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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

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The Best Quiche in Tokyo

Rating: ‼️18+ Minors Do Not Interact ‼️

Warnings: explicit sexuality (it literally takes place at an orgy so like.......Y’know)

Characters: Hatter (Takeru), Aguni, and Female Reader (You)

Summary: When one of your customers invites you to a potluck-slash-orgy, you assume the “orgy” part is a joke—because nobody really hosts a potluck and an orgy at the same time, right?

Notes: One time, @nessinborderland (happy belated birthday btw) gave me the brilliant idea of Hatter hosting an orgy and serving really good food and I just......ran with it. This ended up being part comedy, part character study—and mostly features Aguni, if you can believe it! I don’t know, I just let the story take me where it wanted to go! (Also, this is definitely the longest thing I’ve written on here, so get ready to dig in!)

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in March, and you’re standing in front of a hat shop. Well, technically, you’re slightly to the left of a hat shop, peering down a skinny alleyway in search of a door or a set of stairs—something to indicate that there is, in fact, an apartment up there and this is not just an elaborate prank.

There is a very good chance this is a prank—after all, the eccentric man who walked into your stationary store two weeks ago seemed...off. Not in a bad way, just. One-of-a-kind. Unique. Entirely himself, in a way that people usually aren’t.

Was he flirting or was he just overly friendly when he leaned in just a bit too close to see the various fonts available for his choosing? It’s difficult to say. He did seem genuinely interested to know the difference between serif and sans serif, which doesn’t much thrill your customers on the regular. Does asking for an extra business card ‘for his personal records’ count as a pick-up line? It’s hard to say. Not that it matters much, of course—you are a professional, he is a customer, and there’s nothing more to it.

And you really are a professional, because when he told you that he wanted—in metallic gold, 30-point, center aligned—to say, quote, “The Third Annual Springtime Potluck and Orgy: Presented by Danma Takeru,” you didn’t so much as bat an eye. Partially because he was very insistent that you spell his name correctly, and partially because. Well. How does a person respond to that?

In truth, he ended up being one of your better customers—he showed a genuine interest in the process while still deferring to your expertise—and when one of the printed invitations arrived in your mailbox, you figured you might as well go see what the fuss is about. It could be an opportunity to meet some new friends, maybe drum up a little business if you’re lucky.

And besides—a potluck-slash-orgy? Who would even do that?

The merry little jingle of bell catches your attention, and you turn your head to see a solemn-looking man peeking his head around the hat shop’s glass door. He looks at you. He looks at the plastic-wrapped pie in your hands. He looks back at you.

He frowns.

“Hi,” you say, putting on your most charming smile in the hopes that he’ll stop looking at you like you just slapped him across the face, “I’m, uh, I’m here for the party!”

You shuffle over to him, careful not to scuff the white of your sensible-yet-pretty patent leather heels on the sidewalk. Maybe you’re dressed too formally—he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans while you’re sporting a calf-length chiffon dress dyed in a lovely array of watercolor blues and violets.

Oh dear, what a faux-pas! There was no dress code listed on the invite, but maybe you should’ve dressed in a more casual fashion. You don’t live far, you could probably run home quickly and change...

“Do you...have an invitation,” the man asks, crossing his arms across his chest and furrowing his brow. Is he annoyed? No, no. He seems. Confused? Wary? How very strange.

“Oh, of course,” you answer, reaching a fumbling hand into your purse to search for the little pink envelope, “I almost forgot it walking out the door, but I remembered at the last second! I can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes!”

The man doesn’t say anything, but leans forward to inspect the invitation once you manage to produce it from the cluttered mess that is your handbag.

“I know the time said it started at three, but the pie took a little longer than expected. It takes time for the chocolate to set, and—“ you gasp, covering your mouth with your invite-laden hand, “I haven’t kept you waiting, have I? I’m so sorry, Mister...?”

“Call me Aguni,” he says, and his eyes narrow slightly when you give him your most chipper ‘thank you’ and apologize for not being able to shake his hand at the moment. What a strange man.

“You,” he asks slowly, “you read the invitation, right?”

“Of course I did! I’m the one who made them,” you explain, puffing your chest up with pride, “and our host was kind enough to send one to me! He must have really liked my work!”

“...Yeah,” the man called Aguni says, “I’m sure that’s it.”

But, to your pleasure, he steps aside and holds the door open for you to enter. Such a strange man, but at least he’s gentlemanly enough to hold the door for you as you step inside.

“Oh, wow,” you say, “this place is amazing!”

And maybe it sounds silly, but you’re being entirely honest. There are hats in shelves, hats hanging on the wall, hats on faceless plastic heads on the counter and placed atop a long wooden table to the left—all of them in different shapes and colors, embellished and feathered and ribboned to the nines. There’s a certain magic to a little place like this, a kind of whimsical charm you want to bottle and keep on the kitchen windowsill.

“Walls could use some paint. Floor needs polished, too,” Aguni says, “but...yeah, I guess it’s nice enough.”

You follow him as he leads you towards the back, your eyes drinking in all the details of this fascinating little shop.

“No, no, the walls and the floor are perfect,” you assert with a wide-mouthed smile, “it gives it character. Makes it feel...like home, I think.”

“Takeru says the same thing,” Aguni answers with a chuckle, “although I also think he just doesn’t want to put in the work. He’s...not very handy.”

There is a second door at the very back of the shop, and once again, Aguni holds it open for you. Perhaps his original air of discontent was a simple case of shyness—maybe he just takes a bit to warm up to people. Well, just wait until he tries your homemade triple-chocolate silk pie; you’ll be best friends in no time!

He leads you into a tiny courtyard, which is just barely big enough to hold a steep set of metal stairs and a handful of plant pots, which remain empty due to the early spring cold. But, oh, it must be so lovely back here when the plants are in full bloom! You say as much to your companion, who actually manages to smile a bit in your direction as he leads you up the stairs.

“Those are mine, actually,” he tells you, his boot-covered feet thunking up the stairs at a leisurely pace, “He lets me garden back here.”

You picture it—this tall, stoic man, kneeling on the ground, his gloved hands tending little green sprouts as the morning sun shines gold and warm on the cold stone ground. The thought of it warms you. Does he know anything about succulents? You’ve always thought they would look so cute in the shop...

“Look,” Aguni says when the two of you reach a very drab-looking door, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but...you sure you’re ready for this?”

What an odd thing to say! Maybe you’re acting more nervous than you originally thought? It is rather daunting, walking into a party of strangers; but, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“You’re sweet for worrying about me,” you respond, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “but if everyone is half as lovely as you, I’m sure I’ll do just fine. I will probably stick with you for a while—if that’s okay, of course!”

“Alright, then.” Aguni says—and is that a hint of a blush you see creeping up his neck? All this time, you thought he was just being strange, but he’s just a little shy! You give his arm a knowing pat before withdrawing your touch, and he quickly turns around to unlock the door.

Are all of Takeru’s friends this adorable? You hope so. You follow your bashful escort inside—the genkan is already full of shoes, but you manage to squeeze yours in between a pair of snakeskin wedge heels and the wall. Aguni also removes his boots, and you’re happy he isn’t going to stay down in the hat shop the whole time. He can introduce you to everyone, and maybe—

You hear something. Was that...? No, no, you must be imagining things. You definitely did not just hear a woman moan on the other side of the wall. You stop and angle your head towards the door slightly to get a better listen. It’s all rather muffled (it must be well-insulated!) but there’s definitely some kind of music playing. Maybe it’s part of a song?

It happens again. This time, it’s deeper, and more of a prolonged “ah” sound. And then laughter. Aguni is looking at you in that concerned way of his again.

Instead of waiting for him to open the door for you a third time, you decide to take initiative and open it yourself—a show of confidence, to put his mind at ease. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to try and stop you, but he instead just crosses his arms and watches as you open the door to the rest of the house.

The first thing you see is candles. Little flickering spots of yellow-orange flame, winking inside clear glass votives. A trio of them on the kitchen table to the left, surrounded by a mismatched variety of trays and plates and bowls, each holding a different delicacy.

There’s a candle on the kitchen counter, next to the refrigerator. One on a bookshelf, which is filled to bowing with vinyl LP’s. Two on either side of the television, and a cluster of them on a coffee table next to a fishbowl of shiny gold squares and—

Oh.

Oh, dear.

There are limbs. Moving, writing, reaching. Hands grabbing. Mouths kissing. Mouths...doing things other than kissing. Oh, God, there’s boobs. And somebody’s butt. Aw, geez, there goes another one. How many naked people are there in here, anyways?

“Oh, hey!”

A familiar voice calls out from the fleshy throng, and your stomach drops. Like Venus emerging from the surf, you see Danma Takeru rise up from the crowd, hair mussed and smiling mouth smudged with at least two different colors of lipstick. While he does appear to be wearing some kind of brightly-patterned robe, the more he stands, the less confident you are that it’s actually covering anything.

You spin on your heel, unwilling as of the moment to become visually acquainted with your host’s penis, and you’re met once more with Aguni’s concerned stare. This time, though, you understand why he’s looking at you like that, and it makes the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck that much hotter.

“Do you want to leave?”

This is. Oh, boy. This is a lot. Aguni must be able to sense your discomfort, although you imagine it’s rather palpable at the moment.

“I,” you say, “I don’t...know.”

And you say you don’t know because you truly don’t know what to do. Was it really so naïve of you to think that the ‘orgy’ part of the invitation was some kind of weird inside joke? Is there some kind of social protocol for these things?

You feel two hands descend upon each of your shoulders, and you try to convince yourself that they are slightly damp with sweat as opposed to any other kind of aqueous material.

“You made it,” Takeru exclaims with genuine excitement as he gives your person a gentle shake, “I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“He’s covered, don’t worry,” Aguni says to you before directing his attention over your shoulder, “I take it you didn’t tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

The hand on your right shoulder stays while the left slips away, leaving room for Takeru to stand at your side and squeeze you against him in a weird little half-hug. In another situation, you might enjoy the way the silk of his robe whispers against the skin of your arms, perhaps smile at the warm comfort of a lazy arm thrown about your shoulders like a heavy scarf, but. Well. Right now, it’s just a little...awkward.

Aguni rolls his eyes.

“About that,” he says, gesturing impatiently at the debauchery behind your back, “I mean, just look at her face.”

“Mori-chan, how could you be so rude to our lovely guest? Darling,” Takeru says, turning your face towards him with two fingers under your chin, “don’t listen to him, you’re...ah, I see what you mean.”

Is your expression really that bad? It must be, because Takeru very slowly and very carefully withdrawing his arm from around your shoulder and taking a generous step to the side. His mouth is twisted into a rather comical gaping frown, his eyes nervously darting side-to-side.

“In my defense,” he says, putting his hands up like some kind of fucked-out traffic cop at a four-way intersection, “the, uh, the orgy part was very prominent. Big letters, right at the top.”

“I,” you reply, “I thought it was...a joke?”

“This is why we don’t just hand out invitations,” Aguni grits through his teeth, “for fuck’s sake, Takeru, we’ve talked about this!”

“I know, I know. I am humble enough to admit when I’ve fucked up, and this time, I have fucked up in a truly spectacular fashion,” Takeru’s gaze shifts from horrified to quizzical as he scrutinized you for a moment, “Unless...you’d like to stay?”

You look at the pie. The slowly-warming chocolate is beginning to sweat beneath the thin film of plastic wrap you so lovingly secured with lilac ribbon.

“Or you could slap him on the way out,” Aguni offers, “he’s very slap-able.”

“It’s true! And when you slap me,” he whips his head to the side suddenly, “my hair does that and it looks really cool!”

Yeah, okay—it did look pretty cool. But, does he deserve to be slapped? Probably for something else, but not for this. It’s a simple misunderstanding, and honest mistake on both your parts.

“I want...” you start, and the way they’re looking at you, wide-eyed and breath-bated, reminds you of the final rose ceremony on The Bachelorette.

It’s kind of hilarious, actually.

“I, uh,” you continue, “I want to...to put this in the refrigerator, if that’s okay? It’s, uh, starting to melt...”

To say that Takeru’s face lights up is an understatement. With a mega-watt smile and a sparkle in his eye, he swoops his arm back around your shoulder and begins leading you towards the kitchen.

Although you have (almost) gotten used to the sea of strangers fucking and moaning in the background, you still choose to politely avert your gaze as you pass them by. You instead focus on Takeru, who has taken this opportunity to explain the inner-workings of...whatever this is.

“...And I personally see to it that these events remain exclusive,” he says, “Although I do occasionally invite outsiders, such as yourself. You were just so sweet and helpful, I couldn’t resist trying my luck and sending you an invite.”

“Thank you,” you say, “although, I, uh...”

He opens the refrigerator door and motions for you to place the pie inside. Luckily, it’s mostly empty, save for a collection of bottled water and a tin of what looks to be cat food. You’re grateful to not have to carry it around anymore, and thank him for his assistance.

It’s finally time for you to acknowledge the proverbial ‘elephant in the room’—except, you’re not exactly sure how to begin.

“I,” you start, stopping to bite your lip, “I, uh. Is it okay if I...don’t, y’know, do the whole...uh...sex thing?”

“Oh, do you prefer to watch?”

“No! I mean, no, uh,” you laugh nervously, “I’m just...”

Takeru chuckles.

“I’m only teasing. You’re more than welcome to skip the sex and go straight to the food. As long as you’re on the kitchen side, nobody will touch you. It’s one of our rules.”

He motions for Aguni to come over with a wave of his arm, smiling when the tall man comes to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Mori-chan also prefers to abstain from the more salacious aspects of our little gathering, so the two of you can keep each other company.”

“I’m usually in charge of the food,” Aguni adds, “and I try to make sure the candles stay lit.”

“I, uh, I noticed those on the way in. They’re nice.”

Takeru leans towards you as if he’s about to share a secret.

“I don’t mean to be indelicate,” he says in a low tone, “but there is a certain stench that comes with these events. Sweat, musk, various secretions...it all really adds up in the end.”

“It’s awful,” Aguni concludes, “but candles help dissipate the worst of it.”

“Oh, and the ambiance,” Takeru exclaims, “there’s just nothing like candlelight to really get people in the mood for—“

A sharp ding! makes you jump. From what you can gather, it came from the small oven to Aguni’s left.

“Hold it right there,” Takeru growls towards Aguni, who had been in the middle of donning a pair of floral-printed oven mitts, “she needs thirty more seconds.”

Aguni looks at you and rolls his eyes. You stifle a giggle behind your hand, hoping your host doesn’t notice.

“I saw that,” Takeru snips towards Aguni, “honestly, Mori-chan, you get one new friend...”

And even though he’s mid-scold, there remains a joviality to Takeru’s tone—a testament, you believe, to what can only be a long-standing friendship between him and Aguni. It’s hard not to feel jealous of their easy back-and-forth, their banter like a well-matched game of tennis.

“Now you can take her out,” Takeru says, “but, so help me God, if you don’t let her rest for seven minutes–“

“–They’ll never find my body, I know, I know,” Aguni finishes, gingerly placing a metal pan on the stove, “Look, we’ve got it handled. You can go back to your side of the party and I’ll call you when it’s plated.”

“Fine,” Takeru answers with a false pout, “but only because I know she’ll keep you honest.”

And just like that, it’s just you and Aguni once more—but, this time, he seems much more at ease to have you around. Happy, almost. It must be kind of boring, sitting alone in a kitchen while everyone else is...well, busy.

“So,” you say, moving to Aguni’s side to peer into the baking pan, “looks kind of like...a quiche?”

“Not just any quiche,” Aguni answers, opening the drawer to his right and digging a hand inside, “the best quiche in Tokyo.”

He pulls out a shiny silver chef’s knife and places it on the counter. Next comes a pair of dainty forks, delicate little things one might use for tea cakes at a French-inspired bistro. Knowing what you know about Takeru—which, granted, isn’t very much at all—it doesn’t surprise you in the least.

“You’re in front of the plates,” he says, tapping the cabinet directly in front of your face, “grab us some?”

“But we’re supposed to wait seven minutes,” you protest, all while following his instructions, “it’s only been...like, three.”

Aguni’s eyes take on a glint of mischief.

“Only a problem if we get caught.”

Honestly, it looks divine. Pillowy-soft and the perfect pale-yellow hue, delicate tendrils of steam billowing out as he drags the knife through. You hadn’t ever seen a non-rectangular quiche before, but you suppose it makes sense; there are a fair few people in attendance, and the standard circular composition wouldn’t quite feed everyone.

He serves you first. A corner piece (which he insists are the best), speckled with herbs and studded with little pieces of what you assume to be some kind of ham. Little strings of cheese stick to the blade of the knife, and Aguni scrapes them off with the side of a fork, which he then hands to you.

“Takeru doesn’t cook much,” Aguni explains, playing his own small square, “but when he does...”

The sound that comes from your mouth as you take your first bite of quiche could rival any of those happening in the orgy across the room. Oh, that is so good! Buttery crust, the salt of cheese and ham, the subtle bite of onion—and there’s something else there, something you can’t quite place, but you know it tastes absolutely heavenly. Immediately, you take another bite.

“Grew the herbs de Provence myself,” Aguni mentions, “He refuses to use store-bought.”

“Makes all the difference,” you respond, “I could eat the whole pan by myself.”

“I did that for my last birthday, actually,” Aguni chuckles around a forkful of quiche, “Takeru insisted on putting all thirty-eight candles in before carrying it to the table—you know, like a dumbass. Part of his hair caught fire, and I had to give him a haircut at two in the morning because he was so distraught.”

The two of you laugh—Aguni at the memory, and you at the idea of a tearful Takeru sulking as Aguni snipping the fried locks with a pair of kitchen shears.

“He forgave me, even though I took a whole two inches off,” Aguni sets his empty plate in the sink and looks out of the small window above it, “He’s not a bad guy, you know. Doesn’t always make the best choices, sure, but he’s got a good heart in him.”

There is a sadness here, something in Aguni that speaks to a troubled past you haven’t quite unearthed yet—and you know better than to press him, especially here, especially now.

“Well, I can’t say I’m an expert,” you say, handing him your plate, “but you two seem like decent people. Orgies aside, of course.”

“Of course,” Aguni nods, “though I don’t suppose you’ll come to the next one, will you?”

For the first time since your arrival, you allow yourself to watch the festivities happening across the room. It isn’t that bad, you suppose—it’s just a group of people having a fun time together, laughing and gasping and enjoying each others’ bodies in a safe and comfortable place. It’s not something you necessarily want to do yourself, but...well, the ‘weird’ factor of the whole thing has gone down exponentially over the past hour or so.

“And miss out on the best quiche in Tokyo,” you say, nudging against Aguni’s arm with your shoulder, “not a chance!”

#alice in borderland #hatter #danma takeru #alice in borderland netflix #spicy boy #morizono aguni #writings and such #THIS TOOK ME OVER A MONTH TO WRITE OH MY GOD #alice in borderland fanfic #obvi this takes place before borderland #so I guess this is an au?#also I hinted at Ziggy the cat because I am self-indulgent and evil #can’t believe I actually wrote it lads

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liukangmybeloved · 3 years

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everyone else is fighting for second {Mortal Kombat (2021)}

SPOILERS FOR MORTAL KOMBAT (2021)

Summary: Canon Divergent AU. Crack & Fluff. The team develops into something of a found family, which happens to include Cole's actual family. They take a day off from fighting to go to the fair, where the biggest question is 'who is Cole's daughter's favourite in the team?' Besides her dad, of course. Kano is very competitive about this question.

A/N: 1968 words. I will take a meat-tenderizer and FIX the canon and make it SOFT. i love cole young and mk 2021, if you don't like that, you've been warned. everybody lives/nobody dies AU & kano isn't a traitor. also imagine there's just like.... more time before the tournament. enough to become a found family. like i said, fluff & crack. warnings for swearing.

If Cole had it his way, Emily and Kano would have never met. He would be perfectly happy letting everyone else on the team meet her, but he's yet to hear a single sentence leave Kano's mouth that didn't include some colourful variation of 'fuck', 'shit', 'wanker', or 'cunt'. So unsurprisingly, he wasn't exactly eager to let his teenager daughter near the man who Sonya had literally called 'scum of the Earth', but alas.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, pinky-swear!" Kano's grin was all teeth as he'd held his pinky finger up to Cole's glowering face, wiggling it a little when Cole made no move to finish the pinky-swear.

"If you say - cunt -" and the word sounds so uncomfortable coming from Cole, he damn well looks uncomfortable just saying it, "within a hundred feet of her, I'll get Kung Lao to cut you in half." And he gesutres over to where Kung Lao and the rest of their ragtag bunch of misfits; the man in question had forgone his usual weapon for a more modern, soft-brimmed sunhat, but his jaunty wave to Kano at the sound of his name still managed to be menacing. The Australian shuddered in horror at the mere thought; at least he took the threat seriously.

"You don't have to be jealous, man," the threat seemed to only have dampened Kano's jovial attitude momentarily, as he's got a spring in his step as he follows Cole to the rest of the gathered champions, "Uncle Kano's gonna set a fuckin' - flippin' -" he corrects himself as Cole shoots him a warning look, "great example." Sonya barks a loud, derisive laugh as Cole sees fit to remind him that he's not Uncle Kano.

"Emily's a good kid," Liu Kang assures, kind and sincere.

"Yeah, she never even believes me when I tell her Kano's a dirty, little rat," Kung Lao smirks in the face of Kano's sudden outrage, and Cole is pretty sure that, despite it being Emily and Alison's idea, to give the team a day of levity and to bond, this might be the worst plan he's ever agreed to.

"This is a day of bonding, not of infighting," Raiden's voice joins them, followed by the God himself only moments later, which is enough to unite all the champions in confusion at his choice of wardrobe for the day. While still sporting a majority of his usual attire, somehow he'd managed to procure a t-shirt with a meme of all things on it, a personalised meme!

"I designed it myself, I think it turned out pretty okay; whaddya think?" Kano sounded far too proud of himself, looking at the cartoon drawing of what could only be Raiden himself pointing awkwardly at Thor as depicted in Marvel Comics, who was pointing back.

"We are both Gods of Thunder," Raiden explained, pointing to his own shirt; Sonya had gone wide-eyed, unsure of how to react, while Jaxx was doing his utmost not to burst out laughing.

"I... didn't know you knew what a meme was," Cole admits, though honestly, once the shock had worn off of, it was rather charming.

"I didn't know you knew what a meme was," Kano fired back, equally confused.

"I have a thirteen-year-old, of course I know what a meme is -" but then it seems to hit him just as it hits Sonya and Jax, and the three of them turn to the pair of confused, cave-dwelling, internet-free champions. None of them knew where to begin trying to explain the whole situation, but thankfully, Raiden chose that moment to open a lightning portal, and they all headed through quickly.

----

The night that Cole and his family had gone home after everything had gone down, the fighting, Sub-Zero, and the man he's pretty sure is the ghost of his ancestor, Emily had looked him dead in the eye and called him a super hero.

And then told him that his friends were really cool.

This was a sentiment that his new friends seemed to share about his family.

Cole quickly comes to realise that family isn't something a lot of the rest of the team have nowadays; they have each other, but for a lot of them, that's mostly it. He sits on an invite to dinner that he'd already ran past Alison several days ago, before inviting Liu Kang and Kung Lao over, if nothing else, to repay the hospitality they'd shown him so early on.

Alison's rule was that there was to be peace on their property; no training, no fighting, but the team was welcome as long as they didn't bring trouble to the door.

So then it was Sonya and Jaxx, who brought dessert when they came over.

Emily once asked what Thunder Gods ate. Did they eat? Cole wasn't sure. He extends an invite to Raiden anyways, but it's politely declined. The next time, however, he took up Cole's invite, mostly for the company, and to thank Alison and Emily for their patience; having Cole away so often wasn't easy, he'd be the first to acknowledge that. Alison appreciated the sentiment, as did Emily, though she was also just bursting with questions for the God, and he did his best to answer what he could.

Then finally - finally - after so long spent with the team, of most of them coming to find comfort and serenity in his home on the occasions that they need it, Kano is invited to Sunday lunch too.

----

"I know us champions and our super powers are pretty cool," Kano says to Emily, the moment they step through the lightning portal and emerge into the sunshine and the noise of the fair, "but I'm your favourite, right? Besides your old man, of course," and he rolls his eyes a little at that, as does Cole, for very different reasons, while Alison shoots Cole a questioning look. Thankfully she still does not trust Kano as far as she could throw him.

For her part, Emily answers incredibly diplomatically, sounding much older than her thirteen years, and quite a bit like her mother;

"Kano, you're a grown man, my approval shouldn't matter to you," she sounds sincere, which is completely undercut by Kung Lao sliding into step beside Kano.

"Which means you're not her favourite," he teases, and Kano practically growls back, embarrassed, while Emily calls out to Raiden that she likes his shirt. He practically beams.

"Not a lot of people will really get it, though," she points out, and Raiden muses on that for a moment.

"But I get it, and it's mine."

"Fair point," Emily nods at that, as their strange group steps up to buy tickets.

---

Emily spends more of the fair of people's shoulders than she does actually walking, which delights her endlessly. Mostly she's up on Jax's shoulders, and charges her cotton candy for the ride, ripping a small chunk from the one Cole had bought for her.

"It's weird seeing you all look so normal," she says to Sonya, the two of them in line for the Dodge 'Em Cars alongside Liu Kang and Kung Lao. Sonya grins, knows exactly what she means, gaze turning to the two members of the Shaolin Order of Light, not that anyone would know simply from looking at them now. Where Liu Kang had found a pair of trendy, ripped jeans was beyond Sonya's imagination.

"You look cool, though," Emily amended quickly, "I didn't realise you all would come to the fair, but I'm glad you did," she's smiling brightly as they get closer to the front of the line.

"Who did you expect to come along today?" Liu asks, eyes wide and curious. It wasn't that he was as competitive as Kung Lao or Kano, but he still found the child's interpretation of their group to be interesting. She knows, in some capacity, what they're capable off; she'd watched her father slice, dice, and kill Goro after all. The fact that she could think so highly of them speaks a lot to her capacity for kindness, or perhaps her childish naivety, but Liu preferred to think it was the former.

Emily, however, goes quiet, seems to be a little embarrassed. She mutters something, avoiding eye contact with any of them, and Liu goes to ask her to repeat herself, but she interrupts him while doing so;

"I wanted Dad to have a day off," she admitted, before adding, "and... and Lord Raiden; I don't think he's had a day off this millennium."

"It's good of you to look out for them," Sonya tells her fondly, "our team can be pretty single-minded, but we needed this day off, I think." And she gives Emily a pet on the shoulder, and lets her steer the tandem Car when they finally get a turn.

----

"It's me, right? I'm your favourite," Jax asks Emily over lunch, not because he genuinely believes it, but because it riles up Kano, and to a lesser extent, the competitive Liu Kang.

"Jax is one bad day away from pledging his allegiance to Skynet, he can't be your favourite -" Kano grumbles.

"Dad's my favourite," Emily reminds them sternly, and Cole has to hide his proud little smile, before she adds, "and mom's my favourite too, the rest of you, well of course you're all badass as hell -"

"Is it Liu? 'Cos he's pretty and you're, yanno, a teenage girl," Kano scowls at the warrior who'd been attempting to just quietly enjoy his basket of fries. Both Cole and Alison are wearing similarly murderous expressions, and Kano raised his hands in mock surrender, dropping his gaze.

"Actually," Emily said pointedly, despite the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, though she was mirroring her parents intensity, "my favourite is Raiden because he's literally a God that shoots lightning out of his hands, and you're now my least favourite because you're a rat bastard."

