#not to mention it requires me to think about graduating and having a job and I've simply never imagined myself getting that far | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saetoru · 2 years

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#TOP OF THE CLASS! — GETO SUGURU.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ geto + virgin killing - your TA is nice, and more importantly, handsome. accidentally sending him nudes makes you realise he's also inexperienced

♱ kinktober ⋮ find the masterlist here !!

♱ pairing ⋮ college TA! geto suguru x student! reader

♱ length ⋮ 5.5k words (she tried okay. she did)

♱ contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, college! au, TA! geto, student! reader, med! student shoko, forging of legal documents (shoko forges you a doctor’s note lol), mentions of drinking + being under the influence, unprofessional relationships, explicit photography (taking + accidentally sending nudes), virgin! + inexperienced! geto, semi-public sex (in a campus office), teasing, humiliation, mentions of male masturbation, handjobs, blowjobs, nipple play, fingering, riding, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

♱ notes ⋮ here is the first kinktober post i hope you all enjoy and HAPPY OCTOBER ITS MY FAV SEASON

the first rule of being a college student is having good time management. that should’ve been something you remembered before saving this paper for the last minute—because now you’re beginning to regret overestimating your ability to finish all the research and the required components and hit the word count. and then you have to cite your sources—which is a pain, and the clock isn’t slowing even a little as it ticks away closer and closer to the deadline.

you’re doomed, finished for the semester before you could’ve even fully begun. you’re counting your moments to failure for a class you absolutely need to graduate. this paper is thirty percent of your grade—how could you have been so careless as to leave it so last minute?

“it’s useless,” you moan woefully into your phone, making shoko snort as you hear her continue to type away on her keyboard. it hits you that if shoko of all people is further along her paper than you—the same shoko that cheats on everything—then you’ve really let yourself go. “i’m never going to finish this on time,” you mutter.

“i told you to get started earlier,” she says matter of factly, almost with enough i told you so energy in her voice that you’re two seconds from storming over to her apartment and smashing her laptop to bits. but shoko has a point—even if you refuse to acknowledge it since…well, it’s shoko, after all.

“i’m not on call with you to lecture me,” you grumble, “i’m on call with you to help me find a solution. you think if i offer the TA a blow job, he’ll give me an A?”

shoko snorts, pausing her typing as if she’s actually contemplating the idea. “maybe, honestly. you know he’s our age, and he’s like years ahead of us? probably too busy with school to get any bitches,” she laughs, making you roll your eyes as a smile tugs at your lips no matter how hard you try to fight it.

“you know what, you might be right,” you chuckle. you almost feel bad for joking at his expense—your TA is nice, he’s young and kind and understanding, he takes time to slowly go over things when people have questions, he answers emails politely and quickly no matter how stupid the reason, he and has sensible rules that aren’t too strict. and, if you’re being honest, he’s rather handsome. “i wouldn’t mind giving him a blow job though,” you hum, “he’s cute.”

“gross,” shoko gags, “geto suguru is not cute.”

“he is too,” you argue, furrowing your brows as you huff, “he’s probably one of the few men i’ve seen who make a man bun work. and i know he’s ripped under that sweater, he has to be. i saw him leave the gym the other day, and his arms were huge.”

“he’s probably just trying to get bitches,” shoko snorts, “i bet he’s a virgin.”

“shut up,” you laugh, and for a moment, your mind wanders to your stupidly handsome TA.

you shouldn’t be thinking about him this way—fantasizing about anyone who grades your papers is a line you shouldn't really cross, but you can’t help it. your thoughts turn into what hearing his smooth, deep voice would be like if he moaned into your ear, or what his bangs would look like stuck to his sweaty forehead, or what his abs would look like clenching as he cums, or how breathless he’d sound as he whispers your name—

“wait, i just had an idea,” shoko interrupts your thinking with a gasp, making you shake out of your (very dirty) thoughts as you blink.

you clear your throat, trying your best not to sound flustered as you speak. “i’m scared to ask what the idea is—you’re not really known for having good ones,” you say warily. you can practically see her eyes roll without her being there with you—you’ve been friends with shoko long enough to know her like the back of your hand. and if you know her like you think you do, her idea is about to cause you a lot of stress.

“well, looks like i’m never trying to help you again,” she scoffs, “i could’ve written you a doctor’s note with a few of the copies i managed to snatch—but since you don’t want my help—”

“no, wait! you’re a genius,” you gasp happily, grinning wide as shoko huffs through the phone and mutters something faintly similar to ungrateful under her breath, “i could kiss you on the lips right now.”

“no thank you. you suck,” she hisses. you only giggle, relief flooding through your bones that maybe your grade is saved—and all thanks to having a friend who works in a doctor’s office. you silently send the universe your gratitude for having your best friend pursue a career in the medical field—the perks prove to be quite beneficial, it seems.

“just send me a picture of it and make it seem like i’m too sick to work on the paper, and i’ll tell him i won’t finish in time. a one day extension should be enough.”

“where would you be without me,” she grumbles quietly, “i’ll send it to you in a second. now please let me finish my paper in peace.”

“okay. love you, you’re the best.”

“i hate you.” the line clicks and you giggle, happily celebrating that you most likely have a saved grade and a free night to yourself now that shoko has so kindly offered you a solution. and of course, you’ll take this as a learning curve and appropriately plan to give yourself enough time for the next paper.

it’s not long before your phone dings and shoko’s contact pops up on your screen with, sure enough, a doctor’s note with today’s date and reason for the visit. shoko has even taken the liberty to make you seem contagious—just so you can skip class tomorrow for good measure. beaming, you text a quick thanks bestie <3 in response—too happy to even care that she sends you an emoji flipping you off.

and it doesn’t take you long to craft the email either, making sure to properly address him with a greeting, adding apologies for the inconvenience—and as the icing on the cake, a promise that it won’t ever happen again in the future. you click the photo to upload the doctor’s note, and without even a second thought, you click send.

and then within the split second that the email sends, and you realize just which photo you’ve accidentally clicked, your life flashes before your eyes.

“no,” you mumble, “no no no,” you chant as you quickly open the email you’ve sent, eyes wide and throat dry.

the photo is not the picture of the doctor’s note shoko sent—instead, it’s the picture right under it in your camera roll. the picture that’s not very suitable for sending your TA. the picture of your tits, just barely covering your nipples with your arm. the picture you took through giggles while changing after getting a little tipsy the night before (you’d felt just a tad bit sexy in your makeup.)

you sit in silent shock as you register that you just sent your TA your nudes—and just to make matters worse, he responds almost instantly, making your heart drop as you stare at his emailed reply with a shaky hand holding up your phone.

please meet me in my office tomorrow before class so we can discuss the above email.

suddenly, your worries are a lot more complicated than simply failing a class.

———————————————

you barely slept the night before, if at all, to be completely honest with yourself. the worst-case scenario runs through your head the entire time you toss and turn in bed. geto is probably going to report this, and then you’ll get expelled, and then you’ll never make it with a successful career, and then you’ll never be able to show your face to anyone you know again.

your feet are as heavy as lead as they drag along the walk to his room, and you contemplate turning back and never showing up to his office, maybe simply even just refusing to ever return to campus at all. maybe you can move countries and start over somewhere else—maybe you can change your name and make a new life for yourself.

but instead, you take a deep breath and knock on the door, waiting until you hear a soft come in before you enter. geto is seated at the desk, typing away at his laptop before meeting your eyes as you walk in.

“uh…hi,” you start, standing awkwardly by the door.

“hello,” he says, eyeing you slightly before looking back at his screen. if he has any ill feelings about last night, he does a good job of hiding it—you can’t read a single emotion on his face. somehow, that makes things worse. “have a seat,” he gestures at the chair across from him on the other side of the desk, waiting for you to seat yourself nervously in front of him.

you sit down, watching as he opens his mouth to start—but you begin speaking before he can. “look, i know that email was really inappropriate, and i’m really sorry—it was an accident, i swear! i meant to click on the picture above it, and i didn’t realize—”

“i understand,” he cuts you off as he holds a hand up, offering you a kind smile that makes you tilt your head in confusion, “it’s fine.” fine. fine? he’s…just fine with it? he’s just willing to let you off the hook? “i’m not much older than you,” he chuckles, “i’m not foreign to these things. i’m sure you’re active in…that aspect of your life.”

oh god—why you? why of all people did this have to be you? why is the world so hellbent on making your life miserable in every aspect?

you eye the coiled wires of the phone on his desk, and you contemplate strangling yourself with them before he can say something anymore embarrassing. but, you have to admit—this is far better than being told you’ve been reported to the dean for misconduct.

“i’m really sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” you fiddle with your fingers as you avoid his gaze, “i really did mean to send you a doctor’s note. i just didn’t realize i hit the picture under it.”

“like i said, it’s okay,” he reassures. calm. he’s almost too calm about this. too okay with it. almost like…like he didn’t mind at all in the first place.“but i wanted to make sure you’re aware of how fragile photos like that are.”

“huh?” you raise a brow. now, this is not where you expected the conversation to steer. you expected a lecture on how sending an educator your explicit photos is highly unprofessional, that it’s unacceptable and suggests other things—things that are completely against the rules and completely out of question to even consider.

“i mean, photos like those getting into the wrong hands can lead to really bad predicaments,” geto continues, clearing his throat as he closes his laptop and meets your gaze. he looks you dead in the eye as he speaks his next words, “and i wouldn’t want sensitive content of you circulating around campus.”

“right,” you nod slowly, “it’s not like i send them around, or anything. i was just a bit drunk that night, and i was in my room bored, and my makeup was cute so i was feeling good about myself…and…and…yeah…” you trail off.

why are you even explaining this to him in such detail? you silently curse yourself in your head, beating yourself up for running your mouth so much.

“oh, that’s good to know,” he nods, “i’m glad to hear that. no one else has possession of these photos?”

you eye him slowly, “nope,” you confirm. “just you—by accident, of course.”

you’re not sure if you imagine it, or if the situation as a whole is making you overinterpret everything that’s happening—but you’re almost certain you hear his breath hitch a little. he’s no longer looking at you, no longer burning you under his gaze like he was just a minute ago.

“right, by accident,” he repeats. it’s slow, like he’s reminding himself, like he has to speak slowly to process the information. “well, i hope this serves as a lesson for being more careful next time. you don’t want young men to save such pictures of yourself for ulterior motives.”

geto suguru, your teacher’s assistant for intro to literature 1301, seems to be rather invested in your well-being—more than a TA really should be. if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s almost disappointed that you sent him a significantly revealing photo of yourself by accident instead of intentionally. and, if you squint just a little, it almost seems like he doesn’t want anyone else to have the pictures. not because he’s concerned for you—but rather, because he wants to be the only one who’s seen them.

your thoughts from last night come flooding back, how he’s probably well built under his shirt, how shoko thinks he’s still a virgin, and especially how he probably looks and sounds when he’s overwhelmed with pleasure. and geto suguru might think he has you cornered like a cat would a mouse, but what he doesn’t know is that you’ve been the serpent the whole time, fangs ready to sink into him and devour him whole.

“you know, you seem like you speak from experience,” you can’t help but grin slightly.

now, logically speaking, this is wrong—this is pushing the kindness he so graciously showed you. by now, you should be fighting back tears as you figure out a way to break the news to everyone you know that you’ve had to receive an expulsion for sending your TA nudes. by now, your life should’ve been at an all time low, so you really shouldn’t be testing your luck.

but geto has practically seen your tits, so you’re not really sure there’s any point in acting like an angel around him—and he’s so incredibly hot in that button up shirt of his, sleeves rolled halfway up his arm. plus, the thought of him being your inexperienced TA, one who lets you strip him of his innocence as you slowly taint his purity—it excites you a little more than it really should.

he clears his throat, not meeting your eyes. this time, yours bore into him through a searing gaze that almost makes him shift uncomfortably.

“well, like i said, i am around your age, so i know how men’s minds work when it comes to these things—”

“so then tell me,” you raise a brow, smirking slightly as his jaw clenches, “is it because your mind works the same way?”

“now—”

“did you save my tit pics to your phone?” you ask bluntly. he hides the choked cough through a clearing of his throat—bingo, you think. almost instantly, the room shifts to him being nervous under your gaze as you eye him smugly.

something about sweet, kind, successful geto suguru, young and ambitious with a perfect gpa and a flawless resume, being hot and bothered by your breasts makes you swell with pride—and you think maybe…maybe giving him a blow job might not be such an outlandish thought after all.

maybe he wants it to be a reality just as badly as you do.

“w-what are you implying—”

“did they turn you on?” you interrupt, watching as his cheeks heat up a slight flush of pink, “did you wish i’d moved my arm down so you could get the full view?” he clears his throat, opening his mouth to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. “was that the first nude you’ve ever been sent?”

“i think that’s enough,” he says sternly, but his voice is slightly higher in pitch—which tells you everything you need to know. and you’re enthused. “keep in mind, i could have every intention to notify the dean of these—”

“but suguru,” you pout, rolling his first name off your tongue so sweetly, he can’t help but be hungry for another taste of something so decadent, “if you tattle on me, you’ll never get a chance to actually see my nipples this time,” you giggle, “isn’t that what you want?”

“i—”

“i wonder,” you grin wickedly, “did you act like every other guy our age and jack off to a random girl’s tits?”

you must hit close to home because he lets out a shaky exhale, jaw tight and fists clenched as his knuckles turn pale. he swallows thickly before finally meeting your eyes, face a deep shade of crimson as you grin at him widely.

“i…i’m not…immune to things of that nature,” he finally admits, voice strained as your grin widens. almost instantly, you’re standing up, locking the door behind you and making your way over to his side of the desk without hesitation. the cards have been dealt in your hand, all that’s left is to play them—and you’re pleased to say that the game is heavily leaning in your favor.

“wanna show me?” you ask with a sultry voice, “wanna show me how you fucked your fist last night? i’ll even let you see my nipples this time around,” you murmur as you seat yourself on his lap.

geto scoots his chair back and makes room for you, breathing heavily as his pants strain with the tent already forming in them. his breath hitches when your hand rubs over his erection—and he curses himself for being so pathetic as to let a few words from you let him get riled up like this. but you’re so pretty—always have been.

you sit in class and chew on the top of your pen, making it hard to avert his attention from your mouth. you tilt your head and furrow your brows so cutely when you’re confused, making it hard for him to concentrate on what he’s teaching. you laugh so sweetly out of glee when you do something correctly, and your voice shoots right through his heart—and sometimes, as ashamed as he is to admit it, straight to his dick too.

and he’s well aware of how bad of an idea this is, but this is everything he’s ever dreamt about—right here under the palm of his hands. literally. so he grips your hips tightly, bringing you to rub over him through your own pants. the friction makes him throw his head back, moaning quietly as your clothed cunt drags along his length. you chuckle, palms gliding over his chest through his shirt and feeling the firm muscle under your hands.

“does that feel good?” you ask, making him stifle a whimper as you glide over his nipples through his shirt.

your hands move to unzip his pants—and the best part? he lets you. he sits back and lets you free his aching cock from its confinements, he lets you wrap your fingers around his thick girth and squeeze gently, and he lets you pull the soft, low moans you’ve fantasized of hearing from his lips as you smear his pre cum along his shaft and stroke him slowly.

“f-fuck,” he grunts, hips bucking into your hand, lips tugging between his teeth as he pants harshly with every squeeze at the base of his cock. and because you really can’t help it, you lean down to kiss along his jaw, making your way to his neck and nibbling at his skin. he groans, whispering your name—it makes your thighs squeeze together as a dull ache forms between your own legs. “feels…feels so good,” he mumbles breathlessly, “so different when you do it.”

you giggle, watching him carefully so as not to miss a single reaction. “oh yeah? you know, shoko said you were probably a virgin,” you purr against his ear, making his hands clutch onto your hips tighter, “you seem to be proving that theory right.”

“d-don’t stop,” he pleads when your hand slows, making his hips thrust sloppily into your fist and try to keep your earlier pace going. but you’re mean—just a tad bit cruel, and you wanna see him ooze with shame. so you squeeze on his cock, stilling the movement and making him rasp as he buries his head into your neck with a whine.

“are you a virgin, suguru?” you hum, stroking his hair soothingly—but it contradicts the teasing tone of your voice.

his face burns in your neck, “yes,” he mumbles quietly, like the admission stings.

“how cute,” you pout, “so no one’s ever sucked your dick before?” he shakes his head slowly into the crook of your neck—but it’s not nearly as satisfying when he’s hiding, so you pull his face away despite his initial protesting. “i want to hear it,” you say firmly.

��fuck—no,” he groans, his face an even deeper shade of red than you thought was possible, “no, no one has ever…you know…”

“sucked your dick?” you grin.

“stop,” he whines. you chuckle quietly before climbing off his lap and sinking down to your knees before him, looking up at his shocked face with a smirk.

“wanna know something?” you hum, “i’ve thought about sucking your dick.”

“thinking about you TA like that?” he huffs a chuckle—but whatever semblance of composure he had, he loses as soon as you press a gentle kiss to the tip of his flushed cock, reddened and swollen at the head as beads of pre cum leak from the slit.

“just like you jack off to your student,” you shoot back, “you want it, suguru? do you want me to make you feel good?”

“god—yes,” he hisses, “get on with it,” he says as he’s throwing you a glare when you snicker up at him from in between his legs. you run your tongue along the tip, humming as you take in the taste of him before wrapping your lips around him and taking him down your throat.

the reaction is instant—geto slumps back against his chair, gasping as you swallow around him, bobbing your head up and down his length. you loosen your jaw, fucking him with your mouth, letting your tongue drag along the thick vein running across the underside of his cock. his hand falls to the top of your head while the other grips the armrest of his chair, skin turning white over his knuckles as he tightens his hold with each time the warmth of your mouth swallows around him.

“oh—g-god, shit that’s it,” he grunts, hips bucking into your throat as you pick up your pace. “feels fuckin’ amazing—oh, fuck.”

your hand wraps around the base of his member, pumping what won’t fit in your mouth so no part of him is left neglected. and when your other hand reaches for his balls, rolling the sensitive sacs in your hand and squeezing gently, he rewards you with a whine, voice lilting off to a high pitched moan as his hips thrust up instinctively. your nose brushes against his pelvis, and with a few more swallows, you feel him twitch in your mouth.

“fuck, fuck, ‘m c-close,” he pants, chest falling and rising erratically. you look up, watching through teary eyes as spit and pre cum dribble down your chin, taking in the pretty sight of his face flushed and his skin damp, bangs clinging to his forehead just like you imagined them to. “don’t stop—’m gonna cum…gonna…gonna make me cum,” he rasps.

you moan around him, and the vibrations send him over the edge, hips raising as he groans loudly. hot, thick ropes of his cum paint your mouth, seeping past your lips and dripping down your chin as you try your best to swallow what you can. geto sounds better than you expected—voice deep and raspy, but still the same smoothness it always holds even through the cracks as he brokenly calls your name.

the sound of his voice as he moans your name makes your walls clench around nothing and your clit throb. you let him fuck himself into your mouth through his high, riding out the last waves of his orgasm as pleasure burns through every nerve and every inch of him. when he finally slumps back into his chair, breathing harshly, you pull off of his cock, wiping the mess from your chin on your sleeve. and before you can open your mouth to tease him some more, you’re pulled back onto his lap, his mouth on yours, kissing you deep.

