#(glares at my old Go To thrift shop that is now always picked over and overpriced

[catboynutsack]

Got some of The Items of all time at the thrift shop today and I couldn't be happier

[digital-corruption]

Unrecognisable Part 19

After over two hours of driving, we reached the last town with the best access to the forest that would take us across the border. We left the van at the end of town outside the cemetery, and continued in on foot. It was a small town. The lack of a decent CCTV network was a nice change of pace. Stopping briefly at the church beside the cemetery, we used their bathroom to scrub our hands clean, which took far longer than I expected. Afterwards I made sure I went and thanked the priest for letting us use their facilities.

“Child, God's house is always open to you,” he assured me. “I was about to go into the confessional. You are more than welcome to stay and talk.”

“No, thank you. I really must be going,” I shook my head and turned to leave.

“The devil wears many faces. Remember to be vigilant,” he warned me.

I looked back at him confused. Was he talking about Jake? Did he recognise us from the news? Or does he normally say that to people who use his church’s bathroom, but didn’t leave any money in the collection box.

“Everything ok?” Jake asked as I rejoined him on the street.

“Yeah,” I insisted as we continued walking towards the town center. “But hey, look, you didn’t burn going in there.”

Jake chuckled, “So we know I'm not a demon.”

“You sound disappointed,” I teased.

“I was hoping to grow a pair of horns,” he smiled. “Maybe a tail too.”

I bit my lip, “Well now I'm disappointed.”

Jake put his arm around my waist and pulled me close beside him. “I can still screw you like one,” he whispered in my ear.

My body shuddered involuntarily. His hand slipped into my back pocket and squeezed my butt through the fabric. I closed my eyes and remembered our shower together. The idea of being in the hot, cleansing shower with his arms around me again made me envious of past me – of both the shower and the cuddles. When I opened my eyes again, I caught Jake looking at me with concern. I leant my head to rest against his shoulder as we continued to walk and he kissed the top of my head.

On the next block we found a quaint thrift store and went inside. The middle-aged owner of the store gave us some strange looks as we went around grabbing clothes and a new bag to store them in while barely speaking to each other. Jake did come up behind me a few times to sneak kisses on my neck, which the owner was not impressed by.

I tried to pick out shirts for Jake that weren't black, but he just grabbed them out of my hand and tossed them back on the rack. At one point I held up a flamboyant Hawaiian shirt. He rolled his eyes and walked off to the other side of the store. I shrugged and put it back on the rack. When I turned back Jake was holding up a skimpy red dress that was definitely a size too small for me. He had made his point - two could play this game. I walked up to him and took the dress from him with a wink. He went completely wide-eyed and blushed. I giggled and shoved it back on the rack. Two could play this game, but one was a better bluff than the other.

After having our fill of screwing around, I noticed some old wigs on display. I picked up a blond bob and put it on, then pulled out my phone to check myself out. It was not a bad fit. Definitely enough to fool people again. When I lowered my phone, I saw Jake staring at me. He nodded his approval to me. Then I grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses, put them on and gave him my best duck face. Shaking his head he walked off to the counter with the clothes we had chosen. I took the wig and glasses with me and put them down on top of our pile.

“Bit of a shopping spree?” the owner asked as she rung up our items.

“She lost our bag,” Jake teased.

“It was a little more complicated than that,” I glared at him.

“It had all of our clothes in it,” he continued.

I gave him a poke in his side, “Are you going to tell everyone we meet?”

The owner laughed, “I’m sure one day you’ll be able to look back on this and have a good laugh about it.”

“See? She thinks it’s funny too,” Jake humoured.

“Is your leg ok though, dear?” the owner asked out of concern.

I looked down as I had completely forgot that my pant leg was bloodied, “Oh, yeah, it was just a nasty cut, but as you know, no spare clothes.”

The woman nodded. She seemed to have bought it at least. She went back to finishing ringing us up. Jake glanced at me and gave me a small nod of approval for my quick recovery, then proceeded to pay the woman in cash. I was surprised at first, but then I realised he must’ve raided our assailant's wallet while he was dumping the body. He probably had his credit cards too. He wasn’t going to let it go to waste after all.

Grabbing our purchases, we headed back outside. It was the middle of the afternoon, but school wasn’t out yet for the day so it was still relatively quiet. I realised we should’ve asked the owner where I could get changed, but before I could head back in, Jake was wandering off down a side street. I had to rush to catch up to him.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Exactly what I was looking for,” he smiled and gestured to a second-hand car lot on the opposite side down the end of the road.

“We’re going to buy a car now? I don’t think we can do it on credit,” I mused.

Jake continued walking and eyeing up the lot from a distance. It was clear he was looking for something. “There are other ways to get a hold of a vehicle.” Suddenly he paused and relaxed. I knew he had found what he was looking for, but I couldn’t work out which had caught his eye. “We come back at night.”

“That’s at least 4… 5 hours from now,” I frowned.

Jake pointed to the home for rent sign not 20 paces from where we stood on our side of the road, “Sometimes karma is good to me.”

