you shrieking, tightening your grip automatically as he does the same, before both dissolving into giggles as he helped you to finish popping the corn before he returned to the couch and you grabbed another treat from the cupboard.

Taking a seat on the couch next to him, closer than before you leaned over and poured the full box of Milk Duds over the popcorn in the large bowl resting on his lap.

“Oh God, not you too.” Steve groaned.

“It’s good,” you protest, grabbing a handful and eating them, the mixture of sweet, salty, butter and chocolate covering your tongue in the most wonderful of combinations.

Steve does the same, his cheeks puffing out slightly as he quite clearly has overestimated just how much food his mouth can hold.

He almost chokes, before he manages to chew and swallow, while you try to suppress a fit of laughter behind you hand.

After several minutes, and a large gulp, Steve manages a muffled, “It’s good.”

“Right? You owe Dustin an apology.” You say as you press play on the remote, settling back into the couch as the movie starts up again.

A silence takes over the room again as the movie plays. You try not to pay attention to the way your hands keep brushing against each others, as you both reach for the popcorn between you.

The intensity of the film grows and you find yourself leaning closer and closer, your shoulders touching, the bowl empty of the coffee table. And then on the screen the dog crashes through the window.

“Oh my god!,” you shriek, as Steve’s hand wraps around your own, and on instinct you are turning into his chest, hiding from the imaginary monster on the screen. You shield your eyes from the screen, your hand gripping Steve’s shirt as the final scene plays and you can finally relax. Your breathing returns to normal and as the credits role you notice his arm around your shoulder, holding you steady.

You look up at him.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says softly, “okay?” The concern in his eyes takes you by surprise there is no alterior motive behind the question, just a genuineness that you didn’t expect.

“It was just a little intense.” The movie is over, the imaginary threat is gone and really you should be unwrapping his arms from around you and wishing him a good night, but instead you find yourself wanting him to stay.

“I know this sounds ridiculous, cause it’s just a movie, but-,” you can’t even meet his eyes as you ask, “could you stay?”

He gives you a smile, a genuine one, “I’ll take the couch.”

Turns out maybe Steve Harrington isn’t quite so bad after all.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x henderson!reader #stranger things imagines #fluff

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nat-roman0ff · 5 years

Text

saturday, wait

the here and now; sequel to another certain time and place (read the full series in my masterlist)

ii. saturday, wait the one where time starts to catch up wc: 2454 warnings: mentions of depression, bad words, and fluff

---

The skies of Toronto opened up Saturday morning at about 5am. She only knew this because there was a gutter that ran above the window on their bedroom balcony door that constantly overfilled. The steady drip drip woke her up from a very lovely dream to a cold and lonely bed.

Shawn had been gone for just over a month now and the loneliness was beginning to set in. He’d insisted she move into the condo before he left, so they scattered at the last second to bring all her things over in time for him to take off on the last leg of tour. She rolls over to stare at Shawn’s unmade side of the bed and sighs. There’s not a single wrinkle in the white of his duvet. The condo still didn’t feel like it was quite theirs; but more like she was on an extended house sitting visit. She played through the motions (oftentimes accidentally setting off his stereo system that she still didn’t know how to work) and kept the household going.

She watches the fat drops of water slam and streak down the glass of the balcony door. The skies seem to hang low today, and everything is covered in a sheet of gray. She grabs her phone to confirm the time and rolls her face into her pillow to scream in frustration.

There’s an itch she can’t quite scratch. It’s the weekend - which means she doesn’t have to do anything. But she can’t stand staying at the condo, it’s a constant reminder that Shawn isn’t here and she is. It’s like a tomb of memories that she can never escape, every step is a reminder that he’s on the road and she’s not waking up in his arms every morning. But, she lacks the energy to actually do anything. Plans with friends go cancelled and never rescheduled, and as the days pass she becomes increasingly homebound, despite the pain it causes her.

Tossing and turning, she ends up staring at the ceiling. She watches the memories project onto the ceiling like old school films, playing over and over, just there to remind her of her loneliness. There’s no escape from him here, but her brain and heavy heart tell her to just stay in bed.

Just get up and pee, go make yourself some toast, pour a cup of coffee, anything. She begs to herself but its like she’s chained to the bed and without the responsibilities of work (on the days she’d actually shown up lately), she can’t seem to make herself move.

Around six thirty her phone buzzes. Her eyes blink lazily. She knows it’s Shawn but she’s not in a rush to answer. Despite missing him at the depths of her core she’s not desperate for him. She doesn't want FaceTime or phone calls, she doesn’t want a goodnight text or a morning meme. She wants him here, next to her in this empty fucking bed.

Her hand reaches onto the bedside table and grabs her phone. Of course it’s a message from Shawn as she suspected. It’s a simple one;

good morning, gremlin. i know you’re probably still snoozing but i wanted you to have something to wake up to. day off today, so call me when you get up and we can facetime a bit. love youuuuuuuuuuuu.

It almost hurts to smile, it’s been a while.

hi bub. feeling down this morning and could stand to hear your voice. call me when you’re able to, i’m just laying in bed.

The phone rings almost instantly, “hi baby,” Shawn says, his voice low, still groggy with sleep.

“Hi,” she manages, her own voice cracking.

“What’s got you up so early?” He asks.

“Rain.”

Shawn laughs, “that damn gutter, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He notices her shortness and knows it’s not from tiredness but tells himself so anyways. He doesn’t want to be a thousand miles away worried about his girlfriend back at home. Maybe he’ll call his mom later to pop over and check on her or call a mutual friend to take her out for lunch. Shawn knows she’s taken it hard, it was a different type of goodbye now than before when they were just friends.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” Shawn asks.

She yawns, “not really. Maybe read a book or do some laundry.”

“Oh,” he pips, “I could have my mum come over and visit for a bit.”

“You don’t have to do that Shawn,” it comes out almost venomous.

He sighs, “I’m just worried. People have been telling me you’re not going out much, cancelling on them last minute. Are you okay, baby?”

She breathes in deep and lets out a long single breath, “no.”

There’s no stopping the floodgate of tears that happens then. It’s not just him being gone, either. Work is exhausting and uninspiring and she feels herself slipping away from the things she loved to do, and the people she loved to do things with.

“Fuck, I wish I could come home,” Shawn breathes.

He doesn’t make her talk, he doesn’t ask questions. He just lets her cry and it takes everything in his power not to cry with her because he can feel his heart shattering as she gasps for breaths between sobs and he hates himself for not being there and holding her in his arms.

When she’s finished, she’s silent. Neither of them speak for a while and she waits until her breathing has returned to normal and her face is wiped dry of tears to speak, “I’m sorry.”

“W-what?” Shawn sputters, “baby, do not apologize. I want to make sure you’re alright. I’m gonna come home. I don’t care if it’s for an hour. I’m coming home. If I leave for the airport now there’s a flight that will get me there this afternoon. Can you pick me up at the airport at three?”

“Shawn that’s crazy, you’re going to be so tired. I’ll go see your parents or something. I’ll be fine, I’m just in a funk,” she pleads. The last thing she wants to do is cause issues and force him home just because she’s sad.

Well, she’s more than just sad she thinks. She’s depressed, and she knows it. And the sooner she accepts it, the better off she’ll probably be. Depression is a slippery and nonlinear slope. At first she trips into it, noticing she’s more disengaged than usual, then the anxiety and overthinking kicks in, followed up with isolation until eventually the days blend so fluidly together she can’t tell if it’s June or Saturday.

She can never pinpoint exactly when it happens, at least not until she’s drowning in her own sorrow and can’t get herself out. When bed is the only place she wants to be and she hasn’t eaten or drank in thirty-six hours.

“No, I’m coming home or I’m bringing you to me. Take your pick.”

She sighs, “just come home.”

---

Her thumb nervously taps the steering wheel as she waits outside the arrivals terminal at Toronto Pearson. She’s chewed her lower lip in to bits and it’s sore and chapped. She hadn’t bothered to get dressed, and wore one of Shawn’s teeshirts and a pair of leggings for the occasion. There’s a metallic taste when she chews on her nail beds, adding to the already scabbed hangnails that adorned her fingertips.

Shawn spots her first and runs towards the Jeep. He throws open the passenger’s side door and wraps his arms around her, his elbow hitting the horn and scaring them both. He pulls back and her face feels heavy in his hand. A tired and empathetic, “baby,” is all he can say.

They drive home in silence, their fingers interlaced. Shawn peppers kisses on the back of her hand and up her arm but sparks no reaction. His heart sinks into his stomach. It’s so fucking painful to see her like this, so radically unlike herself. There’s no sarcastic quip, or banter or even fucking speck of his usual girl in there and that terrfies him.

“What do you want to do for dinner?” He asks, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

She shrugs, “don’t know.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

She shrugs again, “can’t remember.”

Shawn’s head rests on her shoulder and he lets out a sigh, “will you please come back with me?”

She can feel the tears bubbling up again. She wants to say yes, she wants to say yes so fucking bad. But she knows Shawn and being with Shawn will not be the end all cure all. The thing about depression is, it doesn’t just go away with a change of scenery. It’ll go dormant for a while, sure; weeks, months, years even, if you’re lucky. And then all of a sudden it shows up again out of nowhere like a bad rash and it’s back to square one all over again.

“I don’t think that’ll help, Shawn,” she says as they pull into the parking garage at the condo.

He treads lightly, “I don’t want to start an argument with you baby, I just want you to feel your best again. At least if we’re together you aren’t alone.”

Her hand leaves his and she puts the Jeep into park, shuts off the ignition and unclicks her seatbelt. She thinks, hard. It’s the hardest she’s thought in a while and she forgets the feeling of trying to rationally mull something over. Her forehead tingles a little, and she weighs the options that Shawn has presented to her;

One; stay home. Stay home at the condo, wake up Monday through Friday and work a job where she’s disrespected, underappreciated, but is making connections that will hopefully help her in the future of her career.

Two; leave with Shawn. Go on tour with Shawn and live on a stinky tour bus with two other boys and wake up in a new city every day. But at least they were together.

“I’ll do it.”

Shawn doesn’t think he’s ever smiled so big in his life.

“Really?”

She nods.

“Well let’s go get you packed then.”

---

An hour later the bedroom is strewn about with clothes and an open suitcase lying in the middle of their king sized bed. She folds, unfolds, and refolds everything. Nothing seems to fit and it’s making her teeth itch. Shawn just keeps digging through the closet, holding up a random item of clothing and saying ‘this’? When he does it for what seems like the thousandth time, she snaps.

“Shawn just go in the fucking living room and I’ll finish packing, okay! You’re messing everything up, throwing my shit all around. Just let me finish the packing!”

He tries not to let it hurt him. It’s the most emotion he’s gotten out of her in weeks and he supposes it’s a step in the right direction. It’s better than the alternative. Shawn closes the gap between them in a few long strides and kisses her forehead.

“That’s fine. Just let me know if you need anything and I’ll go book our flight for the morning, alright? I’ll order some dinner and we can take a shower together?” He kisses her temple, and then her chin, and then her jaw.

“Okay,” she starts, “and I’m sorry for yelling.”

Shawn kisses the top of her head, “it’s alright. I love you.”

When he leaves the room she sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the half packed suitcase beside her. She realizes her decision was rash, she’ll have to call her boss on Monday morning and tell her she’s not coming back...like ever, tell her friends that she'll be gone for basically the rest of the year, and her brain was still searching for a way to explain all of this to her mother. But the last part was for another day when her brain wasn’t feeling so scattered.

It’s remarkable how quickly she finishes packing when Shawn is out of the room. She finds him in the kitchen making two drinks and dancing around, singing under his breath as he grabs his ingredients from around the room. She has to hide her chuckle when he spots her, covering her mouth with her hand. Shawn reaches his hand out for her to come dance with him.

The moment her hand is in his, he pulls her close, letting their bodies bump together. He cups her face and gives her a kiss and feels her relax against him, “I missed you,” he says, brushing his nose against hers for an eskimo kiss.

“Can we take that shower now?” She asks, kissing his chin.

Shawn laces their fingers together and leads them across the condo to the bathroom. She sits on the counter and watches him fuss with the knobs to find the perfect temperature. He wipes his wet hand on his jeans and turns back to her. They undress each other slowly. It’s not sexual in the slightest, but a caring gesture. She steps in first, letting the rainfall showerhead cascade over her.

It feels so impossibly good. It’s revitalizing and awakening. Her senses come to and she’s suddenly hyper aware of Shawn standing at the corner of the stall. He waves and she grabs his hand to pull him under the water with her. He turns her body facing away from him, pressing himself against her back and wrapping an arm around her waist. He peppers wet kisses down her shoulders and across her back.

“Can I wash your hair?” Shawn asks, his fingertips tracing across her belly.

She answers as a chill runs through her, it had been so long since she felt his fingertips pressed into her, “yes.”

Shawn smirks and grabs the shampoo bottle from the shelf, squirting way too much into his hand and globbing it into her hair. His fingers move without much precision and there’s fits of giggles as he tries to style her heavy hair into various hairstyles. It feels good to laugh and she’s sure the feeling won’t last long, but she’s happy to be back in her cotton candy cloud for a little while.

When they finish they just hold each other for a while under the warm stream of water. It was terrifying and exciting all at once and it was the first time in too long that she actually felt anything more than an exhausting, draining sadness. Even though they’d been friends for years, the relationship is still so new.

Will we grow tired of each other? She thinks.

And she doesn’t have that answer right now, and she won’t have that answer until much later.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes x oc #shawn mendes series #than

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lux-i-fer · 4 years

Text

Holiday Weekend at Penny's

Ao3 link

Synopsis: After four peaceful Christmases in a row, Christmas number five might just be Lucifer's match. Between Penelope Decker's new beau and a gift for Chloe burning a hole in his pocket, he's not entirely sure he'll make it back to LA alive.

Rating: G

Notes: Sequel to Moonlighting and Moonlighting. (STANDALONE FIC. FIRST PART IS NOT REQUIRED READING). I bet this was a sequel you never saw coming. Trust me, I didn't expect it either! Because this is in fact a sequel of a fic written during s1 this fic exists in an imaginary post-s4 timeline!

This fic is for the lovely @nightslux for the 2019 Secret Satan TDN Christmas Exchange. Merry Christmas and happy New Year darlings! Unbetaed.

When they arrived at Penelope Decker’s mountain cabin, Lucifer realized he’d never in all of his four years of visiting thanked the woman for what she’d done. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if she knew what she’d done in the first place. He was sure she had a general idea, but Lucifer wondered if she knew that she was the catalyst that finally pushed him and Chloe together. Lucifer hummed and fiddled with the gift for Chloe he’d stashed in his pocket. The memories of their first night at the cabin clouded his thoughts. He could still taste the wine on her tongue and feel her hands cupping his face.

“What’s put you into such a good mood?” Chloe asked, shifting the car into park. “You’re usually grumpy on Christmas.”

“Yes, well you would be too if your Father so blatantly chose favorites,” Lucifer replied, all residual happiness of the memory fading away. “It’s not as if my half brother’s ego isn’t inflated enough already.” He looked away flustered and knowing that that wasn’t the answer she was fishing for. “Apologies, Detective,” he continued after clearing his throat. “I was simply thinking about our first Christmas with dear Penelope.” At that, Chloe offered him a gentle smile and leaned across the center console to give him a peck on the lips.

“Are you guys done being gross now? I want to get out and play in the snow.” Beatrice called from the back seat. Lucifer pulled away and caught a glimpse of her hands covering her eyes in the rear view mirror.

Chloe rolled her eyes and killed the engine. “Yeah, Monkey, we are. Help us unload the car and then you can go play.” Beatrice was out of the car and popping the trunk before she could say another word.

Lucifer followed, anxious to get out of the cold despite the overcoat he’d bought specifically for this occasion. Even with his elevated body temperature, Lucifer avoided the cold as much as possible. But alas, Penelope insisted on having snow on Christmas, so here they all were, standing around in near-freezing temps for the sake of tradition. He buttoned up his coat begrudgingly and started helping unload the car. As he handed Chloe her garbage bag full of presents, he heard the sound of another car coming up the drive. Then a moment later, he heard said car’s door slam. He turned around just in time for Penelope Decker to wrap him up in a sideways embrace. The force of her crashing into him would have been enough to knock the breath out of any other human, but Lucifer managed to hold steady.

“Lucifer!” She kissed both of his cheeks. “Look at you; it’s so great to see you!”

Lucifer returned the gesture. “Penelope! Always a pleasure to see you as well. You’re looking lovely as usual.”

She preened at his complement and looked around. “Now where’s my daughter?”

“She was right behind me...” Lucifer’s trailed off when he didn’t see Chloe beside him. Where had she gone? He finally spotted her, giving the bag of gifts to Beatrice by the front door. “Ah, there she is.” Penelope followed his gaze and ran off with her arms open wide for another bone-crushing embrace. Lucifer returned his attention to the car Penelope had arrived in and saw Dan crawling out of the driver’s seat (according to Chloe, Penelope was a horrid driver in the snow) and a man he didn’t recognize beginning to grab bags out of the back seat.

Penelope reappeared by his side with Chloe in tow. “Lucifer, Chloe, come meet my boyfriend, Jeff.” She gestured to the man Lucifer didn’t recognize.

“Jeff?” he repeated under his breath. None of the Decker women had mentioned Penelope was bringing a guest. Much less a guest with a name as boring as “Jeff.”

Chloe looped her arm in his. “Just go with it.”

Penelope was still talking when Lucifer tuned back in. “--and this is Chloe’s boyfriend, Lucifer.”

Jeff stuck out his hand. Chloe shook it first. “Nice to meet you, Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you! Penny’s told me a lot about you,” Jeff replied enthusiastically. He turned to Lucifer. Lucifer shook his hand out of mere formality, and cringed when he seemed to refuse to let go. He didn’t remember humans’ hands being this slimy. “And nice to meet you too! Is your name really Lucifer? Like the guy who owns that nightclub? Do you mind if I call you Luce?”

Lucifer hid his immediate discomfort with his most charming smile. “Yes. Lucifer Morningstar,” he corrected subtly. “The one and only owner of Lux.”

“Damn that’s neat. I’ve been there a few times, it’s a swanky place.” Jeff finally let go of Lucifer’s hand. “Well we better get out of the cold. Penny said there’s a lot to do today.”

“There is,” Penelope agreed. “I already gave Dan the key to unlock the door so he and Trixie could get a head start while I introduced you guys to Jeff. Oh,” she turned to Jeff. “you have to meet my granddaughter!”