“this’ll have to be a secret,” he mumbles, “for both of us.”

for someone who’s never done anything like this before, geto rids you of your clothes almost expertly, lifting your shirt over your arms and sliding your pants off in an instant. he groans when his fingers trace over your clit—which you’re happy to know he can find—and feels the wetness of your slick drooling over the fabric.

“c’mon, suguru,” you hum, voice edging on a little impatient, “go ahead and touch a pussy for the first time.”

he huffs, yanking the fabric to the side before sinking his ring and middle fingers into you, knuckle deep as this thumb runs circles along your clit. you whine, grinding your hips down on his hand, impatiently waiting for him to move.

“for someone who’s experienced,” he grins, “you’re awfully impatient.”

you open your mouth to respond, but as soon as you try to retort, his fingers thrust into you, hitting the sensitive spot of your walls with ease and making you cut yourself off with a moan. he scissors his fingers, stretching you open as your head falls to his shoulder with soft whimpers, feeling him curl his digits deep into you. you whine as your clit hits over his palm, feeling the slow build up of the coil in your belly reach the snapping point.

“keep going,” you encourage, “‘m close, k-keep going—fuck, suguru!”

“god, you’re so pretty,” he breathes, watching as your head tips back and your mouth parts with a silent sob, watching as you break—all because of him. your walls spasm around his fingers as they bully into you and ride you through your orgasm, and your lips are slightly swollen from biting on them, eyes crinkled as you screw them shut, skin damp and glistening as sweat coats your forehead.

perfect—you look perfect, and suguru has fantasized about this image in his head for so long, he can hardly believe it’s a reality before him.

your hands find his long hair, tugging and twisting at the strands that slip between your fingers as the last few waves of your high crash over you.

the rest is a blur—somewhere through rough and sloppy kisses, through rolled hips and soft groans as you grind against each other, geto has managed to unclasp your bra, letting your tits bounce freely. his hands immediately cup around them, squeezing gently before his lips pull away and his eyes fall to your chest.

“fuck, they look better in person,” he grunts, rolling his thumbs over your pebbled nipples before pinching them lightly and rolling them between his fingers. you squeal, and your cunt is dripping—smearing your slick along his bare thigh as he teases over the sensitive skin. “feels good?” he mumbles.

“so good—don’t stop,” you moan, making his breath hitch in his throat. grinning, you open your eyes, hazy with lust, meeting his own unfocused gaze, “doing so well, suguru. making me feel so good.”

geto likes praise. you can tell that much alone from his hefty list of accomplishments on his resume. he’s beaming with pride the first day your professor introduces him in class while explaining how capable he is at his young age. he does a good job of staying humble, but you never fail to notice the twinge of excitement in his eyes when he’s praised for his impressive work ethic.

there’s no exception now either—his eyes search yours for every hint he can find that he’s doing a good job, that he’s doing well and giving you exactly what you want. you swear his cock twitches when you say the word good—and he seems to notice it too because there’s a shaky breath against your neck as he groans.

“fuck,” he breathes, hands falling to your hips and gripping tightly, desperately, when your hand grabs his throbbing cock, still hard and leaking pre cum from the reddened tip. “want to feel you,” he groans, “please.”

it’s all it takes for you to sink down on him, forehead pressing to his as you both moan against each other’s mouths. he’s big—long and thick, curved at an angle that makes him sink against your sweet spot almost perfectly, almost like he was made for you. it’s a shame he’s your TA, a small part of you almost feels a twinge of disappointment he can’t fully be yours.

“fuck, suguru,” you gasp, “so big, feels so good.”

he whines, helping lift your hips up and guide you down on his cock, your hips rolling against his, the sound of your moans and the slapping of skin filling up the small office. you’re sure anyone passing by could hear and figure out what’s going on—but it only thrills you more, making you slam down on him faster.

“so tight,” he grunts, “g-god, so fucking tight, i can’t—”

his hands are everywhere, they dig into your hips, glide up to cup your tits, and find the back of your neck to pull you close and meet your lips. he’s panting, sweat making strands of hair cling to his forehead as his skin flushes a deep shade of crimson. his hips buck up into you, meeting you halfway with desperate thrusts, trying to feel you deeper.

your head is spinning—not just from the way his thick girth splits you open, or from the way his tip slams against your spot so perfectly, but from the way his touch seems to light your skin up with every drag of his fingertips. and then he brings one hand down between your bodies, rubbing his thumb against your clit in harsh circles.

“are you gonna cum, suguru? cause i am,” you moan, “wanna be good and cum with me? fill me up nice and full?”

“sh-shit,” he lets out a shaky breath. he does want to fill you up—wants to cum deep into you so you’re dripping as you walk out of his office. so that when you sit in class and stare at him as he teaches class, you can’t help but think of the way he was buried to the hilt inside you just hours ago. “yeah…yeah, ‘m gonna cum. gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, “stuff you full of my cum. want it?”

“wan’ it so bad, suguru,” you whine, “look so pretty when you cum, wanna see it again.”

and with a few more rolls of your hips, the squelching sounds of his cock slipping in and out of you all but drowned out but your pants, you fall off the edge—geto not far behind. you can feel his cock twitch as he shoots rope after rope of his thick cum into you, angling his hips up to fuck it deep into your pussy. it’s a mess, your slick mixed with his seed dripping along your thighs and coating your skin, but you can’t find it in you to care. and you also can’t find it in you to care that you’ll have to leave after this and see him again as you sit through his class. and you certainly don’t have it in you to care that you could both get in serious trouble if anyone realized this was happening.

instead, you cup his cheeks with a gentleness that makes his breath hitch in his throat with a strangled whine, and you kiss him, hard and deep.

“f-fuck, fuck—ngh, shit,” he gasps, against your mouth in labored pants. it’s never felt like this—cumming into his fist is one thing, but cumming into your tight walls, feeling them squeeze around him in sync with his high is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget. he thinks you’ve ruined touching himself for him, thinks he’ll never be able to go back to being fine with just his hand to keep him company when he’s aching between his legs.

after this, geto isn’t sure how he’s supposed to just forget this happened—or about you. his hands don’t stop guiding you onto his cock, hips not ceasing to fuck up into you until you’re both whimpering from sensitivity.

it’s too much—but somehow, it’ll never be enough.

you slump over him when he finally slows down to a stop, bodies a sweaty heap against each other on his chair as his arms wrap around you and his lips find your damp forehead for a soft kiss. you turn your head, pressing a kiss to his jaw in return.

“so,” you wriggle your brows, “can this count as extra credit?” you ask cheekily, feeling his chest rumble with a low chuckle as he pulls you tighter against his chest.

“sure. i’ll even give you enough extra credit opportunities to be top of the class,” he grins.

#[ tee’s kinktober 22 👻 ]#teepods.writings #thirstee!#fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut

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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 8 months

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Angel

Summary: Coming home from college without a degree has you scrambling to find your place in the world. Charlie just might be your savior.

A/N: I was thinking this would be set around eclipse. This was in the drafts for a while.

Warnings: Besides an age gap (reader in her 20s Charlie in his 40s) there is none.

Word Count: 3.1K

You didn’t expect your life to turn out the way it did, and neither did the people of Forks. If the confused looks you would get on the way into town were anything to go by. You had been a stellar student, assignments were early if not on time, and teachers never had a bad thing to say about you. You graduated and moved on to college like everyone would expect, but college was harder. It wasn’t even the work, it was you.

For once you had no set path, everyone else just seemed to know what they wanted to do. After 2 years you realized how far behind you felt you decided to take a break. If you didn’t know what you wanted to do you were just wasting time and money. The loneliness set in soon after too. Although you have friends they’re all off doing their things, making their place in the world.

Your dad helped if only by sending cringe Facebook posts captioned “It’s never too late.” His efforts were much appreciated but it’s not a good feeling when you feel like you are in last place for a race you didn’t even know you were running. Staying holed up in your room won’t help but at least you won’t have to run into anyone you know. You hate feeling like such a disappointment even though your parents assured you that would never be the case.

After a few weeks of licking your wounds, you started looking for jobs. You reach downtown and begin combing through your options. All of which would require you to run into people who would ask too many questions that you do not want to answer. Forks was already limited in what they had and if you wanted to avoid working for the Newton family your choices were much more slim. But you do take note of it just in case. Syphering through your selections you almost want to give up.

Turning the corner you bump smack into another person, you brace yourself for a fall that doesn’t come. Peeking through one eye you make out a badge and ‘C. Swan’. You immediately straighten yourself up after realizing you just bumped into Chief Swan.

“You alright-”

“I’m so sorry-”

The both of you speak at the same time, a loud silence fills the air as you both stare at each other. Your wide eyes and his furrowed brow. You snap out of it first and bend down to pick up your fallen pamphlets, The Chief crouches down to help you.

“You don’t have to do that Chief Swan.” He ignores you in favor of picking up the rest, stealing a glance at them before handing them back to you.

“Charlie’s fine.” He scratches his head before telling you, “Since you’re looking we could use another receptionist down at the station.” Charlie took pity on you, Although he isn’t one for gossip everyone’s been talking about how you came back from university without finishing. He knows what it feels like to be lost especially in a town like Forks.

“Really?” The prospect of working at the station was much better than any option sitting in your hands. “Is there anything for me to fill out?”

“No just stop by on Monday and I’ll have Helen walk you through everything.” His mouth forms into what you think is a half-smile, and you return it tenfold.

The conversation with Charlie was so refreshing you’re unsure why out of all the people in Forks he was the one to make you feel normal. You realize it’s because he’s the first person to not question or probe why you’re back here. Working at the station doing administration would be perfect. On your way home you mentally comb through your closet for appropriate clothes you can wear to the station for work. The combination list isn’t huge but you could make it work.

……..

Monday morning you awake at 6:00 am to begin getting ready, he never mentioned a time but you imagine how bad you would look strolling in there at 1:00 pm. You decide on black stretchy office pants, a chocolate sweater, and white sneakers that are comfortable enough to do sustainable walking. Grabbing your backpack you pack your essentials and bid your father goodbye before heading off.

On the way in you have enough time to stop for some coffee so you order for yourself and Charlie as a thank you. You make sure to get his black with no sugar, though you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover you can’t imagine he enjoys cremer. The last stretch of your walk toward the station has your heart pounding. You're not even sure what you are nervous about it shouldn’t be that hard since it’s Forks.

The station smells like stale coffee and mothballs, the atmosphere is mostly static but that’s given. Upon walking up to the front desk you see an older redhead who you assume is Helen. You smile as you approach her and she returns one.

“Excuse me, Chief Swan said to come up here for you to train me on administration stuff.” You hope Charlie actually talked to her.

“Of course, he told me about you yesterday dear follow me.” You set down your coffee before being given the grand tour. After a minute you’re back at the front being directed on your daily duties. Most of which is pretending to look busy, Helen prefers solitaire on her computer to get her through the day. On the other hand, you brought a book that remains hidden behind the ancient monitor in front of you.

You thought about bringing Charlie his coffee but his office lights are off and his doors are locked so he must be out patrolling already. Within 45 minutes you’re given your first task of making more coffee, while the water pours out you see Charlie step into the break room. His eyes look surprised to see you but his face doesn't change, he peers around you toward the coffee maker before he can ask you to tell him.

“I bought you coffee on the way in, it is at the front desk.” You quickly leave the break room to get it before he can react. On your way back you inform him, “Black, no sugar, no cream.”

“Thank you.” As he takes the cup your hands brush his, and he can feel the increased beating of his heart. It’s the most contact he’s had with a woman. He likes it. Your bright smile gives him that butterfly feeling he hears Bella talk about with her friend.

“No thank you, Sher- Charlie I appreciate the opportunity.” He waves off your thanks as if he does stuff like this all the time.

“You adjusting OK?” He finds he wants to keep conversation with you despite his nature. You may be surprised but you don’t show it, enjoying this interaction.

“Yes, Helen is nice and I get to just pretend to work all day.” You bump your hip against him before you can think better of it.

Charlie surprises you with a deep chuckle, It’s not a full-blown laugh but it’s more than enough. It’s no secret that Charlie is one of the more attractive men in Forks, but you didn’t think of him like that until now. Not many men could pull off the 70s pornstache, or his grumpy attitude without being a complete ass. Your thoughts are interrupted by Charlie leaning down to speak quietly to you.

“Well let me know if you need more books to keep you busy Bella’s got tons of those romance ones.” He rolls his eyes playfully and nods his head before heading to his office.

In the wake of his leave, you revel in the way his deep voice felt so close to your ear. However, you don’t dwell on his actions too much because there is no way he was flirting with you. Making your way back to the front desk you see Helen packing up to leave, she informs you she’s taking lunch.

Charlie lets out an exasperated sigh at the stack of paperwork waiting for him when he unlocks his office. The coffee you brought him goes straight down like a shot, he appreciates the fact that you knew he wouldn’t like the extra bullshit. Throughout his shift, he sneaks peeks at you. He pauses when he sees you talking on the phone, telling himself he’s only checking to make sure you don’t need help. But the way your lips move has him in a trance, he snaps out of it before you can catch him.

Even though he spent a fair amount of time staring at you he managed to complete over half of his paperwork. He’s overdue for a break and he knows you could use one since you never took a lunch.

You have been manning the phones even after Helen came back, you know you should’ve taken your 1-hour lunch but you were in a groove. At least until Charlie strolled up beside you to see what you were doing. You could smell Irish Spring wafting off of him with a hint of laundry detergent.

“You busy?” It was a loaded question on his part but he didn't want to just command you to come with him.

“Not for the Chief.” You turn your body towards him to prove your words, and in return the corner of his mouth lifts almost like a smile.

“Lunch on me then?” He asks you with his hands balled in his pockets.

“I’ll never turn down a free lunch.” You turn to Helen to check that she’ll be okay, and she gives you a wink nodding her head toward the chief telling you to ‘have fun’. You raise our eyebrows at the implication.

On the way out Charlie gets the door, and his veiny forearm peeks out from his uniform. You wouldn’t say you have a thing for hairy guys but yet again Charlie somehow makes it work. Luckily you could blame the frigid breeze for your flustered expression. You follow his lead to the cruiser and he opens your door for you again. Your bashful expression after thanking him goes straight to his lower stomach, it’s been a while since a woman looked at him so fervently.

Once he’s in the cruiser a comfortable silence fills the air, and you think of all the things you could bring up with him later in the diner. So far all you’ve come up with are sports and books but honestly, that should be more than enough for Charlie. Orange leaves take up most of the ground, a warning for the upcoming months. The diner is the same as always when you pull up, you open the door before Charlie can hustle his way to where you are. The stern look he gives you only makes your sudden attraction to him worse.

The bell above the door alerts Cora to your presence. Charlie saddles up right behind you urging you forward with his hand on your middle back. Walking past the patrons, you can feel the questioning stares. But you’re sure Charlie won’t pay them any mind so neither do you. At the booth, Charlie gestures for you to slide in first.

Cora turns to you for your order since she already knows Charlie’s by heart.

“I’ll do a burger and fries with a sprite please.” You smile at Cora as she takes down your order.

“So,” You turn to Charlie, “What’s been going on in the sports world?”

Charlie’s side glance is enough to make you laugh. “Steelers are cleaning up, they have a path to the Super Bowl.” He didn’t mean to look at you crazy but it was the first time in a while someone was genuinely interested in his interests. The flutters in his stomach make another appearance.

“My dad’s a cowboy fan so it’s the same thing every year.” Charlie snorts at that.

The sound of plates landing in front of you ends your and Charlie’s moment. Looking up your eyes meet Cora’s and you thank her before she leaves again. You and Charlie waste no time digging into your food. With all of your fries and most of your burger gone you throw in the towel, leaning back against the booth.

“You gonna eat that?” Charlie eyes the rest of your burger.

“No, you can have it.” After your acceptance, he finishes it in one quick bite. You wish you didn't find that attractive.

……….

After your first lunch together many were shared, Charlie would always schedule his break around yours to make sure you ate. He also wanted to spend time with you when the opportunity would lend itself. The feeling was mutual, you put in more effort with your work outfits and make-up. Every morning you would stop to get Charlie coffee on the way in, and Helen would always give you sly smiles. You figured she picked up on the undertones of your and Charlie’s interactions, but unlike most people, she kept it to herself.

That didn’t stop others from probing you about your “Diner Dates” with the Chief. When you were collecting produce a few older women came up to you under the guise of concern. They told you getting with a man that age wouldn’t be good for any girl your age, while it was good advice you know it wasn’t given with good intentions. Instead, you pretend to not know what they are talking about effectively outing their ill-informed gossip. Charlie also hadn’t shown any initiative to ask you out on an actual date so you’re unsure where the fuel is coming from.

The next day at work you decide to pull back seeing as the entire town somehow thinks you both are dating. You took your lunch before Helen, the words of the older ladies on replay in your head. Sure it was the wrong messenger but it was the right message you don’t know what you were thinking.

It didn’t last a day, Charlie came by the desk deliberately when Helen took her lunch.

“Hey there’s some discrepancies with the evidence log of Riley’s stuff, can you help me sort through it.” Though he posed it as a question he began to walk toward his office immediately.

Once you’re in the office he shuts the door behind you before he moves to stand in front of his desk.

“I just uh wanted to check that everything was alright,” He clears his throat before continuing, “That you feel comfortable or if there’s something I’ve done.” After he finishes your face morphs to shock.

“No of course not, I just know there’s been some gossip around town about us dating and figured I’d have lunch by myself.” Charlie’s eyebrows furrow at your admission.

“I haven’t heard anything did someone say something to you?” His voice drops at the thought of anyone badgering you about this.

“It’s not a big deal, and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfo-” He cuts you off with a deadpan stare.

“Why would I be uncomfortable with people thinking a woman out of my league is dating me?” His definitive words leave you stunned. “It is a big deal, do you remember who it was?”

“No it’s fine Charlie really,” You try to convince him.

“It’s not if means you don’t go to lunch with me.” He gripes.

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed my company that much.” You stare at him until he returns your gaze.

“Well I do.” He assures you.

The both of you stand in front of each other in silence, the smile grows bigger on your face at Charlie’s confession.

“Does this mean you want to go on a date with me?” You inch your way closer to him, gently tugging his tie.

“Of course I do, I was working my way up to it.” He swallows hard when he feels you get even closer to him.

“Yeah?” Your eyes never stray from his as your smile widens. Charlie’s eyes fall to your lips just as quickly as he looks away. You grab his hands placing them on your waist before bringing your lips to his ear. “How about now?”