“I don’t suppose it comes fully furnished too,” I chortled.

Jake went up to the townhouse and peered through the front window, “No, but it’ll have hot water.”

“I’ll take it!” I exclaimed. “Now I just need some nice soap, shampoo and conditioner.”

“There was a convenience store back there,” Jake reminded me.

He put his backpack down on the front porch. I stepped up behind him as he pulled out a small pouch and opened it. Leaning over to see over his shoulder, I saw the pouch contained a set of lockpicks. He immediately began picking the front door of the empty townhouse. I looked around, but there was absolutely no one around. Even the car yard across from us was empty. Within seconds Jake had the front door open and we were inside.

The townhouse itself was simple with 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom. Given we were only there to freshen up, we weren’t too fussed. After quickly changing and putting my new wig on, we went back up the road to the convenience store to buy basic food and necessities. I was happily tossing much needed toiletries into my basket when the sound of a TV in the corner caught my attention. I walked around the end of the aisle to see what was on it.

<<I’m here speaking to one of the witnesses of the horrific shooting that occurred this morning. Tell me, what did you see?>>

<<It was terrible! They came in with guns and just started shooting at people!>>

That’s not at all what happened, I glared at the screen.

<<And I’ll never forget that guy’s face! He was smiling real scary like! Like the Joker!>>

Jake was wearing a mask, you moron.

<<The police need to hurry up and catch them so we can feel safe again!>>

“You’re only torturing yourself,” Jake whispered in my ear.

“It’s not fair,” I mumbled.

“The story will always be told how they want it to be told,” he reminded me. “Have you found everything you needed?” he gestured to the basket in my hands. I nodded and he took the basket from me to take to the counter.

<<What was their goal on the train?>>

<<Well, it’s not clear, but it appears that they had planned a mass shooting, but police managed to track them in time to stop them from fulling enacting their horrendous plans. With these two on the run now, who knows what they’ll have planned next.>>

I wanted to grab the display rack and throw it at the television. How Jake ever put up with so much bullshit being reported on him, I’d never know. Or was his secret that he doesn’t? That he uses that anger to drive himself forward.

Jake took me hand when he finished paying to encourage me out of the store. We walked hand-in-hand in silence back to the townhouse. He put the food in the kitchen while I grabbed the soaps and headed straight for the bathroom to rid myself of the grim of the day. By the time the hot water hit my skin Jake’s arms wrapped around my body.

[stargaze-sunflower]

✨Triplet bonding!!✨

Summary: Louie is worried that he's being left behind.

Ao3 Link     Word Count: 1913

Somewhere in another room in the mansion – somewhere far enough away so as not to startle him but still close enough to hear – a clock chimed midnight.

Louie was sitting huddled on the ground against the wall near the front door, his hood over his head and his phone in his lightly shaking hands, staring don at the lit screen displaying countless unanswered texts. He’d been trying to contact Huey and Dewey for hours; casually at first, but then growing more and more restless.

Sometime around noon, Huey, Dewey, and Webby had left the house, going somewhere to do something. They hadn’t told him where they were going, and they certainly hadn’t invited him, so it was safe to say that it was meant to be an adventurous outing.

And while Louie didn’t want to go, he also didn’t want to be left behind. He didn’t want to be in danger, but he didn’t want his family to be in danger either, so there was really no way to win. There was no angle out.

His siblings used to ask him if he wanted to go, of course, and sometimes he could get up the nerve to shrug and agree, but other times he’d feign apathy and decline. Somewhere along the way, ‘no’ became the only answer he could give, and he supposed that it only made sense that they’d eventually stop asking. He’d known that it would happen, he’d known for a while, but it still stung to watch them leave and not know why.

Huey or Dewey or Webby used to tell him all about their plans – which would surely go south, at some point – and then they’d invite him to come along. Louie would be frozen for several seconds, fighting with himself and trying not to let it show on his face. If he said yes, he’d spend the day choking on terror and wishing he’d said no; if he said no, he’d spend the day tense and worried and distracted, wishing he’d said yes.

The more he said yes, the more frequently bad things happened to him, and the more he wanted to say no. It was a vicious cycle and a dangerous game, one that he never seemed to win. He dreaded the question being asked, but he equally dreaded the day they’d stop asking – the day they finally gave up on him.

And that day had finally come, the realization dawning on him as he watched his siblings leave the house together with no indication of where they were going. His heart had plummeted to an all-time low, and it hurt even though he’d seen it coming.

He’d held out for about an hour before he gave in and texted to check on them. Webby didn’t have a phone, so he’d been left attempting to text his brothers on and off for the rest of the day, to no avail. His messages became increasingly frantic, in a lowkey ‘Louie’ kind of way. Eventually, he found Dewey’s phone in their shared room, because he’d apparently forgotten it in his rush to leave the house on an adventure that Louie hadn’t been—

Anyway. He focused his efforts on Huey, who continued to not answer. And that wasn’t normal, because Huey always answered, especially when it was family. Around the time the sun went down, Louie’s messages stopped sending altogether, and his panic had overwhelmed him so much that he’d sat on Huey’s bed for an hour just trying to calm down.