"I taught her that," Kung Lao was grinning from ear to ear, and when he and Emily look to each other, they share a definitive nod.

"How come he's allowed to teach her words like bastard?!" Kano demanded to know.

"Because you're a bastard," Sonya interjects.

Kano is thankfully quiet for the remainder of lunch, sulking at his end of the table as chatter returns to normal, returns to talk of how everyone else had been enjoying the day.

----

At the end of the day, Kano shoves a large, stuffed kangaroo at Emily that he'd won at the booth where you had to knock over bottles.

"Didn't even use me eye or anything; lost an hour of my life and fifty fuckin' dollars," he was grumbling, while Emily was examining the prize.

"You won this?" She seemed endeared by it, endeared by the thought that he'd put the time into winning it for her.

"'course I won it, can I stop being your least favourite now?" He asked, and Emily tucked the kangaroo beneath her arm, giving him an appraising look.

"You can't buy my loyalty -"

"Wouldn't want it if it could be bought, I know that shit from experience," Kano interjected, crossing his arms defensively, ignoring where Cole was glowering at him every time he swore.

"But you put time in, and effort, so you're back to third with everyone else."

"As long as none of those bastards is beating me, I'm okay with that."

As they headed to the exit, to where Raiden had created a lightning portal for them all to go home through, Emily reached out and punched Kano lightly in the shoulder.

"Thanks, Kano, it's pretty sweet that you care so much."

"Don't tell the others," he grumbled back.

"We've been with you all day," Jax calls out, "we already know."

#mortal kombat #liu kang #mortal kombat 2021 #kano #kung lao #cole young #raiden #jax briggs #emily young #alison young #sonya blade #mortal kombat fluff #mortal kombat fanfiction #lkmb

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13-reasons-ideas · 3 years

Text

Can’t Go Back Part 17

A/N: This chapter is pretty fluffy. We get a glimpse at how they are moving forward in their relationship since their fight. I’m planning on uploading a part from Monty’s perspective about what he’s doing Friday after school tomorrow or sometime this weekend. I hope you enjoy. Feedback is appreciated as always and much love. -Em

I spent the next week actively not checking my emails. I was too afraid to even consider if I would get emails about schools yet. It had only been a week. But you never know. In an attempt to keep my mind off of the fact that my entire future was now completely and totally out of my control, I tried to fill my time with normalcy. Things I normally did. Things that Monty and I normally did. That normalcy now included carving out an hour and a half for Monty’s physio three days a week, but we made it work.

I tried to get back into my routine. For the most part, I went to bed at the same time every night. Some days Monty went with me, other days he stayed up and did stuff for a while. But he came to bed every night. I went to the game Friday night. Scott and Charlie came over for brunch on Saturday. Justin came over to see his new best friend, I mean me, on Sunday because he picked up a shift Saturday morning. Monty and I did our own things together in the evenings during the week. I pretended to read while he played video games one night. Secretly, I was just watching him. For some reason watching people play video games was highly entertaining. We just did normal things.

We also went grocery shopping Saturday. “Are you sure you want to come with me?” I asked again.

“Yes, I’m sure Addison. Besides, we are over halfway to the store. It’s a little late to change my mind now.”

“Okay. Remember the list please.”

“I know. There’s a list and we get what’s on the list.”

“Exactly.”

At the store, I grabbed a cart and dug through my purse for the list and my pen. Monty took the cart from me without asking. I feigned an affronted look. He smirked back. Cocky bastard. I can already tell this is going to be so fun. I opened my mouth to speak when we got inside. “List, I know. And yes. I remember you’re going to make us get vegetables.”

“And you have to get at least one that you like.” He pouted. “You like carrots.” I offered.

“Fine.” He muttered. We are in a dramatic mood today. It was so peaceful when I went by myself. But I missed this. Monty went and put exactly five bulk carrots in a bag. Not wanting to fight him on carrots, I didn’t say anything. As usual, I was in charge of the rest of our vegetables.

The aisles were an easier task. There were no evil scary vegetable that I would have to force him to eat. I quickly scanned down the list as we entered each aisle. Carefully, everything was placed in the cart just so. “We need this.” Monty said, grabbing a box of cheese its.

“Is it on the list?” In response, he plucked the list and pen from my hand, and scribbled it on.

“It is now.” I rolled my eyes and grinned as he handed it back to me. His cheeky grin made me blush. I turned my back and pretended to look at something when we got to the fruit snack aisle and ignored the telltale thud of a box, make that two boxes, of fruit snacks being chucked in the cart. He didn’t write them on the list.

We both cringed at the price of meat, as usual. But we needed it so there wasn’t a whole lot we could do. I crossed things off that had been missed as we were filling the cart. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like the store was out of anything. “Oh, we need butter.” I muttered.

“Is it on the list?” Monty smirked. Like he had done earlier with the crackers, I quickly wrote it down.

“Yes.” I grinned. He grinned and stopped to kiss me on the cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Now let’s get this done so we can go home and do nothing.”

“Your wish is my command.” There was even a dramatic wave of his arm to accompany his attempt to woo.

“You are so fucking cheesy. I’m telling the guys about that one.”

“Ah, come on Addison. You love it.”

I went to grab a couple of pounds of butter and decided I could trust my adult husband to get some bread and jam on his own. When I found him in the bakery with our cart, I remembered that I married an overgrown child. There was bread. And there was jam. And also, cookies. Four different kinds of cookies. And a thing of strudel. Which, to be honest, I wasn’t that upset about because it’s like the best pastry. But the point is that it was there.

“I asked you to get bread and jam. Not half of the baked goods in the store.”

“But cookies are delicious Addison. And you like their chocolate chip cookies. And for some reason I still don’t understand, plain oatmeal cookies. Don’t even lie and say the strudel was a bad idea.”

“So, the sugar cookies and M&M ones are just to look pretty on the counter?”

“No. Those ones are for me.”

“I married a fuckin’ child.” I muttered softly. We turned when we heard a quiet chuckle behind us. A cute little old couple was watching our interaction with giant smiles.

“Mine still does the same thing dearie.” The woman said to me.

“Remember, we don’t grow up. We just get bigger.” The man smiled.

“I’m beginning to realize.” I laughed.

“See. I told you.” Monty smirked. As if to prove the point they were making, we watched as the man grabbed a container of lemon rolls and placed them in his cart. The woman gave him an exaggerated, exasperated look.

“Wait, how long have the two of you been married?” I asked when they passed us.

“Sixty-five years.” They said together, smiling fondly at each other. Wow. That’s amazing. I was still smiling when we got to the till and checked out.

Our normal routines continued for the rest of the week. School, physio, make dinner, sports, spend time together. The normalcy of it was refreshing.

“You’re scratching.” Monty said offhandedly, without looking up from his notes.

“Am not.”

“You stopped typing five minutes ago Addison.”

“I’m thinking.”

“And scratching.” I rolled my eyes and didn’t respond. I started typing aggressively loud to try and get a rise out of him instead. He didn’t respond at all. Not even an annoyed muscle twitch. We aren’t there yet. Okay. Monty’s phone buzzed on the coffee table beside me. I ignored it. It buzzed again. And then again. Before I could reach for it, he had hobble run over and snatched it out of my reach. I looked at him quizzically. He was trying to think of a reason to be hiding his phone from me. What is going on?

“It’s guy stuff. Jamie is having… girl troubles.”

“Girl troubles.”

“Yeah. His girlfriend but not girlfriend or something is doing stuff.”

“Something and stuff.”

“Yes. So, uh. I’ll be over… over there.” He motioned back to the kitchen table. “You know, dealing with girl troubles.”

“Right.” That was weird. Also, he’s going to pay for the movement in the morning. I went back to my writing and not scratching quietly. Occasionally I would look up over my laptop at Monty. He seemed to be very engrossed in his notes.

“Hey Addison?”

“Hmm?”

“Since the game got cancelled some of us are going over to Jamie’s place tomorrow after school.”

“’Kay.”

“Because girl troubles.”

“Yeah.”

“And stop scratching. You’ll only make the rash worse.”

The next morning, I skipped a shower. Cuddles were too enticing. It was a Friday so I didn’t feel like I had to look all cute. While Monty made himself a smoothie, I grabbed one of his shirts to wear because it was loose enough that it wouldn’t irritate the rash. It finally started to clear up. But now it itches. As though he could hear my thoughts, he called from the kitchen, “stop scratching.”

“Bite me.” I called back.

“If you don’t stop scratching, I will.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” He looked up when he heard me come in the room.

“I was going to wear that today.”

“You have like… fifty more in your half of the closet.”

“I know mum is a history professor, but dad is a businessman. I know he taught you fractions. What I have is not half of the closet.” I merely shrugged. He waved towards the bowl beside the blender. “Chunky monkey with smooth peanut butter.” I sat and took a bite.

“Yum. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Don’t worry about washing the blender. I’ll do it after school.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

School was pretty boring. It was the middle of November, so we were in the awkward not quite midterms but not quite ready for a new unit time. I met Monty at my locker after the last bell. He was waiting for me with Justin and Jamie. “Hey baby.”

“Hey babe. You guys have fun tonight, okay?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Jamie saluted. I shuddered. Monty tried to stifle a laugh.

“Jamie. Do me a favour and never do that again.” I placed a couple of textbooks in my locker. “I’ll see you at home. Can you stop and grab baking powder on your way home tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Why can’t you stop? You’re going straight there.” Justin asked.

“I have a date with a bubble bath.”

“Ooh la la.” Jamie laughed.

“I guess. Didn’t shower this morning and a bath is better for my itching.”

“Oh?” Justin asked.

“I’ll explain later.” I muttered. He furrowed his brow and looked at Monty. I kissed Monty goodbye.

At home, I went to wash my face so I could do the expensive face mask I had been saving for a night alone. I did an exfoliating treatment first and ran my bath. A few scented candles were set on our master bathroom counter and I poured myself a glass of raspberry juice. The book I had been meaning to get around to reading was sitting on the toilet for easy access. Okay fine. One of the books I had been meaning to read. It was very relaxing. I had to dig in the cabinet for my body scrub but found it behind a backup pack of deodorant from Costco. Luckily, the bubble bath was also right there. I poured some in to give it time to foam.

With my face mask done and washed off, I undressed and settled in the tub. The water was boiling hot, just the way I liked it. I sighed and sipped my juice, enjoying a night alone. When the husband is away, wife will pamper. The hot water helped to calm my itching skin. The scrub made my legs nice and smooth before I shaved them and exfoliated a second time. Once the necessaries were taken care of, I could start to relax. Picking up my book, I settled in for the foreseeable future. My book was so interesting and immersive, I completely lost track of time. I was still in the tub when Monty got home. “Addison?” He called when he didn’t find me in the kitchen.

“I’m in the bath.” I called back.

“Okay.” He was opening and closing drawers in our room. He poked his head in the bathroom. “Do you want a glass of water or anything? How long have you been in there?” I paused for a moment to consider. How long had it been?

“What time is it?”

“Almost seven.” My eyes widened.

“Really? Then yeah, I’ll take a glass of water. I’m going to get out right away.” He shut the door behind him and I threw my book across to the door so it didn’t get wet when I got out of the tub.

Once dry and moisturized, I left the bathroom in search of my husband. I found him on the couch scrolling aimlessly through his phone. “I missed you.” I bent behind the back of the couch to kiss his cheek.

“I missed you too. You look very cozy in your fuzzy pyjamas.”

“Why thank you.” I curtsied. He laughed happily. Settling next to him, I laid my head in his lap.

“How was your bath?”

“Amazing. Very relaxing. Oh! And I exfoliated and shaved my legs.” I grinned and lifted my pants leg. “Feel!”

Again, Monty laughed and shook his head. He still reached out and rubbed my leg though. “Very soft and smooth.”

“How was girl problems?”

“I think they’re resolved. It wasn’t as major or as difficult as we thought.”

“That’s good.” I peeked at his phone. He was watching football injury videos. Oh Sweetie. “Hey, how’s your knee?”

“It’s okay. Physio has been helping.”

“I’m glad.” He seemed to realize then that I wasn’t just asking for an update on his progress.

“Oh. I’m just watching this because some of them are funny.”

“Funny?”

“Yeah.” He restarted the video and adjusted his position so I could see too. He was right. Some of them were pretty funny.

It was family brunch Saturday the next day. Scott, Charlie, and Justin all came over. As usual, the four young men were more than happy to eat relatively work free. Monty did have to help me reach a few things and our guests helped set the table. But for the most part, I did the work. It was relaxing for me. Monty still felt a little uncomfortable having me do most of the work in the kitchen, but I didn’t mind. It was my choice to do it. I enjoyed it. And it made things much smoother when I was working solo.

Since it was just a casual pancake breakfast this week and just the five of us, I didn’t really feel a need to shower before they came over. As such, I was still in my pyjamas most of the morning. They didn’t mind. We hung out for a while after brunch together. By the time everyone was getting ready to leave around two, I decided it was time to shower and make myself feel like a human again. “I’m running Scott’s place for a bit. We have a couple of things to go over with Charlie for next week’s game.” Monty explained when I was going to shower.

“No problem. I’ll just be here writing or reading or something.” From the bathroom I could hear him putzing around our room. I didn’t think too much of it. He was probably looking for a playbook or something.

After my shower, I wrapped my towels around me, fully prepared to throw on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater for the rest of the day. Instead, I was puzzled to find a large white box in the centre of the bed. There was a bow and a single pink Post it note stuck to the lid. It simply said wear me on it in blue ink. I frowned in confusion but opened it anyway. Nestled inside was a classic, Hepburn-esque little black dress. I gasped and covered my mouth in shock. Gently lifting the dress out of the box I held it out at arm’s length to examine it. It was beautiful. This man is full of surprises. Not wanting to wrinkle the dress, I carefully set it on the bed while I grabbed a hanger.

Once it was hung up, I put on a pair of sweats and an old pyjama shirt. In the kitchen, I found another note next to the coffee machine. This one was on a yellow Post it, also in blue ink. No coffee. Look up. I frowned again. Why no coffee? Looking up on the underside of the cabinet, I found another yellow Post it. This one had an arrow pointing towards the living room. There, yet another Post it. This one was blue. There was another arrow pointing at the coat closet. A green Post it was stuck to the closet door. Be ready at 5:00. Wear your matching black pointy shoes. Now I was even more confused. Well, it says be ready. I shrugged and checked my watch. It was just past two. I rolled my eyes at the coffee note and made myself a cup anyway. I wouldn’t need to be up all night, but note be damned. I wanted coffee. I savoured it while I let my thoughts run wild of what could be in store for my night. At home fancy dress dinner? Going out for dinner? A walk in the financial district in the city? Hmmm. By two forty-five, I had finished my coffee and started getting ready.

I carefully put on the dress after I had washed my face again. I decided to curl my hair in tight ringlets so that when I brushed them out, they wouldn’t fall flat immediately. I let them set while I did my makeup. So, I didn’t get makeup all over my dress, I draped a towel around my neck to cover it. The simple black cat eye and blue red lipstick paired wonderfully with the classic, timeless style of the dress. A neutral blush and light bronzer added colour and balance to complete the look. I carefully brushed out the curls into nice waves framing my face. Using a decorative bobby pin, I pulled my bangs away from my face. Exiting our room after putting on my tennis bracelet-a birthday gift from my Gran a couple of years ago- I looked at the clock on the stove. It was four fifty. I had ten minutes to spare. Slipping on my heels, I went through my wallet and took out my ID and credit card. I had assumed that we would be going out and Monty usually kept my cards in his wallet.

The sound of a car pulling into our driveway pulled me from my thoughts. I opened the door when the car door shut. Monty was walking up to the house in a very familiar white dress shirt and black slacks. Damn, he cleans up good. I thought it every time he dressed up, no matter how often I saw it. His eyes widened slightly, and he stopped to take in my look. I stopped him in his tracks. I blushed and did a little twirl. He whistled through his teeth. “You look. Absolutely amazing.”

“You look incredible. Have I ever told you, you clean up really well?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugged. I smiled widely. He finished his walk up to the house and took my hands in his, really taking the time to take me in. “You really do look beautiful Addison.”

“Thank you.” I blushed again. My engagement ring sparkled in the setting sun. Monty’s black tungsten ring felt cool in my hand. Together, we walked to the car. We took my car, but I let him drive. It’s our insurance. “Are you going to tell me where we are going?”

“Nope.” He said as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Okay.” We chatted quietly on the way to our mystery location. Given the time, I assumed we were going to a restaurant. When we got closer to the county limits, I realized we were going into the city for dinner. I watched the cars speeding past us on the highway in the other direction. People were eager to be getting home from spending their days shopping or running errands.

I tried to figure out where we were going once we got to the city based on the turns Monty made. I was familiar with most of the downtown and financial districts due to visiting my dad at work when I was younger. I was a little surprised when he pulled in the parking lot for the new Italian place that opened last month. I wasn’t surprised because I was concerned about cost or anything like that. We just weren’t really fancy restaurant people very often. It was a pleasant surprise.

When he parked, we walked hand in hand to the door. He was a perfect gentleman and held the door not only for me but for the couple behind us. I smiled at him while we waited to be seated. He squeezed my hand. We were seated at a more secluded table, closer to the back of the restaurant. The table was lit by candlelight and dim recessed lighting in the aisle. It’s beautiful. Our waiter came by and introduced himself as Anthony. I ordered a cranberry juice with ice and Monty got a Coke. Anthony gave us a few minutes with the menus. As soon as I saw traditional carbonara on the menu, I had made a firm decision. Monty and I sat in comfortable silence while we perused the menu. Even though I knew what I wanted, it never hurt to look at the other options.

After we ordered-carbonara for me and lobster ravioli for Monty-Anthony left us to our evening. “This is really nice.” I said, after a sip of my juice.

“I figured we deserved nice. Or rather, you deserved nice. After everything… and I know you’ve been stressed about school. So, I figured you could use a night off.” He left the obvious tension between us and the cause for it unsaid. We both knew the reason.

“It’s still nice. And we do deserve it. This dress is beautiful by the way.”

“I thought you would like it.”

“When exactly did you acquire it?” I asked, with a sly raise of my brow.

“About yesterday…” Montgomery began, “Jamie wasn’t having girl troubles.”

“I kind of figured. Have they even decided if they have anything to have troubles over?”

“No. They’re still not together. But they go places together and buy each other things. And have sex. Apparently, there is a lot of sex.”

“But they aren’t dating.”

“No.”

“Maybe he is having girl troubles.”

“Maybe.” He chuckled. Anthony came by with our orders. Unsurprisingly, the food was delicious. Mouth wateringly delicious. My eyes widened in ecstasy. So did Monty’s after he took a bite of his own food. We each shared a bite with each other and smiled. So good. So so good.

We spent the rest of our evening talking and enjoying being with each other. It was very nice. We hadn’t gotten to do the whole going out and just being together thing in a while. I pushed the last of my carbonara around on my plate. I wasn’t bored exactly. I was having a wonderful time. “Hey. Where’d you go?” Monty reached across the table to take my hand.

“Oh. Nowhere. I was just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“This is really nice.” I paused.

“But…?”

“I would honestly much rather be at home in sweatpants watching the new episodes of Law & Order from the other night.”

“Me too.” He giggled. I couldn’t help but giggle along with him. He motioned to our waiter for the bill. The black holder was placed in between us. Monty placed some cash inside and set it down without so much as a glance at me. He helped me with my coat and took my hand after he put on his own. As soon as we got out of the restaurant, I stopped and turned to him.

“Race you to the car.” I grinned before taking off like a bat out of hell. I heard him bark out a laugh behind me. I didn’t look back. Nor did I turn when I heard his footsteps. He wasn’t running because of his knee. They were getting closer though. Even without running, he was able to gain on me because of his gait. Running in heels was not the easiest thing in the world but I managed to beat him to the car. When he arrived with the keys, I was grinning at him, triumphantly from the passenger’s side. “I won.”

“Yes you did.” He was grinning back at me.

When we got home, the two of us changed into our comfiest sweatpants and t-shirts. I threw on my old Tigers hoodie and popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave after taking off my makeup. Monty pulled up the recorded episodes. I couldn’t tell if he wore his grey sweats on purpose or not. We got comfortable on the couch and hit play. From the get-go this episode of SVU had both of us on the edge of our seats. The popcorn was mostly untouched. I teared up multiple times. When it was over, I ripped the remote from the coffee table and scrolled up to the new episode of Organized Crime. I couldn’t stand to wait any longer than strictly necessary. Our eyes were glued to the screen for the whole hour, minus the fast forwarding through commercials. By the end, we turned to each other in shock. “Wow.” Was all I could say about it.

“The new theme song is pretty great.”

“Yes. I don’t know how to process any other thoughts about it though.”

“Me either.”

“Very worth the wait.” Monty only nodded in response. I yawned and stretched. It was getting pretty late. The afternoon coffee I had wore off a while ago.

“Tired Bookworm?” I yawned again and nodded. Monty carried me to bed and tucked me in. I cuddled up beside him.

Before falling asleep I mumbled, “thank you for tonight. Was really nice. Ni’ night.”

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blushoseoks · 4 years

Text

GREY AREA (M) 14

“And just like that, your fate was sealed - because Min Yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. But hell, if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.

And sadly, at the time, you didn’t think that your thoughts would become so literal.”

pairing: min yoongi x reader

warnings: mature, heavy angst

genre: soulmate!au, slowburn

words: 1,752

chapter index

Cherry blossoms bloom from their sprouts and envelope the trees above where you lay, illuminating the already orange-red leaves with even more color.

What a shame, echoes in your head, they’ll be dying soon.

“Hey, Y/n,” a voice fills the surrounding air shared between the three of you. Looking away from where your eyes had been focused on the branches above, you turn your head towards Seokjin, cocking an eyebrow indicating for him to continue on.

“Have you heard from Jungkook lately?” The air in your lungs lets out as he voices his question. “He’s been a bit hard to keep in contact with.”

You part your lips to let your sigh escape silently, lifting a hand you rush it through your hair, head moving to glance back upwards at the blossoms, shaking your head in the process of your statement. “No.” You say. “I haven’t.”

And it wasn’t a lie, you had not heard from Jungkook in over a week, not since the night of the party. Texts you sent went unreplied to, but certainly were read if the little R indicated anything at all. You had attempted to talk to him once after class, only for him to all but run out of the room before you had the opportunity to even approach him.

During the day you had seen him in Sociology, the younger looked worse for wear. Dark circles littered the space underneath his eyes, his brown hair went unkempt, and a blank face he had been sporting.

It had been odd, you noted, seeing Jungkook with anything but a smile.

Whatever had happened to Jungkook, was enough for him to completely isolate himself.

“Hm.” Seokjin says, lips moving to curl to the side as if in deep thought. “Yoongi says he hasn’t really been at their apartment all that lately either.”

The mention of the aforementioned causes another deep sigh to slide past your mouth.

You hadn’t spoken to or even seen Yoongi since the day after the party, he had not shown up in Literature - which hadn’t really surprised you all that much. And the text he had sent you that night was the first and last you had received.

“I’m sure he’s just busy.” Namjoon voices a moment later, eyes moving from the words in his book to stare at his boyfriend, and then to where you lay in the grass. “You and Jungkook seem to have gotten closer lately, has he said anything to you? Is anything bugging him?”

And that’s just the thing- you weren’t sure. Memories of the party were still coming back, bits and pieces were making themselves known little by little - but many parts were still missing. You couldn’t be sure that Jungkook hadn’t warned you that he may be busy as of late, you couldn't be sure that Jungkook didn’t mention if something was bothering him.

Luckily for you, Seokjin cuts in before you have to think of a response.

“--But that’s the thing, even when Jungkook is busy he’s never been one to just cut off all contact.. That’s more of a Yoongi thing.”

There’s a moment of silence as you and Namjoon try to search for answers. Neither of you were that close with the younger, therefore neither could offer a logical reason for his sudden radio silence towards not just you - it seemed, but the entire friend group.

Seokjin lets out a distressed sigh, in which Namjoon’s hand immediately moves to run through the older’s pink locks. “I’m sure he’ll come around.. When he’s ready.”

Yeah, you say silently. Hopefully.

Sunday [10:39 PM]

You:

Hey, I’m sorry for not messaging you sooner.. I’ve been asleep all day. What happened last night? R

Tuesday [1:12 PM]

You:

Hey, I had a question about the assignment due. Do you have time to meet for lunch? R

Thursday [2:15 PM]

You:

Did I do something wrong? R

“-- Alright, what is it?”

You glance up from where you had been absentmindedly thumbing through the same messages you had been staring at for a week straight.

“What?” You mumble out, eyes finding Yoona who sits at the opposite end of the couch.

“Dont ‘what,’ me.Tonight was supposed to be a girls night, but I’ve spent the entirety of it looking at you wallow at your phone.. So fess up, what is it that’s got your undies in a twist?”

It takes a moment for you to soak in her sentence, lips parting around no words as you contemplate whether you should indulge her or keep it all to yourself.

Part of you felt guilty. You had promised Yoona an explanation for your disappearance the night and day after the party, and instead you were repaying her friendship with a half-assed night. With not an ounce of your attention.. The situation with Jungkook was driving you crazy, having someone upset with you for no known reason was something you were unfamiliar with.

You were sure you had plucked a strand of grey from your hair.

A grey hair!

Never in your life had you felt the stress you had, ever since Jungkook had started to avoid you.

Nevertheless, you let out a soft breath.. “I told you, Yoona.. I still don’t remember everything that happened that night.”

Her eyes narrow at you skeptically, silently letting you know that she didn’t fully believe you, not that you could blame her - even if you did remember the events of that night, the chances of you telling her were slim to none.

“Okay fine.” She says, eyes looking like they’re about to roll out of her head. “But tell me about what happened when you woke up.”

You pull your legs up onto the couch, arms hugging around your shins as you rest your chin on your kneecaps.

“To put it bluntly, I woke up in Yoongi’s bed.”

It could be described as comical - the way Yoona’s eyes almost bug out of her head.

“Wait..” She screeches, “Yoongi’s?” She asks, a face akin to horror shown obviously around the curve of her lips.

You decide to ignore her confusion, having no energy to explain.

“I had no recollection of how I got there. None..” You shake your head, “Then as I was leaving their apartment, he shows up.”

“Wait.” She says, still appalled. “Yoongi’s bed? Like - the one that isn’t very friendly -- has sort of a resting bitch face? Hardly talks? That Yoongi? His bed?”

“Yoona,” you say, “focus.”

Her lips form around a silent o, as she tries to take in the information handed to her. “Okay..” she urges you to continue. She gathers her legs, bending them behind her so she can sit on the back of her knees.

“Anyway,” you start, “he offered to buy me food since I hadn’t eaten in hours, and I accepted, thinking he could give me some information. We went out to this little diner.”

You watch as her lips purse, her eyes pulling together.

“So, did you ask him how you came about ending up in his bed?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You let out another sigh. “He said he found me asleep in some bedroom at the party.”

She’s silent for a moment, you watch as the confusion continues to spread across her face.

“Any idea whose?”

You lift your shoulders upwards in a shrug. “Some friend of Jungkook’s.. Yoongi says he found me asleep with Jungkook.”

She lets out a breath, one that seems a little like relief.

“Alright, that, I’m not surprised by.”You want to scold her for making light of the subject, “-but I am confused as to why Yoongi took you to their apartment and not your own. And why he didn’t leave you alone with Jungkook?”

You shrug, letting out another sigh. “I asked him, he said he wanted to make sure that I was safe.” Your eyes fall down to where you’ve interlocked your fingers together, lips parting as you recount the story Yoongi had told you.