Charlie’s hands firmly grip your waist when he feels your warm breath tickle his ear. His pants grow tighter when your perfume invades his nostrils. When you reer back to look at him he wastes no time planting his lips on yours. His mustache tickles underneath your nose but you respond back with the same fervor. You tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, Charlie groans at your eagerness.

Your hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck to play with the hair on the back of his neck. When his tongue licks your bottom lip you eagerly open your mouth to him, pressing your chest against his. Charlie lets his hands dip to cup your ass through the jeans you’re wearing, earning himself a pretty moan from you. The way his tongue licks into your mouth gives you ideas of what else he would be good at.

But all good things come to an end, and a knock at the door sends you two flying apart. You immediately focus on fixing yourself so it doesn’t look like you were in a make-out session with your boss. A folder catches your eye and you pick it up hoping to look busy. Helen peeks her head in to let Charlie know Bella is getting dropped off by Edward. Charlie’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the mention of his daughter’s boyfriend, you can’t stop the giggle that pours out of you.

Helen slips back out and Charlie walks over to the far corner you’ve placed yourself in. “It’s a little backward now but would you let me take you out on a proper date?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule.” You smile up at him knowing he knows you’re joking.

“How does Saturday at 7 sound?” He bends down to your ear before continuing, “I know a nice Italian place in Port Angeles.” When he pulls back he is glad to see the bashful expression on your face. He’s still got it.

“It sounds great Charlie.” You get on your tip toes to peck him on the cheek before exiting his office.

On the way to your desk, you see Edward and Bella sitting in the waiting chairs talking. As you sit down you see Bella’s head snap in your direction, her and Edward's conversation halting. You pretend to do work as usual until Charlie comes out to greet Bella and grunt in Ed’s direction.

#charlie swan #charlie swan x reader #twilight fic #charlie swan x female reader #twilight

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banjjakz · 1 month

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Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you. “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities. Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #jjk reader insert #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta reader insert #okkotsu yuta reader insert #jjk ao3 #jjk fic #okkotsu yuuta fic #okkotsu yuuta fanfiction #okkotsu yuta fic #jjk fanfiction #my writing #mine #commissions

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cloudcountry · 1 year

Text

sit on my lap & do my eyeliner

Genre/Tropes: SIT ON MY LAP AND DO MY EYELINER!!!!!!!!!!!! That's it.

Summary: Ruggie Bucchi sits on your lap and fixes your eyeliner before your second year orientation ceremony.