Then he’d paced in their room for an unknown amount of time before finally giving in and going downstairs to stand watch by the front door. He continued his pacing for a while, but eventually his knees became too shaky and his breaths were coming too fast and shallow, so he’d pulled his hood over his head and hunched down against the wall in an attempt to make himself as small as he felt, which in reality would be physically impossible without Gyro’s shrinking ray.

The clock chimed midnight, and Louie’s resolve to not completely break down crumbled. Walls only held for so long, after all, and his had been flimsy to begin with.

Tears collected in his eyes and dripped down his face, not at all deterred by him closing them. The ball of nerves that had been strangling his lungs expanded and squeezed tighter, writhing like a living thing, and he brought his hands up over his heart as if that would help, as if his hands could ever do anything but hurt.

His phone clattered to the floor, the screen going dark and leaving Louie alone in the shadows. He gasped at the sound of it hitting the ground, irrationally startled by it and it put him even more on edge. He buried his head in his knees, crying like he was five years old and Huey and Dewey had gone to play a game without him.

He missed them. He missed Huey, he missed Dewey, he missed Webby. He—

“Louie?”

He’d missed the sound of the door opening.

Louie stiffened at the voice, even though he’d been wanting to hear it for hours now. He stayed still for a moment, staring at his legs at he listened to the hesitant shuffling of the people who’d just come inside. He felt cold and too warm at the same time.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder suddenly, and he jumped a bit, finally lifting his head to make hesitant eye contact with Huey, who was kneeling in front of him with a terribly concerned look in his eyes, which were not-so-subtly checking him for any kind of injury. Dewey was standing behind him, fidgeting from side to side. Louie looked away and sniffed, hugging his knees tighter to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Huey asked, worry making his voice higher pitched than it usually was. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Louie shook his head, certain that his voice would break if he tried to talk, and he wiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, making an effort to pull himself back together. Now that he didn’t have to worry about his brother’s safety, he could start worrying about how on earth he was going to explain what they’d walked in on.

“No, I— I’m not hurt. Nothing happened,” Louie said, and he cleared his voice when it came out weak hoarse. He tried for a wry smile, but was certain that it fell flat. “Welcome home?”

Huey’s brow furrowed, and he fully plopped down in front of him, sitting cross legged and moving his hand from his shoulder to hold Louie’s own, because Huey probably remembered that that helped, when Louie was overwhelmed.

“This doesn’t seem like nothing,” Dewey said, speaking up for the first time as he came closer. “It seems like a lot of something.”

Louie glanced at his brother as he dropped down to sit next to him against the wall, and without really thinking about it, Louie drifted a little closer.

“It wasn’t a lot of something,” Louie said quietly, when it seemed like no one else was going to talk. “It was more like— like too much of nothing.”

No siblings, no information, no texts. Nothing.

“Where did you go?” Louie changed course, trying to ask the question without making it sound like an accusation.

He couldn’t see it, but he could tell that Huey and Dewey had shared a look. Louie hunched a little further in on himself, already feeling like he shouldn’t have asked, even though chances were that his brothers didn’t mind.

“Okay, so, it’s kind of a long story,” Dewey began, a little awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “You’ve seemed a little down lately, so we wanted to surprise you with, like, a cupcake or something, but then Webby saw a thrift store or antique shop or whatever it was, and she thought she could find you some shiny stuff you might like—”

“Long story short, we stumbled across a cursed object and dealt with the consequences for ten hours straight,” Huey interrupted, and Louie finally noticed that his brother was missing his hat. “The thing kept teleporting us to random parts of the world, and teleporting back to us if we tried to throw it away, and it was really just a whole mess. My phone was fried.”

“Oh,” Louie said weakly, unsure of which emotion to feel. There was warmth that his siblings cared enough to want to do something nice, and there was worry that even a simple outing turned dangerous so quickly, and there was sheepishness at how much he felt he’d overreacted. “I guess that’s why you didn’t answer the phone, huh?”

“You were trying to call me?” Huey asked, and Louie shrugged tiredly. “Why?”

“I was worried,” Louie said, which didn’t cover even half of what he’d been feeling, but he was too exhausted to really get into it. It explained enough anyway; Huey and Dewey would know what he meant.

“Oh,” Huey said, sounding a little guilty, and Louie squeezed his hand.

“It’s fine,” said Louie, heading off any apology at the pass. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Dewey grabbed his other hand, and Louie found himself leaning into him, smiling a little when Dewey switched to hugging instead. Huey was remarkably good at comforting Louie with words, but Dewey gave the best hugs. Not that he would ever tell him that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Huey asked, and Louie opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed.

“…Not tonight,” Louie answered, blinking slowly and yawning, offering Huey a tired smile. “Sleep would be better.”

Huey met Dewey’s eyes above his head, a twinkle in his eye, and Louie didn’t have time to protest before Dewey was picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder.