The realization that he had wanted you safe, brings the smallest of smiles onto your lips.

In a small voice, you speak, “he said I didn’t have my key on me and he didn’t know if Hoseok and Taehyung would be home to let me in.”

You watch her teeth bite her bottom lip as she’s silent for a few moments - moments that for some reason, put you on edge. Your anxiety raises a little bit. She studies you - expressionless. And then after what seems like minutes, she finally speaks, thumbnail brushing across her bottom lip.

“Alright.. Hear me out, okay?” Her eyebrows uplift, you swallow the building lump in your throat, but nevertheless nod.

“Remember how I told you I thought Jungkook had a crush on you, and Seokjin basically confirmed that?”

You nod. recalling the conversation that had revealed that truth.Seokjin had basically confirmed it, and you were still trying to figure out how that made you feel, nevertheless whether at all it was possible or not.

“Well, you started the night out in bed with Jungkook-” you grimace- “do not give me that look, I’m not judging just stating facts - but, you ended up in Yoongi’s bed. So let’s say that Jungkook wakes up to find you gone, he panics and tries to call you, no answer. Then, he gets to his apartment and for some reason goes into Yoongi’s room - and sees you in Yoongi’s bed..”

She trails off suddenly, hand moving to steady her chin as her elbow digs into her thigh.

“Maybe he thinks something happened between you and Yoongi, he’s either jealous or angry, and that’s why he’s behaving towards you the way that he is.”

You take a moment to soak in her words.Contemplate whether it made sense or not. The thought of Jungkook completely ignoring you due to his own assumptions didn’t make a lot of sense to you, it didn’t seem characteristically accurate for him to do something so petty. And, if you remembered correctly he hadn’t attempted to call you that night nor the next morning.

“I’d like to think that Jungkook knows me better than to--”

You’re interrupted by a well manicured finger swaying in the air. “Baby, when it comes to feelings all logic is tossed out the window.”

You unravel your arms from around your legs as you allow yourself to relax into the back of the couch, head moving back and chin tilting so you’re staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t like that.”

“Most of us don’t.” Yoona says around a melancholy snicker.

You let your eyes fall on your female friend. “What do I do now? He won’t answer my texts and he all but runs whenever he sees me.”

You watch as she visibly contemplates this for a moment, pink tinted lips rubbing together.

“Maybe this is something he’ll come to you with.. Eventually.”

“So I give him time?”

The thought of not talking to Jungkook for even longer makes something swell up inside of your chest. Something twisted and revolting. Something you cant quite pinpoint.

She nods, moving a hand to rest over your own, as if she can somehow view the inner turmoil this causes within you. “Sometimes time is the only thing a person truly needs.” Her voice is soft, comforting.

And though she is speaking about Jungkook, her words resonate with you.

If Jungkook needed time - you’d give it to him, just like you had done the same with Yoongi, even if it made you feel sick inside.

You hadn’t known Jungkook for long, but the boy had seemed to wrap himself around a place in your heart.

If only time could explain why the knot you had felt in your chest for a week hadn’t disappeared but only intensified as the days went on..

[a/n] it’s been a long, long, long, long time. :( i am sorry this is little and short compared to past chapters, i just thought you guys deserved something. i love you, still. <3 as always, feedback is truly appreciated... if anyone is still reading or still there.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #btsfanfic #fanfiction #bangtanfanfiction #bangtan fic #angst #yoongi fic #min yoongi fic

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

Note

If you're taking requests, maybe the foxes reacting to soft andreil? I love seeing their relationship through outside perspectives

Sorry for the delay! I ended up with two very different ideas for this and wrote both of them. I’ll be posting the other one in the next week or so! [EDIT: Here it is!]This was great fun to write. Thank you for the request.

In the Eye of the Beholder

Read here or on AO3

#1 Dan

Dan raps her knuckles against the door to the monster’s flat and waits. Nicky greets her with an impressive mop of bedhair and a baffled expression which smooths over only when Neil darts past, citing brunch with Dan as his excuse for being awake at such a thoroughly reasonable hour on a Sunday morning. He’s in high spirits, from what Dan can tell, rolling on the balls of his feet as they wait for the elevator to arrive. Dan is ready to put it down to excitement over their plans – she has a stack of potential recruits under her arm thicker than Les Misérables for them to discuss, hopefully with a stack of pancakes of equal height on the side. Then she spots the light bruise peeking over the hem of Neil’s collar, and draws a very different conclusion about the source of Neil’s good mood.

She smiles as they step into the elevator, but keeps the observation to herself. While some members of the team love to badger Neil for the slightest insight into his relationship, Dan is willing to push her curiosity aside for the sake of Neil’s privacy. He has plenty other teammates to pester him without her jumping on the bandwagon.

Just before the doors slide shut, an arm bursts through the gap, forcing them open. Andrew is as stoic and terrifying as ever (not that Dan would ever admit it) even while wearing Neil’s foxprint-patterned pyjama bottoms. The quickened rise and fall of his chest is the only hint that he ran to get here.

Neil raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of his underdressed partner.

Andrew lobs something at Neil which bounces off his chest and lands on the floor between his feet. Neil stoops to scoop it up, and Dan sees that it’s his wallet.

“Thanks.”

“Idiot,” Andrew huffs. He retracts his arm, and the doors slide shut on the sight of him stalking back to their dorm.

Neil taps the wallet against his hand a couple times before sliding it into the wallet.

“You’re both idiots if you think I’m letting you pay for brunch,” Dan says wryly.

Neil shakes his head. “I said I was going to pick up some stuff at the store afterwards. But thanks. Brunch is on me, though.”

“We’ll see,” Dan says, which means no. “Okay, I’ll admit it. That was sweet of him.”

The corner of Neil’s mouth twitches. “Nah. He’s just making sure I come back with the junk food I promised him.”

“Sure.” And, oh, Dan had been trying to be good, but she really can’t help herself any longer. “So, did you guys mean to give each other matching hickeys, or was that just a fun little accident?”

Neil slaps his hand to his neck and groans.

All in all, it’s a great morning.

#2 Kevin

Aaron’s trial is coming up. Kevin wouldn’t care (well, he would, but for different reasons) except that it’s making the cousins snippy and fractious. More so than usual. Andrew isn’t sleeping properly, although he would deny that it had any relation to the trial. Unfortunately, his insomnia is contagious, which ends with Neil losing focus at their night practice, having spent the best part of a week running on fumes and gatorade.

Kevin has been patient – patient by his standards, anyway – but the third fumbled catch in a row snaps his temper like brittle bone.

“Get the fuck off my court, Josten.” Kevin says, smacking the base of his racquet against the floor.

“Fuck you,” Neil answers reflexively. He stops to push his lengthening bangs back from his face.

“I’m not joking. You’re in no state to play. Get the fuck out.” Kevin wishes Neil would take it as the blessing it is, a night to re-focus and re-calibrate, but instead he’s glaring Kevin down like he just asked him to eat sewage.

Neil turns away from him to send another ball barrelling towards the goal. It misses by an entire foot.

“Neil,” Kevin says sharply, readying for a fight that neither of them have the energy nor patience for.

Before he can begin, the doors to the court bang open. Andrew stands in the entrance, arms crossed. It’s the expression that ends an argument before it’s had time to start; Kevin knows it far, far too well.

Andrew leads Neil away to the showers while Kevin continues his drills.

When he’s finished washing up, he finds the pair in the team lounge, collapsed on the wider of the couches. Neil is asleep, slumped into Andrew’s side. Andrew looks up as Kevin enters, but he doesn’t move his hand from its resting place in Neil’s hair. Although Neil was the only one of the pair training that night, Andrew’s hair is plastered against his head as though he, too, is fresh out of the shower. Kevin tries not to consider the implications.

They wait in silence for a few minutes, watching as Neil sleeps, properly sleeps, for the first time in far too long. Neither are willing to disturb him, but the night is late and Kevin has a whole host of classes waiting for him in the morning.

“I’ll walk back,” says Kevin. Andrew meets his gaze for a long moment before nodding briefly. The bags under his eyes betray him.

Kevin darts back into the lockers to pick up Neil’s abandoned kit bag. When he passes them again, Andrew has slouched onto his side, having manoeuvred Neil in front of him so they can both lie comfortably. His arm is slung protectively around Neil’s waist like Andrew is prepared to beat off the world to keep him there.

Kevin knows they spend more nights in each other’s bunks than out of them in the dorm, but somehow they’re always up and away before anyone else is awake enough to give them any hassle over it. Kevin doesn’t care, but Nicky can be overbearing at the best of times, and Aaron is… well, Aaron. But here, in the privacy of an empty stadium, it looks like Neil has finally found enough security to drop off at last, and Andrew looks ready to follow. Kevin shuts the door behind him, not quite smiling, but close. It was strange to some, the idea of Neil and Andrew, but anyone who saw them curled up together would see it plain as day. They just fitted.

The next day, Neil is closer to being himself again, and no more is said on the matter.

#4 Matt

Matt has to admit that press duty with Neil is never boring. The interviewers seem to share his opinion, visibly perking up when Neil follows Matt into the room. They lost to the Bearcats, but it was close enough that Matt doesn’t have to lie when he says that he’s proud of the team’s performance today.

“Some are saying that the failure of the defence line in later stages was due to Minyard’s performance in goal in the second half. How would you respond to that?

Matt doesn’t know why he bothers opening his mouth; the question may be directed to him, but he knows damn well that a boulder in the shape of Neil’s fury is already barrelling in this hapless reporter’s direction. “Well-”

“Last time I checked, this was a team sport,” Neil says loudly. “Was I hallucinating that, or has there been a few rule changes since yesterday?”

Matt isn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Coach had told Matt to keep an eye on their resident fire-starter as though anyone was at all capable of controlling Neil when there was a mic in front of him. Matt feels sorry for the poor sucker that will one day be assigned to the role of Neil’s publicist, because he’s sure that Neil will drive them into an early grave alongside Matt’s.

“You have to admit that the number of goals that he let in-”

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that his entire defence line had already played two full quarters before he even stepped foot on court. People get tired the longer a game goes on, of course defence is going to suffer in the second half. But sure, keep pinning it on the goalie you clearly have it in for.”

Matt claps a hand on Neil’s back. “What he said,” he agrees, staring down the reporter.

They take no further questions.

Matt doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when he leaves the showers to see Andrew and Neil alone in the locker room he ducks back out of sight. He walks into at least one dramatic confrontation amongst his teammates per week, and sometimes the best way to deal with the daily bouts of fox drama is to hide and wait for the storm to pass.

“Point me to where I asked you to lead my own personal crusade.” Andrew’s flat tones echo off the tiled floor. Matt regrets leaving his Ipod in his bag. The conversation doesn’t seem too personal to overhear, but Andrew and Neil have never been the easiest reads.

“I’m tired of them talking shit about you just because they have a vendetta against anyone with your…” Neil trails off. Matt imagines him to be making several expressive hand gestures; it’s hard to condense all of Andrew’s history and circumstances into one word. “…everything,” Neil settles on.

“Your principles should not intersect with my business.”

“Even if it could affect your future career?” Neil’s words are met, unsurprisingly, with silence. “Besides, yours do.”

“Explain.”

“When I first came here, you told Nicky to back off. Not out of concern for me. Because of your principles.”

This time, the silence stretches so long that Matt doesn’t think Andrew is going to answer.

“Point,” Andrew concedes.

“Besides, is it so bad that I’m standing up for you?”

“Only when it’s making new enemies for you. How many does one man need?”

“I’ve got room for a few more,” Neil says. There’s a rustle of movement, and, oh, are they kissing? Matt strongly suspects that they are kissing. It’s more than his life is worth to look. He takes a few steps back, rattles his kit loudly and makes as much noise as possible before entering the locker room. The pair are a safe distance apart by the time he enters, and Matt gives them a probably-not-convincingly-casual nod before busying himself with his change of clothes.

The pair spend the journey home holed up together at the back of the bus, and if he suspects that they’re doing a little more than talking, Matt keeps it to himself.

They’ve earned a little privacy, after all.

#5 Aaron

“Well, maybe if you stopped and took the time to, I don’t know, explain literally anything that you do, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.”

“Aaron,” says Bee, a gentle reprimand. He isn’t in the mood to hear it. His attention remains on his brother, who’s features remain the same stony, impassive blank that they have in almost every joint session to date. It’s an expression that makes Aaron want to tear his hair out, or kick his brother’s face in, or both.

“What would you like me to explain?” says Andrew, more of a challenge than an offer. Aaron snorts, because, where to fucking begin?

“How about we start with your little fuck-buddy, seeing as you’re so keen to start on mine.” Earlier that week, Andrew had returned early from a class to find Aaron and Katelyn together in their dorm room. The result, while not outright violent, had been deeply unpleasant for all involved. And of course, Andrew was being an ass about it.

“Aaron. We’ve talked about this. How can you expect Andrew to talk about Katelyn respectfully if you won’t offer the same respect to his own partner?”

Aaron scoffs. “It’s not the same.”

Andrew’s eyebrow… it doesn’t quirk, but it twitches. “Oh?”

Aaron gestures vaguely. “You know what I mean.”

“I can assure you that I don’t.”

“Me and Katelyn. You and Neil. It isn’t the same.”

“How so?” Andrew’s tone isn’t in the danger zone yet, but it’s edging towards it.

“I’m not talking about the gay thing. I’m talking about…” The hand Aaron was waving clenches into a fist as he drops it into his lap. “Don’t make me say it.”

Andrew and Bee share a look over his head.

“Aaron,” says Bee.

“I just, fucking…” Aaron grapples with words, struggling to find a combination that won’t rip them apart any worse than they already have been. “How the fuck can you expect me to believe that you and him… that you’re real. That you’re normal, that you’re like us, after everything those fuckers did to you. What makes him so different?”

Andrew watches him. Just when Aaron resigns himself to the fact that no answer is coming, Andrew speaks. “If I ask him to stop, he stops.”

Aaron bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he thinks he might have drawn blood. “It can’t be that simple.”

Andrew shrugs.

“How?”

Andrew’s eyes flicker upwards, like he would rather be anywhere else, having any other conversation in the world than this one. “We have a system. We don’t touch each other without asking first. We listen to each other. We talk. What more do you need me to say?”

Aaron falls silent. He doesn’t know what he needs from his brother, still, but it’s something.

“I have a question in return,” Andrew’s eyes flick to Bee. He isn’t looking for permission, but she nods in encouragement nonetheless. “Katelyn. What makes her so different?” Andrew meets his gaze dead-on as he turns Aaron’s own words back on him. “How can you trust her, after everything that bitch Tilda did to you?”

And finally, it all clicks into place.

Aaron forces himself to look his brother in the eyes. So much like his, yet at the same time so different. “Okay,” he concedes at last. “I see.”

Because, at last, he does.

#7 Allison

Neil appears at Allison’s door with a black eye, a bust lip, and the words “don’t freak out,” spilling from his mouth before she can get so much as a word in.

“Great start,” she says, pulling him in. “Who do I need to kill?”

“My shoelace came undone and I ate shit while I was on my run. I just need enough makeup that I can get through class without looking like I’ve been in a fight again. Do you know how many of my lecturers have taken me aside to give me the domestic abuse hotline?”

“You should know how to do this yourself by now.” Allison rolls her eyes as she leads Neil through to the table.

“You’re better at it,” he admits grudgingly, and oh, doesn’t that just warm her heart to hear.

“Nice try. You’re still taking me out for coffee after this.”

Neil pulls a face, and Allison laughs. It doesn’t take long – Allison has treated him in far, far worse shape, as much as she’d rather not think about it – and soon there’s only the faintest smudge around Neil’s eye.

“Can I tempt you to some mascara? Glitter?” Allison asks, waggling her eyebrows as she spreads the contents of her makeup bag out for his inspection.

“Maybe next time,” says Neil, “When I’m not going to a calculus lecture.”

“But that’s the best place for it.” Allison dabs the tip of his nose with her brush, and Neil’s face scrunches up as he tries to hold back a sneeze. His hair flops back down over his forehead as he moves, falling into his eyes.

“Don’t move just yet,” Allison says, yanking a drawer open and fumbling for the kitchen scissors. “I’ve been meaning to deal with that mop for weeks, and right now I have you trapped.”

“Oh, no,” Neil says flatly, but still he surrenders herself to her demands. Wise move.

“Perfect,” says Allison a few minutes later, ruffling Neil’s hair to shake away the last loose strands. “Ready for the red carpet now. I hope there aren’t any cute guys in your maths class, or Andrew is going to go mad with jealousy.”

Neil snorts. “He’s not really the type.”

“Mhmm,” says Allison, because in her experience, everyone is the type.

Speaking of the psychotic little devil himself, Andrew bursts through the door just as Allison is brushing up the last of the trimmings.

“Hey,” Neil says, apparently impervious to Andrew’s thunderous entrance. Andrew ignores the greeting, taking hold of Neil’s chin to turn his face from side to side.

“Kevin said you fell,” he says, relinquishing the grip. Allison half-turns away, pretending to busy herself tidying but really listening, because the monster’s overbearing-boyfriend performances are rarely seen in public yet endlessly entertaining.

“Shoelaces. Who could have seen it coming?”

“I did. And warned you. Twice.”

Neil winces. “My bad.”

Andrew mutters something under his breath that seems to involve the words kill you. The day Allison understands their relationship is the day that she gives up on any and all gossip for the rest of her life.

Then, Andrew pauses, distracted. “Did you trip and fall onto a pair of sheers?”

“Allison gave me a haircut. How does it look?”

Andrew holds his hand in front of Neil’s face. When Neil nods, Andrew runs it quickly through his hair, gently tugging at the roots as he goes. “Awful.”

“Hey,” Allison interrupts, outraged. They both start, and Andrew’s hand drops away, like they had forgotten she was there. Which was the point, really. She holds the scissors in Andrew’s direction. “You’re next, scraggy.”

“When I’m dead,” Andrew replies flatly. It’s clear he isn’t joking. Neil shakes his head at them both.

“Come on, then,” Allison says. “Neil’s taking me for coffee. Give us a ride and I’ll buy you the sugariest, most expensive drink on the menu. I’m hoping the diabetes will finish you off if lung cancer falls through.”

Andrew glances between them. “Fine.”

Sugar and Neil; the keys to Andrew’s stony little heart.

#8 Nicky

Nicky is fully capable of responding to his cousin’s newfound domestic happiness with maturity and decorum.

He just chooses not to.

This has nearly ended in violence no less than eight times. But really, how can he be expected to let it lie when his cousin, who came to him an unruly, violent teen to whom any conversation was like pulling teeth with plastic tweezers, is, for the first time, experiencing the gay teen college romance Nicky could only have dreamed of?

With his fiancée a million miles away, Nicky has to live vicariously when it comes to matters of the heart. There is no better subject for this than his violent baby cousin, who, it seems, isn’t such a baby anymore.

Nicky is beyond late for his class already when he realises that his laptop is dead. He had been skyping with Eric until ass-o-clock in the morning, forgot to plug it in before passing out in his bunk and is paying for it three-fold. He has two options; pencil and paper (what is he, a toddler?) or steal someone’s laptop. The answer is both clear and obvious.

Andrew’s is the first to hand. He most likely won’t surface until noon, by which time Nicky will have returned from class, leaving him none the wiser. The perfect crime.

Or it is the perfect crime until Nicky opens the laptop in the middle of his seminar to a webpage that is filled with very, very unsafe-for-classroom content.

Nicky slams the laptop shut. It wasn’t a video, none of the sites Nicky knew from his own fits of late-night loneliness. Large blocks of text, diagrams that were more analytical than downright pornographic. Nicky slides the laptop open again, just enough for the screen to light up once more, and tabs up. No, not porn. Informative. Educational.

The girl beside him, although unable to see his screen, is giving Nicky some very strange looks. Nicky glances back to the laptop before sliding it shut once more. Pencil and paper will have to do.

The class is drier than dirt, leaving Nicky’s mind with far too much space to think. A dangerous pastime in Nicky’s case, Eric would say teasingly. Nicky had assumed – well, not that he had thought about it, much, but Andrew always seemed so set and sure of himself that it was hard to imagine him googling how-to guides like an acne-riddled teen the night before prom. His apparent innocence is weirdly adorable. Not a word Nicky uses out-loud in his cousin’s presence, but true all the same.

Nicky remembers his first time. Awkward, uncomfortable, and involving entirely the wrong set of genitals. He can only hope Andrew and Neil’s is better.

He shouldn’t get involved. He really, really, shouldn’t.

Nicky slips the laptop back into place mere moments before Andrew slouches into the living space. Nicky watches him as the coffee-maker gurgles away, thinking.

“Andrew.”

Andrew glances up. Nicky isn’t sure what he reads in his face, but it must be setting off alarm bells, because his hands move almost unconsciously to his sleeves. Nicky holds his hands up.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I just…” Oh, this is a lot more awkward than Nicky anticipated. “You know, I’m always here for you. If there’s anything you want to talk about.” He clears his throat. “If you have any questions…”

Andrew’s eyes narrow. They flick in the direction of his desk. Nicky remembers, far too late, Andrew’s impossibly perfect memory. He would remember the exact position he left his laptop in. Nicky is busted.

“Don’t borrow my laptop,” Andrew snarls. The coffee brewer clicks, and it may be the only thing that saves Nicky’s life.

“I’m sorry! I was in a rush!” Nicky says weekly. “If it’s any consolation, the guy who sits behind me now thinks I’m a grade-A pervert.”

Andrew slams a mug down on the counter so hard he almost cracks it. “One more word. One more.”

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise, I’ve been there, okay?”

Andrew takes his coffee and his laptop and leaves without another word. Nicky counts it as a blessing.

The next day, he’s working his way through the mother of all essays when Andrew enters the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Nicky keeps working until Andrew pulls a chair over to Nicky’s desk and sits in it. He stops typing mid-sentence, fingers hovering over the keys.

“Everything okay, Andrew?”

“I want you to take a moment and remember how many knives I have on me right now.”

“A lot, I assume.”

“A lot,” Andrew confirms. “If I had any other choice in the world, I would take it. But I have you. So, I’m going to ask you something, and you are going to be calm and level and mature and everything that you usually are not when you answer.”

“Of course,” Nicky says in a heartbeat. He can’t think of a single time Andrew has ever come to him for help, not even when he was wrapped up in bed and coughing his lungs out the day before his AP Calc exam. Nicky has never been more determined to get something right in his life.

“How,” Andrew says, stops, starts again. Today is full of firsts; Andrew is usually so careful and measured with his words. “How do I do it without hurting him?”

Nicky’s heart is ready to melt or break or explode, maybe all at once. “Oh, Andrew.”

“The knives, Nicky. Remember the knives.”

“Okay,” says Nicky, and he tells Andrew everything he can. He wants, more than anything, for Andrew to be safe and happy, and if it involves going into details that even Nicky is squeamish about discussing with family, then that’s what he’ll do.

He offers to write out a list of reliable books and websites for Andrew to check out, ones he used himself and others Eric recommended to him. Andrew shakes his head.

“Just tell me. I’ll remember them.”

When they’re done, Nicky almost claps Andrew on the shoulder. He thinks better of it, hand hovering mid-air before he withdraws it. “Andrew.”

Andrew is half-way out the door, but he stops, which is more than Nicky expected.

“You’ll be fine.”

Andrew huffs, and abruptly disappears. Nicky smiles to himself as he turns back to his essay.

It took him a long time to piece it all together, but the truth is that Andrew really can be quite sweet, in his own terrifying way.

Nicky wonders how long it will be before he has to give Neil the sex talk too. Maybe he should offer.

Best not to; he has some self-preservation instincts, after all.

#9 Renee

Renne likes to think that she has improved at reading Andrew over the years. Some of his quirks are more obvious than others, however; it doesn’t take a student of human character to notice that when Andrew wants to spar, it’s usually because he has something on his mind.

Renee is hardly in a position to judge, not when she finds the cut and blow of a vicious fistfight as cathartic as he does. There’s still a piece of Natalie Shields underneath all of Renee’s growth like the pit at the heart of a peach. Sometimes the best way of holding her down is by letting her out in controlled increments. Give her the inch so she won’t take the mile.

As usual, it is only when they have beaten each other to exhaustion and back that Andrew is ready to talk. They sit cross-legged in the centre of the room, slurping down apple-juice cartons like kids in the playground, and finally, Andrew speaks.

“I want you to train Neil.”

Renee sets her carton down. “I thought Matt was teaching him to box.”

“He’s a shit boxer.”

“Neil or Matt?”

“Both.”

Renee shakes her head. She reaches back to pull out her hair tie, letting her bangs tumble back into their usual place. “Is there a reason Neil hasn’t asked me himself?”

Andrew is silent. There it is; the heart of the matter.

Renee sighs. “I’m not going to force Neil to train with me if he doesn’t want to.”

“I don’t force Neil to do anything,” Andrew says sharply. Renee winces; it was a poor choice of words on her part.

“Why do you think he needs it?”

“Matt is teaching him how to box. It’s not the same as real fighting.”

Renee hums. “Can’t he do something for fun?”

“That’s not the point. Besides,” Andrew pauses. “Matt only knows how to fight like the fuck-off giant that he is.”

Renee can’t argue with that; Matt never had to learn the same style of combat that she and Andrew did. He may teach Neil how to throw a good punch, but there’s a big difference in stance and strategy when your opponent is a foot taller than you. Renee and Andrew learned that the hard way.

“And who is it that you think Neil is going to be fighting?”

Andrew waves one arm in an all-encompassing gesture. “Have you met him?”

“Andrew.”

“Renee,” he shoots back, imitating her tone and inflection.

“What did he say when you suggested that I teach him?”

Andrew scrunches up his features in an imitation of Neil’s ugh face. “He said that he gets enough bruises as it is.”

“He’s not wrong.”

Andrew doesn’t roll his eyes, but his eyebrows twitch as though he’s considering it. “He also said he doesn’t need to get any better. Because he…” Andrew grimaces. Sharing is still tough for him, even after years of therapy and trust. “He has me to protect him.”

“As I said,” Renee says, smiling. “He’s not wrong.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He has his moments.”

They finish their juice boxes in silence.

“Well,” says Renee, getting back to her feet. Her legs may be going stiff, but there’s still some fight left in her. There always is. “I may not be able to train Neil, but at least I can train his bodyguard to the best of my ability.” She holds her hand out to Andrew. After a moment of careful consideration, he takes it, using the pull to swing himself to his feet. “One more round?”

Andrew nods, determination setting in his eyes like concrete. “One more round.”

Renee likes to think that she has improved at reading Andrew over the years. This time, as they trade hits and kicks, it isn’t anger or frustration powering Andrew’s movements; it’s something far more powerful.

She thinks – hopes – prays – that the worst of Neil’s fights are behind them. All the same, she sleeps a little easier knowing that, should the day come, Andrew will be at his back with a knife in each hand.

That’s love, after all.

Thank you for reading - please let me know what you thought

Still open to requests!

#aftg #andreil #tfc #neil josten #andrew minyard #my fic #asks #anon

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buckyfeelings · 4 years

Text

Culotte: Chapter Two

Pairing: Mob!Seb x Stripper!Reader

Summary: When the strip club you work at gets a new owner...

Warnings: Masturbation, Failed Orgasms (?), Dry Humping, Swearing

A/N: Sorry for any spelling errors etc, I’m ill rn and wrote this all in one go.

It had been an entire week since you’d met Sebastian. Today being Friday, meaning you were probably going to see him tomorrow. The dullness of your professor’s voice sunk right past you as you mindlessly scrolled through your social media feeds, not paying any attention to the actual lecture.