Author's Comments: Based on home screen dialogue because uhhhh I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately!!! (It's his ceremonial robes, he mentions doing makeup as a side job and I was like oh?) Also Leona finally graduated!!! Everyone say yaaay!!

~~~~~

You never thought you’d find yourself wearing the ceremonial robes that you’d met everyone else in. You never thought you would have ended up staying another year at Night Raven College, but Crowley had yet to find a way to send you home so you were stuck. In these robes.

You’d always thought they were pretty. Wearing them now, however, you finally felt the weight that Ace often complained about. Deuce had helped you with the belt as Ace whined in the background, his hands working quickly so as not to lose time. At least you three had wrestled Grim into his first, since he was definitely the more problematic of you two when it came to wearing required garments. If they hadn’t come early to help you, you two would have ended up late, and Riddle would have had your heads.

You thanked the two profusely for their help, though Ace did nothing. He stuck his tongue out when you tacked that onto the end of his thank you, whining about how that was unnecessary. (He was cute, but it was very necessary.)

You knew Ace and Deuce were feeling the loss of their upperclassmen, Trey and Cater. Ace kept grumbling something about Riddle being even more insufferable now that he was a Junior, but you disagreed. Riddle had shown immense amounts of growth (not the height kind, you thought to yourself, but that would probably never change) during your stay here, and you couldn’t have been prouder of him for it. They’d all come so far from last year, and they’d all done more than enough to make you feel welcomed at NRC, maybe even enough for you to consider it your second home. In a moment of emotion, you felt a tear well up in your eye. Clenching your eyes shut so as to not worry your three companions, you started your walk to the ceremony hall. It seemed like only yesterday you were in the library, being lectured by Crowley about the rules of this school and the conditions under which you’d stay here.

Hopefully there wouldn’t be any overblots this year.

“Perfect, look! It’s the Savanaclaw guys.” Ace hissed, mouth twisted up in a frown. He must have still been bitter about the loss in the Spelldrive Tournament.

“Hello, Prefect.” Jack greeted, nodding his head.

Ruggie chuckled beside him, his eyes shining with mischief. “Now now, Prefect. Your eyeliner is messed up! Were you crying?”

“Hey, don’t start. The Perfect has been away from their family for an entire school year. You don’t need to mock them.” Deuce said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah! What Juice said.” Ace huffed, Grim nodding adamantly beside him.

“Don’t call me that! You still can’t get my name right?! It’s been a year!” Deuce yelled.

“Oh relax, I’m only teasing.” Ruggie ignored them and addressed you, “I can fix that for you. I used to do it as a part time job. You guys can go on ahead. Jack, take the froshes to the ceremonial hall.”

“Got it.” Jack nodded, ushering the freshmen down the hall.

“We’re staying with the Prefect!” Ace insisted.

“Yeah! You’re not pulling a fast one on me, weirdo!” Grim yelled, pushing himself up against your leg.

“Guys, it’s okay. You wouldn’t want to make Riddle mad.” you smiled at your friends, patting Grim on the head., “I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

“Prefect…” Deuce sighed but nodded, lifting Grim into his arms, “Hurry, okay?”

“He’ll be quick.” you assured them, trying to ignore the snort that escaped Ruggie at that.

“Last one there’s a rotten egg!” Ace cackled, sticking his tongue out at you.

“Go before Riddle collars you!” you yelled back as he laughed.

With your three friends following behind Savanaclaw, you turned back to Savanaclaw’s new Housewarden. He dug through his robes and produced eyeliner from somewhere in the folds, waving it in front of your face.

“Thank you for offering to fix my makeup. I didn’t trust Ace and Deuce with it and they certainly didn’t want to put their fingers near my eye. Said it was scary.” you shook your head.

“It’s a pleasure. You owe me a grilled cheese after this.” Ruggie laughed, “Come here, sit down on that bench over there.”

You followed his directions and sat down, placing your hands in your lap as you looked up at him.

“Now now…” he clicked his tongue, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “Make some room for me, Prefect! Put your hands on the bench.”

“What do you mean?” you blinked, pulling your hands on the cold bench seat.

“Better.” Ruggie mused, sitting onto your thighs and opening the eyeliner in one fluid motion.

You yelped, eyes wide. Ruggie laughed as he cupped your face gently, tilting your head to get a better angle.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” his eyes were gleaming again, the mischievous smirk from before returning, “I can do your eyeliner better like this.”

You placed your hands on his hips, trying not to flinch as he brought the eyeliner to your eyelid. Ruggie faltered at the sudden contract, but quickly got over it and made himself comfortable.

“Of course. I’ll try to be still.” you hummed, letting him get to work on your face.

Ruggie was only doing some quick touch ups, styling your eyeliner with expert precision. You could tell he wasn’t lying when he said he knew how to do this- you’d have to ask him to do your makeup again sometime.

“There.” Ruggie pulled away, still cupping your face gently, “That’s good.”

He dug through the folds of his robes again and pulled out a compact mirror, flicking it open and turning it to face you. You marveled at his work, tilting your head this way and that.

“You did so well, Ruggie! Thank you so much.” you beamed.

“Of course, of course. Now you owe me a grilled cheese! Don’t forget about that!” he hopped off your lap, the comforting weight of him vanishing as the space filled with cold air.

You furrowed your brow at the loss, embarrassed that you’d wanted him to stay like that. To make up for it, you offered him your hand. His ears twitched as he glanced from your hand to your face, another smirk spreading across his lips.

“Don’t worry, I’ve never cheated you out of a deal before.” you said.

“Now you want to hold my hand, too? That’ll cost you double.” he teased, taking your hand immediately.

“Hey, you got to sit in my lap. It’s only fair.” you shot back, squeezing his hand as you tugged him along.

“Hmm…I guess you’re right.” he snickered, suddenly pulling ahead of you and taking off down the hallway.

“Ruggie!” you shrieked, rushing to catch up to his speed, “You’re going to mess up our robes!”

“Then I’ll just fix those for you too!” he looked back at you and winked.

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie x reader #hyena propaganda #had this idea in my head for so long #ruggie fluff #scrunkly little guy

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proxima-writes · 1 year

Text

title: miss me in your bones | chapter one

pairing: dad’s best friend!joel miller/female reader

chapter rating: PG13

chapters: 1/?

read on AO3 | masterlist

summary:

When Joel Miller started his own contracting business, he didn’t expect all the administrative tasks that came with it. As a result, his budding business is in desperate need of help.

Good thing his best friend’s daughter is home for the summer from college. And sure, he’s always been attracted to you, but he can keep that under control.

It’s just one summer, right?

author’s note: oh look, another multi-chapter joel miller au. this one will be a slower(er) burn than “cruel summer”, with more angst. i’m in my folklore era, sorry y’all. please consider leaving a comment if you liked the chapter! 💕

content warnings/additional tags: au - no outbreak, age difference (21f and 36m), mutual pining, dad’s best friend!joel, college student!reader, no sarah, brief mention of joel’s attraction to the reader when she’s 17.

“You still need help with your bookkeeping?” Joel’s best friend asks as they sip their beers, basketball game playing on the TV.

Joel has recently branched out and started his own contracting business, a dream he’s had since he started working fresh out of high school. He’s taken a few night classes and earned himself an associates degree in business administration from the community college, in the hopes that it might help him not drive his budding business venture straight into the dirt.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the volume of administrative tasks he’d have to take on. Invoicing, pricing, scheduling, negotiating, and the list keeps growing. Joel just wants to bring a vision to life with his hands. He doesn’t want to have to sit at a computer for hours a day before getting to the fun stuff.

He sighs. “Yeah, I’m drownin’ in all that stuff. Seems like there’s not enough hours in the day to be doin’ the dirty work and get all that shit done, too.”

“Well, my daughter’s comin’ home for the summer. She said she was lookin’ for a job so that she can save up some money before goin’ back to school in the fall. She could help you out. She’s good with computers,” his friend says. Joel swallows.

Joel’s lived next door to you and your dad for four years now. When he first moved in next to the single dad, you were seventeen, getting ready to finish up high school and head off to college. You were your dad’s pride and joy, a sweet girl with brains and beauty that he bragged about constantly. You’d gotten a full academic scholarship to UCLA, no small feat, but you’d been required to spend your first two summers on campus fulfilling a certain number of credits, which meant you hadn't visited home in some time due to the cost.

This also meant Joel got a reprieve from the inappropriate thoughts he’s had about you since the first time he met you. When you’d stood by the door with your dad, welcoming him to the neighborhood, but all he could think about was the curve of your lips as you smiled at him or the way you looked up at him through your lashes when he spoke, hanging on his every word like he was spilling the secrets of the universe.

For his first year in his new house, you were there when he came over on the weekends, watching football with your dad or doing homework at the kitchen table. Joel was there for your graduation party, and sang Happy Birthday as you blew out the candles for your eighteenth year. He helped your dad pack up his truck with your boxes of stuff and waved goodbye from the driveway as you set off to college.

And the whole time he had to beat the thoughts of pressing a hand to your thigh beneath the dining table or pulling you to the side to kiss you senseless. He was equal parts relieved and disappointed when your dad drove you over a thousand miles away.

Your dad is still waiting for an answer, and Joel can’t come up with a good enough reason to say no to his offer of your help. He needs it.

He can keep himself under control for one summer.

“Sure, that would be great,” Joel replies with a strained smile unnoticed by your dad.

“Great! I’ll let her know.”

________

You’re so excited to be home for a whole summer. Between your rigorous course load over the last two years and the cost of housing and travel, you haven’t been able to visit home. Your dad pays for half your housing on top of his own expenses, so you didn’t want to burden him more with travel costs.

“How was your flight, kiddo,” your dad asks as he wraps you in a tight hug.

“Went well enough. Definitely better than driving for two days with some stinky old man,” you tease. He pushes at your shoulder.

Your relationship with your dad is a close one, the result of being the only child to a single parent and all his efforts over the years to make sure he does the best job he can. And while he often had to work overtime, he was always there for you when it mattered and never made you feel like you weren’t loved.

“I’m happy you’re back, squirt. House is too quiet without you,” he says as he pulls away from the pick-up area and rejoins Austin traffic. His words make your heart clench.

“Just another year and I’ll hopefully be able to get a job closer to home,” you tell him.

“With that fancy degree, I’m sure you’ll be able to get any job you want.”

The fancy degree in question is in aerospace engineering. Ever since your dad took you to visit the Kennedy Space Center in Florida on a rare vacation out of the state, you’d been hooked on the idea of helping get rockets to space.

“Hopefully. With all the private space exploration initiatives, should be plenty of jobs to go around. California is fun, but Texas is home.”

He smiles at you, a big wide grin that you’d missed in your time away.

“Listen, you know how you said you wanted to find a job for the summer while you’re home?” He asks. You nod. “Well, Joel started up his own contracting business and is hopin’ to get some help with the administrative work. Schedulin’, contracts, bookkeepin’. I know it’s not what you’re studyin’ or anythin’ but it might be nice to give your brain a break from all that fancy math you do.”

Your stomach erupts in butterflies at just the mention of your dad’s best friend and neighbor, Joel Miller. Ever since you first met when he moved in next door, you’ve been smitten. He’s a bit younger than your dad, somewhere in his mid-thirties while your dad has crossed the threshold to his forties. He’s tall and broad with muscles defined from hard labor, dark curly hair that’s almost always unruly, and kind brown eyes that have started to crinkle in the corners with a life well lived.

He’s so gorgeous it actually hurts.

You’ve spent a fair share of your nights away from home thinking about Joel Miller as you slid a hand into your pajama pants. Did he ever think about you? You doubt it, but a girl could dream.

In your daydreaming, you almost forget to answer your dad. “Oh, uh, sure. I can help out Mr. Miller,” you reply, clearing your throat.

“Thanks, sweetie. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the help.”

________

Joel is cursing up a storm as he tries to clean up the spare room he uses as an office and storage area these days. There’s papers everywhere, supply quotes and contracts and instruction manuals across every surface to the point where the old laptop he uses for work sits buried, battery dead from neglect. He tries to sort everything into a neat pile, but the pile is too big and scatters everywhere once more.

You’re supposed to start working with him at nine this morning. He’s got a consultation scheduled after lunch, giving him plenty of time to show you the nightmare you’re walking into.

There’s a knock at the door and Joel rushes from the back of the house to answer.

You’re standing on his porch, as you have hundreds of times, but after two and a half years away at school, the girl he’d waved goodbye to one August morning has disappeared. Your hair is drastically different and your face has lost the roundness of your teen years, but the smile that stretches your lips is all too familiar.

“Hi, Mr. Miller.”

________

You shift your weight from foot to foot as Joel’s gaze drifts over you, the feel of it hot over your skin. His forehead and neck are dappled with sweat, shirt sticking to his chest in a way that’s so inviting you have to clench your hands into fists at your side to keep from reaching out.

How is it possible he’s gotten more attractive?

“Hey! Welcome home!” Joel finally says, stepping aside and allowing you to cross the threshold.

His house has changed, yet feels overwhelmingly familiar all the same. He’s updated the flooring since you’d left, and you see the gleam of shiny stainless steel appliances in the kitchen.

“You renovated the kitchen?” You ask, stepping down the hall and into the living area to have a closer look. “The counters are pretty.”

He’s replaced the old dark cabinets with natural wood and the laminate counters are now a sparkling white quartz. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Yep. First project for my portfolio,” he says proudly. “Did the whole thing myself.”

“Impressive.”

You stare at each other for a beat before Joel clears his throat.

“You, uh, you wanna see the office?” He asks.

“Sure.”

He leads you to the back bedroom and pushes the door open. “It’s…kinda a mess.”

“Kinda?” You step inside, eyeing the haphazard piles of paper dubiously. “Mr. Miller, this is a war zone.”

He cringes. “Yeah. S’why I need help,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Got so caught up with the networkin’ and job bids that I just let all this suffer for it.”

You huff a laugh, dropping your bag to the ground. There’s a desk in the middle of the room, covered in stacks of paper. A laptop sits open, screen dark, amongst the files. A bookshelf along one wall holds a printer and a number of large hardback books pertaining to business administration and general contracting guidelines. Along another wall are stacked boxes. You peek into one and find an array of tile samples.

“Think you can manage?” Joel asks.

You smile at him. “You know me, Mr. Miller. I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”

“Joel. Just…call me Joel.”

“Okay…Joel.”

He smiles, and the way it reaches his eyes makes your heart flutter. You swallow nervously.

This will be fine.

It’s just one summer.

Joel Miller tag list:

@huffle-punk punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb

Join a tag list

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #no use of y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #dbf!joel #age difference #ao3 author #ao3 fic #ao3 #slow burn #eventual smut

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bangytell · 5 months

Text

The Perfect Date | pjm M

Summary: Your sister's getting married, hiring someone from the advertising of the magazine doesn't seem like a bad idea even with all the benefits you seem to find along.

Genre: Strangers to Lovers, Smut, fluff

Rated: mature, +18

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Pet names, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: Just wanted to get this out of my drafts, enjoy.

The steam of vape on the shower made you feel at ease just for a little while the razor helped you shave your legs.

The phone rang four times and you answered when that sweet, masculine voice greeted you.

"Hello, it's this [name] Brown?"

"This is me" left the razor aside because you knew it required more concentration that you couldn't get at the moment

"Just to get everything straight, you are sending my ticket and I will see you on the airplane, is that correct?"

"It is" you squeaked and cleared your throat for repeating "Yes, yes it is" he giggles and then answer

"Until then Mrs. Brown" he hangs up.

Once on the plane, you started looking around to find the man on your call, he showed up in a black suit, white shirt, and a blue tie. Very… handsome, you must admit.

"Hello there" he took a seat behind you "It's my first time in first-class" he smiled and for a second his eyes disappear

"Hi, let's get some things on the table" he nods full attention to you "We met at a bar, you're a therapist and crazy in love with me"

"Sounds like a good story to tell"

"Your job is to make everybody believe it, even me" he came closer to your seat

"On the phone, you said that your family are the ones that want you married" you nod, full attention on his plump lips and glowing eyes

"I am the oldest, my sister is the one getting married before me and I am pretty nervous because I had to call for you, my family it's not even a crazy one, it drives me crazy but-..." he placed a finger over your lips

"You also mentioned an ex, am I right?"

"That is like the other… situation"

"Can you talk about it?" you nod, even when it brought you deep bad memories

"His name's Namjoon, we dated for four years later when I graduate, and when I thought he was gonna propose to me, he… dumped me, now he's the best man, best friend of my sister's fiance" the plane started it's way to the sky and he looked at you in a way you couldn't exactly define.

No words came later, so you slept the whole flight given the circumstances.

Once in London, he helped you with your bags and told you of the droll on your cheeks. You flustered.

"I have more siblings, my parents are divorced so please don't bring that up, and-" you stopped because you had to go to the bathroom and change for a cocktail dress.

The public airport bathroom seemed a good option, you chose a blue dress, and once out you remember he had a blue tie.

"Is it cheesy? I think it is, they will think it is"

"We can stop somewhere and get you ready" he suggested

So you did, a bar became your closet and he was outside waiting.

"Do you think this black one is better?" it was option two, the other one was a red dress

He looked at you, head to toe, and denied with his head.

"I wear the red one, also the bartender told me that" you flustered and got inside the bathroom to change and go for the red one.

The ride to the salon where family, friends, among some other people you assumed were friends with your sister, was quick.

On the back, you left your bags and coats, and you gave him his payment.

"Six grand, just like we agreed"

"Okay" he took the envelope and leave it on his jacket

"No, no, wait you have to count it" he stopped his actions

"I believe in you"

"I just want to remind myself that I paid to someone just to get it as a date on my sister's wedding"

"Look, don't be so hard on yourself, the money is in my pocket and all you have to worry is to look pretty, which is not much difficult, I will be by your side" you flustered for a second and then got together just to confront all the people you haven't seen in many years.

You greet everyone, your friends, your family and he seems to be kind to new people.

Your best friend walks up to you, you haven't seen her in years.

"Lizzy, I've missed you" she hugs you tight

"You are the one that lives in New York" both of you laugh

"Lizzy I want you to meet my date, Jimin" he smiles and shakes her hand

"Park Jimin, nice to meet you"

"Oh, a foreign, well nice to meet you I'm Lizzy, or as everyone else know me Elizabeth" her British accent was really pretty, one of the favorite people for you to listen talk to

Your mother came up to you, gave a kiss to your friend, then you, and gave his hand to the man you came with.

"I'm [name]’s mother" he kisses her on the back of her hand and she giggled

He placed a hand over your waist, made you come closer, and then talked again

"I'm [name]’s date" the smile on your mother's face was priceless

He didn't move his hand out of your waist, you went to the bar and asked for a margarita.

More people came and said hi until you saw him. He wore a gray suit, he had no glasses on and looked as perfect as you remember.

A few margaritas later you needed to go to the bathroom.

He was on your way out.

"Hey, [name], how have you been?"

Your cousin showed up.

"Hey, Namjoon since you already stole four years for her, you don't mind if I take her away, would you?"

"Actua-"

"You're so nice, keep going"

You were at the bar again, he wasn't around so you just ordered another margarita.

Surprisingly your father came by and hugged you with a kiss on the cheek and likewise did his wife. Your brother came and hugged you.

"I've missed you" he was taller than you but still young

"Me too Tom" he smiled and left with a sorry

You felt a hand at your waist and jumped scared.

"Oh, there you are"

"Your mother took me to meet your aunts" he giggled when he saw the look on your face

"Oh my Lord, did she?" he nods and you give a sip to your margarita.

"I'm getting some fresh air, wanna join me?" the glass was empty and honestly you think that you couldn't get through without the alcohol.

"I'ma get another glass" he left the warmth of his hand and went outside.

Chatting with your best friend and cousin while the margaritas kept coming you forgot about your date.

In the meantime, your ex and he were having a conversation.

"Friend of the bride or the groom?" he asked looking at him a few inches apart

"I came with the bride's sister" his eyes open up in surprise

"[Name]?" Jimin nodded at his question like he didn't say that you came along with him, but Jimin's expression was neutral

"And are you with the bride or the groom?"

"How is she doing?" he said, not answering his question

"She has been fine, very successful" he nodded and seem… taciturn

"I think I made a mistake…" he said in a very low voice until he saw you coming to meet Jimin.

The drunk you were brave enough to kiss the man, so it happened.

His plump lips tasted delicious as he held you by the waist, your ex left a few moments later.

"Is he gone?" you turned around to find the spot empty "What did he say to you?"

"Are you okay?" you nodded and he continued talking "He said that he made a mistake, then you came along"

Your mother had a microphone, and you knew that didn't mean something good would come along but it seems that your family didn't care.

"Thank you all so much for assisting for the wedding of my youngest daughter Ava, it was quite a surprise when we find out that she was the one getting married, we all thought that [name] would marry Namjoon first"

"Mom!" you squeaked in shame

"Yes, right I was talking about Ava, congrats on the wedding my dear"

Your dad came along and said some words for Ava, as your date held you by the waist.

"I think I'm drunk" you confessed

"Everyone can tell" he chuckled

"Don't be like that, I haven't gotten drunk in a long time"

"And seven mojitos seemed like a good idea"

"I'm not even that drunk"

"You kissed me"

"So? you have plump lips they're pretty"

"Pretty?" he chuckled again "No one ever said that to me"

"How come? They are" you traced them with your finger and he smiled looking at your eyes and finding a glow in them

"You're quite a thing aren't you?"

"I guess so" he chuckled

Both of you were at your dad's house, they gave you a room.

"I'm taking a shower" he claimed as he walked away

They left you with one bed only and you barely knew the man, what were you supposed to do?

It was late so you needed the rest, it didn't matter at the moment.

Finally getting a bed and a good sleep you took it.

When the morning came, you felt the sickness of yesterday drinks, everything kicking in, and you rushed into the bathroom to puke as much as possible, after brushing your teeth you noticed that Jimin had slept on the floor, wearing only the bottom part of the pajama, and the blood run through your cheeks to paint them red. His torso was toned and it literally glowed, suddenly the knocks on the door scared you and made you jump on your place, Jimin started to wake up.

“Get on the bed” you whispered and he got up and layed down with you while you heard on the door your mother asking if you were dressed with a little giggle

“Come in mom, stop embarrassing me” she giggled again and opened the door to the look of you both on bed, with Jimin without t-shirt