“Wha— Dewey!” Louie hissed, as quietly as he could. ”Put me down!”

“Nerp!” Dewey shot back enthusiastically, shifting Louie so that he was getting more of a piggyback ride than a fireman’s carry. “We’re gonna hang blankets from my bunk and sleep in yours.”

Louie sighed and went limp except for his arms, which he linked around Dewey’s neck as they started to their room. Huey walked past them with an amused smirk on his face and fond eyes, and Louie glared playfully.

“Are we inviting Webby to this sleepover?” Louie asked sarcastically.

“Of course!” Huey said, smiling back at them. “She would’ve come in with us, but she wanted to climb through the second floor window.”

Louie chuckled a little, feeling his breathing finally return to a healthy speed.

“I was wondering about that,” Louie said, grinning a little. “I guess you didn’t lose her in some faraway place, then.”

“’Course not,” Dewey said lightly, completely unaware that he was about to say something very important. “No one gets left behind in this family! That’s like, the number one rule.”

Louie blinked, the last of the tension melting out of his frame. No one gets left behind. They weren’t ever going to leave him on purpose, and if one day they didn’t have a choice, then chances were that they’d come back. It wasn’t complete certainty, but it never would be, with his family. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

Louie fell asleep before they made it to their room, and he woke up surrounded by his siblings.

It was more than enough.

[jamaiskookie]

Yoongi Doesn’t Romance [myg x reader]

✂︎ warnings: excessive cursing, bad writing

✂︎ word count: 6.6k (I meant to write a very short drabble… aHAHHA)

✂︎ genre: it’s.. literally just crack. Good dosing of cheesy romance and overused cliches

✂︎ A/N: it took awhile but we here!!! with a short drabble but still!!! hope you enjoy this cringey fluffy fic full of shameless jimin and shy yoongi- arguably the best yoongi

masterlist asks

✂︎ synopsis: yoongi isn’t great at expressing feelings- especially with how nervous he gets around you. alternatively titled: yoongi sucks at romance

“... and I don’t understand why you’re so hell bent on denying it! You obviously have a crush on him!” You roll your eyes at Namjoon, flicking your index finger at his forehead and watching as he flinches and lets out multiple sounds of pain, which you promptly ignored. 

“I’m denying my crush because he so obviously doesn’t like me back! He hates me, Joon. He literally detests me.” You say, jumping back onto the stained and cluttered couch that occupies most of you and Namjoon’s shared dorm. 

“And I’m telling you that you’re overthinking it,” Namjoon says, chewing on some popcorn. “I don’t think he hates you, you’re just exaggerating things.”  

“I am not!” You protest, swinging your head around to look Namjoon dead straight in the eyes. “He hates me! He practically leaps out of the room whenever I’m around.” Namjoon opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by Taehyung, who is currently seated two feet away on a small thrifted chair. 

“Shhhhhhhh-” His eyes are still fixated on the TV screen, watching the random nature documentary playing that you and Namjoon had long ago abandoned. You and Namjoon both watch Taehyung for a second amusedly as he attempts to stuff popcorn kernels in his mouth and completely misses the mark. You’ll have to remind him to clean up the floor later. 

“But,” Namjoon whispers to you, “Literally every time you aren’t around I swear all he can do is run his mouth on and on about you.” 

“Not true!” You yell, squeaking out a quick apology to Tae, who glared at you for interrupting the segment on apes. Something about how apes can learn languages, but you’re not too sure. “Lies!” You hiss, elbowing Namjoon in the rib. 

“Ow-!” He jumps back, wincing. “Why do you always resort to violence?” You didn’t have an answer to that question, unfortunately. “And I’m not lying! I swear on my bonsai trees he always asks where you are whenever you don’t show up to stuff.” 

“Maybe he just wants to know how much glorious time he has left before he has to face me again.” You offer, tearing open what must be your third dorito family pack of the night. (It’s fine, you’ll burn it off by running to class tomorrow when you’re inevitably late once again.) “Namjoon, face the facts: he only tolerates my presence occasionally because we share a couple of mutual friends. If it weren’t for you and the other guys, he would’ve already started a  hate club for me, I’m sure of it”

Namjoon stared at you exasperatedly, before muttering something that very suspiciously sounded like ‘God you’re such a dumbass’ before taking out his phone to swipe through Tinder, not uttering another word to you. 

Despite Namjoon’s utter and complete lies, you don’t exaggerate anything when it comes to Min Yoongi. Not his hatred towards you, or how he speaks two words maximum every year directed at you, or your massive slight crush that you’ve harboured for him, or how cute he looks with beanies on, or how you almost fainted that one time you saw him playing basketball, or- well, you get it. 

The point is, you can’t acknowledge your crush on Yoongi (Even though everyone around you is fully aware of it) because he seems to completely resent you and your existence for no reason in particular. Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin, and many others insist that he doesn’t hate you as much as you think, but you dismiss their stupid assumptions time and time again. You’d love to believe them, but the evidence and first hand experiences you’ve had says otherwise. 