Your mind relentlessly flashing back to your new boss, you couldn’t get his face out of your mind… those dark blue eyes staring deep into your soul, his fluffy brown locks cut short but not too short and just his overall figure had your mind creating several different scenarios in which he had you pinned under him. You were brought back to reality when you realised everyone around you had got up to leave, quickly grabbing your bag you left the room as well.

When you made it back to your shared apartment you found it to be empty, Sam was probably out grocery shopping you thought. You dropped down on the couch and let out a big sigh, you were feeling nothing but boredom with a slight tinge of horniness. You promptly got up from the couch and decided the best thing for you right now would be a bath.

Turning the faucet on you watch as the water leisurely fills the tub. Once it’s reached ankle level you decide to ensconce yourself in it, playing around with the already miniscule amount of water. With eyes closed your hand slowly moves from the base of the tub to your feet and then slowly up your legs, reaching your thighs where it halts. Your eyes flutter back open and meet the faucet … The pressure in which water was spewing out of the faucet was supplying your mind with a very dirty idea right now.. What could go wrong? I mean no one’s ever died of putting their vagina under a bath faucet, have they? You lie down on your back with your legs against the wall, spread open, and put your lower half under the faucet letting the pressure do it’s work.

It felt good for a while until the warm water turned hot, causing you to wince and slide back to your previous position. Giving into the failed faucet masturbation you turned it off, leaving your mind to wonder for a couple of minutes; Sebastian Stan, your new boss or did he prefer Mr Stan? you thought. The man who had plagued your mind, as if he had poisoned you just by looking at you. Your hand quickly found its way back to your thighs, caressing them slowly, ultimately reaching your pussy. You imagined they were Mr Stan’s hands and not yours, were his hands soft? or were they rough?

You imagined his voice as you rub your clit, him dirty talking you .. calling your pet names like princess. You were reaching your peak when the door burst open. You let out a yelp, removing your hand and sinking deep into the water attempting to cover your naked body. Sam, the person who interuppted all your fun put her hand against her mouth in shock. ‘’Don’t you lock the door’’ She said, her voice matching her shocked expression ‘’Why’d you come in?’’ was all you could think of, embarrassment painted all over your face.

‘’I thought no one was home.’’

‘’You weren’t home when I got here.’’

‘’Sorry, but hey look on the bright side, we’ll be laughing about this in the future!!’’ Sam said with a low laugh, closing the door and walking out. Not leaving before adding on a ‘’But hurry up I need to piss real bad.’’ You sunk further into the water, sighing while bringing your hands to your face. Not everyday your roommate walks in on you masturbating and then walks it off with a laugh.

You had not left Sebastian’s mind all week, to him you were his ideal woman, he was awestruck by you. That night when you left the club he had watched with a growing lust in his groin. Now he found himself alone in his bedroom, sweat covered hair from his previous gym session with nothing but a tank top and shorts on.

Sebastian raked a hand through his wet hair and flopped back onto his bed. Then it hit him, tomorrow would be the weekend which meant he would be seeing a certain ‘princess’ tomorrow. The thought of you, your beautiful face that he couldn’t fucking take his eyes off. His hand finding his way to his shorts, he palms himself through his shorts thinking about your face. Hand now diving into his shorts to reach his now hard as a rock thick length. He strokes himself while imagining your plump lips in front of him. God what he would give to have you right in front of him right now.

Grunting as his pace fastens, he’s close now. But to his unfortunate surprise a short knock comes from his door before it opens to reveal his second in command, Chris. “Sorry to bother you Se-“ he says, his face not leaving the pile of papers in hand, unbeknownst to him what was actually going on in the room. A rush of anger overtakes Seb

“Get the fuck out of my room now.”

“Sorry I was just”

“No, get the fuck out of my room and don’t fucking come in here unless I’ve said you can.”

Chris left without question. Sebastian was a huffing mess. Jesus, he was a mess. He just wished he could skip the whole evening and see your face again.

~ fast forward to the weekend ~

Saturday came, you arrived at the club expecting to be greeted by Mr Stan but he was nowhere to be seen. In fact you don’t see him for the rest of the day. You worked nonetheless, had some nice tips that day too.

Come Sunday you walked into the club with a little spark of hope that Sebastian would show. He wasn’t there to greet you and the rest of the girls like Eddy once did. Some of the girls saw him as irresponsible but the other’s really didn’t care as everyone just got on with their work.

As you danced you couldn’t stop your mind from thinking back to Sebastian. You hoped he was somewhere in this room watching, even though the possibilities were low. By the end of your shift you made your way back to the dressing room. It was empty with the exception of one man sitting in your seat.

“Princess.”

His voice was deep, like he was calling you to him. You slowly stepped towards him, your mind was one big mess of questions right now.

“Mr Stan.”

He let out a chuckle while stroking his jaw with his hand “Mr Stan, you don’t have to call me that Princess, makes me feel old.”

“What are you doing in here? you haven’t been at the club the entire weekend and now you just pop up in the dressing room?”

“I have been at the club, you just haven’t seen me Princess. I’ve been working in the office, signing papers and statements before I actually start running this place.”

To be honest you zoned out from the moment he called you princess and hadn’t paid any attention to what he had to say. Sure princess was your stage name but hearing Sebastian say it sent sweet waves of fire to your stomach. Sebastian lent back in the chair he was sitting in, not once breaking eye contact “Dance for me.”

“Dance for me like you dance for all those men out there.”

Before you could even start any actual movement just two steps towards Sebastian and he had your wrists in his grasp, bringing you down to sit on his crotch. He had you in hold, his eyes stuck on your lips with you feeling his obvious hard on his crotch was sporting.

“Princess, you don’t know how long I’ve been fucking waiting to get you like this. Can I kiss you?” “Yes” you barely breathed out. He doesn’t waste a second, licking his lips before connecting them with yours. Tongues massaging each other as you grind on his crotch as he moans into your mouth. The two of you stayed on that chair, kissing and grinding, god you probably wouldn’t be able to sit on that chair again without thinking about him again. He moaned into your ear “Princess, you taste like heaven”

“–But I can’t keep calling you that baby” He brought his hands to your cheeks and slowly caressed them with his thumbs as he said “What’s your name baby?”

You looked into his eyes, blue turned black with lust. His lips a bruised mess while his cheeks were now painted red. You waited a second, taking his appearance in before giving him your answer

“Y/N”

#mob!sebastian stan #mob!seb #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #stripper!reader #mob!sebastian stan x stripper!reader #sebastian stan x stripper!reader #smut

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ballerinaroy · 4 years

Text

it wasn’t love (but this might be)

How Angelina and George reconnected after the war.

On Ao3

If it were just for flying Angelina would like her job a whole hell of a lot more. But the start of a new season promised very little time on her broom in favor of clothing too tight to throw a quaffle in while talking to reporters about everything other than the sport she professionally played.

She grinned and beard the spectacle of it all, knowing it was her team's best chance at landing ad revenue and a favorable schedule, enjoying the few moments she could catch up with other players she knew from Hogwarts or had met on the road.

“I’m going to quit,” she said through a false smile as she at last escaped the company of the young new executive for Quality Quidditch Supplies

“Take me with you,” replied a voice that clearly understood her exhaustion.

Angelina turned, ready to apologize for her lack of enthusiasm and found Ginny Weasley, lurking behind a chair with a comically high back, looking equally worn out.

“Ginny!” she said happily, “I’m so pleased to see you.”

“You’ve no idea,” Ginny sighed, “Is it always like this? I feel like I can’t breathe without someone asking me a stupid question.”

Angelina laughed, “Would you like a lie?”

A grin split Ginny’s face and she shook her head.

“I’d heard you’ve been offered a spot with the Harpies,” Angelina went on, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” said Ginny, rightfully looking proud. “How are you? Sticking with the Tornados?”

Angelina nodded. “Yes, yes. Extended my contract another two years. I’ve been good, my brother just got married so it’s been quite a year but I’m more than ready to get back to flying and not all this political nonsense.”

“You’re telling me,” Ginny agreed with a sigh. “Since tryouts, it feels like I haven’t been on my broom at all.”

“It’ll get better,” Angelina promised her. “How is everyone? How’s George?”

The question had been burning at her ever since she had spotted Ginny, though she hadn’t meant it so come so quickly.

Ginny’s smile dipped and her voice lowered. “He’s, er, he’s doing the best he can.”

“Right,” Angelina nodded, wanting to spare the girl from having to answer such an intrusive question. “I’ve been meaning to reach our, I just didn’t know…”

Ginny gave a practiced nod and Angelina felt like kicking herself for doing what she could only suspect so many others had done.

“Right,” Angelina said again, feeling her cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Well, tell him I said hey, would you?”

“Course,” Ginny nodded, looking a little upset.

There was an uncomfortable pause and Angelina wished to fade back into the crowd she was so embarrassed.

“Come round for dinner,” Ginny said suddenly.

“What?”

“At my parents,” Ginny clarified. And to the horrified look on her face, “It’s not like that, George is still living at home and everyone comes round on Sundays, Harry, Ron, Hermione. He’s not been up to leaving the house, but I’m sure he’d like to see you. And at the least, you could catch up with the rest of us.”

“Alright,” Angelina answered, surprising herself. “Should I bring anything?”

Angelina had only ever seen Mr. And Mrs. Weasley on the platform along with a vague memory of them being at her Uncle Micheal’s funeral, but when she walked through the door they greeted her as if she’d been coming round for years.

“And how’s your father?” Mr. Weasley asked after they’d greeted one another. “I haven’t seen him since Perkin’s retirement party.”

“Good, good, my older brother got married this summer, been busy with the wedding.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Mrs. Weasley beamed. “You give them our best.”

“Of course,” Angelina said just as the door to the other room opened and in filed Ginny, Harry right on her heels followed shortly by Hermione, Ron, and bringing up the rear, George.

Angelina hadn’t seen him since the funeral and at that moment she felt like she was looking at a ghost. His hair was long and hung limp on his face, the color absent from his cheeks. His clothes seemed to hang off of him and it was hard not to stare at him in pity.

“Oh, good, you made it,” Ginny interrupted her staring and she turned to greet them all.

It was hard to open a paper these days without one of them making the front page, but seeing them in person was so different. Gone was the haunted look from Harry’s eye that she’d seen at the Battle of Hogwarts and instead filled with joy at the sight of her. And how they’d all grown. Ron had already been a head over her when they’d played together at Hogwarts but now he positively towered over them all, even George though perhaps it was because he hung back, trying not to draw any attention to himself.

But there wasn’t time to be awkward with one another. Already everyone was sitting down after hugging her and whether it was by design or accident, Angelina found herself and George sitting beside one another at the middle of the large dining table.

Dinner was pleasant, Mrs. Weasley a wonderful cook and so long as she didn’t stare at George too long there was nothing uncomfortable about being there. It rather reminded her of school on the days the team would all eat together, before a match or when practice ran late.

Everyone else had migrated to the other room by the time she came back from the wash and she found George sitting alone in the darkened kitchen. He offered her a weak smile and she sat down in the chair next to his.

“Hey,” she said to him, smiling.

“Hey,” he echoed, giving her a smile as well.

The question of how he’d been died on her lips and they stared at one another in the relative darkness.

“Listen,” she said, feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry I didn’t write.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t write either.”

“Yes, but-“ she broke off, knowing that the rest of her sentence didn’t need to be said. In the other room, there was a burst of laughter and George tensed at the sound. “I should have written.”

“You’ve been busy. Big quidditch star and-“

George broke off mid-sentence and she waited for him to finish, but his face merely turned to stone.

“That happens a lot,” he admitted, staring at the empty chair beside him.

She waited, patiently for him to go on, ignoring the itch to brush the moment away.

“It’s like someone took away half my brain,” George said finally. Another long pause and her desire to make the moment lighter. “The stupider half, mind.”

And so ridiculous, so painful, she couldn’t help but laugh. The kind of delirious caught she’d heard her mother emit the day her Aunt had died.

“It wasn’t that funny,” George said weakly, finally averting his eyes. His voice trembled with the effort of holding back his own tears.

“No,” she agreed, trying and failing to compose her face. “I know you can do better than that.”

To her utter surprise, he snorted and grinned at her. “Ah, fair enough.”

She continued to laugh with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just-“

“I know,” he said kindly. “I know.”

They put on pained smiles and Angelina dabbed the corners of her eyes with the sleeves of her jumper.

“You should come out,” she said impulsively,“for drinks.”

“Angie-“ he protested, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s just Katie and Wood and Alicia on the days she thinks she can survive five minutes without her boyfriend.” She went on as if he hadn’t interrupted. “We miss you,” she said, her voice breaking a little. “I miss you. And it’s just drinks and Quidditch. So, you should come.”

He declined her first owl. And her second. But on her fourth, she got the bright idea to send the message via Ginny and finally received a short reply.

Don't give up easy do you? See you tonight. -George

A quarter of an hour passed and then another and still, Angelina found herself staring at the door every time it opened, barely listening to the rambling story that Oliver was telling. But then, just when she’d given up hope, another cool bit of air hit her face and she looked up to find George standing just over the threshold, looking deeply uncomfortable.

The whole table turned and stared as he approached and Angelina, unable to sit still, jumped up to greet him.

“You came,” she said in surprise, meeting him halfway across the room.

“Since you’ve put in so much effort to get me here, I can presume you’re buying?” he said in a quiet voice and she grinned at him.

“What are you doing this Saturday?” she asked one Thursday evening as they waited together at the bar for their drinks.

He’d become a regular at their little club. Cut his hair though it was still long enough to hide where his ear was missing. Looked more like himself even though he spoke slower and didn’t laugh as loud.

“Nothing,” he answered, looking down at her in surprise. “But don’t you have a match?”

“Yes, well, I was wondering if you’d like to come?” she asked. “I could get you a couple of tickets.”

“That’d be brilliant,” he answered with a smile. “But I’d only need the one. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Well, that’s good because I’m not seeing anyone either,” she said boldly and he looked impressed by her courage. “But seriously, you should bring someone. It’s bound to get boring.”

“I won’t be bored,” George replied, looking stunned at the idea. “I’ll be watching you.”

He began putting his arm around her chair as they listened to their friends talk, so casually she wasn’t even really sure he was aware he was doing it. But every time she would smile to herself, and when they stood talking to others she lean a little closer, brush her hand against his.

She’d dated since school, and her career certainly provided a plethora of opportunities to meet interesting people, but she couldn’t remember ever having so much fun with someone, even if they weren’t technically dating. They were friends, she kept telling herself. Friends who hung out with others at pubs and stayed up late talking to one another, sitting side by side on the floor of her bedroom.

The fact that he’d started coming to all of her matches, didn’t really mean anything. Nor did it mean anything that she now attended dinner at the Weasley’s each week so long as she didn’t have to work. Weeks passed with them slowly relaxing around one another, spending so much time with one another that she actually missed him on the odd nights he wasn’t free.

We’re just friends. She told herself. He’s still grieving and doesn’t need any pressure.

But then one November evening, came the night with the tea. They’d been bullied out of her room by her flatmates and (after a rather copious pre-party) had been drug out to a club her teammates like to frequent. She could tell that George hadn’t wanted to come, but had been a good sport about it. Angelina had never been too fond of the place either and had been coming less and less in the months since they’d started seeing one another.

“It’s rather loud in here,” she said, leaning up to shout in his ear.

He nodded, though she wasn’t positive he’d heard her.

“Would you mind taking me home?”

George nodded gratefully, guiding her through the crowd and summoning their jackets from the table. His hand stayed on her shoulders till they were at the door and helped her into her coat as the bitter chill hit them.

“Thanks,” he muttered to her as they stepped away from the entrance and towards the alleyway they could leave from.

“No, thank you,” she said, putting her arm through his. “I’m all for going out, but what’s the point if you’re just screaming at one another?”

“What was that?” he asked mockingly, miming clearing out his ear. She laughed, stumbling around the side of the building still arm in arm.

Seconds later the bitter chill had left them and was replaced with the stale smell of the hallway just outside her door. George held her gloves as she fumbled for her keys and she unlocked the door, thankful to be home. She looked back to find him hesitating at the threshold, looking torn on whether to follow.

“Care for a drink?” she asked, hoping to draw him in. “If there’s anything left that is.”

George stepped through the door as she passed through to the kitchen, littered with half-empty bottles from the pre-party, and not smelling much better than the club they’d left.

“I wouldn’t mind some tea,” he called.

“Excellent,” she said gratefully.

He’d removed his coat and stood in the archway between the rooms, looking out of place.

To say she didn’t know what her plan was would be to admit that she wanted to have a plan. She had just wanted to get out of the bar, to get him out of it, but now that they were alone it was hard not to want to be closer to him.

“Mind handing me the mugs?” she asked, pointing at the drainboard, perfectly within her reach.

But of course, George obliged at once, stepping into the small space and passing them to her. Their hands met on the handles and lingered for a moment before she gave thanks and set them on the counter. George didn’t step away and she could feel him behind her as she put the tea bags in slowly before turning to face him. She had to tilt her head back to stare at him for how close he was standing and she leaned against the counter to stare up at him.

He was looking at her in a way that she’d only ever witnessed from the corner of her eye, but now he was unbashful in his looking at her.

“What?” she asked breathlessly just as he swooped down, hands on either side of her face and their lips crashed together.

Instantly she reached for him, and just as it was getting good, her lips beginning to tingle and racing brain surrendering to her heart he pulled away rather unexpectedly.

Angelina’s eyes flew open in surprise and found that he’d taken a step away and was looking at her, horrified.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” she assured him, trying to close the space between them again but respecting him when he flinched away from her. “George that was-“

But she didn’t have the chance to finish her sentence. George gave one last terrified look and disappeared with a loud crack just as the kettle began to whistle.

“Er, is George home?” she asked, feeling like she was in primary school and asking her friend's parents permission to play.

“Oh, yes, come in, please.” Mrs. Weasley said, ushering her into the kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, er, he just left his coat,” Angelina explained, holding up the garment that had laid, untouched in her room for several days. “I thought I’d bring it over and make sure that everything was alright.”

“Oh,” she said, “Well, thank you, I’ll go see if he’s up. Would you care for something to drink? Tea?”

“No, really, that’s alright,” Angelina said, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

But Mrs. Weasley merely smiled and headed off towards the stairs. She peered around the room as she waited, trying to distract her anxious mind. Across the room, she spotted a clock hanging on the wall, hands pointing in all different directions. Curious she took a step towards the clock on the wall and found it to contain nine hands, most of which pointed not at numbers but at work or home. The hands bore inscriptions and when she leaned in she noticed the names of the Weasleys and automatically she sought Fred and George’s names-

“Hey.”

George looked worse for the wear, his hair flattened on the side of his head as if he’d just been woken up.

“Hey,” she said back a little too brightly.

He stared at her expectantly and she held up the jacket in her hands. “You left this.”

“Oh,” he replied, blinking at it in surprise. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she answered. “I would have stopped by earlier, but we’ve had training the last two days and-“

“You could have sent it by owl,” he interrupted.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She replied, feeling a little hurt.

“I’m fine,” he said in a practiced but unconvinced way. They stared at one another. “Listen, I should apologize.”

“For what?” she asked, surprised.

“For kissing you,” he said in an ashamed voice. “I wasn’t thinking and-“

“I wanted you to.”

“You don’t have to say that to make you feel better.”

“And I wouldn’t say it just to make you feel better,” she said, a little snappier than she’d intended. “You’ve been putting your arm around my chair for weeks, we’ve spent almost every night this past month sitting side by side on my bed. If anything you did made me uncomfortable, don’t you think that I would have said something?”

He looked at her like he’d never considered it and she braved stepping closer to him.

“I fancy you, George,” she admitted boldly. “I have for some time, but I wanted to give you space and respect that you might not be in the same place that I am. I will be there for you, even if it is just as friends, but please don’t apologize for kissing me because I’ve been thinking about it for ages and my feelings really would be hurt if you tell me now that you didn’t mean it.”

His face suddenly looked like his own and he grinned at her. “For ages?”

“Shut up,” she replied, blushing. “You think that it’s some accident that I always sit next to you whenever we go out? It’s not just because most men over-do their aftershave.”

He reached up to feel his own unshaven face. “Most men?” he asked self consciously.

“I rather think yours smells nice.”

George straightened, dropping his face from his hand and looked pleased with himself. They grinned, somewhat shyly at one another.

“I’m not asking you for a relationship or anything,” she told him. “I do want to be your friend, but I’d also like to think that perhaps one day we could be something more. But only if you feel the same way.”

“I do,” he said quietly.

Angelina felt her heart flutter in her chest and was unable to stop the open mouth smile from splitting her face. George was smiling back almost as widely. The stood smiling at one another for what felt like several blissful minutes.

“Er-are you doing anything tonight?” George asked.

Angelina shook her head. “Nothing.”

“I should probably shower, but, er, could I take you to dinner?” he asked. “So long as I don’t overdo the aftershave?”

She giggled and nodded. “It’s a date.”

“Did you love him?” George asked.

Angelina was grateful that she had her head against his chest to avoid having to meet his eyes. She thought about ignoring the question, faking sleep in hopes that he’d lack the confidence to ask it again. But it didn’t feel fair to leave the question unanswered.

“It wasn’t love.” She braved finally, her own heart pounding in her chest. “Truth be told I had a crush on the both of you which was ruddy confusing and felt a bit dehumanizing.”

“How so?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“You were both your own person, I didn’t think you were just one, but a lot of the traits I was attracted to I found in the both of you.”

“Like what?” he pressed.

Forcing herself to raise her head she placed a hand on his chest to rest her chin on and stared into his eyes.

“Like how funny you were,” she said, beginning with the obvious trait. “You always knew how to make me laugh even when I was in the worst mood.”

“Yeah, you did have a bit of a grumpy streak,” he teased and she grinned at him.

“I was a teenager, I was allowed to be moody,” she answered. He shook his head, brushing the hair from her face.

“What else?”

She pretended to think on it. “How protective you were. I’d always pretend to be cross when you wouldn’t let me go off on my own before matches against the Slytherins, but I was grateful that you never let Flint or any of his friends bother me.”

“Had to protect our star player,” he said in a low voice, looking pleased with himself.

“And when I was made captain, you never let anyone talk shit about me, even when I was a bit overbearing.”

“A bit?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Shut up,” she said playfully, swatting at him. “And then, even after that bitch kicked you from the team, you’d still sneak onto the pitch to watch our practices.”

George smiled fondly at the memory.

“I knew you were just there because you were bored, or perhaps to watch Ginny or Ron, but sometimes…” her breath caught as she was on the verge of spilling a secret she’d never said aloud. “Sometimes, I’d pretend you were there just to watch me.”

And seemingly without thinking, George replied. “Sometimes we were.”

And Angelina watched, delighted, as the tips of his ears turned red. There was a tension between them that had never been there before despite the experimental kissing that they’d participated in. His breathing was the loudest thing in the room aside from her thumping heart.

“I loved him,” she stammered, unable to keep quiet. “Loved F-Fred, like I loved you.” It was her first time saying his name since, and she hated that it caused George to take a sharp intake of air, his whole chest spamming beneath her hands. She forced herself to go on. “You two were among my best friends while we were in school. I hated when you left school and every time you wrote me I’d read the letters over and over, searching for a deeper meaning.”

George chuckled, “We weren’t that suave.”

“A girl can dream,” she whispered.

There was nothing forced about his smile and she was positive he could hear her heart for how loud it was thumping. “I really like you, George. Being with you, it’s like—“ but words failed her. “Magic. I just like you.”

“Thought you loved me,” he teased and she found herself hiding her face. When she looked back up he bent his head to kiss her. “I’m really glad you came over that first day,” he told her once she was breathless. “I missed you.”

#george weasley #angelina johnson #harry potter fanfiction #George/Angelina #roywrites

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joonclouds · 4 years

Text

A space situation

You sigh heavily and shut your eyes. The man was so intelligent, but days like this you wonder if sometimes his brain took unpaid leave.

“My house is literally a third the size of your closet.”

If this wasn’t your house you might have found it a little bit funny. But it is your house.

Joon is your very rich very endearing sugar daddy but also very clumsy and sometimes rash in buying you whatever what he sees fit but it’s not very practical all the time.

Namjoon x Reader

Genre: It’s a fluff party guys

Word Count: 3k

Note: Quarantine can be inspiring lol

You don’t know you’re smiling, but it’s there. A tiny little smile lingering on your face as you watch the man in your kitchen from your crummy two-seater couch that barely fits into your living room.

It’s not a sight you’ll ever get used to seeing, you think, Namjoon with his designer suits and perfectly swept back hair, fumbling around in the drawers. He was wearing that new Dior shirt you had picked out for him last week.

When he’d came in to your dingy apartment, he’d removed his (probably very expensive) cufflinks and tossed them in your countertop dish.

“You shouldn’t treat your things so carelessly,” you chastised, taking them from the dish and moving them somewhere safer. Even in the cheap incandescent light, the large stones twinkle softly and you wondered how much they cost.

“They’re very pretty.”

‘What?” He’d glanced up briefly from his phone to see what you were holding. “Oh you like those? I can send them to my jeweler and get them set into earrings for you if you want.”

You nearly drop the cufflinks.

When he stands he bumps his head on an open cabinet.

He’s a bit befuddled for a moment and sends the cabinet door a look, but it quickly melts into a grin when he hears you giggle.

“Hey, don’t laugh. I’m six foot and this kitchen is literally made for someone who’s like five-nothing.”

God, you wanted to take a swim in those dimples.

You get off the couch and walk over, opening the second drawer to pull out a whisk and offer it to him.

“You’re the one who wanted to come to the dump which is my apartment, Joon.” It’s a matter-of-fact tone, but you can’t hide the twinkle in your eyes.

“I wanted to make you that dalgona coffee thing. But I don't have instant coffee at home. I didn’t know if it works with normal espresso.”

“You’re telling me you have a thirteen thousand dollar coffee machine at your place, and no instant coffee.”

Namjoon makes a face. “Instant coffee tastes like dishwater.”

You grab the bottle of instant coffee and shove it in his face.

“I love it.”

Namjoon shakes his head and grabs the glass jar from you, delivering a swift peck on your cheek.

“I love you.”

You blush, one hand going up to cup your face. To hell with butterflies in your stomach, this man truly gave the zoo a run for its money.

You’d met him while waitressing at one of those fancy fundraiser gala dinners. It paid the best, and between struggling to feed yourself and those overdue college bills, you were ready to swallow your pride and deal with the pompous crowd for a little while.

Namjoon had always thought it was a blessing he’d survived thirty three years not having broken a bone (well, he’s caused other people to break their bones, but that doesn’t count.) But that night, accidentally spilling his wine on you was the one time Namjoon ever felt truly lucky that he was a clumsy oaf.

You looked like a little deer, flustered and apologising, reaching for the nearest stack of napkins to fuss over the cuff of his jacket, when he should have been the one apologising to you. The two of you at a later point have recounted this first meeting and you still can’t believe he finds it hilarious that you were horrified, on the verge of tears because you thought he’d expect you to pay for his jacket.

Though you later understand why he’d find that funny. One thing more genuinely beautiful than his face was Namjoon’s heart. He’d insisted he book you a cab home (after understanding you didn’t have a spare shirt), and settled with your manager that you’d be taking the rest of the night off.

The next day he caught you by surprise, showing up on your doorstep in a cream cable knit sweater, and a black gift box adorned with a white camellia in hand (half out of apology, but also because he needed an excuse to see you). You’d opened the door, let out a strangled squeak and promptly slammed the door shut in his face. Later, he did get invited in when you didn’t so closely resemble a drenched version of Dobby, but it was unlikely you’d ever forget the horror of that moment.