As if on command, Beatrice burst out of the front door, wrapped up in a giant ski jacket and pants. Lucifer flinched as she flopped into the nearest snow bank, undoubtedly jamming snow down the back of her coat.

“Look Lucifer, I’m making a snow-you!” she shouted.

He hefted the remaining bags on his shoulders and glanced down at her flailing around in the snow. “Very nice, urchin. Except that wingspan would never support an actual angel.” Beatrice giggled and continued flapping her arms. Lucifer shook his head, bewildered.

“That’s a really good snow angel, Trix,” Penelope said as she came up behind them with Chloe and Jeff in tow. “Trix, hun, this is Nana’s friend Jeff.”

Beatrice paused her flailing to wave. “Hi!”

A blast of chilly air blew a dusting of loose snow over her, causing her to giggle even louder. Lucifer shivered as the wind crept down his collar and decided he was done with introductions and done with the cold. He moved into the cabin, leaving both behind. By the time Lucifer had returned from placing their luggage in a bedroom, Dan had taken down all of the boxes of decorations from the attic.

“Dan, Jeff, and I are going to start dinner,” Penelope told him when he came down the stairs. “Would you and Chloe start on the tree please?”

Lucifer grinned, happy to be paired up with Chloe. “Anything you need, Penelope.”

He found Chloe amongst the various cardboard boxes in the living room. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Lucifer took a few moments to just watch her. She was rifling through one of the boxes, pulling out ornament tins and stockings and placing them on the coffee table in the same way she would spread out evidence at the precinct. His hand unconsciously went to his pants pocket and felt around for her gift. For a moment, Lucifer thought about just giving it to her now when it was just the two of them. He took in the barren Christmas tree and the dust dancing in the late afternoon sunlight and left the box in his pocket. There would be more than enough time later, he thought to himself.

“What can I help with, darling?” Chloe whipped around, Christmas lights in hand, at the sound of his voice.

“Lucifer,” she said breathily. “You scared me.”

He shrugged and wondered into the room. “Perhaps you should put a bell on me like you’ve threatened to in the past.”

Chloe snorted. “Nope, definitely not. You’d enjoy it way too much.”

“Detective you wound me.” He placed a hand to his chest to emphasize his point.

“Here.” She handed him a tangled mass of Christmas lights. “Why don’t you start on the lights?” Lucifer frowned and opened his mouth to protest such a menial task, only for her to silence him with a cheerful smile. “You did tell my mom ‘anything she needed.’”

“Yes, well, I anticipated dear Penelope would need help with wine pairings or mistletoe hanging not…”

“‘Inflating your half brother’s ego?”’

“Exactly!”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “It won’t kill your image if you untangle one strand of Christmas lights, Lucifer. Come on, put your lightbringer skills to use.”

He scoffed, but sat down and began to do as she’d asked. Just because Lucifer was the Devil did not mean he wasn’t a gentleman. And proper gentlemen did not make a scene in front of the in-laws. “You know his birthday isn’t even in December. It’s in May,” he grumbled.

Chloe didn’t tear her eyes from the ornaments she was unboxing. “You’ve mentioned that before, babe.”

Lucifer tried not to get upset when she didn’t rise to the bait. He heaved out one last long-suffering sigh before directing his full attention to the offending ball of lights. According to Penelope, the lights hadn’t been used for a couple of years, and looking at them now, it was obvious as to why. Whoever had used them last had been careless. It was impossible to tell how long the strand actually was because the wires were so tangled together. It looked more like a mechanical tumbleweed than Christmas lights.

By the time he’d finally untangled the lights, Beatrice had finished playing in the snow. “Did you plug the lights in to see if they worked yet?” she asked, sipping her hot chocolate on the couch next to him.

Lucifer shot her a grin. “Darling, please.” Without breaking eye contact, he reached into himself, gathered a fraction of his divine power onto his fingertips, and snapped. The divine energy ignited the lightbulbs, causing them to pulse with a soft blue light. Beatrice squealed with delight.

“Whoa! Lucifer that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! Mom look at what Lucifer did to the lights!” Chloe looked up from where she was stringing garland around the Christmas tree. Lucifer urged the lights to glow brighter when he saw her start to smile.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” she said.

“I can’t reveal all of my tricks, now can I Detective?” Like he had with her daughter, Lucifer held Chloe’s gaze, watching the divine light dance softly on her face. He let the lights glimmer for a few seconds more and then let them fade away.

Beatrice tapped his shoulder. “Can I plug them in for real?”

Lucifer handed her the plug, and she raced to the nearest outlet, the freshly untangled lights trailing behind her. Beatrice plugged them in, but unlike before, the lights didn’t turn on. She tried again. Nothing. Lucifer frowned.

“Oh I guess there’s a short,” Chloe said, turning back to the garland.

Almost immediately, Jeff appeared in the doorway as if the words had summoned him like some half-witted hellbeast. “Gotta short, I heard?” He began to make his way over to where Beatrice was kneeling by the outlet.

Lucifer clenched his teeth and mustered up his smoothest tone. “No need to pry yourself away from Penelope, we’re managing it just fine.”

Jeff waved him off and moved on to fiddle with the lightbulbs. “It’s no trouble. These old strands are finicky sometimes. My uncle used to say I’ve got the magic touch when it comes to these things. I used to do this for him all the time.”

For once in his life, Lucifer was speechless. His influence really only extended to desire, but after ruling Hell for an eternity and a half, he had grown accustomed to a certain degree of respect. Hell, even his employees at Lux knew not to undermine him. It was common decency. He narrowed his eyes. Whatever game Jeff was playing, Lucifer was going to get to the bottom of it. He began sorting through the remaining strand of lights in his lap. If he was quick enough, he might be able to beat Jeff to it. However, before he could grab the next bulb, the strand flickered to life.

Jeff let out a triumphant sound. “There we go. Told you I could get it sorted out. Some lightbringer you are amirite, Luce?” He gave him a friendly arm punch.

“It’s Lucifer,” he corrected stiffly.

“Nah, I know. I’m just joking with you.”

Jeff walked back in the kitchen with a spring in his step that irritated Lucifer more than he’d care to admit. There was something off about Jeff, and this time Lucifer was certain that it wasn’t just his pride talking. Only a creature with supernatural hearing could have heard their conversation over the racket of saccharine Christmas carols and Penelope cooking dinner. Whatever Jeff was, he wasn’t human.

“Monkey, let’s put the lights on the tree,” Chloe called. Beatrice ripped the plug from the socket once more and dragged the strand over to where her mother was standing. Lucifer took a deep breath and then walked over and sidled up behind Chloe. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her in close. Chloe automatically rested her hand over his and leaned into his chest. “What’s up?”

“Something’s not right about dear Penelope’s new chap,” he whispered close to her ear.

She made a noise in her throat. “Are you sure you’re not just upset that he stole your thunder?” They watch Beatrice wrap the lights around the tree for a few tense moments. Lucifer stayed silent. He knew she meant it as a joke, but pride had always been one of his sins, and he couldn’t help but feel the sting of her words. Chloe squeezed his hand, as if she felt it too. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she muttered.

He placed a light kiss behind her ear. “I know.”

“If you really believe it, promise me you won’t make a big deal out of it. Mom seems really happy with this guy.”

Lucifer nodded. “You have my word, Detective.”

They fell silent for another beat. “Hey,” she twisted to look up at him. “Why don’t you go see if Dan needs help with anything? Trix and I can finish up in here.”

Lucifer nodded. He gave her one last peck on the cheek and then left in search of Dan. He checked the kitchen first. Dan usually helped Penelope cook or set the table, but this time he was nowhere in sight. Instead, all he found was Penelope pulling the rolls out of the oven and Jeff stirring the vegetables. Lucifer was about to check upstairs when a voice stopped him.

“Hey-o Luce! You looking for something?”

Lucifer suppressed the urge to correct him a third time. “Just Daniel.”

Penelope waved her serving spoon in the direction of the stairs. “Check upstairs, Lucifer sweetie.”

It took him three tries, but Lucifer finally found Dan in the last bedroom, unloading his suitcase. He knocked gently on the open door, causing Dan to glance up from his dismal wardrobe. “Hey man. Is dinner ready?”

“Not yet. The Detective ordered me to assist you; however,” he gestured to the knit red and green monstrosity in Dan’s hand, “I don’t think you need my help recognizing what a pitiful abomination that is.”

Dan grinned with half of his normal bitterness and held up the sweater. “What, you don’t like it?” The it in question boasted several tabby cats wrapped in shimmery green tinsel with “Meow-y Christmas!” stitched in big red letters at the bottom. Lucifer shuddered.

“Take it from your neighborhood Devil, Daniel: that sweater is a sin. And not the good kind.”

Dan threw the sweater back onto the bed with a little more force than necessary. “Yeah I figured you’d say that.”

Lucifer wrinkled his brow at that. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Dan was upset about something. “Why aren’t you knocking around the kitchen like every other year?” he asked instead.

“Because fucking Jeff , that’s why,” he snapped. Lucifer cringed, not such a safe question then. Dan sighed. “Sorry man. I didn’t mean for it to come out that harsh.”

So he was upset. Lucifer wished he hadn’t asked, but he’d be damned a second time if he wasn’t going to take any opportunity to gather information on Jeff. Lucifer crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway before he continued. “What did Penelope’s boytoy do to get you this riled up?”

“Just...I don’t know.” Dan shook his head. “I always help Penny make the vegetables and then all of a sudden Jeff comes in and tells me I’m seasoning them wrong! Then he starts doing my job! And then it looks like I’m the asshole because Jeff’s so nice and who wouldn’t just accept help like that, you know?”

Lucifer cocked his head. “I’ve held my tongue for four years for the Detective’s sake, but I suppose I’ll say it now. You do season the vegetables wrong, Daniel.”

“Hey--”

“No,” Lucifer cut him off. “Listen to me. It pains me to say this, but that is beside the point. It doesn’t matter that you season food like your taste buds were seared off in a chemical spill. What matters is that for once you and I are on the same page. Jeff did the same thing to me when I was helping the Detective with the fairy lights.”

“Really?”

Lucifer nodded and lowered his voice. “And if I’m being entirely honest, I’m fairly certain he’s not who he says he is.”

Dan gestured for Lucifer to shut the door. Only when it was shut completely did he respond. “What are you saying?”

“Whoever--or whatever--Jeff is, I believe it is a front. I’ve been observing him since we arrived. Something seems off. He reminds me far too much of some of the unsavory creatures in Hell to be coincidence.”

“Jeff’s mafia?” Dan whispered fiercely.

Lucifer blinked. “What?” He shook his head. “Daniel I said Hell, not the mob.”

Dan winked. “Yeah, gotcha. ‘ The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west,’ ‘don’t talk about Fight Club’ or whatever other bullshit.”

For a brief moment, Lucifer was sure that he and Dan had been on the same page. Now he wasn’t very confident in that conclusion. He cleared his throat. “Yes sure, whatever you say Daniel. Now, will you help me figure out what he is or not?”

“Hell yeah, why wouldn’t I help? Chloe or Penny or Trixie could be in danger.”

Lucifer shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, there are some tests we can run to try and determine what kind of creature Jeff is. We can immediately rule out any of my celestial siblings; however, the infernal ones are sadly still on the table. As are the other run-of-the-mill supernatural creatures.”

Dan shook his head, looking a little dazed. “Dude, one day you’re going to have to explain your family to me.”

Lucifer ignored him, but not without giving him a withering glance. “Right. Anyway, we can try the normal tests: silver, holy water, the works. We’re lucky that dear Penelope still keeps real silverware.”

“Wait that stuff’s legit?” Dan asked, eyes going wide.

Lucifer wasn’t sure what “stuff” Dan was referring to. Before he could ask, there was a knock on the door.

“Hey Dan? Can I come in?” Chloe’s question was muffled by the door. Dan shouted an affirmative and the door swung open. “There you guys are,” she said when she saw Lucifer standing next to Dan. “Is everything alright?”

“Close the door,” Dan whispered. Chloe arched a brow, but did as she was asked. “Lucifer thinks he recognizes Jeff from The Life.” She shot Lucifer a look.

Lucifer held up a hand. Father help him, he wasn’t going to let Dan slander his name in front of Chloe. “ No, I said Jeff is not who he says he is. We’re doing tests to see if he’s human.”

“Lucifer,” she sighed. “I told you not to make this a big deal.”

“Daniel started it!” He jabbed a finger in his direction to make his point.

Dan batted his finger away. “Don’t throw me under the bus like that, Lucifer! You’re the one who wants to do tests!”

He scoffed. “You’re he--”

“Guys!” Chloe interjected. “Stop.” They fell silent. “Look I’m really glad you guys are getting along, but whatever this,” she gestured vaguely in their direction. “Is don’t let it ruin Christmas alright? Leave me, leave mom, and leave Trixie out of it, okay?”

Dan shook his head. “Don’t worry we’ll be careful.”

“Yes, Detective I did give you my word,” Lucifer added.

Chloe’s face softened. “Good.” She moved to wedge herself in between them, carefully wrapping an arm around each of their waists, and pulling them in close. “I love both of you so much and I’m so thankful to have both of you here,” she said quietly.

As a testament of how far he’d come since he’d crawled out of Hell, Lucifer didn’t get upset at her statement. A few years ago, he might have been jealous of her marriage to Dan. As a matter of fact, he had been jealous of their relationship. The man he’d been then couldn’t comprehend how Chloe could break her love into so many pieces and yet still have enough left over to love him as deeply as he loved her. He was selfish then, Lucifer would admit it. He wanted to capture every ounce of her affections and keep it all for himself. But that wasn’t how it worked. Chloe loved best when she was free to give it to everyone. He always thought that revelation would drive a wedge between them, but it had only made him love her more. And it made him want to be better too.

They stood in silence for a minute, letting her words sink deep into their souls. Chloe rubbed a hand down their backs and let them go. She gave both of them a kiss on the cheek--Lucifer first, Dan second--before going to open the door. “Mom told me to tell you guys dinner is ready, so let’s get down there before they start wondering where we are.”

Lucifer sighed and straightened out his suit jacket. He took a beat to collect himself, gave a short nod to Dan, and then followed Chloe downstairs.

The start of dinner was an interesting affair, to say the least. Jeff dominated the conversation as soon as they descended the stairs, and judging by the looks Lucifer shared with Dan and Chloe, nobody was enjoying what he was saying. Niceties and plain, sterilized topics spilled from his mouth like a leaky faucet before they’d even begun to eat. Even worse yet, Jeff had insisted they say grace despite the fact that no one except maybe Daniel had set foot in a church for over a decade. As an act of defiance, Lucifer blessed Jeff’s wine while he warbled through his praises to his Father and half brother.

Lucifer caught Dan’s eye as soon as he saw Jeff go to pick up his knife. Together they watched him grab his silverware with ease, and when his skin didn’t immediately burn off Lucifer couldn’t help but deflate a little. He only deflated more when they found out that the blessed wine was a bust too.

“This turkey is great, Mom,” Chloe said when Jeff’s mouth was full of mashed potatoes.

Penelope basked in the complement. “Thanks baby.”

“I actually suggested this great turkey recipe to Penny last week,” Jeff prattled on, mouth still half full. “I don’t think she used it tonight though.”

“Nope, sorry hun, I always use John’s recipe. He was such a great cook, and I just can’t imagine having anything else during Christmas.”

Jeff laughed. “I can assure you once you try my recipe, you’ll forget all about this one.”

Penelope’s fork screeched against her plate like a record scratch. The table went deathly silent. Lucifer could feel Chloe go still beside him, and he placed a comforting hand on her thigh. He knew Jeff’s words struck a nerve when she laced her fingers with his and squeezed hard enough for her nails to dig into his skin. Even Beatrice was looking at Jeff like he’d suddenly grown a second head.

Lucifer broke the silence. “Well I don’t think I’ve ever tasted a better turkey, dear Penelope. And that’s coming from someone who has an affinity for fine dining.”

Penelope visibly relaxed and it was as if the spell broke. The noises of silverware clicking against plates and fingernails tinging against wine glasses flooded back into the room. Chloe let go of Lucifer’s hand and flashed him a grateful smile.

“Nana do you want to hear about my project on outer space?” Beatrice asked.

“Psst. Hey Lucifer,” Dan whispered. Lucifer whipped his head towards the sound.

He caught Dan staring at him with an odd glimmer in his eye. “Thanks for doing that, man.”

Lucifer ducked his head. “I couldn’t let him continue to smear Jonathan’s good name, now could I?”

“Still though, you didn’t have to do that.” He leaned further across the table and lowered his voice even more. “I don’t think this is working, though. Have you got anything from your tests?”

Lucifer shook his head, frustrated. “I’ve tested him for every supernatural inclination I can think of and I’m slowly coming to the conclusion that he’s just regular old wanker.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Great. Those are the worst kinds of monsters.”

“Boys?” Lucifer looked up to see Penelope and everyone else staring at them from the other end of the table. “Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine, sorry Penny. I wanted to know what Lucifer had gotten everyone for Christmas,” Dan lied smoothly. Chloe rolled her eyes at the obvious lie and took a swig from her second glass of wine.

Beatrice gasped. “What did you get me Lucifer?”

“You’ll see, urchin,” he said in between sips of wine.

She turned her attention to Dan and made sure to bat her eyelashes for good measure. “Daddy what did Lucifer get me?”

Dan shook his head. “You’ll see soon enough, Trix.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Jeff began, picking at his food. “But how does your relationship work?”

“What do you mean Jeff honey?” Penelope asked. Her eyes darted from her boyfriend to her daughter.

“Well you’re divorced right?” He drew a line with his knife from Dan to Chloe. Chloe made a go on gesture with her own knife. “How do you manage, you know, everything between exes and then stuff like new relationships and who gets what holidays and such?”

Chloe and Dan shared a look. Chloe coughed. “Well. We just manage, I guess? Dan and I are still friends. Dan and Lucifer are friends. It was tough at first, but Dan and I actually have a better relationship now that we’re separated.”

Dan nodded his affirmation. “And for holidays we just coordinate the best we can. Not a lot has changed schedule-wise except that Trixie rotates houses every week or so.”

“It’s great! I get to have two bedrooms,” Beatrice stage whispered to Jeff.

“Whoowee, you guys are crazy!” Penelope seemed taken aback by Jeff’s outburst, but he continued talking. “I could never be civil with my ex wife. No siree, we didn’t part on good terms at all.”

