Sex On Fire, Part 1 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them. Part 1 Summary: You move to New York, after a little coaxing from your aunt. You meet your new neighbor, Joel, and quickly learn he's a Captain with the NYFD and good with his hands. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~6.7K Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. This one is dripping in it. No age gap specified. No explicit smut (yet, there's uh...gonna be a lot in part 2), but a nice lead up to it in the end that will probably blue ball you. Groping. Alcohol. Hardcore flirting. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, and Kings of Leon song references. Uniform kink. Joel has a hard on for seeing reader in his shirt. Reader's mom has passed. Texas/small town vibes. New York City. There are no specific descriptors for reader, except that she has hair. Ya'll, these two are just down for each other so fucking bad it's not even funny. Authors Note: This one is for my darling moot @darkheartgatita. Pia, thanks for putting Firefighter!Joel into my brain. I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my Slutty, Smutty, Sister @sydneyinacoma who inspires me every day and shares her filthy thoughts on the reg. And to everyone who gives my little blog love -- I fucking love you all so much. Part 2, Fall and Winter, will drop next Saturday.

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S P R I N G  Spring blooms, bringing with it a new beginning for you. Of all the places you’d thought you would be, New York was not one of them. 

Life back in Texas wasn't terrible, a bit dull sometimes, but not awful. 

Yet, in the mundane moments, your mind often drifted to daydreams – visions of swapping your Levi's for a sleek black dress and trading quiet farmland for the lively hum of city bars. You’d think of Samantha from Sex and the City sitting on your porch at sunset, drinking Bud Light, wishing your fairy godmother would appear and magically turn it into a dry Martini.

That was until three weeks ago, when your rich aunt, visiting from New York, decided to sprinkle a bit of magic into your life. 

“I’m gonna move to Italy for a while,” she casually said over family dinner as if she was just announcing that she was going to the store for milk. You should have been surprised, but she’s always been the kind to never stick around for too long. Single and child-free, she’s spent her adult life dancing to her free-spirited rhythm, bouncing around from one place to the next. Not because she had to, but because she could. You, on the other hand, were the total opposite.  After your mom passed away, leaving the cocoon of the familiar felt like too much. Despite your aunt's protests and encouragement to just go, you resisted, not wanting to leave behind your dad and the comfortable life you'd known. But if there's one thing you've learned about your aunt, it's that she's relentless – and yanking you out of your comfort zone was precisely what she wanted, and she had just the plan to do it. 

She handed you the keys to her Lower East Side apartment, turning your once silly little daydreams into a reality. “Sweetie, you need this – you’re meant for so much more, your dad will be fine. Please go,” she encouraged. 

Despite your initial reluctance, you caved, and before you knew it, you were on a plane bound for JFK. 

++++ You feel like a small fish in a big pond as you navigate the city. Trying to figure out the subway turns into a whole saga of you getting lost more than once. You eventually find the right borough, but not without a fair share of unhelpful people brushing you off along the way. Yep, you're definitely not in Texas anymore. 

While walking through the city, it hits you that a new pair of shoes is in order; something made clear to you by the little blister on the back of your heel that’s screaming at you. Despite the annoyance, you’re enjoying the walk to the apartment, your new home. The city's buzzing with life, and even the faint smell of urine in the air doesn't bother you. It's a wild, trippy feeling to be in the city, to feel like the main character of your own story. 

You grab your phone, itching to double-check the building your aunt texted and ensure you have the right address. Remembering her advice about the unassuming exterior but spectacular view, you get ready for the big reveal. The key affixed to a keychain with a little apple on it meets the lock, and as you turn it, the door swings open, revealing a spacious wooden staircase.

As you step inside, you notice there's a bit of mail scattered on the slightly dusty floor. You collect the envelopes and magazines with your aunt's name on them and neatly stack the other pieces for Joel Miller into a pile on the bottom step.

After climbing the – Jesus, really fucking narrow – stairs, you're faced with doors opposite each other. While a brief doubt nudges you to recheck the apartment number, your gut tells you that the door with the welcome mat showing lemons and a pot of fake flowers is the one — a stark difference from its neighbor with a simple grey mat and no decor. Trusting your instincts, you decide that the lively entrance is the one. 

As you step inside, you're greeted by a cozy space that, despite its age, radiates warmth and character. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to tell stories of bygone eras, while rays of sunlight filter through the window, revealing glimpses of the bustling cityscape below. 

Though small, the apartment is meticulously decorated, each corner telling a tale of adventures and cultural escapades. Remnants of your aunt’s travels, collected with care, add a touch of global flair to the modest space. Posters from Broadway plays hang proudly on the walls, as do family pictures. It’s lived-in; the kind of lived-in that feels comfy and embraces you like a warm hug. 

You look at the frames on the wall and pause when you see one of your favorites – a photo of you as a little girl, smushed between your mom and your aunt, a cake three sizes bigger than your tiny head lit up with birthday candles in front of you. You can't help but trace the edges of the frame with your fingertips, connecting with the warmth radiating from your mother's beaming smile. Miss you, mom escapes your lips as your eyes linger on the photograph for a heartbeat longer before the rest of the room demands your attention.

In the compact kitchen, a handwritten note from your aunt beckons, strategically placed beside a bottle of wine on top of a stack of takeout menus. Her words resonate with warmth and encouragement. "Welcome to your new home! I am so proud of you for taking me up on my offer. Disregard the bedroom chaos—I started painting the walls but didn't quite finish before taking off. Feel free to pick up where I left off if the mood strikes. And if you ever need a hand with anything, Joel Miller across the way is a nice guy. I've already told him that you’ll be staying for a while, or who knows, maybe forever. Love you!" The paper carries the unmistakable fragrance of her perfume, and a smile graces your face after you finish reading it. 

Setting the heartfelt note aside, your attention shifts to the menu for Sang Garden, a vibrant pink post-it exclaiming, "Right down the street! Super yummy!" Hunger gnaws at your stomach; the last meal was a distant memory from this morning, and you're ravenous. Without hesitation, you dial the number on the menu, your choice a steadfast favorite: orange chicken. “10 minutes,” the older lady on the phone tells you, not bothering to say goodbye before hanging up. Huh, efficient, you think. 

As the aroma of anticipation fills the air, you finish unpacking your suitcase and weave through your new space until your food is ready. Only having to go down a flight of stairs and less than a block down the street to pick it up is a new feeling for you. If you wanted something like this at home you’d have to drive at least 20 minutes to pick it up. 

You finish the entirety of the meal within minutes curled up on the couch, Sex and the City on the T.V.. Your aunt was right, it’s good. Probably the best orange chicken you’ve ever had in your entire life; just the right amount of zest and sweetness. You can already tell you’ll be a regular. Everyone always talks about the pizza in New York, but nobody bothered to tell you about the Chinese. You can tell you’ll probably have a lot of moments like that, discovering new things for yourself instead of hearing about it from magazines or seeing the photos on Instagram. 

With your belly now full of the sticky goodness, you settle into bed for the night. You stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for the past three hours. You feel giddy, like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time. You’re doing it. You’re really doing it. 

The city is still thrumming to life, but the distant sound of sirens and honks eventually turns to white noise as you drift off to sleep. 

++++

The next morning, you rise with purpose; new life breathed into you. You brew a cup of coffee and decide to savor it on the fire escape, enjoying the not-yet-thick spring, and still slightly chilly, spring air. As the city stirs awake beneath you, you’re determined to craft an agenda for the day. With another few days to spare before your new job starts, your thoughts drift to the bedroom, where the abandoned paint cans await. 

It's been a while since you've had the chance to dive into something genuinely productive, or creative for that matter, and you decide that this is the perfect opportunity. Your aunt chose a deep, rich shade of green, one that harmonizes seamlessly with the space; not too dark, but not puke or pea green, either. It’s pretty. She always has had good taste. 

And while you like the color, it’s not particularly one you’d like to see splattered all over your clothing, having only brought what you could fit into a small suitcase. Your aunt must have something, you think. The woman has more clothes than a department store and there is no way she could have brought them all to Italy, although you don’t put it past her to try. 

You make your way to the guest bedroom and rummage through the dresser located there. The top drawer is full of nothing but scrapbooks, the middle drawer has only sweaters, but luck strikes in the bottom drawer, where you locate a handful of old shirts. 

You pull out a dark blue, oversized “New York Fire Department” cotton t-shirt; the front of it has an emblem, and the back says “Rescue 1 FDNY” in faded blocky white letters, obviously well-loved. This will do, you tell yourself, quickly exchanging your tiny crop top for the large shirt. It hangs over your body, the bottom nearly hitting your knees. Why your aunt has such a large shirt in her collection you’ll never know, but you wager it’s probably from one of her many “friends” over the years.  

++++

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" fill the room, you stand in the center of the bedroom, paintbrush in hand, ready to transform the space. The nostalgic chords of Stevie Nicks' voice in Dreams infuse the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint as you dip the brush into the can, and begin. “Like a heartbeat drives you mad,” you sing, slightly off-key, but no one is around to listen and you don’t mind. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainingggggg,” you belt, using the paintbrush as a microphone. 

While most of the paint makes it on the walls, you have to admit that painting isn’t your strong suit and a fair amount of it has splashed back onto your face, shirt, and even your hair. You’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a while, even if you make a mess while doing it. Not like you’re gonna see anyone today anyway.

“Players only love you when they’re plaaaaaying…” doing your best Stevie twirl. 

More and more green covers the walls, but as you’re about to get started on the final white wall, you’re interrupted by a loud steady stream of knocks at your door. 

You hit pause on the music, and make your way to the door, unsure of who would possibly be knocking. You peer through the peephole to take a look, but you can only see the back of a man in a simple white shirt, his back turned to face away from the door. You undo the chain lock and swing the door open. 

As the man pivots to meet your gaze, his presence sweeps over you, an unexpected force that leaves you momentarily disarmed. He’s handsome in a way that unmoors you; a mass of a man with broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and sculpted biceps that redefine your sense of composure. Whoa.

“Hi,” you murmur, your eyes conveying a blend of softness and curiosity, "Can I help you?"

The man looks at you, and you feel yourself heat under the attention of his gaze. His eyes gently caress your frame; lingering a little too long on the emblem sewn into the fabric, just above your breast. 

"Uh," he clears his throat, his hand rising to his face, fingers subtly grazing the beard hair on his cheek, as if grappling for words. "Yeah, well – no, uh," he stumbles, the words caught in a momentary struggle. "Hi, ‘m Joel Miller, I live across the way," he greets, angling his body to signal to the door directly across the foyer. “Oh right, my aunt told me about you you,” you say, introducing yourself, voice smooth like honey. “She mentioned you were a nice guy and to call you if I ever needed anything,” you say, taking up space in front of him by leaning into the door.  “Just stopping by to say hi, then? Or do you need a cup of sugar or something like that?” you ask with a playful tone. 

Suddenly, the last thing he wants to do is admit that there's something you could help him with—like turning down your music. He likes Fleetwood Mac as much as the next guy, but the last three days on shift have left him craving peace, not a soundtrack reverberating through the thin walls.

Plus, he wasn’t expecting you to be so damn attractive. 

And he definitely wasn’t expecting to be wearing his shirt when you answered the door. 

“Ha, no, don’t need any sugar,” he chuckles, “just thought I’d make myself known.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. You notice the subtle flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes and the furrow of his brow. He’s painfully handsome. Just as you’re about to say something, he breaks the silence first, “But I'll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doin’...you look busy,” he tilts his chin to the paint that’s splotched over your bare legs. You can tell he’s looking for the story behind the mess. 

His left hand leaves his pocket and he places it on the doorframe. He leans into it, and your eyes catch the firmness of his bicep flexing under the strain of his lean before meeting his face once more. 

“Cute shirt, by the way” he says, his voice low and even. 

“Oh thanks, you like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric out in a tent from the center, noticing the little splatters of paint as you do. “It’s my aunt’s, I just borrowed it while I finish up some painting.”

“Yeah, I have the same one,” he adds, “looks a helluva lot better on you than it does me, though,” a little laugh leaves his chest and his cheeks flush, a little embarrassed that he just said that. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s tried to flirt with a woman. 

Your skin prickles with heat, and you’re suddenly very self-aware of what a wreck you must look like, but you decide to be bold anyway. “Maybe we’ll have to compare sometime,” you playfully retort.

“Yeah, maybe we will,” he responds, looking you up and down, hoping the meaning behind his words isn’t too obvious. 

“Well if ya ever need anything, ‘m just across the way,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe, hitting his thigh with a slight sound of a pat. “Nice to meet ya, Darlin’,” he says. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your chest once more, your stiff nipples now peeking through the fabric. He turns on his heels and turns his back to walk back to his apartment. 

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you purr. His head peers over his shoulder back at you, and the corners of his lips turn up in a little smirk. 

Oh god. 

You’re so fucked.

++++

Later that night, you text your aunt that you just met Joel Miller. You curse her for not telling you how incredibly hot he is.  You also tell her that you decided to finish the painting, sending a selfie of you in front of the freshly updated walls with the message. You also add that you borrowed one of her shirts and that you’ll do your best to get the paint out of it. 

Her response causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and your stomach swirls into a tight knot. 

“The walls look amazing! Oh and by the way, that’s not my shirt, it’s Joel’s. I must have forgotten to give it back to him; the shared laundry downstairs sometimes causes mix-ups. Be a doll and give it back to him, will ya? Oh and quarters for the machines are in the clay pot next to the door.” 

Fuck. Of course you would answer the door to your incredibly hot neighbor, covered in paint, in his shirt. You shake your head in embarrassment.

You look down at the shirt and notice just how much paint is all over it. You strip it from your body, bring it over to the sink, and begin to scrub the paint out of it with dish soap. As you watch the paint fade into the warm water, you notice the tag on the inside of the shirt and the rank inscribed in permanent marker on it. 

Your fingers prune in the water, but you eventually get all of the paint out of the fabric. Satisfied with your cleaning job, you hang it up to dry and scribble out a note. 

The following morning, on your way out to explore the city, you leave it neatly folded on Joel’s doorstep. You don’t bother to knock, you’re certain you might combust from embarrassment if you did. 

Shortly after, on his way to work, Joel opens the door and notices the shirt by his boot, a little envelope placed on top of it. 

“You could have told me it was your shirt, Captain Miller.” 

Joel smirks. The cat’s out of the bag on that little secret then. He places it inside and lets out a little sigh. The image of your perky nipples, exposed legs, and messy paint-riddled hair flashes in his brain. 

God, he wishes you would have kept it. 

S U M M E R

As spring transitions into summer, the city experiences a gradual warming trend. Cherry blossoms and tulips from spring slowly give way to vibrant green foliage. Parks become lively with people enjoying the pleasant weather, and outdoor events become more frequent. The temperature rises, and there's a noticeable shift towards a warmer atmosphere with longer days. 

It’s a shift you also feel in yourself, having found your niche, carving out your place in the ecosystem of the city. You’ve gradually adjusted, figured out how to successfully navigate the complexities of the subway system, and are starting to rely less and less on Google Maps to get around. You frequent a bodega around the corner from you, know where to find a decent bagel, and are a recognizable regular at Sang Garden. 

Your new job keeps you busy. It’s tough work being a bartender in the city, but it’s granted you more than one opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, people you’d never get the opportunity to meet back in your hometown. 

People like the gregarious and charismatic trader, who’s more than happy to make it clear he works in the financial district, even when nobody asks. People like the countless young professionals unwinding after a long day with their colleagues; some with sexual tension so obvious you can taste it. Designers. Architects. Engineers. Writers. Musicians. Actors. You don’t like them all, but you don’t have to, you’ll never see most of them more than once anyway. 

You quickly learn the art of making a good martini, one you think would make Samantha proud. It’s all so posh. So far from your usual. But the money is good, and without having to pay rent – a luxury you now realize; having almost fainted when your coworker told you how much he pays in rent – it allows you to pocket most of it. 

Your first few months in New York have been good, although a tad lonely. Making friends was never really a strong suit of yours, and you’re finding the city to be a particularly hard place to get to know people in any real way. Most of your free time is spent curled up with a good book or watching Friends for the millionth time, wishing Central Perk was a real place. 

You see Joel in passing now and then, the in-between times when he’s coming home from work, and you’re just leaving for yours. Sometimes you pass each other on the stairs, and you have to angle your bodies side-to-side just to fit on the narrow stairs as you navigate around one another. You sometimes have to collect your composure when you leave for work and notice the faint smell of his cologne still in the hallway, it smells so good it makes you dizzy. 

You find excuses to talk to him every now and then – a squeaky fire detector, to hand him his mail, or even for a stupid cup of sugar. Every time you find yourself knocking on his door, the butterflies congregate in masses as if preparing to migrate. You feel like a school girl with a crush for the first time, but as far as you can tell, Joel doesn’t feel the same, and you’re okay with that. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself. 

The exchanges are always short; little blips in the grand scene of time, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you might faint under the intensity of his scorching gaze. Which doesn’t help, considering it’s already sweltering outside. 

You severely underestimated how hot summer would be. Of course, you’re used to the oppressive Texas sun, but something about the way the buildings and concrete reflect the rays makes it feel like New York is at least 10x hotter. 

The temperature in your apartment isn’t much better than outside. The air hangs heavy inside as you lay on your mattress, clad in only a bra and underwear, on crisp white sheets, attempting to cool yourself with a damp towel on your forehead. You listen to the feeble hum of the wall crying out for help. 

As luck would have it, the overworked unit decides to give in to the heat. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you attempt to fix it, but it’s pointless. You stare at the lifeless unit, realizing that the city’s relentless heat has claimed it as a victim. Time for a new one. 

Once the sun dips past the skyline, you venture out to your local hardware store to grab a new one. You wish you would have had some forethought to bring a cart or something, not thinking about the fact that you were going to have to carry the heavy unit eight city blocks. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you think to yourself. Once back to your apartment, you balance the quirky box on your hip, holding it steady with one arm as you fumble to grab the key from your purse outside the entrance of the building. Your cheeks are warm, you’re drenched in sweat even at this hour, and your hair is starting to stick to the nape of your neck. You manage to grab it, but inadvertently drop it, your fingers clammy. 

“Shit,” you mutter, frustrated and hot. 

“Need some help there, Darlin’?” Joel asks, making his way up the stoop. You turn to face him and oh. 

Of all the times you’ve seen Joel, you’ve never seen him in uniform. The sight catches you off guard. His crisp, navy blue uniform emphasizes his broad shoulders and neatly tucked shirt, the shiny FDNY badge on his chest. He flashes a charming smile, revealing a hint of dimples, as he picks up your fallen key with ease. You’re not sure how he always manages to look so put together, a stark contrast to the way you always seem to look in front of him. 

"Rough day?" he asks, unlocking the door, and for a moment, you forget the oppressive heat, captivated by his charm. “Here, lemme take that for you,” he offers, and you kindly accept. You shift the box out of your arms into his, and your stomach swoops when you watch the way his biceps flex as he grabs the unit with ease. 

Grateful for the assistance, you offer a sheepish smile, “Yeah, you could say that” you reply, opening the door, holding it open for him. He begins to ascend the staircase ahead of you, giving you a full view of his ass in his uniform pants; it’s toned, and his thick thighs match. You walk behind him, trying to ignore the stickiness that’s beginning to pool in your underwear. You allow yourself to perv out for a moment, at least while his back is to you. He’s just helping you out, stop being weird.

Joel waits at the top of the steps for you to open your door. Once unlocked, you enter and he follows behind you. “Oh shit, it’s hotter than hell in here,” he says once inside, the irony is not lost on you that a literal man who fights fires for a living thinks it’s hotter than hell. He bends to place the box down near the front door and rises to full height, bringing both hands to his hips. You notice the little sheen of sweat that has now collected on his thick neck, fighting the impulse to lap up the perspiration. “You’re telling me, I’m rendering lard,” you say, letting your Southern roots shine through. You cringe a little at yourself, watering your accent down to not stick out as much, but you’re reminded of the age-old saying you can take the girl out of the country… 

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead to push away the sweat that’s been collecting there all day and look at him. “Thanks for the help carrying it up,” you say, offering him a kind smile. 

“No problem at all, need some help installing it? These units can be tricky,” he asks, trying his best to ignore the fact that your white shirt has gone see-through from your sweat, allowing him a perfect view of your breasts. No bra again, he notes. He shifts his stance a little, trying to prevent his cock from hardening at the sight. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little unsure, but deep down you know you need the help. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as an independent and capable woman, you’ve never been one to be good with anything mechanical, and the heat has left your brain feeling like the static of a T.V. channel with no reception. 

“Course. I’m a servant to public safety. Can’t have you accidentally pushing it out the window and crushing a person below, it’d be a lot of paperwork” he chuckles and takes out a knife from his pocket to undo the tape on the box.  It’s an ordinary act, yet somehow you’re mesmerized by his dexterity and competency. 

Midway through the process, Joel pauses, feeling the heat, and glances at you with a lighthearted grin. “Mind if I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the uniform shirt. You nod, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Sure, go ahead.” 

His large fingers fumble with the buttons on the shirt, eventually revealing a white tank top underneath. The fabric clings to him, highlighting his defined chest, and a little bit of belly. You practically drool at the sight, once again resisting an impulse to want to sink your flesh into the softness above his belt. 

He has an awful farmer's tan, but he wears it well; his forearms are a nice shade of golden and his shoulders are pale. You see from the lack of collar on the tank that he has a bare chest. He throws the uniform shirt onto a nearby chair and goes back to work installing the unit. You watch as he works to position it in the window, stealing glances at his glistening skin as he does. You think you’re being sly about it, but Joel can tell, he can feel your eyes heavy like bowling balls on him. 

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?” you ask.

“About 15 years,” he responds. “Sorta always knew I wanted to do it, I was a contractor for a while, but wasn’t my thing.”

“Oh no? You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” you reply, your words suggestive. 

“Never said I wasn’t, Darlin,’” he replies, shooting you a wink. 

He plugs the unit in, and the screen comes to life. He sets the temperature as low as it will go, and the fan on high; the unit is about to put in overtime to make the air tolerable again. 

“Well, that should do it,” straightening back up from his bent-over position, clapping his hands together as if to dust the task off. “Probably gonna take a while for it to cool down in here. You’re uh, more than welcome to hang out at mine for the time being. Don’t need you overheating on me,” trying to mask his excitement at you being in his space by carding his fingers through his salt and pepper curls. 

You glance at the unit, and you can tell he’s right. “Alright, why not,” you say, offering him a smile. “Just gonna use the restroom fast,” you say, looking for an excuse to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and confirm that you don’t smell like a sweaty subway car. 

Inspecting yourself in the harsh, exposing light of the bathroom, you grimace at your appearance. Not that you’d been expecting to look your best, but still. You pat the extra moisture off your skin with a clean towel, when you notice that nipples are straining against the fabric of your wet t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. You briefly consider changing shirts, but the cheeky side of you decides to leave it be. You give yourself a quick smile and internal encouragement in the mirror and you step out of the bathroom. 

Joel waits in the foyer by the door for you, taking the opportunity to learn a little more about you, drinking in the details of your space for any glimmers of insight it might give him about your life. 

He’s been in the space before, but it’s different this time – updated. It still has many of the same things your aunt had put up, but you’ve added new additions to the walls; photos of you with friends, and family, and vinyl covers in frames. His eyes gravitate to a photo of you at your college graduation; your smile ear to ear, a bottle of champagne in your hands. You always seem happy. He likes that about you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look for a photo of you with another guy, a hint that you might already be taken, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t find one. 

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and you stroll out, shooting him a casual but confident smile. As you do, you casually tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giving off an easygoing vibe. It's a simple move, but there's a certain charm to it that doesn't go unnoticed by Joel.

“Ready?” you ask, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his pleasure that you opted not to change your still slightly transparent shirt. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, yanking on the handle, the door groans and opens with a loud creak. “Don’t wanna hit traffic.” Oh god, that’s a dad joke if you’ve ever heard one. You try to hide the stupid smile that graces your face, but Joel sees it, and matches it. Your shoulder brushes against his chest as you walk through the door, and Joel straightens in response, a little tingle shooting up his spine from the brief touch. Get a fucking grip, Miller, he thinks to himself, pulling the door closed behind him. 

++++

Once inside his apartment, you gasp. It’s not at all what you expected. 

If his front doorstep was any indication, you expected his apartment to be full of Ikea furniture, bare walls, and maybe a fake plant in the corner somewhere. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s the exact opposite; you feel like you’ve just wanted into some swanky bar. The air smells like palo santo, but above all, it’s cool. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Can I get you a beer” he asks, and you nod your head in response. He walks into the kitchen, and you’re mesmerized by his space. It’s a similar layout to your apartment, but somehow it feels bigger, even a tad cozier, plus he has exposed brick, a detail you wish your apartment had. 

“Your apartment is amazing,” you tell him, spinning around to get a full 360 view of the space. You hear him yell something like thanks from the kitchen. 

You find your seat on the cognac-colored couch and run your hand up and down the texture of it. The leather is cool on your skin, and your body temperature slowly begins to return to normal.

Joel returns from the kitchen, and hands you a Bud Light. And for once, you don’t wish for it to turn into a martini. Now having spent a few months in the city, you’re starting to realize that you’re more of a bud girl than a cocktail girl, and that fairy godmothers are a tad overrated. 

You’re not sure when he did it, but your ear tunes to the classic sound of Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones playing in the background at a low volume, adding a funk you adore to the moment. 

He finds a seat on the couch next to you and throws his arm behind you on the ledge. He crosses his legs over one another, and you squirm, not out of discomfort, but nerves. 

“I am impressed with your apartment, it’s well decorated,” you compliment him, bringing the bottle of beer to your lips. 

“Had a bit of help, ‘f I’m being honest,” he replies. Your stomach flips. 

“Oh?” you say, a bit breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, he would have a girlfriend. You see it plain as day now, the feminine touches built into the apartment, hanging on the walls in plain sight, taunting you with the obvious. He even has like ten live plants for fucks sake. Joel Miller is taken. 

“My daughter, Sarah,” he replies, bringing the beer to his mouth for another swig. You try not to make your sigh of relief too obvious. “Oh!” you squeak and turn your body to face him. You don’t know if you’ve scooted closer or if he did, but your thighs are now touching. 

“She’s studying interior design. Begged me this past year to let her fix up my apartment, and well…I didn’t have the heart ta say no,” he replies. “Said my apartment resembled a frat boys bachelor pad,” he lets out a gruff little chuckle and you smile at him. 

His arm drifts close to you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. It’s not quite there, but you can feel the heat, the electricity, his fingertips shoot to your skin. So much for cooling down.

“Well, if you didn’t decorate the space, what’s your favorite part about it then?” you ask, taking another swig at the bottle. Joel stares at your lips as they latch around the glass, admiring how plush and warm they look. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what they might look like around his cock.

“Ah, good question,” he says, bringing his hand to cover his crotch with the bottle, all while subtly trying to adjust himself from his previous thought. He’s surprised he even heard your question at all. “Probably the table over there,” he says, nodding his head back to signal to the dining room. 

“Made it myself,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice. 

You crane your neck to look, but can’t get a good view with how plush the cushions are. You slightly angle your body upwards, coming onto your knee on the couch to look, bringing your chest closer to Joel’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really must be good with your hands,” you playfully tease, letting your body sink by his side once more, feeling the warmth he exudes. Your words cause his gaze to go dark. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his beer, sure if he said any more he might regret it. 

You notice the music switches to Kings of Leon, a favorite tune of yours echoing through the air. “Oh shit, I love this song,” you exclaim, barely able to contain your excitement, much to Joel’s delight. 