Of course at first, your relationship was merely transactional - he paid you for your company, mostly at more of these fancy galas where he needed someone to distract the crowd while he really talked shop with the important people, and you.. well who were you, a mere mortal, to say no to that? It would get your bills paid, put food on the table, and Namjoon was kind, intelligent and not bad to look at.

Okay fine, he was great to look at.

Sure he’d been divorced once, but everyone has skeletons in their closets, right? Namjoon’s closet was three times the size of your apartment so there’d be plenty space to hide them. (Later, much later, you also become privy to the information that the guy could fuck you six ways from Sunday, but that’s besides the point… you think.)

After the parties on the way home you’d started to linger in his car. He’d walk you up the stairs of your dingy apartment complex. You hold hands, his large one dwarfing yours as the both of you walk as slowly as possible up the entire ten flights.

It was dangerous for you to walk alone, he said, but really, Namjoon wanted to talk to you a little while longer. You were nothing like he’d ever known. You were quiet. Listening. But really listening, not just waiting for your turn to talk. So different to the ditzy socialites in his circle who wanted only to talk about themselves.

Its not long before you're inviting him in for coffee - he drank your dishwater coffee quietly for the next three months before he suggested going to his place where the ‘real coffee’ was.

You fell fast, and you fell hard.

Not that you didn’t have your share of heated romances with people your age, but none of them really got you, listened to you as intently as he did when you rambled on about the inequality and hegemony of this world. You chalk it up to the fact that you’ve always been more mature than others - a result of circumstance. Not by choice, really, but it was what it was.

Namjoon always carried an air of introspection around him. Not intentionally. Many people took that for pride, but you realised quickly it was quiet confidence. He liked to listen and learn and observe.

On your coffee nights he begins to give you a glimpse of who he really is. Undoubtedly, he’s a Kim. That cool, nonchalant disposition was his battle armor. But beneath that you come to see the man who when you ask him about the telescope in the corner of his study, tells you he still entertains his childhood dream of being an astronaut. That on clear nights he likes to read Carl Sagan and look at the stars, wondering about the kind of lives they lead.

You learn he’s a great big klutz that breaks the handles off his cabinets ‘by accident’. You see the soft side that sometimes likes to read children’s books because ‘some of the best lessons in life are simple and humble ones’. And eventually the side that suddenly pulls you in closer in his sleep to his chest on rainy nights because he hates thunder. You always wake because you’re a light sleeper, but you’re glad you are, reaching up to smooth the furrow between his brows gently with a thumb before cuddling deeper into his embrace.

It’s also the first time he smiled at you. It was the week before his birthday, you’d given him a little resin keychain with little pressed wildflowers. He’d gone silent for quite a while and you didn’t know if he hated it or loved it.

“It’s a keychain.”

“Yeah.. It’s not much but I made it in a resin art workshop I went to, you have everything already and I hadn’t any idea what I could afford that you’d need-“

“You made this?” He interrupts, looking up at you.

You feel your gut shrivel. Jesus Christ. He hates it.

Immediately you move toward him to remove your offending gift. You were a Tiny Bit Hurt, but what had you been expecting with a cheap thing like that?

“If you don’t like it, it’s okay. You don’t have to use it! I just thought because you call me your little wildflower you’d like - “

You can’t finish your sentence because your face is smushed into Namjoon’s (very nice, very broad) chest as he pulls you into a crushing hug.

Horror takes over slightly and you struggle to move away. “Namjoon, I’m wearing so much foundation, and you’re in a cream Givenchy sweater - “

“I love it.”

You stop struggling. His warm breath tickles your ear, one large hand cradling the back of your head.

“You do?”

“I do. I love that you put in all this effort. You are my little wildflower. Always blooming in surprising places.’

You hug him back, nuzzling into his scent. The Givenchy sweater could wait. There was always drycleaning.

“And now I’ll have something to remind me of you wherever I go.”

When he pulls back to look at you he’s sporting not just one of those polite half smiles, but a full on beaming grin that make his eyes into smiling crescents. You get to see how deep his dimples actually are.

You swooned so hard you thought you might’ve given yourself an aneurysm.

Well, fast forward a year and here you are.

Watching the owner of a global business conglomerate make you some silly whipped coffee drink in the kitchen of your tiny apartment with water stains on the wallpaper, his diamond cufflinks sitting in a repurposed butter spread tray that held coins and keys on your countertop.

Watching your klutz boyfriends, ad he jerks the whisk at an odd angle and gets foamy coffee splattered all over the front of his white shirt.

'Joon, that’s Dior.” Your face crumples. Grabbing a towel out of the drawer, you wet it and try to dab the coffee stains off. That shirt was so expensive, it could pay your rent for three months.

You knew and had come to terms with the fact that money would always worry him far, far less than it worried you, but seeing such an expensive item go to waste would never stop making you a little bit unhappy. Well, there was more to it, but you shoved those thoughts away.

Namjoon sets the bowl down on the counter.

“It’s okay, love. I’ll just get a new one if the stains don't come off.”

You scrub harder.

After a silent moment, Namjoon puts his hands over yours to still them. “It’s not just about the shirt, is it?”

He waits for you, like he always does because he knows you need a little time. He’d wormed his way into the deepest parts of your heart, but there would always be a final little fence you had to decide to take down. He was okay with that.

After a minute, you nod. Gently, he takes the dishcloth from you and sets it aside so he can hold your hands properly. Times like these he just wants to hug you and hope that would be enough to protect you from the world. You taught him that money, as much as it solved problems, was not everything.

He puts a finger under your chin and tips it up so he can see your face.

“I just..”

“Go on.” He encourages.

“I know we’ve been through this before, but I can’t help but feel like I’m a… I’m a burden.”

Funny, considering how you two started out. The sugar baby/parent lifestyle just wasn’t for you. You were a Bad Ass Bitch who didn't need anyone, and it was important to stay on brand.

“Like, I keep being on the receiving end and sometimes I just feel like I can’t do anything for you. You spend so much money on me. The other day after we went shopping you bought me such lovely fruits to stock my fridge, and even got me a new heater for my room when it’s cold, and now you’re making me coffee because I sent you that post on Instagram and I just….

“If you didn’t have to come to my stupid old apartment you shirt would still be clean and I …“ You gesture vaguely at him and then at yourself.

“You give me so much. And well, I’m… just me.” You say finally.

Namjoon’s just been listening as you ramble, face unreadable. He;s got his business face on and you can’t tell if he’s angry with you or not.

“So you feel like you can’t do anything for me.”

You nod.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding the topic every time I ask you to move in with me?”

You nod again.

“Look, _____. I want you to listen to me. Like really listen.” His hands move to cup your face, eyes now staring intently into yours.

“You give me something in this world no amount of money can buy. You make me feel whole. You make me feel excited that I get to do life’s most mundane things with you. Even if it involves drinking dishwater coffee.”

That last part gets a small smile out of you, so he knows you’re in the clear.

“I know you’re not used to receiving nice things, because the world hasn’t given you much of it. I hate that. What I do for you, I do with my whole heart. I will continue to want to do these things for you for as long as you’ll let me.

“And maybe if I keep doing them one day you will see how everything, everything I do for you pales terribly in comparison to what you give to me by just existing.”

You’re so overwhelmed with emotion so you just respond lamely “o..okay.”

In your head, your two braincells clap enthusiastically as they crown you honorary president of the Idiot Club.

Namjoon sighs and rests his hands on the countertop on either side of you so he can look at you eye to eye. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. Eyes vulnerable and lips soft, just like you should be. He hates the world for treating you so cruelly.

“And for the record, I insist on spending time here I noticed you’re more… yourself than at my place. I want you to feel comfortable.”

“That’s not true.” You raise your chin petulantly, because you’re slightly prideful that way and don't want to acknowledge that Namjoon sees through you clear as day.

“Don’t argue with me.”

Namjoon narrows his eyes fractionally, his gaze darkening, and suddenly you’re very aware that you’re caged in. Not that you were complaining but was it suddenly really hot in here?

“I’m not arguing.”

“Yes you are." He's lowered his voice and its taken on a huskier tone.

“You know that everything I do, I do out of love for you. And I will damn well put up with your apartment with no complaints if it means you will feel more at ease.”

This man was going to give you whiplash with the way he made the most loving words sound like filth.

You lower your gaze, just the way you know he likes, and look up at him through your lashes. Two could play that game. You see a spark ignite in his eyes.

“I know.”

“You know, what?”

“I know, sir.”

“Good. Now why don’t I finish making you that coffee, and then we can go back to my place and we’ll see what you really know.”

With that, he releases you to get the milk from the fridge, and you spin around to place one hand on the countertop and one hand over your chest. You suck in a breath you didn’t know you were holding. A few seconds longer and you’d have -

A sharp cracking noise from behind you quickly sweeps any indecent thoughts clean out of your mind.

You turn to find Namjoon looking at you with an incredibly apologetic expression, holding a black piece of plastic which what seems to be -

“Did you break the handle off my fridge?”

Three days later he’s sporting the same apologetic expression, the only difference is that you two are separated by a towering, stainless steel monstrosity that now sits in the middle of your living room, leaving you two to converse by having to look around the sides of it.

“I’m sorry, ___. I didn’t know it’d be this big.”

“That’s what she said.”

You peer around the corner with a cheeky grin. He gives you a look that’s half withering and half amused. “Mature.”

Reassessing the appliance in front of you, you throw your hands up in the air.

“For the love of sweet god, Namjoon. This fridge is ridiculous. I’m not feeding the entire village. You’ve seen my apartment, how did you think this was going to work?!”

“I dont know, okay? I just called my home decor guys and told them to send you the same fridge I have!”

You sigh heavily and shut your eyes. The man was so intelligent, but days like this you wonder if sometimes his brain took unpaid leave.

“My house is literally a third the size of your closet.”

If this wasn’t your house you might have found it a little bit funny. But it is your house.

You wait, but there’s just silence from his end, so you continue.

“What do you expect me to do with this monstrosity? Take a fucking winter holiday in it?! We can’t even -“ you kick the sofa for emphasis.

Pausing because he’s still unusually quiet, you stretch to look around the fridge again. He’s on his phone, tapping away in furious concentration.

“What are you doing?”

“Give me a minute.”

Oh no.

“What are you doing.”

“Relax, my love, I’m fixing the problem.” He waves you off nonchalantly. “Give me a minute.”

“Are you calling the delivery men to take this back?”

There is a genuinely confused look on his face when he looks up.

“What? No. Don’t be silly. I’m texting my real estate agents. They’re getting you a new house so this fridge will fit.”

#joonclouds #namjoon #bts namjoon #namjoon fluff #namjoon fic #bts fic

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firesoulstuff · 4 years

Note

And finally for an added challenge Captain Canary prompt 47, AU letter B, and trope 14 all in one fic.

47. “You know I can tell when you’re checking me out, right?”

B. College AU

14. “Five Things” Fic

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544165/chapters/68416062

Leonard can’t wait for this weekend to be over.

The school had all incoming freshmen move in on Friday instead of Sunday with the rest of the school, that way they could host the “Welcome Weekend” which thus far has consisted of the RA’s and a few other staff members forcibly shepherding them all to a variety of ‘fun’ events, uncaring that most people just want to sleep.

Ah well, at least tomorrow the rest of the school moves in and then the staff should have their hands too full to be bothering with all this.

Tonight’s activity is a barbeque on the grounds right outside the dining hall, and if nothing else it’s providing Leonard a good opportunity to see what he’s dealing with for the next four years.

Most kids seemed to have grouped up with either roommates or friends they made during the overnight orientation over the summer, but there are still more than enough stragglers. Athletes are all clumping together too, a good amount of them moved in Wednesday rather than yesterday cause of practices.

Speaking of the athletes, Leonard can’t help but to roll his eyes when he spots Mick heading over to a group of girls.

Well, this should be good.

He’s pretty sure they’re a sport group; they all look athletic and ditzy enough. There’s five of them, and the one Mick is talking to Leonard vaguely recognizes as having been in their orientation group. Amaya, he’s pretty sure her name was. He doesn’t recognize any of the others, but he will admit he’s a little intrigued by the blonde one next to Amaya.

Like the other girls she’s dressed in shorts and a crop top, which cuts off around mid-waist and from this distance he can make out the faint line of a healed scar poking out from underneath. How interesting.

Not to mention, those shorts are hugging her ass perfectly.

He thinks he sees her flick her eyes back at him, but he can’t be sure. He almost is… Maybe it was just his imagination.

Somehow Mick doesn’t scare Amaya off in the first week and one night while the two of them are eating dinner her and the blonde girl come over to their table with their trays in their hands.

“Can we join you guys?” Amaya asks.

“Sure.” Mick says before Len can protest. He doesn’t even have time to properly glare at Mick before the girls are sliding into their two vacant seats and making themselves comfortable.

Amaya takes the seat next to Mick while her friend slides in next to him. Len scoots his chair over to make room.

“Thanks.” Amaya says as she settles in. “This is my roommate Sara. Sara, this is Mick and Leonard.”

“Hey.” Len says while Mick grunts, and ok, maybe Sara’s eyes aren’t the first place his go when he looks at her. They’re the second place, which he thinks is good enough, and it isn’t like he’s being a creep and staring at her chest.

He’s staring at all of her.

She’s attractive, a good head shorter than he is and built with compact muscle.

“How’s practice?” Mick asks Amaya, and mentally Len officially checks off that he was right on that point. They do sports, and so they’re not going to give him the time of day once they realize he and Mick aren’t exactly pack animals.

“Good.” Amaya says, “Tiring.”

“And painful.” Sara adds in, “I swear, I’ve had my ankle on ice all day and it still hurts.”

Ok, fine, against his better judgment, he’ll bite.

“What do you guys play?” He asks, and while Sara scoffs Amaya giggles, the two of them sharing a look.

“We don’t really ‘play’ anything.” She answers, “We’re on the dance team.”

College, it turns out, is going to be a very different social scene from high school.

Leonard had assumed he and Mick would keep mostly to themselves, maybe with the occasional exception of Mick going out to a party and him needing to go drag him back to their room. He assumed it would be filled with all the cliques school has been filled with for as long as he can remember, and to an extent it is. But at the same time there are… exceptions.

As expected, there are groups. The nursing students, the athletes, the theater kids, the video game club, the commuters, and the kids like him and Mick who don’t want to join any stupid thing. But then there is something he didn’t account for. Overlap.

There are theater kids who play video games, there are athletes in class with people like him and Mick and want to drag them to parties. Then there are some other athletes who need a quiet place to get work done on the north end of campus before class when her dorm is all the way on the south end.

That athlete would be Sara, in the library, while he’s doing his shift for work-study.

She comes in every day a half hour before her 1:00 class, half a shitty campus cafe turkey sandwich in her hand with the other half in her mouth. She always nods to him as she passes the desk and takes a seat at the study table in the corner. She never wastes any time pulling out her laptop and opening it to a 3D digital model of some sort of human innards. Interesting.

He doesn’t walk by her often, doesn’t have much reason to leave the desk, and she’s only there for twenty minutes each day, but whenever he does venture past her chair to get something from the printer or something else he feels her eyes on him once he’s clear of her. He’d assume it’s nothing more than the human eye being drawn to movement, but one time when he stopped at a shelf he glanced over and she clearly wasn’t anticipating that. She had to scramble back to her work.

One semester in, and Leonard truly has no idea how it is he ended up here.

He really, really thought Amaya would get tired of Mick in a week or two, and he never thought he would come to li… not hate Sara. Or Amaya. He never thought he and Mick would find themselves in some weird little friend group with two girls on the freaking dance team. Yet here he is, the week before finals and waiting in the wings of the stage instead of studying because Amaya casually mentioned that they needed a few extra hands backstage for the performances this week and the coach was at the point of all but begging the girls to talk their friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, or anyone else they might have wrapped around their fingers, into doing it.

He isn’t sure which he hates more; the fact that Amaya’s first thought at that was Mick, or that him agreeing had nothing to do with Mick and everything to do with Sara saying please.

Whatever, it isn’t like a few hours in the back of the auditorium for the next few days are going to kill him.

For now the stage is set; the box the team needs slightly off center secured and the lights have been checked. The show is starting in five minutes, which means all the girls are supposed to be in the “dressing room.”

Yet Sara’s just poked her head around the side of the curtain.

He raises an eyebrow at her. It’s hard to see in the dim lights of the wings, but he can see the way her eyes land firmly on him.

“Can you help me?” She asks, her voice a soft whisper.

“With what?” He whispers back.

“My zipper’s stuck.”

He screws up his face, simply because why is she back here for that instead of in the other room where she is supposed to be, and where there are eight other girls, and light.

He motions for her to come closer anyway, almost regretting it when she does and turns for him and it isn’t hard for him to make out the outline of her light dress half open and exposing her back.

He puts a hand on her waist to hold her still, and he has to feel a bit for the zipper. He starts trailing it up, easily, so he waits for it to stick-

“I’m quitting.”

He pauses, briefly noting that the zipper has clipped a raised scar.

“Have you told the others?” He brings the zipper up a little more, almost shuddering as his eyes finally notice that there is no bra strap running across her back. “Amaya?”

“No.” Her voice is still a whisper, but this time it’s so soft he almost thinks he hasn’t heard it.

“Why?” He asks, and he zips her in the rest of the way.

She sighs, her whole body appearing to deflate. She turns around, shaking her arms out a little but not much, like she’s doing it because she feels like she’s supposed to and not any actual nerves.

“It’s too much with school.” She whispers, and he nods.

“She’ll understand. They all will.”

“I know.” She murmurs, and she glances over to the stage with a look of longing. “It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Right.

He’s never had an easy life. The only reason he’s in a half decent college is because of a few scholarships and a very insistent mother. He remembers growing up and watching all his friends get to do things he couldn’t for whatever reason, usually money. Robotics had been the hard one. In a push to look better his middle school had secured funding for a robotics program and he’d loved it. But high school had been a different story. They had taken the STEM funding and invested in new chemistry equipment. A lot of the robotics kids transferred to the prep school, and when he couldn’t he didn’t find himself much inclined to hang out with them anymore; no matter how much Barry Allen pestered him.

“You’ll be fine.” He promises, “Mick and I will teach you how to make use of free time.”

She snorts, but there’s a smile on her face.

Leonard won’t admit a lot of things, and the fact that he is actually happy to be back at school after winter break is at the top of the list. What can he say? Winter break was boring. Sure, he had Mick, and it was great to see Lisa and his mom, but he’s happy to be back here on his bottom bunk, with Sara leaning into his side.

She and Amaya had come over and at some point after drinking half a bottle of vodka Mick and Amaya had gone to the late night café in the center of campus to bring back food.

“Mick better not eat my quesadilla.” Sara murmurs, half asleep against him.

He chuckles, looking down at her and how peaceful she looks with her eyes mostly closed, her hair splaying out on his shoulder-

“Stop it.” She says simply, a small grin on her face, and when he doesn’t say anything she cracks an eye open before laughing. “You know I can tell when you’re checking me out, right?”

Well, if his face weren’t already red, it is now.

She chuckles again, and actually nuzzles herself deeper into his side.

“Don’t worry, I like it.”

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writingformadderton · 4 years

Text

Temptation

Ship: Madderton

Word Count : 1545

Summary : Jamie wants to hang out with his friends but T and Rich need some time for themselves, they start making out in front of him. Jamie gets embarrassed and leaves them some space.

Additional Tags: friends, making out, teasing

..................................................................................

It was all because of a stupid phone call. The kind of phone call that left Taron burying his face into Richard’s shoulder, groaning in protest. The kind of call that made Jamie smile but made Richard roll his eyes.

“Okay, see you then,” Jamie ended the call on the other line, leaving silence between Rich and T. Richard almost burst out laughing at the look that crossed Taron’s face. He threw his hands in the air exaggeratingly.

“Why would you agree to seeing Jamie, and on that day specifically?” When Richard said nothing in response, Taron continued, “look, you know I love Jamie. I do. But Saturday was supposed to be our date night. I leave on Sunday and won’t see you for a while,” he frowned, looking down at their hardwood floor.

Richard sighed. It was true, Taron was leaving soon to film for Little Shop of Horrors and Rich had a press tour to do for The Eternals. The two knew that their time together was sacred, so to speak.

“You’re right… Want me to call Jamie to explain this to him? Try and call it off?” Rich asked, rubbing a comforting hand up Taron’s arm, but he simply shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. Can we just leave earlier than usual? Spend some time together here afterwards?” T gave Rich his puppy eyes and the older man was a puddle at his feet.

“Of course,”

_______________________________________________

“My boys!” The front door swung open, revealing a very happy Jamie. “Kate’s gone for the afternoon with some friends, so it’s the perfect opportunity for a guy’s night,” He explains, allowing the two men into his home and shutting the door in the process.

“A guy’s night?” Taron chuckled, tilting his head.

“Yes, a guy’s night,” Jamie walked into the kitchen, returning to the living room with a 6 pack of beer. “What kind of friend do you take me for?”

“Aye, I guess filming is done for me, so I’ll have one,” Jamie gave Rich a disbelieving glance. “or two,” he decided. The three men laughed at this, knowing fully well that Richard wouldn’t want to drink just one when given the opportunity to consume more.

“So, what exactly was your plan for the night?” Taron asked, accepting a beer himself. Jamie shrugged.

“Honestly, I figured we could just go with the flow of things. No sports on at the moment,” he sipped the drink in his hand and the other two men nodded.

“Well,” Richard crossed his arms lightly, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Ye see, T and I were supposed to have a date night tonight, but we didn’t want to ditch ye. So we may just leave a bit earlier than we usually would, if that’s already with you,”

Jamie chuckled, “Of course that’s fine with me. Okay, any ideas for films to pop in?”

_________________________________

Jamie laid sprawled out on his recliner, watching intensely as the action played out on the screen. Richard laid on the couch with a very comfortable Taron on top of him, resting his head on his chest. He combed his fingers through his hair gently, earning a sigh of appreciation from the younger man.

“So,” Taron started. “he’s actually doing all of this because someone killed his dog?”

“I mean, yeah. Have you really not seen this before?” Jamie gave Taron a questioning look.

“Nope. Heard a lot about it, though,” Jamie nodded in response, turning his attention back to the screen.

Taron honestly thought he could fall asleep like this. The environment was so cozy, and he was beyond content with the way things were playing out.

Until he felt a hand rub on his lower back. Shit. Taron tensed up slightly when he felt the hand travel a bit lower, just reaching above the elastic of his sweats. The hand resting next to his head on Richard’s chest clenched gently at his t-shirt, signaling a little “now is not the time”. Taron felt Rich chuckle at this, his hand rubbing circles into the skin just above his bum. He could feel himself warming up at this, realizing that Jamie could see what was happening at any second.

Oh, yeah.

Jamie.

Taron sat up and coughed, running a hand through his hair and earning a confused stare from Jamie. “I think Rich and I are gonna head out,” he began, trying to hide his slowly growing erection “we did say that we were supposed to have a date night, and--”

“Won’t you just finish the movie? There’s only 30 minutes left,” Jamie sighed, flopping back into his recliner. Taron bit his lip, looking to Richard for help.

Rich smiled and said, “I think we can make it till the end of the film, don’t you? It’s just starting to get interesting,”

Jamie gaped at that. “What are you talking about? It's been interesting this entire time!” Richard laughed at the frustration he was causing Jamie.

Richard gently tugged at the bottom of Taron’s shirt, urging him to return to his previous position. He rolled his eyes and did as Rich wanted, situating himself once again. Once Jamie unpaused the film, Taron tried his best to focus on what was happening.

Then Richard’s hands returned to their previous placement. Taron moved his head so that his chin was resting on his chest, staring right into Richard’s piercing blue eyes.

“What are you doing?” He hissed under his breath, earning a smirk from Rich.

“Jus’ having fun. Jamie wants us to stay, so we’ll make it so he wants us to leave,” he moved his hands as he said this so that they were under his sweats and pants, resting on his bum. Taron bit his lip again, holding back a small whine when Richard’s hands squeezed at the flesh there. Giving him one last look, Taron returned his attention to the movie to the best of his ability, but Richard’s hands were making this very, very difficult.

“This is my favorite part of this scene, watch the camera movements and how they follow Keanu,” Jamie said, earning a hum in reply from Richard.

It was an awkward angle, but Richard managed to place light kisses on Taron’s neck, earning a shiver from the boy on top. The kisses slowly turned into bites, making T squirm in the slightest, his hand fisting at Richard’s shirt once again.

This went on for a bit, and Taron was beginning to think that he could deal with this until the movie ended. It wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was kind of relaxing.

Until Richard decided to open his damn mouth.

“Ye have no idea how badly I want my cock in yer ass,”

And that was that. Game over.

Taron held his breath in an attempt to hold back a moan. He shifted his hips slightly when he felt a slight bounce of arousal in his lower abdomen. He closed his eyes and thought for a second, trying to figure out what his best next move was. In the meantime, Rich kept that same smirk plastered on his face, enjoying the torture he was putting his other half through.

“Rich?” Taron whispered, just for the two of them to hear.

“Hm?”

“I’d rather like it if we went home now,” he said in the most serious tone he could master, pulling a laugh from Richard. Jamie turned his head their way, a confused expression written all over him.

“Did I miss something?” He raised an eyebrow, seeing the position the two men were in.

“Nothing other than Richard being a right dick at the moment,” Taron sat himself up out of Richard’s grip, earning a frown from the older man.

“Okay… Look, if you guys want to go and have your date night, I won’t be upset,” Jamie continues, clearly not oblivious to what was going on. Taron felt his face warm at the realization that Jamie really wasn’t as naive as he’d thought.

“It’s fine, we’ll stay and finish the film,” Taron said, ignoring the look Richard was giving him that he could only see in his peripheral vision.

Jamie nodded, cautiously, unpaused the movie, and returned to his comfortable position he’d been in before. Taron rested himself up against the arm of the sofa, putting his attention back on the movie. And then Rich sat up, scooted himself until he was sitting thigh-to-thigh with Taron, leaned over and said, “Wouldn’t ye rather go home, love?” when he got no response from Taron, he continued, “ye don’t want me to pin you against the mattress and eat you out until you’re begging to come?”

Taron stood up like he’d been struck by a livewire, appearing beyond flustered. “Yeah, sorry Jamie. I’m gonna have to take you up on that offer of letting us go home. Thanks so much for the beer and the film, though,” Richard grabbed Taron’s hand, dragging him toward the front door while T was just getting to say, “missed you, mate!” The two were giggling like a couple of school boys, leaving Jamie back to himself.

Taron felt kind of bad for leaving Jamie like that, until he received a text from him that read: Use protection you assholes.

@sarahegerton96 @primaba11erina @taron-eggmcmuffin @maddertonmyheart @multicoloredchicken @anxiety-at-the-classroom

#taron egerton #Richard Madden #madderton #taron egerton fic #richard madden fic #madderton fic #jamie bell #guys night #teasing

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planetary-bound-star · 4 years

Text

Isolation Journal: Day 1

So I found these prompts today for an Isolation Journal / ways to stay creative despite stress and anxiety. And while I wouldn't say that I've felt isolated in a 'feeling lonely' or 'wanting to be around people' sort of way, I have been feeling the effects of my partner's isolation and of the fact that there aren't many ways to have true alone time to recharge my social batteries. Having constantly half-empty social batteries happens to really hamper my creativity, especially when I'm in the same room with someone else, knowing that at any moment they're likely to intrude on whatever thought I'm trying to communicate through my stories. I've tried going into different rooms -- and sometimes that even works -- but given the fact that the other humans in the house are awake and exist, I can't get completely comfortable in my creative space unless they're asleep.