“Well I am happy that you three all get along,” Penelope said quickly. “Not everybody gets to have two handsome men around the table during the holidays.”

“What about me Penny hun?” Jeff asked a little too sweetly for Lucifer’s taste.

“What about you Jeffrey?” Penelope stood and began clearing the table.

Jeff chuckled uneasily. “Nothing, nothing. I was just joking.” He swallowed thickly. “Let’s get this cleaned up so we can open presents!”

Lucifer and Dan exchanged matching smirks. Perhaps Penelope was smarter than they’d initially given her credit for. When Chloe rose to take up her plate, she bumped Lucifer’s shoulder with her hip. To anyone else it would look like an accident, but he knew she did it on purpose. He looked up at her, his smirk turning into a full blown grin when he saw her barely holding back her laughter. She squeezed his shoulder with her free hand and headed to the sink, edging Penelope away from the counter. “I’ll load the dishwasher for you, Mom. You cooked, I’ll clean up.”

“I’ll go help her,” Dan said to nobody in particular. Lucifer waved him off.

“I’ve got it, Daniel. Go make sure Beatrice doesn’t open all of her gifts before everyone else sits down.”

He smiled appreciatively and pushed in his chair. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t you go with them, Jeff?” Penelope suggested. “You can start sorting out the gifts we brought. I want to talk to Lucifer and Chloe for a minute.”

Jeff smiled tightly. “Of course, Penny.”

When he was finally gone, Penelope turned back to Lucifer and Chloe. “I think bringing Jeff up here was a mistake.”

Chloe handed Lucifer a dirty glass and sighed. “It’s okay, Mom. How were you supposed to know he’d say something like that?”

She shook her head. “I should have known better.” When Lucifer saw Penelope tear up, he focused on carefully arranging the dishes on the dishwasher rack. Chloe dropped the plate she was rinsing in the sink and passed Penelope a paper napkin. She blew her nose. “Thank you for handling it, Lucifer.”

Lucifer finally meant her puffy eyes. “It was my pleasure.”

They fell into a comfortable silence while they finished putting the last few dishes in the dishwasher. Instead of going to sit down in the living room, Penelope hovered close to the sink, tapping away on her phone throughout the whole thing. When they finally made their way to the living room, Beatrice had already divided up all the presents into little piles.

“Mom and Lucifer your stuff is over there.” She directed them towards the loveseat. “And Nana your presents are here.” She pointed at the side of the couch Dan wasn’t occupying. Nobody missed that Jeff was sitting in the lone rocking chair, away from the rest of the group. Once she was satisfied with where everyone was situated, Beatrice sat in between Penelope and Dan. “Can I start now?”

“Yeah baby, go ahead,” Chloe said.

Beatrice didn’t need to be told twice. She began tearing at the wrapping paper of the nearest present. Lucifer couldn’t help the rush of pride when he realized it was his. Beatrice’s eyes went wide when she managed to get the box open. “Oh my gosh Lucifer I love it!” She held up the locket, trying to see the picture of the three of them that Lucifer had put inside.

“What is it, babe?” Dan asked, leaning over to get a better look.

“It’s a locket!” She thrust it in his face. “Look it’s engraved!”

“‘ For Beatrice. With love, from Lucifer.”’ he read.

Penelope swooned. “Lucifer, that’s adorable!”

Lucifer felt Chloe press a kiss into his shoulder and he smiled. “You’re welcome, Beatrice.” The weight of Chloe’s gift seemed to feel heavier in his pocket when Beatrice’s smile stayed fixed on her face as she looped the locket around her neck and ripped open the next gift (a bracelet from Dan). And then she opened the next (an art kit from Chloe) and the next until there was a sea of wrapping paper blanketing the carpet and a mountain of gifts surrounding her.

“I think it’s time to move on to the adults’ gifts now,” Jeff began loudly.

Lucifer felt his stomach twist. The little box in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole in his Armani. His heart began to pound, and if he was human Lucifer was certain he’d have been sweating bullets. He’d wanted to wait until all of the gifts had been opened, but now that it was time to begin opening his gifts he wasn’t so sure he could wait. Before he could raise his voice to request to go first, Jeff interrupted him. “Penny do you want to go first?”

Penelope set her wine down on the table. “Oh, I suppose so,” she said with faux modesty.

Lucifer could barely remember to ohh and ahh at the right moments as Penelope tore into her gifts. It was as if his world had narrowed down to one specific gift jammed deep in his pants pocket. He fought the urge to reach in and make sure it was still there as they moved onto Jeff’s few gifts. By the time it was Dan’s turn to open his presents, Chloe was beginning to notice his nervousness.

She leaned further into his side to whisper in his ear. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing darling. Just keeping an eye on Jeff to make sure he doesn’t have any more missteps tonight.” He was sure she could tell that that wasn’t the real reason for his shaking hands, but luckily for him, she just shifted to lay her head on his shoulder in lieu of an interrogation.

“M’kay. Love you.”

“And I you, darling.” The sentence carried so much emotion behind it that Lucifer felt it burn a track up his throat.

Ten minutes later, Lucifer opened up his own gifts with mechanical efficiency. He tried to give the proper polite amount of attention to each item, but the truth was that his heart wasn’t in it. He had to get Chloe’s gift out of his pocket; the thing was consuming him from the inside out. But if Lucifer thought opening his gifts was the most difficult ten minutes of his life, watching Chloe open hers was worse. She took a painstakingly long time with each of them, marveling over their beauty or usefulness, and thanking each gifter individually. Then, finally, finally it was time.

Lucifer shifted to the edge of the loveseat, easing away from Chloe’s wine-tipsy embrace. “I actually have one last gift for the Detective,” he said, raising his voice over the holiday chatter. The room quieted and Lucifer reached for the box in his pocket. Slowly, he sunk down on his knee. He opened the box he’d been carrying around all day to reveal a glittering black-jeweled ring. He distantly heard Penelope gasp. “Detective--Chloe. I had this grand speech prepared before we came up here, but no matter how often I rewrote it, it just never felt right for this moment. So here is the abridged version. I love you darling. I might not have realized it until much, much later, but I loved you from the very moment you stepped foot into my life. You’re my best friend and dearest love, and that’s more than the man I was a decade ago could have ever anticipated having. Chloe Jane Decker will you marry me?”

Chloe stared at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. When he saw tears gather in the corners of her eyes, Lucifer felt his stomach drop. Was this the wrong time? Had he done it wrong? He stood frozen as she brought a hand to cup his cheek. She brought his face closer to hers, pulling him off his knees, and Lucifer assumed the worst. But then her face split into the most vibrant smile she’d ever given him.

“ Yes,” she breathed before pulling him into a kiss. Lucifer lost himself in a wave of relief and joy. When Chloe broke the kiss, the intimate bubble around them popped. Someone started clapping.

“Put the ring on, I want to see it!” someone else, probably Beatrice, shouted.

Lucifer felt drunk. It took him a few seconds to steady his hands enough to take the ring from the box and slide it onto Chloe’s ring finger. A dopey smile spread across his face when he turned to face the rest of the room. Dan clapped him on the back, and Lucifer swayed on his feet. Penelope wrapped her arms around him in a hug that was even tighter than the one she’d given him earlier in the day.

“Congrats, Lucifer!” she squealed. She held onto him for a few more seconds and then released him to do the same to Chloe. “Your father would be so happy for you, baby!”

“What about me? I’m happy for you too, Chloe!” Jeff exclaimed, putting a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. The celebration hiccuped as it had during dinner. The smile on Chloe’s face slipped, but she moved to give him a polite side hug anyways. Lucifer began to stalk towards him, eyes on the brink of flashing red, but a hand across his chest stopped him. He glanced down to see Penelope arching a brow at him.

“I’ve got this one covered, Lucifer. It’s time I stand up for myself.” She drew herself up. “Jeffrey, listen.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a very nice man, and we’ve had a fun few months, but I’m afraid I have to put a stop to this.”

Jeff gave her a vacant look. “What?”

“It’s time for you to go Jeffrey. You’ve been trying to erase John from my life ever since we started dating, and that’s just not going to fly. My family will always be more important than a country club reject. So get out of my house.”

“Huh?”

“Leave.” She shook him for emphasis. “Get your things. I called an Uber for you before we started opening presents and he’s waiting outside to take you home. I want to spend Christmas with my family.”

Jeff turned mauve. “I…”

Dan appeared at Penelope’s side. “You heard her.”

Lucifer loomed over her other shoulder, glaring down his nose at the sniveling man in front of him. Without saying another word, Jeff began collecting his things. He waded through the wrapping paper and grabbed the few gifts Penelope had given him. Then he started towards the stairs, presumably to grab his suitcase. Penelope and Dan followed him out.

“We’ll show you out the door,” Lucifer heard Penelope say.

Lucifer was tempted to go with them, just to ensure that the job was done swiftly, but before he could go, Chloe put a hand on his arm to stop him. First he looked down at her hand proudly displaying the ring he’d picked out, and then he looked up at her beautiful face.

“Let him go. It’s Christmas,” she said conspiringly.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas, Lucifer!” Beatrice plastered herself against his legs and gave him a hug reminiscent of Penelope’s.

Lucifer smirked and pulled Chloe in close for another kiss. “Merry Christmas, Detective.”

“Merry Christmas, Lucifer.”

#fanfic #my fics #deckerstar #lucifer on netflix #lucifer morningstar #nightslux #tdn #tdn: secret satan fic exchange

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thepencilnerd · 5 years

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 || 𝐦.𝐲.𝐠.

coup de fou·dre- noun; derived from the French word for a strike of lightning, it describes a sudden unforeseen event, often in reference to love at first sight

➳ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

➳ Summary: Love at first sight didn’t exist. To you, this was a fact. Living in the city of love and lights, therefore, couldn’t have been more ironic. Paris wasn’t just the destination for hopeless romantics and tourists alike, but it was also home to hundreds of hidden treasures that were nestled around ecah street corner. Fate and destiny weren’t exactly concepts that you ever believed in, but how many times does it take for a chance encounter to turn into something even the universe couldn’t explain?

➳ Genre: AU! Fluff, star-crossed encounters, barely a soulmate AU

➳ Word Count: 9.5k

a/n: a few phrases in French but they will be translated in italics, and my French is very extremely rusty so please forgive me

Waking up to the Parisian sun was one of the many things you cherished about living in the city. The open balcony window allowed an ambient breeze to blow into your studio apartment as sunlight streaked through the untied curtains.

Reluctant to part from your disheveled bed sheets and scattered comforters, you took a glimpse at your alarm clock that read 8h47. Forcing yourself to come to terms with the fact that you had to get out of bed sooner or later, you threw your legs over the edge of the bed and hauled yourself up.

It was a lazy Saturday in your quiet apartment, but the impending doom of going back to work on Monday motivated you to enjoy as much of your weekend as possible. When you applied for your university’s Study Abroad for a Summer program, you never imagined that you’d end up transferring to and graduating from Sorbonne, let alone living in Paris to this day. California never really had anything for you to begin with, and you’d lost contact with your parents after you moved out at 18.

From infancy into adolescence, your family began falling apart at the seams. Your mom was barely home, and instead found more pleasure in placing bets and melting the plastic off of her credit card at casino resorts, while your dad couldn’t deal with the stress he got from watching her ruin their entire bank account. He didn’t care much about her livelihood, but when money was thrown into the equation, he went manic.

Being on the dean’s list actually paid off in helping you form close relationships with your counselors and teachers; ones that your parents could never give you. As they had grown well aware of your situation at home, they made sure to take your work ethic and mediocre grades into account when you handed them your transfer application forms. Putting in a good word for you, they helped you realize that family wasn’t confined to blood relations, but rather the extensive bonds that you formed with those around you.

When the opportunity to move out presented itself on a silver platter, you took it without a single ounce of hesitation. Life was hell with or without your family, so why not just get away from it all together?

It was no secret that France was a timeless country. While cities around the world began to construct office buildings and fall into the trend of modern sky-high architecture, France itself was a living and breathing historical artifact. Most buildings had been left untouched and undemolished since the Renaissance era, and they were constantly being maintained and restored like fine artwork.

Passing through each and every street, there wasn’t a single spot exempt from being anything but breathtaking. Even the street art was a sight to see. One of your favorite “touristy” spots was the Parc du Champ de Mars. The first few weeks into spring was when the flora in the park was at its peak. Nestled just behind the Eiffel Tower, the long field was a hotspot for tourists, families, friends, and couples all the like. Throughout the entire week, the park was full of vibrant and lively energy as people gathered to celebrate in the lush green grass.

The Eiffel Tower was unquestionably your favorite place. Nestled in the 7th arrondissement, or sector of Paris, the Tour Eiffel was an icon in and of itself. Known as a culturally recognizable historic monument around the world, it wasn’t just all talk. Although the climb up the tower was grueling and enough to meet your monthly exercise requirements, the view from the highest observation deck was unrivaled.

From the top, you could feel the clean air coursing through your lungs as you took in the view. The Arc de Triomphe was at the heart of the city, with the arch being the center median for twelve streets that ran through it. On the rare occasion in that you’d take the lift up to the deck at night, the whole city came to life as lights that beamed from lampposts, streetlights, and cars illuminated the entire heart of Paris. To describe the sight in words was impossible, and it made you feel like a tourist in your own city.

Every morning before you left the house, especially on days that you didn’t feel like doing anything, you prayed silently and reminded yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to live in a country that some would sell their left kidney just to visit. Thankful for waking up to breathe another day in this reverie of a city, you trudged to the bathroom and washed up.

Once you had settled into the city and stabilized living like a somewhat put-together adult, you had made it your goal to explore as much of the city as possible through any means possible. Most of the time, however, it involved stopping by at the most tourist clustered destinations. Although there were hundreds, if not thousands, of hidden treasures like restaurants and rustic flea markets, you found much more joy in hopping on the metro and letting it fate decide where it took you.

Wrapping a scarf around your neck, a necessity when the spring air was still in its early beginnings, you gathered your remaining things into your bag and hurried out the door into the awaiting city outside.

Weekends typically started off late, as you had formed a habit of sleeping in on Saturdays and crashing early to wake up early on Sunday, but your morning routine always consisted of some kind of coffee to jump-start the day. Your cozy apartment building nestled in the 7th arrondissement of Paris was not only home to the Tour Eiffel but was also a hotspot for trendy cafés and restaurants all-the-like. On almost every street corner and turn of the road, a bistro or eatery occupied the lot, and outdoor seating made them all the more inviting. With a warm and homey atmosphere, even admiring the happy customers was a delightful experience.

About a block or two from your flat building was one such café– Maison de Raphaël. You had heard stories of the original owner, Raphaël Beaumont, had fallen in love and met his wife at a café and was inspired to start his own business with her; a sign of their new journey as lovers and partners until their passing. The business was then inherited by his children and his children’s children to carry on, a constant reminder of how cooperation, understanding, patience, and hard work had the ability to build something magical.

The familiar ring of the chimes on the door was like music to your ears as the scent of freshly ground coffee and steaming hot baked goods rushed to flood your senses. Not to mention the bustling customers, golden colored hanging lights, and rustic feel that made the place feel like a second home.

Distracted by the hectic atmosphere, you tripped on your footing as you bumped into a random person. “Sorry!” Ducking your head and murmuring a quick apology, you immediately that your English slipped out accidentally. Before you could get a chance to rephrase your sentence, you found yourself at the front of the counter in the presence of your best friend.

“Y/N!” Amélie shouted, reaching over the counter to envelop you a bear hug. “Quoi de neuf? / What’s up?”

You couldn’t help but smile in return at her constantly vibrant and bright personality. “Rien de nouveau / Nothing new,” you shrugged.

“Mademoiselle?” another voice rung from the kitchen. A nickname you had earned your first visit to the café as the “lost American,” you craned your neck to the buzzing kitchen, quickly waving to Amélie’s uncle, Pierre, as he gave you a toothy grin before resuming his cooking.

“Still learning English?” you asked intuitively.

Clearing her throat meekly, she stood with her chest puffed out and chin held high as she began speaking in English with a faint accent. “The weather is quite nice today, wouldn’t you say?”

“Very nice,” you complimented her choice of sentence topic. “Je parle pas francais, désolé / I don’t speak French, sorry.” Holding your hands up jokingly, she giggled kindly at your submission to the French language.

In the years that you had lived in France, you were still in middle school level and more than uneasy with verb conjugations. You were also eternally grateful that your job didn’t require that much face-to-face conversation, as everything in this age was done digitally, therefore, virtually.

“Come on,” she scoffed. “You’re fluent enough.” Scrunching your nose at her unbearably kind nature, her French accent still laced her words as she spoke English, but it was one of those things that non-French speakers swooned over.

“Whoever invented verb conjugation is the devil,” you groaned. “Can I have—”

“One café au lait coming right up,” she hummed, knowing your order by heart. Zipping around the tiny back bar like a dancing fairy, her quick hands crafted an award-worthy latte within minutes. Signaling you to find a spot on the swivel stools that lined the window, you maneuvered through the crowded groups of people waiting in line and met her halfway. “L'heure du déjeuner! / Lunch hour/break!” she shouted, her voice ringing through the back kitchen.

Sitting comfortably on the vintage seats, the sunlight hit your skin softly as light from outside peeked through the glass. A tray with two large cups was placed on the table as the scent of fresh coffee and steamed milk immediately found its way to your waiting nose and eager mouth. However, you always took the time to admire the steamed foam artwork that Amélie meticulously painted. Every day was a different masterpiece; some days were tulips and vines, while other days were cats and feathers. Today, it was a perfectly swirled and classic rosetta.

Plopping herself down on the stool and raising it to meet your taller stature, you giggled lightly as you lowered yours, helping her in her efforts. Patting her frizzy curls down, she swept the bangs from her eyes and gave you a sheepish grin.

You had met Amélie almost as soon as you had moved to France all those years ago. A quiet and bashful girl, your coffee addiction was fed by none other than the great-granddaughter of Raphaël Beaumont himself. In a flurry of terrible French and broken English, the two of you quickly bonded after your first turmoil of an encounter, sharing common interests in the world of fashion and cultures from your respective birthplaces. While she helped you pick up French, you began to teach her English and fuel her dream to move to New York to start her own clothing line; a dream she had apparently had since preschool.

“Don’t tell me,” you hummed, quirking your lips into a smirk and knitting your eyebrows as you gestured to her vibrant red top. “New fabrics from the flea market?”