“Yeaaaaaah, your sex is on fireeeee,” you belt, and you inadvertently tilt your beer bottle a little too far down in the process of your solo, and a splash of beer pours out onto Joel’s lap. The action abruptly causes you to stop. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you, noticing the box of tissues as you do.

“Don’t worry about it, Darlin’,” he says, voice mellow, placing his beer on the table, too.

You frantically grab a handful of tissues and bring them over to the wet spot pooling on Joel’s crotch. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the liquid, the realization not fully hitting you that your hands are literally on his crotch until – oh.

Joel’s been walking the fine line of a stiff one all night, and your simple gesture throws him over the edge, the dabbing causing blood to rush to his cock. 

You continue to blot at the liquid and notice him stiffening underneath you. A heavy rush of arousal courses through you, and heats your core. Joel’s hand darts to grab your wrist, the size of it completely swallowing up your entirety of it, his fingers wrapped around it, and you’re certain he feels your pulse quicken under his touch.

You look up at him with big doe eyes, only to find his own pupils are blown open wide with lust, his jaw tense. His other hand finds the side of your face, and he holds you up to look at him. You both pause there, letting the tension of the moment swallow you whole. He looks at you like you're a juicy summer peach, ripe for the picking.

His grip on your wrist softens, and you flatten your hand to palm at his growing bulge. Joel lets out a deep groan in response to the full contact. “Shit darlin’,” he says, voice wrecked. His hand drifts to the column of your neck, and he begins to pull you up so you’re face-to-face with him. 

The anticipation builds, and just as your lips are about to meet, a sudden shrill sound shatters the moment – the fire alarm. 

“Fuck.” Joel groans.

TO BE CONTINUED - READ PART 2

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). Might transition to a notifs blog soon.xx

𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕝 — 𝕥𝕔

previous — masterlist — next

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: I have been struggling with writers block so I’ve been posting some works I wrote a while back but never put up. Let me know what you think. Feedbacks a good motivator! In my head I picture Shelley Hennig as Ivy, Diana Silvers as Marina, Daniel Sherman as Declan, Lili Reinhart as Mackenzie, and Camila Mendes as Bianca.

SUMMARY: Ugh, high school. Best four years of nothing. Raging mood swings and sporadic acne. All on top of balancing mean girls, douche bag guys, and cocky jocks. Best four years? Yikes image peaking in high school.

I can list several things I cannot stand. I could start with my Mom’s overbearing need to talk about her high school glory days, or my Dad’s never-ending trophies in nearly everything. My list continues for things such as romantic comedies, jean leggings, and platinum blonde hair. Do not tell Ivy about that she is one break-up away from cutting her hair and dying it blonde. I love her to pieces but she is a wildcard with a knack for trouble and a high social media following. Trust me when I say do not look at her Tik Tok. Her high following and verification coming from her looks and problematic prank videos.

“Hello? (Y/n) are you listening?” Marina asked, sitting across from me at the lunch table she types away on her laptop rambling profusely. She delicately placed flowers through her hair with half of it pinned up. She wears a cute white camisole with a beige boho cardigan that reaches the hem of her jeans. Resembling a pretty hippy, it works on her. Apologizing, I ask her to repeat herself but she only rambles about Ivy being in detention. Oddly enough Marina is on the opposite end of the continuum from Ivy. Not only the cheer captain, but one can make it a game of trying to find what club she is not a part of. Even started her own anti-bullying campaign. “So you’re not listening?”

“I’m sorry Mina. I didn’t get much sleep last night because somebody was busy practicing his guitar at all hours of the night.” I groan looking over at the guy’s table. It was a mixture of faces in the masses. No set groups at their table, the mix of guys come from all sports teams and clubs. At the center of the table sits Timmy laughing at something. You know those people you grew up with when you were little but now they just annoy the shit out of you. Yeah, that’s Chalamet, as cliche, as it is the perfect-haired idiot, is my neighbor. We grew up next to each other, yes there is a picture of us bathing together as kids. It is the bane of my existence. Yes, we are still friends but more so a down low thing. Him being the soccer goalie made him this big deal and me being virtually no one makes our friendship odd at school.

“I ordered our homecoming tickets online,” Opening my mouth to protest she quickly shrugs me off. “You have to come, it'll be no fun without you.”

“You’ll both have dates. What am I going to do? Just linger awkwardly?” Biting into my cold fry it lacks salt making me want to spit it out. Marina closes her laptop and turns to her salad she brought from home.

“Ivy and I could find you a date,” Though I have every intention of saying no I miss my opportunity as Mackenzie and Bianca sit next to us. In their cheering uniforms, they wear it every day like it is a badge of honor. It screams pick-me but everyone does pick them so the behavior is enabled.

“Hey, Marina, where's Ivy?” Mackenzie asks, scooting to the side allowing her some space both she and Bianca fail to spare me a single glance. I can see on Marina’s face that she has no interest in talking to either of them but she plants a warm smile on her face. Despite her distaste for the two most clueless people on the planet that is what I love about Marina, she is kind to everyone.

“In detention for calling Coach Hoffman an asshole,” The laugh that leaves my lips contrast the two girls’ wide eyes.

“Anyways we came over with invites for you and Ivy. Party at my place tonight. My parents are out of town.” Bianca’s raven black hair is straightened to perfection. She shuffles through her Michael Kors purse before pulling out two envelopes. Marina looks at me as she thinks it over in her head.

“Ivy will kill us both if we turned this down so yeah we’ll all be there,” For the first time since they sat at the table their eyes drift to me. I smile sheepishly as they look me up and down. Mackenzie grits her teeth as she smiles at me.

“That’s the thing (Y/n) you need an actual invite to get in and I only have a certain amount. I’ll let you know if anything changes,” I am no idiot, I know she is lying, the faux smile and honey tone holds more poison than anything.

“Problem solved.” Handing me half of her invite I bite back a laugh as Marina rips it in half. Both Bianca and Mackenzie feign chuckles as they excuse themselves leaving the two of us to watch them purposely walk by the guys’ table. Marina shakes her as she turns back to her salad. “Those two are something else.”

“I’ll catch you later I have a photography club meeting,” I say and Marina only smiles before going onto her phone. Unlike Bianca and Mackenzie, I actually have to pass the guy’s table to walk over to the dish return. It is okay though because none of them even turn from their conversations except one pair of eyes. Timothee’s lips pull into a smirk before he shoots me a wink. Smiling sarcastically I flipped him off before continuing on.

Mrs. Klotz wastes no time diving into the agenda for the following weeks. Since I arrive a few minutes late it leaves me with the bottom of the barrel for what event to cover. Of course, there is only one event that no one wants to do, the homecoming dance. As the meetings adjourned I wait for everyone to leave the room, the meeting was brief, and yet so much was covered.

“Mrs. Klotz please don’t make me cover the homecoming dance. I don’t even want to go.” I say, closing the club binder she places it in her desk before resting her hands on the desk. She wears glasses that frame her face with her auburn hair, all the guys like to creep on her due to her being fresh out of college.

“I thought it’d be perfect for you (Y/n). I even saw you purchased a ticket,” Mrs. Klotz explains as her eyebrows pull together slightly she tilts her head to the side. I mirror her expression before I remember what Marina had said.

“No, that was Marina. I’m pretty sure what she is attempting is entrapment,” I say, sitting on the edge of the desk behind me I watch as Mrs. Klotz frowns.

“Well, first that is detention for Miss Monroe. The online ticketing policy states students cannot buy tickets for other students,” My stomach flips for a moment as I realize what I have done.

“Did I say Marina sorry I get those two mixed up. It was Ivy who ordered the tickets,” Knowing Ivy would not care as she has been in detention more than she has ever been in class. None of this matters as Mrs. Klotz only apologizes before writing Ivy up and telling me there is no one else who can do it. “I assume you can give this detention slip to Miss Porter.”

In the hallway, I stop as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Ivy sent a text in the group chat telling us to meet her in the computer lab. Walking through the halls my arms fall at my side like dead limbs as I sulk through the corridors. It smells like sweat and pizza from the cafeteria and every couple of lockers is a candy wrapper or abandoned worksheet. Whoever the hell said high school was the best four years of your life, lied. In the computer lab, both Marina and Ivy are already there. Ivy is wearing a tube top with a denim jacket and legging. She is breaking the dress code as usual but it is getting to a point where the faculty do not even care what she wears. I am almost certain Ivy could show up in a bikini and no one would be fazed. Handing her the detention slip her eyebrows pull together.

“Wait what did I do this time?” She asks, explaining the situation she laughs at me before turning to Marina, “Since I am now the sacrificial lamb I would love to talk about that super cute sheer tank top you refuse to let me wear.”

“You get to wear it once then it goes back in my closet,” Marina says, rolling her eyes at the extortion. I look to Ivy asking why she summoned both of us to the computer lab but she only shrugs saying she got bored. There are still ten minutes to spare before the warning bell goes off. Marina hands Ivy the invite to the party and the two giggle amongst themselves about it but I only groan.

“Wait, this is a perfect time to figure out a date for (Y/n) for homecoming. How about Jack Ribas?” Marina says, looking through her Instagram followers as the short boy came to mind I can remember he was my chemistry partner.

“Tiny hands,” I cannot fight the grimace on my face as Ivy laughs before going on her Instagram. The real answer being his ex-girlfriend, she rarely speaks and I am sure she is the reason he has not dated in over a year.

“What about Mark Warshaw?” Ivy asked, earning a nudge from Marina as she is clearly not taking it seriously.

“He smells terrible. Come on,” I say, leaning back in my seat this only furthers how much I do not want to go to homecoming. Marina continues looking through her phone and I cannot say I do not appreciate her wanting to help.

“Terrance Avecedo?” As the name left her lips I could not help but stare at her with eyes I can only imagine appeared crazed.

“You mean my cousin? Dude,” I say as Marina apologizes profusely there is one guy I would not absolutely hate the idea of going with. Just my luck he and a few of his buddies walk by the computer lab. Declan Knight, once again it’s super cliche but he’s the football quarterback and captain. Timothee found it more than hilarious my crush on the 6’2 curly-haired beau.

“Hey, Ivy. Hey, Marina,” He says, popping his head into the computer lab and they both say hey Declan at the same time before he turns to me. “Hey, (Y/n).”

The feeling of panic rushes every inch of me as I force out a chuckle before breathlessly saying, “Hey.”

“Real smooth,” Fortunately Ivy says this as Declan is already continuing on wherever he is walking toward. Marina once again nudges Ivy as I put my head down groaning loudly.

“I am going to my locker. Please leave me to sulk about my day in peace.” I say and I hear Marina yell love you, saying it back I do not turn around. Everyone is in the hallways always playing it dangerously close to the late bell. At my locker, I can see Timothee walking toward my locker.

“Double-A.” He says, looking at me with his usual shit-eating grin, I frown as we rarely speak in school.

“Timmy. Shouldn’t you be ducking behind something to talk to me here?” He only chuckles. Girls would kill for him to walk up to the locker and chat yet I would pay him right now to walk away from me. Only wearing a simple long sleeve shirt, jeans, and converse he is still somehow a hot commodity at school.

“Funny. Also what the hell were you watching last night. It gave me soft porn vibes but very cinematic,” He asks and I shift on the balls of my feet as his grin widens. So I decided to watch that movie 365 on Netflix which was one of the cringest things I have ever seen.

“Spying on me much?” But once again I earn a laugh before he says that I should close my curtains more often. “Maybe don’t look in my window.”

“Noted. Where’s your girls at?” He asks scanning the hall for Marina and Ivy I close my locker. Crossing my arms I look at him asking who wants to know but the smirk on his lips reappears. “The only man in your life. No, your Dad does not count. So that leaves me, you are very welcome.”

“I can assure my love. You would not be in my life even if you were the only man on the planet.” I said, watching as he places his hand over his heart feigning pain. He wastes no time in quoting Marina’s anti-bullying campaign motto, Spread the Love. “Shut up jackass.”

“Timothee,” Mackenzie says and the high pitch of her voice makes me grimace as I look away. She pulls him into a kiss that lasts a couple of seconds longer than needed. The two are the most indecisive couple I have ever seen. I’ll break it down like this, today is Wednesday. Monday they were dating, Tuesday they were not, today is a big question mark and tomorrow is still a coin toss. This does not stop Timmy from being a total whore when they are broken up. I’m pretty sure Mackenzie still does not know Timothee hooked up with Bianca. I narrow my eyes as Mackenzie looks at me as she kisses Timothee. The urge to promise her I have no interest in the mop-headed idiot is strong but instead, I just stand there.

“Hey still here,” Placing my hands in my pocket I look down at the tiles as Mackenzie pulls back.

“Gosh, (Y/n) I am so sorry. Since when were you friends with my ex-boyfriend?” She asks, smiling kindly but it is clearly fake. I have no intention of outing our lifelong friendship but I have no time to even say anything before Timothee chimes in.

“We’re not just asking for some notes. What does it matter anyway?” Timothee asks, looking at Mackenzie who gives him a doe-eyed pout. Gagging as she pulls him into another kiss.

“I know you miss me.” She says before stalking off and I cannot help but now smirk at him.

“Healthy thing you got going there,” I say but he rolls his eyes before walking down the hall away from me. The rest of the day feels uneventful, the girls and I agree to meet at my house to get ready for the party. Which translates to them already ready and helping me insisting on staying home.

Tomorrow was her birthday. not this day that was talked about so much both in this world and the living one. valentine's day. funny how he never really did anything for her on it... but then again why to show love on one single day when you can do it every day. and that was what he tried to do. show his love for her every single day. tomorrow however was her day. the day she came into this world. and even though she had forgotten his -- which really didn't matter, despite their agreement to have a tradition of letting him sleep in, he hadn't minded at all. for her however, he wouldn't dare forget. and he got her this gift that happened to arrive today, a day earlier. he thought that was a good thing. since early is always better than late. what he had chosen this year was not all that different from the year before. nighttime wear but this time a sheer robe that had caught his eye because of its colour. she did like pink and then the design also seemed like something she might like. it was flowy and feminine and fluffy. and he had found her size luckily. now that it was wrapped up and ready for her to open it in the morning, he put it away in her side of the closet so she could see it when she got ready for work in the morning. inside was also a little note he had written later and put in between the folds of the box that read:

Happy birthday, wife.

i think it's our third year together now. i hope you like this gift and don't think me boring for choosing something similar to last year. i just saw this and thought you'd like it. i'm not that great at gift-giving apparently. apologies for that. i hope to try harder next year. anyway, love you and i'll see you soon.

Your husband

She is undoubtedly EXHAUSTED. Haru had been up & down all night. Each time the little one would make his way to the end of their bed, he had a new reason why he needed his mother's attention. 'Tummy hurts, mommy', 'Tsuki woke me up, mommy', 'I wanna stay with you, mommy'. She had conceded DEFEAT roughly halfway through the night & eventually settled on letting the small boy remain in bed with them. Tsuki was a daddy's girl. She always wanted Starrk when she needed tending to. Haruya, however, was a mama's boy through & through & unfortunately, far more FUSSY of a child than his sister. Chiyo didn't mind MOST of the time. It came with the territory of having young ones. Only, up until recently, she didn't have to wake up nearly as early & it wasn't such a DETRIMENT to be woken up multiple times in the night. Now? She had to be up quite early for the commute to the Seireitei. She had previously been a PROFESSIONAL when it came to working long hours on little sleep. In fact, it was the way of their division. But she had become SPOILED with sleeping in & now it wasn't as easy as it once was. She has to PEEL her son off of her when it comes time to drag herself out of bed. She tucks him back in with little protest from Haru. He must have worn himself out from his own ANTICS & would most likely rest peacefully until it came time for their father to make them breakfast. Chiyo feels the exhaustion HIT her like a ton of bricks & she groans quietly to herself. It was going to be a LONG day. She makes her way to the closet in search of her uniform (if it could even be called that anymore, given her recent modifications). Crystal optics halt in their search when SOMETHING gets her attention. A box, nicely wrapped & placed atop her dresser.

Oh right. Today was her birthday. Of course he did something for her. He wouldn't FORGET like she had. Chiyo sighs, taking the box in her hands & feeling an immense sense of GUILT. Dammit. Why did he have to be so thoughtful? Part of her was hoping they could just IGNORE her birthday & be even for the year. But he hadn't even been upset & of course he was still going to do something for her. She tries to open the box as QUIETLY as she can manage, not wanting to disturb her boys when the sun hadn't even risen yet. Inside, she is met with a note & a shock of light pink fabric. She opens the note first, reading over his words & smiling to herself. He was just so PRECIOUS. After finishing the note, she pulls the garment from the box, lifting it up to get a better look at it. It was LOVELY. A pretty, pink, fluffy robe that would certainly pair well with the other things in her recreational closet. How could she EVER think it boring? She neatly, folds it back up, setting it aside so she could wear it after work. Then the small shinigami makes her way over to her husbands side of the bed, placing a kiss on his forehead. ❝I love you SO much.❞

Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader          Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

Safe & Sound [1]

Chapter One: Pilot

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader & Wells Jaha x Reader

Warnings: Swearing & Mild Violence

Word Count: 3637

Author’s Note: Welcome to the first chapter of my very first series here on tumblr! I hope you guys come enjoy the ride and stay until the end. I know there are a few Bellamy x Reader fanfic series on here now, but I really wanted to put my own spin on a The 100 rewrite. Also, please let me know if you want to be tagged in any future parts by either PMing me or through my ‘Ask Me Anything’ tab on my profile!

Season Masterlist

Series Masterlist

      It was supposed to be like any other day. I’d wake up, the guard would give me three small portions of food throughout the day, whilst rereading the various classics and Greek mythology books my father sent. Eventually, I’d fall back asleep with my mother’s dove pendant clutched in my hand as I gazed out the window, into the dark abyss scattered with diamonds. On every other day, you’d make sure to aside time to practice self-defence. Something that my father had guards teach me before I was locked up.

    Today was not one of those days. The chaos of yelling, screaming and grumbling outside the door ripped me from my trance. I shook my head and tried to engross myself again in the book I clutched, but the sound of the door flinging open broke it.

     It also didn’t help that this was the last day before I’d be eighteen. Before I’d be floated.

     “Prisoner 301, face the wall.” My breath hitched in my throat. No! I still had one more day! 

When you didn’t even move an inch towards a wall the guard stalked his way towards you, his presence towering over your sitting form. “Get up on your feet!”

     “No! I still have a day left you cunt!” You screeched.

     With a punch to the man’s groin, he collapsed to the ground and you scampered out to escape. Unfortunately, I’ve tried to escape my cell multiple times so it was no surprise when someone tackled me as soon as I left the room.

      “Get. Me. The. Fuck Off!” I yelled as punch after punch landed on the man’s back. The man grunted after each punch, but he never let me go until I was stood in front of the one man who turned me in a year ago. My own father; Marcus Kane.

     Although it was a relief to see him after so long, I couldn’t help but glare at the man. He was supposed to be there for you no matter what, yet he never visited. Too much of a coward to face you and sent books in his place. The kind of books you and your mom used to read together.

     “Dad?!” I hated him, but I still hugged him. I hated him, but I still loved my father.

     Your eyes glossed with tears that had every intention to escape.

 “I don’t want to die, not today!” I pleaded, refusing the tears to shower my cheeks. “I don’t want to be floated!”

     “You’re not being floated (y/n),” He told you. “You’re being sent down to earth.” A chill ran down my spine.

     “But I thought the earth was still uninhabitable?” Dad just shook his head as another guard hooked me over their shoulder and stalked away from my father’s now retreating figure.

     Typical. Just like when I was first chucked in the skybox. He couldn’t even muster a single goodbye. The punching of another guard ensued as he hauled me over to the dropship entrance.

     Suddenly, there was a prick in my arm and gradually I drew drowsier, and drowsier. My punches slowly weakened after each hit. The last thing I saw before I succumbed to darkness was the menacing smirk of one Commander Shumway, my eyes darkening in both anger and fear.

     In what felt like seconds, my eyes squinted open while adjusting to the poor lighting of the dropship. Screams and yells from others around me filled my ears. As my vision came into focus, I looked around to see the horror morphed on many of the teens’ faces. In the seat five seats down from me, I recognised a familiar head of blonde that I knew oh so well.

     “Clarke!” I called. The blonde whipped her head my way and relief settled on both our faces. “Thank the gods you’re here! If I could I’d smother you in a hug right now I would!”

     The two of us bursted out laughing knowing I’d actually smother her. Before I had the chance to ask her something else, Chancellor Jaha’s voice filled the room.

     “Prisoners of the Ark, hear me now. You’ve been given a second chance. And as your chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us. Indeed, for mankind itself. We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better, we would’ve sent others. Frankly, we’re sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”

     Expendable? What the hell?! All I did was try to spread the word that the life-support system for the Ark was failing, after overhearing a heated discussion between Jaha, my father and others in the Council.

     “Everyone here being expendable is bullshit and you know it!” My voice echoed throughout the dropship, catching the attention of everyone in the room. I gulped at the stares thrown my way, but it was the stare of the single guard in the room that caught my eye.

     No guards were supposed to be inside. So the only reason why he’d be here would be because he was escaping something… or to protect someone. Perhaps a certain younger sister that wasn’t supposed to be born?

     It had to be Bellamy Blake, the older brother of floor girl, Octavia Blake. His gaze seemed to linger on me slightly longer than the other delinquents around. I wasn’t sure if it was due to pure curiosity or how everyone knew I was Marcus Kane’s daughter. I tore my gaze away from his blank stare and stared down at the metal ground.

     As Jaha’s speech became muffled, I gaped at the floor and the room began to groan and shake. A familiar dark-skinned young man was suddenly talking to Clarke.

     “Wells?” I questioned. His brown orbs tore away from Clarke, his gaze landing on me.

     “(Y/N)! Thank god!” He floated over to me, pulled me up to my feet and smothered me in a hug. A giggle vibrated through my chest. “What’s so funny?”

     “I told Clarke I’d smother her in a hug, yet you’ve gone and did just that to me,” I chuckled. Wells only chuckled as I hugged him back.

     “This is nice —” We both started but ended in a fit of giggles. Two other delinquents then join Wells and I in standing up. I could hear Clarke softly calling my name to sit back down along with the others standing, but I just ignored it. 

     Strangely, Wells still held on to me and sat in the seat I was in just before, plopping me onto his lap and snuggling into me more. He and I did have a weirdly affectionate friendship before both our arrests, but even this was pushing the line between friendship and a romantic relationship. 

     The dropship lurched, sending three delinquents flying who had left their seats despite Clarke’s protests. I clunged to Wells’ neck as his grip on my waist tightened, closing my eyes tight. Something sickening yet sweet filled my nose. Smoke. Sparks went off right and left and with one final violent jolt, the dropship came to a stop.

     We were on the ground!

     The dropship powers down almost instantaneously and echoes of seatbelts unbuckling filled the room. Heat rose to my cheeks as I slowly clambered off Wells’ lap. His cheeks were crimson red as were probably my own. I helped him to his feet and took one of my hands in his, leading him down to the doors, waiting for them to be to opened as a crowd formed in front.

     A dark-haired girl stormed through yelling, “Bellamy!” The guy in the uniform I saw before spun around and stared at the girl in shock. So I was right! He was Bellamy Blake and that girl was definitely Octavia, his sister.

     “My God, look how big you are!” The two smiled at each other before the girl - Octavia - jumped forward and pulled Bellamy into a tight hug.

     “Where’s your wristband?” Clarke asked Bellamy as she sided next to Wells and I.

     “Do you mind?” Octavia cut Clarke off with an annoyed look. “I haven’t seen my brother in a year.”

     “Seriously Clarke?” I jumped in, everyone’s eyes turning to me as I let go of Wells’ hand. “We’ve reached the ground and the first thing you do is ask where the guy’s wristband is?” Clarke was surprised by my outburst, but Octavia and Bellamy looked at me thankful that I stood up for them.

     “Surely you’d like to be known as someone else. Perhaps the first person on the ground in a hundred years?” Octavia grinned in appreciation whilst Bellamy nodded my way.

     I returned the smile as Bellamy pulled on a nearby lever, opening the door to the outside. As a haze of smoke breaks, a bright light shone into the ship, momentarily blinding me but the lush colours of green, blue and brown eventually took its place.

     Finally, I’d be able to put my Earth Skills to use!

     Octavia slowly made her way down the ramp before she stepped onto the ground. She turned back towards the ship, a massive grin etched on her olive face.

     “We’re back bitches!” She threw her arms up as she yelled.

     A parade of teens stormed off the ship in a hurry, yelling and screaming that we’re back. A laugh resonated in my chest as a familiar presence took my hand in theirs.

     “Together?” Wells asked. With a soft sigh, I nodded, but not before I leapt onto his back. He shook his head as he wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

     “Ride on my noble steed!”

     A gush of air swept through my (Y/H/C) locks as Wells sprinted out the door, but within seconds of Wells being on the ground, we both tumbled onto the grass. One glance at each other was enough to send us into a fit of laughter.

     “I missed you, Wells —”

     “I missed you, (Y/N) —” A chuckle from above broke two of us from our trance.

     “It hasn’t even been a day and you two are back to finishing each other’s sentences.” Clarke towered over Wells and I, teasingly shaking her head at us.

     “Are you really surprised at this point, Clarke?” I retorted as I jumped to my feet, smothering the blonde in a tight hug.

     “Nope!” With a quick kiss to Wells’ cheek, I sauntered off in hopes of recognising someone else. Within two minutes I had lost the motivation so I found myself a sturdy and long enough stick I could use to fashion a bow with. Someone’s shoelace would probably work for the string.

     I sat close to the dropship, carving my initials into one end of the stick with a shard of metal that had broken off the ship, when someone sat next to me.

     “Hey, you’re Marcus Kane’s daughter right?” I turned to see Octavia and nodded expectantly.

      “That I am..” I replied slightly bitter. “But you can call me (Y/N).” I held my hand out for her to shake, but she hugged me instead. To say I was surprised would be an understatement.

     “Why aren’t you angry with me? My father was one of the people that got you put in the skybox in the first place.” I asked as she pulled away.

      “Because it wasn’t you who did it. It was your dad.” Well, she wasn’t wrong about that. A mischievous look appeared on her face. “Want to get into some trouble?”

      I mirrored her expression. “Oh hell yes!” We both giggled before I grabbed her hand and lead her to the dropship. We pulled up behind Clarke and Finn, who were recruiting two other guys to head over to Mount Weather. “Can we go now?”

     “Sounds like a party, make it six,” Octavia said as she gestured between the two of us. Clarke doesn’t protest, but a certain oldest Blake does. He grabbed Octavia’s shoulder causing her to let go of my hand.

     “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Bellamy scolded Octavia.

     “Going for a walk,” she retorted as she pulled out of his grip. “Are you coming (Y/N)?”

     I glanced from the group to Bellamy a few times, debating whether to follow along to Mount Weather or to help Bellamy around the dropship. Although I’d probably be more help with the group of five, something in my gut told me I’d be just as helpful here.

     “I’ll stay here and help Wells and Bellamy with keeping order. As I’m sure they’ll need my help” I sauntered back over to the ship, ignoring Clarke and Octavia calling my name and a gaping Bellamy.

     Throughout the day I helped Wells with pretty much everything, but as soon as the sun was near the horizon I decided to stop for the day. I wasn’t blind to Murphy trying to get people to take off their wristbands. Such an action was most likely something Bellamy put him up to as he was the only one that could benefit from it. The only question was why.

     A shadow casted to the ground by the fire told me there was someone behind me.

     “If you even think you can get the upper hand on me to get off my wristband, think again Blake.” It wasn’t a long shot if it was him, and my suspicions were proven right when the man himself sat down next to me.

