notes: i have been aching to write for these two for ages. more like months, but still. i'm excited about this, because elsanna is very much hell yes. enjoy, and please let me know what you think! happy reading. x

warnings: very dark themes explored, some language, and smut in later chapters. no incest, though, so, um. there's that, i guess.

Sucker Love

- Prologue -

The first time you see her is two and a half weeks into your junior year of high school, when your brother Hans brings her home with him after football practice. You don't even look up at first when you hear a feminine giggle, instead keeping your focus on the papers in your lap because Hans is always bringing girls home. It's really nothing new.

"Anna," he greets you, so naturally you have to look up, and, well. Holy shit. You're not one to use or even think such words but you think this time you can make an exception because the girl clutching onto his arm with both hands is the most beautiful creature you've ever seen. She also appears spooked out of her wits, her wide blue eyes darting around nervously as if she's afraid that something is going to jump out at her, like a child watching a scary movie. "Meet Elsa," Hans continues, smiling widely as he looks over at the striking girl on his arm. "Elsa, this is my little sister, Anna."

"Hello," the girl called Elsa says timidly, smiling gently, unsure. Her face is framed by platinum blonde hair in a messy side braid, a few stray strands of hair falling into her eyes. Her lashes are dark and long, though, like feathers brushing against her milky skin when she blinks and she's wearing a pair of dark jeans that sit fairly low on her narrow hips. She's like a model. Or an angel. Yes, definitely an angel.

You smile back, just a little, and give a tiny wave before shooting Hans a playful glare. "I'm not his little sister, I'm sixteen. That's hardly what I would call little. Anyway, do you go to Lakeview, too?"

Elsa opens her mouth to respond, but Hans speaks before she can utter a sound. "Elsa is new to Lakeview this year. She moved here from Colorado, and she just joined the cheerleading squad. She's really good. Right, Els?" Elsa merely gives a tight-lipped smile as if she is either unused to or ashamed of being a recipient of such praise, her huge eyes studying you curiously. You wonder, in a moment of idiocy, if you are as interesting to her as she is to you. More likely, there's something in your teeth. "Well, we're gonna go upstairs now. Later, Anna."

"Nice meeting you," Elsa says, so quietly you almost don't pick up on it. She smiles again at you and then follows Hans who is tugging her playfully up the stairs. You listen as you hear him giving her a tour of the upstairs rooms before leading her to his room with a cheeky "and the best for last" quip and closing the door behind them. You snort; if your parents were here your father would be ripping that door back open before it was even completely shut.

You turn back to the pile of papers in your lap and sigh, suddenly painfully disinterested. Instead, you close your eyes, and in the darkness behind your eyelids Elsa manifests herself, all glittering blue eyes and pink lips and your eyes shoot back open. Shaking your head, flustered, you curl up tight and return to your schoolwork.

"Wait, wait, wait. Elsa Arendelle? Your brother is dating Elsa Arendelle?"

You merely shrug and take another bite of your sandwich, a little taken aback as Kristoff's response. "I guess so. How do you know who she is?"

"She's new, right? Super blonde cheerleader, looks like she belongs in a Victoria's Secret catalogue?"

You nod slowly. Frankly, Elsa is even prettier than any model you've seen, but you're not going to say that. "Yeah. She's really pretty." Shit. You might as well have just said it.

"I didn't know you were into girls." Kristoff raises an eyebrow at you teasingly. He's joking. You know he's joking. But still.

You shake your head, feeling your face heat up. "I'm not." Lies are always easier than the truth, but lying to Kristoff is harder than lying to anybody else. He's your best friend and has been since you were nine and he caught you when you slipped from the monkey bars. He knows you better than anyone else. He thinks he knows you better than you know yourself. Maybe he's right, but right now you're not so sure. You don't know yourself very well, to be honest. You think maybe you don't know what you want, and the thought makes you so frustrated you could scream.

"Anyway," Kristoff continues obliviously, crumpling up his sandwich wrapper and pulling out another damn sandwich from his bag. "She's in my AP Stats class. It's been pretty hard to concentrate in there nowadays, as you'd expect." You frown. Damn Kristoff and his superior, senior-level math skills. "She's a lot quieter than I expected her to be."

"What do you mean?" you ask, brow furrowing.

"I guess I just expected her to be, you know...loud, like all the other cheerleaders are. But she's really quiet. She doesn't talk very much unless the teacher calls on her. Maybe it's because she's still so new and she's still adjusting. I dunno."

"She doesn't talk at all?"

"Not really. I mean, a lot of the kids in the class try to talk to her and stuff but she just doesn't seem too interested. Maybe she's just one of those snobs who thinks she's too good for everyone else," Kristoff snorts unattractively and you giggle, shaking your head fondly.