Nodding proudly, she smoothed out the lace overlay that decorated the bodice and patted it appreciatively. “I couldn’t help myself. As soon as I saw them laid out, I had to make a new blouse.”

“Prototypes are supposed to be a rough outline, not perfect products. If your mother were working a shift today, she might snatch it right off of you.” Tracing your fingers over the delicate blossoms and her impeccable handiwork with stitches, her talent never ceased to amaze you. “What am I going to do without your coffee when you leave?”

“You’ll have your boyfriend to keep you company of course,” she retorted, flipping her hair back in an exaggerated manner. “But I won’t be going for a while, so don’t get your—how do you say it again? Panties in a twist?”

“Oh my god, please never say that ever again,” you gawked, trying not to blush out of embarrassment. “Where did you even learn that?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, she raised her cup and took an indulgent sip. You also couldn’t wait any longer and snapped a picture before reluctantly ruining the beautiful artwork. Sighing in relief at the bitter taste that coated your tongue, nothing at that moment felt better than this.

“Anything on la carte / the menu for you today, mademoiselle?” she asked thoughtfully, the nickname that her mother gave on your first visit to the café sticking like tree sap and rosin.

Swirling the already half empty cup, you furrowed your eyebrows. “I might take the metro to the Notre-Dame. Maybe make a wish at Point Zéro and pray for a good workload this month?”

She facepalmed and rolled her eyes at your dull response. “Mon dieu / oh my god, live your life a little. If I had today off, I’d go with you to wish for your boyfriend to come along already.”

The legends of Point Zéro had been spread few and far between standing there with a loved one or paying pilgrimage to the journey in the city, but mostly revolved around the tale that if you stood on the brass plate in front of the cathedral and made a wish, it would come true.

“Come on,” you snorted. “You know I don’t believe in any of that ‘coup de foudre’ stuff.”

The term which literally meant “lightning strike” was an expression often used to describe a fated or unexpected occurrence such as love at first sight. Both of which you didn’t exactly believe in.

“It’s not ‘stuff,’” she mocked your tone. “C’est vrai! / It’s true! You live in the city of love, for goodness sake. Stop killing yourself with your job and enjoy life.”

Swallowing the last of your cold coffee, you propped up your elbow and rested your chin on your hand, studying the small potted plant that was placed on the wood table. “Love is stupid,” you huffed under your breath. “Everyone’s just desperate for a partner who’ll give them everything and not ask for anything in return. What kind of love is that?”

“The stupid kind,” she jeered, flicking your forehead with her index finger to snap you out of your negative thoughts. “There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around.”

After chatting about the upcoming spring fashion walks in New York and getting scolded by her uncle, you agreed to visit her after her shift so you could hang out at your place for the weekend. Bidding Amélie and her family goodbye, you returned to the bustling streets that awaited you.

Despite the sometimes overhyped atmosphere of Paris, it was a sin to deny the fact that the city was a glimmering gem. Aboard the ferry that passed across the River Seine, you were currently en route to the Cathédral Notre-Dame. Resting your elbow on the metal rail, the cool breeze glided across your face, making your sigh in contempt. Weekends were truly the best.

The usually crowded boat was relatively empty today, especially considering it was a weekend. Although there were a few families and tourist groups here and there, the entirety of the boat was overall calm. Drifting off into the vast scenery of antique architecture and busy streets, you noticed that you were just coming up to Pont Alexandre III, a monument bridge that connected the Les Invalides buildings with the Champs-Élysées. Adorned with bronze statues of nymphs and gilded phemes, they stood to represent the arts, agriculture, commerce, and war; the concrete foundation and rich values on which the country was built on. It never failed to make you feel honored to live here.

Pulling your phone out to snap a picture (as per your routine ritual whenever you passed by the bridge), you noticed a white beanie stand out in the photo and in the crowd. Although the weather could be considered chilly enough for extra outerwear, you noticed that out of the people that you had walked past in the last hour or two, this person was the first to don a fuzzy knit cap. Grinning to yourself, you ignored the silly thought as the ferry came to its stop.

The cathedral was busy as always. With the line of entry starting from the inside trailing all the way to the middle of the sidewalk, you were lucky if you could waddle through the crowds. Trying to navigate through the swarm of people, you found yourself a relatively empty spot around the brass plate that officially marked the exact center of the city. Throughout the years, the words and engraved patterns on the plate had worn off, but the central 8-pointed star was still mildly visible.

Standing beside the plate that was centered perfectly with the front of the cathedral, you admired every little detail that your eyes could drink in; the rose windows that were arranged in concentric circles, the stone statues of biblical figures, and the timeless gothic architecture that formed the entirety of the epochal construction.

You didn’t plan on lighting a candle inside today, and the number of people that were pouring outside proved your point. Maybe next week? Staring down at the timeworn brass plate, you shoved your hands inside your pockets and closed your eyes to make a wish.

“Live your life a little. There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around,” Amélie’s words echoed loud and clear in your head.

Huffing out in slight frustration, you pressed your eyes shut and wished for the one thing you had worked so hard for all your life.

I just want to be happy.

Silently praying and repeating the mantra to yourself for a few seconds, you were snapped out of your daze by a kid running headfirst into your thigh and toppling over like a Jenga tower. Gasping in shock, you immediately crouched down to help the little boy up and brush off the dirt from his plaid sweater.

“Désolé! / Sorry!” you cringed, tensing your face into an expression that screamed guilt. “Est-ce que ça va? / Are you okay?”

The seemingly unaffected boy simply nodded, making you find it odd that he wasn’t crying or wailing. Instead, he chortled as if nothing were wrong in the world. “Est-ce que ça va, mademoiselle? / Are you alright, miss?”

Smiling endearingly at his mannerism with a hint of worry knit in your brows, you gently brushed over his wavy tresses and double-checked to make sure he hadn’t scraped anything.

Pressing up onto his tippy toes to raise himself to your height, the boy whispered in your ear. “On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” Before you got a chance to reply, he skipped off and disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen as you tried to think about the words a random child had just re-iterated to you. You had no problem recognizing the quote from your favorite book of all time; Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Trying to think of all the possible reasons why a stranger, let alone a child, would reference that particular quote out of nowhere, you ignored it and settled on the fact that maybe he had been reading too many fantasy books for his own good. Even though the boy had run off somewhere, worry overcame you as you realized you hadn’t even asked him if he was lost.

Squinting your eyes as you scanned the herd of people to see if you could spot him, you were able to make out his tiny plaid sweater amongst the generally darkly clothed adults. He was standing in the entrance line with an older woman you assumed was his mother. The boy turned to the man behind him and tugged on the edge of his beige coat, pointing his finger to somewhere in the crowd. Your eyes began trailing up the tall figure whose back was turned towards you, but you recognized the white beanie from earlier like a red wine stain on linen.

He must have gotten off at the same stop as me.

Unable to see his face from your angle, the man crouched down and ruffled the boy’s hair as a toothy grin appeared on the child’s face. Lightly chuckling to yourself, you quickly snapped a picture, reminding yourself to tell Amélie all about it when you went to visit her later. Checking your watch, the hands read 12:57 and meant that lunch was just around the corner. Glancing at the eroded star once more, you turned to the spot that the boy was standing, only to find that he and his mother were already walking inside, and the man from earlier was now nowhere to be seen.

As with most major city, restaurants in urban districts could be found scattered around every block like street signs. After walking across the Pont Notre-Dame to find the nearest bistro, you stumbled upon a crêperie just short of the Tour Saint-Jacques; another landmark that was the only remaining structure of a 16th-century church that was destroyed during the revolution.

Entering the small and cozy eatery, you were greeted by the friendly hostess behind the bar, currently occupied with wiping down the glasses and silverware. Sitting down by the window booth, she brought you a menu and a glass of water to start. Ordering their special, strawberry creme crêpes with a café au lait, you sat patiently as your stomach began to growl from the long walk. Years in the city and you still hadn’t gotten used to the daily on-foot commute.

Gazing outside the window, you always found yourself magnetized by the most insignificant details about this city. Sometimes, you even found yourself staring at the cracks of old brick walls until a person tapped you on the shoulder asking you if you were alright. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, you were the type of person who found joy in strolling around flea markets for hours without boredom.

After a few minutes, a plate of freshly flipped crêpes made its way to your table, the thinly sliced strawberries and fluffy whipped cream seeping at the edges practically begging to be devoured. Bordering the edge of drooling, you cut a bite-sized portion but couldn’t bring yourself to eat at a normal pace for the fear that it would all be gone too soon. This might be your new favorite place, which didn’t bode well for your old faithful crêperie two blocks down from your apartment.

Taking time to savor the light and airy texture of the filling, you paced yourself in between bites and sips, reminding yourself to eat as slow as you could to make the experience all the more worthwhile. Once you downed your last mouthful and a final sip of coffee, you handed the waitress the check as she returned to go get your receipt.

Drawn to the light outside the once more, you saw that the sun was still shining bright, remembering that it was still early spring and the sunset didn’t come until around dinnertime. Shifting your gaze to the crowded patio seats, you couldn’t help but draw your attention to a couple sat in a pair beside the rose bushes that lined the seating area.

They appeared to be in their late thirties and were bantering back and forth while eating, letting a few giggles slip here and there. It’s not that dating or commitment scared you, but it was the idea of giving yourself completely into a relationship and not knowing if the other person might leave you at any moment that seemed—vulnerable. You despised nothing more than being blinded by love, and half of the time, the romance that books and movies talked about wasn’t even real love; it was just lust. Libido-driven physical one-sided lust. Still, you couldn’t help the wishful gaze that began to form.

Would you ever find a love that was even half as passionate as what they had?

Receiving the receipt from the waitress, you quickly thanked her and slung your bag over your shoulder as you got ready to leave. However, before you stood up, a familiar figure was sat two booths down from you. The same back-turned position, white beanie, beige coat, and this time, you could make out the edge of an ivory-colored scarf that was wrapped around his neck. Blinking to make sure that your contacts weren’t just drying up, you shrugged it off as the first coincidence of the day.

You paced yourself out the door and convinced yourself that it was just that; a coincidence.

Venturing down to the 1st arrondissement in a spontaneous act of curiosity, you were drawn to the petite floral shop that was a few blocks from the bus stop. Marveling at the newly made arrangements and bundles of in-season vines that lined the floors and shelves, the kind elderly lady of the store instantly sparked a friendly conversation with you about the meanings of different flowers.

As the conversation carried on with her effortless French and you struggling to decipher her quick tempo, you understood the gist of her speech but still blanked on a couple verbs and idioms here and there. Roses were tokens of love and devotion, calla lilies symbolized beauty and purity, and lilacs represented innocence and confidence. Nodding your head to make sure that you didn’t show how clueless you were in between her complicated sentences, she gave you a heartwarming smile before clasping her hands over her mouth with a gasp, scrambling to reach for something under her workspace.

Ducking down her counter and shuffling through floral wires, foam, and a few cardholders, she found a small cylindrical glass vial necklace and handed it to you tenderly. Looking at it up close, you saw that it was a burgundy rosebud encapsulated in a clear resin of some sort.

"Pour votre aimé / For your loved one." Clasping her hands around yours, she gave you a firm look of sincerity, bordering on the verge of urgency

"Non, s'il te plaît, / No, please," you urged, trying to hand it back to her but receiving a pouted lip and a wagging finger in return. Shaking your hands embarrassingly, you denied her conclusion as quickly as the words had left her mouth. “Je n'ai pas d'amant. / I don’t have a lover.”

“Pas encore, mais bientôt, / Not yet, but soon,” she emphasized her words, laughing at your blank and confused face before waving her hands and telling you to get home early.

When you tried to hand her a few euros in exchange, she nearly bit your head off and ushered you to take off and come back again. Sighing in defeat and surrendering to her persistent nature, you thanked her once more before leaving the shop with a jingle of the windchimes sounding behind you.

Pausing to open your clutched hand and inspected the perfectly preserved bud, completely in awe at how intact and still life-like it was. Frowning slightly, you wondered why she had suddenly been struck with the idea of giving a rather pricey looking necklace to a random customer; mind you, you hadn’t paid for it either.

Feeling guilty for not at least buying a small bouquet or desk succulent, you bit your lip and debated whether you had time to go back inside and buy something before the next bus came. Scanning over the buckets that bordered the outside of the shop, you tried to see if there were any small buds you could bundle together yourself or a small cactus you could quickly buy, but it was a fruitless effort, as most of the displays and pre-made potted plants were too large for you to carry home.

Exhaling in slight annoyance you decided that it was better to come back tomorrow and catch the bus, but not before taking a quick snapshot of the colorful row of blooming petals. Examining the picture you had just taken on your phone, your eyes widened at an all too recognizable figure at the edge of the picture. Wearing that same white beanie, ivory scarf, beige coat, black jeans, and with his back still turned to you, the same man from earlier today was currently standing over the array of flowers.

Looking up, he was still facing away from you in a way that you couldn’t make out his appearance, but you could clearly hear the shutter of a camera going off as he gazed at the freshly blossomed roses. Pondering over the possibility that this was just another coincidence, you reminded yourself that you would just come back tomorrow and buy a full-size arrangement instead.

Returning back to the direction of the bus stop, you almost screamed when you read the time. Nearing dinner time, you dashed down the street as if your life depended on it and tried to catch the last bus home.

The good news was that you ran faster than you had in your entire life and could probably skip cardio for the next few months. The bad news was that you missed your bus and were out of breath, freezing, and hungry.

Your watch read 4:40, making you groan as reality struck. Internally facepalming yourself and saying a prayer to your bank account, you swallowed your pride and told yourself that this was a foreboding from the high heavens as motivation to work harder. A white lie never every once in a while never hurt anyone, right?

Stumbling across a somewhat affordable diner combined brasserie, the enticing smell of roast beef and freshly baked dinner rolls wafted you inside. Since it was a peak hour for early diners, you were lucky to find yourself a spot in the back patio seating. Eyeing the rather empty area oddly, it clicked when you pieced together how full the front and indoor seating area was. Following the waiter to your table, you sighed in relief when your legs came in contact with the leather cushions. With tired legs finally being able to leisure and be limp on the ground, your tired out-of-shape muscles bid you a wordless thank you.

Gulping down the jug of water the kind server had brought you, he chuckled before giving you a break to catch your breath, clearly noticing your exhaustion as you struggled to form proper sentences. If your day to day French was awful, imagine what it sounded like when you were fatigued beyond words.

Deciding on a bowl of bœuf bourguignon with pommes frites / beef stew with fried potatoes, the waiter jotted down your order and excused himself. Closing your eyes and trying to control your growing hunger, you almost fainted when you rolled your head back and turned to two seats down to your right.

“Beanie boy?!” you shrieked, widening your eyes and cupping your hand over your mouth when you realized how loud you had just shouted. The same boy from earlier jolted from his seat, dropping his pasta entwined fork and yelping as well. Coughing to clear his throat from his near-choking experience, you couldn’t believe your eyes. How did he get here?

“Pardon?” he choked, grabbing his napkin to wipe his mouth. Noticing his choice of English, you raised your finger shakily and pointed to him as if he were a zombie that had risen from the dead. “You speak English?” you asked with your jaw agape. He simply blinked and nodded.

Right before you could continue, the waiter walked into the seating area and looked at both of you with bulging eyes before hastily setting your food down on your table and scurrying off.

“Have you—do you—have you been following me?” you mumbled. Your mouth was still agape in shock, periodically opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Cocking his head and furrowing his eyebrow softly, his lower lip jutted in a pout and he shook his head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Jaw dropping entirely, you blinked harshly and checked once more if your contacts were dried out, but gulped anxiously when he was still in front of you. “No. No, I’m not, I just—how?”

“May I sit?” he peeped politely, his extroverted statement contrasting with his outwardly introverted appearance. Nodding unconsciously for the fear that you’d be an awful person if you denied someone eating dinner alone a companion, he got up and shuffled through the chairs and sat down in front of you.

The dim light now illuminated his features, making his face thoroughly visible. Under his knit cap was coarse dark brown hair that framed his round yet angular face. His soft eyebrows drew attention to his brown eyes, while his lips seemed to be formed a perpetual pout.

“I guess this is all just one big coincidence, right?” you forced out an awkward laugh in order to diffuse some of the tension and pry your staring eyes off of him. Maybe it was all in your own head.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, it looked as if he were holding back a laugh. Barely narrowing your eyes to try and analyze his micro expressions, he resumed speaking.

“If you want to call it that,” he chuckled lightly, his voice now emphasized crystal clear. “I’ve had a pretty weird day today.”

Feeling yourself relax at his ability to make casual talk with a stranger like yourself, you felt a grin tug at the edges of your mouth. “I’ll raise you on that bet.”

Eyebrow lifting at your challenge, you raised your eyebrows at him tauntingly, a sudden surge of confidence rushing over you that you had never felt before. He eyed you wearily before raising his fork to his mouth and poking his chin with it, his aim inadvertently ruined by your locked stare. You coughed to hide a snort.

“So what brings you to the 1st arrondissement on this fine Saturday night?” he asked speculatively, deep-set eyes never leaving yours as you replied.

Chewing slowly to think of an answer, you shrugged shyly and gave him your honest answer. “Just another boring Saturday, I guess...” He nodded understandingly, seeming to accept your plain response. “What about you?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I didn’t feel like sitting around in my living room again was the most productive way to spend the weekend, so I thought it’d be a good idea to work on my portfolio.”

Holding your spoon as it came halfway to your mouth, you set it back down and grew interested in his occupation. “Photography major?”

“Photographer, actually,” he smirked playfully, emphasizing the last syllable ever so slightly. “But I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who got mistaken as a student.”

“You thought I was a post-grad?” you scoffed, amazed and flattered that you could still pass off as a woman in her very early twenties.

He grinned widely at your surprise, showing off a gummy smile that made your stomach feel weird. Did they cook the meat all the way through? you thought.

“I guess we have more than one thing in common,” he remarked, winding another mouthful of pasta around his fork neatly before engulfing it like a child.

“You mean ferry rides and flower shops?” you joked.

“Don’t forget cathedrals and cafés,” he reminded, shooting you a cheeky wink.

Shaking your head at his bold nature, the two of you broke into giggles, unable to hold back the recollection of strange concurrences that had occurred in the single day alone. The waiter stopped by the table to refill the water jug, making you both shift in your seats and try to tone your laughter down. Whispering something in the waiter’s ear, he shuffled his hand under the tablecloth, but you assumed your eyes were just deceiving you again.