“Well, i see you had fun” Jimin chuckled

“Were you going to say something?” you remembered her, annoy by now

“Ah, yes, we are having breakfast at your sister's house, so get dressed we’re leaving in 20 minutes” you nod and agitate with your hand that she could leave.

After she went out, the warmth of Jimin’s body startled you, it was like you weren’t living at the moment until he asked you something.

“Sorry, what?” he chuckled

“Are we going to change?” you got up, quickly and grabbed some clothes from your bag “You can change here, i’ll be in the bathroom” he nods and you got lost inside after closing the door behind you.

The baby blue dress with a cute lace on the back seemed good for breakfast, and after your subtle but good makeup was done you heard a knock on the door, it was Jimin.

“I’m ready, just waiting for you sweetheart” you opened the door, he got startled but maintained the beautiful smile on him “I see you’re all dolled up” you chuckled

“Does this dress say “Look at me ex, I'm better off without you”?” he nods and you make your way out.

At your sister’s house, well hers and her fiance, almost everyone was there, your sister's bridesmaids, and the best man of the groom, the parents of the groom, and everyone was already sitting by the time you got there.

Pancakes, fruit, bacon, syrup, sausage, eggs, oatmeal, coffee and just to name a few, from what your sister told you, her fiance parents had like tons of money so it felt like a private restaurant just at the comfort of your house.

Jimin and you served all you wanted, from that you learned that he also liked his coffee sweet if not he would not have it, you two went to take a seat, in the large table, your ex decides to sit in front of you, Jimin steals your focus, he begins to talk about a business the he participates and his voice sound like heaven, he mentions other job, you assume the one his right now, and he mentions that he met lots of people, with the same intentions, no harm done, that even once they tried to punch him, you chuckled with look of your ex all over you.

Jimin comes close to your ear to whisper something to you, his cologne smells fantastic.

“I think we made your ex pretty jealous” with a soft chuckled you nod

Your mother stands up, with a glass in her hand, you think that 11 am is the time to be drinking wine, but who are you to judge?

“Once again I want to thank everyone for coming, this is very special for me and my beautiful daughter Ava, for her happiness” she extends her glass and all of us says cheers to it”

“At least this time she didn’t talk about how i was supposed to be marrying” you whisper, closer to Jimin’s ear and he chuckled.

“Sissy, remember that tomorrow is the bachelorette party” everyone got up and she was holding you by the hands

“Yes Ava, i know your schedule very well, don’t worry i’ll be there”

You hear shouts from afar, you don’t know how but Namjoon has Jimin by a chokehold, and everyone is trying for him to let go. You step in, no screams or forcing anything, just making him let go, when Namjoon sees that you help Jimin instead of him, he steps back. Jimin is fighting to get air back to him.

“I don’t know what happened, and I don’t want you to tell, just don’t touch him again, you understand?” he was tall, way more tall than you and still you stood right in front of him, and talked all serious. He looked scared, and walked away and your sister's fiance stepped in. Namjoon nods, and walks out.

“Jimin, are you good?” he nods, with more color on his face now.

“He could have looked worse” you chuckle, good thing he didn’t hurt him.

You two went to the bathroom to help Jimin get some water on his face.

“He was jealous, and told me that i shouldn’t have come here” after damping a towel and wring the excess of water you put it on his forehead

“I’m so sorry for all the trouble” you looked anxious, and Jimin noticed, hold your hands down and look at your eyes

“It’s not your fault, okay?” you nod when you hear voices from afar

“No, dude, i’m not jealous” it was Namjoon

“Yeah right, and that was why you almost punched her new date”

“I’m telling you, he looks like a goal digger, like he’s just after her money” they were talking about you two. You just kept quiet and listened.

“Don’t try to project yourself” namjoon chuckled with a grin and then his face was serious

“You know it wasn’t like that, [name] didn’t even had that much money as now”

“Yeah just that she was boring, and not good in bed, i remembered those words after you told me you fucked someone else” your looks changed, Jimin gazed upon you and saw the tears that started to fall out, he hugged you. Not going out still, they’ll have to leave first.

“I was stupid and young, okay? Let’s head back before someone notices we are gone” Namjoon ended, you heard the footsteps as they walked away, everyone after the next hurting you more.

Boring? Was that what he always thought? Were you ever going to even find a man?

You left, with Jimin as company back to your father's house, the whole way back was full of tears, with soft strokes on your hair from Jimin. He knew you didn’t deserve him, but maybe you did need it to hear it from him. What happened before the choking could be a topic for later. Right now you wanted to be curled up in bed. and so you did.

The day after, you got a good eyeliner, even on your lower eyelid, and with a red wine dress you were sipping one drink after the other at the bachelorette.

“Hey [name] what happened yesterday with Namjoon?” you shrugged your shoulders and kept drinking

“I wasn’t there, so I’m not like a fight referee” when you looked at the person asking of course your sister had to invite her, the girl that made your life a nightmare at high school and collage, but her friend after all

“Stop being so defensive, I see alcohol finally got you” you chuckled and ordered another drink, why would she care

“You know what, screw you Georgia, get lost” you don’t know where you got the courage to do that, but she was flabbergasted and left.

It’s been an hour since everything started, your sister was dancing and all you could do was drink by yourself.

“Are you sure you’ll be good by yourself” Jimin nods “He’s going to be there, and drunk, so please try not to, you know, be near him” He chuckled at your worries

“I’ll be good, stop worrying and promise you’ll have fun” you nod, and he caressed your face before leaving with your brother in law into that van.

Why did he do that? and why could you still feel it on your skin, his hands were a little harsh but it also felt smooth, you couldn’t put into a right thought what you meant by that, and while being lost in thought you didn’t notice your sister coming up to you.

“[Name] what made you so lonely and sad? You miss your boyfriend?” you chuckled

“Unlike you, i know how to be by myself” her eyes water a little

“What’s that supposed to mean?” alcohol can not get the better in you

“I’m sorry Ava, go back to your friends and forget i ever said anything”

“You know, sissy, my dad is always worried about you, always thinking what his daughter is doing outside the country, maybe if he knew you could be alone he wouldn’t have to live with the worries on him” the bitter tone and the way she looked at you, you knew it was all with pure hatred of you, but words can’t get that much of you, so she just leaves.

In the meantime, Jimin is at the stripclub, drinking very slowly and just watching as everyone else haves fun, in their own way, while the groom is very happy with a dancer on his legs, and a few friends around him, cheering and drinking, like if that was the best achievement a man can have. He notices Namjoon up in a corner, drinking and just looking, not moving that much, so Jimin walks up to him, he’s not that scared of big guys.

“What’s on your mind?” Namjoon frowns and looks at him, he’s tall but not that tall, for him at least.

“None of your business” he sounds harsh

“I’m just making conversation”Jimin chuckles, it’s like life is just fun for him, or so Nam thinks

“You’re not mad about what i did” Jimin shrugs

“I can’t be more mad to you than what you’re to yourself” Nam huff and kept drinking

“I don’t understand why would [name] date you”

“And why not?” Jimin chuckles “You gotta stop being so prejudiced, you don’t know me, and me being a few inches smaller than you doesn’t make you any better” Jimin left, he didn’t have anything else to said, he started to get bored, until he gets a phone call from you, he answers

“Jimin, how’s everything going?” he notices Nam approaching

“We’re having fun sweetheart, what about you?” the music was a bit too loud, but with a loud voice he believed you could hear him

“I’m so bored, and all the girlies are leaving for like an after party, but i am soo tired” you sound different, like making every word last longer in your tongue and a little dumb

“Would you like me to go with you?” he feels enthusiast for seeing you more in that amazing red dress, not that he likes you, but he’s a man after all, it wouldn’t hurt to see

“Well, yes, you could if you want” Jimin chuckles

“I’ll be there gorgeous” you hang up, Nam walks away and Jimin calls a taxi on his way out, he remembers the address of the place you were, by the time he’s there you are already outside with a cigarette in between your fingers, anxiety always got the best of you.

You see him, and he comes to take you by the waist. You're drunk enough to tell him that he doesn’t have to do it, so you let the warmth of him hug your body.

Once in the cab, you say the address and he looks at you with a soft smile

“Stop looking at me like that” he chuckles

“What do you mean?” you’re looking at the window, seeing the lights go through

“Like you like me”

“I like you, i think you’re great” you gaze him

“No, not that type of like, I mean like having real feelings for me” Jimin looks at you, not a word and still looking you in the same way

“Is that a problem?” your heart starts pounding hard in your chest

“I mean, i think so, you’re working” he shrugs

“As long as it’s okay with my boss” you chuckle

You got home, and ran to the bathroom to throw every drink to the toilet, why did your stomach had to do you dirty, after brushing your teeth, washing your face and changing clothes, you lied down on bed

“Jimin?” you whisper

“Yes?”

“Where are you from?” he smiles

“South Korea and I assume you’re from here?”

“I lived here my whole life but my mom and dad used to live in California, and what about your family?”

“I only have one brother, and my mom and dad live over there”

“And why did you leave?”

“I have business, and don’t think I don’t want to see my family I just choose a very moved type of life”

“And they understand?” he hums “That must be great, my family thinks i want to be away and not see anyone”

“Do you?” you laugh and he has all the attention on you, even when you’re far apart.

Silence gets through the room, thousands of questions try to escape the bubble in your throat, with softs breathings the sleeps kicks you, the mild light of the hearth on the corner of the room, suddenly a heaviness on the other side of the bed startles you, turning around his face ends up too close.

“No, but my dad is at New York” he looks at you, confused

“But…”

“He’s my stepdad, you know, it’s complicated, my biological father leaves and after all these years try to… bond with me, my stepdad was worried i end up hurt by him, again”

“Everyone can worry, is hard not to” you nod

“I also believe that i was here to look after Ava, even tho we have no blood relation”

“You don’t?” you deny with your head, usually no one knows about this, cause nobody else cares

“We just have been together since very small, she is my sister” he nods, forgetting you cant see him

“I understand, don’t have a step brother, but surely can understand you” you giggle

“That’s why she’s always… fighting to me, everything i did she wanted to do it better, if had a boyfriend, she had to have that guy, ‘m just tired of fighting for that place, so i left” you sigh, he scoops closer to you and cups your face in his hands

“You earn and own every space there is” you grin, this feels weird, as if.. it was part of the money you gave him

You turn around from him, trying to fall asleep forgetting he’s there. He got paid to say that, to behave a certain way.

The next morning was the rehearsal dinner, but you felt uneasy and worried. While getting ready, you barely locked your gaze with Jimin.

First breakfast on that beautiful cabain your parents had, Jimin pulled you away from everyone, and you see his worried eyes for the first time.

“What’s going on?” you shrug as if he couldn’t tell by now

“Nothing, let’s get back” you sound selfless

“What happened to the bubbly and outgoing you?” you shrug, again, he met you like half week and he seems to know you so much

“It’s not part of your job to worry about that” he was flabbergasted

“Wait, so, you think that i’ve been acting like this for my job you so wrong”

“Am I?” he nod and huffed when you crossed your arms in front of him

The dress you were wearing made his cock throb under his pants and pant under his breath, and also because your tits were driving him insane every time he sees you. He licked his under lip and looked at your gaze.

“You have zero idea about me” you nod and your tits wiggle a bit, forgive me ,forgive me for being such a stupid animal, he felt like a teenager boy looking at his teacher's boobs.

“Yes Jimin, i don’t know much, cause this is all a lie” he denies with his head

“Please, watch your tone” you felt suddenly that everyone could be hearing, nobody was even around.

“Jimin, i really don't want to be hurt again, so let's just do us a favor and-...” he stopped you mid speech with his soft lips pressed against yours, the air in your lungs stopped flying through and all you could breathe was Jimin’s cologne, he deepened the kiss, pulling you by the neck, opening his mouth leaving room for his tongue to get into the kiss, it was sloppy and needy, as if he wishes to show you what he means just by that soft lips against yours.

His hands began to wander between your hips and your ass, pulling you closer, as if close wasn’t close enough.

“Jimin…” you gasp between his lips moving “Upstairs” he nods, pulling away and letting you take the lead.

As soon as you’ve entered the room meant for both of you, he begins to kiss you again, less messier and trying to pull your stupid shoes, now the laces seemed a bad idea, the two chuckle as soon as the shoe finally is free of your toe.

He also took his shoes off.

“We have to get back” you gasp when your ass touches the bed, he unbuckles his belt and his pants a little just to be free from his torso till his knees. He helps you pull your dress up until your waist, since you're going commando.

“Damn baby girl, are you trying to kill me?” you giggle as his body hovers over yours and begins his way to kiss you again

“It wasn’t really my intention, this dress doesn’t go with underwear” with a cocky grin you lose breath when his finger touch your clit

Not losing any more time and he’s been really anxious to be inside of you, his cock bullies inside your folds, begins to thrust deep and hard making your mouth leave saccharine and sweet moans with each struck of his cock.

Soon enough Jimin’s moans of his orgasm hits when he’s breathing in the cup of your neck, his cum dripping past your inner thigh and soon after you finish as well.

He pulls away from you, and runs to the bathroom to get you a dry towel to help clean after you.

“Sorry for the mess honey” you giggle and pull your dress for where it was before the horniness got the worse within you.

After returning to the rehearsal dinner and not a single person knowing about what just happened upstairs everything else went smoothly. You went downstairs for another bottle of wine, and soon after behind you, your ex followed you.

After grabbing the bottle you jumped a little at the scare of the presence behind you.

“[name] May I have a word with you?” you nod, in a que for him to continue “I wanted you to know that”

“You know, for many years I wondered why you broke up with me, and if it were me who was wrong but” he looked as if he was the one hurt, as if he wasn’t the one who made you miserable and not the other way around

“I’ve been a complete fool, i agree but there’s something you need to know” you’re confused by now

“Go on then” you don’t notice but there was Jimin following you both, since you’ve already took longer than expected

“That summer where we grew apart, it was because…” he leaned closer, and you took a step back “I’m in love with your sister” you were flabbergasted by this surprise

“What?” you ask, with a nod in your throat

“At first it was only an adventure, something we promised it wouldn’t last…” you’re holding the bottle close to you, a sudden pain in your chest pinching you “But know I only feel a strong desire to be with her, for her not to” you slap him, stopping his words

“Stop, you can’t be this selfish at this moment, my sister seems very fond of who you seem to think as a best friend, so you better not think for a second in hurting my family”

You step away, finding Jimin at the stairs and walk away from everyone leaving the bottle in your way.

Once outside Namjoon and Jimin were behind you.

Jimin rushed to hug you and your sister soon was near the commotion.

“You told her?” he was looking at Jimin and as confused as this has you, you soon understood what it meant. You took a step back.

“You knew?” he denies and tries to hold you “She told you and you didn't?...”

“Sis, I didn’t want to…” everyone else at the party was next to you, seeing what the problem was and asking what was going on.

“She knows?” your cousin asked as she saw the tears streaming down your face

The betrayal of everyone around you soon came to your heart, you ran away while Jimin ran behind you, shouting your name as you ran as fast as you could.

He catch up to you, grabbing you by the arm

“[name] please, wait” your eyes were puffy and full of tears

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you shout with the hurt full in your heart and eyes

“It wasn’t my secret to tell” you nod and hug him

“I trusted them, i trusted everyone they must see me as a fool” he denies and embrace you in his arms

“You didn’t deserve it, I know, and I must apologize to keep the secret but i knew that i wanted to protect you” you nod, trying to see past your pain and sorrow for this matter

You return to the cabin, and sleep in Jimin’s arms when a knock on your door wakes you.

You stand up, and open, the night has already fallen and you could only notice Ava’s blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry sis” you try to close the door again “Please listen to me” you nod

“Go on” her eyes were puffy and the dry tears adorned her features

“I never wanted this to blow up like this, i tried to tell you, several times”

“Trying is nothing worth for me Ava” she nods

“I know, but you have to understand that i didn’t wanted to hurt you” you snort

“Hurt me? or hurt the perfect lie you’ve been living? you know Ava i’ve always tolered that you did all of that before, kissing the boys i’ve told you I liked and stealing my ideas for a project, but i’m tired of that now”

She cries and you closed your door

“[name] please don’t talk to Jeremy about this matter” you open the door again

“No, you’ll have to tell him, and you better tell him before you wed because he doesn’t deserve to marry a lie” she denies

“I’m not ready to…-” you raise your hand

“You better be, cause now that I know he’s going to know” she cries and you close the door for good

“Are you sure you should do that?” Jimin asks, sitting on the bed, you nod, returning to him

“Yes, he deserves the truth” she sighs

“You should be one to talk about honesty, didn’t you brought me here as a paid guest” you snort

“Are you against me?” he chuckles

“I just mean that you’re not exhorted from all sins”

“Are you returning to your work after this?” he denies and chuckles

“I don’t think I should” you sit next to him

“You told me that you usually don’t attend weddings, why did you come?” he nods

“I take more funerals, parties but I try to exclude from weddings” you’re looking at his eyes

“Why 's that?”

“Weddings are more intimate and I tend not to intimate” you nod, agreeing “Funerals are all about accompany those who have lost someone, grieve can make you look for company” he sounds calm

“And why did you accept my offer?” he chuckles

“Something about your voice” you chuckle

“Desperation?” he snorts

“No, more like… hope” the two of you decided that it has been enough for the day, and tomorrow would be a long day.

The day of the wedding was finally upon you, as a maid of honor someone was hired to do your makeup and hair, since you kissed Jimin in the morning before your cousin came to steal you away, you haven’t heard or seen him.

“Why is it that you just know you seem to be in love?” your cousin asked

You laugh to brush it off “You don’t know what you’re talking about”

While being ready and at the small church your gaze searches for the man that knows to hold your heart, by now your sister should be walking down the aisle but she’s nowhere to be seen.

Your mother reaches at where you are, whispers something and you look to where your sister fiance is standing, you know what could be happening.

Once you’re in the room where your sister should be, you find Namjoon kneeling in front of your sister.

“I didn’t thought i ever saw you do that” you greet sarcastically

“[Name]?” he stands and your sister is crying

“Wait in the other room Namjoon” he does as told and leaves you two

“[Name] please don’t tell him” you hug her, and she sighs at the warmth of your body

“I ain’t going to, but I believe you should come clean, before doing the marriage thing” she nods, understanding what you mean.

You call for Jeremy at the little room and leave them to it, they talk, your sister cries and you hope that the wedding finally goes along.

Jeremy gets out and sees Namjoon.

“Hey bud, stay calm would you?” his temple changes and Namjoon makes the run for it

Both are running, he’s shouting how a bad friend he is, and how could you do this to me.

Jimin hopped in the car and chased Jeremy and told him to hop in.

They drive and Jeremy asks “How can I do this now?” Jimin stops the car, and look his way

“She came clean with you, I believe that honesty is what keeps a marriage endure” he nods

“You’re a good therapist” Jimin chuckles

“I believe I am”

They return and have an amazing wedding, the party went smoothly and for once, your life felt great and united.

Jimin and you after returning to New York have a first date, it wasn’t so perfect, but you knew you’ll get better after sharing that trip together, everything with him felt better and he loves to be your date for every occasion.

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts maknae line #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader #jimin x you

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minisugakoobies · 7 months

Note

Okay hear me out

Husband = Jungkook, high school sweetheart

Boyfriend = Glasses M I N G I

First of all, if that woman is reading this, GET 👏 A 👏 DIVORCE 👏! Keep that silver fox!!

Anyway…. thoughts under the cut because they get a little smutty… (minors go away!)

I'm imagining this a little differently from that tiktok story. Jungkook and OC are high school sweethearts for sure. JK was the star athlete of the school, went to college on scholarship, but got injured and had to stop playing before graduation. Fell into a job at OC's dad's company - her dad wasn't the boss but he pulled strings. They've been married for 10 years now, right out of college, still no kids but JK keeps telling her "one day." Their life is comfortable, their sex life steady (quality over quantity), and OC feels pretty content.

But JK is not. He tells her he's been feeling stuck lately. Frustrated that he couldn't turn his natural talent into a high-earning sports career. His company's been bought out by another and he just discovered that in a few weeks when the merger is complete, his boss will be replaced by one of their guys, some young buck fresh out of business school, and JK's angry he's been passed over. JK tells her he needs something new in his life, something to make him feel young again, and says he wants to open up their marriage. She goes along with it, so in love with him even though she feels hurt, thinking she's not enough for him. He finds a girlfriend within days. Starts spending all his time with her. OC cries and cries for the first few weeks, until she talks to her best friend Jimin, who reminds her that she deserves happiness too. She says she doesn't know how and he tells her to be brave and go find it.

She tries the dating apps but all she finds are creeps or scammers so she deletes and decides to just go out to a bar and see what happens. It's been literal years since she went out by herself and she's nervous, not expecting to really meet anyone right away, but just wanting to check out the scene. She decides to go downtown, to a bar tucked away between a few hotels, orders one drink, two, is playing with the ice in the third when a man takes the empty seat beside her. He's tall, broad, a few years younger than she is, wearing glasses and a suit, tie loosened around his neck. He looks exhausted, wearily orders a double. He and the bartender strike up a little conversation when he asks where's a good place to get some late night fried chicken. Bartender says sorry, I'm a vegan, and walks away. OC doesn't know what prompts her to speak up, but she leans over and names a restaurant. It's a place she and JK order from frequently. Younger guy looks her up and down and smiles for the first time since he sat down. She feels the stirrings of butterflies that lain dormant for years as he asks her name. Says he's Mingi. He just got off a plane, in town for a few days for work, and is starving. She's suddenly hungry, too.

They talk a little, and she mentions that the chicken place is only a few blocks away, so they go for a walk. At the restaurant, she's impressed by his ability to eat so much. JK's still fit, but he's not built like this man. He's funny, and nice, this other man. Asks her questions about herself. It's been ages since someone wanted to hear about her. He tells her about traveling for work and how he's just accepted a new position that will hopefully be more of a stationary position and not require him to log so many miles. After they're finished, he asks her if she'll have another drink with him - he's jet-lagged from his flight, doesn't want to go to sleep just yet. "The longer I stay awake, the better I'll adjust to the time zone." She knows she'll just be going home to an empty house, so she agrees, and goes back with him to his hotel.