     “How did you —”

     “Your shadow gave it away you idiot and only you or Murphy would dare approach me from behind. Not that Murphy has though.” He just nodded as I finally turned to him.

     Although I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, Bellamy was handsome. His slightly tousled black hair, brown eyes and olive skin put him under the tall, dark and mysterious category. I tore my gaze away before it became borderline staring.

     “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Blake?” I questioned. He shifted in his spot slightly.

     “Thank you for earlier, with Octavia,” He admitted. “Although I’m certainly not a fan of your father, thank you.” Something in my gut told me he really did mean what he said.

     “I’m not heartless, Blake” I retorted. “Compared to Chancellor Jaha and everyone else on the council, I’m a puppy.” We shared a look and snorted, trying to stifle our own laughs.

     “Why a puppy?” He asked.

     “Because although I look innocent, anything can still set me off and my bite is much worse than my bark.” I stood to my feet, dusting off any dirt and sauntered back over to the dropship. 

     A couple of hours later the world was enveloped in darkness, our only source of light being from the fire. Everything in me wanted to ignore the world around me. However, the muffled sound of arguing grew louder and louder as I left my daze.

     “My father didn’t write the laws,” Wells’ voice admitted. My gaze looked up and landed on the arguing figures of Wells and Bellamy.

     “No. He enforced him, but not any more, not here,” Blake shrugged. “Here there are no laws. Here, we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want. Now, you don’t have to like it Wells. You can even try to stop it, change it, kill me. You know why? Whatever the hell we want.”

     I stood up, opening my mouth with every intention to object — at least get Wells and Bellamy to compromise on the situation — but Bellamy seemed to notice this and sharply shook his head. My eyes narrowed at him and scowled. He was taken aback by my scowl and I had no idea why.

     “Whatever the hell we want!” Murphy yelled out to the crowd. The crowd of teenager, minus Wells and I, followed in suit and started chanting the only rule established. A rule that would do more harm than good. 

     “Am I the only one who thinks this is gonna result in chaos?” I asked Wells.

     “You’re not the only one.”

     He wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me close and I rested my head on his shoulder. Something that didn’t go amiss by the eldest Blake. Bellamy’s face was unreadable and I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

     A low rumble echoed from above before a downpour of rain decided to settle. Our first thunderstorm. A soft sigh left my chest as a smile formed on my face. The rain felt so good and I just didn’t care about getting soaked.

     I allowed myself to enjoy the rain a little while longer, looking around at the other delinquents with a smile. My smile fades almost instantly when my eyes meet Bellamy’s dark chocolate orbs. I scowled once more at him before scavenging around for something to collect water in. He needed to know I wasn’t onboard with his so called plan.

     The handrests of the seats inside the dropship ended up being perfect. I struggled a little getting some off, but I managed. With my small collection of water troughs, I sat them outside sitting in front of me as they collected the rain water. 

     The thunderstorm didn’t last for very long, but I’m left with a few troughs filled with fresh water. I drunk some water until my thrist was satisfied and I made sure Wells got some as well. Any water-filled troughs still completely full I snuck into the dropship to hide. 

     Wells then took my hand and lead me to a tree across the clearing and we helped each other up. We sat on a thick enough branch that could hold both our weights, sitting there in silence comfortably for a couple minutes, my head resting on his shoulder. Wells was the one to break the underlying tension in the air.

     “I think we need to address the elephant in the room…” Wells trailed off. He took my hands in his and turned the both of us around, our legs dangling on either side of the branch. I could only sigh and nod.

     “I know we’ve been best friends since we were toddlers and have always been affectionate with each other, but the cuddle in the dropship got me thinking.” Our fingers threaded through each other as he spoke. “I… I want us to be be more friends.”

     My head perked up at his words. Not going to lie, I did develop a crush on Wells two years before I was chucked in the skybox. However, I never acted on it as we had been best friends for years. We grew up together and at one point I thought he had a crush on Clarke.

     “But what about Clarke?” I mumbled as he took my cheeks in his hands.

     “It’s always been you.”

     His lips melted onto my own. Although his lips were slightly chapped from dehydration they were still incredibly soft. It felt as if a fire had started in my heart and I didn’t want it to stop. We eventually had to part for air, but he quickly slammed his lips back on mine, this time his tongue slipping into my mouth. We fought for dominance over each other, but Wells ultimately won. Our lips parted once more and we panted as we caught our breath.

     Wells rested his head on my own and we both sighed.

     “I’d hug you, but I’m worried we’d fall out of the tree.” Wells chuckled and pecked my lips. “I’ll find another tree nearby to sleep, we wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

     I pecked his lips before jumping down from the tree. Almost everyone was asleep, so I walked quietly as possible to the closest tree nearby. I laid down, resting my head and back against the tree. Just as I was about to succumb to sleep a familiar presence sat down next to me.

     “To what do I owe the displeasure of having your presence, Blake.” Bellamy snorted at what I said.

     “I’m flattered you knew it was me,” he smirked.

     “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” I clapped back. I finally turned to his annoyingly handsome face. Gods I wanted to kiss that smirk off his face — wait what?! I kissed Wells only minutes ago and I was already thinking about kissing someone else?

     “So…” he trailed off. “You and Jaha. When did that happen?” I gaped at the thought of how to respond. 

     “We both had crushes on each other, prior to us both being thrown in the skybox,” I admitted. “Neither of us acted on it before the Ground.” He nodded, but something in his eyes told me he was disappointed about something.

     Mentioning being thrown into the skybox reminded me why I was put in there in the first place. Me trying to expose to the rest of the Ark that life-support was failing, my father being the one to chuck me inside and throw away the key. It was a cowardly move and my father knew it. He never even came to see me the utter bastard.

     “I need help taking off my wristband.” Bellamy looked at me with disbelief. “I want to take it off, but I don’t want to hurt myself.”

     He stared at me right in my eyes, probably to see with there was any hesitation in them. However, when he saw none he helped with the wristband, slipping it off with ease.

     “Thank you.” He wasn’t really supposed to hear my thanks, but he did, just giving me a small smile before he walked off in the other direction.

     My eyes glossed with water, the teardrops threatening to escape but only a single tear rolled down my cheek.

     I’m sorry, Dad.

Taglist:

@hftff-lol​ 

Moment In Time

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: None

Chapter 10 - Final Chapter

******

‘S.O.S’. 

Three letters make your heart drop to your stomach. They also make you jump off your couch, practically sprinting up the steps to your room. Throwing the closet door open you go straight to the back and grab your uniform, making quick work of putting it on and grabbing your equipment before you leave. 

Making a call to one of the men in your life who wouldn’t hesitate to look out for you, Nick Fury. He doesn’t waste a second arranging the transportation you need and in little to no time you’re saying a quick thank you to him as you walk onto the jet. 

Before you take off, you send a reply, ‘omw’.

Those three letters bring a smile onto Natasha’s face. She isn’t surprised that it only took half an hour for you to reply, in fact it’s one of the main reasons she messaged you of all people. 

Looking up from the watch on her wrist, she says,“ don’t worry fellas, we’ll be out of here in no time.” 

The two members of her team in the room look over at the redhead. She has a confident smirk on her face and that makes everyone curious. 

Given their current situation of being holed up in this single room in the base of their enemy as said enemy plans whatever it is on the other side of the door, they didn’t see much reason to be confident.

Steve huffs, hands planted firmly on his hips as he continues to pace the room as he tries to form a plan. Sam picks at a thread on his pants, no doubt waiting for a plan to follow. 

But one wasn’t needed. 

It took half an hour for you to reply and another hour before you got there. 

Your presence was first made known to Natasha. Her watch vibrates and she looks down to find a winking emoji on her screen. 

She rolls her eyes, holding back a laugh and stands up, preparing to leave. 

A moment later there’s a knock on the other end of the thick metal door. 

“Please stand clear of the bombay doors.” The voice is deep but she knows it’s you. 

Not saying a word, she steps to the far side of the room. Sam and Steve both frown, but follow suit. 

A faint hissing sound is heard, followed by a small but steady flow of smoke around the door, then it creeks before falling off the hinges. 

It slams against the concrete floor and you step through the dissipating smoke. 

Your eyes flick over the three people in the room and you smile.“ For a bunch of prisoners, you look good.” You tease, eyes lingering on the redhead. 

Steve walks up to you, holding his hand out for you to shake.“ I wasn’t expecting to see you on the other side of the door.” 

“Well I’m nothing if not unexpected.” You pat his shoulder.“ Now, let’s get out of here shall we?” 

The three follow you out of the cell and down the halls, noting the unconscious bodies of the guards they were previously walked past. Sam and Steve are close behind you, Natasha behind them. 

She finds it beyond adorable how your gaze continuously falls back on her. The look in your eyes lets her know you’re checking on her. 

Very reminiscent of the first day you two met, Natasha watches you work your way through this enemy base, taking down the few guards who interrupt your path. 

You stop on the way to get their confiscated weapons back and then you’re out of the building. 

A fire fight quickly approaches. Enemies pour from the building as you escape, each of you returning fire. Not a single bullet on your end is fatal but it definitely debilitates the targets.

One glance back however, reveals a group larger than you expected. It was like watching clowns climb out of their little cars. The facility didn’t look anywhere near big enough for all those people to be inside. 

“New plan. You three move ahead to the jet, I’ll lead them away.” Instant words of protest come from the three teammates at your words and you roll your eyes.“ We can’t keep running and lead them to our getaway. I’ll be fine.” 

With no room to protest, you break away but not before planting small explosives on a few trees ahead of you. You blew the charges, the trees falling and cutting the enemies off from following the three. 

You don’t get a chance to boast about that going just as you planned, because you quickly notice a presence at your side. When you look over you’re tempted to stop running. 

“Natasha what the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be with Sam and Steve.” 

Shots continue to ring out behind you, the hightech weapons your enemies have burn holes in the trees around you.

“Dammit.” You pull out your communicator, connecting with the jet you flew here and you’re pleased that Steve answers.“ I need you to bring the jet to me-” you pause and look to your side,“ to us.”

He doesn’t hesitate in agreeing. It takes much more running, some retaliation shooting, and a few more mini bombs. In no time you break from the tree line, a small group of enemies still on your trail as the jet lands a few feet away. 

You think you’re in the clear, your shots effectively chipping away at the few enemies who still come. But your foot is barely in the jet when Natasha gets hit. 

It’s like everything slows down. You watch her fall to the metal floor of the jet, her exclamation of pain is loud and clear in your ears, and once it’s over your heart pounds. 

Snapping back in an instant, you pick her up, quickly moving her to lay on the chairs off to the side as you shout for Steve to take off. 

You rush to grab a cloth big enough to cover her wound, then press it against said wound. 

“Hey Romanoff, keep those eyes open.” You pat her cheek, looking into her eyes as they already start to droop.

It’s unclear if she’s losing a lot of blood, the cloth doesn’t seem to be taking much on but she’s quickly drifting off as if she is.

You try your best to remain calm, watching her eyes flutter shut and not open back up despite you calling her name and shaking her. 

“Rogers, pick up the pace!” You don’t mean to shout like you do but your worry skyrockets. 

It doesn’t go away either. While it only takes a short half hour to get back to the compound it feels like forever. The wheels of the jet are barely on the ground before you’re opening the jet doors and carrying Natasha out. 

You rush her to the medbay, Dr. Cho and the rest of her team coming over instantly. She has you set Natasha on a bed and they roll her away. Dr. Cho asks you what happened after you tell her she disappears after Natasha. 

You’re left standing there, heart pounding as you wish more than anything that she’s okay. 

With nothing left to do, you step back into the designated waiting area and you sigh. 

What do you do when the woman you love is injured and rushed to emergency? You worry, and hope, and you stay by her side unless absolutely necessary that you leave.

Since the moment you landed you were right there in the waiting room, pacing back and forth while Natasha was in surgery, hoping with all hope that she’d be okay. Even after her surgery, having been informed that everything went smoothly, you were planted firmly in the chair right beside her bed once again hoping. 

You didn’t move, keeping her hand clutched in yours as you waited for her to wake up. Your worry, that had gone away when she came out of surgery, returned when she didn’t wake up. Dr. Cho said she was fine, minimal blood loss and they were able to use their fancy tech from Ultron to patch up the wound, so why she wasn’t waking up was lost on you.

As the team flows in and out of the room over the course of the passing hours, you know their suspicions regarding you and Natasha were coming to a head. 

They’d been speculating for weeks. Watching as Natasha and you snuck around. The two of you never slipped on the PDA side of things but they’d been around Natasha and you enough to notice something was up and connecting the dots became easier as they saw you at her bedside. 

It’s not until the second day of Natasha still being asleep that you leave. Steve coming in and telling you that you should go get some proper rest, freshen up, and that Peggy was asking for you. To you, the first two reasons aren’t good enough to leave but if Peggy was asking for you, you couldn’t ignore it. 

So reluctantly you do so. Heading home to take a quick nap, showering and changing, before you go to see Peggy. 

During your visit, Natasha wakes up. Wanda and Steve are in the room, chatting away as her eyes slowly open. The first thing she notices when her eyes adjust to the bright lighting is that you aren’t here. 

It’s odd because she swears you were, she could feel the weight of a hand wrapped around hers and if there’s one thing she’d gotten used to over the past ten months, it was the way your skin felt against hers.

“Wh-” she clears her throat and pushes herself up to sit, ignoring the slight tightness she felt at her side.“ Where’s Y/n?” 

Steve’s and Wanda’s gazes snap over to the redhead, their eyes widening as they realize she’s awake. 

“Nat, how’re you feeling?” Steve asks, moving his chair closer to Natasha. 

Wanda does the same on the other side of the bed, her worried gaze flicking over the woman who she’d grown to see as another mentor.

“I’m fine Steven.” She waves his question off like it’s nothing, her eyes moving over to Wanda who she assumes will answer her question.“ Where’s Y/n?” 

The younger woman frowns a little,“ she went home to rest and get clean.”

“Yeah she wasn’t keen on leaving you.” Steve adds, Natasha noting the knowing look he gives her.“ She stayed right there until earlier when I told her Peggy was asking about her.”

“And this is exactly why.”

Every head in the room turned to the door, eyes watching as you walked in with a bouquet of flowers. Nat immediately smiles, heart warming as she sees you. 

“Hey stranger.” You wink at her, finding your previous seat and laying the flowers on the bedside table.“ How are you?” 

She sighs, fingers twitching towards you as she aches to feel you touch now that she’s awake.“ I’m okay. Side is a little tight but it doesn’t hurt too bad.” 

You smile and nod,“ glad to hear it. Thought you were a goner.” You joke making her chuckle. 

Her eyes roll, a quiet laugh falling from her lips. 

The two of you keep your eyes on each other and Steve looks away as if seeing something he shouldn’t. Subtly he nods to Wanda, who has long since been aware of yours and Natasha’s relationship, and the two leave out. 

 Once they’re gone, you scoot closer. Like magnets yours and Natasha’s hands find one another, fingers lacing together and squeezing. 

“Next time I tell you to move ahead, you move ahead.” You say to her, not once breaking eye contact.

After having gone hours without seeing that beautiful green you refuse to look away. 

She shakes her head.“ We were under way too much fire, I was not leaving you alone.”

The corner of your lips quirk up at that, your heart warming at how much she cares for you.“ I could’ve handled Romanoff. What I couldn’t have handled was you being fatally injured.” Your expression shifts to something more serious.“ Not coming home with you, not telling you how I truly feel. And knowing I could’ve changed that outcome. I would’ve been crushed.” 

“That wouldn’t have happened because we had each other’s backs. We always do.” Her hand squeezes yours.“ And I’m right here. So there’s no reason not to tell me how you truly feel.”

It was a deep dive, a free fall even to try and get it out of you. Being in love with each other for ten months and not saying the words didn’t seem to make a difference when it came to you and Natasha. Not when it was shown in every action.

You both know how you feel, despite there being no labels on this or yourselves, it was clear as day that you love each other. But Natasha wanted to hear the words, almost as badly as you wanted to say them.

She watches you, the way your gaze drops for a moment and despite not seeing your eyes she knows you’re debating it. When you look back up she smiles because she sees you’re going to tell her. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious I’d been living in a limbo of sorts, stuck between my past and worrying about the future. But you, every second with you, I never once worried about those things. I’ve never felt a need to dwell in the past or worry about the future when you’re my present.” 

Her eyes roll in an overly dramatic way.“ Say the words Y/ln.”

You frown at her rushing.“ How bout you say them.” A teasing tone is in your voice, mixed with a bit of challenging. 

“Oh I will.” She counters.

“Do it.”

“You do it.”

A snort breaks through your lips and you shake your head.“ Knew you wouldn’t.”

“I love you.”

You smile, brighter than Natasha has ever seen.“ Was that so hard?” 

She drops your hand, more like throws it away and you laugh. A full on laugh, clutching your stomach and dropping your head back. If she weren’t pretending to be annoyed with you she would have smiled. 

“Hey,” you push yourself up off the chair, sitting yourself on the edge of her bed, and raising your hand to cup her cheek.“ I love you so much. And I have for so long.” 

Natasha bites her lip to hold back her grin, instead nuzzling her cheek against your hand. When the blush rises on her cheeks you pull her closer, pressing your lips to hers.

Both of you are startled out of your moment when Tony’s voice loudly proclaims,“ I knew it!”

Frowning, you look behind you to see not just him, but Wanda, Steve, Pietro, and Sam as well. 

“Eavesdropping, classy.” You say sarcastically, making to move away, only for Natasha’s fingers to wrap around your arm. 

“Lay with me.” She says and you raise your eyebrows.

“You sure?” 

Nodding, she scoots over and you don’t argue, sitting beside her and letting her press against you.“ They know now.” She shrugs, laying her head on your shoulder.

Tony nods, standing at the edge of the bed with his arms crossed.“ Yeah we do. And quite frankly I’m disappointed that neither of you told me.” 

With a quiet laugh, you wrap your arms around Natasha, listening as he accuses you both of keeping secrets. That just elicits Sam to do the same, Steve starts off on your side saying you have a right to privacy but eventually switches over as he wonders why you didn’t say anything. Wanda just smirks and laughs while Pietro questions what the big deal is. 

Admittedly it’s all very amusing and funnily enough neither you or Natasha are given the chance to answer since they all keep talking. 

While their chaotically mannered conversation proceeds you can’t help but think that at this moment in time, with the woman you love in your arms and your friends teasing the two of you, you feel happier and more at peace than you ever have.

******

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @ellobruv @ecruzsalaz

To Outlive the Devil

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Summary: A good save and a case practically solved leads to intelligence almost losing one of their own. Can you get out before it’s too late?

Notes: Canon violence, nothing worse than a typically dark episode. This is a past and present cut together story and it’s just shy of 4k. 

Now

Your bleary eyes open up to a cold and damp bedroom. An abandoned… apartment? The peeling wallpaper had given way to yellow stained drywall. From the small window on your left, it appeared as if you were several stories in the air, but there were no distinguishable landmarks that told you if you were even still in Chicago.

As you begin to come to your senses more, you feel the thick rope tied around your wrists and ankles. The rough material burns against you skin and you notice you already have sores.

How long have I been here?

Your memory is fuzzy and your head throbbed violently. It isn’t until you shift uncomfortably that you realize it’s a heavy metal chair you’re tied to.

Slowly your body begins to pick up on the danger your muddled brain had managed to identify and your pulse begins to quicken. As much as you try, your heartbeat continues to pound in your head as you try to twist your arms free.

The pain that responds is only a small price to pay for even the chance of freedom. Desperately, you continue to twist and pull until one of the knots manages to loosen up enough for you to squeeze your hand out. It’s just a short sprint to the front door in front of you.

You will your frozen fingers to work faster as you pinch and tear at each knot and then internally scream at your stiff muscles to carry you forward just a little bit more.

When your hand reaches the doorknob and it isn’t locked, relief floods your system. But when you’re able to wrench the door open, the person behind the door barely registers in your mind before everything goes black once again.

Then

Jay leans against his fist on his desk and tries to keep his frustration at bay. They’d been at this for two days straight and had been on the case for the last three months. “That’s two bodies in as many weeks. Is no one else starting to think…”

“That maybe hunting Chicago’s very own Criminal Minds level serial killer couple is out of our depth?” You interrupt, tilting your head towards him. “Doubt it.”

In fact, over the last two weeks, it’s the only thing you could think about. A younger woman named Madison roped, at least you were hoping she wasn’t a willing participant, into a horrific and violent life by a man you had yet to learn the identity of. You’d spent many nights pacing your bedroom, ranting and theorizing to Jay when all he wanted was just a bit of sleep.

The further you dove into it, however, the less hopeful you became for a quick arrest.

Voight had about ripped your head off when you suggested passing the case to the FBI and got to hear the ‘this is our city’ speech once again. But the truth was you were running out of ideas, running out of leads to chase down the rabbit hole, and running out of time.

“I hate to say it, but Voight’s right.” Antonio almost looks pained, but he continues on before you can question him. “The first time these two surfaced five years ago, CPD went full force. They shut it all down, had every uniform pulling overtime, and tried to smoke them out. Instead, it scared them into hiding.”

“Five girls in three months, Dawson, they’re escalating.” You take a breath before looking him in the eyes. “I can’t keep notifying parents.” There’s a certain pang in your voice only those who have had to watch a parent’s life crumble around them can hear. Jay reaches out to squeeze your forearm for just a bit of comfort and you run your fingers over his.

It’s enough.

“Then we end this.” Voight’s eyeing you, sympathetic to where you’re coming from, but not willing to give up yet. “Let’s find these monsters and make them pay.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you nod and turn to Adam. “Ok, let’s go over everything together, see if we can find something we missed.”

“Since it’s all we have, let’s revisit the address on Madison’s unemployment file.” Jay suggests.

Adam looks confused. “The house was condemned last year, torn down in the spring.”

“I know, but what about the name on the house, did anyone look into it?”

“Figured it was a stolen identity.” Kevin pipes up. “Clara Knight, died in 2012 of a heart attack at 66. No other properties in her name.”

“Knight?” Mouse perks up and starts shifting through his files. “I found a few erased emails from a Robert Knight, but I couldn’t find any relation or connection.”

Adam is already typing ferociously. “Got a death certificate for a Robert Knight, 68, died a few months ago. Seems like the guy barely existed.”

“Any children?”

“A daughter.” His face is grim. “Murdered in 99, she was 16.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle. “Pull up a picture of her.” You don’t need to see it to confirm what you already feared, but still the image of her face churns your stomach. A beautiful blonde girl with the hope of the whole world in her smile. “He’s been at this a lot longer than anyone thought.”

“Any property still in his name?” Voight asks.

Anxiety rippling through your chest, it feels like an eternity before Mouse nods. “His nephew Isaac put his house in Roseland on a tax form.”

Now

When you come to, the first thing you notice is that your restraints have been changed to zip ties and for a moment you’re concerned about your circulation. You’re worry is cut short by the cup of water on a table to your right, the plastic straw close enough for you to reach it.

The sudden realization of the searing pain in your throat and the cracked skin on your lips lets you know it’s probably been about two days. It’s the dryness of your tongue that overrides every single rational thought of concern that maybe the glass beside you isn’t safe to drink. But, fifteen minutes pass with no incident so whoever it is probably wants to keep you alive.

The thought sends ice down your back.

Alive for what?

“What do you want from me?” You scream into the empty apartment.

Then

“We need a vacation after this.” Jay declares as he leans the seat of the car back a little. “Somewhere warm with water so I can look at you in a tiny bathing suit all day.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t miss the small smile you give before bringing the binoculars up again. “We’ll see what we can do about that.”

“Hey lovebirds.” Adam calls over the radio from the car down the street from yours. “Have you seen anything yet or are you too busy staring into each other’s eyes again?”

It’s Jay’s turn to roll his eyes. “Didn’t you just take your third piss break?”

“Hydration is very important.” He defends.

“I told him to wear the diapers.” Alvin adds. Adam tries to defend himself, but you can barely hear him over Kevin’s laughter next to him.

Just then, out of the corner of your eye, you see the movement of a curtain, the flash of blonde hair, and the air shifts. Jay immediately catches the tense set of your shoulders and starts asking questions.

“They’ve got a girl up there.” You tell him through gritted teeth.

“Are you sure? I didn’t see anything.”

You nod and get out of the car despite the hushed protests from Jay as he follows you. To do what? You weren’t sure yet but you had felt so powerless these last few months that maybe you weren’t being the most rational right now.

The curtain moves again and, rather than getting caught, you quickly spin around and push Jay against the car before crashing your lips to his. Other than a noise of shock sounding from the back of his throat, he doesn’t miss a beat.

“North corner window.” You mumble against his lips and slide your hands up his chest, tilting your head to the side to give him a better angle.

When he pulls away, he brings his phone up and looks you in the eye. “We’ve got confirmation on the nephew Isaac, but he’s got another girl up there. If we bust in, he might get spooked and hurt her.”

It’s quiet longer than either of you would like.

“What should we do, boss?” Adam asks for you.

“Do you think you can get in quietly?” Voight asks.

Jay waits for your nod. “We’re on it. Going silent.”

Picking the lock was nothing. Sneaking around a house you know nothing about except for a quick glance at a blueprint from 2005 was the difficult part. Jay splits the two of you up, sending you upstairs while he clears the lower level. Circumstance didn’t allow you the option to argue with him that splitting up in a situation like this is the worst thing to do.

He was your partner and it was your job to always have his back, as difficult as he makes it, but he’s rounded a corner into the living room before you get the chance to cuff him to you.

Your breath catches in your throat when a step on the stairs creak, but you keep moving until you find a girl in the second room you clear. She’s blind folded with on leg tied to the bed. She tenses when you approach, but relaxes once you’ve gotten close enough to whisper who you are.

“Tracey.” She says he name with a whimper and your heart breaks as you cut the rope and take off her blindfold.

When she sees you’re really who you say you are, she throws herself into your arms and begins to cry. There’s nothing more you want to do than to sit here and comfort her, but your ears picks up on a man’s voice you don’t recognize.

“Ok, Tracey, I know you’re so scared, and I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I need you to be brave a little longer.” You pull back and look her in the eyes. “My partner and I came in here alone. I need you to tell me where the man and woman who took you are.”

She nods. “I don’t know where she went, she left a while ago. He’s here, downstairs I think, in his office.”

There’s a crash downstairs, the sound of broken glass and your blood runs cold. Immediately, you look for any other way out, but there’s nothing. No balcony, no window, nothing. Voight’s on the radio already, but you silence him.

“Stay directly behind me.” There’s a kind of urgency in your voice that puts her even more on edge.

Creeping down the stairs, you can hear Jay struggling in the kitchen, but it sounds like he’s holding his own.

“Bringing the girl out.” You whisper into your radio and glance back at Tracey. “As soon as we get down, I want you to run to the door. Do not stop. When you get across the street there are people who will help you.” She nods but she looks terrified. “I swear I won’t let him get anywhere near you.”

It’s the door opening that alerts Isaac that something else is going on. You round the corner with your gun drawn and the scene before you makes your knees weak.

Jay is bruised and cut up, struggling against the man behind him, the arm around his neck, the gun pointed at his head.

“She said you were cops, but I told her she was paranoid.” Isaac snarls.

“Madison? Is she here?” You ask, your voice as level as your gun trained on his head. Voight is yelling over the radio, but you tune him out. “I’d love to meet her.”

He snickers and smiles wickedly. “Even if she could be caught, neither of you will be alive long enough to see it.”

He only manages a twitch before you pull the trigger and land a shot right between his eyes.