“So you’re a photographer, are you?”

Quirking the edge of his lip and a brow into a pondering expression, he couldn’t give you a definitive answer. “It depends—am I still a professional if I don’t think my work is particularly that good?”

“Touché,” you hummed. “May I be the judge of that?”

His eyes ducked down timidly, indicating that he was genuinely unconfident in his work. “How about we make a deal of some sort?” he offered.

Jutting your chin down and pressing him to continue, he smiled coyly. “Let me spend the evening with you as reimbursement for dinner, and I’ll show you my portfolio.”

“Is that a euphemism for something I don’t want to know?” your mind urged you to ask apprehensively, noting the kind tone that laced his voice.

“No, I promise,” he raised his hands in defense.

“What do you mean ‘reimbursement for dinner?’” you air-quoted, still not sure of what his intention was.

“Considering I already slipped the waiter my card,” he whipped out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “—and I’ve already signed the receipt, I’d say that this boring Saturday just turned into a spur of the moment hang out between new acquaintances.”

Suppressing a scoff at his daring personality that emitted sheer confidence and shamelessness, you caved in and agreed. This was considered a “blind date,” right?

Continuing our discussion and jumping randomly from topic to topic, the flow of the conversation never stopped, continuing along effortlessly as hours seemed to pass by like seconds. The playful banter was exchanged with teasing comments and jokes, making the rumbling of passing streetcars become drowned out by the combination of your hearty laughter; a sound that you had unintentionally begun to memorize note by note in your mind.

Before you knew it, the sun had already begun to set and was falling fast. A mutual look of understanding crossed your faces when you checked your watch again, the dreaded hands that you had grown to dislike throughout the day clearly reading 8:05.

“I live in the 7th arrondissement. Is it alright I walk you home?” he asked softly, a tone of reluctance lacing his quiet voice.

Blinking your eyes rapidly and coming back to your senses, you nodded, wondering for a split second how he knew which district you lived in, but remembered that he boarded the same ferry as you this morning. Telling yourself that nothing lasted forever and that the night had to come to an end eventually, the two of you rose from your seats and slowly dragged your feet to the exit.

The view from the Pont Alexander III bridge was beautiful during the daytime, but the lampposts that illuminated the pathway at night was an entirely different experience. The ornate and extravagant bridge that you had seen glimmering during the daytime was now toned down, making the statues appear to be asleep.

Considered the golden hour by many, you understood why the lavish name had been given to the spot at this time. The line of the sunset followed the arch of the bridge, skimming it lightly as the sun itself disappeared beneath the skyline. The pastel blue, warm orange, and vibrant red-yellow gradient skies were accentuated by the very golden street lamps, making it the perfect destination to stop by before the end the evening.

“Do I get to see those pictures yet or was this all just a grand scheme to spend the evening with me?” you remarked coyly, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a grin when you saw a light blush fan across his cheeks. Darting his tongue out to wet his lower lip, he still seemed a bit nervous.

“I promise you that my pictures are worse,” you assured. “You looked pretty professional around the roses though, so I wouldn’t really worry.”

Face surrendering into his grin, he pulled out his camera from his satchel and stood beside you, both of you resting your elbows behind you on the rail of the bridge. Handing him your phone and exchanging it with his camera, you each began scrolling through the gallery pictures. You were absolutely spellbound.

He had managed to capture each setting of the landmarks in Paris perfectly. From the Louvre to the Museé d’Orsay and the Arc de Triomphe all the way up to the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, his shots were somehow able to encapture the pure essence and splendor of the city.

“These are—” you gaped. “I don’t—”

“They’re pretty mediocre,” he admitted guiltily as his hand began rubbing the back of his neck instinctively.

“No!” you defended. “They’re just—wow. They’re amazing...”

“Thanks,” he blushed at your compliment. “Your pictures are pretty good, too.”

Rolling your eyes at his makeshift compliment, you accepted it nonetheless. “They’re mediocre,” you mimicked.

He ruffled your hair jocularly, taking your mind back to when you saw him at the cathedral. “Did I mention that I make a great model?”

Your head tilted in confusion at his query but your eyes widened when it dawned on you; he had seen the pictures you’d taken of him. Showing you your phone, he began swiping across the screen, exposing the few pictures that you had snapped of him covertly.

“Oh—” you stuttered. “Those were just—I thought it—I thought it would be a funny story to tell my friend. My best friend. She loves movie-plot stuff like this. Coincidental situations, accidental encounters, you know. Stuff like that?”

Hoping he would understand and look past your rambling mess of words, he burst into a fit of laughter as he showed off his gummy smile again; one you had already begun to grow fond of a little too quickly for your liking.

“Keep scrolling,” he giggled, pointing to his camera in your hand. Following his directions, your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as they caught images of the places you had visited earlier today—with you as the central subject of the pictures.

The first was of the ferry ride; you were holding your chin up from your elbow on the rail and gazing across the river with a serene and tranquil expression. The second was of you standing on point zero; your eyes were shut tight and concentrated firmly on the brass plate, making you remember your wish that you had prayed for. The third was of you at the crêperie; your mind flashed back to the moment when you were staring out the window at the lovely couple. In the captured photo, your wistful gaze conveyed the definition loneliness.

The fourth one at the flower shop was the one that stood out from the rest.

In the other ones, you seemed like you were lost in the haze of your mind and constantly living out of the moment; whether it was thinking about your past or the future, this one was one of pure joy as you were gazing at the beautiful colors and delicate scents of the flora. A repressed grin slipped past your lips, turning into a full-blown expression of awe.

“Do you mind if I take another one?” he asked delicately, rubbing the back of his neck again, a habit you deciphered as one that stemmed from nervousness. Nodding your head as warmth flushed your cheeks, you handed him the camera and panicked, unable to think of a pose.

“Just relax and smile,” he encouraged, giving you a heartfelt grin as he adjusted the lens.

Narrowing your eyes at the ground for a brief second, you retreated to your accustomed position of propping your elbow up and resting your chin on your hand. You looked out across the rippling river and now dark sky as the once bright colors had grown dusky and dim. The shutter clicked once, making you turn to him and click again.

“Aimer, ce n'est pas se regarder l'un l'autre, c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction. / Love doesn’t consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” He spoke in a near whisper to himself as he repeated another quote from Saint-Exupéry, making it the second one today.

Taken aback by his words, you struggled to find words yourself. “Did a boy—a little boy tell you that, by any chance?”

He looked up from his camera display and at you with widened eyes. “I told you today was a weird day,” he stared at you in disbelief. Feeling at ease around his amusing reaction, you shook your head and let out a nasal snort, staring thoughtfully at the river.

"I’m guessing you’re an Exupéry fan too?” you added. Fiddling with his hands, he simply nodded, the edges of his lips curling into a carefree grin.

“Le Petit Prince is a classic tragedy,” he sighed. “I cried for days when my mom explained the ending to me.”

Patting his back and comforting his pouty face, you accidentally let out a giggle. “I thought I was the only one.”

Standing beside each other and glancing at the rippling waves below, you found your eyes drift to a couple on the street that bordered the bridge. Oddly enough, they seemed to mirror the pair of you with their similar taste of clothing and friendly bond.

“Do you think the rose was selfish?” you wondered aloud, not expecting a response from him. It had been an odd question that plagued your very existence ever since you had read the book as a child.

“No,” he replied without an ounce of hesitation. “They were so blinded by love, they didn’t understand what it even meant. Would you still call that love?” he pondered, his voice coming out just shy of a whisper.

Your head shifted to him, studying his features as he continued to look across the water. Changing his position to mirror you, his lips relaxed before forming a sympathetic smile.

“Love is easy to find if you look hard enough, especially in a big city like this— but it’s the good kind; the wholehearted, selfless, and genuine devotion that makes everything worthwhile. That’s the one that’s almost impossible to find.”

Feeling his eyes pierce through you, you shyly averted your gaze away and returned to the view of the sky, which was now completely enveloped in darkness as the day was finally at its end.

“That kind of love isn’t something you find; it’s something that comes to you,” he iterated softly, his captivated eyes never leaving you. “But I couldn’t agree more.”

“On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur, / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly,” you started, curious to see if he were as passionate and borderline obsessed with the children’s fable as you were.

“L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux, / What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” he continued, completing the second half of the quote.

Diverting your attention back to the streets below, you swore you felt your heart hiccup.

Within the few hours that you had spent together, you felt as if you’d known each other all your life. There was some kind of connection, a bond, that neither of you could explain. Whether it was your mutual inarticulate French speaking skills or the fact that you had delved deep into the past circumstances that resulted in moving to Paris, time didn’t seem to exist when he spoke to you. To say that you felt comfortable around him was an understatement; you felt like you were home.

Thankfully, Maison de Raphaël was just around the corner from the bridge. You didn’t notice how much time had passed until you checked the time again; it was already 9:30, meaning Amélie would be off work soon.

“I guess this is my stop,” you exhaled, trying not to show your discomfort from all the walking you had done today. Even though the sky was now a deep navy blue, flecks of light constellations began to peek through the dim clouds.

“Time flew by too quickly,” he noted, his hands instinctively returning to stroke the nape of his neck.

Puffing your cheeks to stifle a cheesy grin, you could only nod curtly in agreement. “Way too quickly.”

A few awkward seconds passed before each of you found the courage to speak.

“I—” he started.

“Do you—” you tried to ask.

Cutting off each other’s words, he gestured kindly for you to start first. “You should get home,” you insisted, feeling the guilt grow inside you the longer you kept him here.

He blinked a couple times, opening then closing his mouth as he tried to form a response.

Why oh why of all the things to say did you have to say that stupid sentence, you groaned silently, mentally scolding yourself for being so brusque.

“Oh—yeah. Of course,” he replied while forcing out a cough. “Thanks for tonight.”

Laughing warmly, he couldn’t help but look at you with that same gummy smile you had already known by heart. “Will I get to see you again?” you asked, worried for a second that you might’ve sounded too hopeful.

He considered the realistic possibilities. “It’s a pretty big neighborhood, but judging from the day we’ve spent and the places we both like to visit, I would say the odds are in our favor.”

Holding his hand out, you shook it tenderly, afraid that if you let go too quickly, the universe would find a way to make sure that you’d never see him again. It’s not like you ever believed in fictional concepts like the power of the universe or romantic deities, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The air around you grew cold with melancholy, the two of you more than clearly able to feel the tension as you were forced to accept the reality of parting ways.

Not even a few seconds after walking in the opposite direction, you turned around and bid him one more but hopefully not last farewell.

“Get home safely!” you shouted through cupped hands. He hadn’t moved far from the previous spot he was standing in. Only when you were at the entrance of the café and saw his still unmoved distant figure did you understand that he waited there to make sure that you arrived at your destination safely. Peering through the glass pane, you saw him give you a final wave before his shadow faded into the night.

“So you just left?!” Amélie’s jaw dropped to the ground. “And you didn’t even get his phone number?”

“Yes!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands and slamming them down onto the counter by the cash register. “Don’t rub it in.” Somehow, you had managed to compress in your entire day’s worth of events into a five-minute rant. Breathless at the end of your makeshift speech and in a fugue state, she brought you a glass of water, still gawking at you as you chugged it in four gulps.

“Punaise... / Damn...” she whispered. “Are you alright?” Sniffling slightly, you didn’t realize that tears had begun to flood your eyes until her hands rubbed your back soothingly.

Why were you crying?

“You two must have really had something special going on,” she sighed, still stroking your shoulders tenderly.

“Don’t start with that fate and destiny crap—” you whined but were cut off by her abrupt hush.

“Do you know how starstruck both of you would have been to not even ask for each other’s names?” she dragged out the last word, craning her neck and raising her eyebrows so high they looked animated.

Tears pricked your eyes again as the lump in your throat returned. You broke into full sobs now. “I didn’t even get his name!” Tangling your hands into your hair, you wondered if all those years studying for school actually grew your practical intelligence or just made you dumber.

“Amélie!” Pierre hollered from the empty kitchen. “Un café au lait!”

“On est fermé! / We’re closed!” she groaned, rubbing her temple as she tried to think of a solution to your predicament.

“Vingt minutes! / Twenty minutes!” he barked back.

“Who in their right mind orders coffee at night...” she grumbled a few profanities. You shot her a quick smile and shooed her off to quickly finish her shift so that the two of you could go back to your place. Sleepovers were more fun as adults, especially when champagne was added to the equation.

With your head buried underneath your scarf and crossed arms, you could barely hear the muffled exclamation of Amélie’s cheer as she greeted the last customer of the night, judging by the tone of her voice to come to the conclusion that they were also a regular.

You didn’t even know his name. You didn’t even get his stupid freaking name and you were beating yourself up over how absurd the entire situation was. It’s not like you really knew each other, right? You were appalled at your own desperation. You couldn’t believe actually crying over some random guy.

It was just a fun day with some random stranger. A random stranger who you just happened to click with. A stranger who you coincidentally ran into multiple times, just as luck would have it. An unknown guy who shared the same interests as you and admired the beauty in little things.

A person who you were wholeheartedly and completely mesmerized by right down to the last bit of fluff that was stuck on his beanie.

“Love at first sight my ass—” your obscenity was interrupted by a forceful cough that belonged to none other than your best friend.

“Last time I checked, you were the ‘innocent’ one of us two?” she hummed, raising her brow in a comical manner. Rolling your eyes and wiping the edges of your eyes, your tears finally started to come to a slow. All that remained was a pink flush on your cheeks and a red nose Rudolph would be jealous of.

Noticing the plate of coffee in her hand, you eyed her skeptically and asked her what she was doing watching you cry like an infant instead of serving the last customer so you could go home to your emergency ice cream stash.

Clicking her tongue mischievously, she set the porcelain cup down in front of you. “Pour vous, / For you,” she bowed dramatically.

“What?” you hiccuped.

“Special occasion?” her lips formed into a quirky grin. Nudging her head to the design she had etched into the cup, it was a new pattern. The base was a classic rosetta, but rather than have the buds of the leaves extend and thin out at the tip, she had drawn a plump heart. It was unusual. Out of all the different designs she had drawn on hundreds of cups, you’d never seen her draw a real heart, counting the number of times she had remarked how “cheesy” and “cliché” it was.

“I didn’t order a—” you stammered.

“I guess we have more than a few things in common...” a soft-spoken voice trailed from behind you.

Feeling your breath hitch in your throat, you felt your entire body tense up in shock, too anxious to turn around. Slowly turning your chair to the source of the voice, you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes and a beaming smile.

“I forgot to ask you if you wanted to get a cup of coffee with me,” he grinned.

In a heartbeat, you found yourself throwing yourself into in his arms as they enveloped you in a tight embrace. Fitting like two pieces of a puzzle, you nestled your head into his chest as he held you close. It was the first heart fluttering hug you’d felt in years.

“I could’ve sworn I recognized the person I bumped into this morning,” he chuckled deeply.

Your eyes widened to the size of flying saucers.

“You didn’t tell me you knew Y/N, Yoongi” Amélie peeped from the counter, ogling the both of you while waggling her eyebrows impishly.

“Y/N,” he repeated slowly, your name rolling off of his tongue like honey.

“Yoongi,” you greeted with a giggle. His name felt like words you had been waiting an eternity to say.

Amélie read your facial expressions, making hers contort into one that resembled Munch’s painting of The Scream. “You have got to be kidding me,” she drawled out with her hand cupped over her mouth.

Yoongi’s hands wrapped around your waist and pressed you closer into him, sighing in content at the feeling of fulfillment that washed over both of you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he looked down at you, introducing himself formally and taking the opportunity to accentuate your name once more.

“The pleasure is all mine,” you beamed, never feeling more at home than in the arms of Yoongi in this exact present moment.

Maybe this whole coup de foudre thing wasn’t a total fairy tale after all.

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selenecrawford · 5 years

Text

The Odd Pair 2

Warnings:

Shingen arrived to his home and greeted his family. His mother was happy with her son's success but she preferred a more humble lifestyle. Shingen always was pending that she never lack anything on their household. He always enjoyed the weekend visits because of her and Tomas. His father died of a heart attack while he and Yukimura were young leaving his mother to sustain the family. Growing up in town Shingen loved the peaceful, atmosphere and how laid back you could be. His room was always clean with the same posters he used to have on high school. Yeah those were the days were he was the start of the football team but also a ladies man. Girl's were always attracted to him. Shingen smiled at the prospect of always having an entourage of girls around him. Only one girl was always shy and never part of the pack. Selene.

Always looking like a boy she was always either studying or working on a car at the workshop at school. Her father was always scolding her telling her to be more feminine, yet she never paid attention. Shingen took a look at the little bookshelf finding what he was looking for. The school book in which there was a picture of Selene. Voted as one of the boys. She never used a skirt for that time. Giving a head shake Shingen pulled some jeans and a red polo shirt.

“Mom, I'm going to see the boys, I will be back later.”

“Be safe and try not to get into trouble, OK?” grinning like a mischievous boy Shingen went out to met the others at the bar.

Selene arrived at the house and gave a sigh to calm her agitated heart. She could still feel Shingen arms holding her. Clearing her mind she went on to clean the house in order to get everything in order. Since she had been working non stop for 2 years, her boss gave her a license to put her affairs in order. At least working hard paid off was Selene's train of thought. Changing her attire for a more comfortable one, Selene took a look at the full body mirror on her room. Her hair was now on a low pony tail, with minimal make up, some lip gloss, the black shirt with the skinny jeans hugging her legs and black converse were the perfect outfit. Since nights were becoming a bit more chilly she got a light grey duster and decided to buy some groceries and go to eat. The cellphone ringing took her out of her mental planning.

“Hello?, Selene speaking.”

“Ah, Selene is Mr. Leonard Kruger your father's lawyer. How are you?” the old man's voice was rich and deep. Selene used to think he was a voice actor. But in fact Mr. Kruger was a friend of the family.

“Uncle Krug, its been such a long time. How is everything?” Kruger was also one of her many adoptive uncles Selene used to have.

“ I wish this will be a better time to call but, I'm afraid not. I'm sorry for your loss kid. Tomas might not be there always but believe me when I tell you he always loved you and worried about you.” his voice was solemn.

Fighting the tears Selene cleared her voice.” Thank you Uncle Krug. We managed to patch things up in the end.”