As her glass goes from full to half-empty, her nerves return. There's a tension in the air now between them. She wonders if he's going to invite her up to his room. She realizes she wants him to. She decides to be brave, and brushes his arm to get his attention.

"Are you starting to feel a little sleepy?"

He glances at her hand, where it rests on his arm, and nods.

"I don't think drinking is the solution, then." She shifts closer to him, runs her fingers along his tie. "Maybe there's something else I can do to help keep you… up."

She giggles as he splays a large hand on her back, practically pushing her out of the bar and into the elevator. As soon as the doors close he's on her, pressing her into the mirrored wall, lips and hands drawn to her like magnets. Her head spins from the rush of arousal that suddenly rolls through her. When they reach his room, Mingi kicks the door closed, then grabs under her thighs, lifting her into the air. She's not the same girl she was when she and JK started dating - it's been a very long time since anyone was able to lift her like that. He carries her into the bedroom, gently lays her on the bed, and drops to his knees.

His mouth pulls an orgasm from her, then his fingers pull another one, before he even undresses. He's HUGE. And dripping with excitement. She's dizzy from the heady combination of her climaxes and the feeling of being desired again. She offers to go down on him but he basically says "if I don't fuck you I might die" and, well, why would she argue with that. It's so different from when she and JK fuck. Mingi doesn't know her body, but he's full of boundless energy and so eager to learn. He doesn't make her cum the first time, folding her legs to her chest as he pounds away, unable to stop himself from reaching his own end in desperation first. But he makes it up the second time, after he's had a moment to rest, pulling her into his lap and bouncing her on his cock until she falls apart around him.

In the morning, he asks for her number, if it's ok to see her again while he's in town. She agrees, and for the next few days, she's happier than she's been in months. Maybe years - maybe what she thought was "content" was just "numb." And now she feels again.

It's not until he's leaving again, to return to his hometown and pack up his life for his move for his new position, that he tells her the name of his company. Her eyes widen with recognition. Mingi asks her if she'd like to see him again when he comes back in a few weeks' time. Of course she says yes.

Suddenly, she can't wait for JK to meet his new boss.

***********

Me: I'm gonna answer this quick Also me: One hour later… 🙈

Um… tagging @kiestrokes @chans-room @yeontan-my-love just for the heck of it (you can yell at me to stop, I can handle it)

#jeon jungkook #mingi #ateez smut #ateez #lovely moots #minttangerines #asks

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chickenparm · 1 year

Text

Overseer (Kaveh/gn!Reader)

@drawlypsy made the GORGEOUS banner for this - you can check out the full piece here!

so, @vasiktomis said something about kaveh bending over a table and his shirt hanging and it sent my brain into overdrive. i immediately alt-f4'd out of everything to write this in the span of 30 minutes while in a horny fugue state.

anyway, kaveh's shirt, am i right? ha ha ha...............................

AO3 LINK

Kaveh/gn!Reader 1,086 Words - Semi-NSFW (Thirsting to the highest degree, Kaveh's loose-ass shirt, the kind of thoughts that come with eye-fucking a fine ass man)

Caravan Ribat is just close enough to the desert to border on misery.

The humidity of Sumeru proper lingers enough that the sweat on your skin just won’t evaporate, yet the sun is cruel enough to beat down on the back of your neck relentlessly. There is no wind, there’s very little shade on the outskirts where this construction project steadily trudges on, and you wonder for a moment if you’re even cut out for this kind of job.

Maybe something in the cooled library, or as an assistant to some administrator of the Akademiya. You can push papers and file things easily enough, it had been your part-time job to pay your tuition, after all. But you had to be ambitious and graduate as an architect, meaning you get to wander off to archons-know-where just to oversee projects like this.

Palms on the table, you scan the blueprints for the hundredth time and look for mistakes. There are none - Kaveh doesn’t make mistakes when it comes to a project like this, where he’s endlessly passionate about its construction. But with the delay in building materials, there’s very little for you to do besides look over the plans, again and again.

There’s also a rhyme to your reason here. Exchanging materials for something more readily available could get things moving again, but without Kaveh’s input, you don’t want to change anything. For all your skill, it’s merely a respect thing not to adjust what he’s so painstakingly laid out.

“If you keep your brow furrowed like that, you’re going to get a tan line from the little line in between.”

Looking up, squinting through the sweat on your eyelids, you look at Kaveh’s approach. Serendipitous, or perhaps you’d subconsciously seen him from the corner of your eye and your mind supplied thoughts of your intentions to suggest a change. The air is thick as you breathe in, almost like soup. “At least some part of me will be in the shade, then. Come over here, I have a proposal about the project.”

Kaveh, despite all his passions and willpower, is a very reasonable man if you know how to approach things. First, mentioning the delay in supplies. The dry season has made it difficult for suppliers of this type of concrete to provide enough for what’s required here. A shipment comes in, but never enough to make substantial progress.

Then, you complain a bit about the weather, just enough to get him on your side and absolutely incensed about the whole affair. When his voice raises, you murmur just loud enough for him to hear about changing the plans, or finding a different supplier, or…

“Let me go over this again. Maybe we can find a different alternative that will hold up to the sandstorms.” Kaveh’s fist thumps in his opposite palm, and you try not to smile too widely. Manipulating Kaveh in any way just feels unfair and cruel, but this is entirely benign and for the betterment of both yours and his sanity.

Far off in the distance, you can just make out the upper boughs of the Divine Tree, and think of your nice, cool home. The sooner, the better.

As you daydream, you nearly miss the way Kaveh leans forward onto the table, propping himself on his hands as he scrutinizes the paper plans before you. Only when he makes a sound of annoyance with his tongue do you snap back to reality, only to lose yourself again.

Leaned forward like this, the long lines of Kaveh are accentuated further, but that’s not quite what’s grabbed your attention. The white shirt he wears is a little looser than usual to accommodate for the heat, and gravity does its work as he leans over, giving you a view straight down his shirt.

Sternum, stomach, bellybutton, the faint beginnings of a v-shape at his hips-

The sweat on his skin illuminates as his toolbox comes to life, spinning out a hologram of the proposed building so Kaveh can examine it in more dimensions. So absorbed is he that you’re blissfully able to continue admiring the sheen on his collarbones, starkly pronounced.

Suddenly, it feels infinitely warmer. It takes everything inside you not to make a sound as you swallow around your dry tongue and blocked throat. Kaveh’s arm lifts to turn Mehrak’s hologram, and the fabric shifts enough that you can see his full chest. A thought crosses your mind about the sound he’d make if you were to suck a little too hard just above his heart, if you were to roll one of his nipples between your teeth.

There’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. Except when you glance at his face, Kaveh has entirely forgotten that you were here. All that concerns him now is coming up with a solution to the problem that you so carefully placed in front of him and encouraged him to solve. And for all your hard work, you’re treated to this.

What would his skin taste like? Salty from sweat, surely. Your tongue is no longer dry, and saliva pools at a concerningly fast rate before you can swallow it down. The wind picks up just for a moment, dusting your cheeks with sand and the relief of only a moment’s reprieve.

Kaveh shivers, not from cold but the sensation of wind down the front of his shirt. What you wouldn’t give to be the one causing that for him now; your hands smoothing across his chest, each dip of his ribs, the flat plane of his stomach.

Nothing good lasts forever, and in your hunger you loosen your self-control and make a tiny sound, barely more than a whimper. Kaveh’s eyes snap up, catching you looking down his shirt at the way his nipples hardened from the brief wind.

Before he can say anything at all, you’re spinning on your heel and power-walking away from the scene. There’s nothing for you to oversee today, or at least nothing that would quite match up to that. Kaveh’s voice calling your name in confusion barely reaches your ears, and you ignore it.

In the settlement is the inn, and there lies your shaded bedroom. It’s important in the desert to take some time to cool off and rest, and you’re so overheated you think you’re on the verge of a stroke.

Kaveh’s confusion be damned, considering it’s his fault anyway. The door can’t be locked fast enough behind you before you cave.

#mind the a/n for the content tags #kaveh #kaveh genshin impact #kaveh genshin #kaveh x reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #gender-neutral reader #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #genshin impact #slightly nsft

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aro-culture-is · 1 year

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Aro culture is being asked about your life goals on your job application and just wondering what you even put there because like, it wouldn't be relevant at all to the description and I don't want to just. Work at this place for the rest of my life. So like. What do I even put?

genuine answer:

look at it from the POV of the employer and not your actual life

for example, for someone working in customer service, they might be looking for personality traits and goals that involve you not leaving within the time period they consider their "investment" in training you to have not yet been fully paid off. Most "inexperienced" jobs are looking for a minimum of a month, but most likely they'd really prefer 3 months + a possibility you'll return if the job is seasonal (ie, a summer job to pay for college), or 6 months to a year in any other type of position. Add more time if you are part-time.

so, for example, say you're in schooling of some sort: you'll want to emphasize that you're looking to make money to help pay for schooling expenses while working towards getting a degree. If your degree is in anything but fine arts, you probably can list it; if it's in fine arts and not relevant to the job - rip my dude, lie and evade. you're still deciding, you're taking gen eds at the moment and like [these courses], anything. the idea is to show that you want a job and hours for a reason that shows you have drive/motivation. fine arts, despite being absolutely grueling degrees that absolutely fucking require more work imho as an engineering major than most majors, are just super devalued by a lot of folks.

if you're in a non-schooling period of life: try to lay out something that shows you're a motivated, practical, or in some way capitalistically "valuable" type of person. do not force yourself to be totally truthful. say whatever will get u the job that u can bullshit. "I'm looking to pay the bills" is probably not the best - spin it so that you show some sort of hobbies, volunteer work, community work, anything that teaches on personality. just do what u gotta to sound like you have something you do other than work and sleep, most of the time they just wanna get a read on you having passion and some sorta drive for something. probs don't mention caregiving for elderly or children though - some hiring managers are trained to look at that as a detriment, since it means you could more easily be called away for emergencies/urgent situations.

there's a lot of advice about like. using the direct words from the job description in these things, but imho i'd be careful. it can get u through automated computer checks, but a real person is probs gonna be like "cool but like. who tf are you." try to think about what/who will see it

some specific examples: "I plan to graduate with a degree in engineering and work in providing industrial solutions." / "I want to be able to spend time working with local gardening groups to make a community garden." / "I hope to further my skills in sewing so that I can make and mend my own clothing."

again: show passion, dedication, and knowledge/skills when possible. if you can find something relating to the position, that's usually best, but... sometimes you just gotta show that you're not reading off "10 best interview answers" and that you're a real person who cares about something. whatever it is, be prepared to get some basic questions/comments like, "Your application says you have an interest in gardening - can you tell me about that?" and respond with 2-3 sentences at a layman level. ie, "I've always enjoyed hands-on work, and it's always wonderful to see my plants thrive from seed to fruiting. I grow tomatoes, and my wife and I can our own tomato sauce each year. I'm hoping to grow peppers next year so we can make our own salsa." I've bolded things that would tell an employer things I think they'd like to hear - you like hands on work, you reliably do a fairly hands-on task without it being a requirement, and you have plans for improvement.

Genuine note though: I'm 23 and currently a barista at a local-ish coffee chain, due to dropping out of engineering as a result of developing a disabling chronic illness. Your mileage may vary; try to think "If someone had trained me to be the most discriminatory, law-avoiding asshole I could be while hiring someone, what is the best and worst I could read from this?". Don't disclose specifics on your personal life around children, elderly parents/grandparents that live with you, plans for future children, disabilities, anti-capitalist leanings, or any political opinions that don't specifically align with the company's expressed home-page level values. Like, if you had to click a button off of their front page on their website to find "we value diversity", try to not to say "I sell queer merchandise" as much as "I run a small online store in my spare time, with merchandise like pins and stickers."

#Anonymous #aro culture is #aro #aromantic #actually aro #actually aromantic #ask #mod alexander #long post

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kmomof4 · 5 months

Text

A Christmas Surprise Ch. 3

We are back with the next ch of A Christmas Surprise!! In this ch, Killian takes Emma out for NYE. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!!!

Summary: Elsa Jones enlists her friend Emma Swan to come up with a scheme to surprise her niece Alice Jones when her Papa, Killian, returns from deployment just in time for Christmas.

From the beginning on ao3/ Current ch

Rating G Total Christmas fluff ahead!!!

Words 4550 of 18,550

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones @justanother-unluckysoul @poptart-cat-78 @myfearless-love @goforlaunchcee @searchingwardrobes @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @djlbg @cocohook38 @cs-rylie @thisonesatellite @donteattheappleshook @deckerstarblanche @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @fleurdepetite @alexa-fangirl-forever @bluewildcatfanatic @qualitycoffeethings

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

New Year’s Eve arrived, and Killian was thoroughly beside himself. The last week had been a whirlwind of activity that included talking to Alice about moving to Storybrooke permanently, polishing up his résumé, getting up to speed on what was required to get his architectural license renewed, not to mention planning the date with Emma.

It had been almost twenty-one years since he’d graduated with his degree, and his head was spinning with the requirements he’d need to meet to get his license in place. Thankfully, since he wasn’t reporting back for active duty for another month, he had time to get it all done and submit his résumé to Liam’s firm before returning to Boston.

Alice was ecstatic about staying in Storybrooke, at least through the end of the school year. She realized quickly that as happy as she was with her Papa being home, she didn’t want to leave her school, Henry, or her cousins behind to move back to Boston permanently.

Killian, Liam, and Elsa agreed it was a bit premature to tell the kids about his job opportunity, just in case it didn’t come to fruition, but after Liam talked with his boss, and then Killian talked to him as well, he was having trouble keeping a lid on his excitement. Everything was falling into place, and he couldn’t be more thrilled.

He wondered how much he should tell Emma on their date tonight. He wanted to be completely forthright with her about his intentions, but he didn’t want to scare her off, either. This was only their second official date, after all. And the first where they’d be completely without their family for the duration.

He looked at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair, touseling it just a bit. He was a little old to be preening in the mirror like this- now that he was in his 40’s, just a touch of frost was evident at his temples- but he had to admit, Emma Swan sent the butterflies in his stomach into flight like no one ever had before, and he wanted to look his best.

He came down the stairs to see everyone gathered in front of the fire, laying out Harry Potter Trivial Pursuit.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Henry to get here?” he asked.

Liam and Elsa looked up at him, matching grins on their faces. “Papa!” exclaimed Alice. “You look so handsome!”

Killian scratched behind his ear as Alice ran for him, throwing her arms around his waist.

“Thank you, Starfish.” He looked up at the rest of his family, happy to see all the smiles directed towards him. “I’m going to head out, but we’ll be back to drop off Henry in about twenty minutes.”

“We’re on teams anyway,” Elsa informed Killian as he turned toward the door. “And the boys are going first. As good as the kids are at Harry Potter, I expect it’ll still be Alice and Henry’s turn by the time he gets here, if it’s gotten to their turn in the first place.”

Killian chuckled his agreement before heading out into the night. Just a few minutes later, Killian was standing on Emma’s front stoop. He took a deep calming breath before knocking on the door.

“Hi, Mr. Jones!” Henry exclaimed, opening the door wide for Killian to enter.

“Hello, Henry,” Killian said, stepping into the foyer of the small house where Emma and Henry lived. Killian looked around at the tidy and tastefully decorated home before turning his attention back to the beaming boy in front of him.

“So where are you taking my mom tonight?” he asked.

Killian chuckled and scratched behind his ear, not surprised, but also not quite prepared for the boy’s question.

“I’ve made reservations for us at a restaurant in Portland that has an entire evening planned to ring in the new year,” Killian explained. “I hope your mother enjoys it.”

Henry’s eyes turned mischievous as he nodded. “My mom doesn’t date,” Henry informed him. “My dad died before I was born, and she hasn’t gone on a single date in my entire life. So I’m sure whatever you have planned, she’ll enjoy.” Henry’s gaze turned suddenly serious, and Killian’s heart rate picked up just a bit as he waited for the boy to gather his thoughts. “I love my mom a lot,” he said. “And I want to see her happy. Just, don’t break her heart, ok?”

Killian’s heart melted at Henry’s statement and request. The seriousness of his words demanded a genuine and heartfelt response. He knelt before Henry and placed his hand over his own heart.

“Henry,” he began, looking him right in the eyes, “You have my word. I will never knowingly hurt your mother. I can tell already, just from the time I’ve spent with her, that she is a priceless treasure, and her heart even more so. And if she were to deign to place it in my hands, I will honor and protect it to the end of the world and time.”

Emma stood around the corner from the foyer with tears in her eyes. She had stopped in the hallway when she heard Henry telling Killian that she never dated. He wasn’t quite accurate in his statement, but looking back now, she realized just how long it had been since she’d been on a date. She’d had a few dates when Henry was a baby, mostly at her mother’s behest. Mary Margaret Swan’s belief in True Love and Happily Ever After and how intertwined they both were would rival any Disney princess.

But hearing Henry’s request and then Killian’s response made her so glad they were both unaware of her presence. It gave her a few moments to dry her eyes and compose herself before greeting her date.

Killian rose to his feet as she came around the corner. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth at the gorgeous man in front of her. He wore a black suit that fit him perfectly. The scruff along his jaw had filled in a little more over the last week since she’d seen him, and Emma had to fight to keep her own jaw from hanging open. Her eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation, and when she finally met his gaze, she caught her breath at the flame of desire she saw there. She didn’t know what he had planned, but she hoped her outfit was appropriate.

Killian’s gaze took Emma in from head to toe. He didn’t even attempt to hide his unabashed attraction and admiration from her. She wore a perfectly sinful, yet modest sleeveless black dress. It clung to every one of her curves, its neckline coming nearly to her neck and the hemline hitting her just above the knee. She wore black stockings and black wedge heels, perfect for dancing. Killian licked his bottom lip as his eyes met hers. He reached out his hand and took hers.

“It’s freezing outside, darling,” he said. “You’ll need a heavy coat.”

“I was born and raised in Maine, Killian,” she informed him with a smile. She opened the foyer closet and pulled out a long red wool coat. She handed it to him, and he held it open for her with a wide smile on his face as she slid her arms in and he settled it on her shoulders. She reached behind her under the collar and pulled her long hair out. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened at her innocent action. She needed a distraction and quickly. “Do you have your bag ready, Henry?”

“They were getting ready to start Harry Potter Trivial Pursuit when I left, Henry,” Killian called as the boy ran back to his room to grab his coat and overnight bag.

“I’m ready,” Henry exclaimed as he came around the corner again. Killian opened the door for them both and let them precede him into the frigid night air. He’d left his car running so it would be comfortably warm inside when they got in. It was cold enough outside that just the few minutes he’d been inside their home, would have been enough for all the heat accumulated on the drive over to be completely lost.

When they arrived back at Liam and Elsa’s house, Elsa’s earlier assessment was proven true. The twins had finally missed a question about five minutes before they arrived, and now Alice was already on her first pie piece. Henry jumped right in.

“Bye, guys,” Killian called. He chuckled when he was completely ignored.

Elsa waved distractedly at them. “Go, have fun! We’ll expect you home by one, Killian.”

Killian laughed. “I’m forty-one years old, Elsa. Little old for a curfew.” And with that, he ushered Emma back out the door.

Once they were on their way, Emma turned to Killian. “So where are we going?”

“Liam told me about a relatively new place in Portland that he and Elsa found a few months ago,” Killian said. “When I looked them up, they had an entire evening agenda for ringing in the new year. So I thought we could try it.” He looked over at her, gratified that her happy countenance was unchanged.

“That sounds fun.”

“The prix fixe menu on the website sounded great,” he told her. “I don’t remember what all was on there, but it included four courses, with several choices for the main course. The entré I remember was the Surf and Turf, lobster and a six ounce filet. I’ll be getting that,” he said, licking his lips.

“That does sound good,” Emma agreed.

“And after dinner, there’ll be dancing and they’ll be turning on the broadcast from New York for the ball drop.”

Emma was excited. A fancy dinner and dancing. She’d never been dancing before and she hoped she didn’t embarrass herself. Or him. She really liked him, and being so close with Elsa, she was keenly aware of how invested her best friend and her husband were in this new relationship.

“I heard you and Henry,” she said quietly. “Before I came in.” Emma bit her lip as she smiled when his cheeks flamed and he scratched behind his ear. The nervous tell of his was adorable and made her want to kiss the spot where he always scratched.

“I, ah…” he stammered.

“It’s alright,” she rushed to reassure him. “Your words were very sweet, and I don’t want you to worry that they’ll scare me off.” She took his unoccupied hand in hers and turned fully to him, taking in the flush on his cheeks and the ticking of the muscle in his jaw that told her just how anxious he was about her response. “I haven’t dated much since Henry’s father died, but I…” She looked down for a moment, a little anxious about revealing quite so much. But then she remembered Killian’s exact words to Henry. Words that were definitely not meant for her ears. Not yet anyway. She took a deep breath and continued. “I like you, Killian. A lot. And finally meeting you after listening to Elsa and Alice talk about you for nine months,” she paused again, steeling herself for her next words, “I know that you are very special, too. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Emma was normally a bit more circumspect about her thoughts and feelings. About anything, not just matters of the heart. But everything she already knew about Killian- from his words earlier, to her own observations, to the information she’d gleaned from Alice and Elsa- told her that this man before her was very special indeed, and her heart would be safe in his hands.

Killian had to blink rapidly to clear his vision so he could see to drive. He cleared his throat a couple of times before speaking.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you better too, Emma,” he said sincerely. They were silent for a few moments before Killian spoke again. “You said you haven’t dated much, but Henry said you hadn’t dated at all.”