Jay falls forward, breathing heavy and you rush towards him. “Jay’s hurt!” You call out when the door is broken down. Adam kicks the gun away from the obviously dead suspect and you let them handle the scene.

“Where does it hurt? Did you get hit? I told you it was stupid to split us up! How’s your breathing?” Your hands are frantically searching every inch of his body. He has to grab your hand and grip it tight in his to stop the assault of questions rapid firing from your lips.

He sits up with a groan and kisses your knuckles when he sees the panic on your face. “I’m okay. Because of you it’s just a few cuts and bruises.” He manages a smile and you almost cry right there.

Voight places a hand on your shoulder. “Tracey is on her way to Med. Medics said she’s going to be okay. We’ve got another bus on the way for you. Nice work you two.”

Now

The creak from the front door opening pulls you from a daze and you wince at the sunlight flooding the room. A blonde woman stands before you with a duffle in her left hand and a gun in her right.

She tilts her head to the side. “You’re still alive. What a shame.”

You struggle to focus your eyes from the concussion you’re assuming she must’ve given you. “Maddison.” You croak out. “What are you doing?”

She drops the duffle next to you and grips your hair to pull your head back, pushing the barrel of the gun into your temple.

“I’m going to make you suffer.” She hisses and roughly lets you go. “I tried to warn him that you were watching us, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Isaac?”

“Don’t say his name!” She screams and the sound cracks through your skull. “He told me to get some supplies, but when I cam back, I watched from the back window as you murdered him.”

You shake your head and try to reason with her. “Maddison, he was hurting people. He was going to kill my partner.”

“Partner.” She repeats sarcastically. “You mean Jay Halstead, your boyfriend of 3 years?” Maddison moves in front of you to revel in the fear that has filled your eyes and smiles sinisterly. “Yeah, I know who he is.”

You start quickly, the panic in your voice betraying the training you were struggling to hold onto. “If you want to kill me fine, do it. But don’t hurt him, Maddison. Please, he’s done nothing.”

She tsks as she opens the duffle and begins to pull out long metal pieces until finally, a long-barreled shot gun. “Why would I kill you when the alternative is so much better?”

You begin to struggle against the restraints as your mind starts to put together scenario after scenario of awful images. Maddison pays no mind to you begging and pleading to see reason. Instead, she pauses from building some contraption to walk over to you and jam a needle in your neck.

When you come too again, she’s sat casually in front of you. “I thought hitting you in the head again might actually kill you, and that’s not what I’m going for, so… you’re welcome.”

You glance around again and notice the barrel of the shotgun behind you just to the left of your shoulder. “Yeah, thanks.” You deadpan looking back at her. “What’s with the ‘Saw’ set up?”

She raises a brow. “Hold onto that strength while you can.” She points out the wires and hooks running along the floor and ceiling to trace it back to the door in front of you. “I used to be a STEM major. Did you know that?” She doesn’t stop long enough for you to respond. “Turns out I still remember a few things.”

You stare past her towards the door and then look quickly back to the gun, beginning to piece together her plan.

“Yes.” She coos. “It’s exactly what you’re thinking. The first person that opens that door, if he happens to be the right height, will get a life ending shot to the face. And I’d like to ask you what the chances are that anyone other than your boyfriend will be the first through the door.”

None.

For the first time you feel utterly defeated, hopeless. Madison watches closely, soaking in every moment of your anguish.

“Now you’ll know what it feels like.”

Then

You phone buzzes for the fourth time in the last hour. “Yes?”

“He’s actually insufferable, where are you?” Will speaks quickly, his tone seeping in irritation.

You laugh. “April already sent me out to get him food because he was whining so much. I am in route with a burger and some other stuff from his favorite place. Should be there in 15.”

“Thank god.” He says quietly. “Would you give it a rest? She’s 15 out with enough food to hopefully put you in a coma so I don’t have to.” You laugh as Will continues to yell at his brother.

“I almost died! Where’s your compassion?” You hear Jay yell back and only laugh harder

“You have ONE bruised rib and a concussion. I’ve seen high school football players handle worse with less complaining!”

“If it’s not so bad, why won’t you let me leave?!”

“I’m stepping up the pace, be there soon.” You laugh and hang up.

The Chicago night was chilly, but something else causes the hairs on the back of your neck begin to prickle. You don’t stop walking, don’t even pause a single step. Instead, you glance in a shop window and catch the reflection of a woman, a flash of blonde, not too far behind you.

Casually, you switch the bag of food to your other hand, but before you’re able to grab your gun, there’s a pinch in your neck and everything goes black.

Now

Jay had forced his way back to work sooner than anyone recommended. You’d been missing for 5 days. Disappeared with no trace other than your cell phone and a bag of cold diner food spilt on the sidewalk. If it were up to him, he would’ve been at his desk the moment 30 minutes hit and you weren’t there.

Alvin called two hours later telling him what they found and Adam and Antonio had to physically restrain him, Will almost sedated him. Voight promised him that they’d find you, and Jay knew they’d do everything they could, but he needed to be a part of the search.

“Did she have any enemies?” Alvin asks and he doesn’t flinch when Jay begins to laugh sarcastically.

“Any enemies? Do you hear yourself? She had tons. We all do. But let’s stop pretending like her being taken the day we closed that case isn’t connected.”

Alvin tries to sympathize with him. “We have to ask. You know the drill.”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Are you seriously going to treat this like any other missing person? It’s Y/N, Al! Y/N!”

“We know.” Voight says from his office door. “I made a few calls, Jay, we know where she is.” For a fraction of a second, Jay is frozen, but the thought of what you could be going through right now moves him. He’s grabbed his jacket and is in the car before anyone else has moved.

“I thought only the CIA had access to things like that.” Adam whispers lowly in the car into Kevin’s ear.

He shrugs. “Do think it’s out of the question that he’d break several constitutional laws to save any one of us?”

Adam sits back in his seat with pursed lips, nodding.

You struggle against the restraints long after Madison leaves you with only a gag in your mouth. The multiple cars pulling up and all the people shouting told you that you were running out of time. As of this very moment, you were locked into your fate of watching the man you loved die.

This was not an option.

The hard plastic digs into your ankles and wrists, your movements quickening with each door you hear them break down. You try to scream, to warn whoever was on this floor that there was a danger they couldn’t possibly see, but your muffled cries wouldn’t carry.

Tears soak the bandana shoved in in your mouth and you try to scream again.

No! Stop! It isn’t safe!

You hear Voight’s voice a few doors down and begin to try and rock the chair back and forth. It was considered heavy for a good day, and today was not that. Having not eaten or really moved in so long had left you weak and foggy. The adrenaline coursing through you veins only aiding a little in your efforts.

The sound of the front door breaking down sends a jolt of energy through you and you send yourself flying in front of the gun just as the bedroom door opens.

Jay raises his weapon at the sound before his brain can register what has happened. His wide eyes find yours just before you’ve hit the ground.

“Y/N!” He screams and rushes towards you. Frantic, shaky hands move quickly to remove the bandana and zip ties before applying pressure to your shoulder. “I need a medic!” He calls franticly over his shoulder, but when he turns back to you, he has to shut down the thought that you might not make it that long.

“You found me.” You try to say, but instead sputter blood onto your cheek.

“Oh, God.” He gasps. “You’re okay, you’re going to be fine.” But the more he says, the less you hear him.

“I love you.” You try to reach out to his face and graze his cheek, but your fingers won’t cooperate and only leave smudges of blood across his skin.

When your breathing starts to quicken and become more raged, he knows time is running out. So, in defiance of the orders and suggestions coming in through his ear piece, he lifts you up to cradle you to him and runs.

**

An annoying, incessant beeping is the only thing you can hear, but when you move to reach for it, a shooting pain stops you cold. You groan softly and pry your eyes open only to see both Will and Antonio hovering too close to your face.

Will starts to wave a flashlight in your eyes and you push him away. “When was the last time you guys brushed your teeth?”

Antonio chuckles softly and places his hand atop your head, his thumb brushing softly. “We got her.” He says quietly. “She couldn’t help herself. She stayed close to the scene to see the fallout and Kim caught her.”

Will nods his head towards Jay who was sleeping soundly in what you had to imagine was a very uncomfortable position. “We’ve been keeping an eye on him as well as you. Do you want me to wake him?”

You look back over at him and smile before turning back. “Better not. These are the last few moments of peace I’ll get for the next year at least. You would think someone would be a little more grateful towards you for saving their life, but I can already hear how mad he’s going to be.” Only a small part of you is joking.

“Well, I’ll get shot next time and we’ll see how you feel.” Jay’s sleep riddled voice carries from the corner, but he hasn’t opened his eyes yet. “I’ll give you an hour.” He adds before settling back in.

Now that’s the love of my life.

Swipe Left {Rowaelin Fluff AU}

A/N: We’ve been writing some aaangsty shit lately, and we needed a break to get some fluff out. Enjoy!

As always, written along side the loml, @tacmc​.

Attention, all passengers. All flights departing from Adarlan have been delayed, due to inclement weather. Please see the nearest information screen for more details.

Aelin dropped her head in her hands and groaned. She knew she should have taken the direct flight from Wendlyn to Terrasen, rather than booking the one with a layover in Adarlan. She knew she should have, but instead she decided to save a few bucks, and booked the cheaper flight, with the longer travel time.

And now Adarlan was experiencing some of the worst weather she’d ever seen.

As she looked around for an information board at her gate, a brilliant flash of lightning raced across the sky. The accompanying rumble of thunder shook the airport and Aelin begrudgingly accepted that grounding the flights may have been the right thing to do.

She sighed and pulled her phone out, noticing a text from Lysandra. She opened it, finding a picture of her feet shoved in the sand and a drink in her hands, with a text that read, Got my beach, got my beer. All I’m missing is you, bitch. What time do you get in?

She sighed and replied, Flights out of Adarlan we’re just grounded. No clue.

Her best friend’s response was short, sweet, and to the point:

Fuuuuuuuuck

Aelin laughed to herself, but closed out of her messages and began to peruse her social media apps, eventually opening Tinder.

She made a face, looking around the airport and thinking about how stupid it would be to thumb through her possible matches while in a another country. Especially one she wasn’t staying in for very long.

And then decided, why the hell not.

A blonde man who looked far too much like her cousin was the first that popped up.

No, definitely not.

Then a young man with striking blue eyes, raven black hair and a mischievous grin graced her screen. Mmm, maybe…, she thought to herself, scrolling down to read through his bio. Loves dogs, an avid reader, and-.

Nope, to the left he goes. A doctor. 

Aelin wasn’t sure she could handle dating another doctor.

On and on she went, finding a flaw in nearly every profile she looked at.

Muscle head. Swipe.

Drinks too much. Swipe.

Doesn’t drink enough. Swipe.

Too old. Swipe.

Too young, she thought, swiping left at the photo of a teen in his high school basketball uniform. He’d definitely lied about his age to get on here.

And then she was pinned in place by the most striking pair of green eyes she’d ever seen.

And those cheek bones, by the wyrd, she was jealous.

She scrolled through his pictures, wondering if the silver hair was natural or if he had to dye it to keep it that shimmering hue.

Gods, he was gorgeous. She looked through his pictures again, every single one of them a candid, but couldn’t help but hear that little voice in the back of her head.

What’s the catch?

He’s definitely too good to be true.

Scrolling down, she decided to read through his bio.

Rowan, 28

11th grade history teacher by day.

Whiskey aficionado and trivia extraordinaire by night.

Aelin blinked at the short and sweet description the man had written for himself and after swiping through his pictures one more time, decided there was no way this guy was real.

She was sure that whoever this Rowan guy was, he may have been an eleventh grade history teacher, and he may have been kickass at trivia, but there was no way in hell he looked like that. No, she was sure that was just some poor, unsuspecting model, with the most kissable, gorgeous face she’d ever seen, who’d had pictures lifted from his personal Instagram. She even thought about trying to reverse image search the model to see if she could figure out who he was. If she did, it would only be fair of her to let him know.

But until then, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to be catfished...again.

She swiped left, sending him to the pile of men she’d rejected.

“Ouch, so that’s a hard no, then?”

The voice came from behind her and Aelin whirled, so fast that her blonde hair fanned out around her.

That hair. Those eyes. That damn bone structure.

Aelin blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The man - Rowan, she realized - chuckled. “Can’t say it wasn’t entertaining watching you swipe left on the entire male population of Adarlan.” He smirked. “But after spending so long on mine, I thought you’d at least swipe right.”

Aelin was still stunned. “Fuck, you’re not a catfish?”

A silver brow arched and he chuckled again as he said, “No, definitely not a cat or a fish. All male.”

“So you teach teenagers?” She asked, gesturing to him. “So that’s your real job, even with a face like that?”

He asked, “A face like what?”

“You’re gorgeous,” Aelin said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then she realized what she’d said. She covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks and the tips of her ears reddening.

But his grin only widened as his eyes narrowed, the most ridiculously handsome, smug look crossing over his face. “Do you judge everyone so harshly? What? I can’t be pretty and smart?”

Aelin’s hands slid off her face as she met his gaze, once again. “I never called you pretty.”

“But you called me gorgeous,” he countered, and at her scowl he breathed a laugh. “I’m Rowan.”

“I know,” she said, and held up her phone. “I cyber stalked you, remember?”

“Ah,” he said, leaning forward. “I can’t deny I did the same to you, Aelin.”

Oh, she liked the way her name sounded on his lips. His voice alone, that accent, had her toes curling.

“Did you swipe right?” She asked, slipping her phone in her back pocket.

Rowan smirked. “Guess you’ll never know, since you decided to swipe left.”

He adjusted the laptop case on his shoulder and winked, before walking over and sitting down at the closest plug, leaving Aelin staring.

————

How to unswipe left on tinder.

The question she typed in her browser mocked her and she sighed.

She picked at her unappetizing chicken - she thought it was chicken, at least - she’d picked up in the airport food court and looked around. The place was packed, travelers from everywhere stuck here until the storm passed. Almost every table was occupied, though she had gotten lucky and found one of the small ones by the wall. She was inclined to stay here until her flight finally departed, but she figured she could at least go to the bar until her flight and give someone else her table.

She was putting her trash on the tray, getting ready to get up when a head of silver hair sat down at the table across from her.

She blinked, watching his every movement as he plopped his tray down on the tabletop. He, unlike Aelin, went with burrito. After consuming her chicken...ish lunch, the burrito looked wonderful. She eyed it with envy.

“May I join you?” he asked, not bothering to wait for her to reply as he unwrapped the burrito from the foil and taking a bite.

Aelin opened her mouth to reply, but her lips snatched shut. She had already finished eating, was ready to go waste her time elsewhere. “I was headed to the bar.”

Rowan nodded, slowly, as he took another bite. He waited to swallow before asking, “So, first you swipe left, then you don’t want to eat with me? Apparently I need to take a hint. Then again...you did say I was gorgeous...so.” 

Aelin was caught somewhere between wanting to run and hide, and wanting to jump his bones. The latter was more appealing, but the former felt easier, all things considering. 

She pursed her lips. “Did you swipe, right?”

The gleam in his eye was wicked. “Have lunch with me.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Fine.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act so excited about it.”

Aelin closed her eyes and sighed. She was being a bitch.

Well, she was a bitch, but she was letting her bitch show.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You kind of...caught me on an off day.”

He looked around while he chewed,at their surroundings, at the people around them. “Yeah, I think we’re all having an off day.”

Aelin let Rowan eat, not asking him questions every few minutes, despite wanting to, though she did respond to his while he quietly ate.

He asked what she did for a living, she said she didn’t know because she was on the way home from graduating college. He asked what her degree was in, she said literature and English education.

He was balling up the aluminum foil and standing when he asked, “So you have a degree in education but you don’t know what you want to do for a living?”

They grabbed their various bags and carry-ons and she shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He said, obviously, “Have you thought about teaching?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I have, but I have more passion for literature and English than I do for standing up in front of a classroom full of kids only to be disrespected and unappreciated.” 

Rowan looked at her, thoughtfully. “I had the same fear when I began, once I got my degree. But, I fucking love history, and my kids, for the most part, are great. If you choose to become an educator...well, the vibe of your classroom is in your hands.”

Aelin’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t protest. “Come get a drink with me.”

Rowan arched a brow. “Is this a date?”

Aelin put a hand on her hip. “Did you swipe right?”

He tilted his head. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“You said you’d tell me if I had lunch with you,” she laughed.

“I didn’t, actually.” He was smirking and Aelin wanted to wipe it off his handsome face, in whatever way she could. “I just mentioned that you should eat with me after I asked and you chose to.”

Aelin opened her mouth to disagree but then snapped it closed. He was right. “You tricked me.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She stopped walking and he stopped and turned. She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Tell me if you swiped right and I’ll have a drink with you.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

She crossed her arms, waiting.

Rowan just arched a brow. “Come on. I’ll tell you after the first drink.”

Aelin’s mouth fell open, but Rowan was walking away, down the terminal. Aelin wanted so desperately to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he confessed, but she didn’t. Unable to control herself, she only walked after him, intrigued.

“What gate are you flying out of?” Rowan asked as she caught up to him. 

She knew exactly which gate it was, but she wanted to see if she could make him squirm. “C.”

She kept her head straight, didn’t glance over at him as he looked at her. She just asked, “You?”

That half smile returned and she knew that he knew she was trying to mess with him. “C, as well.”

They got to the bar and sat down, being waited in quickly, despite the larger than normal crowd. Aelin ordered a jack and coke and Rowan a 7&7.

The bartender gave them their ID’s back and said, “Thank you, and happy birthday, Miss Galathynius.”

She cringed as Rowan turned to look at her. “It’s your birthday?”

She lifted her hands and gave a half-assed attempt at spirit fingers. “Surprise.”

He stared at her for a moment before he said, “You should’ve said something.”

“What’s the point?” she muttered.

Rowan blinked, still watching her through his side-eye. “What do you mean?”

Aelin snorted as their drinks were slid in front of them. “I was supposed to be celebrating my birthday at home, with my best friend on the beach; but, instead, I’m here, stuck at the airport. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve had an interesting birthday.”

Rowan nodded. “If it makes you feel any better, I spent my last birthday in the hospital.”

“What?” Aelin asked, sipping her drink. “How?”

“Horrible food poisoning,” he laughed. “I’ve never been that sick in my life.”

Aelin shook her head. “Maybe we can celebrate our birthdays together.”

Rowan chuckled. “My birthday was five months ago.”

Aelin took another drink and set her glass down. “And?” She shrugged. “It’s someone’s birthday everyday. Why not make it yours?”

Rowan eyed her for a moment, his lips teasing the edge of his glass. Then, he said, “Alright. Fine. Today is both of our birthdays, what should we do?”

“Raise hell, obviously,” Aelin answered, shrugging, as she took a sip from her glass.

Rowan only grinned. “And what does raising hell look like to Aelin Galathynius?”

She smirked, but a thunder clap drew her attention to the windows they sat across from, to the storm raging outside. A crease formed between her brows. “Definitely doesn’t look like an extended layover in Adarlan.”

Rowan watched her, wanting to brush back the hair that slipped from behind her ear. He turned to the bartender and said, “Two shots of Gentleman’s.”

Aelin’s eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s one way to wake hell up.”

The small glasses were set in front of them and Rowan said, “To raising hell, Miss Galathynius.”

Aelin rolled her eyes and threw the shot back.

The bourbon warmed her entire body and she shook her head, blowing out a sharp breath. Rowan was watching her, a small smile on his face. He paid up their tab and they made their way over to the information board by the bar entrance.

“Has yours been updated?” Rowan asked, scanning the flights.

Aelin found hers instantly. “No, still just delayed.”

He nodded. “Mine too.”

“So,” she began. “What’s next on the birthday agenda?”

An easy smile spread across his face as he said, “Presents.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Presents?”

They walked over to one of the small convenience stores tucked in between the Starbucks and the restrooms. “Since today isn’t actually my birthday, I don’t get anything. But you do.”

She looked at the glorified gas station snacks lined up in the fancy shelving. “Oh goodie, a Snickers bar and the latest issue of Erilea Weekly.”

“Is that what you want?” He asked.

She laughed. “Not really. I don’t need anything though.”

“Everyone needs something on their birthday.” Aelin glanced up at him and he was looking down at her.

You could kiss me, she thought. That would be a pretty good gift.

Instead she said, “Okay, then surprise me.”

Rowan’s smile grew. “Gladly.”

Rowan took a step and Aelin followed, but then he froze, and blinked. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing?” Aelin asked, taking a step back, confused.

But Rowan only arched a brow and grinned. “If I’m going to surprise you, you can’t see what I pick out. Go away.”

Aelin snorted but sighed. “Fine. My gate is C-17. I’ll be there when you’re done.”

Rowan’s smile was triumphant. “See you there.”

Aelin headed back to the gate, sitting by the window and watching the storms swirl around them. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket. It was Lysandra, but no picture accompanied her text this time.

How goes the long, boring wait?

She sighed. Long and boring. I have company though.

The text immediately showed “Read” and the grey typing bubbles reappeared.

Company? How?

Where? The airport?

Is he hot?

How did you meet?

Aelin smirked and typed back. I swiped left on him.

The bubbles reappeared and left and reappeared. I’m not following.

He’s gorgeous, so after hardcore staring at this face, I decided I didn’t want to get catfished.

So I swiped left.

And then I turned around and found him standing there, looking just as pretty as his pictures.

She hit send and waited, anticipating Lysandra’s next question.

What’s his name??

She laughed, knowing that Lysandra was probably driving Aedion insane with her commentary.

She replied, Rowan. And no, I don’t have a last name, but I think he’s flying into Orynth and he’s a history teacher.

The message sent and Aelin waited for her reply. The message was read, but nothing came in.

Twenty minutes later, when Lysandra hadn’t texted back and Rowan hadn’t shown, Aelin began to chew on the inside of her cheek.

She suddenly felt ridiculous. Most likely, Rowan had used it as an excuse to get rid of her. They were strangers, and nothing more. He wanted to get her a gift? Bullshit. He probably thought it was pathetic that she was spending her birthday alone in an airport and was getting a laugh out of the whole scenario. 

Aelin rose to her feet with the intention of grabbing her bag and going to the ladies room just for something to do, but then she saw him coming toward her, a shopping bag in hand.

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She dropped her purse back into the seat she’d been occupying. “Just to the ladies room.” She smiled sweetly, hoping he didn’t realize she’d been about to bail.

Granted, she thought he’d bailed on her.

He nodded. “Well, then, I’ll be here.”

He sat down in the spot next to the one she vacated and smiled at her.

Aelin began to walk away, but she turned and looked back at him. “By the way, you’re not, like, a serial killer that’s going to sell my organs on the black market, right?”

Rowan laughed, the sound rich and full and reminded Aelin of a bonfire on a crisp Autumn evening. “No, I’m not a serial killer and no, I won’t sell your organs on the black market.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or the white market?”

He shook his head, chuckling, “How about this? I have no intention of causing you any bodily harm or removing your organs from where they already are.”

Aelin smiled and nodded, and continued into the bathroom. When she was washing her hands, her phone vibrated again and upon she pulling it from her pocket, she discovered why Lysandra had gone dark.

His name is Rowan Whitethorn. He’s twenty-eight, fit as fuck and looks like he could fuck you into a fit. He’s a teacher at Orynth Prep, where he’s also the coach of the varsity baseball team. His birthday is January seventh and he has a kitten named Snowball.

Aelin sighed and shook her head, laughing at her best friend.

You’re terrifying sometimes, you know that, right?

Her phone buzzed again.

Enjoy, bitch.

Then about twenty pictures flooded her inbox.

She had done a thorough job, Aelin had to admit. The few pictures she sent of Rowan shirtless certainly proved her “fit” comment. She didn’t feel the least bit shamed as she zoomed in on his washboard abs.

Aelin couldn’t help but stare, and gape, before she shoved her phone back into her pocket and went back out toward the gate, where Rowan was still sitting, scrolling through his phone. The second he sat her coming, his phone was put away.

“I was beginning to think you got lost,” he said, cocking his head to the side. 

Aelin cleared her throat. “I- yes, I did.”

His eyes flicked to the bathroom, which was a direct line to where he was sitting.

She sat and tucked the loose hairs behind her ears. “So what’s my present?”

She smiled and he couldn’t fight the tugging on the corners of his own lips. He handed her the shopping bag. “Happy birthday, Aelin.”

She opened it up, first pulling out a stuffed teddy bear, that was red and gold, the colors of Adarlan’s flag. In the center of its stomach was a big gold heart. She laughed. “Cute.”

He shrugged as if to say, I know.

She reached in and pulled out a t-shirt that read I’d rather be spending my birthday on the beach, but I’m stuck with a hot piece of ass at the airport.

Aelin threw her head back and laughed. “Where did you find this?”

He was chuckling himself. “You can convince people to make anything for the right price.”

She shook her head and pulled the last item out of the bag. It was a glass shot glass. Aelin didn’t even read the text printed, because Rowan said, “I was hoping you’d take a shot on me and let me take you to dinner.”

Aelin stared at him, blinked, then howled. Rowan watched her as she laughed, heartily, his slow grin spreading.

Once she calmed down, she wiped at her eyes and said, “Well, I can’t say no to that, can I?”

Rowan’s eyes were soft as he said, “I was hoping not.”

Aelin put her gifts back in the bag and said, “Thank you, really. This was sweet.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, softly. “Is that a yes to dinner, then?”

She smiled, and took his hand, resting on his lap. “It’s a date.”