“Good, that's great to hear so in that case you will be for the lecture of the testament tomorrow at 9 am in my office.” with this Kruger hung up without giving Selene opportunity ask what he was talking about.

Shingen managed to get to the bar without incidents and located the guys at the end of the saloon. Aside Masamune everyone was having a beer and playing poker.

“Well, well, well the prodigal son has return home uh?” Nobunaga was the first one to spot Shingen arriving to the table.

Taking turns to shake hands with everyone Shingen responded ironically.

“Considering that you are the self proclaimed chosen one Nobunaga, I guess we both are back? How is the family?”

“Good, how is your mother?”

“She is good, mom as always being mom .” said Shingen smiling while taking a seat next to Kenshin.

“Selene was so beautiful today. It's a shame that it wasn't a better occasion. Now she is alone.” said Mitsurani.

“The lass had grown up quite well. I was glad to see her. I might invite her to meet Marlene.” said Masamune.

“If I remember you used to have a crush on her right?” it was Ieyasu's turn to speak.

“I did but on high school I understood that it was only that and we spoke about it. She was OK with it. Besides she used to have a crush with our Mr. Football star here.” Masamune pointed on Shingen's direction.

“I thought it was something temporary.” Shingen given a non emotional answer. He tried to not make it more than it was. He was still bothered by the way Selene acted with him at the cemetery.

“Selene is a great woman, perhaps not a beauty like the one you are now use to date now Shingen but I know the man who marries her will be happy.” Hideyoshi looked at Shingen with intensity.

Holding his arms up Shingen said. “OK wait a minute. We are talking about things that happened twenty years ago. Why am I being getting my head bit off after all this time?”

“Because no sooner than she left you did the same. That prank was really low even for me and you know how mean I can be.” this time it was Kenshin who made the comment.

“Look, I tried to apologize she was already gone. Now, can we just take a break on this. If it makes you feel better I will apologize with her OK?”

Everyone agreed to Shingen's suggestion and let the topic die. The time passed while they talked about their own lives. When it was Shingen's turn his phone started ringing.

“Takeda here.”

“Ah, Shingen is so good to hear you. How are you? It's me Leonard Kruger, Tomas Crawford lawyer.”

“I'm good Mr. Kruger, how can I help you?” Shingen went to a less crowded section of the saloon to speak more in private.

“Tomas, made me in charge of reading his testament and he name you on it. I need to be on the office tomorrow at 9 am.”

“I didn't expect that from Tomas. OK I will be there.”

“Good.” with this Kruger hung up. Shingen returned to the table and took a lot sip at his beer.

The conversation continued until midnight when Shingen decided to bail out and going back home. While driving he passed Selene's home noticing the lights on. He considered stopping by but then decided against it since it was too late. She might be tired and need time to collect herself. With this he returned home and decided to get some sleep before his meeting with Kruger

The next morning, Selene woke up feeling a bit tired. She made some coffee and a cheese toast before getting for her meeting with Mr Kruger Looking at the day many memories came to her mind. Most of them were her running behind Shingen and playing with the boys. At some point she learned to dance but she kept it hidden. Only Masamune knew about it. She made him promised not to tell anyone about it since she feared being mocked. Dancing was her stress breaker. She could dance for two hours and help her clear her mind. It was also a good exercise for her in case she didn't got a gym near. Taking a small boom box she went to the room her father used as storage. The last time he told her that he cleared the place and now was empty. He was expecting her to come back one day to visit and she could use it. Her father was a complicated person in Selene's eyes. Taking the boom box she started the song. The notes and clap made Selene forget everything. Moving at the rhythm she start her routine, making turns and claps Selene loosen herself to the music until the end. At the end she was almost out of breath but feeling better and energized. Looking at the time she run to get a quick shower, dress up and wear a subtle make up. For this time she decided to wear, black trouser pants with a purple shirt and black blazer. This time she opted to only wear mascara, liner and lipstick. For shoes she put on her normally low heel shoes. She had a lot of things to do having a comfortable shoes will help her a lot. Looking at her outfit she let her hair loose with a headband to prevent her hair to fall on her face. This time she decided to use her cats eye glasses. Taking her purse, Selene went to the town.

Upon arriving she found she wasn't the only one waiting for Uncle Krug. Shingen Takeda was talking with the secretary who apparently had never seen a man in her life. Shingen was polite with her but Selene somehow saw some tension on Shingen's part. Shingen was wearing a terracotta jacket with white shirt and black trousers with black converse. He was looking dashing and really handsome. Perhaps, he might not like to flirt all the time. Clearing her throat she let her presence known to them. Shingen straighten up when he saw Selene. Today she was wearing a pair of cat eye glasses with a slim frame that will make her green eyes more alluring than unusual. Since when she became so beautiful? Shingen was impressed with her change. Selene was civil but tried not to speak more than necessary.

“Good morning, Mr. Takeda.”

“Good morning princess.” Shingen gave her his best smile. Selene nods in response.

Shingen felt ignored and didn't like the feeling. He was going to tell Selene something when Leonard Kruger emerged from his office.

“Oh, Good morning, so good to see you both. And on time, come on, let's talk in my office.”

Selene frown at the implications of Shingen being present on the testament. That meant that her father added him on the testament. A small shiver run around her back. She started to have a bad feeling on the pit of her stomach.

“Well as you know, Tomas, decided to leave a testament. I asked Nobunaga Oda and Masamune Date to be present on this day as witness.” after saying this Nobunaga and Masamune arrived.

“Good now that everyone is here let's start with the lecture.” opening up the document. Mr. Kruger started the reading.

“I, Tomas Crawford Edwards, here by leave my will and testament in order to let down my final wish after my dead. All my possessions will be divided as follows. The car repair shop and the Shelby will go for Shingen Takeda who I used to love like the son I never had.”

Shingen noticed that Selene tensed next to him. She was blinking rapidly. He felt bad when he saw her face getting sad.

“Next my home, my land which consist on half of the town will belong to my daughter Selene Constance Sakura Crawford Mirakawa. I know Selene is a strong and independent woman, but I prefer if she would had married with a nice dependable, honest, man. So in order for her to receive her inheritance. She needs to comply with certain conditions. First she needs to live for one year in our home on this town in order to gain the rights to own the terrain. Second, she must marry Shingen Takeda and sleep on the same bed for that same period of time. They will need to learn to live together and can't abandon the house during this time, unless is to go to work related business. They must be together all the time. If by the end of the year you are still together you can inherit the properties mentioned before. Also Shingen you cannot be unfaithful to Selene or she will loose the inheritance. If Shingen or Selene do not full fill any of these conditions everything will be sold and the money donated to charity. Shingen and Selene will have 24 hours to think about this. If they fail to comply with any of these demands the testament won't be validated and you will loose your all including the car repair shop.”

@elievalentine @colivara @notsafefortum-blr @datemasamunemaiwaifu @unstoppablelinda @epicdragonlady @yeshasays @masa-little-kitten @mikamiw @kimi00twin @kouei116 @blue-bean-exe @mitsuhidethesnek @la-piperina @pirateprincessyuki @jennacat84 @valfraeyja @little-blue-octopus @sengokuotaku82 @serenity-writes @xathia-89 @shouta-bakugou @cailannuesugi

#ikesen ikesen Shingen fanfic

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kataibusaibiin · 5 years

Text

Offering our voices to honor our ancestors

Protecting What is Sacred: Our land, Our water, Our hope for a better future

I preface this with an apology because these thoughts were scribbled in the wee hours of the morning when I couldn’t sleep and thus this lacks the clarity I’d hoped for in sharing some of what’s been weighing so heavily on my heart. That said, some folks have nudged me to share some of these reflections and it felt important to start somewhere in voicing how my heart connects these dots. So, below are some meandering thoughts as I reflect on Obon and how it threads us together with our past, present, and future... and ultimately each other...

In less than a month, I will be returning again to my place of birth - my maternal ancestral homeland in Okinawa - to visit with family and friends and to pay my respects to those who came before us. It’s been 2 years since my last visit and it will be the first time I am able to speak to my beloved grandmother in Uchinaaguchi - one of Ryukyu/Okinawa’s indigenous languages which I’ve been studying - to thank her and share with her my ongoing studies here in Hawai’i as I continue working to record our family’s stories, deepen my appreciation and understanding of our indigenous Ryukyuan history and culture, and create resources to share with fellow Uchinaanchu/Okinawans living in the diaspora across the globe. My grandmother is 96 now and has been my trusty compass since as far back as I can remember - back to my earliest childhood memories in Okinawa. Her visits to see us once we moved to North Carolina are highlights of my youth. Even when we moved to the states and we were thousands of miles apart, I could still always feel her love and would sometimes look out across the ocean in the direction of Okinawa, trying to picture her and the rest of the family there, hoping that I too could cultivate the kind of love she shares which could be felt across time and space.

It is not coincidental that my upcoming trip to Okinawa next month was planned to coincide with Obon and, as such, will involve returning to my grandmother’s village in Kijoka, Ogimi where some of our family tombs (ohaka) are located. I have yet to find the words to express what it means to me to be able to revisit the same land where generations of my family have lived and where we continue to return, year after year, to offer prayers and gratitude for our village, our ancestors, and all the sacrifices they have made for us. It is something to treasure all the more since there are many who are unable to do so, especially since I know many in Okinawa whose family tombs were destroyed during WWII or were paved over for US military bases under US occupation in the aftermath of the war.

I remember before taking that trip back to Okinawa two years ago, my mom had told me on a number of occasions that visiting our family tombs to pay respects was something she had always wanted us to be able to do together. I was never able to line up the time and resources to return for Shimi but she’d made clear that the timing wasn’t even what was important - just that we made the time. And I vividly remember when I finally had the opportunity to join my family to do so as an adult during that trip, time seemed to collapse onto itself. I could feel an overwhelming connection to the past, present, and future as a continuum extending well beyond the 5 generations of our family represented in the gathering that day.

One of my young nieces and I tidied up the area and altar together as other family prepared the offerings we brought. As we did so, I recall my grandmother commenting how happy the rest of the family (meaning our ancestors) must be to see my niece Sawana and I there together, putting such love and attention to detail in cleaning and helping with preparations. Hearing this as a gentle breeze passed, it certainly didn’t feel like we were alone. After our prayers and offerings, we found a nearby spot to enjoy our family picnic. Sitting in a circle, I looked around at my family with the sweeping views of the ocean behind them and my eyes welled up with tears of joy as I laughed and we talked story, savoring the beauty of that moment and seeing it similarly reflected on their faces. As I think back on such moments, my hope is that each day, I find a way through actions to express how much I cherish these gifts of love, tradition, and hope for a better future that have been and continue to be passed forward through my family and communities.

As many of you know, my return to Okinawa two years ago was something I was apprehensive about in many ways - despite longing to return since I was little - and I am beyond grateful that it was ultimately a deeply healing and transformational experience. During this trip in August, I plan to return to Shuri were my grandfather’s family is from and offer prayers and gratitude for my grandfather’s family at their hakas too, in hopes of contributing towards intergenerational healing within my family. After all, the history and stories of my grandfather’s family are part of what motivates me to do some small part to preserve Uchinaaguchi and not only Ryukyu/Okinawa’s history and culture but also our family’s legacy as part of that living history. (Some of you already know why I’ve not grown up close to that branch of our family but for others, suffice to say my grandmother is a strong, fiercely loving woman who would always stand up for what is best for her children...no matter the self-sacrifice involved.) I mention this because history is never clean - often filled with pain, conflict, and contradictions - but we shouldn’t shy away from certain parts of our past because of that; those parts shape(d) us too and can be part of how we learn, heal, and ultimately reclaim our futures. This is true even of my father’s side of the family - direct descendants of both Reverend John Robinson “Pastor of the Pilgrims” who sent his congregation over on the Mayflower as well as the Mississippi band of Choctaw who were nearly wiped out by the arrival of these European immigrants. I often think about how to hold these complicated truths and seeming contradictions of our past and/or different perspectives and the importance of doing so even as we face such situations in the present...

To Honor My Ancestors Is to Honor All Our Ancestors

Here in Hawai’i, Obon festivities have already begun as there are literally bon dances held every weekend from mid June through August. To write about some of my experiences and reflections thus far (including the way Obon is celebrated here versus back in Okinawa) is a topic for another time. I share this as context though because as a member of the Young Okinawans of Hawai’i (YOH), we share our song, drumming, and dance as offerings to our ancestors and to communicate with them, just as Okinawan eisaa was traditionally intended for. It is not entertainment for the crowd that gathers but, if anything, an invitation for the community to join us in this collective offering for all our ancestors. Whether it’s the little ones that find their way towards the inner circle around the yagura to dance by our side during our bon dances or the young ones in my family and communities, I hope that any child I ever interact with can feel and cherish the gifts of our uyafaafuji (ancestors) and learn to manifest that gratitude with their voices and in their actions, guided by what’s in their hearts. I do not take lightly the moments like this weekend when a group of little kids surrounded me and looked up wided-eyed and open-hearted, eager to watch and follow in my footsteps as we sang and danced around the yagura together. When I heard one of the littlest ones next to me begin to join me as we called out with our heishi, I’m not ashamed to admit I got a little something in my eyes.

In sharing the history and meaning of Okinawan eisaa and inviting friends to join us for Bon dancing, I have found myself often clarifying for folks that when I say I dance and sing for “our ancestors” I am referring collectively to the people we are tied to through our connection to place as well as our families of origin which we are connected to through blood and other familial connections. So, when I sing and dance here in Hawai’i, I too sing for the kanaka maoli - the indigenous Hawai’ians and the Kingdom of Hawai’i. I am aware that in moving here to study and build community with the Asian plurality and fellow Uchinaanchu here, I am also a settler. So, I strive to listen and learn from not only the elders I meet but also to their ancestors who sought to protect this land and its precious resources. That comes with inherent responsibilities to listen, learn, and take heart when I am asked to speak out as someone whose ancestral homelands were similarly colonized, whose people also endured physical and cultural genocide, and whose democratic voice and right to self-determination is still being ignored. As shimanchu whose past have so many parallels, I believe our hopes for a better future and collective liberation are also bound together. So too, I feel a deep responsibility as someone raised in the US and with the relative privilege that comes with that, even when so many Americans have made it clear that they will always see me as an outsider. It is all too clear to me how these things are all interconnected.

So, this weekend, I danced not only for my ancestors back in Kijoko but also for those in Henoko, Okinawa where my parents met and for the community there who have been dedicated to protecting our one ocean in the face of joint US-Japanese military construction in Oura Bay. My heart also joined the protectors here in Hawai’i who have been gathering at Mauna kea to prevent the desecration of that sacred land. I lit candles and held in my heart the memory of my paternal grandparents and their families. My heart too, also sang out for the children who are locked up in cages across the US for the crime of having a family who dreams of a better future for them but come from another side of an imaginary line. I carried in my heart - the heart of a first-generation immigrant to the US - all the families of refugees, asylum seekers, and immigrants who are dreaming for a brighter future.

I might not have all the answers for how to re-envision the future to be a better one for all, but I’ve seen enough to know one thing we have to do is speak out to say that this current path we’re on sure isn’t the way.

To honor my ancestors is to honor the preciousness of all life. Nuchi du takara. So, to honor all my ancestors, I offer my voice to honor the ancestors of all of us - to acknowledge our interconnectedness - and to share our ancestors hopes of a better future for us all. In sharing my voice as an offering, I also extend an invitation: Let us never give up the hopes and dreams of our ancestors. Instead, let that be what unites us as we protect what is sacred.

Rise for Henoko! Aole TMT! Protect Our One Ocean! Kū Kia`i Mauna! Never Again is Now! Together, We Rise!

p.s. I recently shared this music video but felt it was apropos to share this song again here with a gentle request to take the few minutes to watch and reflect:

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quickeningheart · 5 years

Text

One

When the trio rumbled up to the Last Chance Garage, they were greeted with the sight of Charley setting a box on the curb, just beside a pile of other boxes. "Hey, Sweetheart! Didja miss me?" Vinnie called with a cheeky grin.

Charley snorted. "Oh, sure. It's been a whole twelve hours since I saw you. I've been pining away for your obnoxious self ever since," she retorted, brushing off her hands.

"Ouch, babe. That cuts deep." Vinnie dramatically pressed a hand to his heart, shaking his head sadly. Charley's lips twitched as she rolled her eyes and turned to stalk back into the garage.

"Doin' a little housekeeping, Charley-girl?" Throttle dubiously eyed the teetering stack of boxes over his field specs.

"As a matter of fact, I'm cleaning out all the junk stored in the spare room. You guys are just in time to help," she replied sweetly.

Vinnie didn't even try to hide his dismayed groan, and was rewarded with a smack across the back of his head, courtesy of Modo's metal hand. He yelped and glared, rubbing his skull as he followed the big gray mouse into the garage and up to Charley's apartment.

"We'll be glad to help, Charley Ma'am," Modo rumbled. "But why the sudden clear-out?"

"I'm expecting company." Charley riffled through a shoebox, wrote something on the lid with a black Sharpie, and stacked it in a corner with a few other boxes. "She'll need a place to crash, and this is the only spare room I've got."

The mice glanced at each other. "This the part where you tell us to get lost for awhile until the coast is clear?" Throttle asked.

Charley glanced at him, surprised. "Of course not! This place is practically your home, too. I wouldn't kick you out just like that," she scolded. "Besides, she'll be staying for awhile."

"So … you'll be telling your friend about us?" The trio glanced at each other. They weren't entirely keen on the idea of yet another human knowing of their existence. Too many knew of them already in that particular area of Chicago, no thanks to Limburger. The people they'd saved kept their mouths shut about hairy alien riders protecting the slum streets of the city, and they'd managed to remain fairly inconspicuous so far, but their luck wouldn't hold out forever.

"Relax, fellas." Charley rested her crossed arms on the pile of larger boxes stacked on the floor, regarding them with a whimsical smile. "No need to get your tails in a knot. Alley's my cousin. She's moving out here from Florida to attend college. I offered her a place to stay to help save on living costs. Why pay even more money for boarding when I've got a perfectly good room going to waste?"

The trio relaxed. Any family member of Charley's automatically made her an extended member of their own. "You think she'll like us?" Vinnie asked, always anxious to make a good impression. Or any impression, really, good or otherwise.

Charley pursed her lips in thought. "Well, I'll definitely have to warn her about you three before you actually meet each other," she replied slowly. "Honestly, I have no idea how she'll react. I haven't actually seen her face-to-face for almost ten years."