So I've been struggling to motivate myself to create, to finish homework assignments, to do more than the most basic chores and / or acts of self-care, etc, which only adds to my anxiety and depressive tendencies. I've tried setting a strict routine, which worked for a few days max. I've tried setting a very loose routine, which worked for a bit longer, but ultimately didn't long-term. I've tried no routine, and that DEFINITELY doesn't work, and while writing a to-do list first thing in the morning can help, I have to remember to do that every day BEFORE I get distracted by other things and / or my partner and our other housemates, which is rare at best.

Really, I'm ready to try anything, right now. And this seems like a good idea at the best of times. So I'm going to attempt this challenge. Luckily, it seems pretty relaxed, so if I miss a day, it's not like I miss the prompt or have to start over or anything, which should help especially in a 'not adding to my anxiety pile' sort of way, and it is likely to also add significantly to my overall daily mental health! So... that'd be a definite plus.

So! Here goes: Day 1 [Prompt: Write a Letter to a Stranger]

Dear Seth and Stephen,

I've been watching you both for comfort since before the Florida Orange Man took office, and likely will long after he leaves (I hope). I can't remember when I first took note of you. I know that with you, Seth, it happened not long after the 2016 Elections, when YouTube offered me the lifeline of suggesting one of your A Closer Look or The Check-In segments, and I subscribed the same night. With you, Stephen, I first noticed you during your The Werd segments from the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I noticed you initially when I was a young Republican teen still living at home with my Papa, and I found you again as a newly emerging, bleeding-heart Democrat.

Now, you're both a huge part of the intricate net of lifelines that keep me afloat day-to-day in this completely bonkers world.

When I first imagined spending my days working from my home as a writer, I imagined waking up each day to a warm cup of tea, some hot cereal or oatmeal or fried eggs, and some toast. I never considered who would make those things or how I might teach myself the focus and rigorous morning routine needed to do all of that without wasting hours of my day due to distractions, derailments, and depletions of energy.

In my mind, this morning routine would take place on a patio or deck or balcony, outside on a warm and sunny, but not too overwhelmingly bright day, a light breeze keeping the worst of the sun's heat from burying itself in your skin and clothing. The outdoor space would be surrounded by greenery and flowers and walls, any human-made sounds (aside from maybe a fountain or, possibly, wind-chimes) would be silenced somehow.

Then, after breakfast (again, clean-up energy and time never entered into my imagination before now), I would retreat to a comfortable, cushioned window-seat, warmed by the sunlight streaming through the windows, reclining, and spending several hours a day reading through entire novels and, thus, getting through them in a few days to, at most, a week.

Finally, after my reading time ends (at a decent, if not perfect, stopping point in the novel, if at all possible so that the story isn't nagging at the back of your mind the rest of the day), I would move to my writing space to... you guessed it... write for many more hours.

Granted, the writing bit should probably take place after a lunch of some description and / or many (ideally healthy) snacks at hand, but I never imagined these details either in my initial plans. Nor did I factor in dinner. I do love food when I have the time to enjoy it, but given my schedule and levels of focus on the regular, I'd genuinely be happy to go to an all liquid diet with only quick and nommy solid foods to snack on here and there. I loathe the necessity of eating, so I keep it as nommy as possible to force myself to fuel my body in a mostly appropriate manner. It's only natural that I'd forget about this irritating necessity in my daydreams, really. They are, after all dayDREAMS, not dayREAL-LIFES.

I feel like that's how I'd like to end every day, come to think on it: Writing. Typing frantically into a word-processor to transport the pictures in my mind on the ship of words until the images dry out and evaporate in the sun, or the words dry up on the tips of my fingers. I want to write for hours, take a break for necessities (like dinner and dog-walking and spending time with loved ones), then write for hours more... until I can write no more and my pillows start tempting my brain. I want to write until I pass out every night, then get up the next day and do all of it all over again.

Lately, I've imagined a small, one-room Hobbit-hole constructed in the hill behind Sam's house. A soundproof structure partially underground with a window-seat for reading, a space for writing, and another space for singing and playing and making a lot of noise without worry of being a nuisance to any neighboors or family members, but also without them interrupting my thought or creative processes while I'm working. Maybe that space is just a creative space large enough to transition for sewing, painting, drawing, writing, singing, playing, and, even, rehearsing, but small enough to feel safely enclosed, like a shed or... a fucking Hobbithole. ;P

I think it can be done, and maybe with the money I make from my first sold artistic project, I can attempt to make it a reality. And I feel you're both nerdy enough to understand how awesome a reality that would be!

I just want a space that doesn't give me any excuses not to create and the space to just spend time creating. And yet... here I am, home all day with nowhere to be, and I'm not creating. I have a myriad excuses for it all, and I will also say (to be kind and fair with myself) that my mental health has been tricky to navigate throughout all of this.

But these excuses are allowing me to escape creating and doing... pretty much anything that brings me joy. Essentially, the whole reason I quit full-time work and decided to go through the stress and uncertainty of putting myself through college is the one thing I'm not using my suddenly AMPLE HOME TIME doing.

And I'd very much like to change that.

So here I am... writing this letter. Telling you random things that are on my mind. Knowing... (hoping?)... that neither of you will EVER read this. Right? Maybe, after all of the other prompts are finished or whatever, I'll continue writing to you both about my day and my struggles and my projects. Because why the hell not? You're both already like the nerdy, understanding, choice-affirming fathers I never had?

My papa wasn't bad, he was just a stereotypical dad, who expected his kids to be tough all the time, couldn't deal with emotions, and watched football with a beer in his hand yelling at the tv on Sundays. He didn't understand the proclivity to read all day or write well or watch shows on sociology and scientific experimentation. He didn't understand much of anything that wasn't 'working on a career' or 'sport-related current events.' He definitely didn't understand how to deal with a child who moved away from home, started learning about the world intellectually and largely unbiasedly for the first time, and developed views and opinions of their own, for themself, after seeing how the world really worked with their own eyes.

So I see you, my two tv dads, as the parent he's unlikely to ever be... and it helps me to know there are dads like you out there, even if parts of it are shows put on for your audiences. And I do hope to meet you both one day, as one of your guests, and (if we can ever hug again) give you both hugs to thank you for helping to raise me, keep me informed, and prepare me to survive the batshit, bonkers world that currently exists around us all.

My best to you both and to your families,

#isolation journal #day 1 #journaling #me #mine

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noona-clock · 5 years

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Which One? Ji Soo - Part 6

Genre: Coffee Shop!AU

Pairing: Ji Soo x You

Warnings: Use of the word ‘Soccer.’ I know non-Americans hate it, and I apologize. But I am American. What can I say? 🤷‍♀️ Oh, and also mentions of alcohol.

Prologue, Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Epilogue | Words: 3,951

“Go out?” you asked, your own voice sounding foreign to your ears. It was a bit squeakier than normal, but... what about this situation was normal?

Ji Soo, a very handsome coffee shop owner, had just asked you out.

I mean, you’re pretty sure he was asking you out!

And, like... you couldn’t stress enough just how handsome he was.

So... definitely not your average Saturday night.

“Yeah,” Ji Soo assured you with a nod. “Go out. Like... get dinner? Or see a movie?”

Yeah, he was asking you out.

But there was just one thing stopping you from saying ‘yes’ immediately.

“Do you... have time to go out?”

Ji Soo chuckled softly, his lips tilting into a half-grin. “I, uh -- I asked Joo Hyuk to cover for me tomorrow night. Last Sunday was pretty slow. I guess people don’t want all that caffeine before they have to wake up on Monday morning.”

Oh, wow, that made your heart flutter. He had prepared for this and everything!

You opened your mouth to say that you would love to go out with him tomorrow night, but -- you stopped yourself.

Because there was just one problem.

“I... actually already have plans tomorrow night,” you said, your brow furrowing. “There’s a game at 7, and I have season tickets, so --”

“A game?” Ji Soo asked. He was clearly confused by what you’d just told him. “Season tickets? What kind of game?”

You weren’t surprised by how surprised he sounded. You were kind of a technology geek, so why on Earth would you enjoy sports?

“Soccer,” you explained with a tiny smile. “The Tigers. I have season tickets. My dad passed down his love of the game to me, and one of the first things I bought with my first real paycheck was a season pass.”

The expression on Ji Soo’s face was still one of confusion, but now there was some amusement mixed in there. “Huh,” he nodded. “Soccer. I had no idea.”

For a split second, you felt bad because you had to turn him down... but then you suddenly had an idea. You gasped slightly, your eyebrows shooting halfway up your forehead.

“Do you want to come with me?” you asked excitedly. “I can see if the seat next to me is open.”

Ji Soo also raised his eyebrows, and you thought maybe he would decline, but the grin tugging at his lips gave you hope. “Yeah? Yeah, of course, I would love to come. That sounds awesome, actually.”

Your heart fluttered for probably the ten thousandth time tonight, and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling like the biggest goofball.

“It starts at 7,” you told him, clutching your laptop to your chest. “Should I pick you up here at 6? We can get food at the stadium.”

Ji Soo slid his hands into his pockets, and even though you couldn’t be absolutely sure, you had an inkling that the expression on his face was just as hopeful and giddy as yours.

“That sounds good,” he nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside right at 6. I know how you like to be on time.”

Oh, boy. First, he had prepared ahead of time to go on a date with you. And now he was promising to be on time because he knew that’s what you like?

The date wasn’t for another 21 hours, but you were already labeling it The Best Date Ever.

“Yes, I do,” you agreed with a soft laugh. “You’re right.”

“You should probably get used to saying that, by the way,” he said casually, taking one hand out of his pocket and reaching out to open your car door for you.

“Saying what?”

“You just said I was right,” he clarified. “You should get used to saying that because I’m right 99.9% of the time.”

You shot him a look which clearly said ‘Oh, yeah, right.’

“It’s true!” he argued, his eyebrows raised earnestly. “You’ll see, it really is true.”

You turned and ducked into your car, setting your laptop on the passenger seat and your bag down on the floor. “Okay, whatever you say,” you sighed, biting back a playful smirk.

“Drive safely,” he said as he leaned slightly against your open door. “Let me know when you get home?”

“I live less than ten minutes away,” you reminded him, chuckling softly but also awkwardly. It had just been such a long time since anyone besides Jane had made a request like that.

“Yeah... but still. Let me know.”

“I will,” you assured him with a nod. And just before you got into your car, you added a quiet, “See you tomorrow.”

Once you were fully and safely seated behind the wheel, Ji Soo gently closed your door and stepped back to allow you to reverse out of the parking spot. He stayed there as you drove away, lifting up one hand in a wave as you pulled out of the lot.

Oh, boy.

Oh, boy, oh, boy.

A date.

Tomorrow.

With Ji Soo.

Obviously, the first thing you did after you got home -- besides texting Ji Soo about your safe arrival, of course -- was call Jane.

You had barely gotten a whole sentence out before her high-pitched squeals filled the air. And your ear canal. You literally had to pull your phone away to protect your eardrum.

“I TOLD YOU!” she cried. “Didn’t I tell you?!”

“Yes, you told me,” you sighed, remembering just the other day when Ji Soo said ‘I told you so’ about your car troubles.

...Okay, now that you thought about it, Ji Soo and Jane were almost eerily similar. They both loved to tease you, they both were quick to point out when they were right, they were both incredibly kind and sweet, they both made you laugh, and... they both made you feel good about yourself.

When they weren’t embarrassing you, of course.

No wonder Jane had been able to predict the course of events between you and Ji Soo. They were practically the same person!

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed,” you told her as you held back a huge, goofy grin.

“Gotta get some beauty rest before the big day tomorrow,” Jane squealed. “Not that you need it, but it’s always a plus to use a little less concealer. Night!”

“Good night, Jane,” you murmured affectionately before hanging up the phone.

After you got ready for bed, you settled in under the covers and got out your phone to look for Ji Soo’s ticket for the game tomorrow. Even if you couldn’t find one right next to you, you could trade yours out and find two together easily enough.

Just as you pulled up the ticket app, though, you got an Instagram notification.

TheMugShop (The Mug Coffee) is now following you.

Ooooooh.

You hastily pressed the banner alert, and your phone switched over to the Instagram app, heading straight to TheMugShop’s profile. First things first, you clicked ‘Follow back’ right away. They only had three followers so far (most likely Ji Soo, Joo Hyuk, and now you), but you were sure that would change fairly quickly.

Their bio read:

The Mug, your favorite locally-owned coffee shop. ☕️ 7a - 9p

all photos taken by @yourusername

And, to your surprise, there was already a picture posted. It was the picture you and Ji Soo had edited together tonight, one of a green tea latte since it was your beverage of choice (and because the green color was just so pretty) so you quickly clicked on it.

The caption made you both roll your eyes and laugh out loud.

“🍵❤️we like you a latte ❤️🍵come visit from 7-9 and try our green tea latte, a customer favorite”

You would bet five bucks Ji Soo had come up with that. You’d have to remember to ask him tomorrow.

Here’s a question for you:

Why are dates always in the evening?

Most of the time, people are nervous to go on a date. Especially a first date.

So, why would you subject yourself to going through almost the whole day waiting to meet up? Why would you spend hours and hours in anxiety? Why didn’t people just say ‘Hey, let’s meet for breakfast’?

Maybe you would start a new trend. Morning dates!

Except it was too late now. You’d bought a ticket for Ji Soo for the game tonight, and you couldn’t very well change the kickoff time.

If tonight went well, you would bring it up for a second date. Although, you weren’t sure when a second date would happen. Ji Soo worked at the coffee shop every single day from 7-9 -- or at least, for now. They couldn’t afford to pay you to take pictures for them, so surely they couldn’t afford to pay a part-time employee.

To be honest, though... you didn’t care. You were more than happy to just go to the shop, have a drink, and see Ji Soo, even if just for a few minutes at a time.

But you were getting a little ahead of yourself.

You would see how tonight went and then start worrying about the future.

Somehow -- some way -- you managed to get through the better part of the day without freaking out. You cleaned up the rest of your place since you’d cleaned up your kitchen yesterday, and that alone successfully distracted you for most of the morning and afternoon.

Plus, you kept busy keeping up with the Tigers on Instagram, watching videos of them getting ready to play and getting hyped for the game.

By 5:45 that evening, you were all set and ready to go, donning your team jersey with your favorite player’s name and number on the back, as usual.

You were semi-fine -- meaning not extremely nervous -- until you turned into The Mug’s parking lot and saw Ji Soo waiting by the entrance for you.

Oh, god.

When you pulled up to the front, Ji Soo lifted a hand and grinned at you. He opened the passenger door once you stopped and slid into the seat.

“Hey,” he greeted, sounding far less nervous than you felt at the moment.

“Hello,” you replied. Since you were behind the wheel, you had an excuse not to look over at him. You’d basically seen him as he’d stood outside the shop, and you could tell he looked extra good tonight. You weren’t sure how that was possible, but... apparently, it was.

“How are you?” he asked as he reached back to grab his seat belt.

“I’m excited for the game,” you told him. You decided to leave off the fact you were nervous for the date.

“You’re not nervous for the date?” he asked. You didn’t even need to look over at him to know he was smirking.

Of course. Of course, he knew what you were thinking. He was your best friend in male form!

You felt your cheeks warming as a shy smile tugged at your lips, and you shook your head slightly in disbelief. “Well, yes,” you admitted. “But it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah? I’ve never been to a game before, so I’m curious.”

“Wait, really? You’ve never been to a game?”

“Nope.”

“Like any soccer game?”

“Any soccer game,” he confirmed with a chuckle. “Joo Hyuk has, but apparently, it takes a pretty girl to convince me.”

Awesome. Not even five minutes into the date, and you were already blushing wildly.

“They’re really fun,” you assured him, trying to hide a shy grin. “I mean, I think they’re really fun. Obviously. Hopefully, you’ll have a good time.”

“Oh, yeah. I think I will. I had a good time when we were editing a picture, so I definitely think I’ll have a good time tonight. As long as you’re there.”

Okay, you couldn’t hide your shy grin any longer, and you could feel Ji Soo’s eyes on you.

Judging by the car ride alone, you were in trouble tonight. If Ji Soo kept saying things like that, you were pretty sure your lips would get stuck in this little smile for the rest of your life.

“Have you always blushed so easily?” Ji Soo asked, reaching over and poking your cheek gently.

“Yes,” you chuckled. You shrugged your shoulder to try and push his arm away, but it was more of an instinctive reaction than anything.

“It’s cute,” he murmured. “Like, just on your own, you’re beautiful. But when you blush it’s just so cute.”

“Oh my gosh, can we not talk about me anymore?” you asked with just the slightest whine in your voice. But you still had that smile on your lips; honestly, you were for real on your way to smiling permanently. All because of him!

Ji Soo obliged, though, and he (somehow) managed not to make you blush the rest of the way to the stadium. He asked about the rules of the game, and that kept you talking for the whole ride.

By the time you parked, walked to the stadium, went through security, scanned your tickets, bought some pizza and beer, and found your seats, the team was out practicing on the field.

Ji Soo asked who all of the players were, so you pointed out each one, telling him what their name was and which position they played.

“Who’s on your jersey?” he asked with half a mouthful of pizza.

“Ah,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks blush for the first time in almost half an hour. “Number 16, Martinez.”

Ji Soo’s eyes searched the field, and they narrowed slightly when he found the number 16 jersey.

Of course, you liked Martinez because he was a good player...

But... you would be lying if you said he wasn’t the best-looking guy on the team.

Ji Soo turned his narrowed gaze over to you, and your eyes widened innocently.

“What?” you asked.

“I’m onto you,” he murmured, sounding utterly serious (which you knew meant he was teasing).

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You shook your head, still keeping up the innocent act as you ate your pizza.

Ji Soo simply smirked at you, and you had to look away because it wasn’t possible to eat properly if you weren’t breathing.

Once you had both finished your pizza, the game was just about to start. You took a quick gulp of beer as the team came back out onto the field in their uniforms. You stood from your seat and clapped, cupping your hands around your mouth and cheering along with the crowd.

Ji Soo stood up, and you were reminded just how tall he was. Most of the time, either one or both of you were sitting, so it was easy to forget that he not only had the face of a model but the body of a model, too. Tall, slim, but you could tell he was also muscular.

As the national anthem played, Ji Soo leaned over and casually rested his elbow on your shoulder.

And, if you can believe it, it made your heart flutter.

So, literally, everything this guy did had some sort of effect on you, I guess. Even if he was just resting his elbow on your shoulder.

Plus, he smelled really good. He always seemed to smell good, even though he worked pretty much all day, every day.

After the last note of the anthem rang through the stadium, you gulped down your anxiety and leaned just a little bit closer toward your date.

“You smell really good,” you told him, raising your voice over the din of the crowd.

Ji Soo simply smirked before reaching out and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

You were so tempted to just bury your face in his chest, but he had already let go before you could give in to the urge.

Thankfully, the referee blew the starting whistle so you could turn your attention to the game instead of how good Ji Soo smelled. Or how amazing just that one, quick hug had felt.

“Okay, you have to tell me what’s going on,” he said, his voice suddenly close to your ear.

You nodded and began your commentary, making sure to stay close to him so you didn’t bother the people around you. You told him what was going on, you answered any question he had, and you also still managed to react to the game as you usually did.

The first time the ref made a somewhat questionable call, your brow furrowed deeply and you yelled out your disagreement.

“OH, COME ON, REF!” you cried. “THAT WAS A FOUL! ARE YOU BLIND?!”

Now, obviously, you weren’t the only one who was yelling at the ref. But the way Ji Soo was looking at you right now, you might as well have been.

When you glanced over at him, a bit of a guilty smile appeared on your lips. “What?” you asked, chuckling.

“I had no idea you had this side to you,” he laughed. “You just seem so... sweet.”

“I am!” you countered.

“You just asked the referee if he was blind,” Ji Soo pointed out. “That’s not sweet.”

“Well! It was a clear foul!”

You went back to watching the game, but you felt Ji Soo lean in close, placing his lips right by your ear.

“Don’t worry,” he told you. “I like it.”

You simply pressed your lips together, your cheeks blazing.

Since the two of you had opted to buy food before the game, you decided to stay in your seats during halftime while almost everyone else in the stadium left.

“How do you like it so far?” you asked, reaching down to pick up your beer and down the last of it.

“Honestly, it’s a lot more fun than I thought,” Ji Soo admitted. “I don’t know why I always thought soccer was boring, but it’s really not.”

“No, not at all!”

“Joo Hyuk is going to be so pissed,” he chuckled.

“You’ll have to go to a game with him to make up for it,” you grinned, nudging him gently with your arm.

“As long as you come, too.”

“What?” you laughed. “Why do I have to come?”

“Because you’re the best commentator. I feel like I know all about soccer already! ...And because you are ridiculously cute when you’re yelling at the players.”

“Be quiet,” you muttered through your smile.

“It’s true!”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes in amusement.

Before Ji Soo could say anything else, Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” started blaring through the stadium speakers.

“Ooh, Kiss Cam!” you cried, tapping Ji Soo’s arm and pointing up to the jumbo screen hanging from the ceiling. “I love the Kiss Cam.”

“You do?” Ji Soo asked, sounding surprised.

You turned to look at him, nodding -- but then you froze.

Oh... god.

What if... what if the two of you were put up on the screen?

Oh, no no no no no.

Ji Soo would love it, surely, but...

It would be so embarrassing!

The cameramen had no way of knowing this, but it was just your first date! You had only hugged, and it had only lasted less than a second!

Your heart started hammering as couples came and went on the screen, and you could sincerely say you’d never been so nervous watching the Kiss Cam. Every time a new couple showed up, you held your breath, letting it out gently when you realized it wasn’t you and Ji Soo.

When an older couple finished kissing, the Kiss Cam logo came up and the announcer asked the crowd to give all of the couples a round of applause.

Oh, thank god. You had survived.

“Aw, man,” Ji Soo lamented, shaking his head. “I was hoping we would be on it.”

Of course, he would hope that.

Instead of letting him know you were not disappointed in the least, you simply reached over and patted his arm. “I’m sorry,” you said. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “You think there’s going to be a next time?”

You stared at him, blinking, your mouth slightly agape.

Uh...

Ji Soo smirked and lifted his arm, moving to rest it around your shoulders. “There better be a next time,” he smirked.

You couldn’t help but let out yet another sigh of relief.

And then... you settled down in your seat, leaning into him and tilting your head to rest it against his shoulder.

When the game was over (a satisfying 2-0 win for the Tigers, thank goodness), you and Ji Soo shuffled out of the stadium with the rest of the crowd. You headed up the stairs ahead of him, and as the people filed out with you, you felt Ji Soo’s fingers grasp yours.

Thankfully, he couldn’t see your face, but you would be surprised if he didn’t know you were blushing right now.

When you got to the top of stairs, instead of letting go of his hand, you linked your fingers through his more firmly. Ji Soo squeezed your hand as he walked beside you, and you shot him a shy grin.

Eventually, you made it out to the parking lot, and once the two of you were settled into your car, Ji Soo told you to drop him back off at the coffee shop.

“Joo Hyuk is still there, so I figure I should help him clean up some.”

“Can you please apologize to him for me?” you asked as you threw your car into reverse and began to back out of your spot. “I feel bad that he had to work by himself.”

“So, you feel bad for going out with me?” Ji Soo teased.

“No!” you chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh briefly. “We’re talking about hiring a part-timer. Hopefully. If business keeps up, we should be able to. And we can pay you for the pictures.”

“No, Ji Soo, I already told you that you don’t need to pay me. The free drinks are more than enough.”

“See? That’s why I thought you were sweet,” Ji Soo pointed out. “But then you started yelling at that ref. Now I’m afraid to ever get on your bad side.”

You simply laughed, shaking your head as you began the drive back to The Mug.

When you arrived at the shop, you pulled up as close to the door as you could since there were no other cars in the lot. You put the car in park and, a bit nervously, you turned toward Ji Soo.

“Thank you for coming,” you said softly. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

“No, thank you for inviting me. I never thought our first date would be a sports game, but that’s one of the things I like about you.”

“...What do you mean?” you asked shyly.

“You’re full of surprises,” Ji soo told you with just the slightest of smirks.

For probably the millionth time tonight, you blushed.

And you wondered if there would ever be a time you didn’t blush around Ji Soo.

“Hey, so...” he continued. “I don’t really want our first kiss to be in the parking lot, but... if you wouldn’t mind...”

Well, the blushing certainly wasn’t going to be letting up anytime soon, was it?

He was asking you if you wouldn’t mind kissing him?

Really?

You didn’t let yourself think too much about it because you probably would have talked yourself out of saying ‘yes.’

And... you wanted to say ‘yes.’

So, you nodded quickly.

Part 7

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13-reasons-ideas · 5 years

Note

How did I just now stumble across your blog?!! It’s awesome and your Monty story is top notch. Would u take a request that isn’t from a prompt list but my own idea instead? If so can u pls do a Monty x reader where the reader’s ex boyfriend moves back to town and Monty feels threatened by him because personality wise he’s a polar opposite and fears that she might get back together with him (because they were once in love) but the reader ensures Monty that it’ll never happen❤️

Hey, of course you can! Sorry this took so long. I was having some issues with inspiration and work has been super busy. Here it is. I hope you like it! It ended up way longer than I intended it to.

(Y/N) = your name (Y/L/N)= your last name

FISTICUFFS AND DARTMOUTH

I never expected Nathan and I to break up. He was my first love and though naïve, you never really expect it to end. Our romance was one of shared interests and common goals and kind love. We did not fight and we pushed each other to achieve our goals. We knew what we wanted and what we needed to do in order to get it. He was the first boy I’d ever fallen in love with. It wasn’t a whirlwind, but it was, in a word, nice. Our love story was nice. Which is probably why when he moved away from Crestmont to Dallas for his Dad’s new job, it didn’t affect me the way everyone expected. People expected me to be crushed, but while I was sad, I was able to continue without much impact to my life. And they certainly did not expect me to fall for the man I did after he left. I did not even expect it myself. Although, Montgomery De La Cruz is not someone you expect to fall for.

Nathan Martin is put together and driven. He has it all figured out. He has dreams of going to an Ivy League school and being a doctor who discovers the next medical breakthrough. But those dreams aren’t just unattainable ideas. He has the grades and the work ethic to achieve his goals. He is the guy that the good girl brings home to dad and dad praises him and invites him to watch the game on Sunday, even though the boy has no interest in sports. He goes to the game on Friday nights because he needs a break from studying, not because he actually cares about who wins or loses. Nathan is the boy your mom pictures when she sees your wedding or prays you will meet and love when she thinks of your future. He is kind and avoids physical conflict in any situation. He truly believes that there is a diplomatic way to resolve any issue that could lead to physical conflict. Nathan is the kind of boy who would leave this little town for school but come back after he is done and have the white picket fence life. He wants the wife and the two kids and the dog. He is the kid who spends time with his family because they actually like each other. He is the boy everyone expects me to go for.

Montgomery De La Cruz is the opposite of Nathan in many ways. He is not the boy who has dreams to change the world. He only wants to change his world. He is not the boy who avoids conflict. In fact, he actively seeks it out. He is the boy you bring home to piss your dad off. He is arrogant and isn’t afraid to argue and hurt your feelings. He plays ball because it’s his ticket out of this little town. Montgomery is the boy who will graduate, go to school, and those of us still here will be lucky if he comes back to visit once a year for the holidays. He is the boy who doesn’t want to plan a life with someone because he is still trying to figure it out for himself. He is the rough and tumble kid who has family problems and spends as little time at home as possible. He is everything I shouldn’t want. And yet, he is everything I want.