✂︎

Exhibit A: He seems to avoid you on campus, or anywhere you go. This one is actually quite impressive considering the classes you two share. You’ve never seen someone go so out of their way to ignore someone they don’t like. It’s pretty commemorable. Whenever you sit in the same row as him during a lecture, he’ll move seats. One time you waved at him at a coffee shop and he just strangely blushed, and bolted out of there faster than you could say ‘rejected’. Taehyung ended up saying it, all while laughing his ass off. (You made him pay for your coffee that day.) Everytime you head over to Jimin’s dorm, he’ll just blankly stare at you two and march straight towards his room and lock himself in there until you leave. He even gulpes and swerves away when he sees you in a hallway. 

You know, that awkward thing when you’re heading the same direction so obviously you’d try and be slightly friendly and wave or something but then he’ll just suddenly turn around, navigating through the crowd of angry, late students and facing all that social pressure just so he doesn’t have to waVE BACK AT YOU- okay, maybe you aren’t as over this incident as you thought. 

Exhibit B: He won’t speak to you or touch you or interact with you in any way. Okay, maybe ‘in any way’ is a teensy bit exaggerated, but he definitely seems to find trouble when you two are left alone for some strange reason. He seems to be fine when all your other friends are around, but he just looks so uncomfortable when it’s just you two. He won’t look you in the eye, and he’ll just mutter incomprehensible sentences under his breath. 

A couple months ago you attempted to hold a decent conversation with him in the kitchen of Jin’s fancy ass apartment. After many awkward silences that you had to fill up with your timid and boring small talk, he just mumbled something and you had to watch him go into the bathroom and scream. Either he was having some really bad explosive diarrhea, or having to talk to you was just that excruciating. Apart from intense Uno game nights or when he’s under the influence of alcohol, you’ve never even heard Yoongi raise his voice!

How is it possible that just by talking to you, he feels the urge to scream? You aren’t that boring, you think-! Actually, now that you think about it, you did try and bring up sea otter fun facts as a conversation starter, so maybe that’s why he had to scream. 

Personally, you think that sea otters are the most adorable creatures to ever grace the earth, but Yoongi does seem like the kind of guy to prefer bats or something like that. 

Exhibit C: The elbow incident. This haunts you to this day, not just from the horrible humiliation, but if the two previous exhibit’s weren’t convincing enough, this was real cemented evidence that Min Yoongi hates your guts. 

You were talking to Jimin about the significance of ‘Phineas and Ferb’ in the cinematic industry, when your dumbass had tripped and caught yourself on Min Yoongi’s fucking arm (His bicep, on a completely unrelated note, was much bigger and stronger than you had thought, which was a complete other source of anxiety.) You would much rather fall on the ground and break all your bones, because the look on Yoongi’s face as he stared down at you clutching his arm like some sort of idiot, could only be described as disgust or horrified. Maybe both. You immediately let go, of course, and blabbered out apology after apology, but all he did was just stare and blink owlishly at you. 

You proceeded to blush madly and run away, hiding your face in Jimin’s chest, which was, in hindsight, not a good idea, considering how hard he was laughing at the time. (What you didn’t see was Yoongi staring from behind you, deciding to never wash the hoodie he was wearing ever again.) 

So, that concludes your argument against Namjoon’s preposterous claim that ‘Yoongi doesn’t actually hate you Y/n, it’s all in your head’ Delusional, that’s what he is. How could someone like Min Yoongi, a person you have literally been drooling over for most of your academic career, a person who single handedly has every sorority girl wrapped around his finger, even tolerate your very existence, much less be attracted to you? No, none of it makes any sense. You’ll continue to hurt yourself by being around him, despite clearly knowing that he detests your presence, and will even deny the crush you’ve somehow managed to build up for him. 

Because even though it hurts to see him flinch and ignore you, you truly do think that Yoongi is one of the greatest people to ever walk on this shitty earth. He’s caring, even if he does pretend to not care, he’s smart, passionate, ambitious, and you’d be absolutely lying if you said you haven’t dreamed of pinching those squishy cheeks he seems to hide away so often. 

If only you knew why he hated you so much. 

✂︎

All the way across campus, Yoongi was having a similar breakdown while Jimin looked on anxiously. 

“God fucking dammit!” He screamed. The sound comes out slightly muffled since Jimin can only hear what he’s saying through the pillow that Yoongi currently has his face buried in. He kicks his legs up and whines, hitting the bed with his hands. Jimin is suddenly reminded of his 4 year old cousin who threw a tantrum when she didn’t get the doll she asked for. 

“And then you know what I said, Chim?? Do you kNOW?” Yoongi’s been screaming for the past thirty minutes or so. Jimin’s surprised that nobody on campus has come pounding on their door telling them to shut up yet. 

“Please, do enlighten me.” Jimin murmurs, picking at his nails. 

“I said ‘Salutations’ AND THEN I RAN OUT THE FUCKING CLASSROOM.” Yoongi tilts his head up from the pillow and groans, scrunching his nose up at the embarrassing thought.