"Why so long?" Modo looked troubled; probably thinking of his own family, whom he hadn't seen in a long while, either. "Don't seem right, not seein' your family for so long."

Especially since you're all on the same planet was left unspoken, but Charley understood, and she offered him a sympathetic smile. "Can't be helped. I moved out here to Chi-town, and not too long after that, her parents relocated to Florida so her dad could start his own garage. Our dads are brothers, and they shared the family business, but…" She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Something happened?" Throttle asked gently. Charley didn't often talk about her family, and they never pressed the issue, although they were curious about what her life had been like before Chicago. They knew bits and pieces, minor things she'd shared over the years, but they understood all too well that some things just couldn't be spoken of. They all had skeletons in their closets, as the human saying went.

Charley ran a hand through her mussed hair. "They had … differences of opinion on how the place should be run," she replied slowly.

"Ah. A family falling-out?"

She sighed. "Something like that. My dad and uncle … they're both pretty strong-willed. And they both had their own ideas on how to make the garage successful. It … got pretty nasty toward the end, before they decided it was best to just sort of go their own ways. Alley's mom got sick, not too long after that. A pretty strong infection in the lungs, I think. The doctors recommended she be moved to warmer climates, so in order to save the family, and Aunt Viv, they decided it was best to move south. Uncle Chuck found a garage that was in danger of going under, bought it out, and completely turned it around. It's a pretty successful bodywork and detailing shop now. I think some of the cars he repainted even appeared in magazines. He specializes in the antiques and classics."

"What about your aunt?" Vinnie asked. "She get any better?"

Charley smiled. "Yeah, the infection cleared up within a few months. Last I heard, she's co-manager of a popular cafe. Let me tell you, the woman can bake. Her cakes and pastries are to die for." She sighed wistfully. "I haven't had one of her homemade whoopie pies in … forever."

"And the brothers?" Modo asked quietly. "They still on the outs?"

"No." She flashed him a small grin. "Since they don't actually have to work together or see each other every day, they get along pretty well. They take turns visiting over holidays, but they're all so busy, it doesn't happen a lot. Oh, my mom said they were kinda stubborn, giving each other the silent treatment and all that. Neither one of 'em wanted to apologize first, but Mom and Viv can be pretty persuasive when their men are bein' stupid." She chuckled. "The family is fine now. Don't worry, fellas."

"So how come you don't go see 'em?" Vinnie asked. "You haven't left this city since we've known you!"

"Oh, I haven't left it way before that," she snorted. "In case you lunkheads haven't noticed, I've pretty much got my hands full, runnin' the Last Chance. Throw in everything that's been happening with Limburger, and, well…" She shrugged. "It ain't like I never talk to them or anything! There's email, and we call each other on occasion. Alley writes me actual letters, too. Says traditional letter writing is becoming a lost art form. Sometimes I even write back, though I'm not quite as eloquent about it." She chuckled. "Anyway, when she told me she'd decided to attend college in Chicago, and asked if she could stop to visit, I offered her the guest room to live in, and here we are."

"So when's she arrivin'?" Modo asked.

"She's on her way as we speak, actually. But she's driving cross-country, so it'll take her a few days to get to Illinois. She thinks she'll be here by Saturday. So do me a favor and hide out at the scoreboard over the weekend, 'til I get her settled in and have a chance to talk to her."

"Will do, Charley-girl."

"Thanks, guys." Charley hefted a box and plopped it into Vinnie's arms. "In the meantime, there's plenty of stuff to shift around. How about you three work on clearing out this room? I've already marked where everything needs to go, either the hall closet or the curb for trash pickup."

"And what will you be doing while we're up here doing the manual labor?" Vinnie grumbled as Charley descended staircase into the garage.

"What else? Earning a living by fixing busted engines! This place doesn't run itself, ya know!"

~*~*~*~*~

Saturday rolled around, and Charley spent most of it working on a sleek black Mustang that had met the wrong end of a truck, due to the careless driving of the Mustang's owner, who had miraculously walked away mostly unscathed. The car hadn't been so lucky.

She'd already managed to put the mangled insides of the Mustang back together, which had felt more like assembling a jigsaw puzzle than a car. It had taken her nearly two weeks to finish, but finally she was done. When she turned the ignition key, she couldn't hold back the triumphant whoop when the engine turned over and started purring like a contented cat. She might complain about her job, but nothing beat the heady rush of pride and satisfaction she always felt over a job spectacularly done.

Well, for the most part. The engine was finished, but now she needed to put the mangled body back together and then have it towed to a detail shop across town for a new paint job. She'd have to enlist the guys' help for the heavy lifting, but at least all the parts she'd ordered had come in. Their boxes were currently piled carefully against the wall, waiting to be unpacked. She'd start on that tomorrow.

The purr of an approaching engine caught her attention. Well, it wasn't a purr so much as a sick-sounding rumble. Somebody seemed to be having car trouble. She glanced at the clock on the wall over the service desk. It was nine forty-five, long past closing-time. And long past due for her cousin to show up. She frowned and rose from her seat, stretching the kinks out of her back as she walked to the door. Then she stood and stared with her mouth slightly agape as a huge green, pink, and yellow flowered … monstrosity of a classic Volkswagen Bus pulled up, coughing and grinding to a halt. There was a sputter, as of the beast giving up its last, wheezing breath; a hiss of smoke and steam rose from its backside, and then the front door opened and a young woman climbed awkwardly out of the driver's seat, hopping to the ground with a triumphant "Made it!"

Charley blinked in astonishment at the blond-haired woman, who was nearly as colorful as her ride with her mid-length hair liberally streaked in rainbow hues, and a flowing white peasant top and stonewashed jeans embroidered with flowers and butterflies. "A-Alley Cat?" she stammered.

The girl grinned. "Well, look at you! Aren't you the regular grease monkey," she teased, eyeballing Charley's filthy coveralls.

Charley relaxed and grinned back. "I almost didn't recognize you for a moment. Boy, you sure grew up, huh?" Alley stood almost as tall as she did, and in no way resembled the little grass-stained tomboy who had followed her everywhere and constantly tackled her into wrestling matches when they were growing up.

"You sure you didn't just shrink?" Alley shot back, and Charley snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. "I see your smart mouth didn't change, though."

"Never! It's my most attractive feature."

"C'mere, you." Before Alley could protest, Charley pulled her into a brief hug, careful not to get grease on the younger woman's clothes. "It's so good to see you! How're things in Florida? How're Chuck and Viv doing?"

"Florida is … Florida. Hot. Sticky. Lots of old people driving around who really shouldn't be allowed to. My parents are great, though. Dad's shop is as popular as ever. You know, he refinished a Rolls Royce for some celebrity or something, and got invited to this swanky party as a thank you. He took Mom with him. They were rubbing elbows with all these movies stars and such. Mom loved it. She can't stop bragging about how she got to meet Johnny Depp," Alley laughed. "Dad's pretty pleased with himself. Mom hasn't nagged him for anything for the past two weeks!" She poked Charley in the arm. "Anyway, what about you? Ya never call, ya never write. Glad I didn't show up to find your decomposing body being eaten by wild dogs or something."

"Yeah, yeah. I told you, it's been sorta crazy around here for the last few years." Charley chuckled nervously, scratching her arm and wondering when would actually be a good time to tell her cousin about the consistent alien invasion happening right under the government's nose, not to mention her alien house guests. She decided to change the topic for the moment, turning to the smoking bus. "So. From what hellhole did you manage to dig this thing up? You didn't pay actual money for it, did you?"

"Shhhh! She'll hear you!" Alley lovingly stroked a stylized flower on the bus's door. "Priscilla is very sensitive, you know."

"Priscilla?" Charley couldn't keep the bark of laughter down.

"What? It's not like you've never named any of your cars."

"Well, yeah … but Priscilla?"

"It's a classic name for a classic lady," Alley sniffed.

"Just how classic are we talkin' here?" Charley eyed the bus. "Early seventies model?"

"Late sixties, actually. Sixty-seven, I think? I found it and Dad repainted it for me as my sixteenth birthday present."

"Uh-huh. And how old are you now?"

"Just turned twenty!" Alley announced proudly.

Charley circled the bus, shaking her head. "What happened? When did the trouble start?"

"It was doing great the first three days, but today I was driving only a few hours and it started acting up. Had to stop a few times to let it cool down. I didn't think I was actually gonna make it today, but we managed to push through. Priscilla is very good like that."

"You probably should've taken it to an auto shop instead of going on. You might've just killed Priscilla," Charley scolded. "That smoke there? Generally not a good thing to see coming from any engine, especially an antique like this."

"Uh, hello. I did take it to an auto shop." Alley raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Charley rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean!"

"Look, classes start soon. I just wanted to get here and get settled so I can prepare for them. Besides, I know you won't try and rip me off and tell me there's more work that needs done on the bus than actually does."

"I'm not so sure they'd actually be ripping you off," Charley sighed. "Well, I'll take a look at it, but it'll have to wait awhile. I've got my hands full at the moment. In the meantime, grab a couple of suitcases and I'll help carry 'em up. I've got a room ready for you. It's pretty basic, but you can fill it out with what you need. We can unpack the rest of the van tomorrow."

"Will it be safe, sitting here overnight? This doesn't exactly look like the classier side of town."

"It isn't, but Priscilla will be safe enough. She's not going anywhere in her condition. Unless you want to help me push her into the garage…?"

"Right. Tomorrow it is. Can you grab Mercedes from the front seat for me?"

"And who's Mercedes?" Charley teased as she opened the passenger door. "Your comput-Jiminy Christmas, Ally! What the hell is that?"

Alley blinked at her cousin, who had jumped back from the bus as if she'd been yanked. "That's Mercedes. I did tell you I'm bringing a pet with me, didn't I?"

Charley pressed a hand to her heart, releasing a deep breath. "I do seem to recall something about that," she muttered. "But I thought you were talkin' about a goldfish or hamster or something. I wasn't expecting a rat!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize she'd bother you." Alley opened the door of the carry cage and scooped the cream-and-brown rodent into her hand. "I used to have pet mice and gerbils when I was a kid, and you never minded those. A rat isn't that much different."

"There are some people who would disagree with that assessment," Charley replied around a dry chuckle. "Just … keep her in your room, okay?"

"Sure, I wasn't planning on letting her run loose in the building or anything. Want to hold her? She doesn't bite," Alley offered, and added a teasing, "You're not squeamish, are you?" when her cousin hesitated.

"Don't be silly," Charley snorted as she accepted the squirming bundle of fur, who proceeded to scramble up her arm and crawl across her shoulders. She squeaked and hunched when she felt cold little paws and twitching whiskers tickle the back of her neck, before Alley reached out to pluck Mercedes from her opposite shoulder. "It's just I know some guys who … really don't like rats. Guess I grew a bit biased without even realizing it."

"Awww, who could not like this adorable little face?" Alley cooed as she leaned in and nuzzled her nose against Mercedes's muzzle. She got a lick in response, and Charley chuckled. "Okay, I admit she's cute. Now come on in and let me show you the place. Hope you don't mind crashing on the couch for a day or two. Still haven't gotten a bed into the spare room yet."

"Hey, after three nights of cheap roadside motel rooms, I'd be willing to sleep on the floor at this point. It's probably cleaner than any of those beds were."

#biker mice from mars #bikermice #bmfm #fanfiction #Vinnie #Throttle #Modo #Stoker #Charley #original characters

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chaos-weekly · 3 years

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There were no irritating pet names, no snarky comments, no banter passed between them. Things had gone back to how they’d been before Jared and Jake made them fake date. And Didi had no clue why she hated it so much.

Okay, so she did know. JJ had become an actual friend, and somehow, everything had messed up. She was pissed he’d ghosted her for the night, that he’d left her to worry about her friend. Didi knew JJ could handle himself, but her mom had just gotten into a wreck with a semi truck that turned too fast. Excuse her for worrying about something that turned out to now be perfectly rational. She already had one person she cared about in a hospital room. Didi didn’t need a second.

They weren’t quite at the silent treatment, but JJ barely said anything to her, and she didn’t initiate conversations either. He’d slept on the couch the last few nights, despite her rolling her eyes every time. He used the guest bathroom unless he was showering. They were in one tiny apartment, but they weren’t talking to each other.

It was Hell.

Didi hadn’t missed JJ’s old school country music, but he played it on the road to and from the hospital every day, louder than usual. Didi’s mom knew something was up, but Didi wouldn’t answer her questions about it. That would require being honest with herself, and telling her mom that this guy Didi had finally settled down with was just dating her in the public eye. She couldn’t do that to her mom’s heart. Not after her mom was already paralyzed from the waist down and could never dance again. Her mom lost almost everything in that wreck. Didi wasn’t about to take away the hope for grand babies or a son in law, either.

JJ sat next to her on the plane, but unlike on the flight to Minneapolis, he angled himself away from her. Didn’t even look her way. Didi tried to focus on the window, but she couldn’t focus on anything except her angry, hurt heart.

So what if JJ had hooked up with someone? He was right. She wasn’t his girlfriend. Just ‘cause she hadn’t hooked up with anyone in two months didn’t mean he couldn’t. It was fake. It was all fake.

But Didi’s burgeoning feelings for JJ definitely weren’t, nor were her attraction and jealousy. She seriously had some problems to work out. They had five months left of this contract, and Didi didn’t want to spend five months giving each other the silent treatment. She deserved better than that from someone she had considered a friend. JJ deserved better than that, as reluctant as Didi was to admit it.

But she wasn’t about to offer an olive branch. Not yet. Maybe she had been hurt more than she should have because her stupid heart got attached to the idea of JJ being around.

When they’d left, he joked about cowboys breaking hearts, not getting theirs broken. She told him her heart didn’t belong to him, and he’d said they’d reevaluate on Friday.

Yeah. Turns out JJ was right.

And she hated it.

But Didi had a plan. She knew Nollie was crashing with London for the weekend, so Didi wouldn’t have to deal with any questions or concerns when she got home. She could shower, drop her stuff off, and head over to Xander’s. All these feelings for JJ had to be because she hadn’t had sex in two months, and he was the guy she was spending all her time with. Didi had gone that long before, but not while continuously spending time with one guy. Meeting up with Xander—who knew she was coming—would fix it. She’d get it all out of her system, hang out with her best friend that wouldn’t try and fix everything with words, and all would be okay.

Then Didi could apologize to JJ for overreacting. Because then she wouldn’t be lying if he said she cared about him as more than a friend.

Didi didn’t exactly enjoy rejection, and she didn’t have experience with it, either. She was drop dead gorgeous. She was talented. She was rich. She was funny and kindhearted and laughed easily. She was smart. In short, Didi was a catch, and everybody knew it. She’d been rejected for auditions, but that was the only rejection she was familiar with. And that was all because of her first movie, where she played the spoiled brat mean girl, and everybody only saw her as that from then onwards.

Didi didn’t want JJ to see her like that, too. Not again. Not anymore.

The flight passed uncomfortably, even if they were in first class. JJ and Didi managed to avoid any paparazzi on their way to his car, miraculously. As had become their routine, JJ opened her door silently, Didi got in, and he turned up the country music that he knew she didn’t like. But she knew that it brought back good memories for him, and Didi didn’t want to deprive him of those, either.

Wordlessly, she was dropped off at her apartment. Didi muttered something to thank JJ for his help, for the surprise trip, his support, but she left before she could hear a reply. Her thanks were genuine, but she didn’t want to see if he even deigned to reply. Knowing how upset they both were with her—and she with him, partially—she doubted JJ would say much more than “you’re welcome.”

Didi entered her bedroom to the refreshing smell of cinnamon apples. It was her room spray, and she had missed it. Even if it wasn’t as good smelling as JJ’s cologne.

Not that she needed to think about him. But it wasn’t like she had a choice, either. His black cowboy hat from Xander’s party still sat on top of the lamp on her nightstand.

That stupid night had been the start of the end. Somehow, Didi had messed up whatever friendship and camaraderie they’d built. When she told JJ that she meant she liked him as a friend, he’d started being ever so slightly different. Like he was deflecting. And then she’d realize the night he’d been gone that Didi hadn’t meant it as just a friend. She liked him a whole lot more than that, which definitely wasn’t good.

But JJ—if he had ever thought he’d felt for her in the same way—clearly didn’t anymore. He’d gone and hooked up with someone else, abandoned her (or so it felt) to worry and loneliness, and then acted like it wasn’t a big deal the next morning.

Except it shouldn’t have been a big deal. This was fake. Their relationship was fake.

Didi eyed the hat with dark eyes before turning her back on it. She needed out of here. Even a simple reminder of JJ was a reminder of her stupidity.

It took her too long to drive to Xander’s mansion. She lived closer to downtown, when he was a little outside of the city. Didi let herself in, dropping her overnight bag and already ready to pull her clothes off and get her mind (and heart) off of everything.

Xander walked out, studying her as she sauntered up to him. Before she could even kiss him, he shook his head.

“I’m not sleeping with you, Didi.”

Seriously? Now of all times he actually wasn’t gonna get in her pants? He wanted to all the time when he was with Leah, and even more often when he wasn’t. It’d been over two months since they’d had sex—which was a while for them—but Xander chose now to grow a conscience?

“And why the f-k not?” Didi challenged, letting her shirt drop from her hands and folding her arms over her chest. “You lost that stupid bet. It’s been two months. Are you seeing Leah again? ‘Cause that’s clearly never stopped you before, I’m not holding back even if you are.”

Xander shook his head slowly, stepping back and heading over to the bar he had in his living room. It was still set up from his party.

“You’re gonna regret it if I do sleep with you,” he announced, mixing up what was probably a crappy dirty Shirley for her and a slightly more tolerable cosmo for himself.

Didi laughed sharply. “Trust me, this is one thing I won’t regret.” She followed him over, taking a seat at the bar and accepting her drink that probably had too much grenadine. It always did. Xander had a heavy hand, and sadly it wasn’t with the alcohol.

“I’m still not sleeping with you right now. I’m not doing that to you or JJ.” There was no teasing in his voice like there usually was. Xander was rarely serious, it was one of her favorite things about him. He knew how to let loose and have fun. But apparently the occasion didn’t call for it.

“JJ won’t care, and it won’t hurt me,” Didi grumbled. JJ had made it clear—she wasn’t his real girlfriend. And after the last three days of silent treatment, Didi wasn’t sure she wanted to be. And yeah, that was a lie, but she kept telling herself that. One day it would be true.