Nathan moved in the middle of sophomore year. His Dad got a job in Dallas at a larger law firm just after Christmas, and by mid-January they had left Crestmont behind. Our breakup wasn’t one of drama and rumors nor was it full of animosity and he said she said. It was simply that neither of us were in a place where we felt up to doing long distance. I laid low for a while and threw myself into writing during my free time. That is how Montgomery came tumbling into my life- literally. I was sitting by a tree working on some writing on a slow day at the beginning of junior year. I heard someone yell, when suddenly I was being tripped on and pushed over by a larger boy. I was disoriented at first but then I saw the tell-tale plaid shirt. “Montgomery! Watch it.” I exclaimed, surprised as I watched my notebook go flying through the air.

“Sorry Doll. I yelled for you to watch out. Not my fault you weren’t listening.” He replied, chuckling. I simply rolled my eyes at him before gathering my notebook and dusting myself off. Picking up my bag, I nodded to him as I walked away. “See you around?” He called after me.

“Maybe. It’s a little town De La Cruz.” I called back.

Its not like I didn’t know about Montgomery De La Cruz. Everyone at Liberty knew about the short-tempered athlete. We all knew about the fights with Alex. And the fights with Tyler or anyone else he felt like fighting. We had English and History together and since Nathan left, my friends had started dragging me to various games, so I had seen him on the field more than once. But after that ever so graceful accident, I started to notice him around town or school more. He was usually accompanied by Bryce and his teammates but there were times you could find him on his own. One such occasion was at Monet’s on a dreary day, unusual for California. He walked in while I was ordering another hot cocoa. “You struck me as more of a three cups of coffee a day kind of person.” I heard him say from behind me.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me De La Cruz.” I responded after I placed my order.

“What can I get you Montgomery?” Skye asked, obviously using her best customer voice, to mask her desire to tell him where he could shove it.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” He replied smoothly. I could feel him smirking at me during the quick exchange. After our orders were put through and made, I made my back way to my favourite table at the back of the cafe. Skye usually had it reserved for me because of the view of the rest of the shop. I was not expecting Monty to follow me, nor was I expecting him to pull up a chair for himself.

“Uh… can I help you?” I asked, confused as I set to my writing trying to ignore him watching me.

“What are you working on?” he asked, trying to glance at my notes.

“Writing.” I replied, shortly. He laughed at my answer prompting me to glance up and give him a ‘what’ look.

“I see that (Y/N). I meant what are you writing?” He retorted.

“Stuff. Now are you going to sit there and ask me stupid questions, or is there something I can actually do for you Montgomery?” I replied, hoping to all hopes he would take the hint and leave me alone. Unfortunately, he did not get the hint. Instead, he took it as an invitation to remain seated and continue to distract me. Several annoying questions later I finally snapped. “Okay Montgomery. That is enough. I am trying to focus, so if you want to stay, then you have a choice. Either sit there and shut up or get up and kindly leave me alone.” I huffed. His brows shot up in surprise at my outburst. After a brief pause, I shook my head to say ‘well?’.

“Alright. I’ll be quiet. You wont even notice I’m here.” He replied and made a zipping motion across his lips.

“Thank you.” I sighed and got back to work.

After some time, I went to take a sip of my cocoa and noticed it was empty. Before I could get up and ask for another, Monty took the cup from my hand and went back to Skye. When he returned, I set my pen down and looked at him questioningly. “Consider it a peace offering. I have to head out but this was… nice.” He said before gathering his letterman and turning to leave.

“Monty wait a second.” I called after him. He paused, turning his head to look at me. “See you around?”

“Maybe. It’s a little town (Y/L/N).” he replied, smirking.

That became our routine. He would happen upon the little coffee shop after I arrived, order what I got for himself, and he would sit to watch me write for a while before heading out for the day. We would still see each other at school and in class, but we never spoke of our time at Monet’s together. I’m not sure when it morphed into something more, but one day he asked me out for coffee and I decided to accept. By the next week, we had made it official and at school found out. We grew closer to each other and I became friends with some of his friends. Scott and I connected quickly and while it caused some issues initially, Scott was able to make Monty understand that it was nothing more than friendship. Things were going very well. We had talked about Nathan and everything seemed to be sorted out in that regard. Or at least I thought it had.

No one expected Nathan to come back to Crestmont until he was at least done his bachelor’s degree. Certainly not after only just over a year and a half. I heard whispering that October day of senior year as I walked from my car to the school. The whispers died down as I passed so I figured Montgomery had gotten into yet another fight. That was one thing I was never really able to help him get a handle on. However, when I saw Monty down the hall and searched his face for bruises or anything, I saw he looked fine and knew that couldn’t be what prompted the whispers. Though not bruised he did look conflicted. Monty simply slung his arm over my shoulder when I got to him and we walked to my locker. Something was definitely off I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly. It wasn’t until I walked into Biology and saw him sitting in our usual seat that it made sense. Nathan was back. I knew that the few kids in class already were watching with bated breath, waiting to see what I did, so I walked confidently and sat in my usual seat beside Nathan and greeted him politely. Due to the lack of animosity in our breakup, we were easily able to make small talk until the teacher started class.

After what could only be described as a very long and tiring day, Montgomery and I were in my bedroom studying, or rather I was trying to study on the floor, and he was tapping his pen against his paper while sitting on my bed. “Is there something bothering you Monty? Or are you trying to tap a hole through your textbook?” I asked him, distracted by his incessant tapping.

“He’s back…” He said, hesitating to continue.

“Yeah.” I respond, not bothering to look up from my assignment.

“Yeah? That’s all you have to say (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, I know? He’s in my AP Biology class.” I expand, still trying to work out the answer.

“You seem awful nonchalant about it.” Montgomery countered.

“Am I not supposed to be?” At this point I look up and push my work aside.

“I don’t know. You tell me. Do you have a reason not to be?” Monty beings to sit up as I stand.

“Montgomery, where is this all coming from?”

“Nathan is back (Y/N). So there’s no reason to keep pretending here.”

“Pre-Pretending? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, somewhat insulted.

“Yes pretending. You can stop pretending you care and go back to him now.” He retorts, his voice beginning to rise.

“And why pray tell, would I go back to Nathan now that he’s back in town?” I question, my voice also beginning to rise.

“Because (Y/N).” He states, as though that is an actual reason.

“Because why Montgomery? That’s not an explanation and you know it.”

“He’s all Dartmouth and Harvard medical school and volunteering to tutor kids. He has an actual plan for his life (Y/N). Nathan is going to be a fucking doctor for God’s sake. I’m all football, baseball, and fisticuffs.” Montgomery argued.

“And?” I ask, confused about where he is going with this.

“And? And you’re the good girl who smiles at everyone, not because it is polite, but because you actually want to. You sit and read books while I dick around with the guys at lunch. You get good grades and you care about school. I get the bare minimum to stay on the team. You’re… perfect. You could leave any time. You loved him then, you can love him again. I wouldn’t blame you. I have ball and he has fucking med school. I have a full ride scholarship and he has actual grades.”

“Montgomery, we have been over this. You aren’t the guy I brought home to fill the time until Nathan came back. If I wanted to be with him, I would have left as soon as he came back. I am still here. Therefore, I do not want to be with Nathan.” I explain, exasperated.

“He can give you what you want. He can give you everything you want.”

“Mont-” I start but he cuts me off.

“(Y/N). You want to be a writer and spend your days curled up at your desk. You love books and you’re nice to people and you don’t have rude or angry bone in your body. I have anger and I want to play ball and get through school so I can leave this crappy little town behind. He can give you the life you want. He can go to work and save lives while you sit in your nook in the office, writing to your hearts content.”

“Maybe I don’t want that anymore Montgomery. Maybe I want you. And the life you can give me.”

“Don’t kid yourself. He’s everything I’m not. We are polar opposites. You’ll get bored or have enough of me eventually.” He told me, crossing his arms.

“Montgomery de la Cruz. Do you honestly believe that? I like that you’re nothing like Nathan. That’s the point isn’t it? I like that you’re… unpredictable and temperamental and yeah, sometimes you make really bad decisions. But you’re also caring and protective and spontaneous. I would never leave you for Nathan.” I paused, walking towards him to take his hands in mine. I reached up to tilt his head down towards me before continuing, “I love you Montgomery.” I told him quietly.

“I- you- what?” He stuttered, shocked at my admission.

“I love you.” I repeated looking up at him sincerely.

“I love you to (Y/N).” he responded leaning down to kiss me gently. I smiled into the kiss before pulling away.

“So no more arguing about Nathan?” I asked him, giggling.

“I guess not. But maybe a few more kisses will fully convince me.” He replied before kissing me again. I felt him start to step forwards and my knees hit my mattress before we fell back onto my bed. We spent the next couple of hours cuddling and talking before falling asleep in each other’s arms contentedly, our homework and any discussion of Nathan long forgotten.

#anon #ask #monty imagine #montgomery de la cruz #monty de la Cruz fanfic #montgomery de la cruz imagine #montgomery de la cruz x reader #Requested #13 reasons why #Thirteen Reasons Why

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maevefiction · 5 years

Text

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 53: Epilogue

Sunday June 29th, 2036 - Talk Story Bookstore, Kauai, Hawaii.

Stepping inside Talk Story after two decades had passed was surreal. It remained essentially the same, right down to the red painted walls. I, too, remained essentially the same, if you ignored the wrinkles that had begun to etch themselves into the flesh of my fifty-eight-year-old face…laugh lines, frown lines, and a downright furrow between my eyebrows from a lifetime of what-the-fuckery. The grey hair that had first appeared when I found myself wrangling three children all under the age of five was now expertly masked with copious amounts of dye applied by the talented folks at Zig-Zag Hair & Body. I still did yoga on a regular basis, more now that the kids were…well, grown, I guess. For the most part. Which was really a mind-blower, as is everything else associated with the passage of time in regard the human condition. Aging, kids, is not for the weak. No one tells you that if you sleep too long, your body parts will hurt. Your tits will sag, you’ll pee your pants when you cough, sneeze, or laugh too hard, your hands will ache if you, you know, use them to do stuff…like hold books. Your knees will creak to the point where you aren’t sure if it’s you making sounds or the stairs you’re descending. After you’ve finished a round of particularly vigorous doggy-style, you’ll find yourself uncertain as to which will be more detrimental…remaining in place or attempting to get off the bed. It’s an unimaginable brutality, standing powerless against the effects of time on your physical being while the inner you, the corporeal you, does not follow suit. This Maude was the same Maude who had married the love of her life in this very place, right down to her limitless desire for Lindor truffles and continued disgust at the idea of pineapples on pizza. I can, however, confirm that time does aid in the healing process, which is how we ended up back on Kauai. Each year that passed put more distance between us and the horror we’d endured, and little by little we were able to work through it, first by being able to actually view our wedding photos and videos, then feel small bits of joy while doing so, until finally, sixteen years out, the fear and anxiety was almost fully overridden by that joy. And here we were, on the day of our 20th wedding anniversary, right where it had all begun.

Some unpleasant memories, though faded and dim, still lingered, and as a result neither Tom nor I could bring ourselves to return to the Coconut Beach Marriott. The kids were all aware of the circumstances surrounding our wedding and the days that followed, as we’d vowed to be open and honest about it if the subject ever came up, because we preferred that they learned the truth from us rather than believing what they might have seen on the internet. Two years ago the need for the ‘the talk’ had arisen, and Henry’s reaction had utterly floored me…he’d leapt up off the couch, pulled me into his arms and whispered that he’d hoped his presence had brought me some comfort and that he wished he’d been able to do more. He’d turned nineteen in February, my firstborn, and even though as a parent you’re not supposed to, like, have a favorite…he was, in fact, my favorite, at least in the sense that there was a depth and level of understanding between us that was akin to psychic connection. Perhaps it was due to our shared trauma, or perhaps it was the trauma that caused me to relate to him differently…though in the end, it didn’t matter because I’d never expressed such a sentiment out loud, nor would I. Besides, I’d always known that he already knew anyway.

Henry…also known as Our Son the Writer, as well as Indy Gallagher, his chosen pen name. He’d taught himself to read at age four, having grown frustrated with Tom and I not being able to drop whatever we were in the middle of, which was usually dealing with one of his siblings, in order to do it on his behalf. From that point forward, books and the stories they contained were his passion…he was never without reading material, absorbing any and all information he encountered and losing himself completely in imagined realities, always longing for more. It was that longing which set him upon the path to becoming an author when he was thirteen, having found himself unwilling and unable to accept that George R. R. Martin’s ‘A Song of Fire and Ice’ series had gone unfinished and deciding he’d tackle the task on his own. A year and many kudos on AO3 later he’d started to build his own fictional universe, and when he self-published the first book of the series, ‘Times Prior’, in August of 2034 it sold a half-a-million copies inside of sixty days without any marketing whatsoever. The main characters were inter-dimensional entities left stranded on Earth, their memories thought to have been wiped clean, and the story followed their journey as they sought to combine the snippets of their past that remained into a single coherent whole that revealed their history while attempting to covertly integrate with humanity. Book two, ‘Presented Puzzles’ had been released in early December of last year, hitting the million mark within two weeks. Though I already had first edition tucked away at home, I hoped to find one here to purchase so I could secure the receipt to the flyleaf with a notation that this copy had been purchased from the location where Indy Gallagher’s own story had begun.

When I felt Tom’s hand on my back as he stopped to stand on my left, I turned my head his way, peering upward. Though he had his share of wrinkles and his hair, which he’d taken to wearing long enough to brush his chin, had gone completely grey at the temples with salt and pepper throughout the rest, the fucker did NOT look fifty-five. Not to me, anyway…when you’re young and you imagine being fifty-five it seems so damn old, but when it’s staring you in the face, or especially once you’ve passed it by yourself, not so much. There were still bricks in his stomach, his ass remained quarter-bounce ready, and, now that the Hiddlespawn had matured, I took advantage of the Silver Fox Hotness Level One Billion as often as humanly possible. As you do. He grinned at me, then leaned in to nuzzle my cheek with his own.

“Well, here we are, my love, at long last. How the ever-loving fuck has it been twenty years? Speaking of…perhaps I can interest you in a waltz down memory lane via a certain out-of-the way restroom?”

My jaw dropped open. “Oh my god, how dare you? Since when am I the kind of woman who has sex in public places?”

He laughed, tongue poking out between his teeth. “To the best of my recollection, since…forever.”

I crossed my arms, eyes rolling skyward. “Your recollection has clearly become unreliable, old man.”

“Mmm hmm. Meet me there in twenty?”

"Absofuckingloutely." I uncrossed my arms with the intention of pinching his nipple through the fabric of his white V-neck T-shirt, but was interrupted by the arrival of our entourage as they filed through the door and filtered into the space around us.

Simon settled in to my right, with Luke at his side, as per usual. Simon’s approach to aging was best described as rage, rage against the dying of the light…his hair remained blonde, though these days, much like Tom, he’d been wearing it longer, so much so that he occasionally sported a ponytail. Just a ponytail, never, ever a man bun. Never. I was, and I quote, to ‘dispatch him quickly and without prejudice’ if I ever witnessed him committing such an unforgivable offense. Fillers and chemical peels were a regular occurrence, as were weekly spa visits and a thorough daily skin cleansing and hydrating regimen. He made use of our gym more than Tom or I did and had taken up running more than a decade ago, which he’d deemed necessary in order to have enough physical stamina to open his own restaurant. It was a joint venture with his son Roland, aptly named Ka-Tet…with permission from Uncle Steve, of course, who was still cranking out wordy goodness at eighty-nine. It was located close to home, near Regent’s Park in the space formerly occupied by Odette’s, with a décor that was best described as dystopian spaghetti western. There was no set menu…Simon decided he’d be preparing whatever the fuck he felt like making on any given day, take it or leave it…and they were only open Friday and Saturday nights, which created an air of exclusivity that resulted in the place being booked almost a year in advance. It was perfect work-life balance for him, and whenever anyone mentioned how youthful he appeared he’d nod and reply that all credit belonged to his favorite preservation method…daily alcohol infusions.

Luke remained at the helm of Prosper, though he’d pulled back significantly since Ka-Tet had opened and essentially served only in an advisory capacity. He’d begun to lose his hair just prior to turning forty, and he’d opted to just shave it all off and embrace baldness as opposed to undergoing transplants or wearing a toupee. It suited him, honestly, and his penchant for quirky glasses and three-day stubble seemed to transform him into the way he was always meant to look. Scholarly, like a college professor. Which he and Simon had role-played, as I’d been forced to discover even though my hands were covering my ears, because Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer and spoke louder instead when I requested that he keep that shit to himself. I watched as he reached for Simon’s hand without even a glance downward, their fingers twining together in a gesture so often repeated it was automatic, built into the fabric of their muscle memory. They turned to smile at each other, then shifted their gazes in unison to focus on their daughters as they passed by to their right.

Seph’s light brown hair was wound up in a bun that rested at the base of her neck, dressed in a light blue linen tank dress that matched the frames of her glasses. She resembled Luke a great deal, other than her lips and nose, the former much fuller, the latter more rounded at the tip. Her frame was lithe, almost lanky, and she stood an inch or two taller than me sans heels. In the fall she’d be returning to Cambridge for her second year in pursuit of her BA Tripos Degree in Law, after which she intended to obtain a Masters in Law, then finally a Doctorate in Law. Ez, who was essentially a carbon copy of Simon as far as physicality was concerned, was currently a student at the New York School of Design and would be heading back to the city after our vacation. She’d just finished the Fashion Design certificate program and was scheduled to intern at Manhattan Fashion in the Garment District from July 15th through September 1st, at which point she’d return to NYSD to complete their Couture and Menswear programs back to back. She’d designed the dress Seph was wearing, as well as her own, a white cotton sleeveless wrap-around that hugged her curves and accentuated her impossibly tiny waist. Which I supposed was made possible, along with exceptional genetics, by running six days a week, an activity she’d often participated in with the other masochists in my life…Simon, Tom and Henry. Now that she was based in New York it was solely Henry, their ability to pair up simplified by the fact that both of them resided in the same building, Henry in my old apartment, Ez in hers two floors below. He was standing next to her, dwarfing her five-foot-six frame with his own, his height topping out at six-foot-one, just an inch shy of Tom’s. His hair, worn shoulder-length, was black like my mother’s but curly like mine, eyes identical to Tom’s in shape and color. He had Tom’s nose as well, but my lips and jaw. Like his father, he was lean but muscular, blessed with a gracefulness that I had never possessed. He’d relocated to New York the previous summer to focus on writing, opting to forgo college in the wake of the success of his debut novel. I agreed that college would be a waste, being a firm believer in the fact that one could either write, or couldn’t, but I’d called bullshit on the ‘going away to focus’ aspect, at least privately when Tom and I discussed it. He and Ez had always been very good friends, nearly inseparable, and I felt it in my bones that the real reason he’d decided to leave London was so they could remain in close proximity to one another. Her desire to live in the same building had been presented as great way for both of them to adjust to new surroundings without feeling isolated, which was true, but again, my bones had whispered that there was something bubbling beneath the surface. There had been no confirmation as yet, and I’d stopped mentioning it when Tom, the most hopeless romantic amongst all hopeless romantics, told me I was turning into an even more hopeless romantic than he’d ever been. But it hadn’t stopped me from, you know, looking for signs.

A flash of flaming red glimpsed out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn and look to my left, basking in the breathtaking sight of the whirling dervish that was our daughter, Mona Diane Hiddleston, born at sunset on Wednesday, June 17th, 2018. Her hair was the color of my father’s and Tom’s paternal grandmother’s, wavy like Tom’s, worn long and loose and hanging halfway down her back. Her eyes were brown like mine, and shaped like them as well, but the rest of her face was all Tom. She was five-foot-nine, and often described as a force of nature, at which point I’d smile and say that I had not the slightest idea who she’d gotten that sort of personality from. She’d be relocating to New York in mid-August to begin her dual-enrollment program at Julliard, studying both Instruments and Composition with the goal of a Doctorate in Musical Arts and a career as a conductor in mind. Unlike me, she could read and write music, and play any instrument she was handed with little to no training. Her singing voice was exceptional, her range higher than mine though not quite as broad, but she’d never expressed any interest in developing it other than participating in the school chorus because she needed an elective to flesh out her schedule. Mona had been our ‘difficult’ child…as a baby she’d been fussy, easily irritated with a sleep schedule that was measured in fifteen-minute increments, and as a toddler we’d dealt with outbursts and tantrums over what we considered to be thoroughly minor issues, such as the lights being too bright, her clothes being too tight, or the seams of her socks being ‘wrong’. Throughout it all, the only consistent way to soothe her had been with music, be it listening to it or creating her own using our piano, pots and pans, or anything else that provided rhythmic sounds. Shortly after she turned five, she was diagnosed with sensory processing disorder, which we learned later on went hand-in-hand with her being highly gifted. All three kids were, which wasn’t exactly a surprise given Tom’s and my placement on the IQ scale, but giftedness manifests differently in each individual with a variety of traits, some more challenging to cope with than others. Once we’d established a methodology for managing her SPD, she was like a different human being…strong, steadfast, boisterous, fully confident in her sense of self and intent on extracting each and every thing she expected from this world without apology. And my god, I was so very, very fucking proud to be her mother. And honored. She’d noticed I was staring at her and had just opened her mouth to ask me why when our youngest bounded out from behind her, paused briefly at her left, then pivoted to park himself directly in front of her.

Sean James Hiddleston, born Friday, October 23rd, 2020 five minutes before midnight, named as such due to the fact that the blue hue of the eyes that peered up at me when he opened them for the first time was identical to my father’s. He’d been a complete surprise, so much so that I hadn’t even realized I was pregnant until I was three months in…at 42, I’d figured missed periods meant I was embarking on the journey into menopause, and when Tom suggested that perhaps I should take a pregnancy test I’d laughed and laughed. Henry had just turned three and Mona wasn’t quite two, and when I saw the giant plus sign in the test window the laughter faded damn fucking quick when I realized Tom and I would shortly be outnumbered by a trio of ankle biters all under the age of four. After the initial shock dissipated, we were overjoyed, in awe of how the universe continued to be so generous to us, providing yet another miracle. By the time I’d begun to show Henry was cognizant enough to ask questions, and when I informed him he’d soon have a new brother or sister his face had paled and he’d whispered ‘Mamma, will it be like Mona?’, causing Tom to run out of the room, unable to keep his shit together, while I comforted Henry by explaining that every baby is different, the entire time asking myself the same question he had internally. As it happened any worries about his temperament were for naught, because Sean had been a jovial soul right from the get go. He was the child, however, that we had to keep the closest eye on because if left to his own devices even for a second he’d be into something he shouldn’t have been, and when confronted he’d just grin and simply say ‘But I’m learning things.’ Even still, at fifteen-going-on-thirty, he uttered that same phrase at least once a day. Sometimes more. Like when I’d caught him trying to remotely hack into my brand new Alienware laptop two weeks prior…you know, just to see if he could. And, of course, he could. Of all three children he resembled Tom the most, blond wavy hair, same blue eyes, nose and jaw…the only bit of me in his face were his lips. He’d begun his adolescent growth spurt just after Christmas and had shot up from five-nine to six-two in what seemed like no time whatsoever, and if I did a side-by-side of him and Tom from his Eton days it wasn’t easy to tell who was who. Despite their physical similarities, Sean had been cursed with my lack of grace and had already broken almost every toe and sprained various extremities on the regular. He had been blessed, however, with my engineering and mathematical skills, and his abilities made an accelerated program via online courses the best option for him after he’d finished year six. Once he turned sixteen he’d be permitted entry into Cambridge’s School of Technology, where he planned to focus on Computer Science, but the next round of required classes wouldn’t be available until fall of 2037. Starting in September of this year he’d be officially interning at CodeHex, working both with me and other high-level employees across our departments. I say ‘officially’ because he’d been interning in an unofficial capacity for nearly four years, popping in every weekday as soon as he’d finished his online courses back at our flat. When he was a preschooler he’d spent a good bit of time there as well, at my side or on my lap, as I worked to establish the CodeHex company and brand during my ‘free’ hours while Henry and Mona were at school. On the first day of his own year one he’d frowned as Tom and I hugged and kissed him goodbye outside the school’s entrance, stating that while he was very excited to make all sorts of new friends and learn new things, he’d very much miss his old job and old friends. Then he’d spotted a girl with a Captain Marvel backpack and promptly ditched us in order to run over and introduce himself, turning back to wave and smile at us before returning his attention to her and walking into the building while Tom and I stood on the sidewalk crying our eyes out like a couple of schumucks.

He’d moved closer to me, though still blocking his sister, arms raised and hands extended, palms toward Tom and I as he spoke.

“This is it, then, is it Mum? Where you and Dad met? All those years ago? Right here? In this bookshop?”

I nodded. “Yeppir. Also where we got engaged, and where we got married.”

Tom elbowed me, and Simon twisted his torso sideways to gawk at me, his head cocked to the right.

“Woman, have you finally lost your mind? You were married at the Marriot. I was there, looking resplendent in my purple tux while you puked in the bushes, remember?”

Opting to attempt to make a royal fuck-up appear as if it were a conscious choice, I turned my head towards him, index finger of my right hand raised and pointing toward his chest. “Well, you’re not totally wrong…we were married at the Marriot, but that was actually our second ceremony. The first one happened here, right after midnight so it was officially on the twenty-ninth.”

Simon gasped, placing his right hand over his heart, finders splayed wide. “Are you telling me right now, twenty fucking years later, that the two of you snuck off and got married without your best friends and spent the entire next day pretending your entirely invalid not at all legally binding apparently just for show wedding ceremony was one-hundred-percent genuine?”

I bit my lip and glanced skyward briefly, then back at Simon. “Yes. Yes I am.”

He reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Maude Hiddleston, I have never been prouder of you than I am at this moment, you sneaky little MINX. How did you keep it a secret this whole time?”

I shrugged. “Only four people on the planet knew…me, Tom, the judge and Roger Marshal.” While researching our trip we’d learned that Roger had passed away in 2033, but his daughter Denise had taken over the business. Tom and I planned on seeking her out during our visit, but hadn’t provided any advance notice as we felt that expressing our condolences in person would be most appropriate since Talk Story, and her father, had played such an important role in our lives. I poked Simon’s left pec with my right index finger. “Shouldn’t you be all ragey because you weren’t there or something?”

He released my shoulders and crossed his arms in front of him, rested his right elbow in his left hand as he tapped his lips with his left index finger, then pointed it at me. “You know what? I fucking should be. But I’m not. Because I’m sure it was all mushy-mushy gushy-gushy and there was probably sniffling and crying and Shakespearean sonnet level verbal exchanges and therefore I’m dropping it in the ‘glad to have missed it’ bucket.” He mock-gagged, and as I swatted at him he pulled back and away, flipping me double birds.

Mona stepped out from behind Sean, her head tilted to the left. “Well that diminishes both the impact and validity of all those lectures on the critical importance of honesty a bit, doesn’t it?”

Tom roared with laughter, and I smirked. “I look forward to opening the box that contains my ‘HYPOCRITE’ T-shirt this coming Christmas morning. Men’s 2 XL, please. Black with white lettering. Maybe a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ on the back written in a script font?”

Henry raised his hand as he joined in. “Oh! Oh! There must be some photographic evidence of the clandestine ceremony hidden away somewhere, I’d imagine? That absolutely needs to be on the T-shirt’s front-side. And Dad’s complicit, so we’ll have to have one made for him as well.”