Sugar and Coffee [21]

Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 21.5 OR Chapter 22

➜ Words: 4.5k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

Baking is a mastery. It’s an ability that needs to be practiced and refined. It requires discipline and patience, especially when things go wrong. It’s problem solving and creative with never one right answer. It’s practically magic in a silver bowl, a whisk, and an oven. And Jungkook is the best wizard in this kitchen.   He preheats the oven to three hundred and seventy five degrees fahrenheit. Then he cuts parchment paper to line a baking sheet and moves to brush the ramekins with melted butter. Jungkook adds the tablespoon of white sugar and rotates the ramekins until the surfaces are coated in it.   Five ounces of seventy percent dark chocolate is put into a bowl with two ounces of semisweet chocolate and he melts it over a saucepan with hot water on low heat. Afterwards, he adds the egg yolks until the mixture stiffens. Jungkook wipes his sweat before he mixes in the tablespoon of flour and butter, reducing the heat to low and adding in some cold milk.   It’s thickened after three minutes and he adds salt, a pinch of cayenne pepper as a secret ingredient, and mixes.   The bowl is left over hot water while he whips egg whites with a pinch of cream of tartar, adding sugar after a bit to create glossy, soft peaks.   Jungkook transfers the egg whites into the soufflé base, folding it in gently one third at a time and then he divides the mixture to bake for a full fifteen minutes.   What he’s left with at the end is the best chocolate soufflé on the planet.   “What do you think?”   “It’s really good.” Aeri politely smiles and you roll your eyes.   “You don’t need to feed his ego. He’s been raving about it for days now.”   “And you’ve eaten at least ten of them.” Jungkook grins and you mutter incoherently, unable to really protest against the claim that’s all too true.   The soufflé is puffed and crusty on top, but still gooey and jiggly in the center. It’s risen to its maximum height without collapsing whatsoever, uniform all around. And the texture is cloud-like, soft with the chocolate taste melting on the palate.   It took two weeks to perfect — but the outcome made the effort all worth it.   “I call it the ultimate soufflé.”   Your brows raise. “The ultimate? Not Jungkook’s ultimate?”   “Nope. The ultimate.” He smirks and leans into you. “Want another one?”   You hope he doesn’t know that it takes a lot of strength for you to reject.   Jungkook’s good at baking. That much is clear. You’re not sure if he’s as good as you are of course, but anything that has to do with chocolate practically has his name on it. His chocolate soufflé is no exception. It’s fucking delicious. Enough that even Yoongi asks for seconds and Taehyung almost starts to cry.   But you don’t want to admit just how good it is since his ego’s been boundless these past few days.   “How does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?” he pipes up suddenly when you haven’t even said a single word for the past five minutes. And when you tell Jungkook he’s not a chocolatier yet, he laughs and tells you he will be soon while condescendingly patting your head like you’re his pet.   As if that wasn’t enough, he interrupts snuggling time by rolling over with a pompous look on his face. “I’m just so happy right now.”   “Why?”   You’re expecting a corny answer along the lines of — ‘because you’re here’. But instead Jungkook sighs dreamily and says, “I really nailed that soufflé, didn’t I?”   It’s annoying. You’re just trying to live your life peacefully but in every shape, way, or form, no matter the context, he just has to bring up that goddamn soufflé like it’s his child he’s so proud of. It’s not like you aren’t happy for your boyfriend — frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he bragged or boasted about it to others. But he’s been constantly chirping about it in your ear. And any complaints from you would just warrant his grins and questions of if you’re jealous of his skills.   “I don’t know what to add to my portfolio,” you mention passingly one afternoon after much contemplation.   Your boyfriend hums. “You need something with chocolate, right?”   “Yeah.”   “Well, you could make my soufflé. I’m sure it would help with your grade a lot, but—,” Jungkook draws out the syllable with another sly smirk, “my recipe’s a secret. Sorry, babe. Wish I could help.”   In spite of your inner exhaustion and vexation, for the sake of being a good girlfriend, you simply nod and let him have his moment. Even if Jeon Jungkook was being unbearably arrogant and reminding you of why you hated him about a year ago, he was clearly happy with the recipe he worked so hard on and you didn’t want to step on that.    He deserves some personal limelight, so you let him have it.   But luckily, you don’t have to bear the weight of his smug ass by yourself for long.   “Yuna!” Your arm waves over your head. The high schooler smiles, rolling her luggage behind her and meeting with you halfway. Immediately, you engulf her in your arms even when she grumbles and resists. “How was the trip here? You’re not hungry, are you?”   “God, you’re like my mom,” she huffs. “It was fine. Hey, Jungkook.” Yuna shifts and smiles warmly at your boyfriend who nods, greeting her as well.   “Hey.”   “So this is the school you go to?”   You grin. “Sure is!”   The last time you were with Yuna, she expressed interest in the professional baking and pastry arts program. You didn’t expect that she would actually come visit during the week-long break for a tour but it was a surprise you welcomed. You hope you can take her interest and curiosity and inspire her.    “Namjoon and Sejeong packed some cookies for you. They told me to say...thanks….for showing me around when you’re busy and stuff.”   “It’s not a problem. I’m happy to.” You smile. “Tell them I said thanks too.”   “Taehyung’s joining us,” Jungkook reads off his phone and then pockets it. “Apparently, he’s bored.”   You shrug. “Fine by me.”    “Who’s Taehyung?” Yuna asks.   “Just a friend of ours,” you say to ease her obvious worries of the stranger.   The three of you wait a few minutes, getting caught up with one another as Yuna talks about what her last classes were about. But soon after, the tall brunette is strolling over with his hands buried in his white hoodie pockets. His hair is disheveled like he just rolled out of bed and you don’t think that’s too far from the truth.    “Jimin ditched me to go on some date with the chick from his classic desserts class,” he whines when he gets in ear-shot distance. “I thought I was going to die of boredom.”   “Tough life,” you scoff and don’t notice Yuna who’s frozen next to you. Her eyes are wide on the stranger, gaze sweeping up and down at him.    She swallows hard before stepping forward and making herself known. “H-Hi. My name is Kim Yuna.”   “Oh yeah.” Taehyung grins easily. “They told me about you.”   “Did they? I’m glad.” She giggles and tucks her hair behind her ear. You exchange expressions with Jungkook. This was an awfully familiar situation. “I’m Namjoon’s niece, their boss during their internship.”   “I’m Kim Taehyung.”   They shake hands and Yuna goes in for the kill without hesitation— “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?”   Taehyung is flustered, taken aback by the blunt question. “I….don’t have a girlfriend.”   “Great.” Yuna answers swiftly with a big smile.   You have to admit, she’s bold. The girl has some guts even you don’t have. And you’ve never witnessed Taehyung this perplexed either. It’s hard to catch someone as spontaneous as him off guard.   “How old are you?” Taehyung frowns, an apprehensive expression etched on his features like you’re telling him to touch a gooey substance in the corner of some dirty bathroom stall.   “I turned eighteen in May,” she declares bluntly.   But Taehyung looks unconvinced despite his slow nod. “That’s barely legal,” he mutters and only you and Jungkook catch it.   It’s hard to hold back laughter, but you try your best and interrupt— “Should we start the tour?”   You show her around campus, walking through the corridors, directing her where the lecture halls are and what classes are where. You tell her what it was like for first years and you show her the dormitories, the lockers, the dining hall, and the kitchen area.   All in the meanwhile, Taehyung sticks to Jungkook’s side like gum. It’s obvious that he’s intimidated by the petite high schooler and it’s an amusing sight.    But Yuna is a go-getter and somehow manages to get Taehyung beside her to answer her numerous questions. You and Jungkook fall back, no longer showing her the way and you’re reduced to watching their backsides.   “You know what I want to eat right now?” Jungkook turns to you, mumbling, “My soufflé.”   Here we go again….    You internally sigh, but maintain a stiff smile. “Uh-huh.”   “I should make it for Yuna. She’d be blown away.”   “What?” The younger girl twirls around at the mention of her name.   Jungkook grins at her. “You like soufflé? I make the best chocolate soufflé here.”   Yuna blinks, too innocent to know better. “Really?”   “Your soufflé isn’t even that good.” It’s a lie. “I bet I could do it better.” That’s an even bigger lie, but you can’t stop it once it’s spewed out of your mouth.   It goes silent.   Jungkook stops walking. Taehyung turns around.   “You think you can make a better chocolate soufflé than me?” Your boyfriend’s eyes narrow, taking personal offence.   You shrug — it’s too late to back down now. “Why not? Can’t be that hard.”   Jungkook scoffs with a stupidly smug expression, calling your bluff. “You can barely temper chocolate.”   “You underestimate me, Jeon,” you bite back and his lips curl.   “Fine. Let’s see then.”   //   It was a mistake — something said on impulse, after days of irritation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. It came tumbling out before you could know better, before you could think twice about the consequences, but now you’re standing in the kitchen at an impromptu competition.   “Welcome to the annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!”   “This isn’t annual,” you mutter at Taehyung’s unnecessary extravagance.   He corrects himself— “Welcome to the first annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!”   The word spread like wildfire, but luckily kept only in the group chat. The last thing you needed were acquaintances, classmates, and teachers coming to watch. The guys were noisy enough. And it’s a testament proven with Yoongi coming over, Hoseok sprinting to get here, and Jimin calling to tell everyone to wait for his date to be over. All of it was enough pressure you could handle at the moment.    But even Aeri had caught wind of what was going on and decided to come by.    It’s clear that there’s still tension between her and Hoseok. You don’t miss the strained expressions they exchange with one another before taking seats on the opposite ends, but you’re glad that they can at least be in the same room as one another. It’s an improvement. A sign of moving on.   Yet you don’t dwell on them — not when you have bigger fish to fry at the moment.   “Over here we have Y/N who believes she can make a better chocolate soufflé than Jungkook, an aspiring chocolatier who literally took weeks and weeks to perfect this recipe of his to make it the ultimate soufflé—”   “Alright, that’s enough,” you cut off Taehyung, the self-designated commentator, before you start actually sweating.   Jungkook is competitive. Everyone and their mother knows that. And that fact alone makes you nervous. He might just throw you entirely under the bus and burn your relationship to the ground for the sake of winning. You’re worried — but you don’t show it. You can’t.   If he knows you’re fearful, he’ll have the upper hand. So you feign indifference.   After all, if there was one similarity between you and Jungkook, it was that you weren’t going to back down without a fight either. You were born a winner and it was going to stay that way.   “And to make it more fair and maximize the amount of desserts we get to eat, over here we have Jeon Jungkook who will be making éclair. A pastry made with choux dough filled with cream and topped with chocolate icing. It is a specialty perfected by Y/N, an aspiring pâtisserie chef who dreams of running her own wedding cake catering services someday.”    “Two very different dishes that the opposing member has a speciality in.” Taehyung continues to narrate and nods his head, inadvertently making Yuna giggle, “Who can make it better? You’ll be the judge of that.”   It’s ridiculous, but you’re not going to cave in or surrender. Not when Jungkook’s ego was insurmountable and you’d never hear the end of it if you gave up.   An hour and a half is put on the clock. Your counters parallel to one another while your friends are gathered at the other, ready to watch, eat their snacks and hang around. You momentarily wonder why you never have the privilege of relaxing like them.   But you don’t think about it for too long. The moment Taehyung starts the time, you begin.   You preheat the oven and begin buttering the ramekins.    “How do you feel, Y/N?” Suddenly a whisk is thrusted in your face, almost puncturing your cheek. It’s a makeshift microphone that you push aside.   “Fine.”   “What are you doing now?”   “What does it look like?” You push Taehyung aside, grabbing sugar to coat the dish.   “Well alright then.” He laughs and slinks over to Jungkook’s side who’s humming underneath his breath. He’s much too casual as he finishes greasing a cookie sheet and moves to combine butter and water in a saucepan. “How about you, Jungkook?”   “Never been better.” The side of his lip is curled. Jungkook’s black long sleeve is pushed up to his elbows to reveal his forearms, and one peek at him is enough to feel your blood boil. It’s obvious that he doesn’t see you as a threat whatsoever.   “You think you’re going to win?”   “Unfortunately, I do.” Jungkook plays along with Taehyung’s antics, head so far up in the clouds.   “Why unfortunately?”   “Well, it’s not everyday I want to crush my girlfriend, but sometimes I just have to.” Jungkook twists to you. “Sorry, babe.”   You ignore him, too busy glancing at the label and dumping the chocolate into a small bowl with butter. In the meanwhile, Yoongi chews on his chips and scrutinizes. “Are you sure that’s the right kind?”   “Fuck off, Yoongi.”   It’s not like you haven’t done this before — you’re just not sure if yours can ever beat Jungkook’s.   You whisk in the six egg yolks and add a pinch of sea salt until the melted mixture thickens. At the same time, Jungkook is singing under his breath, forming his pastry dough and piping it out onto his baking sheet.   You don’t know how he works so fast, but you concentrate harder, ignoring Jimin asking Yuna if she likes the place so far, disregarding Yoongi’s snarky comments and Hoseok’s music that he turns on as background noise.   Once you place egg whites and half a teaspoon of cream of tartar in the electric mixer to beat, you’re finally able to take a moment of relief. Jungkook is also at his mixer beating his heavy cream for the filing. “Nervous, babe?”   You scoff at him. “As if.”   “Alright then.” Jungkook smirks, almost as if he finds your snobbery endearing.   You hate how he can see right through you, but you still maintain the facade anyhow. At this moment, he was your rival first and your boyfriend second.   “It smells so good.” Yuna inhales.   Aeri smiles at her. “That would be Jungkook's choux pastry in the oven.”   “Who do you think is going to win?” Taehyung suddenly asks the high schooler, thrusting the whisk in front of her.   She smiles gingerly. “I don’t know. Who do you think will win?”   Taehyung hums and ignores the protest of his friend when he says— “I’ll put my money on Y/N.”   “Want to bet on it then?” Yuna asks, lashes batting back and forth. “Loser takes the other person to dinner.”   “What about you, Chim?” Taehyung immediately diverts his vision, pretending that he doesn’t hear her deal. He even disregards Aeri and Hoseok’s stunned expressions of Yuna’s forwardness. “Who do you think?”   You add the sugar carefully, one tablespoon at a time until the egg whites hold glossy, stiff peaks. Then you’re gently folding the egg whites into your soufflé base until it’s a light and fluffy mixture ready to be put into the ramekins. But you know it’s too basic.    It would never beat Jungkook’s.   So in the midst of your inner hysteria, you sprinkle in a teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg. Yoongi, the only person who’s actually watching, quirks his brow but doesn’t say anything.   The soufflés are popped into the oven and by then, Jungkook is still working.    He’s letting his pastries cool on a rack, his filling already in a piping bag, and he’s busy making the icing.   “How do you feel now, Y/N?”   “The same.” You shrug. “I know I’m going to win, so…”   Your boyfriend lifts his chin, a small smirk gracing his lips. “We’ll see about that.”   “You aren’t intimidated whatsoever?” Taehyung asks. “I mean Jungkook’s soufflé was fucking deli—cious. It was like gooey on the inside and so soft, but really crispy on the outside and very, very chocolatey. It felt like an explosion of flavour—”   “Alright.” You shut him up and move over to steal Yoongi’s bag of chips, much to his dismay.   In the few minutes that you finally get to sit down and rest, you observe Jungkook.   In spite of his arrogance, he’s working quite hard. You’re impressed he agreed to make éclairs in just an hour and a half since it usually takes two. But Jungkook works quickly, efficiently, and your eyes can’t help lingering on his exposed forearms, the furrow of his brows, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his pink lips.   God. As competitive as you are, a part of you doesn’t even care who wins — you already feel like a winner.   The beeping of your oven breaks you out of your daydream.   “You should wipe off your saliva,” Yoongi mutters out of the corner of his mouth, knowing full well that you were ogling Jungkook in silence. You glare at the dark-haired man, a silent threat not to say anything lest it becomes clear you have other priorities other than winning.   You take your soufflés out of the oven, breathing a sigh of relief when you see them.   They all rose. A few with them have cracks and they’re not uniform whatsoever, but it’s more than you hoped for.   The aroma of chocolate fills the room, making Yuna antsy in her seat.   You begin dusting the top with powdered sugar.   “Two minutes left, chefs,” Hoseok warns with a grin, peeking over at Taehyung’s timer.   Jungkook is long finished piping his éclairs, already drizzled the chocolate icing over top of it and allowing them to set in the fridge. You step back from your counter as well. “I’m done.”   “Same here.”   “Finally!” Yuna is cheering. “Can we taste them now?”   You’re the first to go since the soufflés are still piping hot. It’s six servings with Yuna receiving the first one since she’s the guest of honour. Then the rest are passed to Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok, Aeri. They dig in without hesitation and you watch with your breath hitched.   “It’s really good,” Hoseok says, chewing in his cheek.   “I like it a lot.” Aeri smiles. “You did a good job, Y/N.”   “Thanks.” Even if you don’t win, you feel great at your attempt.   Yuna hisses when it burns her tongue and she hums after letting it cool. There doesn’t seem to be any complaints from anyone.   “The top can be crustier. It’s baked well through though,” Yoongi notes pompously after sniffing his spoonful for the past minute to take in the scent. “Not half bad.”   “But is it better than Jungkook’s?” Taehyung asks.   It’s silent. No one can give a blatant answer. Jungkook is appalled that they even need to think about it.   “Give me that.” He grabs Jimin’s and takes a spoonful. Jungkook bites, chews, and his brows furrow. “What...is that? There's something in there that’s weird. Like the aftertaste is off.”   In hindsight, cinnamon and nutmeg probably wasn’t the best idea. But you don’t say anything and you plop your hand on Yoongi’s shoulder as an implicit warning not to speak about it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”   It’s your turn to take a taste and the moment it hits your tongue, you know the outcome.   It’s miles and miles away from Jungkook’s standards. Your soufflé is good, but not crying-worthy. It doesn’t bring tears to your eyes and make you remember your mother’s home cooking, how you gathered around the table for dessert during warm holidays.   The situation only gets shittier when you take a taste of Jungkook’s éclair. The custard is tangy and smooth, pastry crispy and buttery, chocolate icing sweet at all the right places. And all you can think is — what. the. fuck.    This guy had to have a cheat code for life. There’s no way he can be so good at everything he does. It’s impossible. It’s unbelievable. It’s unfair.   “What do you think?” Jungkook stares at you in particular, trying to gauge your reaction.   You swallow hard, managing a half-hearted shrug. “It’s decent.”   It’s clear with his smile he can see you’re trying to hide your true feelings. “Want me to save you seconds?”   “I’m fine.” You wave your hand at him, despite your heart saying otherwise. It causes Jungkook to chuckle, but he doesn’t push to spare your pride.   It’s hard to tell if his éclair is better than yours — but the mere fact that Jungkook hadn’t even had time to perfect his recipe or practice yet made it this good has your knees weak. You’re glad you don’t have him as your competition on a daily basis anymore.   “This is pretty good,” Yuna admits, licking off her fingers.   Yoongi seems to be enjoying it as well, eating quietly as he studies it. Hoseok is making noises at the back of his throat and Taehyung nods in approval. “Have you only made this once before?” Jimin asks.   “Once or twice. Can’t remember.” Jungkook grins and that’s even more impressive.   You’re conflicted of being proud of having such a talented boyfriend and being spiteful of him as a rival.   Eventually, Taehyung dismisses the two of you for the rest of them to ‘deliberate’ and judge.    You step out into the hallway and Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close.   “Don’t be too sad when you lose, babe. I’ll comfort you with my golden trophy.”   “There is no trophy.”   “Hmmm, how about a kiss then?” His nose bumps against you, smiling wide.   You feign a pout. “I’ll think about it.”   “Alright, love birds.” Taehyung pokes his head out of the door in less than two minutes. “We’ve made our decision.”   You gather back together again. All of them are pretending to be very experienced pâtisserie chefs with decades of experience. It’s both an amusing and lame sight — but you don’t comment in case they decide to deduct your points and Jimin grins, reading off the paper he has in front of him.   “Y/N, your chocolate soufflé was very moist and delectable. It had the perfect amount of sweetness. We found your techniques to be very competent and proficient. The presentation was great. The texture was very soft and the flavour was very deep. The aftertaste, on the other hand, was unique and different. It caused many to continue tasting to pinpoint what it was. You obviously accomplished what you set out to do and you made a very tasty dessert.” Jimin clears his throat. “And Jungkook, your éclair was alright.”   “Y/N wins,” Yuna announces with giddy laughter, arms in the air.   “Wait.” Jungkook frowns. “What?”   “Me?” You point to yourself, starting to laugh. “I won!”   “It was a consensus,” Taehyung spits in the midst of giggles.   “This is obviously rigged!” Jungkook protests loudly.   “Don’t be a sore loser.” Hoseok shouts and the rest ignore his outcry.   Yoongi nods in approval. “Congratulations, Y/N.”   You put your hand over your heart. “Thank you.”   You didn’t plan this — maybe they were sick of Jungkook’s ego too or maybe they just thought it would be hilarious to see his reaction, but whatever the case may be, you’re glad that they have your back.   You lean over to your boyfriend, giving a brief peck on his pouting lips.   “This is so rigged,” he mutters, less upset after your kiss.   You smile at him and quirk your head to the side. “Life’s rigged, sweetheart. But tell me, how does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?”   Jungkook scoffs, a grin spreads into his face.   //   Informal baking competitions are all fun and games, but it’s not so much at the end when there’s a mountain of dishes to wash in the sink and a whole kitchen to clean. The others have long left after satisfying their sweet tooths, so you and Jungkook have been hard at work yet again.   But in the midst of wiping down the counters, your eyes stray to Jungkook’s pastries.   He’s stepped out for a moment, so you take the opportunity swiftly by its throat.   You lurch across the floor and grab an éclair to eat.    But as you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while relishing in the deliciousness, you don’t notice the man creeping up on you.   “Having those seconds, huh?”   You’re scared shitless, jolting, and you whirl around to see Jungkook with his shit eating grin that just screams ‘I knew it’. You’ve been caught in the act. There’s no denying it now.   All you can do is swallow your mouthful.   “So you liked it that much? You should’ve just admitted it from the start, Y/N. You know I can read you like an open book—”   You grab Jungkook by the back of his neck and pull him in for a smothering kiss, just to shut him up. It’s a slow kiss, one where he cleans the cream off your lips and tastes the sugar on your tongue.   It’s ambiguous who the real winner is. When you pull apart, you know you both feel like it.   “Happy?”   Jungkook laughs, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “Very.”

I NEVER MISS: PART 1/???

Part 1 of ???

Grand Admiral Thrawn × Fem!Reader

A/N: soo,,,, Hey! Before you start reading, how are you? So, this is the start of my first ff/headcanons, if you have requestes, feel free to ask! Also English is not my first language so, probably there are going to be some mistake! I'm sorry. Let's start, shall we?

Summary: You are a Squadron Leader of a TIE figheter squadron, and you serve on the Chimaera. One day, someone lands his eyes on you.

The rivalry between pilots and simple stormtroopers, was known to everyone.

It was a normal day of work in the hangar, the pilots thought to check the fuel, the condition of the ties and review some notions from the tactical point of view.

The stormtroopers, well, they go around talking to each other and doing absolutely nothing waiting for some order or who knows what.

That day they decided to annoy us.

None of us had the flight uniform, with helmets and tubes attached, we only had the simple black suit. We Leaders were sitting, discussing new formations and tactics to adopt against the rebels.

I was explaining an attack idea that I had achieved by observing how the rebels moved and attacked, when laughter diverted everyone's attention from my explanation.

Some Stormtroopers captains.

I raised an eyebrow, not giving too much weight to the thing and returned to my explanation, to no avail.

"Do you seriously listen to a woman?"

The other Squadron Leaders turned in their direction, without answering.

"Are there any problems?"I took a few steps forward leaving the corner we had seized to do the briefing and approaching the two, always staying at a distance.

"I just wonder how a woman can be Squadron Leader" they were in two, but only one of them was talking.

"No one asked for your opinion."I answered by joining my hands behind my back, trying to remain as calm as possible. "Now, I suggest you return to your duties so we can return to ours."

"Do you think you can give us orders?"They both stepped forward, threatening. In response the other pilots got up, trying to get between me and the two soldiers dressed in white.

I reached out to show the others not to be agitated.

"It was a friendly suggestion"

I stepped forward.

They looked at the pilots around me, some of them whispered incomprehensible things.

"Do you have bodyguards?"They made other steps forward, the last one, it was a kind of shot.

Almost instinctively, not expecting the gesture, I backed off.

"Fear?"They giggled, I clenched their fists and opened them again trying to stay calm.

"Get back to your work."

"Maybe we should show her her place, don't you think?"The two soldiers turned to look at each other.

The other one nodded, and answered him.

"On her knees"

"Y / N!"some of my colleagues yell my name trying to stop me, too late, I had thrown myself at one of the two, throwing him on the ground and taking his helmet off.

I punch him in the face.

Of course, he reciprocated every single blow. We started rolling, kicking and punching each other, all over the hangar.

He hit at random, hit as he could, my shots were targeted in areas where the white armor did not cover him and in critical areas.

He would kick, occasionally throwing me well-settled knees that took my breath away for a few seconds or, occasionally he would throw me blows to the tendons, definitely not pleasant, but above all dangerous.

He punched me in the nose, which made me begin to tear, while in my mouth I began to feel the taste of the blood that had begun to flow from my nose.

After a short while, they managed to divide it, some pilots held me, trying to pull me back, since I resisted, while some soldiers helped their colleague.

One thing is certain, I did not notice the presence of the Grand Admiral until we stood in front, accompanied by Commander Vanto and some other important charge of the crew.

Thrawn looked at me first and then at the soldier, his gaze was slightly scary, as if he did not normally do it.

"I require some explanation"

"She attacked me for no reason"

I squinted, if I hadn't had my colleagues blocking me, I probably would have already punched him again.

Some pilots who had obviously witnessed the scene, protested, also springing the opposite reactions of the soldiers, and began to shout at each other.

"Silence" Thrawn's tone of voice was always calm, he had not screamed, but despite this he had silenced everyone, it was definitely a threatening tone, which made me feel a shiver behind my back, making me stiff immediately.

He looked at the boy to my right, who was hlding me by the arm, beckoning him to speak.

He correctly explained the whole situation.

"I still remain of the opinion that this is not the position of a woman" the soldier was dabbing his nose, at a good distance from both me and Thrawn who turned to look at him, making the soldier pale.

In the meantime I was ready to snap forward to give him another punch on the teeth.

"No Y / N" they pulled me back, and this time, Thrawn who was literally in the middle of the two of us put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back, thus helping others to keep me stuck.

He let go almost immediately the grip on my shoulder, I could feel the heat of his hand disappearing.

He turned his back on us, joining his hands behind his back, looking at the soldiers.

"If I were you ,I would return, without making too much fuss, to your duties. I don't know how long they will still be able to hold her," he paused, stepping forward.

Within five seconds, they were all gone. The others let me go, I passed a hand under my nose, which was still bleeding even if not excessively.

Thrawn reached out with a handkerchief to me.

"you're welcome"

I took the handkerchief and put it under my nose, beginning to dab the slow spill.

I took it off, looking at the blood stain that stained the white fabric.

"You could have it. That doesn't interest me"

He squared me from head to toe, analyzing my every single movement.

I had been on that ship for three months, and this was only the third time I had seen the Grand Admiral.

"Thanks"

I noticed his gaze lingering on my right leg, in fact, it hurt me and I could not rest it well on the ground.

As soon as he thanked him, he looked up at my face.

"There is no need to thank me."She tilted her head slightly, nodding towards her leg "if I were in you I would get that leg checked as soon as possible."

He stepped back "now if you'll excuse me" the pilots responded by making the military salute, I nodded slightly, Thrawn turned around and began to head towards the bridge along with his subordinates.

title: break point

pairing: ransom drysdale x personalized reader

word count: 3050

summary: when your ex boyfriend’s mom comes to you in need of help for his horrible behavior and attitude during his house arrest, you give in and see what you can do. things definitely do not turn out as planned.

themes: angst, smut

taglist: @evanstush​​, @tanyam93​​, @bval-1​​, @wonderwinchester​​, @patzammit​​, @rohaintahquil​​, @deidrashouseofpain​​, @sammyslonglostshoe​​, @jadedhillon​​, @bohemian-barbie​​, @whysparker​​, @sebastian-i-stan​​, @sebabestianstan101​​, @lille-kattunge​​, @teller258316​​, @peach-acid​​, @allsortsofinterests​​, @xoxabs88xox​​, @heyiamthatbitch​​, @cptn-sgrogers​​, @heyyouwiththeassbutt​​, @bangtan-serendipity​​, @troublermalik​​, @beardburnsupersoldiers​​, @bookish-shristi​​, @kind-sober-fullydressed​​,  @gingerninjaprincess16​​, @straightforwardly​​,  @denisemarieangelina​​,  @frencchfries​​, @xlanawriter​​, @littlemoistcarrot​​, @pottxrwolff​​, @arianatheangelworld​​, @ifuseekamyevans​​, @southerngracela​​, @nsfwsebbie​​, @rororo06​​, @savemesteeb​​, @raveviolet​​,​​ @hurricanerinwrites​​, @captainamerica-is-bae​​, @shaddixlife​​, @tessa-bl​​, @marvelouspottering​​, @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc​​, @thegetawaywriter​​, @dwights-new-plague​​​, @rynabarnesrogers​​​, @fckdeusername​​​,  @doloreschanal​, @ssworldofsw​

notes: thank you so much @capsicleimpala​ for requesting this, i absolutely loved writing it and it was such a creative idea! i really hope you love it :) also, in this story, fran survived lol. i don’t think ransom would be able to only have house arrest for being a direct murderer, even with a rich lawyer hehe *** for anyone interested in commissioning me, please check out this post !