"So how is AP Stats going?" You ask him, trying to change the subject because for some unexplainable reason him painting Elsa in a bad light makes you uneasy.

Kristoff just shrugs. "It's alright. The work itself is a piece of cake, but everybody else in the class is a senior and naturally, none of them want to associate with a junior, so. It's a little bit lonely." He grins goofily. "But I'll power through."

You smile sympathetically at him. The guy might be intimidating on first glance, but he really is just a big softy and you wouldn't trade him for the world. "I wish I was in there with you, but you know me and math just don't work."

"My offer to tutor you for the price of one medium pizza each week is still open, you know."

You roll your eyes at him. "I appreciate the offer, Kristoff, really, but you know tutoring would just turn into us goofing off for a few hours. We already do that stuff, anyway."

You both sit, eating quietly in the comfortable silence. You ponder what Kristoff said, and you wonder what it would be like to be with a person like him. He is your very best friend, and he's handsome and charming and funny and sweet, but somehow, you can't imagine it and you're not sure if it's just because you've known him so long or if it runs deeper than that.

"What're you thinking about?" He asks then, breaking the silence. You blink, shaking your head to clear your mind.

"Nothing," you tell him, smiling reassuringly.

You'd rather not think about it.

The second time you see her is the very next day, while you're walking with Kristoff down the hallway to where you've both got the same same English class. You notice her immediately — she stands tall but timid, eyes lowered to the ground. She glances upwards and meets your gaze and her look of anxiety melts into a smile upon seeing a familiar face, you assume.

"Hi, Anna," she greets you quietly, giving you a tiny, quick wave before continuing down the hall, narrow hips swishing as she hurries towards her next class.

"She actually acknowledged you," Kristoff notes, eyes wide like a child's as you enter the classroom and sit side by side in the back, where you can whisper and giggle with little chance of being detected. "You're like, golden now. Please, when you get accepted into the elite inner circle and become the most popular girl in school, don't forget about little old me, okay?"

You flush, swatting Kristoff away playfully. "Shut up, she was just being polite. Don't be such a drama king."

Kristoff frowns, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "I'm not being dramatic, Anna. I already told you, that girl doesn't acknowledge anybody. She barely even acknowledges the teacher; it's a miracle she even talks to Hans. Do they even talk, or do they just make out?"

The thought makes you shudder. "I don't know, Kristoff. I don't exactly listen in through the door."

"Whatever. Like I said, she's an ice queen." He speaks in a hushed voice, pulling out his binder in a feeble attempt to make it appear as if he's actually doing classwork and not discussing the oddities of a pretty senior cheerleader.

"I don't think that's a fair accusation to be making. You don't even know her." You aren't sure why his words bother you so much, or why you feel so suddenly defensive and on edge. After all, maybe he's right.

Kristoff looks over at you this time, clearly surprised at the rigidness in your tone. "Okay, fair point. You don't know her either, though."

He's right, as per usual. You tend to get overexcited and passionate about things, jumping to conclusions too often. Kristoff knows this, and he knows how to handle it, for the most part. Usually, you agree with him and drop the issue. But this time, his words make your stomach twist.

It's true. You don't know her. You don't know anything about her.

But you are a fairly perceptive person, and what you've seen in her eyes is not malice, and it is definitely not disdain. It is uncertainty, and it is fear.

The third time you see her is two days later, because Kristoff left early to go to a doctor's appointment so Hans agreed to drive you home after football practice, so you make yourself comfortable on the metal bleachers and try to convince yourself that you're interested in football as you watch.

Your attention is divided when you see a cluster of girls run onto the field. Cheerleaders. Heart rate picking up embarrassingly, you shamelessly scan the group for Elsa. It doesn't take long to spot her - she stands in stark contrast to the rest with her lithe, willowy frame and hair and skin so light they're nearly white. She reminds you of a drawing of a girl that's been mostly erased, or a girl made of glass. Or an ice sculpture of a girl. You smile. Maybe she is an ice queen, but not in the way Kristoff thinks she is.

Many of the other cheerleaders try to engage her in conversation, their eyes bright and ponytails swinging as they hop around on their toes, but Elsa just replies in short, clipped sentences, eyes lowered as she shifts from foot to foot. She doesn't look disinterested; she looks like she's hesitating, afraid to see the wrong thing. You wonder why nobody else seems to be able to see it. She moves nimbly, white-blonde braid swinging. She is ethereal. You love your bother to death, but you find yourself wondering how Hans managed to snag a girl like Elsa.

This girl is not an ice queen, or a blue-eyed, cold-hearted predator.

And when she glances over and catches your eye from across the field, smiling shyly, you vow to find out what she's hiding beneath that nervous, doe-eyed exterior.

a bit short, but it's only the prologue, so. leave me a review and tell me what you guys think?

thank you, darlings. x