Emma laughed good naturedly. “Yeah, he was a baby the last time I went on a date. I’d be surprised if he remembered that.”

“He said his father died?” Killian asked. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing that, I’d like to hear it.”

“No, I don’t mind,” she replied easily. “It’s been a long time. Henry’s father was a lobster fisherman. We met while I was still in college at BU. We’d been together for several years, I was teaching in the Boston public school system, and we’d just gotten engaged. But he got caught in the lines on his boat and was swept overboard.”

“Oh, Emma,” Killian breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

Emma’s smile was small and soft. “I found out a few weeks later that I was pregnant.” She paused for a moment, blinking back her own tears. She hadn’t spoken about that time in her life in many years. “It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. After Neal was gone, I came home. I wanted my mom,” she said with a shrug. Killian gave her a soft, understanding smile. “I was on summer break, and when I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t face returning to Boston and the home I’d shared with him, pregnant with his baby, knowing that I’d be raising our child alone. I got out of our lease and turned in my resignation to the school system. At least here, I had family, a support system I didn’t have in Boston.”

“I’m so glad,” Killian said.

The rest of the drive was made in companionable silence. Emma already knew about Milah from their first date, and Killian didn’t want to trivialize what she’d shared with him by immediately jumping to another topic of conversation. It wasn’t much farther to the hotel that housed Bacarmi Restaurant and Wine Bar, and they could just as easily pick up the conversation once they arrived. Just a few minutes later, Killian pulled up to the valet parking station.

After passing off the keys to the attendant, he opened Emma’s door, holding his arm out for her to take. Bacarmi’s was on the top floor of the hotel, and when they entered, they were immediately taken to their table near the back windows, giving them a spectacular view of the city.

“How did you get reservations here?” Emma whispered as soon as the maître d’ left them with menus. “This looks like the kind of place that would be booked for New Years in June!”

Killian blushed and scratched behind his ear again. “Apparently they hold a certain number of reservations on holidays for military servicemen and women and first responders. And since I qualify…” he trailed away, slightly embarrassed. He didn’t serve his country to be recognized as a hero or anything of that sort, but he had to admit, benefits like this for his service were quite welcome.

“That is lovely,” Emma said sincerely.

“It is,” Killian agreed, then turned his attention to his menu. “Ah, there it is,” he said excitedly, “Surf and Turf. A six ounce lobster with herbed butter paired with a six ounce filet topped with porcini compound butter, sautéed spinach and kale, and whipped potatoes.”

“That sounds delicious, but I’m looking at the seabass.”

Killian nodded in agreement. “Lump crab, lobster sauce, parmesan risotto and sautéed broccolini. That does look good.”

Once their wine and meal order was placed, their conversation flowed naturally. Emma told Killian about growing up in Maine and how Elsa had helped her get a job at Storybrooke Academy. Killian told Emma about some of the antics he and Liam got up to when they were growing up, and about his years in the service. And now that dinner was concluding, the thoughts from earlier returned of just how much he should share with Emma about his future plans. He watched her carefully as she took her last bite of chocolate mousse cake dessert.

Emma swallowed and took another sip of the best wine she’d ever enjoyed before meeting Killian’s gaze. His eyes were mesmerizing in the low light, but she could see some hesitancy and even a small amount of trepidation swirling in their depths.

“What is it, Killian?” she asked gently.

Killian dropped his head for a moment, a bit chagrined that he hadn’t kept his thoughts better concealed. There was nothing for it. In the face of a direct question, he had to answer her honestly. Not that he’d even consider telling her a falsehood, but he wasn’t sure how wise it was to bare his heart and mind to her quite this much at this point in their relationship.

“Speaking of my career in the Navy,” he began, looking her full in the face again, “You know that I’m about to retire.” Emma nodded. “I was commissioned not long after I graduated college with my degree in architecture. My commitment is done at the end of May, but with my terminal leave saved up, I’m out on April 11. I hadn’t given much thought to what I’d do once I was out,” he continued with a shrug. “I mean, I have some savings and I’ll continue to be paid at full salary until the end of May, then my retirement pay kicks in. Alice and I would be able to live comfortably for several months before I’d need to find another job. But as far as what that job might be, I really hadn’t thought about it.” He looked at her again, his eyes bouncing back and forth between hers, trying to read how she was taking this surplus of information. “Until Liam and I had some time to ourselves Christmas Eve after everyone was in bed,” he continued. “You know what he does, right?”

Emma nodded. “Of course. He helped me find our house not long after Henry was born, which is how Elsa and I met. I’d been living with my parents since moving back.”

Killian nodded. “Well, his firm also builds, and they are about to open a new division dedicated to commercial property. He encouraged me to submit my résumé and move here permanently once I retire.”

His eyes met hers again, and Emma was stunned to see a question in them. Was he asking her opinion on what he should do after he retired? Surely not.

Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open slightly before she swallowed hard. Killian could have kicked himself. He’d shared too much.

Emma placed her hand on top of his where it lay on the table and laced their fingers together. “You have to make the best decision for you and for Alice,” she said. “Would I be happy if you moved to Storybrooke permanently? Yes,” she acknowledged, and Killian could breathe again. “But, it’s not my opinion that matters.”

“Alice doesn’t want to leave Storybrooke,” he informed her. “Of course, she’s happy I’m home, but she loves her aunt and uncle, she loves her school and her friends, and she loves you and Henry, and I don’t want to take her away from all of that. If I don’t have to.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Liam talked to his boss and explained my situation, and when I talked to him, we really hit it off. Liam thinks, and I agree, that my chances of being hired once I’ve separated from the service are pretty high.”

“Oh, Killian,” she breathed, “that’s wonderful! When will you know for sure?”

“The online portal for applicants will open at 8 am Tuesday morning,” he said. “My résumé is ready to go, but I will have to get my license reinstated, and that means sitting for the licensure exam on the 8th.”

“A week from tomorrow,” Emma said quietly. “Then you’ll have to go through all the interviews and things?”

“Yes,” Killian agreed. “But Liam’s boss, Nemo, said that he didn’t foresee any problems with bringing me on, and I’d likely have an offer in hand before I had to report back to duty on February first.” Killian smiled at her and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “I know this is a lot of information to take in and probably not the best topic of conversation on our second date, but I wanted you to know what I was thinking about my and Alice’s future and maybe start to explore how you and Henry might fit into that future.”

A soft smile spread across Emma’s lips. “I don’t think it’s a bad topic of conversation at all.”

A wide smile bloomed on Killian’s face as he rose to his feet, still holding her hand in his. “Well then, Swan, may I have this dance?”

A live band was getting ready to play on the opposite side of the room. Emma followed Killian to the empty dance floor, just as the band started playing The Carpenters Merry Christmas, Darling.

Killian put his arms around her, drawing her close. She could drown in the cerulean depths of his eyes and she wouldn’t mind one bit.

“I’ve never danced a slow dance like this,” she whispered.

Killian’s grin was thoroughly delighted. “Well, there’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

They danced for hours. The band was very good, playing classics like Nat King Cole’s Unforgettable and Frank Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight. They also played Let’s Start the New Year Right, by Bing Crosby, 1999 by Prince, and Happy New Year by ABBA. Sting’s Brand New Day and Rod Stewart’s What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? were also included. As midnight approached, the band played NSYNC’s Kiss Me at Midnight. Emma couldn’t keep the grin off her face as she and Killian danced closely, Killian singing the words in her ear.

Baby, it’s New Years Eve

A time we can believe

In making wishes

Dreams come true

Just for me and you

Kiss me at midnight

Dance into the morning light

Party into the new year

All my friends are here and when the time is right

Kiss me at midnight

The band stopped playing and the volume on the big screen TVs in the bar area was turned up so they could all join in the countdown to the ball drop.

“Five… four… three… two… one!” they shouted. “Happy New Year!” The noise around them was deafening with the party horns and noisemakers being blown and shouts welcoming the turn of the calendar. Moments later, the band launched into Auld Lang Syne.

Emma stared into Killian’s eyes. He appeared to be as spellbound by her as she was by him. She couldn’t look away. This was a man she could love. She had no doubt. He held her close swaying to the music. Everything around them faded, and Emma wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers.

“Happy New Year, Emma,” he whispered.

“Happy New Year, Killian,” she replied just before his lips captured hers.

Emma all but melted in his arms at the feeling. Her lips parted when his tongue traced their seam, gently requesting entrance. Desire flared inside her as their tongues tangled. Killian held her close, one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly against him, the other running through her hair. Emma tightened her own arms around him, never feeling as desired or as beautiful as she now felt in Killian’s arms. Much too soon, air became necessary and Killian pulled away from her.

They were both breathing heavily as they stared into each other’s eyes, still oblivious to anything around them.

Killian was completely gobsmacked. If it was possible to fall head over heels in love with someone from a single kiss, then that was exactly what had just happened to him. But it wouldn’t do to say that out loud at this moment in time. He thought back to his words to Henry earlier this evening when he’d promised to protect Emma’s heart were he so blessed to be gifted with it. A small smile touched his lips as he realized it was the other way around. His heart was unequivocally hers. To the end of the world or time.

Killian touched his forehead to hers. She still seemed a bit dazed from their kiss, and he couldn’t help the surge of male pride that flowed through him at that realization.

“I should probably be getting you home.”

Emma giggled, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “You’re probably right. You do have a curfew after all.”

Killian snorted. “You don’t think they’ll be waiting up for me, do you?”

Emma raised her eyebrows slightly. “If I know Elsa, I expect she will.”

Killian groaned and Emma giggled again. She was probably right. And if Elsa was up, that meant Liam would be up, too. There was nothing for it, he was gonna have to face the music. At least he wouldn’t have to face the inquisition from the kids tonight. No, Emma would have to join him in the hot seat when she came to pick up Henry.

Killian grinned as he saw the same realizations were coming over Emma as well. He held out his elbow to her and escorted her back to their table where he helped her into her coat.

The drive to Emma’s home was quiet, but they held hands the entire way. And after another kiss on the front stoop of her house, Killian stood there for a few moments once Emma retreated inside. His life had been thoroughly turned upside down in the last two and a half weeks and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Killian arrived back home just a few minutes later and made sure to rattle the front door a bit just in case Elsa and Liam were waiting up for him. Sure enough, when he entered the living room, he found his brother and sister-in-law hurriedly smoothing down hair and clothes as they both sat up on the sofa, trying, and failing, to present a respectable and united front. Killian chuckled, he wasn’t fooled a bit.

“So how was the date?” Elsa asked. Her cheeks were still a little pink, whether from her husband’s attentions or embarrassment at being caught, Killian couldn’t tell. “We want to hear all about it. Did you dance? I’ve never known Emma to dance. Was there a goodnight kiss?”

Killian chuckled again. He cut his eyes at his brother, whose cheeks were also red, but didn’t seem to be as anxious for answers to Elsa’s questions. Killian took a deep breath.

“You’ll have to ask all that of Emma tomorrow,” Killian said with a smile. “Or, later today, rather. We had a lovely evening. Thank you for the recommendation, brother.” With those words, Killian turned toward the stairs and started making his way to his room. But before he got to the top of the stairs, he heard Elsa speak in a low voice.

“He looks happy.”

“Yes, he does.”

Killian paused at the top of the stairs, straining his ears for anything else they might say. But when Liam spoke again, he wished he hadn’t.

“Now, where were we?”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! The final ch will be up on Friday!!

#a christmas surprise #krystal writes #art by krystal #christmas fluff

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thelastspeecher · 1 year

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Okay I finally got around to writing up the next thing for my Foster Ford AU. I, uh, I already knew exactly what I wanted to write (I drive a lot for work and come up with fic stuff during those drives), but Life kept me from actually writing it down. But here it is! Happy Saturday. :)

——————————————————————————————

Stan was finishing up dinner by the time his wife, Angie, walked into their house. He looked over his shoulder.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey yourself,” Angie said cheekily. She slipped her shoes off, placing them in the basket by the door. “Somethin’ smells good.”

“It’s just pasta.”

“And?” Angie asked pointedly. “Does it bein’ pasta mean it shouldn’t smell good?” Stan turned back to the stove, hiding a smile.

Love when she tells me off in that sexy southern accent of hers.

“Sorry it took me so long to get home,” Angie continued. She sighed heavily. “It took me forever to finish gradin’ my students’ labs, and after I finished those, I had to clean some cages.”

“It’ll be good practice for that zoo job you’ve got lined up after you graduate,” Stan said.

“Oh please, I don’t need any practice cleanin’ after animals,” Angie scoffed. “I grew up on a farm, ‘member? I’ve been cleanin’ after animals since I was old enough to hold a broom. I just wish I could get home sooner. I hate to leave ya with all the food prep.”

“Eh, you and Shermie taught me enough kitchen stuff to keep me from setting things on fire,” Stan said with a shrug. Angie chuckled. “Sit down. I’ll bring you dinner.” Stan scooped pasta into a bowl, sprinkled cheese on top, and then brought it to Angie sitting on the couch in the adjacent living room. As he handed the bowl over to her, Angie raised an eyebrow at him.

“What are ya tryin’ to butter me up for?”

“Why do you assume I’m trying to butter you up?”

“You even put the cheese on fer me.” Angie cocked her head. “Somethin’s on yer mind.”

“You can see right through me,” Stan mumbled. He shooed the cat off the couch, then sat next to Angie. “I told you about this kid at school, Stan.”

“Yes. You did.” Angie set her bowl on the coffee table, on top of an old National Geographic magazine. “Poor thing’s in foster care, right?”

“Yeah.” Stan took a deep breath. “And…there’s a pretty big thing I haven’t mentioned about him.”

“What?”

“He looks exactly like my twin brother.”

“You’ve got a twin brother?” Angie asked. Stan winced. “Stanley Pines, we’re married! And we’ve known each other how long? Why would ya keep such a big secret from me?” She crossed her arms. “Ya better have a good reason.”

“I do.”

“Then spill.”

“Ford – that’s my twin’s name – and I were pretty close growing up. I mean, we’re twins. Sorta required. But in high school, well, it all got ruined.”

“How?”

“He did this science fair project that caught the attention of some fancy school on the other side of the country. He was…he was gonna leave me behind. And I- I got angry.”

“Oh, no,” Angie said quietly. “In yer anger, did ya do somethin’ ya regret?”

“Yes,” Stan said quietly. Angie gasped. “Not- whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that bad. I went to the school where Ford’s experiment was and, okay, this is gonna sound stupid, but I shouted at it for taking my brother away from me.”

“That don’t sound stupid.”

“Yeah, you named your violin.”

“Fiddle, and she came with the name.”

“You’re just making my point for me,” Stan said. Angie rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. So, ya went to yell at the experiment. Don’t sound too bad.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done yet.” Angie gestured for him to continue. “I- I got angry and I hit the table it was on and the next thing I knew it was smoking and wasn’t moving and-” Stan shook his head. He could feel hot guilt pulsing at the base of his neck, like it always did when he thought about that day. “I thought I fixed it. So I didn’t tell Ford.”

“You didn’t tell- you thought you fixed it?” Angie asked incredulously. “What kind of project was this?”

“Uh, I think it was called a perpetual motion machine,” Stan said, scratching his chin idly. When Angie didn’t say anything, he looked at her. She was gaping, shocked. “What?”

“Yer brother made a workin’ perpetual motion machine?” she squeaked. Stan nodded. She began to tug on her hair. “You- what- how?”

“Hey, what have I told you about leaving your hair alone?” Stan said playfully, pulling her hands away from her hair. “It’s too pretty to get all torn out.” Angie put her head in her hands. “Is a perpetual motion machine a big thing?”

“Yes. It is.”

“I’m kinda surprised you know what it is. I thought your brother was the one who makes machines.”

“He is.” Angie dragged her hands down her face. “But ya don’t need to be an engineer to know perpetual motion machines ain’t s’pposed to be possible!”

“Yeah, Ford- Ford’s pretty smart.”

“Sounds like it.” Angie shook her head. “Okay. You thought you fixed a perpetual motion machine- now that’s just a crazy sentence what came out of my mouth. What happened next?”

“I didn’t tell Ford. I didn’t want him to think I did it on purpose. Of course, that’s what he thought when it turned out I didn’t actually fix it. Don’t think it needs to be said, but I’ll say it anyway. He didn’t get into the fancy school. At home, we got into a big fight over it and my Pops kicked me out.”

“Over a broken science fair project?” Angie asked softly.

“Honestly, I think he was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”

“How old were ya?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh, Lordy,” Angie breathed. She put a hand on Stan’s knee. “Darlin’…”

“That’s why I was living with Shermie when we met,” Stan continued, trying to ignore the tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes. “He heard what happened, tracked me down, and thanks to him, I got my GED, got a community college degree, and met you.” Stan smiled at Angie. Angie returned the expression. It was the same sweet smile she made the day they met in the coffee shop, when she realized Stan had put extra whipped cream on her hot chocolate. As a barista, it was what he usually did to flirt with pretty ladies, but even then, when Angie smiled at him, he knew she was different.

“I see why ya didn’t mention him to me ‘fore,” Angie said. She squeezed Stan’s knee. “But in the future, please, share these things. I know they aren’t pleasant, but we’re married. I’m here to help ya shoulder the burden of the unhappy things. You do that with me. Let me do that with you.”

“No promises.”

“Oh, Stan,” Angie sighed. She shook her head. “What am I goin’ to do with ya? Ya need to be willin’ to be more emotionally vulnerable.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Especially if my suspicions as to why ya brought up this kid at school what looks like yer twin are correct.”

“Can’t pull the wool over your eyes.”

“Nope.” Angie leaned back, crossing her arms. “Now, either confirm or deny my theory. Why’d ya bring him up? More specifically, why’d ya bring up the fact he looks so much like yer twin brother?”

“All right. No beating around the bush.” Stan took a deep breath. “I think he’s Ford’s son.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did I confirm or deny?”

“Confirm.”

“Figured.”

“Do ya have any other evidence supportin’ this idea?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Angie said. Stan nodded. “I’m interested in hearin’ it, then.”

“When I realized there was a kid at school who looked just like Ford and even had the same name-”

“Wait.” Angie held up a hand. “I thought you said the kid was named Stan.”

“It’s short for Stanford. So is Ford,” Stan explained. Angie steepled her fingers thoughtfully. “What?”

“Yer parents named their twin sons Stanley ‘n Stanford.”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet sarsaparilla.”

“You don’t have any right to talk about names, Banjolina.”

“Ugh. Fair.” Angie waved her hand. “Continue.”

“Anyways, when I realized this kid looked like Ford and even had the same name, I asked Shermie if he’d heard from Ford recently. He said he hadn’t, but that he would check with Mom. Mom told him Ford hadn’t called her in almost two years.”

“Huh. Unless that’s typical of him, I’d consider that to be rather concernin’.”

“Apparently, he called Mom every week, unless he was too busy. But he always called her at least once a month,” Stan said. Angie nodded slowly. “So, yeah, concerning. He was doing research in some town in Oregon called Gravity Falls when he dropped off the face of the Earth. Guess where the kid at school was found.”

“Gravity Falls?”

“Bingo.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “I just- it can’t be a coincidence!”

“Stranger things have happened,” Angie mumbled. She frowned. “Is yer twin the kind of person to abandon his son? When you’ve mentioned him ‘fore, you’ve said he was abandoned.”

“No. Ford’s not the kinda person to just leave his kid and skip town.” Stan looked down at the floor, a sudden tight feeling in his chest. “At least. Not the Ford I knew. I think- Shermie said that Ford was doing research in the woods in Gravity Falls. I think Ford probably brought his kid on some hike with him. Something happened to Ford, but his kid got away and was found wandering around.”

“Research? What kind?”

“Dunno.” Stan paused. He looked at Angie. “Do you think it’s relevant?” Angie shrugged.

“Could be. Was a missin’ person report ever formally filed fer yer twin?”

“Shermie said Mom called the cops after a year without anything from Ford. The cops didn’t see anything suspicious at Ford’s place, and some lumberjack and his wife said they were looking after the place while Ford was gone.”

“Then the answer is no,” Angie said.

“I think so, yeah. The lumberjack and his wife made it sound like Ford would be back eventually.”

“I get the feelin’ these cops might not be stellar at their job,” Angie said idly. She smirked. “Love it when the pigs are incompetent.”

“Moses, Angie, I’m trying to be serious, and you’re saying something stupid sexy,” Stan said playfully. Angie laughed. “I agree, though.”

“About the cops in Gravity Falls bein’ bad or that cops what don’t know what they’re doin’ are the best?”

“Both. I mean, this kid at school, his last name isn’t even Pines! I bet the cops misheard him or something.”

“Or that’s the last name of his mother,” Angie suggested. Stan rubbed his chin.

“That’s possible, yeah. Ford’s not a relationship kinda guy. Maybe this kid was from a one-night-stand or something and the mom dropped him off with Ford.”

“Did anyone in yer fam’ly suspect yer twin to have a child?”

“Uh. No. But even though Ford called Mom all the time, he didn’t tell her much. Just that he was eating well and getting exercise. And honestly, I don’t blame him for wanting to keep a kid secret from her. She’d go nuts and make it a whole thing.”

“I see,” Angie murmured. Stan scowled at the expression on her face. She wasn’t convinced.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just think it could all be a coincidence.”

“Ang, you don’t get it! This kid is a frickin’ genius like Ford and seriously, he looks just like him. Extra fingers and everything!” Stan protested. Angie blinked.

“…Pardon?”

“What are you pardoning?”

“Extra…”

“…fingers. Yeah. Probably shoulda led with that, huh?”

“Holy horseradish.” Angie leaned in, excitement suddenly sparkling in her brilliant blue eyes. “Stanley, you’ve got a twin brother what’s a polydactyl?”

“Is that the fancy science word for extra fingers?” Stan asked. Angie nodded. “Then yes.”

“That’s astonishin’! In what way is he a polydactyl? Ya said extra fingers. Is it a fully formed, fully functional extra digit?” Angie asked intently.

“Yeah.”

“Is it his pinky finger, his thumb, or one of the middle three?”

“I don’t-”

“And ya said fingers, plural. How many extra does he have?”

“Two. One on each hand.”

“Are his hands symmetrical?”

“Yes.”

“Golly gee.” Angie shook her head. “That’s- okay, polydactyly ain’t exactly common to begin with. But most polydactyls don’t got a full extra finger, they got an extra nubbin. And then addin’ perfect symmetry on top of that? That’s an incredibly rare case!”

“The doctors said something like that when we were kids,” Stan mumbled.

“Does polydactyly run in yer fam’ly? Do either of yer parents have it?”

“No.”

“Then it must be an in utero mutation-”

“Angie,” Stan said firmly. Angie stopped mid-sentence. “I love it when you get all excited about science. But we need to focus.”

“Right. Right. Sorry.” Angie smiled sheepishly. “It can be dif’cult to turn off biology mode sometimes.”

“Since Ford’s…polydactyly is such a rare kind, does that help my case, since the kid at school has it the same way?” Stan asked. Angie frowned thoughtfully.