When you hear the television inside as you’re in the process of inserting your key into the lock of your upscale apartment door, you freeze. Last time you checked, you didn’t have a roommate, and you definitely didn’t have a significant other hanging out in there. Your heart starts racing. Should you call the police? Ever since making it big in tennis, competing in all sorts of national and international tournaments, you’ve had a lot of crazy fans vying for your attention. Some do it in sweet ways, and others… not so sweet. However, no one’s actually ever showed up at your home. 

You take a deep breath and twist the lock, pushing the door open anyways. There’s no way the man at the front desk would just let anyone walk right up. Perhaps it’s maintenance?

But no. Instead of seeing a worker dressed in uniform and fixing a leak, you see Linda Drysdale lounging in the armchair of your living room, legs crossed with a naturally unamused demeanor as her blue eyes flicker across the flat screen TV. She glances up at you as if she’s lived there her entire life, eyebrow lifted. “Finally. I didn’t realize tennis practice took so much time, how many methods can possibly be involved in hitting a ball back and forth?”

You look at her in disbelief for a few moments, trying to process that your ex-boyfriend’s mother is inside your home right now despite the fact that you and Ransom broke up three years ago. You aren’t even offended by her words; you’re aware of how blunt and straightforward the seemingly harsh lady can be- she was practically a true mother-in-law to you when you and Ransom were dating. You finally speak. “Linda. What are you doing here? You can’t just- how did you even-”

“The young man in the lobby clearly isn’t getting paid enough. A twenty was all it took. Might want to move somewhere else before he just casually allows a serial killer to walk in.” She rolls her eyes, then mumbles under her breath, “Or my son.”

“What?” you ask, and she shakes her head, looking up with a slight authoritative smile crossing her lips. “We need to talk, Y/N. I’m just going to get straight to the point. My son is ruining his life, as per usual, and I’ve had enough of it. I did everything I could to get him out of this damn lawsuit, to keep him out of jail, and he’s just-- Christ, he’s an ungrateful brat, that’s what he is.” She looks fed up, the sharpness in her eyes seeming as though she’s ready to strangle the man. “Drinking himself to death, fucking a new girl every night, on every single drug you can think of-- he’s a little piece of shit, even without being able to leave the house.”

“And you’re telling me all of this, why…?”

“Because he loves you.” She states simply, and you hate that the words make your heart race. “I know he still loves you, and that you’re the only girl on this planet he’ll ever love. He’ll listen to you, Y/N,” she insists, “and so you need to go see him. Better yet, just date him again. He was a significantly better person when he was with you.”

You look at her shocked, slowly shaking your head as you let out a quiet scoff. “Linda. He tried to kill someone. He’s the reason your father died. How can you ask me to go back to him? Why do you even care what happens to him, after everything he did?” 

“Because he’s my son. And maybe you’ll understand one day, when you have a child of your own. But what I understand is that you could turn him into someone his family can approve of. Or, at least, even tolerate.” She adds with a roll of her eyes before continuing, “He tried to be good for you, Y/N, you know that.”

“Good?” You look at her incredulously, starting to get a little heated. “He told me he didn’t want to be with me anymore just because I was trying to have my own career! He couldn’t stand me putting so much time into tennis. He hated me playing tennis. That’s not what a “good” boyfriend does, okay? It’s not my responsibility to fix him back up when he couldn’t even be a support for me in the first place.” 

She quickly waves her hands, frowning slightly. “Okay, okay. Fine, don’t think about getting back together with him. Just see him, at least. Please.” She sighs deeply, looking down for a moment as she rubs her temples before looking back up at you. “I’m begging you here, Y/N. I can’t just stand here and watch this boy waste all my hard earned money for his own selfish needs. Hell, if I could, I’d just stick him in jail now if I could. He doesn’t deserve this freedom at this point.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you look away. “What a nurturing mother,” you mumble under her breath, and although she hears you, she doesn’t remark on it. She sighs again instead, looking at you somewhat frustrated and helpless. “Just go over to his house, only for an hour. Talk to him. Convince him to stop being such a prick.” 

You look at her somewhat frustrated, but finally sigh. You are the only one who’s ever been able to get through to Ransom, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t concerned when you heard the news. The Ransom you knew was an asshole, but he certainly wasn’t a murderer. Something clearly changed in him since you broke up with him, and so maybe Linda was right. 

“An hour.” You finally agree, though give her a warning look. “And if he gets disrespectful or crosses any lines, I’m leaving. I’m not a miracle worker, Linda.” She looks relieved nonetheless, immediately nodding her head. “Of course. Thank you, Y/N.” The two of you stand there for a moment before she lifts an eyebrow, looking at you. “Well? Get over there before he gives himself alcohol poisoning.” You blink, about to protest but sigh. You figure it’s best to get this over with anyways- if you don’t, you’ll be up all night stressing about it. “Fine. But you need to leave first, you can’t- you can’t just hang out in my house when I’m not here, you know?”

“Oh, I’m leaving. This place is a shoebox.” Linda looks around somewhat disdainfully before pausing, looking to you with a smile. “But you’ve… decorated it very well.” You roll your eyes, gesturing to the door. “Goodbye, Linda.”

Her smile remains as she nonchalantly waves, heading out the door.

As you come up to Ransom’s door, your heart is racing. You can hear loud music and obnoxious giggling from inside, no doubt Ransom is throwing some kind of get together- or probably more of an intimate gathering featuring scantily clad women who throw themselves at his good looks and money. You glance over at his BMW shining in the driveway, barely scoffing to yourself. Of all the things to keep intact, he would make sure it was his car. You were with him when he bought that car, and it was probably one of the only “girls” he had ever loved in his life.

You being the other one, of course. You know that at one point, Ransom Drysdale loved you. You can’t help but wonder if that’s still the case.

You take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. The talking and laughing doesn’t stop; these girls are clearly unbothered, but you hear footsteps. 

And then he appears, dressed in a t-shirt and perfectly fitting jeans, his brown hair slightly tousled and his cocky smirk across his lips- until his intoxicated brain registers who you are. He blinks in surprise, smile fading from his lips for just a split second- then quickly returns to his normal self, most likely realizing he absolutely must look composed and confident. “Y/N. I knew you’d come crawling back to me eventually. Took you a while, though, I’m kinda busy right now.”

You stare at him for a few moments; you thought you’d be nervous and apprehensive, but now, as if by magic, any feeling of uncertainty slips away. It’s almost impressive how he has this effect on people, but within less than one minute of this conversation, you’ve already had enough.

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom.” You find yourself saying, suddenly pushing right past him and grabbing his arm in the process. “We need to talk.” You practically drag him into the kitchen, ignoring the confused and even irritated looks of the half naked women on his couch clearly having been in the middle of enjoying his attention. It’s surprisingly easy to maneuver him, most likely because he’s a little too drunk. 

“Wow, hellcat. You really missed me, huh? Unable to find anyone who’s a better fuck than me, I take it? Alright, alright, I’ll squeeze you in. I have to say, I definitely missed your tight little-”

He’s cut off by a sharp sting on his cheek when you slap him across the face, his lips parting into a shocked ‘o’ almost immediately as his blue eyes stare at you in complete shock. Even you’re a little shocked upon where this sudden boldness is coming from, but you decide you’re on a roll and that there’s no need to question it. You came here to say something, and you’re going to say it. You don’t even let him respond. Not that he has the words to, anyways.

“Who the fuck are you anymore, huh? Why are you acting like this? And not just a douchebag fuckboy, either, but a full on killer? What the hell is going through your brain?” you practically scream at him, and he blinks in surprise before his features suddenly become defensive.  “What, do you think it has to do with you? Our break up? You think I’m just so tormented, torn apart, that I’m not over you?”

“I- no, when the fuck did I say-”

“Well then why are you here, Y/N? Why do you, of all people, need to be here right now? Who are you to come show your concern and your goddamn disgust when you’re the one who dumped me?!” His voice is just as loud as yours if not louder, the vein in his neck bulging from anger, his eyes practically a shade darker. You throw your hands up in frustration, retorting, “Why does that even matter, Ransom? Can I not be concerned that the former love of my life turned into a goddamn murderer? Am I not allowed to be a little confused that my ex-boyfriend turned into a fucking psychopath?”

“Former, huh?” His voice suddenly gets low, dangerously low. “So that’s it? You found someone else? Some prissy, preppy tennis playing fuck who lets out the same little grunts and groans out on the court, in the bedroom too? That your type, Y/N? A skinny little-”

“You were my type, Ransom!” you practically scream now, glaring up at him in complete fury. “You know what my type was? Confident, funny, manly, someone who wanted me to be safe and someone who was so thoughtful he remembered everything I liked and disliked, who wanted to do everything he could to make my life better because he knew how to be selfless! Do you even know what that word means now?!”

“Well maybe I became this way because you decided to prioritize tennis! You don’t think that’s a little damn selfish?!”

“Are you-- God, you know what? Maybe you’ve always been this fucking ridiculous, and maybe I was blind. Maybe this is all my fault, Ransom, because I trusted the wrong person. I can’t even fucking believe I-”

And then his lips suddenly crash against yours, his hands grabbing your waist and pinning your small frame against the cool counter, a husky growl of frustration escaping his throat as he kisses you. Rough. You gasp, starting to press your hands against his chest, wanting to push him off… until you don’t. You’re kissing him back fiercely, though still angry as ever, moving your hands to grip his muscular biceps as you dig your nails in. “I fucking hate you,” you hiss against his lips, and he scoffs in between kisses, barely groaning from the feeling of your sharp nails leaving indents in his skin. He’s turned on, and you know it. 

“No you fucking don’t.”

There’s no need for foreplay. There’s no time or patience for that. After easily sitting you up on the counter, he pulls your shirt up over your head only to connect your lips again, his teeth pulling on your lower lip roughly as he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside. His hands find your gym shorts and shove them down- he quite literally rips your underwear off, making you let out a muffled squeal of surprise into his open mouth. When you feel his fingers slide up your thigh and rub up against your wet folds, you let out a shaky gasp, moving your hands to grip his shoulder blades through his tee. “O-oh…!”

“You’re fucking soaked for me, cupcake.” His other hand moves up to grip the back of your neck, fingers curling into your brown locks. Despite the distraction of the haze of pleasure rushing through your brain and body, you can’t help but note his fond pet name for you. Every time you got stressed, you’d bake- Ransom would always lovingly make fun of you for this, hence how “cupcake” began. However, he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on this- perhaps on purpose. He’s most likely realized he fucked up, God forbid he show any sign of affection. You let out a short moan when his broad fingers rub your clit, his other hand using the grip on your hair to tilt your head up so your brown eyes are locked firmly onto his blue ones.

“You like that? You see what you’ve left behind for these past few years? You couldn’t possibly have forgetten how good I fuck you, right?” he speaks through husky breaths, panting just as much as you as he rubs. You moan lewdly, though your teeth clench in frustration. “Just fuck me already, Ransom, stop… stop fucking talking…”

He snickers and suddenly stops rubbing, leaving you feeling slightly disappointed despite the fact you asked for it. Hastily unbuckling his belt and pushing down his jeans and briefs, he wraps his fingers around his throbbing length, groaning lowly to himself as he pumps his shaft. Pressing it against your entrance, he wastes no time in thrusting inside you, gripping your hips tightly as a grunt of pleasure escapes his throat.

“Fuck. Fuck. I forgot… how fucking tight… your pussy feels around my cock…” he groans with half shut eyes as he bucks his hips forward, tilting his head back. “God damn!”

“Ransom!” You hear a girl’s voice come from the kitchen doorway, gasping from both surprise and pleasure as you look up- normally, you’d be embarrassed, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You’re still riding the rush of adrenaline from your rage towards this man, but before you can even comment, he sharply yells at her, “Get the fuck out of here, and take your damn bimbo sluts with you- I don’t fucking need any of you anymore!”

She stares at both of you angrily before grunting in annoyance, whirling around. You moan as Ransom thrusts into you even rougher, your hands sliding up under his shirt to feel his skin, nails once again digging in to relieve your tension. “Mm… mm… don’t… fucking stop…!” you cry out as you hitch your legs high up around his waist, letting him get a better angle as he continues fucking you in the middle of his kitchen. Your body is practically being rocked upwards from how powerful he is, your head buried into his neck as you bite and suck desperately only making him groan even more.

“You still on birth control?” he breathes out gruffly into your shoulder as his hands cup your ass, his teeth nipping and biting harshly. “You still getting checked regularly for STDs?” you retort breathlessly, though to be honest, you’re not worried about that despite his recent history. He may treat his things like shit, but he keeps himself well maintained all to uphold his little rich boy image. He’s actually much more hygienic than one would imagine, and has standards with the women he sleeps with despite coming off as such a playboy.

“Yes, just let me fucking know if I can-”

“Yes, yes, I’m on birth control, come inside me,” you whine demandingly, moving your hands up to grip his brown hair tightly, messing it up even more than before. He smirks, grunting louder as he uses his hold on your ass to rock your hips towards his, the sound and feel of skin slapping putting you into overdrive. “Ransom…! Shit, Ransom, I’m close, fuck, I’m coming!” He groans just from hearing you, chest heaving as he keeps going, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Come for me, doll, fuck…!”

Your release combined with the sensation of his inside you is euphoric. As much as you hate to admit it, you missed sex like this. You certainly haven’t had it since you broke up. 

He pulls out with heavy breaths, staring at you for a few moments. You swear you catch a glimpse of the old Ransom, the one you fell in love with, the one who would never actually hurt anyone despite coming off as such an asshole.

“Don’t push me away.” You suddenly speak quietly through uneven breaths, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck as you stare up at him.

His hands are still holding your hips, those pacific hues studying every inch of your face with all types of conflict and concern spread across his sharp, handsome features.

“I don’t want to.”

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 5.4}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.1k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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Robin left the great hall to head back to her room even before dinner would officially be over, and seeing as Snape was still there when she made her exit, she should have some time before their usual meeting. With a content sigh, she dropped her backpack onto her bed, and then went to change out of her school uniform into something more comfortable instead. Just as she'd grabbed her backpack to head out again, her roommates almost threw the door into her face as they returned from dinner.

"Oh, hey Robin!" Cas grinned as she threw herself onto her bed with a racing speed. "First!"

"In case you didn't notice, I didn't even try." Jorien replied flatly as she walked towards her own bed and sat down more orderly.

"What are you two up to tonight?" Robin asked as she stood in the doorway, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she eyed the girls with risen eyebrows.

"NOTHING!" Cas groaned exaggeratedly and dropped onto her back with a bounce.

"Studying." Jorien shrugged in return and rolled her eyes at her friend one bed over.

"Ah, the same old then." Robin chuckled, but didn't want to straight out laugh at them, even though they were rather amusing in their antics. "Well, I'm off now. I'll be back late as always."

"Are you meeting someone special tonight?" Cas asked as she sat up again with lightning speed and with a very much ridiculous grin accompanied by wiggling eyebrows.

"What? No!" Robin snorted a little too bemusedly to be sincere and frowned at the girl in return. "I'm meeting Snape for studies. As always."

"Oh, right." Cas sighed and dropped back down onto her back. "Boring. How could I forget."

"Why did you think I was doing anything different tonight than what I've been doing for two months now?"

"It's probably just the shirt." Jorien pointed out before Cas could. "You've never worn one like this before, and it looks nice on you."

"It does?" Robin's eyebrows lifted even higher than before. It was just a shirt, really, she hadn't put much thought into what she'd put on, other than that it had to be comfortable. "Thank you, I guess… I bought it just this summer, and I haven't gotten to wear it at school yet. But there really isn't anything special about it."

"Jorien's right, it definitely is the shirt! Henley shirts make your collarbones stand out nicely, but you should consider wearing something other than black, grey or green for once. It makes you look pale." Cas commented with an expertise Robin hadn't known the possessed, and that also left her short of any suitable reply.

"I… wasn't aware you're so knowledgeable in fashion questions." She finally brought out though, with a small laugh.

"I really got into it over summer!" Cas grinned in return. "If you ever need a shopping guide, you know who to ask."

"I'll remember that." Robin chuckled and offered both girls one last smile. "But I better get going now, birthday or not, Snape doesn't like lateness. Despite being usually late himself. Anyway, if you want to do yourselves a favor, study for transfigurations. McGonagall likes to have her classes write surprise tests somewhere around the end of October."

With that, Robin finally made her way through the soothingly dark hallway and towards the potions classroom. It was no distance, but she wasn't in a haste either. She'd finished her paperwork for today already, and that left her with quite a bit of time at hand before Snape himself would likely be ready to start on the potion. The door wasn't locked, and thus she let herself in even without knocking. All the way back in his office, Snape was just gathering some papers and notebooks as Robin made her way to her usual seat at the side table.

"Hey." She sighed, once he finally stepped out into the class as well and moved to sit behind his desk.

"You're early." He replied as he set up his work for the evening, while Robin merely watched.

"Yeah, I was kind of trying to escape a conversation about my t-shirt." Robin sighed even louder, but then couldn't help chuckling as he frowned at her words and inspected the mentioned piece of clothing for two seconds before turning back to his work.

"What, pray tell, would be worth discussing about it?" He asked, surprising Robin only mildly by actually showing interest in something as pathetic as her choice of outfit.

"Do you really care to know?" Robin smiled in amusement, raising an eyebrow at him which he probably couldn't see though, as intently focused on his paperwork as he was.

"You started the topic, now you ought to finish it."

"Well, Jorien said it looks nice on me, and Cas believes that the style of shirt makes my collarbones stand out, while the dark colors however make me look too pale. You might be able to imagine that this wasn't a conversation I wanted to indulge in." Robin still couldn't hide her amusement. This wasn't a conversation he would want to be having either, and she knew it even without any reaction. But he'd wanted her to tell, and thus she had.

"I disagree."

"What?" Now her own brows furrowed as well, and she couldn't quite tell what exactly he was disagreeing with.

"Dark colors do suit you."

"Oh…" Robin could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, along with the rushing of her blood. It was drowning out almost anything else. "Thank you."

"Will you ever start doing your paperwork tonight? Or do you no longer wish to get started with the healing potion experiment?" The change of topic was intentional, and that was rather obvious in his tone indeed. Snape had gotten better at accepting Robin's words of thankfulness when they concerned their work or studies, but they still weren't near a place where he was fine with accidentally saying something nice.

"Of course I want to get started with the potion!" Robin replied immediately, in mild protest only. "That's why I finished all my paperwork already."

"Didn't you have anything better to do on your birthday than studying?"

"No." Robin replied with a new smirk. "There's hardly ever anything better to do than studying. But I did spend some time receiving gifts and congratulations, if that's what you mean."

"Did you receive anything worth mentioning?"

"It all is worth mentioning! I was given three gorgeous bracelets, a black hippogriff's feather and a lovely breakfast by myself." She smiled down at her hands, folded on the top of her table, and let the memory of receiving each brighten up her smile a little bit more.

"A hippogriff's feather?"

"Yes. Hagrid gave it to me, he thought it might be of more use to me than it is to him."

"Those are very valuable."

"I know… I told him that much, but he insisted that I have it." Robin said and then looked up at Snape with an almost inquiring expression. "However I couldn't help wondering how half of the staff came to know that it was my birthday today."

"How curious indeed."

"Someone obviously must've told them…" She half mused, half prompted, and observed the potions professor with a curious expression in return.

"It certainly wasn't me." He scoffed with badly feigned scorn, and kept pretending to focus on the papers on the desk. Well, if he wanted to have this conversation like that, Robin would go along with it.

"I'm kind of led to doubt your honesty in this." She replied easily. "You're the only person who even knows when my birthday is, and Dumbledore mentioned that-..."

"He did?"

"He did."

"That old fool will hear from me about this." He grumbled, but still didn't spare Robin a single glance. "Would you believe me if I told you it had absolutely nothing to do with you?"

"Nope."

"In that case, I merely tried to win an argument."

"How so?"

"In proving to you that being cared for extends beyond materialism. Your peers and even the staff seem to actually care for you if they sought to make your day enjoyable."

"Yeah, that seems to be the case." Robin smiled warmly, and smirked as she noticed how he wasn't even reading anymore. "I will consider myself successfully proven wrong, then."

"How gracious of you. Will you let this issue go now?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Obviously."

"Well, you shouldn't be surprised if I don't do something you want me to." Robin couldn't help herself, and especially couldn't keep the tease to herself.

"And you shouldn't be surprised if I give you detention one of these days for repeatedly sassing me."

"And what's that gonna do? I spent all of my time down here anyway, it's hardly a punishment for me."

"I could assign you every and any dreadful task I please."

"Don't you do that already though?"

"Stop. Sassing. Me."

"Or what?" The smirk was in Robin's voice now as well as on her lips, and she leaned back in her chair with raised eyebrows. She wouldn't even mind getting detention for this, honestly. It was too much fun messing with him.

"Or I will distract you from your work with snarky comments in return."

"Don't you do that already though?"

"You are insufferable." Snape scoffed in half real, and half feigned annoyance, rolling his eyes at the parchment beneath his fingertips. "I have no idea why I even bother with you."

"Because as much as you pretend to despise me, you still like me better than all of the other dunderheads." Robin smirked, and only felt very subtly uncomfortable for making such a bold assumption. But he had to like her better than most other students in some way, or he wouldn't bother with her indeed.

"I most certainly do not." He protested, but it didn't sound convincing at all. In fact, he had rarely seemed so entirely unconvinced of his own statement.

"Alright." Robin sighed easily in return, rose to her feet, and made for the door without further ado.

"Where are you going?" His eyes finally lifted to stare at her in an instant, and she halted in front of the door to turn back around. The frown on his face very much gave away his irritation, while his tone betrayed him equally to reveal just a subtle hint of panic.

"To a place where you won't have to bother with me anymore." She replied with a small but honest smile, and his frown only deepened at the juxtaposition of her positive expression and the words she had said.

"You know I did not mean that." Snape said in a scolding tone, but Robin guessed that he likely just didn't know how to approach the situation any other way without giving away what he actually thought. She felt a little bad for messing with him… maybe she would apologise for it later. But she had something else to do now.

"Of course I know. But someone's got to go and get the Plangentine, and I intentionally finished my paperwork early so I could do just that now." She said calmly, kindly, in the hope that it would convey the change from joke to seriousness. "I believe I saw some down in the forest by the lake, and since they only can be gathered at night, I was hoping you would let me do that right now while you still have work to do anyway."

"Are you certain you want to go out there by yourself? The forest is a dangerous place at night, and saving a few galleons on flowers is hardly worth taking a risk for."

"I'm very certain. As I said, I will merely go into the part of the forest by the lake, not the forbidden one. I'll be back even before you finish grading those papers." She gave him her best reassuring expression, feeling only glad that he was back to neutral now instead of irritated and mildly panicked or grumbling and scowling. Maybe she would have to be more careful in her sassing in the future… the last thing she wanted was to push him too far.

"It would indeed be useful to have the Plangentine tonight already, I do admit that. Be careful, yes?"

"Of course." Robin gave him another small smile, then slipped out the door into the hallway. As she made her way up the spiral staircase, she let her fingers brush over her wand that was safely hidden in her sleeve, just to be sure that she really was prepared for any instance. She didn't want a repetition of the helplessness she'd experienced a year ago, especially since she'd left her backpack in the classroom with Snape.

With quick steps, Robin made her way through the silent castle and finally out into the night. It was fairly cold, and she rolled her eyes when she realized that she should've brought a jacket, but then again she wouldn't be out here for long anyway. Going back now would take longer than going ahead, so she took the first few steps away from the castle and sighed instinctively when she was wrapped into the distant sound of rustling leaves and the earthy smell of wet soil. The night really was an eternal paradise for the troubled mind.

After a few minutes of following the path towards the forest however, darkness constantly wrapping Robin into a thicker blanket that robbed her senses, the calm made way for an eerie feeling, the kind of tension one experiences when being watched. In an instant she had her wand tightly clasped in her hand, wasting but a thinking second on blaming it for turning clammy with the pace of her nerves, and her eyes scanned the darkness around her. Nothing. Only the unlit castle towering on top of the hill behind, and the black wall of equally towering trees ahead. With a frown and a significant increase in her heartbeat, Robin pushed the unease away and skipped further down the unevenly graveled path. The faster she got those flowers, the sooner she would be back in the safety of the dungeons. It was ridiculous how the hairs in her neck refused not to stand on high alert, how her mind was spooked by the shadows she was part of. She'd never been afraid of the darkness, especially not the calm of nature wrapped in layers of it! But something was undeniably bugging her subconsciousness right now, something she couldn't put her finger to. As she reached the point where the path split to lead into the forbidden part of the forest on one end and further down towards the lake on the other, she finally had enough. In an instant she stopped in her track and stood perfectly still for a moment to simply listen. Rustling leaves, the icy blow of the wind… a subtle scratch of stone against stone. Without a word, she turned into the direction of the latter and sent a repelling spell at whoever or whatever had dared to sneak up on her.

A yelp, a thud, and a groan followed right after her spell had hit its target with an accuracy Robin was only lucky to have had, and her breath caught in her through for a broken second. Then however, her wand still raised, she skidded down the hill off her chosen path, making for the direction her ominous opponent had been catapulted into, and inevitably coming closer to the wall of trees that marked the line between forbidden forest and open hillside. The very moment her eyes fell upon the heap on the ground that slowly sorted itself out to rise back to their feet, she wanted to groan her annoyance out into the night. Expensive looking but undeniably cheap robes glistened in the moonlight, and Robin tugged her wand back into the sleeve of her shirt before it could be taken from her.

"How dare you!" The breathless voice of none other than Damion Morgan reached Robin's ears even before she could see his faces. "HOW DARE YOU attacking me!"

"Well, you shouldn't sneak up on me like that in the middle of the night, professor." Robin replied casually, with a small shrug. She honestly couldn't even bring herself to feel guilty about it; he really was rather lucky that she'd only used a repelling spell on him and not something actually harmful.

"Don't you dare talking back to me now!" He spat, and even in the darkness Robin could see the rage on his face. "I followed you out here, because I finally caught you in the very act! You were sneaking out into the forest, it's undeniable at this point! Probably to… to work who knows which horrors!"

Robin rolled her eyes at his exaggeration, and at his prevailing desperation to get her into trouble over any possible thing at all. He'd been trying ever since the thing with the occlumency, but after the thunderstorm of terror Snape must've unleashed upon him after the incident with the self-made curses last year, Morgan's attempts had gotten more subtle yet also more desperate. Only that he'd never actually caught her doing something wrong. Neither would he tonight.

"I'm sure this looks like a true felony to you, but that unfortunately isn't the case." She replied almost too sweetly, in the most disgusting innocence she could forge her voice into. "I am merely going down to the lake to gather samples of a nocturnal plant. With the very permission of Professor Snape, of course. You can ask him, if you please. He is grading essays in the potions classroom."

Without another word, Robin turned on her heel to head back towards the path that would lead her down to the lake where she was supposed to be now, but she didn't get further than a single step. Then the same strong grasp that had already bruised her wrist once before clasped her shoulder in a grip so tight that she let out an unintentional sound of pain.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere!" He hissed, and tightened his hold on Robin's shoulder even though she didn't struggle in the slightest. It wouldn't be of use anyway, unless she planned to engage in a full blown fight, which this would definitely escalate into if one of them didn't start acting like an adult at last. And since Morgan obviously refused to do so, Robin rose to the part.