“At least it’s not as bad as the time you screamed in the middle of the street when she touched your shoulder… right?” Jimin offers timidly, forcing a smile on his face. An angry, sleep deprived Yoongi is already scary enough, but he’s ten times more intense when the source of anger comes from you. 

Honestly, sometimes he wonders how effective it would be if he could just lock Yoongi and you in a room and force you two to admit your feelings for once. (Until he mentioned this idea to Namjoon, who dejectedly informed him that they’ve already tried that.) ((Yoongi broke out of the room using a bobby pin and sheer force of will)) He’s never even seen a pair so smart, and yet so obliviously naive. Anyone with functioning two eyes could see the horribly obvious feelings the both of you shared for each other. In fact, for the first couple months upon meeting Yoongi, he thought that you were his girlfriend, based on how much he talked about you. That assumption carried on when he met you, until Jin told him that the two of you were just in a weird phase of dumbasses who kinda flirt. 

It’s not Yoongi’s fault that he’s so bad at having actual emotions that aren’t the tears of joy that he sheds whenever he gets free coffee from the barista at the local cafe, and it’s not your fault that your self esteem is too low to recognise that Yoongi basically worships you. 

In theory, you two are a match made in heaven. Both just as stupid as the other.

“How do you do feelings, Jimin?” Yoongi sits up from the bed, and Jimin thinks that the tear tracks and defeated look on his face is a tad bit dramatic, but he chooses not to comment on it, for fear of his own life. 

“... what?” 

“You know, feelings. How do you romance?” 

“... what?” 

Yoongi, completely exasperated, throws his hands up in the air and turns around to face Jimin. “Everytime I try to talk to her by myself it’s like I’m a fish out of water. I get way too nervous, and then she starts talking about otters, and she’s way too pretty so I obviously start freaking out! I don’t know, you and Jungkook have been dating for a year now, right?” Jimin nods.

“How’d you do that.”

“... Are you asking me how I got a boyfriend or-? Because I assure you that 85% of getting Kookie to be my boyfriend had to do with my great ass, so I can’t really help you out there- ” Jimin laughs as he watches Yoongi squeal and cover his hands over his ears. 

“Can I ask you for relationship advice without hearing about your sex life, please?” Yoongi pleads. “I know too many unnecessary things about how Jungkook is in bed.” 

Jimin decides to put his friend out of his misery. He places a hand on his shoulder, and shoots him a soft smile. 

“Yoongi, my young grasshopper- ” He retracts the hand when he sees the deathly stare Yoongi is looking at him with, but so far so good, “- there really isn’t much to it. Tell her you like her, and in the very, very, extremely small chance that she rejects you, so what? It’s not like you’re going to spend the rest of your life getting ov- ” Jimin’s voice falters again when Yoongi’s stare intensifies. 

“You don’t get it!” He complains, throwing himself back onto the bed once again. “You’re all good at this sort of stuff!” Jimin tilts his head in confusion. “You know, relationships! Talking to people! And I’m pretty sure Y/n is the love of my life, so I’m literally going to break down if she rejects me! I’m going to cry for days, I already know it!” Yoongi stares up at the ceiling, pouting at nothing in particular. 

“She’s so perfect, smart, nice, caring, funny, strong and incredible. It hurts that she’s never going to like me the way I like her.” 

“You know, Yoongi, if you never talk to her, she’s never going to know you feel that way.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, while it takes all of Jimin’s strength to restrain himself from not throwing Yoongi out of the window. 

Once he’s absolutely sure that Yoongi is fully asleep, he pinches the bridge of his nose and rolls his eyes. After a few quick taps, he brings his phone up to his ear. 

“Guys, I can’t deal with him anymore. We have to do something.” 

✂︎

“I would like to, once again, reiterate that I am 100% against this idea.”

“Shut up, Namjoon.” Namjoon grumbles something about being unappreciated, but continues to speak up.

“It’s a bad idea, Chim. Logically, there’s only a small chance this will work out in our favour, and if it doesn't, I’m at least certain that Yoongi will dislocate all of our limbs until we’re a pile of human flesh.” 

Jimin dismisses the thought. “Yoongi would never do that to us.” 

“Of course he would,” Taehyung piped up. “Do you remember the time he dyed my bright pink because I made fun of Y/n for her stupid heart patterned boots and she cried?” 10 pairs of eyes slowly looked up at Taehyung. 

“Well, that’s justified, we all want to murder you.” Taehyung gasps at Jin, who smiles back at him in return. 

“And also, you were being a huge asshole that day and you totally deserved it. The pink hair didn’t even look that bad.” Tae smiles proudly at Jimin. 

“That’s true, I fucking slayed with that pink hair. I kinda miss it, actually… ” He hums thoughtfully, scratching his chin. Jimin looks away and scoffs. Taehyung’s one of his oldest friends, but sometimes he gets a little too art-kid-college-dropout-hipster for him to handle. 

“Do you guys think I should dye my hair pink again?” Nobody answers his question. 