“The fact they share a rare version of polydactyly, to me, ain’t as significant as the fact they share bein’ polydactyls of any sort. Polydactyly has what we call variable expressivity. It can show up a lot of dif’rent ways, and just ‘cause two folks who have it are related, it don’t mean they’ll have it in the same way.”

“Huh?”

“Think about it this way,” Angie said. “I got blonde hair, right?” Stan nodded. “And so do two of my brothers. But only one of ‘em has hair the same shade as mine. Same sort of principle applies to polydactyly.”

“You’re dumbing it down for me, aren’t you?” Stan asked. Angie tilted her head one way, then the other way.

“…Maybe. But it helped ya understand what I was gettin’ at, didn’t it?”

“It did.”

“Good! So, sharin’ the exact same kind of polydactyly don’t necessarily mean relation. But sharin’ polydactyly in general could! It’s pretty rare and generally dominant, so assumin’ yer twin is heterozygous fer it, any offspring of his would have a 50% chance of bein’ polydactyls too.”

“So you’re saying…”

“I don’t think yer barkin’ up the wrong tree,” Angie said. Stan felt tension he didn’t know he was carrying leave his shoulders. “We can reach out to Stan’s foster parents and ask to get in touch with the CPS officer in charge of his case. Let ‘em do their own investigation and see what happens.”

“Yeah.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. We’ll do that. And if it turns out this kid, Stan, if he’s actually Ford’s son…”

“We do what we need to become foster parents,” Angie said quietly, “and we take him in.”

“Ang…”

“It’s better fer kids to be placed with fam’ly when possible. And since yer already close to the boy, it’d be the easiest adjustment fer him to stay with us.” When Stan didn’t say anything, Angie cocked her head. “I know that was what ya wanted to do when ya started this conversation.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting you to agree to it so quickly.” Stan managed a weak smirk. “Guess I didn’t need to butter you up after all.”

“Now, who can say whether that cheese on my pasta was the determinin’ factor?” Angie teased. “Speakin’ of…” She turned back to her dinner. “Dr. Whiskers!”

“Darn it, cat, don’t eat that!” Stan snapped, shooing the cat away from the bowl of pasta it had already made a dent in. Dr. Whiskers meowed plaintively, hopped off the coffee table, and sauntered away. “Ugh. I’ll get you a new one.”

“We should prob’ly try to teach Dr. Whiskers to stop eatin’ our food,” Angie said idly as Stan got up from the couch. “That ain’t the first time he’s pulled this.”

“Yeah.” Stan looked around. “Where’s the spray bottle?”

“I think I put it in the bathroom after we finished with yer trainin’,” Angie answered. When Stan got hired as a teacher, he recruited Angie to help him stave off his habit of swearing so that he didn’t upset any parents by letting a four-letter word slip. The method Angie went with was unconventional, to be sure, but effective.

“Still can’t believe you sprayed me with water any time I swore.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“A little too well,” Stan muttered. He didn’t even really swear at home anymore. “Wonder if we can use it if the kid causes trouble.”

“No,” Angie said immediately.

“What, you can spray me but you draw the line at a kid?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Stan grinned at Angie. “I knew you were mom material.” Angie smiled.

“And yer goin’ to make an amazin’ father.”

“Damn straight,” Stan said firmly. Angie raised an eyebrow. “…Darn straight.”

#fanfiction #Gravity Falls #Gravity Falls AU #Foster Ford AU #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Stangie #sorry Ford isn't actually in this one #he'll be in the next one probably #(I shouldn't have started doing all this for this AU #I have multichaps to work on!)#also I know I actually got a couple followers from my Foster Ford stuff #so for those of you who arrived for that reason here is your introduction to my darling OC Angie #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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etheries1015 · 2 months

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ETHERIES I'M CRYING

There's this "trend" in my country where old sugar daddies have this thing of sending their sugar babies to get their master degrees, they're literally doing more than the government when it comes to education 😭

ONE OF THEM EVEN SAID THAT THE REASON FOR THAT IS TO HAVE MORE MEANINGFUL SEX (did yall talk about the economics after sex or something-)

THERE'S ALSO ONE WHO SENDS MULTIPLE SUGAR BABIES TO GET THEIR MASTERS DEGREE THEN BROKE UP WITH THEM AFTER THEY GRADUATE. LIKE EVERY TWO YEARS HE BROKE UP WITH THEM. Sir even has his own "batch" of sugar babies with degrees, one batch consists of 2-3 educated girlies 💀

Imagine platonic male!Briar valley noble!reader with Meleanor, Revan, Lilia, and Baul. Lilia mentioned that nobles in Briar Valley are mostly useless, and here you are doing a better job than the ministers and nobles who are in charge of Briar Valley's education system. Like, the majority of the educated and successful court ladies are your sugar babies at one point.

Education ministers improving Briar Valley's education ❎

Sugar daddy!reader improving Briar Valley's education ✅

Aiming for a brighter country with daddy <3

Is your country perhaps America because that happens here all too often lmfao. I'm working on getting my bachelor's degree (for now) and every day I think to myself "Fuck I need a sugar daddy" LMFAOO....

WAIT WHAT... let me understand this correctly: Sugar daddies are saying they are sending money...to sugar babies for school..for meaningful sex..? What? Or did I just not understand that correctly lmfao?

okay but real, someone paying for my college and then breaking up with me with zero strings attached...THE DREAM. I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO GIVE ME MONENEYYYY i'm trying to revamp my closet and get some new clothes but I'M SO BROKE RN BRO. also.."Batch" Of sugar babies is insane what the fuck why would they call them that LKDJFLISKJD THAT'S SO FUNNYYYY ACTUALLY.

ANYWAYS ONTO THE OTHER HALF REGARDING THE TWISTED WONDERLAND COMMENTS HAHAH

I love that lmfao Sugar daddy reader seeing the flaws in the system and giving in, deciding to do something about it since OBVIOUSLY the rest of the country is ASS at it. Giving their sugar babies money to get a good education, even if some of them reader gets no reward/profit from it. Spoiling them is enough. Although you wouldn't be opposed if some sugar babies were willing to keep you company, it's never a requirement. Even getting homemade cookies makes you utterly elated. Buuttt there's nothing like being a one-man bank for the faes just tryna graduate college and get higher education, since the ministers of the country are like dead-beat dads. You're soon the talk of the town! Sugar daddy Noble fae, is probably the only noble who actually DOES something for the people. Kudos to you!

Fixing Briar Valleys education system one sugar baby at a time LMFAOOOO

This would also work with sugar mommy readers (As someone who has said multiple times to my friends I'd be their sugar mommy when I graduate and make money BUAHAH)

#etheries rants💜✨#twst #twst headcannons

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ao3cassandraic · 8 months

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Hi! I'm about to apply to get into graduate school and start working to get my MLIS. Do you have any advice?

Hi! Welcome to the information professions.

Until my shop changed processes a couple of years ago, I read applications for admission. Lots of them. I was the department app-numbers champion three years running.

Here's what I typically looked for:

Can you write? Like it or not -- and I don't, always -- these professions are hyperverbal and so is our program. If writing isn't your strong suit, that's not a dealbreaker; it just means "find reliable beta readers for your essay." And when you hit campus, locate the campus writing-help unit and make friends with them.

Do you have some idea what you're getting into? For some applicants this is direct work or volunteer experience; for others, a mentor; for others, a grounded sense of career direction; for still others, a statement of their abilities and aspirations that they think fits the profile. That last one can be tricky, though -- if it's nothing but rose-colored glasses or bogus stereotypes, it won't count in your favor. I suggest talking to some info pros about their jobs, if you need to. We're a pretty forthcoming bunch. All this said, you DO NOT need to know to the ninth (or even first) decimal place what you want to do. These professions contain multitudes, and it's exceptionally common for people to discover their career direction while in the program, or (like me, actually) wind up doing something they never could have envisioned beforehand.

Do you know anything about our program specifically? Someone may have told you "the MLS is a union card; all library schools are the same." Don't you believe it! We all have specialties. We all have niches we don't touch with a ten-foot pole -- and yes, I have absolutely disrecommended admission for an otherwise-excellent applicant whose desired niche my shop just plain doesn't serve. If you have a niche in mind already, it won't hurt you one bit to spend five or ten minutes on the school's faculty-staff page to figure out who teaches in that niche so you can mention them in your essay. Or check out the program outline and explain why you think the requirements will help you be good at info-pro-ing. If one of our alumni recommended our program to you, let us know.

Will you make it through the program? For this I glance over undergraduate transcripts and read recommendations, unless the applicant has been out of college so long it makes more sense to check their résumé. A rough time in undergrad is not a dealbreaker unless I don't understand why it happened and (crucially) why it won't happen again -- address these briefly in your essay if you need to. (We do totally get that there's been a pandemic -- we were there too! If it's that, say so and move on.) What I don't want to do is admit someone I don't think can graduate -- that'd be a cynical, unethical waste of their time, money, and energy.

Do you differ from the typical applicant in cool and/or useful ways? Like most professions, there are coveted/oversubscribed info-pro niches and niches that are... less so. The typical applicant profile for library school is an English or history major just out of undergrad. It won't count against you if that's you... but a STEM major or minor, tech savvy, cultural competencies, teaching experience, research or publishing experience, and/or leadership/management experience will count FOR you, because those niches need people real bad. Similarly, the information professions are hella cishet white neurotypical. If you're not and (under current US law, damn it) can explain how that's going to make you a better info pro, let us know.

Any red flags? Usually these are in rec letters, so choose your recommenders wisely. I've also had to disrecommend people whose recommenders or essay... how shall I put this... put their commitment to inclusive professionalism in doubt. But there's also a cultural thing in librarianship where librarians despise library schools. Many think them unnecessary, or would prefer an undergrad major rather than a master's-level program. Many judge their entire library-school experience by their worst instructor (and ngl, we have some lulus -- even I haven't always covered myself with glory, and I try real hard to be good at what I do). Point being, the commonest red flag I saw was an app essay that oozed contempt for the pointless hoops the applicant was already jumping through, and the hoops they'd have to jump through if admitted. And I'm just like, why? Why would I admit an applicant who hates us, thinks they know it all already and we have nothing to teach them, and is clearly unwilling to meet us halfway? Go poison some other school's culture, applicant; I don't want you in my shop. Now, you don't have to flatter us! Unnecessary and can be a bit creepy! But don't hate on us, please.

Hope this helps, and feel free to ask more questions in the comments. That goes for everybody, not just OP!

#library school #graduate school #grad school applications

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linkspooky · 1 year

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TITANS #1: OUT OF THE SHADOWS, THOUGHTS.

I’m evolving from a manga blogger to my final form a comic book blogger. If you know anything about me, you know Teen Titans is my favorite thing ever, so after neglecting the Teen Titans and pushing them to the side for years DC’s push to finally put the Teen Titans in the spotlight has me really excited. So I’ll be trying to write up my monthly thoughts for each new issue as long as the comic is running!

Happy comic book Tuesday everyone! My thoughts on the first issue below!

First and foremost, after two successive reboots the newest run of Titans has returned to the original New Teen Titans lineup, Nightwing, Donna, Starfire, Raven, Cyborg, Beast Boy, with Wally as a member at least on rotation.

How much of the old continuity is back has yet to be seen, but considering Roy and Lian are back in the Green Arrow comics, they mention that Garth, Donna and Dick are founding members of the original Titans Team I am going to assume they’re bringing back old continuity.

From what I can tell, Infinite Frontier did a sort of soft reset of both of the New 52, and Rebirth Teen Titans series, and our current team is continuing on from what was probably a few years after the events in (2003).

I base this off the fact that the newest Young Justice comics also mention the fact that Tim, Connor, Bart and Cassie all were on the Teen Titans at one point before they went back and reformed Young Justice, so graduation day still happened.

The fact that Beast Boy and Raven are dating too is something that indicates we’re continuing from the events of (2003), because them officially getting back together is the last thing they did on panel before the reboot hit.

The New Cyborg comic that came out today as well also mentions that the first team he was ever on was the Teen Titans, with a flashback that looked like the 80s lineup.

Anyway, I went out of my way to establish what continuity I think we are working with, because since we’re back at the New Teen Titans lineup, there’s a lot of interesting parallels in this first issue.

1. Garfield Logan / Beast Boy

A pretty commonly overlooked fact about Beast Boy is that he suffers from C-PTSD, and depression. He’s basically been orphaned twice. This was especially prevalent in the start of New Teen Titans, because when the Doom Patrol had just recently died when Garfield joined the team.

Garfield’s mental illness is more disguised because unlike other comic book characters that tend to lash out a lot more (like say, no one is ever going to argue about the fact that Jason Todd has c-ptsd it’s pretty hard to miss there), Garfield instead spends most of his time playing off his trauma like it’s nothing to him.

That’s not to say Garfield doesn’t lash out, he has multiple times. He’s tried to kill Slade Wilson, he nearly killed Madame Rogue (and then she died anyway). However, Garfield tends to spend a lot of time trying to hide his symptoms, so he can come off as a friendly, safe, reliable person to be around.

Which is what makes Garfield so unique of a character to me, his unaddressed trauma manifests in subtle ways. Beast Boy’s immature, and kind of an eternal child because he doesn’t want to grow past his trauma since that would require facing it. He’s also like, compared to Dick Grayson who is a well-oiled machine who is THE LEADER, the HERO, a lot more incompetent and whiny. Which is because they have similiar traumas that manifest in different ways, Dick’s trauma makes him overwork himself to death trying to be good at his job as a hero because that’s the one thing he does well, and Beast Boy’s trauma makes him self sabotage.

Beast Boy’s writing is unique because his trauma stunts his growth in a way that’s really down to earth and realistic. A lot of people complain about how fifteen year old Beast Boy is constantly making women uncomfortable by hitting on them, or how his relationship with Terra is about HIS FEELINGS and not hers and therefore selfish, and yeah, both of those things are true but it’s because Beast Boy is a child who doesn’t know how to behave that’s looking for validation and in this case he’s looking for it from women in his life.

New Teen Titans isn’t the most progressive comic in the world, but the writers were aware of the fact Beast Boy’s behavior was not alright, he gets called a chauvinist multiple times. So Garfield is capable of being immature, selfish, and he can even have some toxic attitudes and deeply repressed anger and these things are all deeply hidden under the surface, because he’s also Beast Boy and he’s Baby.

The new Titans run has said that Beast Boy’s trauma from being shot by Slade Wilson in Dark Crisis is going to be one of the themes explored starting out in Titans, and as I’ve established above Beast Boy’s always been a sufferer of CPTSD.

The fact that it was Slade specifically who shot him too is interesting, because Beast Boy had a pretty long running relationship with Slade in new Teen Titans (more of a relationship than he ever did with Dick, TBH). Starting with the fact that Slade nearly murdered him, Beast Boy’s relationship with Terra, all led to a point where Beast Boy tried to murder Slade out of vengeance.

Which is where I once again bring up the point that, Beast Boy’s just repressed all of his trauma he has not processed literally any of it. However, when Beast Boy tries to kill him, of all things what happens is they end up sitting down at a diner and talking things out. I have mixed opinions on this scene I definitely do not like the victim blaming of Terra that goes on, but there is something about Slade having just enough humanity to talk Beast Boy down off of a ledge. The gist of the conversation is more or less “Don’t become like me Beast Boy, I’m not a good person.” I credit Slade “I hate children, I’m glad I was never one of them” Wilson with having at least that much self-awareness.

It’s actually a pretty nuanced take to point out that Beast Boy only wanted to murder Slade, because he wanted to vent all of the hatred and anger he was holding inside of himself because he didn’t have any way to express it, and killing Slade for those reasons would not have made him feel better.

After that conversation, Slade and Beast Boy have a weird relationship where Beast Boy starts seeing him as more human, to the point where when Slade becomes Deathstroke again post Titans Hunt he’s really disappointed in him because he wanted to see the good in him. Which makes sense because Beast Boy has like no healthy role models for masculinity in his life, of course he’d cling to one guy who was kind of nice to him once when he was at a low point.

So Beast Boy being shot by Slade of all people, and then rocking an eyepatch covering the same eye that Slade has missing is a neat visual parallel to Slade considering all their history. Which is interesting because Slade is an interesting foil to Beast Boy. Beast Boy has some hidden toxicity inside of him as a result of his trauma he has trouble processing, and which often causes him to act out, and Slade Wilson is toxic masculinity personified.

Slade is also a sufferer from PTSD, he’s a vietnam vet, and evil captain america, he’s said multiple times in his series that coming back from war he basically felt nothing which is what made him adopt the Deathstroke persona. Slade’s like the worst, most toxic possible future for Beast Boy, the bad ending fromt he darkest timeline. It’s why he was the one who talked Beast Boy down from that ledge originally because Slade knew, that violence never fixed anything about him.

In action comics 1051 they dive inside Beast Boy’s mind because post-dark crisis he’s been losing control of his transformation, and his inner world is represented by several angry animals lashing out to defend their territory, and then a little baby boy. Because Beast Boy is Baby, but like once again Beast Boy will act incredibly aggressive and violent to defend the child within himself.

Because Beast Boy’s reaction to his trauma has always been about hiding it. Which is more or less why the child within hasn’t grown up. So considering all of his past trauma, if they’re still in continuity then you could even look at being shot by Slade as him being re-traumatized. Especially since he’s almost been killed by Slade in the past before, and it was a pretty major trauma for him at the time too.

It seems like in this issue, Beast Boy’s way of dealing it so far has been his usual one too, which is just to you know, avoidance and passing himself off as fine. He transforms into a mouse in his sleep because Beast Boy wants to pass himself as harmless and someone its okay to be around.

The sentiment in this first panel though, sort of reminds me of what Beast Boy said to Raven in the last issue of the 2003 Teen Titans run, about taking the good with the bad.

Which you know if we’re really just continuing Beast Boy and Raven’s relationship from where they were in 2003, growth for Beast Boy because he’s not just seeking validation in a relationship as a way to fix himself, he’s just looking for comfort and support from his partner.

Okay, that was the longest section of the post, but I like Beast Boy so I’m biased. Moving on!

2. Raven / Rachel Roth

Raven’s New Teen Titans characterization, and her post revival in 2003 characterization are wildly different. This might just be me wanting her old characterization back, but I caught a couple of signs of old Raven in this first issue? The first is the way she talks, she’s not being snippy or sarcastic she’s talking in a kind of reserved, stiff and formal way.

The second thing is she’s not throwing things around with telekinesis or participating in the fight, while everyone else was fighting we saw her doing crowd control and teleporting which is what New Teen Titans Raven did. She had two moves which was teleporting in and out of places, and calming people down.

3. Dick Grayson / Nightwing

There’s not much character work for Dick per-se in this first issue, but the push DC is doing to have the Titans finally step up and act in the place of the new Justice League has a lot of implication for Dick’s character.

Number one, the move to Bludhaven means that for the first time in decades being the leader of the Titans is a big priority for Dick’s character again. Basically post Dick quitting the team, and the Chuck Dixon era, Dick operated solo in Bludhaven for a long time, and even when the team reformed with Dick as a leader he was still operating solo out of the Bludhaven which I always thought didn’t make a lot of sense to split his focus like that.

Moving the Titans Tower to Bludhaven pretty much solves that problem, it allows Dick to still have solo Nightwing things in Bludhaven, but also make being team leader a priority of his character as it ought to be. Not only does most of Dick’s character development come from separating himself from Batman and being with the Teen Titans, it’s also just Dick’s greatest strength as a character is his leadership skills so when he’s separated from the TItans he loses that aspect of his character.

Number two, the Titans replacing the Justice League as the mai defender of worldwide threats. Which is again, another good move for Dick’s character. Dick was never going to join the justice league, he can’t be Batman because honestly he’s already better than him. If DC actually sticks to their guns here and lets the Titans actually step up it’s a pretty interesting premise.

The Titans have handled worldwide threats before, so it’s not really a problem of whether or not they’re strong enough. The Titans in their prime weren’t really a one-city team, they flew all over the place and got into all sorts of adventures. The lack of members isn’t really a problem either, unless you’re watching Justice League unlimited, it’s usually just one core team of members with the Titans, and the Titans have a bunch of auxiliary members they can call on. However, there is one pretty big difference between the League and the Titans which would make them function differently.

The League are Earth’s Greatest Heroes, they’re like the All-Star Team that gets handpicked from the best of the major leaguers. They don’t really have the kind of complex in-group relationships that the Titans do. The Titans on the other hand are just kind of a bunch of traumatized kids who were thrown together at one point. As a whole too, the Titans are more likely to work without the system than within it.

So, there is an interesting conflict you could set up for Dick which is to have the Titans take on the level responsibility that the Justice League had, but with a team that functions in almost an entirely different way than the Justice League did, because they’re living together and they all grew up together. The Titans solving the Justice League level problems, but learning to do it in the Titans way.

4. Aqualad / Garth

So, Garth’s totally been brainwashed by Brother Blood, right?

On a more serious note, the scene with Garth is interesting because both Garth and Roy have been despite being founding members, more like sixth stringers of the Teen Titans as a whole throughout most of the Titans runs. Basically the only run where they are regular members of the team is the Titans run in the 90s.

One of the events that caused the breakup of the original Teen Titans from the silver age is the fact that Garth was so insecure about his place on the team that he literally faked an illness so he wouldn’t have to go out on missions.

If he’s not being brainwashed though, Tom Taylor has explored ideas of the atlanteans being a little more extreme about environmentalism before in the Injustice 2 comic. It’s a potentially interesting plot-thread considering DC recently has been taking a more sympathetic view of environmental extremists like Poison Ivy making them lean more into being anti-villains / anti-heroes.

It could be an interesting turn for Garth, because he is a distant member of the team, and he’s also got other priorities besides being a hero on the surface. I for one, think it would be great if Garth turned into Namor, but that’s just my huge crush on Namor speaking.

That’s pretty much all of my thoughts for now. If you enjoyed me rambling about Beast Boy, and some other nerds whatever their names were, please feel free to send me asks!

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