"We can return to the castle and speak to Professor Snape together, if you would prefer that. Sir." She stated as calmly as she could, and without the previous sass or mockery. It wouldn't lead them anywhere, and she couldn't see any advantage for herself should she anger him even more now. This wasn't defeat though, only being better than him.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Morgan scoffed, and forcefully turned Robin around by her shoulders so she faced the forest a mere couple steps ahead. "So that he can cover up for you yet again and put all blame for your mistakes on me? No, I don't think so. No one will speak to him tonight, neither you nor I. He clearly is biased when it comes to students of his own house, and as a loyal servant of this school and the headmaster himself, I see it as my duty to rectify this issue before it gets out of hand."

"You might want to reconsider that…" Robin replied, but she had absolutely no idea where this was going. The dark trees towered above her, they were all she could see, and the blackness of the forest as a whole. It drowned out even the whitest moonlight, leaving behind only a black wall indeed. And she stood facing it, held in place by a dimwit with an authority complex. What was it about her that pissed him off so much?! And what was it about the way he spoke now that finally sufficed to scare her?

"Bloody nonsense!" He snapped in return, and Robin didn't need to see his face to feel the anger radiating off him. "I've known students like you before, you won't learn until the right measures are taken. So that's what I'm finally going to do now."

"Could we perhaps discuss this inside the castle if you already insist on discussing it at all? It's too cold out here, and the forbidden forest certainly is no place for yelling, professor." She tried to reason with him, tried to keep her voice steady, tried to keep her teeth from chattering now that she grew increasingly cold from not moving anymore.

"Oh, we're not discussing this. You won't learn from a discussion; you won't learn from anything inside the castle’s walls at all. Wasn't it you the staff room gossip claims to have said that the only way for a student to learn is by showing them just what it is they have done wrong?"

"Where are you going with this?" Robin couldn't keep the shudder hidden from her voice, just as she couldn't keep her skin from being covered in goosebumps of both cold and alert. He must've felt it, his fingers were still digging into her shoulder.

"I will help you learn." He stated in a dangerously quiet tone, then his hold on her disappeared at once. But he spoke on before Robin even had the chance to move. "Petrificus Glacialis."

Robin's heart skipped a beat in an implosion of surprise and terror, but the cry that burnt in her throat upon the sudden liquid cold in her veins died right where it was born. Her lips wouldn't open to release a single sound, just as her body wouldn't move even a single hair's width. But she could move her eyes, and she could hear.

"Since you obviously intended to venture into the forbidden forest, I see this to be the only appropriate punishment to prove to you how scary such a venture would have been. How… defenseless a young student is against the horrors that dwell within this place. How frightened you should have been from the start." Morgan sighed, but his voice grew more distant as his steps faded into the distance as well. "The spell should undo itself after an hour. Approximately…"

And just like that, Robin was alone, his steps soon too far in the distance to be heard anymore. For a moment she expected him to come back, to scare her maybe, to release her and tell her she should have learned her lesson. But after almost fifteen minutes, Robin finally had to admit that Morgan wasn't coming back, that he really had left her alone out here. Unable to defend herself, standing petrified at the edge of one of the most dangerous places in this part of the country. How could he?! Why?! No matter how much she tried to wrap her mind around it, she just couldn't understand. And it left her equally angry and desperate. Morgan was a bloody idiot! A stupid, irresponsible, despicable pillock!!!

Another ten minutes passed and she still couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even think properly. While the first was an actual result of Morgan's spell, the latter two were mere results of her own blind panic. This wasn't… this surely wasn't as bad as it seemed right now. Robin tried to take deep breaths, to count to six and back down to one, over and over again, and it did calm her nerves enough to drown out the panic after a while. But the underlying fear was still there, with every moment she couldn't look anywhere but into the lurking darkness, as was the bone deep chill that was just as numbing and burning at once as she remembered it. Why did she always end up in trouble when she left the castle after hours?! Why did she always end up facing a darkness deeper than night, be it on the inside or the outside, and why on earth did it always have to be Morgan who was the very core of the problem? Gods, she would go mad if she couldn't move again soon! She could feel, she could think and see and hear, and yet her body didn't obey her at all. Hopefully this longest hour would be over soon… hopefully she wouldn't be frozen into oblivion when it was. And hopefully, HOPEFULLY nothing in this darn forest would try to eat her before then.

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Windflower

01| 02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2,438

Warnings: Light swearing, Soobin being a cutie pie, me not proofreading. I think that’s it??

A/N: This does include the writing that was part of the preview post I made, but it is the first official chapter of Windflower! Please know that genre and warnings will change with every chapter I post! I also don’t quite have an upload schedule, sorry about that!! Hope you all enjoy nonetheless! 

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Your car groaned in protest as you turned into the parking lot of the quaint diner. Giving the dashboard two loving yet harsh hits with the palm of your hand seemed to do the trick. Now silent, the beat up blue car seemed to quietly thank you as you settled between the white painted lines of a parking space and shut off the engine. It was a gray, overcast day but humidity hung in the air wherever you went, making your hair puffy and the back of your legs stick to the cracking leather of your driver’s seat. Heaving a sigh at the uncomfortable stickiness, you pulled down the mirror from the roof of your car to survey the reflection staring back at you. 

It’s a startling thing, to look at yourself in a mirror and barely recognize your face. Your skin was dull and starting to break out, the bags under your eyes had seemingly never been more prominent than they were in this moment. Your fingers danced over the darkened skin, wondering at what point of your trip you began to look so worn down. Was it the moment you left your apartment? The twelve hours of mindless driving with no destination in mind? Or had this degeneration begun the moment you found yourself completely alone in life? 

You snapped the mirror back up against the roof and rubbed your hands over your face. Mindlessly, you pushed through the items littering your passenger seat until you clasped the familiar quilted fabric of your wallet. As soon as you stood up outside of your car, a wave of dizziness sent you grasping at the top of your car for support. You needed food more than you had originally estimated. Your legs were still a bit shaky from disuse as you walked toward the small white building. Portions of the paint had peeled off in jagged strips to expose the tightly stacked brown bricks waiting underneath. The simple clear door displayed a sun-faded open sign with handwritten hours of operation. As soon as you pushed the door open, the smell of grease and fresh apple pie invaded your senses and your face involuntarily shrunk up in disgust. Another thick paper sign attached on a tarnished metal stand boasted a cheerful cursive that read “Please Seat Yourself!” You could hear a radio playing faintly from somewhere in the building.

Almost every booth in the rectangular dining area was vacant, save for one elderly couple sharing a plate of fries. The floor was sticky under your feet as you made your way to a booth, and whether the texture was a result of the humidity or a lack of cleaning, you couldn’t tell. Sliding into the booth was familiar, almost comforting as you thought back to all of the times you had slid into booths with your friends at dinner, or slid yourself into a booth at the coffee shop near your apartment to work on a paper. Well. Your old apartment. The thought of adjusting to past tense created a scowl on your face as an unsuspecting waitress approached your side. She cleared her throat and caught your attention. To your surprise, she was fairly young, maybe in her late 30s; and she stood in her bright blue blouse and skirt uniform with a cock to her hip and a serving tray tucked under her arm. 

“Hi, hun. My name is Melissa, what can I get ya?” the woman’s tone was deceivingly cheerful, given the slow restaurant and heavy air. You heaved a sigh and looked down at the thin paper menu. It wilted in your hand as you picked it up and you soon abandoned the idea of even trying to read through it. 

“Hi. A vanilla milkshake and fries, please.” The order was so simple that Melissa didn’t even write it down, just nodded and turned to head into the kitchen to relay your order. A dull buzz warned you of the beginning of a headache but you expertly pushed the feeling aside and decided to ask for a glass of water when she came with your order. Mindlessly, you began searching your phone for places to stay in the tiny town you had stumbled upon. This hadn’t been the kind of place you expected to end up for the summer, but you were never one to plan anything. Enthralled in your scrolling through motel listings, Melissa scared you as she set your order down in front of you. She caught a look at your phone and your face flushed in embarrassment. How much of an obvious tourist could you be? You asked for a glass of water in an attempt to shoo her away, but when she came back with a glass covered in condensation she didn’t leave. 

“Not from around here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you gave her props for trying to ease you into the conversation. You shook your head, not really caring to elaborate on where you came from as you shoved a few fries into your mouth. 

“I don’t usually talk to customers like this, but; well, we’re dead today and I saw you looking at places to stay on your phone. I don’t recommend any of them. Especially not to a young pretty girl like you. Most of them are way too pricey for their rooms. And the Moonlight motel is literally run by a druglord. He’d gobble you up,” she shivered at her own words. 

“Well, where should I stay, then? Unless I missed a Best Western on the way in, I don’t have many other choices,” you deadpanned, hoping to hide the nervousness that was rising in your stomach. If you didn’t stay here, where would you go? But then again, why do you want to stay here so bad in the first place? You took a slurp of your milkshake as you contemplated. 

“Look, it’s sort of a town secret, but you remind me of my niece, so I’ll just tell you now. There’s this estate- gated, two story house, old timey stuff, gorgeous garden” Melissa waved her hands around as she spoke, chipped red fingernails putting on a show of their own. “It’s called the Flower House, actually. It’s been passed from generation to generation, since the town was founded. The boy who owns it now is just about your age, but he’s been living there alone since his cousin moved away for college years ago. He’s a lovely boy, we love when he comes into town, it just isn’t often.” you raised your eyebrows at her, trying to figure out how this mysterious boy and his ancestral house had anything to do with your housing predicament. “Long story short, he came around a few weeks ago looking for anyone who would be willing to help him keep the house and yard clean. No pay, but it’s free living in a beautiful home. And he’s not bad looking either.” she winked suggestively. “If you want, I can give you the address and you can go talk to him?”

You looked into her eyes, sparkling with hope of giving you a helping hand. “Okay, yeah. Sure, what have I got to lose?” Melissa hurried away to get writing materials as you continued eating with renewed vigor. 

As Melissa cleared your minimal dishes away, she set a ripped piece of paper in front of you that simply read;

“Choi Soobin, 476 Gardenia Dr.”

After paying and being sure to leave your helpful waitress a generous tip, you hopped back in your car and began your journey to discover the mysterious Flower House.

The drive through town was oddly peaceful, even with the grumbling of your car to accompany you alongside the pop songs on the radio. Air whipped into your windows as you drove by houses, small restaurants and one single chain grocery store where everyone seemed to be shopping. Stopping at an intersection with a single blinking stoplight, your phone instructed you to turn left. You passed the town’s schools, elementary and highschool; all huddled onto one campus with a large parking lot separating the two. The electric sign posted reminders of the last day of school for the students as you sped by. The farther you got away from the school, the older the houses became. Some were rotting apart, others covered in creeping vines. The street gradually slanted upwards as you continued to drive towards your destination. At the end of Gardenia Drive stood a towering home with a multitude of windows circling the entire building. A large chimney stood out on the top, one of the only signs of the home’s age; as the outside was wonderfully kept. The most impressive feature was of course the garden, for which the house gained its nickname. Your mouth hung open as you tried to fathom the sheer amount of flowers that were in full bloom on the front lawn. Blues, pinks, purples, reds and whites all stitched together in a beautiful quilt of florals. Some ivy was growing up the old wrought iron gates and the trunks of a few towering trees. While the growth made other houses look dated and worn down, the ivy here only added to the elegance that took your breath away. With your car parked on the road right outside, you exited your car to approach the gates. 

Fumbling with your hands, you navigated over the brick path leading up to the intimidating 10 foot tall gates. Despite the obvious history of the metal, a modern doorbell buzzer and camera system was installed just to the left of the entrance. It was harder than you’d like to admit to raise the courage for pressing the button. Your mind blanked as you performed the action, not knowing what to expect. A voice crackled through the speakers and made you jump. 

“Who’s there?” a smooth voice inquired. Suddenly you were unsure of what to say.

“I, uh. I’m Y/N. A waitress at Russ’ Diner told me to come talk to you about an um.” your mouth was suddenly going dry. “A living arrangement?” A small exclamation of understanding was music to your ears. 

“Okay! Hold on, I’ll be right over to the gate!” The static disappeared with the voice. You looked down at your phone out of habit and realized you had no reception. Figures, as you were sort of in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter right now anyway. You put the device in the back pocket of your shorts just as the gate began creaking open and welcoming you onto the property. You could faintly make out the shape of a body making its way toward you through the dense trees. 

When he stepped into your line of sight, sunshine managed to peek through the thick blanket of clouds that had been permeating your entire visit and bask him in a wash of gold. He was tall, with long legs covered in the material of light wash skinny jeans. The knees were a bit dirty, and you recognized the stains as a mix of grass and dirt. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that clung perfectly to his wide shoulders and showed off his defined waist. 

Not only was he dressed in a way you definitely didn’t expect, but his looks threw you even farther into surprise. His face was evenly tanned, and not a single blemish could be found. Suddenly, you became all too aware of the dismal state of your own complexion and fought the urge to bring a hand up to cover your face from him. Dark, hooded eyes examined your form as you stood awkwardly on the path and waited for his next words. He seemed amused by your lack of introduction, and chuckled a little as he asked, “Y/N?” 

Hearing your name broke the spell that his beauty had put you under and you nodded. His face lit into a smile as he beckoned you further onto the land with a waving hand. You followed him closely and caught his words as they floated in the wind back to you. “I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-great uncle and his wife. Well, wives.” He chuckled to himself as he led you into a gazebo. Soobin settled into one of the wooden chairs situated around a matching table and gestured for you to sit in the one across from him. A pit of nervousness built in your stomach at the close proximity between the two of you. The table was only three feet wide, and Soobin’s long leg stretched in front of him and decreased your distance even more. Up close, you could see the permanent upturn of the corners of his mouth, and the sparkle in his brown eyes.

His honey brown hair ruffled in the breeze that passed you by and he closed his eyes at the feeling for a moment. “So,” he began suddenly, “you were at Russ’? Who sent you my way for the job?” He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the new structure. He blinked owlishly as you took a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I just came into town for the summer. Melissa served me and she told me that all of the motels here are pretty shit,” Soobin laughed and nodded at that, and your heart skipped a beat. “So she gave me your info. Said you might be able to give me a better place to stay if I helped you out.” 

“Ah, I see. Melissa is right, though. Those motels are awful. I definitely wouldn’t want to see you staying there.” He appraised your face for a second while he paused. “If you want the job, it’s yours.” He stated as if it were the most casual thing in the world. You sputtered. 

“Wait, what? That quick? You don’t even know anything about me! I could be a murderer!” He laughed openly at you now, and the sound stirred an emotion in your stomach you hadn’t felt in months. 

“Well, are you? A murderer?” 

“No! Of course not.” Soobin nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“So, can you clean? Cook a decent meal? Drive to the city for groceries? Water some plants?” You nodded at every question he raised and watched as his smile upticked more with every bob of your head. 

“Then you’re perfect. Welcome to the Flower House.” He stood, frame towering over your still sitting being and offered you a strong looking hand. Ticking his head toward the massive home behind him, he grinned. “Tour?”

give a little: chapter three (college!jj maybank x oc)

MASTERLIST

pairing: jj maybank x oc

synopsis: charlotte “charlie” walker is a rising senior at the university of south carolina, an exercise science major, a kappa, and is back in the outer banks for the summer. she’s stubborn as hell, isn’t rich enough to be a kook or poor enough to be a pogue, and is used to being in the background. she and jj both go to USC, her sorority and his frat (beta) running in the same social circles but the two rarely speak at school. things change when they run into each other at the boneyard in the summer.

warnings: drinking, creepy guy hinting at non-consent, swearing, mentions of sex, all characters are 21+

wordcount: 3.5k

_______________________________________________________________________

“Um, JJ’s number, Pope passed it on,” Charlie shrugged. “I’m probably not gonna do anything with it but I thought I’d keep it just in case.” 

Grace reached over and plucked it out of her hands, promptly ripping it into pieces despite Charlie’s feeble protest. “We went over this, I told you that boy’s no good for you. Will you let me do your makeup and pick out an outfit?”

“Why’d you have to - ugh, yeah, sure. Whatever makes you happy,” she teased. 

Grace clapped together her hands in excitement. “We’re gonna get you laaaiddd!” She sang, making Charlie blush again and whine in response. 

“I hate you.” 

Grace laughed. “No you don’t. You love me.” 

It was an evening ritual of Charlie’s to head to the ocean after work and unwind. She had her board on top of her car at all times and her wetsuit in the back, just in case. As soon as the clock hit 4pm and she traded spots with the high schoolers that manned the evening shifts, she drove straight to the beach. It was one of those days where the humidity felt so thick you were swimming through it and she forgoed her wetsuit for her bikini she wore under her work uniform. As she shimmied her jean shorts down her legs, JJ came around the corner with his board tucked under his arm. 

Charlie groaned quietly and stepped back behind her car, but not before JJ noticed her. 

“Walker, hey!” He waved, jogging over to her. 

She raised her eyebrows, caught off guard. “Walker?” She questioned with a small smile. 

JJ grinned, pleased with her reaction. “Yeah, since you refuse to use my name, I figured I ought to do the same.” 

She laughed. “Shame. I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

He beamed at the approval. “Here, let me help you with your board.” He set his own down and stepped up close to her, reaching over her to pull her surfboard down from the top of the car. 

Charlie swore her heart stopped beating for a second, her cheeks going red. She put her free hand on his bare chest to steady herself. 

“Charlie?” 

“Yeah?” She looked up, making eye contact. 

“Is this just a game to you?” He questioned. 

“Is what just a game?”

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.” 

“Believe it or not, I don’t exist just to mess with you, Maybank.” She took her board from him and walked toward the water.  

JJ just watched her for a second, then jogged to catch up. “Do you surf often? I don’t remember seeing you on the water much in high school. And most Kappas I know are too prissy for that anyways,” he remarked as the two walked out to the water. 

She didn’t miss his gaze trailing down her body, but chose to ignore it as well. “We’re not prissy. But no, I picked it up last summer when I had an internship down in Florida. I’m okay,” she understated. After dealing with a shitty boss, she turned to surfing as her therapy and ended up finding time almost every single day to surf that summer. She was no amateur. 

They kept casual conversation as they both paddled out past the waves. “Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad. Let’s see,” JJ gestured to an upcoming wave, letting her take the first ride. 

“What a gentleman,” Charlie grinned, paddling out toward the wave. She caught it with ease, standing over the swell and riding it into shore. 

Back in the ocean, JJ’s jaw dropped as he watched her take control of the wave. “Holy shit,” he murmured to himself before coming to his senses and catching a wave after her. 

He caught up to her on shore, grinning ear to ear. “What the fuck was that?!” JJ cried out. 

Charlie smirked and shrugged. “Like I said. I’m okay.” 

“If that’s just okay, then I’m just okay.” He bragged. “Seriously, Walker, I didn’t think you could rip like that.” 

Charlie just winked. “Race ya!” She yelled over her shoulder, taking off with a head start. 

He laughed and chased her into the waves, paddling out and keeping pace with her. They kept taking turns, one after another for a while, until they both grew tired. 

“I can’t keep up anymore,” JJ groaned. 

“Okay, okay, last one. It’s big, we can both catch it,” Charlie pointed out. 

“Deal.” JJ spit into his hand, force of habit with the Pogues, and went to shake Charlie’s hand. She just looked at him in disgust, wrinkling her nose. 

“You’re gross.” 

He retracted his hand, embarrassed and dipped it in the water. “I was just kidding!” 

Charlie just shook her head and started paddling out in sync with JJ, concentrating on the wave. Unlucky for her, he was concentrated on the curve of her ass instead. As they both stood, he got distracted and crashed the end of his board into hers, tossing both of them into the waves. It took an extra beat for Charlie to surface, her leash wrapped around her leg. 

She came up with a big inhale, sputtering. “What the fuck, Maybank?” She demanded. Charlie held onto her board for support, coughing up water. 

Uncharacteristically, he was bright red, not able to tell her the real reason why he made them wipe out. “Sorry, I, uh, wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?” He steadied her board for her, coming closer to help her on. 

Charlie maneuvered her board away from him, pissed off. “I’m fine, no thanks to you.” 

“Shit, Charlie, I really didn’t mean to. Here, I can help you back to shore, check your leg out.” He offered apologetically, starting to paddle in with her. 

The last thing she wanted at the moment was his help, but her leg was stinging and that was never a good sign. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this, Maybank.” 

Her tone didn’t slip past him and he took her board from her immediately as they got to shore, ignoring her whine of protest. “I don’t know, I’m off my game, I guess.” He saw a trail of blood dripping down her leg and winced. “Stay here, I’ll go grab something for that.” 

Charlie glanced down at the scrape on her leg and groaned, flopping back into the sand and shielding her eyes from the sun with her arm. 

JJ returned quickly and knelt down in front of her as she propped herself up on her elbows. “I think it’s just a scrape but my board got you pretty good. I’m really sorry, Walker,” he apologized. 

“That’s Charlie Walker to you.” She retorted dryly. 

He laughed a little, then realized she wasn’t kidding around. JJ carefully dabbed the area with his shirt, wiping the sand away, then covered it in what was probably expired Neosporin and an old bandage. After a few too many falls, Kie made all of them put a tiny first aid kit in their cars ‘just in case.’ 

“Hey, at least it’s not as bad as when you sprained your ankle at the Clemson tailgate,” he joked to ease the mood. 

She shot him a glare. “That was your stupid pledge brother’s fault for running into me.” 

He dropped the smile. “Right. Not the beer bong you did beforehand?”  

She scowled. “Watch yourself, Maybank.” 

“That’s JJ Maybank to you.” He said, testing a smile with her. 

When she just rolled her eyes, he gave up. “I think I got you all fixed up, though. I’m sorry. Again.” He ran his hand through his hair, messing with it as a nervous habit. 

“It’s whatever. Thanks for the bandaid.” Charlie got up, ignoring his extended hand to help. She grabbed her board and stormed off. It probably was an honest accident, but she was still pissed. Plus, now she had an honest excuse to ignore the boy that had been living in her head rent-free since the first kegger. 

_______________________________________________________________________

JJ watched her stomp away and groaned once she was out of earshot. He brought the first-aid kit and his board back to the car, then grabbed his phone and texted the Pogues. 

~POGUE LIFE~ 

JJ: I fucked up

Kie: u ok??? 

Pope: What did you do 

John B: I’m with Sarah is it important

JJ: was surfing with Charlie and I busted her wave 

Pope: That’s it? 

JJ: no it was bad 

JJ: no chance of being friends now

Kie: i’m sure it’s not that bad, you’re such a drama queen 

Kie: is she ok? 

JJ: yeah I cleaned her up but she’s pissed 

Pope: She’ll get over it, I think she likes you  

Pope: Has she texted you yet

JJ: no and no thanks to you 

John B: well your stuttering in the ice cream shop didn’t help

Kie: play nice boys

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Friday rolled around, the day Charlie had been dreading. The last thing she wanted to do was go to a party and have a chance of running into JJ again. Normally an accident like that wouldn’t have pissed her off as much as it did, but there was something about the blonde boy that just irritated her to no end. She sat in Grace’s room as her friend practically tore her closet apart, looking for just the right outfit for Charlie. Charlie’s typical beach uniform of choice was just a tank top and jean shorts, but Grace had different plans. 

“Try this one on,” she said as she tossed a shirt at Charlie. 

Charlie held the garment up with one finger, eyeing it skeptically. “This thing? You can practically see your nipples when you wear it.” 

Grace rolled her eyes. “That’s the whole fucking point, Charlie, we’re trying to show you off here. How else do you think I hooked up with the quarterback?” 

Charlie gasped, genuinely surprised. “Grace Evans! You did not!” 

Grace grinned. “Did I forget to tell you about that one? It was after the Georgia win. Someone had to congratulate him,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

The real reason Grace kept lecturing Charlie to stay away from JJ? She knew his game way too well - because she was practically the female version herself. She even made it onto the Beta composite last year when she was voted fraternity sweetheart. Sleeping with the president will get you to the top pretty quickly. 

“You are too damn much.” Charlie laughed, but pulled on the shirt anyway. Her chest was smaller than Grace’s and the crop top, while still low-cut, flattered her chest in just the right way. “Huh. It’s not too bad.” 

Grace beamed. “Then I know the perfect skirt.” She tossed a floral smocked skirt in Charlie’s direction. “I know it’s not your style, but trust me on this. No one will be able to resist you tonight.” 

Charlie obliged and pulled it on. “I just need to drink enough to not remember the guy’s name and I’ll be set.” 

“That’s my girl!” Grace grinned. “Let’s go, now we’re fashionably late.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

It was only an hour into the party before Charlie was tugging at her crop top to stay up and her skirt to stay down to an appropriate length. She was five White Claws deep (thanks to a pregame at Grace’s house) and definitely feeling it. She had seen JJ the second she walked in, but slipped in through the crowd and got away without him noticing. Focusing hard on walking in a straight line, she kept her eyes trained on the ground as she walked toward the keg - and straight into a Touron’s chest. 

The guy smiled and reached out to steady her, his glance going south to her chest. “Whoa there, don’t fall for me before we’ve even talked,” he said. 

She laughed, cheeks going red. “Hi, sorry, I was just trying to find more drinks.” 

He nodded. “Let’s go find more drinks then. I’m Scott.” He placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the party. 

Normally she would tell him to fuck off and get the drinks on her own, but after a second glance and deciding he was cute enough, she let it happen. “I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you,” she offered. 

“Pleasure’s mine, darling.” 

She laughed as they entered the kitchen. “You must be from the south.” 

He chuckled, pointing to the Alabama logo on his polo. “Guilty. Roll tide.” 

Charlie wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That’s unfortunate.” 

He laughed and leaned over her to grab her a canned Smirnoff mixer out of the cooler, along with the last beer for him. 

Charlie squinted to read the 8% on the can and shook her head, knowing it was a bad idea, but then reminded herself of the reason she came out tonight and popped the tab with a sigh. 

“Let me guess, you go to North Carolina?” Scott questioned. 

“No.” Charlie was already bored. 

“Duke, then. All the pretty girls end up there.” 

She shook her head. “Ugh, no. I go to SC.” 

He nodded in recognition. “Ahh, an SEC girl! You must know how to party then.” 

Charlie shrugged, letting him carry the bulk of the conversation. “Guess so.”  

Behind her, JJ had spotted Charlie following the Touron into the beach house and made his way toward her. Before he got too close, he felt a small hand on his wrist pull him backward. 

“Hey - oh. Hi, Grace,” JJ muttered unenthusiastically. She hung around the Beta house far too often last year for him to not recognize her instantly. 

She gave him a look, crossing her arms to set the tone. “What are you doing?” 

“Uh...just getting more drinks?” JJ tried. 

Grace gave him a short laugh. “Don’t humor me, Maybank. I saw you watch Charlie go in there.” 

He relented quickly. “Look, I just wanted to say hi, that’s all. I got her leg scratched up earlier this week and thought I’d check in on her.” 

Grace scoffed. “Yeah. I heard. I don’t trust you.” 

JJ crossed his arms back, annoyed. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why don’t you trust me, Grace Evans?” 

Grace pointed two fingers at her eyes, then back at his. “Because I know exactly how you play your game, JJ Maybank, and you’re not playing it with my Charlie. She’s not gonna get hurt because of you.” 

JJ frowned. “I just want to check up on her, god!” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, I could do that if you just gave me her number…” 

She laughed. “Nice try, stupid. Leave her alone, she’s trying to get laid.” 

JJ had just taken a sip of his beer and choked on the drink. He grinned. “Well I could help her with that.” 

Grace glared. “Go find some other Touron to pick up tonight, JJ, leave her alone. You’re trouble.” With that, she walked away. JJ turned back to look into the beach house, but Charlie was nowhere in sight. He sighed, walking back to his friends with slumped shoulders. 

Pope gave him a sympathetic smile. “No luck?” 