Xander chuckled and sipped his drink. These were the only two he knew how to make, and only because they were their favorites. She’d seen him attempt a margarita for Nollie once. It hadn’t ended well.

“You like him, Didi. And I know he’s into you. Jude isn’t the type to take a friend out to visit her hospitalized mom, especially if that means talking to booking agents and scheduling people to rearrange her schedule, too.”

Didi snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m even his friend anymore.”

Xander raised an eyebrow. Man, where had he learned how to make her talk? ‘Cause he knew how, even without asking a question.

“JJ hooked up with someone in Minnesota. No clue who, something about an NDA going two ways. And he didn’t tell me he wasn’t coming home. Didn’t respond to my texts. Showed up the next morning, and I was pissed. My mom just got into a car accident, Xan. It wasn’t unreasonable to wonder if that had happened to him, too.” Didi sighed. There was some much more to it, but voicing her thoughts would make them real. She wasn’t sure she was up to that.

But Xander just kept watching her, and Didi knew she had to keep going.

“So I flipped out at him for going AWOL and he totally read between the lines when I was pissed he slept with someone. And he made it very clear that it’s none of my business who he sleeps with or is seeing, because I’m his fake girlfriend. Definitely not his real one.” She scoffed. Yeah, this very much hadn’t ended well, and it hurt her heart to relive it all. His words had been so venomous. She hated that tone. It was how he’d spoken their first few interactions, but now it was worse, because now she knew he hated her. Not because she was annoying or he was making assumptions, either. He hated her for overreacting and caring more than she should have.

Didi couldn’t blame him.

“I think we’ve said maybe ten words to each other in three days. It’s been Hell. Even without these stupid feelings, he’s actually been a good friend. When Mom first got hurt, he came over and talked to me about my favorite music and my memories with her. And your party?” Didi swore before continuing. “That was what I needed to relax and distract myself from everything. JJ was so caring and kind and funny and just. He’s great. He’s too great and I can’t have him because he’s not interested.”

Didi did not mention the spooning that happened after the party. Thankfully, Xander did not ask. JJ definitely hadn’t mentioned it o him—he hadn’t even mentioned it to Didi since the morning they woke up together.

“You’re wrong,” Xander said, finally speaking up. “He may think you’re right, but JJ cares about you, even if he doesn’t wanna see it that way. He’s a fan of first impressions and sticking to them. You guys got off to a horrible start, and now he probably is trying to act like nothing ever changed between you two. But it did. He likes you, Didi, and he’ll realize it soon enough.”

She shook her head sadly, and luckily Xander didn’t press further. He set his now empty glass down. Didi had barely dipped at her own cocktail, and not just ‘cause it had too much pomegranate.

“C’mon,” Xander ushered, walking towards the stairs up to the second floor. “We’re gonna go play lego Star Wars until you feel better.”

Didi frowned. She’d played video games—usually the fantasy or adventure ones—with Xander before, but she hadn’t been a big fan. How was this supposed to help her feel better? But Didi was too tired to object, so she followed mutely.

////

The next morning, Xander had woken Didi up in the guest bedroom with an eager grin and the promise of breakfast. There was a cute cafe, one of those artsy hipster ones that felt unique, a few streets away.

It didn’t take long for Didi to smile again, even if it didn’t feel entirely genuine. Xander told her about reading to kids at the hospital. He’d signed up on a whim after realizing he missed stories and reading and being a kid, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He’d done two shifts his first day, signed up for the next week, and then gone again two days later. He was signed up twice for next week, now.

Didi was excited to see Xander so animated. She hadn’t seen her friend this light since before Leah and more fame hit his life. Back when he was doing indie dramas and romcoms, Xander hadn’t been as irritating or as much of a player. He still slept around, still broke hearts, still made bad choices, but he had been more carefree. Then he hit gold with some blockbuster romance from Nicholas Sparks, and he’d met Leah at the premiere. She’d written a song for the movie.

It was all disaster from there, so it was refreshing to see her best friend so open and happy again. Even if Didi felt the complete opposite, it was worth it to see Xander happy.

“Are you seeing anyone, then? I know you’re staying away from the Monster, but who what about that blonde at the party? Your lawyer?” Didi had suspected, after further thought, that he’d feelings for JJ weren’t the only reason Xander hadn’t been interested. In the last month or two, he’d slowly been relaxing and opening up more, and now he was back to the Xander she first met. It would make sense for a pretty girl to be involved, even if only a friend.

Xander’s face went straight, and he shrugged. “She’s a friend, potential plaything, a lawyer. Nothing more than that, Di,” Xander said. But he was calm. He wasn’t even arrogant, which meant something was definitely up.

“Xander, I love you, and I know you have a great poker face, but you’re still a terrible liar.” He stuck his tongue out at her.

“You’re no better.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know, trust me. Somehow being actors doesn’t make us better liars.” If she was a better actress then maybe she could have acted in public with JJ without catching feelings. But at least she’d snapped a picture of Xander sticking his tongue out at her. That would go on Instagram later.

“I’m not talking about her,” Xander said, sobering up. “She’s—she’s someone I don’t want to lose as a friend. It’s easy with her, and I’m not gonna risk changing that.”

Didi raised an eyebrow, but she lacked Xander’s secret spilling powers. He just smiled and shook his head.

“C’mon, let’s get home. We can watch a movie or something. Lord of the Rings maybe? Harry Potter?”

Didi thought about that as they walked back towards his house. “Harry Potter, even if they rarely give Hufflepuffs any credit.” Didi was a Hufflepuff. Loyal, good, kindhearted, just. Most people thought she was a Slytherin, or maybe a Gryffindor. And she had elements of both, but she was a Hufflepuff at heart.

When they got back to his house, Didi posted the photo of Xander on Instagram with the caption of “best friends and breakfast dates.” It would make Jared flip out at her, especially since she hadn’t posted in a week, and it had been a week before that since mentioning JJ, but Jared was at the bottom of Didi’s priorities. Her creepy manager could suck it. He was the one that helped her into this mess in the first place.

Didi noticed Xander on his phone, but she didn’t think anything of it. Soon enough, they were set up in his movie room—complete with bean bags and a candy snack bar—but Xander needed to make popcorn. He didn’t have any left upstairs, apparently.

Didi waited a good five minutes for going hunting for her best friend. She had gotten back to his house and changed into an old t shirt she’d stolen from him years ago. But it was unmistakably his—it was a high school state drama competition t shirt. For California. Didi had definitely not grown up in California.

“Xander? Did you burn the popcorn again?” Didi called, walking into the kitchen to hear tense voices.

“I’m going home, Xander. I’m not dealing with her right now.” It was JJ, but what was he doing here? He clearly hadn’t come to see her, and Didi didn’t think him the type to show up randomly.

Xander.

Xander had to have done this.

She sighed and followed the sound of their voices to the front room.

“Let JJ go home if he wants to, Xander. If he doesn’t wanna talk, then I’m not gonna force him to talk.” But Didi was looking at JJ, not her best friend. And JJ was staring at her t shirt and messy hair (the bean bag had nasty static electricity). He probably figured she’d hooked up with Xander, but it wasn’t like he would care. It wasn’t like he had a right to, just like she hadn’t had a right to object to him sleeping with someone. The ghosting her? That hadn’t been okay, but she shouldn’t have gotten upset as she had.

“Too bad, ‘cause I’m gonna. You two are gonna sit down and talk it out—or argue it out until you end up f-ing it out. I don’t care, but you’re gonna fix your relationship.” Xander gave them both very pointed looks before he left through the front door. Didi shifted uncomfortably, and she heard Xander lock the door behind him. They could totally use the deadbolt and knob to unlock his front door, but the message was clear. They needed to figure this out.

“I’m sorry, Jude,” Didi said after a moment of awkward silence. She made sure to make eye contact, frowning with disappointment in herself. “I overreacted. What you do with your free time, and who you do it with, isn’t any of my business.” As much as she wanted it to be. But Didi didn’t say that. She continued,

“You should have at least texted me back, I maintain that, but I am sorry I overreacted. You deserve better than that in a friend and fake girlfriend.”

JJ seemed confused, and maybe a little startled, by her apology. Did he expect her to be all self-righteous? To act like she had every right to be as upset as she was? Didi wasn’t the entitled brat people often made her out to be. She actually had a conscience and emotional maturity. At least, she had some emotional maturity. Didi wasn’t sure anymore if she had much more than that.

“Why were you so upset?” JJ asked, hands in his jeans pockets. He painted a perfect picture of casualness. She wished she felt that calm.

Didi took a deep breath. She wasn’t gonna lie to him, but she didn’t exactly wanna tell him, either. But JJ still deserved to know.

“I got attached to you, which I know wasn’t a good idea ‘cause it’s all for publicity’s sake. But I like you, as more than a friend. Even then, that doesn’t give me a right to judge your choices like I did.” Now she wasn’t making eye contact, staring at his feet instead.

“Yet you f-ed Xander.” There wasn’t an accusation in his words. It was just a statement, maybe even one of confusion. And maybe hurt, but Didi knew she was imagining that part.

Didi laughed softly, wryly. “I tried. I was angry with myself, still am, and wanted to just get my frustrations out. So I tried to hook up with him again.” She looked up finally, her eyes as tired as her heart, but meeting JJ’s steady gaze was too much. So she looked over his shoulder.

“Sex hasn’t ever been an emotional thing for me. It’s for fun, for pleasure, a distraction, whatever. It doesn’t mean anything to me, even if it does to other people.” Even if other people sleeping with other people meant something to her.

Yeah, Didi didn’t understand it either.

JJ still hadn’t said anything, and Didi felt his gaze on her face still. She saw his eyes on her from the corner of her own vision.

“I’ll give you space for a while. I know you probably want it, so I’ll just see you at the next event.” Didi stepped backwards, arms wrapped around herself. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure where she stood with someone. Didi could usually read people well, but it was all guesswork with JJ, especially now. Maybe that was part of what drew her in—he wasn’t ever what she expected. Maybe that was part of why she’d hurt her own heart—JJ wasn’t ever what she expected. And maybe it was better that way.

#chaos weekly #rising from the ashes

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masterlistcrawford · 5 years

Text

The Odd Pair 2

Warnings: Cursing

Shingen arrived to his home and greeted his family. His mother was happy with her son’s success but she preferred a more humble lifestyle. Shingen always was pending that she never lack anything on their household. He always enjoyed the weekend visits because of her and Tomas. His father died of a heart attack while he and Yukimura were young leaving his mother to sustain the family. Growing up in town Shingen loved the peaceful, atmosphere and how laid back you could be. His room was always clean with the same posters he used to have on high school. Yeah those were the days were he was the start of the football team but also a ladies man. Girl’s were always attracted to him. Shingen smiled at the prospect of always having an entourage of girls around him. Only one girl was always shy and never part of the pack. Selene.

“Mom, I’m going to see the boys, I will be back later.”

“Be safe and try not to get into trouble, OK?” grinning like a mischievous boy Shingen went out to met the others at the bar.

Selene arrived at the house and gave a sigh to calm her agitated heart. She could still feel Shingen arms holding her. Clearing her mind she went on to clean the house in order to get everything in order. Since she had been working non stop for 2 years, her boss gave her a license to put her affairs in order. At least working hard paid off was Selene’s train of thought. Changing her attire for a more comfortable one, Selene took a look at the full body mirror on her room. Her hair was now on a low pony tail, with minimal make up, some lip gloss, the black shirt with the skinny jeans hugging her legs and black converse were the perfect outfit. Since nights were becoming a bit more chilly she got a light grey duster and decided to buy some groceries and go to eat. The cellphone ringing took her out of her mental planning.

“Hello?, Selene speaking.”

“Ah, Selene is Mr. Leonard Kruger your father’s lawyer. How are you?” the old man’s voice was rich and deep. Selene used to think he was a voice actor. But in fact Mr. Kruger was a friend of the family.

“Uncle Krug, its been such a long time. How is everything?” Kruger was also one of her many adoptive uncles Selene used to have.

“ I wish this will be a better time to call but, I’m afraid not. I’m sorry for your loss kid. Tomas might not be there always but believe me when I tell you he always loved you and worried about you.” his voice was solemn.

Fighting the tears Selene cleared her voice.” Thank you Uncle Krug. We managed to patch things up in the end.”

“Good, that’s great to hear so in that case you will be for the lecture of the testament tomorrow at 9 am in my office.” with this Kruger hung up without giving Selene opportunity ask what he was talking about.

Shingen managed to get to the bar without incidents and located the guys at the end of the saloon. Aside Masamune everyone was having a beer and playing poker.

“Well, well, well the prodigal son has return home uh?” Nobunaga was the first one to spot Shingen arriving to the table.

Taking turns to shake hands with everyone Shingen responded ironically.

“Considering that you are the self proclaimed chosen one Nobunaga, I guess we both are back? How is the family?”

“Good, how is your mother?”

“She is good, mom as always being mom .” said Shingen smiling while taking a seat next to Kenshin.

“Selene was so beautiful today. It’s a shame that it wasn’t a better occasion. Now she is alone.” said Mitsurani.

“The lass had grown up quite well. I was glad to see her. I might invite her to meet Marlene.” said Masamune.

“If I remember you used to have a crush on her right?” it was Ieyasu’s turn to speak.

“I thought it was something temporary.” Shingen given a non emotional answer. He tried to not make it more than it was. He was still bothered by the way Selene acted with him at the cemetery.

“Selene is a great woman, perhaps not a beauty like the one you are now use to date now Shingen but I know the man who marries her will be happy.” Hideyoshi looked at Shingen with intensity.

Holding his arms up Shingen said. “OK wait a minute. We are talking about things that happened twenty years ago. Why am I being getting my head bit off after all this time?”

“Because no sooner than she left you did the same. That prank was really low even for me and you know how mean I can be.” this time it was Kenshin who made the comment.

“Look, I tried to apologize she was already gone. Now, can we just take a break on this. If it makes you feel better I will apologize with her OK?”

Everyone agreed to Shingen’s suggestion and let the topic die. The time passed while they talked about their own lives. When it was Shingen’s turn his phone started ringing.

“Takeda here.”

“Ah, Shingen is so good to hear you. How are you? It’s me Leonard Kruger, Tomas Crawford lawyer.”

“I’m good Mr. Kruger, how can I help you?” Shingen went to a less crowded section of the saloon to speak more in private.

“Tomas, made me in charge of reading his testament and he name you on it. I need to be on the office tomorrow at 9 am.”

“I didn’t expect that from Tomas. OK I will be there.”

“Good.” with this Kruger hung up. Shingen returned to the table and took a lot sip at his beer.

The conversation continued until midnight when Shingen decided to bail out and going back home. While driving he passed Selene’s home noticing the lights on. He considered stopping by but then decided against it since it was too late. She might be tired and need time to collect herself. With this he returned home and decided to get some sleep before his meeting with Kruger

The next morning, Selene woke up feeling a bit tired. She made some coffee and a cheese toast before getting for her meeting with Mr Kruger Looking at the day many memories came to her mind. Most of them were her running behind Shingen and playing with the boys. At some point she learned to dance but she kept it hidden. Only Masamune knew about it. She made him promised not to tell anyone about it since she feared being mocked. Dancing was her stress breaker. She could dance for two hours and help her clear her mind. It was also a good exercise for her in case she didn’t got a gym near. Taking a small boom box she went to the room her father used as storage. The last time he told her that he cleared the place and now was empty. He was expecting her to come back one day to visit and she could use it. Her father was a complicated person in Selene’s eyes. Taking the boom box she started the song. The notes and clap made Selene forget everything. Moving at the rhythm she start her routine, making turns and claps Selene loosen herself to the music until the end. At the end she was almost out of breath but feeling better and energized. Looking at the time she run to get a quick shower, dress up and wear a subtle make up. For this time she decided to wear, black trouser pants with a purple shirt and black blazer. This time she opted to only wear mascara, liner and lipstick. For shoes she put on her normally low heel shoes. She had a lot of things to do having a comfortable shoes will help her a lot. Looking at her outfit she let her hair loose with a headband to prevent her hair to fall on her face. This time she decided to use her cats eye glasses. Taking her purse, Selene went to the town.

Upon arriving she found she wasn’t the only one waiting for Uncle Krug. Shingen Takeda was talking with the secretary who apparently had never seen a man in her life. Shingen was polite with her but Selene somehow saw some tension on Shingen’s part. Shingen was wearing a terracotta jacket with white shirt and black trousers with black converse. He was looking dashing and really handsome. Perhaps, he might not like to flirt all the time. Clearing her throat she let her presence known to them. Shingen straighten up when he saw Selene. Today she was wearing a pair of cat eye glasses with a slim frame that will make her green eyes more alluring than unusual. Since when she became so beautiful? Shingen was impressed with her change. Selene was civil but tried not to speak more than necessary.

“Good morning, Mr. Takeda.”

“Good morning princess.” Shingen gave her his best smile. Selene nods in response.

Shingen felt ignored and didn’t like the feeling. He was going to tell Selene something when Leonard Kruger emerged from his office.

“Oh, Good morning, so good to see you both. And on time, come on, let’s talk in my office.”

“Well as you know, Tomas, decided to leave a testament. I asked Nobunaga Oda and Masamune Date to be present on this day as witness.” after saying this Nobunaga and Masamune arrived.

“Good now that everyone is here let’s start with the lecture.” opening up the document. Mr. Kruger started the reading.

Shingen noticed that Selene tensed next to him. She was blinking rapidly. He felt bad when he saw her face getting sad.

“Next my home, my land which consist on half of the town will belong to my daughter Selene Constance Sakura Crawford Mirakawa. I know Selene is a strong and independent woman, but I prefer if she would had married with a nice dependable, honest, man. So in order for her to receive her inheritance. She needs to comply with certain conditions. First she needs to live for one year in our home on this town in order to gain the rights to own the terrain. Second, she must marry Shingen Takeda and sleep on the same bed for that same period of time. They will need to learn to live together and can’t abandon the house during this time, unless is to go to work related business. They must be together all the time. If by the end of the year you are still together you can inherit the properties mentioned before. Also Shingen you cannot be unfaithful to Selene or she will loose the inheritance. If Shingen or Selene do not full fill any of these conditions everything will be sold and the money donated to charity. Shingen and Selene will have 24 hours to think about this. If they fail to comply with any of these demands the testament won’t be validated and you will loose your all including the car repair shop.”

#fanfic #fanfic ikesen #ikesen #ikesen shingen #ikesen sengoku

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