“Tae might be an absolute douchebag, but he has a point. We all know how protective Yoongi is over Y/n. Are you willing to potentially risk your life if this doesn’t work out?” Curse Namjoon for being logical. Maybe Yoongi killing him is a bit of a stretch, but he would make Jimin’s life a living hell if this operation ended up a failure. 

Nevertheless, he continues to insist. “Okay, what’s the worst that could happen? I physically can’t stand Yoongi stomping around the dorm because he’s emotionally incapable of working out his feelings anymore! Yesterday he fell asleep in my bed. My bed, Namjoon. For such a tiny man, he’s really fucking heavy, I couldn’t move him and had to crash on the couch for the night. If this doesn’t end up working, Yoongi will just go back home and mope around all day long. Nothing different from what he’s doing now.” 

“Um, what’s the worst that could happen?“ Namjoon asks incredulously. “How about if Yoongi finds out we tricked him, invites us to a murder mystery party, but then decides to kill us instead, and covers it up by burying our cold hard, deAD bodies in a highly unhygienic GRAVEYARD? What will you do if that happens, Jimin?“ 

“..........“ 

Nobody says anything to Namjoon, and the boys turn to Jimin once again. Shaking his head, and attempting to ignore... whatever the hell Namjoon just did, Jimin speaks. 

“Oh come on guys!” He shakes his shoulders and lightly taps his foot against the ground. “Aren’t you guys tired of dealing with these two dumbasses too?” A murmur of agreement seems to go around the group, and Jimin breaks into a huge smile. 

“Well, gee,“ Namjoon mumbles sarcastically. “Why don’t you just make a Namjoon Facebook hate group?“ Taehyung shushes him. 

Beside him, Jin and Jungkook are exchanging money, clearly for some kind of bet. What the bet entails, Jimin has no idea, but he doesn’t have the time to question them right now. 

“So, we’re in?” Everyone slowly begins to nod, all except Namjoon. Jimin beams, looking up expectantly at him. Namjoon bites his lip, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Fine.” He grumbles out, not acknowledging Jimin’s shouts of joy. “If this goes wrong though, you bitches better be fucking responsible.” 

“Well, I’m happy you’re all on board, because Hoseok is already here.” Jimin happily smiled up to find Hobi shuffling through the cafe doors, waving enthusiastically at him. He also decides to ignore the collective round of groans and ‘Jimin!’’s that went around the table. 

“Why did you even ask us for our opinions if you already planned this out anyway?” Jungkook hisses, awkwardly smiling at Hoseok.

“Because you guys can never say no to me!” 

“That’s only because of how fucking annoying you are, Chimmy.” Jin moves over in order to let Hoseok sit, even though he doesn’t look overjoyed at having to abandon his favourite seat. 

“Well, all of you look super happy to see me.” Hobi jokes, immediately picking up Namjoon’s milkshake to take a sip. 

“Sorry that you had to get dragged into all this bullshit, Hobi,” Namjoon says, pushing his milkshake towards him and sticking a second straw in the cup. 

“No problem! I love pissing Yoongi off!” The group slowly stares at Hobi, who is still cheerfully sipping at Joon’s milkshake. 

“Well,” Taehyung mutters. “What else do you enjoy doing in your spare time? Drowning yourself in lava?” 

“Taehyung, play nice. Some people are just special. Anyways, here is the plan for Operation: Delusional Idiots Who Need To Make Out.” 

“... Can’t we shorten that?”

“Yeah, seems pretty lengthy.”

“How about Operation: DIWNTMO? Like, pronounced as diwinteemo?”

“That’s… even worse, somehow.”

“Let’s just shorten it to Operation: Delusional Idiots.” 

Six voices, in the middle of the busiest cafe on the school campus, suddenly shout out the words ‘Operation: Delusional Idiots!’, and a cheer goes around the table. 

Onlookers wonder if they are referring to themselves. 

✂︎

In hindsight, Namjoon was probably right. But Jimin can be extremely convincing sometimes, and Jin takes every opportunity to throw a party, so maybe Namjoon was fighting a lost cause in the first place. 

He ponders what he wants his tombstone to say, while pacing around Jin’s apartment, where the party is already going on, full force. Maybe something like ‘Kim Namjoon (1994-2020) Murdered by Min Yoongi at a house party.’ Well, at least if he really does die tonight, it would be a good night for it. 

Namjoon has many complaints about Seokjin. He could probably pull up a never ending list of the girls and guys who have come complaining to him for his friend’s mistakes, screaming about how Jin broke their heart, so and so. But, even he has to begrudgingly agree, Kim Seokjin throws one hell of a party. 

It was one of those rare nights where you could actually make out the faint stars in the Seoul skyline, where the twinkling of the stars felt peaceful. Namjoon isn’t too much of a party person, but the monsters that he calls his friends go out every Friday night, pulling him along most of the time. He’s gotten used to just camping out on Jin’s fancy apartment balcony, (Seriously, what kind of college kid has a balcony?) avoiding the cheers, loud screaming and horribly unhygienic things that are happening inside. 