Sean grinned. “If such evidence exists, you can count on me to track it down.”

I glanced over at Tom, who was still chuckling. “This whole kid thing…your idea, wasn’t it? I can’t fathom having done this to myself without being coerced by an insanely hot dude via repeated seductions until I…”

All three of them screeched in unison. “MUM!”

Tom pointed at them in turn. “The lesson here, progeny of mine, in case you needed a refresher course…your mother is a master of diversionary tactics and especially enjoys their implementation when the outcome is likely her having…hmm…how shall I phrase this delicately?”

I snorted. “What your voluble father is attempting to convey without incurring my wrath is…the last word. I like having the last word. He neglected to mention that no topic is off limits in the pursuit of achieving that particular goal. So, shall we move on or would you prefer that I begin my dissertation on our wedding night activities?”

Again, in unison, with Simon, Luke, Seph and Ez joining in this time around. “MOVE ON.”

We all split off then, singly for some, in pairs for others, and wandered around the shop. Tom and I paused in the precise spot I’d been standing two decades earlier, narrowing down my reading options for what I’d thought would be hours of alone time on the beach. His arm slipped around my waist, and I circled his in turn, each of us leaning into the other, silent in our contemplation of the Before and the After, which is how we both viewed the stages of our lives prior to and since crossing paths. I could hear Sean exclaiming to Mona that he’d located the music section and that she just had to come see it immediately, Seph and Luke laughing as Simon assured them that yes, he did in fact still enjoy reading the Twilight Series novels and that there was nothing wrong with having a little vampy wolfie sad girl angsty fluff in your life thank you very much, and then, footsteps behind us…a strange echo of the past, and this time I didn’t hesitate to spin around to see who they belonged to. Tom did the same seconds afterward, and before us was a woman wearing a tea-length bright green tank dress, her jet-black hair worn in two braids that hung nearly to her waist. She smiled, and my mouth dropped open when I took note of her name tag. She smiled, realizing I’d recognized her.

“Aloha, Hiddlestons. Welcome back to Talk Story.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Alani. Oh my god. Well, this is a mind fuck of epic proportions. And I’m spewing profanity. Whoops. Sorry.”

Tom somehow managed to speak like an actual human being. “Alani! What a marvelous thing, seeing you again in this very special place…you’ve been well, I hope?”

She laughed, then stepped forward to embrace both Tom and I, then pulled back. “I have. I teach at the Waimea High School during the year…9th grade English Literature. Weekends and summers inevitably find me here. This place seems to have a gravitational pull I’m unable…and unwilling…to escape.” Sighing, she glanced around the room, then fixed her gaze back on us. “Have you heard?”

Nodding, I reached for Tom’s hand and took hold. “About Roger? Yes, but not until we started researching our trip. We wanted to wait to meet Denise to express our condolences. Is she available?”

Alani shook her head, frowning slightly. “She’s not, I’m afraid. Honestly, we’ve not seen very much of her at all, and she hasn’t been back since she told us she was putting the place up for sale. Of course, I understand that it reminds her of her father and…”

My grip on Tom’s hand tightened, as did his on mine, so much so that we both let go as if we’d received an electric shock. I took a deep breath, telling myself to be cool, Maude, be fucking cool before giving nonchalance a go.

“So. Talk Story’s for sale? Huh. Well, we most definitely hadn’t heard that. I don’t recall seeing a sign…”

Tom cleared his throat. “Neither do I. Does that mean a sale is pending, or is the property still available?”

She nodded, which was not at all helpful, but the words she spoke afterward were. “It’s still available. The sign’s off to the right of the building, attached to the potted tree so it faces oncoming traffic. The realtor’s been in a few times since it went up in January, but never with any clients. Our revenue isn’t even a quarter of what it was a decade ago, and Denise isn’t very involved so things have gotten worse since Roger passed. At this point, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to remain open, but I’m going to keep hoping that someone sees the value here, the history this place contains…” She cleared her throat, then shook her head back and forth slowly. “Goodness, I’m so terribly sorry. I honestly only meant to say hello…everything else just sort of…happened. I don’t know what came over me.”

I reached out and patted her upper arm. “Please, no worries. This place seems to foster that sort of thing. Books aplenty with the occasional divine intervention. That’s so going on the marketing materials. You on board with that, Tom?”

“Oh yes. Yes I am. Alani, do you happen to have the realtor’s number handy?”

One walk-through, two hours, and countless document signatures later we were officially in contract to purchase Talk Story, with a closing date set for Tuesday, July 1st at 1 PM at the Kauai Coldwell Banker Realty office. Much like I had twenty-one years earlier, we all had to haul ass back to Kapaʻa in order to make our dinner reservation at Kauai Pasta, though this time we were a party of nine instead of three. We’d requested the same booth area, spilling over into the two additional sections in the same row that backed the wall. Tom and I, in an effort to be appropriately extra, ordered the exact same meal we’d ordered the day we met, but sat side-by-side instead of across from each other. Midway through the main course we turned to each other, smiling as our eyes met, and all the noise of friends and family faded into the background as we paused to remember, lost in our thoughts of days gone by, and I felt this monstrous rush of emotions…love, joy, peace, and so many more…and I was so…so…grateful. Granted, I was grateful every day, but this was an all-encompassing gratefulness, and I looked away for a moment to survey our friends, their children, and each of our own children in turn. Life is incredibly strange and unusual, even downright cruel at times, but like the weed-dealing kid in American Beauty said, “sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in”, and that’s where I was at in that moment, in the very same space that had fanned the flames of the spark that had emerged at Talk Story. Which we’d just bought. For nine-hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all contents included. I turned my gaze back to Tom, my head tilting to the right.

“Did we, like, just actually buy a bookstore? As in, the bookstore we’ve always considered ‘our’ bookstore is now…our bookstore?”

He nodded, and I felt his hand first on my knee, then creeping up under my shorts. “We did. And while I’m thoroughly delighted with that particular development, I’m also a tad disappointed because we missed out on our restroom rendezvous this go-round. Care to christen this one instead?”

“Oh, that’s a bold move right there, Thomas. The ladies’ room is literally separated from this table by a single wall. I’ll go first, you get up five minutes later and lurk outside the door…I’ll leave it open a crack so I can keep watch. When the coast is clear I’ll pull you inside.” I lowered my voice, whispering in his ear. “And then I’ll, you know, pull you inside again. And again.”

He groaned quietly. “Woman. Cease. And go. Go now.”

I excused myself, and that five minutes seemed to take a thousand years. There was fire in his eyes when he shut and locked the door behind him, and without a word he turned me around, bent me over the sink, pulled off my shorts and underwear and fucked me so hard I couldn’t help but cry out his name as I came, which he muffled quickly by covering my mouth with his left hand, which made me come again. And again. He soon followed, leaning down and biting my clothed shoulder gently to stifle his own cries. After he pulled out I stood upright, and he leaned in to kiss me, sucking my tongue into his mouth as he zipped himself up, peeked out the door, then exited and darted into the men’s restroom next door. I used the facilities, washed up, and waited for three minutes after I heard him finish up and walk by. A sly grin spread wide across his face awaited me as I returned to the table, and as I sat down Sean asked if we’d be ordering desert. Simon, ever the obnoxious asshat, smirked and commented that he was reasonably sure that some of us had already had their desert, which left Sean puzzled, Mona and Seph disgusted, and Henry and Ez blushing like mad, which really got my Spidey Senses all a-tingle. Luke simply smiled at me, shrugging helplessly, and I sighed, nodding, both of us silently accepting yet again that yes, this was indeed the life we’d chosen.

As it happened, no desert was ordered…instead, we headed back to the beach house we’d rented on the Coconut Coast, in Anahola Beach Park, which was seven miles or so up from the Coconut Beach Marriott. With only four bedrooms, it meant the kids had to share, so Sean and Henry were in one room and Mona, Seph and Ez in another, but it was literally steps from the beach, totally private, and had a pool and a hot tub. All of that was lovely, but lovelier still was the item tucked away in the fridge…a two-tiered chocolate cake with layers of cheesecake filling, iced with white buttercream and decorated with green and purple fondant orchids. As Tom and I fed each other a slice, Simon smeared icing on the back of my neck. I retaliated by flinging a banana from a bowl on the counter in his direction because bananas are disgusting and there was no way I was wasting cake, and suddenly we were in the middle of an all-out food war that ended with all of us jumping into the pool fully clothed. Fun was had, at least until we clambered out of the water and got a gander at the current state of the formerly pristine kitchen. It was almost midnight by the time we finished cleaning up the mess we’d made, but we’d powered through by taking turns listening to our favorite playlists. Just as we’d begun to discuss our shower schedules, the first few notes of Adventure Of A Lifetime began to play. Without pausing to determine who was responsible for choosing it, Tom and I gravitated toward each other and began to dance, then sang, and as the song progressed we were joined by Simon, Sean, Henry, Ez, Mona, Seph and Luke. By the end we were essentially screaming the lyrics, a troupe of dancing fools bound by love and blood still sharing the same adventure, celebrating where we’d already been, exited for what we’d discover down the road. Everything you want’s a dream away…we are legends, every day.

Later on, after all the good-nights were said and Tom had passed out after our engaging in some seriously spectacular anniversary shenanigans, I found myself wide awake. I walked to the glass sliders and stared past the pool at the reflection of the moonlight on the waves, the ebb and flow of the ocean that had always, to me, seemed representative of the back and forth, the ups and downs…all the moments of our lives as we pass through them. And then, there they were…Henry and Ez, walking toward the pool, holding hands. They too stood gazing out at the waves, and released each other’s hands to slip their arms around each other’s waists. Without warning, since I wasn’t privy to their conversation, Henry leaned backward, face to the sky, laughing the laugh that I knew sounded so very much like his father’s. I could see them both shaking with mirth, and they quieted slowly, her hand rubbing his back. As I continued to watch, transfixed, she rested her head against him, and he turned to pull her into his arms, then leaned down to kiss her.

At that point what migh happen next was absofuckinglutely none of my business, so I turned around and headed back toward yet another temporary bed that contained the sleeping form of my personal, perfect, permanence, awash in moonlight. I was now more awake than ever, so I remained in a seated position next to him, my back resting against the headboard. He mumbled in his sleep, rolling over to drape his left arm across my lap. The desire to wake him up and share what I’d seen so I could have a ‘HA, I told you so’ moment was strong, but it was cast aside by a vivid memory from when Henry had been an infant. Tom had just returned from promoting Kong, and I, in my incredibly sleep deprived state, experienced an instance of déjà vu that evolved into a vision of me, at some point in the future, passing the sleeper Henry had been wearing that night to a young man. Back then, the voices I’d heard weren’t familiar, nor recognizable, but now…now they were, because I’d been listening to them all day long. I recalled that when I was still carrying him inside me, each time I’d held Ez, Henry had thrashed about wildly, something that had never occurred in such a fashion with anyone else. The entanglement particle theory came to mind, one that Tom had referenced in Only Lovers Left Alive, which Einstein had dubbed ‘spooky action at a distance’. If entwined particles become separated, even if they wind up at opposite ends of the universe, if one is altered or affected, the other will be identically altered or affected.

I started down at the ring on Tom’s left hand, and the two on my own, one which had been inscribed with two lines of text at the bequest of the man who’d become my husband twenty years ago. On the first was ‘Talk Story - 6/29/15 - Our Story’, and on the second, ‘My Light in the Mist’. I was, briefly, unable to breathe, feeling that I suddenly, and for certain, temporarily, understood life, the universe and everything.

Even in the darkest hour of our journey through this life, there’s light. You won’t see it in that moment, you might not see it for a long time afterward…but it’s there, hidden by darkness, and as the darkness begins to fade there will be tiny specks of it in the distance. Chase after them, because those specks – they’re hope. The fading darkness transitions to a thick fog, then a translucent mist…you may find yourself lingering there, in the in-between, reasonably content. Living, but with a sense of incompleteness that you can’t seem to define, are able to suppress, but can’t quite shake. That’s the light, reaching out for you. And one day, it will finally make contact. And if you’ll allow it, the light will take you by the hand and lead you out into the open where the sun can fully shine upon you again…or perhaps for the very first time. And I’m here to say…allow it. Grab that hand. Grab it with everything you have, and never let it go. No matter what, never, ever let it go.

- Maeve Curry, June 2015- July 2019

#chapter 53 #epilogue

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kmseokjins · 5 years

Text

Waste It On Me (Chapter 7)

Fandom: BTS Pairing: BTS x Reader / Future OT7 x Reader Warnings: n/a in this chapter Genre: fluff Summary: [Name] gets a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Jungkook & Jimin are troublemakers, and just what does Yoongi mean?

Notes: I should be working on Chapter 8.....so have Chapter 7!

Archive Of Our Own || Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

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“[Name], there you are! Quickly, quickly, we have to go!” You’ve barely stepped through the door into the studio when your boss is practically shoving you back out the way you came.

“Wha-,” You sputter, letting your boss drag you along back down the hallway to the elevators. “What’s going on? We have clients today!” You’re promptly ignored for the moment as your boss guides you into the elevator by your elbow.

“Jisoo and Doyoung have it under control until we get back,” Your elbow is finally released as your boss, Han Jae-wan, presses the lobby button. “You and I have a meeting to attend.”

“Oh, um...what’s the meeting about? Who is it with?” You had only set in on one meeting before with Jae-wan, and that was when you’d been promoted to work as his assistant over a year ago. “..It’s good, right?”

Jae-wan turns to look at you, “It’s a contract, and yes, it’s a good thing.” He looks you up and down a moment, evidently noticing you’re nervous look, “Relax, [Name].”

You nod absently, stiffening at the sound of multiple notifications from your phone in your bag. “I’m sorry,” You mumble to him, fishing out your phone and putting it on silent.

8 new text messages. You stare at the notifications before tapping on the group chat with the boys, scrolling through the missed messages ( “good morning even though you snuck out on me @[name]” “i hope you have a good day at work!” “aww that’s so sweet” “shhhh” “go back to sleep it’s too early” “i can’t i lost my snuggle buddy” “i’ll come snuggle” ). You shake your head at the messages, shooting a quick good morning in the group chat before you slip your phone back into your bag.

The elevator doors ding as they open and you jog quickly after Jae-wan’s long strides through the lobby and out the front door. You’re immediately coming to a halt at the sight of the black sedan waiting at the curb. Jae-wan is halfway into the back seat before you’re shuffling forwards to follow in after him.

“You never told me who the meeting is with,” You clutch your bag to your chest after you close the door, the sedan pulling away from the curb to merge with the morning traffic. Whoever it was had to be important, sending a vehicle to collect your boss. You were curious as to why he had brought you along, although you guessed perhaps he was hoping to give you some experience in dealing with bigger clients, especially if you ever managed to get out on your own in the photography business.

Jae-wan glances over at you for a moment, pausing in whatever he was typing on his phone, “It’s a meeting with BigHit Entertainment,” He answers, before promptly returning to his phone. “That should tell you how important this meeting is.”

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You chuckle nervously before clamping a hand over your mouth to stop any more noises from escaping.

They knew.

They were coming to sue you six ways from Sunday and make sure you never had a career ever again. Hell, they were probably preparing to kick you out of South Korea right now. Could they do that? With certainty, your brain confirmed.

When the sedan came to a stop, you were on the verge of bolting or fainting right there; your brain couldn't comprehend which was the best idea.

With a shaking hand, you grabbed the door handle and opened it, stepping out of the vehicle and out of the way for Jae-wan to exit the vehicle, shuffling after him with a sense of dread in your stomach.

It had been a month since you’d been here with the boys. Then, the building hadn’t seemed so daunting. Now? You felt like a pig being lead to slaughter.

Your routine with the boys hadn’t changed much in the past couple weeks. You definitely found yourself staying over more often, usually snuggled up with Taehyung in his bed (last week you’d even woken up to Jimin and Jungkook practically sprawled on the both of you). Despite the fact that part of you wanted to go on a real date with Taehyung, you honestly didn’t mind hanging out at the dorms with the seven of them. It felt natural, and besides, you couldn’t very well go out on the town with Taehyung. It would be nearly impossible with his Idol status, even with a disguise. That would be tempting a scandal.

“Are you alright, [Name]?” Jae-wan was looking down at you with concern, and you could only blink at him when you realized you were both in one of the elevators. “Not getting sick, are you?”

You shook your head in response, “N-no. Just...just nervous.” Your half smile was forced, busing yourself with adjusting your bag.

“Don’t be. It’s fine, nothing to worry about.” Jae-wan opens his mouth to say something else, but the elevator doors opening stop him from doing so. He pats you on the shoulder before leading the way out of the elevator. You groan and follow after him, keeping your head down and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. God forbid you see the boys.

++++++++++++++++

Jae-wan and yourself are directed to a boardroom, shown into the mostly windowed room by a woman that you don’t catch the name of before she’s gone, leaving you two alone. Jaw-wan had no problem taking a seat at the large table, but you pace back and forth (casually) in front of the windows. You can feel Jae-wan watching and judging you, but he leaves you be for the fifteen minutes you’re left alone before an older woman rushes into the room.

“My apologizes for making you wait Han Jae-wan-ssi, [Last] [First]-ssi,” She apologizes, giving a bow before she promptly sits down in a chair diagonally from Jae-wan and closest to the door. “I’m Park Seo-Yeon.”

You stand for a few moments before you quickly grab the chair across from her and sit down, nervously shifting your gaze from Jae-wan to her and back again. You try to pay attention to their conversation, but you can’t focus on anything other than the thoughts of how this is where your career ends and your boss is going to be humiliated to hear it first hand.

“[Name].” Jae-wan's hiss of your name has you straightening abruptly in your seat, whipping your head to look at him. “Are you comfortable with that?”

You blink rapidly at him for several moments before you manage to clear your throat, “Can...can you repeat that?” With how wide your eyes are, you hope he’ll be nice enough to explain what’s going on.

“I have prior engagements that conflict with the schedule they want me for,” He’s giving you an aspirated look now, “I want you to step in for me instead. Are you comfortable with that?” Something brushes your arm and you glance down at the paper that Jae-wan has slid over to you.

With a glance, you note the dates before hastily looking back up at your boss, “You want me to take your place as the photographer?” You ask in disbelief, glancing at Seo-yeon before back to Jae-wan, “For…three weeks?”

“There’s a reason you’re my assistant and why I brought you with me.” His lips twitch, like he’s trying not to laugh at your sputtering. “I trust you, and you need to spread your wings, so to say.”

“I..I would be honored.” You breathe, inwardly trying to calm yourself. BigHit wasn’t out to kill you...yet.

“Wonderful! I will be back shortly with the contracts and papers for you to sign and fill out.” Seo-yeon declares before she’s up and rushing out the glass doors, leaving you and Jae-wan alone again. Relaxing in your seat for the first time, you absently scan the paper in front of you again, curious as to who the contract involves.

2 words jump from the page that make you completely freeze in your seat.

“See? I told you there was nothing to worry about.” Jae-wan muses on your left, but you can’t quite acknowledge him, too busy processing who your contract is with.

Bangtan Sonyeondan.

++++++++++

After the contracts and papers were all signed, you had practically raced out of the BigHit building, a stark contrast to hours earlier when you’d been dragging your feet. Jae-wan and yourself had promptly returned to the studio, greeted by cheers when Jae-wan broke the news to your co-workers. Several of your co-workers expressed their envy of your recent contract throughout the rest of the day as work resumed.

By the end of the day, you were bursting at the seams to tell the boys about your news. They had invited you over for dinner and game night, the usual on a Friday night. It was still somewhat early, so you headed home to your apartment first. You wanted to change out of your work clothes, take a shower, and pack a few clothes before you headed to the dorms.

You’re drying yourself off when your phone pings on the counter. You unlock your phone and tap on the notification.

JK: Are you home, [Name]-ah?

You: Yes

Jiminie: Let us in!

JinJin: You said you were going out for MILK

You fumble for your robe, tying it quickly and tightly as you sprint through your apartment to the front door, unlocking the door and pulling it open to reveal Jungkook and Jimin nervously standing in the hallway. Neither need no prompting to rush inside your apartment. You abruptly shut the door, locking it back and rounding on the two, hands on your hips. They’re both dressed dark, sporting a face mask, and a baseball cap pulled low.

“What are you two doing!?” The three of you ignore the numerous notifications from your phones.

Jimin tugs down his face mask, offering a sheepish grin, “We went out to grab some banana milk and Kookie-ah got us turned around and I think some ARMY recognized us…”

“We realized where we were and we didn’t have a choice,” Jungkook added, nervously rubbing at the back of his head as he peers down at his phone. “Hyungs are upset..” He mutters, prompting you to lean forward to look at his screen.

Jin-Hyung: You weren’t supposed to go that far!

Tae-Hyung: You left? Without ME?

Joon-Hyung: They left? When?

Hobi-Hyung: When Jin chased you out of the kitchen, they snuck out

Jin-Hyung: You LET them leave?

Yoongi-Hyung: Hobi and I didn’t think they would wander that far

Leaning back, you sighed and rubbed a hand over your face. “Okay, okay. We can figure this out.” You gestured down at yourself quickly, “Let me go change into some clothes.” You point a finger at the two members, “Stay. Don’t move.” Satisfied you’d scared them into staying put, you marched back into your bedroom to change.

You’re half-dressed when Jungkook shuffles into the bathroom, phone pressed to his ear. “Noona, Hyung wants to talk to you,” His voice startles a shriek from you as you whirl to face him. Jungkook immediately turns red and whirls around to put his back to you, holding the phone away from his ear with a wince. (“What was that!?”) Jungkook promptly covers his eyes with his free hand and offers the phone out towards you blindly.

You take the phone from his hand, tugging your t-shirt that barely covers your thighs down as much as you can, “Sorry, he just startled me, that’s all.”

“Can you get them back here without drawing anymore attention?” Namjoon.

“I’ll try. Did any of them follow you here, Kookie-ah?” You direct your question to the maknae, who turns to face you, hand clamped firmly over his eyes still.

“Um, I don’t know? We kind of just ran, not sure if they were close enough to follow,” Jungkook answers with a shrug.

“I don’t think any of them saw where we ducked into,” Jimin voices as he pokes his head around the corner, furrowing his eyebrows in question at Jungkook before his attention lands on you. His eyebrows go up and he grins, “I hope there’s more to your outfit than just that, [Name]-ah. You’re going to give the poor maknae a heart attack.”

You shoot the dancer a glare, “I’ll figure it out, Joonie. We’ll see you soon.” You end the call before Namjoon or the others can protest. You place the phone back in Jungkook’s open palm and point towards the door, “Out, both of you.” Jungkook briefly bumps into the doorframe before Jimin guides him through the doorway. You shut the door once they’re out, moving to finish getting dressed before they decide to bust back in for whatever reason.

Finished getting dressed and ready, you grab your phone and order an Uber before you open your bathroom door to step into your bedroom. Jimin and Jungkook immediately straighten on your bed at your entrance, focusing on you instead of the phone they’d been hunched over. “I ordered an Uber. Should be here in 10 minutes. I have to finish packing a few things.” You mutter absently to them as you move around your room. Both of them watch you the whole time, silently.

By the time you had a bag packed and ushered the two boys from your room, you had two minutes left before the Uber showed up. Pulling your hair into a ponytail, you pulled a baseball cap over your head, digging around in your bag and pulling out a plain black face mask and slipping it on.

“Okay, troublemakers. Let’s go.” Jimin laughed as you ushered them out the door, locking your apartment behind you. “I’m not saving you from your Hyungs,” You lead the way down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time with Jungkook and Jimin on your heels, hats pulled low.

The sun is almost set as you step out into the fresh air, glancing around in search of the Uber that should be here any second. You stop at the edge of the sidewalk, briefly noting Jimin and Jungkook pressing up against you on either side.

Jungkook looks a bit more nervous than Jimin, and you reach out to grab Jungkook’s hand, giving him a gentle squeeze, “Breathe,” You tell him, “I won’t let ARMY take you away.” Your eyebrows raise when he grips your hand back, just as you spot the Uber pulling up to the curb. You pull your hand from Jungkook’s at the sound of your phone ringing, reaching back to grab it. Taehyung’s face flashes across the screen and you smile as you answer it, “Hey, we’re just getting in the Uber now. We-,”

You’re cut off by a sudden shout from across the street, immediately looking for the source of the noise, which happens to be several young girls opposite. “What was that?” Taehyung asks in your ear, but you don’t answer him right away, taking note of their phones, and the fact that one of them seems to be brave enough to start to cross the street, encouraging the others as well.

“Go, go,” You’re practically unceremoniously man-handling Jimin and Jungkook into the back of the Uber as quick as you can, eyes on the girl who has apparently increased her speed walking. You ignore Jungkook’s protests as you promptly shut the door, stepping back from the vehicle as the driver doesn’t hesitate in pulling away from the curb.

“[Name]-ah! What’s going on!?” Taehyung is practically squawking against your ear before you pull the phone away to point with it, indicating down the street and away from yourself, “Ya! Is that J-Hope!?” Despite being rather silly, at least to you, the girl falters in her path as she twists to look along with the other girls. As soon as she does so, you’re hefting your bag over your shoulder and walking as fast as you can down the sidewalk in the direction the Uber went.

“Sorry, I got left behind. Troublemakers are on their way,” You speak into the phone as you round the corner down the street, “Might have man-handled Jiminie and Kookie more than I meant to.”

Laughter echoes over the phone in the background, and you briefly wonder if Taehyung has you on speakerphone, before you hear Yoongi chortle, “They probably rather enjoyed it.”

You laugh at the comment, turning to glance over your shoulder. None of the girls seemed to have followed you. You relax, but keep your quick pace walking.

“Hobi-Hyung is talking to Jimin right now. Apparently Jungkook wants to go back for you.”

“No, I’m fine. I can get another Uber. They don’t need to come back.”

“Maknae is worried. Is he thinking she got mobbed by ARMY?”

“Oh please, it’ll take more than a few teenage girls to take me down. I’m going to order a new ride. ARMY might not kill me tonight, but that walking distance just might.”

It takes you a few seconds to pull up the app and get a new Uber, sighing softly as you sit on a bench to wait, bringing the phone back to your ear. “Okay, Uber ordered. 5 minutes.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with this,” Namjoon apologizes, “Seems like the younglings are restless.”

“Don’t worry about it, Joonie. It adds a bit of excitement to my otherwise boring life,” You shrug your shoulders, despite the fact that none of them can see you do so, “Just glad they didn’t get mobbed by ARMY. A lot of them are polite, but you know how some fans can be.” You knew the boys had heard first hand how crazy fans can get when it comes to Idols. It was bad enough reading about it in the news.

“There’s my Uber, I’ll see you guys in a bit, okay?”

“Okay, be careful.”

“She want to help man handle the two troublemakers when she gets here?”

“Hyung-”

You ended the call as you stood to reach the curb, shaking your head just as your Uber stopped to wait. You slid into the backseat and shut the door, glancing down at your phone screen at the notification of a missed call from Jungkook. Had you not been heading to the dorms, you might have called the maknae back, but you decided not to.

Jimin and Jungkook would make it to the dorms before you, and if traffic wasn’t bad, they should be there any minute now. You figured it was a good thing you wouldn’t be there until shortly after; you could only imagine what Yoongi had meant by man-handling.

For now, you decided you didn’t want to know.

#bts #*mine #bangtan sonyeondan #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fanfic #my writing #ot7 x reader #poly!bts x reader #bts fanfiction #wiom fic

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