JJ shook his head, draining the rest of his beer. “No, I got intercepted by her friend. John B, remember Grace Evans?” 

The tips of John B’s ears turned red and his grip around Sarah’s shoulders got a little tighter. “Uh...no?” He tried. 

Sarah looked up curiously. “Didn’t she go to your school?” 

JJ laughed, lightly punching John B’s arm. “Ohh...of course you remember Grace Evans, you crushed on her for a whole summer until -” 

John B’s eyes went wide, telling him to shut up. 

Sarah turned to her boyfriend, arms crossed. “Until what, John B?” 

John B flipped JJ off. “Thanks a lot.” 

Sarah turned back to JJ. “No, go on, I really want to hear this.” 

JJ shook his head. “No can do, Cameron,” and walked away before he had to deal with hearing the argument he probably just started. 

JJ made his way toward the beach and saw Charlie and the Touron, Scott, sitting out on the sand together. Alone. His brow furrowed and he walked closer til he could hear their conversation. 

“We should get out of here,” Scott offered, helping her up from the sand. 

Charlie blinked a couple times. “Huh? Honestly...I just wanna go to bed. I’m fuckin’ tired.” 

Scott smiled. “Come on, I’ll find you a place to sleep.” His arm went around her waist and trailed along the hem of her crop top. 

JJ frowned and jogged over, taking the drink from Charlie’s hand. “Hey, everything okay here?” 

Scott nodded. “We were just -” 

JJ crossed his arms and straightened up so he had a few inches on him, stepping toward Scott. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Charlie.” 

Charlie looked between the two of them. “I dunno. I think we’re gonna go take a nap?” 

JJ frowned deeper. “With this guy you don’t know?” 

Scott dropped his arm from Charlie’s waist and stepped up til he was face-to-face with JJ. “I got her man, don’t worry about it.” 

JJ shoved his chest. “Fuck that. You can leave.” 

Scott shoved his shoulder back and turned to Charlie, taking her hand. “Charlie, doll, you don’t want me to leave, do you?” 

JJ gritted his teeth and stepped in between the two of them, putting Charlie behind him protectively. 

Charlie reached up and tapped JJ’s shoulder. “Don’t fight, JJ, please?” 

JJ softened at the sound of his name and looked back to Scott. “You heard her. Fuck off.” 

Scott rolled his eyes. “Whatever. She’s boring anyway.” He walked back to the party and JJ kept an eye on him til he was out of sight. 

Seeing Charlie sway, JJ put his arm around Charlie’s shoulders to support her. “Careful, Walker, I got you.” 

She leaned into JJ. “I’m not boring, am I, Maybank?” 

JJ laughed quietly. “Anything but.” 

Charlie nodded, satisfied. “JJ...I’m drunk. Grace is gonna be mad at me.” 

He smiled. “Yeah? I’m almost drunk too. Why is Grace going to be mad at you?” 

She pouted, sticking out her bottom lip. “Because she let me borrow her clothes so I could get laid.” 

JJ grinned, amused. “I heard. And you look great. But why are you so set on getting laid? I mean, no judgment, just seems like you had a very set plan.” 

Charlie shrugged, resting her head on JJ’s chest. “My ex cheated on me and I need to move on. A good fuck usually helps with that.” 

JJ cleared his throat in surprise, moving his hands to her shoulders and carefully sitting her down. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. I-uh, um, yeah. Sleeping with someone can help. Sometimes.” He sat next to her but made sure to keep distance between them. 

“I mean, you would know, right? You’ve had your fair share of fucking around.” Charlie asked pointedly and scooted closer. 

JJ laughed loudly in response. “I guess so?” 

She turned to him, a thought occurring and her eyebrows rising. “Oh! Is the thing about the handcuffs true?” 

JJ looked at her in shock. “The handcuffs? What thing about the handcuffs?” 

Charlie grinned. “You know. With Jenna Gray? She said you two hooked up after the Florida tailgate and you had handcuffs.” 

JJ ran a hand over his face, groaning. “Dear god. Now I can see where you’re coming from, talking about my “reputation,” He said, putting the last word in finger quotes. “I never hooked up with Jenna Gray, we kissed at the tailgate and then she puked in our bathroom and I called her an Uber home.” 

Charlie sat back, thinking. “Oh. Huh. I wonder how many stories I’ve heard are true, then.” 

JJ shook his head. “We’re gonna have to review those together when I’m not as drunk.” 

Charlie extended her pinky toward him. “Deal.” 

JJ smiled and locked his pinky with hers, then brought it to his lips and kissed it before letting go. “Deal.” 

They both turned as they heard voices from a boy and a girl heading their way. Charlie bit her lip as she saw Rafe come into view, hand-in-hand with the girl she had caught him cheating on her with. She weighed her decision, looking back and forth hurriedly between JJ and Rafe walking closer. 

“Are you okay, Charlie?” JJ asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine, um..” She glanced over just as Rafe seemed to recognize her and turned back toward JJ. 

“Oh, fuck it,” she muttered under her breath. Taking JJ by surprise, Charlie leaned over and her lips met his. 

He didn’t hesitate to kiss back, threading his fingers through her hair as she pushed him gently back into the sand. JJ took control instantly, flipping them over so he was on top. He broke off the passionate kiss reluctantly, hovering over her as Rafe walked away. 

The blonde choked out a laugh. “I’m not complaining, believe me I’m not. But what was that?” 

tags: @booksandshish​ @jiaraendgame​

Kyoru Week Day 5

Prompt: Precious @kyoruweekofficial

It had been bothering him all day. A nagging, itchy feeling on his left shoulder. Innocuous enough that it wasn’t debilitating, but annoying enough that it was starting to really piss him off. So much so, that the second he got home from work, he ripped the top of his karategi off, searching for the culprit of his discomfort. 

Kyo Sohma considered himself a simple man. He never really cared for fashion, instead choosing loose, comfortable clothing that was easy to move around in. It was why he could pack every single item of clothing he owned in a single duffel bag if he really wanted to. It was why he could go for a several mile run in every single item of clothing he owned if he really needed to. It was why, despite teasing from his cousins, friends, and his girlfriend, he kept around clothes that others deemed “hideous.” They were comfortable, dammit. 

He hated tight clothes. He hated accessories. When he first began living with Shishou, he hated wearing his gi with his belt. He hated any type of rough, scratchy fabric. As he began running his fingers over the black fabric of his gi, searching for a loose thread or piece of lint that was irritating him, he got even more pissed off because this gi was perfectly worn in. If it was irreparably ruined he’d have to buy a new one and those took months to get to the loose, flexible uniform that Kyo deemed acceptable for work.

His fingers brushed over a small, raised bump and he grinned, triumphant that he wasn’t wrong, there was something off. There, among the stiff black cotton, was a series of tiny stitches, appearing to be in the shape of a heart.

“What the hell…” he whispered, bringing the cloth directly under the light of the flashlight on his phone. Sure enough, covering a small hole he didn’t remember having in this gi, there was an embroidered heart. He pinched the fabric between his fingers to confirm that this tiny patch was what had been bothering him all day.

He was certain it was the work of Tohru, his girlfriend. He couldn’t possibly think of another person besides the two of them who handled their dirty laundry and he definitely was not going to be the one to sew a heart over the hole let alone even notice it. 

He walked into the single bedroom in their apartment, still holding the gi in his hand, running through his mind the various articles of clothing he had that had gathered small holes over the years. He never minded tiny little punctures in the sleeves or collars of his shirts or the weathered fabric in the knees of his pants. If something became too ratty, he’d always just thrown it away. But for some reason, the tiny patch on his gi connected something in his mind. He’d never held onto clothes this long before he knew Tohru. 

Sure enough, he pulled item after item out of their shared wardrobe that had small little patches sewing up holes in his clothes. Most of them were simple, almost inscrutable. Places where seams had torn and been re-stitched with care and precision, but certainly not the factory-made stitches that came with the clothes. On other pieces of his clothing, however, there were the same tiny patches. 

A pair of jeans with a tiny hole on the thigh had a tiny square sewn around it, the thread the same color as the denim. One of his favorite red hoodies that had garnered a small hole in the sleeve, had an embroidered triangle. His yellow v-neck that hardly fit anymore, but stayed in his wardrobe out of protest (he really didn’t think it was that ugly) had a tiny sun stitched around a hole in the hem. A pair of his most comfortable boxers had a tiny, orange cat sewn in the seat.

Quickly, a pile of mended clothes ended up at his feet until all that was left in his wardrobe were four white undershirts, a dearth of rarely-worn pants, and some of his less-preferred socks and underwear. Scattered around the floor were all of his most favorite, most comfortable clothing, somehow altered in an attempt to preserve their life.

The sound of a key turning in the door caught his attention and he listened as she called out in a sing-song tone, “I’m home!” The sound of rustling grocery bags, cabinets opening and closing, and water running from the sink brought him back down to Earth and, as Tohru’s footsteps neared their bedroom, he felt a blush creep to his cheeks. 

“I didn’t realize you would beat me home!” She said as she walked down the hallway towards the door. “Did you have...an early…” her voice trailed off as she entered the room. She scanned the floor and the bed, no doubt trying to process exactly what he was doing. 

“Hi,” Kyo said, holding an unscathed white undershirt in his hand as if he’d been caught committing a crime. 

“Hi,” Tohru breathed in response. She didn’t ask a question, but the curiosity in her eyes indicated she would like to know the answer.

“My gi had a hole in it,” Kyo answered.

She frowned. “Another one?” She carefully stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor to grab the top off of the bed. Holding the garment up to inspect it, she asked “Where?”

Kyo shook his head. “Had,” he emphasized.

Tohru nodded. “The one in the shoulder? Yeah, I noticed it a few nights ago. Is it holding up okay?”

“Did you fix it?”

“Of course!”

“When?”

“Last night when I couldn’t fall back to sleep.”

“Did you fix all of these?”

Tohru blinked, confused by the line of questioning. She nodded. Of course she had mended them. Who else would have? “Are you upset that I fixed them?” She asked. Her face remained neutral, but the slight wavering in her voice displayed her nerves.

Kyo’s initial response was automatic. “N-no, I’m not…” he lowered the white undershirt back into the dresser. “I just didn’t…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

Was he upset that she fixed them? No. Actually, he was rather touched by the gesture. She knew how much he valued comfort and how well-loved his clothes were that she went out her way to preserve them. It was, at its core, the most kind gesture. The purest display of love that could possibly exist. Of course he wasn’t upset that she fixed them, no. The emotion was much more complicated than that.

It was the same feeling he had when she’d confessed to him two years prior, albeit on a much smaller scale. It was such a clear, irrefutable declaration of love that he was not expecting. He had spent so much of his life feeling not only undeserving of love, but turned off to the idea completely. He wasn’t the kind of person who could be loved. He didn’t deserve it. He was a terrible person, a monster. Whenever someone close to him tried to offer him love, he immediately became defensive.

That feeling, the feeling of being undeserving, had gotten better since he had met Tohru and especially since they had moved away together nearly a year ago. But it crept in occasionally. He was still plagued by negative thoughts sometimes. That small voice inside his head piped up every so often to tell him he didn’t deserve any of this. However, in her actions and with her words, she reminded him every day you do deserve this. She didn’t have to say it verbatim; it was evident in all that she did for him.

He wasn’t upset, he was disarmed. There he had been, minding his own business, when the reminder of just how much she loved him and cared for him slapped him across the face. He needn’t ask the question why, especially because he knew the answer. But knowing the answer didn’t make the display any less surprising. 

Tohru carefully side-stepped the piles of clothes, moving lightly on her tiptoes towards him, and wrapped her arms around his middle. He, in turn, wrapped his around her shoulders and brushed her hair with his lips. He couldn’t help it, he asked the question anyway.

“Why did you fix my gi?”

She pressed her chin against his chest, looking up at him with her wide, earnest eyes. “Because it’s your favorite one.” She answered simply, as if it had been obvious the whole time.

“I never said that,” he responded and she smiled at him.

“It was pretty obvious,” she mused. He raised his eyebrows waiting for her to continue. “You always reach for that one first,” she explained. “It’s certainly the softest and most broken in. Plus, it was a gift from Kunimitsu-san before our move. It’s special to you.”

And there it was. She was right, it was his favorite. It was the most comfortable. He didn’t attribute much to the fact that it was a gift, but her logic was sound.  He was disarmed because, without saying a word, she told him ‘I get it. You love this. And because you love it and I love you, it’s precious to me. I’ll preserve it for you.’

She’d never have to speak the words ‘I love you’ if she didn’t want to. She said it to him in her gestures alone. She saw who he was at his core, appreciated it, and nurtured it so that it wouldn’t change. And as she did so, she reminded him you deserve this.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tucking a hand under her chin and tilting her head to meet her lips softly with his own. She beamed at him.

She returned her head to his chest, pressing her cheek against him until she could hear his heartbeat. “It’s a mess in here.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I had to come in here and see what other girly patches you put all over my stuff.” 

She pinched his back. “They’re not girly,” she insisted. “Besides, if you really never noticed until today that I’ve been fixing your clothes for four years, then you should be a little embarrassed,” she teased back.

“Lucky for you, your careful craftsmanship has made it so I never noticed.” He stepped back, retrieving the gi top from the bed and held it out for her. “But you’ve gotten sloppy. Damn heart was bothering me all day.”

She pinched the heart between her fingers, confirming that it was a bit more pronounced than some of her other patches. “You’re right,” she nodded, her face taking on a grave (although clearly exaggerated) expression. “Certainly a manly patch would not be so itchy.”

“Exactly,” he confirmed. He reached down and gathered the pile of clothes in his arms, sitting on the bed with them so he could refold them and put them away. 

She planted a kiss on the top of his head before she turned to leave. “I’ll go make a very manly dinner to make up for it,” she said, grinning, and he rolled his eyes. 

*  *  *

The following morning, he left for work, his bag already packed with his other favorite karategi and lunch he’d prepared the night before. He changed at the dojo, and, when met with the sound of snickers, quirked his eyebrows at the teen class before him.

“Nice heart, shihan,” one of the girls said, her palm covering her mouth.

Kyo craned his neck to look at his shoulder in the mirror and, sure enough, he was wearing the gi from yesterday, no doubt slipped into his bag by Tohru when he wasn’t looking. There, on his shoulder, was the hole with a new patch covering it. A small, pink heart in contrast with the black cotton. 

He shook his head, the smile on his face betraying the annoyance he was trying to convey. “God dammit.”

Memories and Reveries Pt 2: Bulwark of Leleni Leni

"Vigilance! Diligence! Violence! These are the three pillars that make up the foundation of our order! Of our creed!" Guard Captain Totopeko shouted with a commanding bellow that carried through the great stone keep. The old Lalafell turned on his heel with his gauntlet clutching his ivory and crimson cloak, and he began pacing in the opposite direction until he reached the end of the knights. "When you came to us… you were nothing! No one! Bastards and thieves! Bandits and pirates! Criminals and craven alike! With sharpened steel and hardened resolve you are here today. Lives reshaped for the glory of the Gilded Court!"

Zoronado was not a bastard, but he didn’t know his parents. He was not a thief nor a bandit, such petty monetary gain was beneath him. Nor a pirate, the worst scum Hydaelyn had to offer; he has committed no crimes and has never shown cowardice -- not once in all his years. Yet he stood tall and proud beside his brothers-in-arms all the same, eagerly awaiting the good news. Sweat glistened on his brow under the hot sunlight streaking through the painted glass ceiling, with beads rolling down his temples. He had been in uniform since before sunrise, carrying his bulky shield all day; but after a decade and a half of grueling practice and perseverance, his hard work was about to pay off.

"You were all called here for a reason!" Shouted the Guard Captain. “Five of the Bulwark’s finest! Let your deeds from this day forth bear testament to the strength of the Lalafell! Brothers in arms! Brothers in death!”

“AAAOOO! AAAOOO! AAAOOO!” They all shouted in unison, slamming their shields against the floor to fill the keep with their thunderous rhythm. Even Totopeko joined in, smashing his fist against his breastplate. It didn’t take long for their excitement to reach a fever pitch, increasing their tempo with vigorous fervor. They grew so loud and rowdy that they didn’t notice the main entrance swing wide open for the daughter of their sole benefactor. Leleni Leni blinked at how rowdy her men were behaving, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her father, however, would be less than pleased if he heard about this.

“MAIDEN ON DECK!” Totopeko barked at the top of his lungs! Immediately he and the five knights dropped to kneel like they all were kicked in the back of the knee at the same time, and after the echo of their plated knees striking the stone floor made its final bounce against the walls, the keep was as silent as a grave. Leleni nervously cleared her throat as she began to walk, her handmaidens briskly keeping pace while keeping the ends of her gown off the dusty ground. She was suddenly uncomfortable with their presence, despite gazing down at each and every one of them and picking them herself; none of them were wearing their helmets, but at least they were disciplined enough to keep their eyes closed and their heads bowed. It made speaking to them far easier.

“Noble knights…” She started, walking up the steps as slowly and as carefully as she could. “I have chosen each of you to become my fiercest guards. The next generation of defenders who will protect me until your services are no longer needed, like the ones who came before you who protected my mother.” She glanced over at Totopeko and smiled warmly, knowing after they’ve settled in, he would be able to retire, own land, and marry. “You will be my shadow. My shield. My sword. I will not eat, sleep, or travel without you at my side. You will enter every room before me. Taste every dish before me. Drink from every cup before me. And stand between me and every stranger. Every order will be followed without question, for you are now an extension of myself. My mistakes, my misjudgments, my insecurities… you will project them all. Do you understand?”

“Yes milady!” They all answered in unison, harmonizing remarkably well.

“You will defend my honor with your lives. You will protect me from all manner of harm. No matter the threat to your own safeties. My life is paramount. Do you understand?” She asked, standing before them.

“Yes milady!” They repeated.

“This responsibility is a great and terrible burden. You will be in service far longer than your brothers. I will not force this task upon you if you do not wish it. Any or all of you may leave now and return to your posts if you so choose. I will not hold it against you.” This part made Leleni nervous; she’s heard stories of all five chosen knights rising to their feet and leaving. If that happened to her, she would never live that shame down. “Do you understand?”

“Yes milady!” None of the knights moved an inch, putting one of her worst fears to rest; already she felt far more relaxed and comfortable around them. More than that… she felt safe. She approached Guard Captain Totopeko and he lifted his sword in response. Her tiny hand wrapped around the glimmering silver hilt, and with a gentle pull, she freed the blade from its sheath.

Leleni approached the first knight, tapping him on either shoulder. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” The knight grimaced as he trembled, with a tear rolling down his cheek. She smiled before taking a gentle step to the right to stand before the next one. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” His face was still, but his faint smile betrayed his joy. She nodded at him before stepping to the right again. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” This knight almost fell over, his hand quickly shooting up to rub the snot away from his sniffling nose; he was a wreck, starting life as a good-for-nothing thief, now achieving the highest honor he could ever imagine. Leleni beamed at him, with each tap of his shoulder almost dropping him. Then she stepped in front of Zoronado. He opened his eyes to see her pearl-tipped heels poking out from beneath her gold and ebony dress. “I name you the Bulwark of Leleni Leni.” He felt the tip of the blade tap his shoulderguards one by one. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could to will away the temptation, but he couldn’t resist. Zoronado opened his eyes and glanced upward so he may bear witness to her beauty.

Her hair was the color of honey, flowing locks of a dazzling blonde that draped over her shoulders and cascaded down her body. Her skin was fair -- the fairest he had ever seen; with reddening cheeks as soft and round as a baker’s dozen of freshly made wheat buns. He found himself staring deep into her soft green eyes, his jaw wide open like a dead fish, his breath and heart both stopped. Zoronado did the unthinkable; he peeked under his Lady’s hood and saw upon her fair maiden face before her betrothed did. Such an act would put most men in the black cells… but not him. Not this time. Leleni stood there in silence, unsure of what to do or what to say. So they both stared at each other, until Zoronado managed to close his dry mouth and drop his unblinking gaze back to her tiny feet.

The following night was their first mission, but nothing short of the greatest celebration any of them had ever seen. The entire island was out here in force, spilling out of the grand cathedral with camps and tents stretching out as far as the eyes could see. Zoronado stopped counting after two thousand, his focus redoubled to protecting his lady. Clad in thick blue steel and armed with heavy shields and sharpened blades, the Bulwark of Leleni Leni guided the Maiden through the gathering crowds of the common folk to her wedding. Her carriage was showered with flowers and confetti; a blinding cloud to be sure, at least it would have been without their helmets. Slowly they marched, two in front, three behind, until the carriage stopped at the bottom of the cathedral steps.

"Shields up!" Zoronado shouted over the chorus of cheers, and the Bulwark shuffled into a testudo formation at the carriage door. None were allowed to gaze upon her veil until she was at the altar. Leleni Leni stepped down from her cushioned seat, her polished shoes tapped against the cold stone step. She reached out and slipped her fingers into Zoronado's grasp before being gently pulled into her personal guard. A Bulwark moved to close the gap as soon as she was inside, and the bubble of raised shields slowly moved up, protecting her from every angle and blocking her from sight.

Her uncle was waiting in the lobby. Kukutowi Yamatowi was on the verge of tears when the testudo formation broke like an egg and his niece appeared from behind the lowering shields. "Uncle Towi?" She started, more confused than anything. "What are you doing…? Where is father?"

"He is attending a meeting, my beautiful niece." Kukutowi answered, bowing gracefully. "But he sent me to walk you down the aisle myself." His sweet smile faltered when his gaze shot to her entourage. "Make sure no one enters. This day needs to be perfect!"

"Yes sir!" Zoronado turned to his four companions. "You two at the entrance, you two patrolling the hallways. I'll keep watch from the balc-"

"No." Leleni smiled at him through her veil; by most accounts she appeared happy, but her twinkling eyes told a different story. "You will walk me down the aisle instead."

"Yes milady!"

The color drained from Kukutowi’s face. "What?! Preposterous! Your father-!"

"-isn't here when I need his support the most." She watched his pale face turn bright red with anger, from the bottom of his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Now see here…!” Her uncle only made it one step forward before her knights turned to face him, with all five gripping the hilts of their swords; one more step closer and he would risk his own life. Kukutowi gulped dryly as he stared at the armored guards, helpless to protest this insult. He was almost tempted to call her bluff, but he wasn’t a gambling man. They were sworn to Leleni -- not him; her word overrides all others, and with a single command and a passing thought her bulwark wouldn’t hesitate to spill his blood on her wedding day.

"Go take your seat." She glanced over at one of her other knights. “See to it that he doesn’t get lost.” Her uncle glared daggers at Zoronado when he removed his helmet and offered the bride his arm. Leleni didn't even bother acknowledging his continued presence when a knight opened a side door and pushed the mumbling man through. Once he was out of sight and mind Zoronado began the long walk escorting her to her imminent husband. They both closed their eyes when the music swelled. They focused on putting one foot before the other, slowly walking past the audience that lacked both the manners and tact to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Leleni heard their whispers regarding Zoronado. “Who was this person? Where is Lord Diditusho? Why is this lowborn escorting Lady Leleni? Did something happen? Where is her father? Why is one of her knights guiding her?” Furtively the bride glanced over to see if they were affecting him, but his face was as still as stone, and his eyes remained forward and focused. A gentle smile danced along her lips before her gaze returned to the other end of the aisle. The groom, Nonobira Halabira, neither noticed nor cared who was escorting his wife; his beady brown eyes were fixed on the fairest Lalafell he had ever seen. Once they were close enough to touch, Leleni released her soft grip on Zoronado’s arm, and took the last three steps alone to stand by his side. Just as the he was commanded, Zoronado knelt alongside the front row of the ceremony, still standing somewhat in the aisle; he remained close, heavily armed, and ready to move in and protect his lady at a moment’s notice. Watching this stranger slowly lift her veil to reveal her face made him feel things he wasn’t prepared for. He was overjoyed, but not content, with pinging spikes of longing and yearning when he listened to her speak her vows.

And when he kissed her and sealed their oaths, and the audience rose to their feet with a roaring cheer and a deafening applause, all Zoronado felt was guilt. Guilt… and envy.

It was all he could think about during the reception. He stood in silent vigil at her side while it felt like every Lalafell in existence approached her dining table to shower her with gifts and praise. He was lucky to have his helmet -- the last thing he wanted to do was spoil her big day with the scowl plastered across his face. He’s been to receptions just like this one his entire life; this place was filled to the brim with mutton-munching mooks masquerading as money-making masterminds, but even at his seventeenth summer, he knew better. These ‘aristocrats’ were as real as their compliments. Every single one of them would throw Leleni to the wolves or toss her body into the sea if it benefited them. The Bulwark kept a close eye on each and every one that approached her, and she never opened any of these gifts herself.

It was morning by the time he was able to get some sleep. Even with the sum of his training and discipline, he couldn’t sit still and keep guard over their chambers as they consummated their marriage; every noise he heard whispering through the thin wooden door was enough to drive him insane, so he instead traded places with a knight-kin and spent the night walking through the cathedral until four or five bells later, once he was certain the deed was done and over. Zoronado returned to his post and leaned up against the wall, locked his knees, and did his best to catch at least a few bells of sleep before the sun stirred the newlyweds. He closed his eyes for what felt like the longest blink of his life, before the door gently opened and jerked him awake.

“Zoro…” Leleni whispered, her voice dry and scratchy. “... water.”

“Yes milady.” He answered in a hushed tone, hoping he didn’t wake up her husband. He turned on his heel and briskly walked down the hallway, making a beeline straight to the kitchens of the keep. He found a pitcher of ice water, drank a cupful to ensure it wasn't poisoned, and was halfway through pouring a second glass when he heard the soft patter of bare feet approaching behind him. Zoronado turned to see his lady staggering towards him, her beautiful blonde hair lazily tied into a ponytail, and her pajamas all twisted and poorly worn. Seeing her out of her normal attire was a definite shock -- he almost didn't recognize normal attire was definitely a shock -- he almost didn’t recognize the woman if it weren’t for her green eyes. She still remained far and above the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“I have something to ask of you.” Leleni mumbled, shambling toward the pitcher like a zombie. “You heard me right… I said ask of you. And I want you to speak plainly. We can drop the formalities when it’s just us talking.”

“Yes milady.” Zoronado handed her the cup of water and stood by to patiently watch her chug it down; she really was thirsty.

“I want to go to Eorzea. I want to see the sights. I want to know what it’s like on that continent of giants.” She pushed the cup back into his grasp so he could refill it for her. “... but I can’t.”

“One day, milady.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Why not ask your father to let you go?”

She eyed Zoronado up and down before leaning against the counter. “Uncle told him what happened. Father is furious that I insulted our family by making you walk me down that aisle. He wants you stripped of your rank and thrown into the underbelly cells.”

“I will gladly accept any punishment your father sees fit.” He was quick to speak, causing her to pause mid-gulp. “If imprisonment is the price for my loyalty… so be it.”

“I don’t want that.” Leleni shrugged, chewing on an ice cube. “What I want is for you to go to Eorzea in my stead. Experience everything the mainland has to offer. Keep me informed of anything interesting. Enjoy the freedom and I’ll live vicariously through your exploits.”

“Yes milady.” Zoronado answered without hesitation.

“Really?” The woman raised a brow at him. “No thoughts? No questions? No concerns at all?”

“It’s a quest, milady.” He snapped to attention and delivered a crisp salute. “I will not fail you. Pictures, new recipes, strange animals… I’ll do everything I can to help you see the world, even if it’s not through your own eyes.”

A bright smile flashed across her face, electrifying him with an overwhelming surge of joy and pride. “Thank you Zoronado Tatanado. Thank you for being my champion.”