Unfortunately, thanks to Park Jimin and his horrible ideas, Namjoon is currently wincing in the middle of a huge crowd full of sweaty bodies. He regrets not faking a fever while he could, but it was way too late now. His job tonight was to keep Y/n preoccupied. 

“Remember Joonie, under no circumstances can Y/n see Yoongi before Hoseok completes the task. If she even sees a glimpse of him, she’s going to freak out and leave.”

His aforementioned target was nowhere to be seen. Namjoon is starting to worry that all their efforts will go to waste just because you decided it was another Friday to stay in bed and watch Disney movies on repea-

“wHOA!” Another sweaty hand pulls him out from the crowd, and Namjoon stumbles out, breathing heavily. 

“Why aren’t you out on the balcony?” 

“Why- what- oH! Y/n!” 

You stare blankly at Namjoon, who is still rubbing his arm in pain. 

“You came!” He says, with a look on his face that you can’t quite decipher. 

“What do you mean, I came? Of course I came! It was you and Jin who insisted I come, right?” You dragged him over to the makeshift bar that Jin had set up hours ago on his kitchen island, pouring the both of you strong drinks. You’ll need it to get through the night. 

“Right!” Namjoon awkwardly laughs and follows you into the kitchen, craning his neck to lock eyes with Jimin, who then gives him a thumbs up and leans over to whisper to Hoseok. 

“Y/n,” He says, patting your back when you start coughing lightly from the shot you just downed. “We’re friends no matter what, right?” 

“What are you talking about?” You cut him off, looking around Jin’s apartment. “Wow, it’s pretty empty today. Aren’t there usually like 50 people trying to get into one of these parties?” Luckily for Namjoon, who was almost sweating and about to cry trying to come up with an excuse to satisfy you, you ignored him and continued talking. 

“Whatever, it’s fine. The less, the better.” You’re still looking around the crowds when you grab a hold of Namjoon’s shoulders, turning him towards you. “Yoongi’s not here, right?”

“What? hahahHHAHAHA nO of course not!” 

“Oh okay,” You breathe out a sigh of relief. “I look terrible today, I would not be able to face him.”  

“You look great today! What do you mean…!” Hopefully you dismiss the bead of sweat trailing down from his temple. It is pretty hot in here. 

Apparently, it took multiple threats, to Yoongi’s coffee machine and lots of bargaining from Jimin to convince him to attend the party, but it seemed to have worked, considering that Namjoon could make out the dark figure of Yoongi, dressed in a black hoodie and ripped jeans in the corner of the room, chatting to Jungkook. His eyes, however, were riveted straight beside him, on Y/n. 

“They really are idiots.” Namjoon muses to himself. 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing.” 

From the corner of his eye, Taehyung is waving his arms around trying to catch his attention. He mouths something that Namjoon can’t quite make out, so he just mouths a ‘what?’ back at him and shakes his head. 

Namjoon can almost hear Taehyung sigh from across the room. 

You’re still pouring your second shot, so you don’t notice as Hoseok walks slowly from the living room. Namjoon has actually never seen his friends more concentrated on anything in his life. Even Seokjin, who was, just a second ago, dancing with some guy that Namjoon isn’t even sure he knows, has now pushed the stranger away, completely fixated on Y/n, who is blissfully oblivious to the attention focused on you. 

“Hey…!” Hoseok slowly slides in, real fucking smooth, if Namjoon could add, beside Y/n leaning on his forearm and smiling up towards her. Namjoon has to commend Jimin for the execution of Operation: Delusional Idiots. He’s honestly never seen Jimin put this much work into anything. 

Hoseok was the only mutual friend they knew of that Yoongi was familiar with, but not Y/n. Jimin said that he had considered Jackson for a short while, before realising that Jackson can’t talk to girls for shit. At least Hoseok can force his thoughts into some semblance of order when he’s flirting. 

“Oh! … Who,” You furrow your brows at Hobi, and Namjoon slowly backs away against the kitchen wall. “Are you?” Hobi laughs and spins around to face you. 

“I guess you don’t know me. I’m Jung Hoseok,” He sticks his hand out and you tentatively shake it, making him grin. “I’m friends with Namjoon.” He points up at Namjoon, and Joon awkwardly smiles, waving back at the pair. 

“Ohh,” You say, nodding. “Hi! Nice to meet you!” Sometimes Namjoon worries about you. You’re way too friendly and nice for your own good. 

“I’m a dance major, actually. You can call me Hobi, by the way.” He smiles at you and finally lets go of your hand. “Are you sure we’ve never met before?” You shake your head, murmuring incoherently. “No, I didn’t think so. I’d remember you if we met.” You giggle and push him aside playfully, offering him a drink. Hoseok accepts it with a smile even wider than the last. 

(Namjoon is now a little skeptical about Hoseok’s claims of flirting skill, but thankfully, you are, admittedly, a little stupid when it comes to this kind of stuff. You probably won’t even notice Hobi’s flirting with you at all.)

From the corner of the room, Yoongi’s deep gaze is now glaring deep into Hoseok’s back, but Hobi either seems to not notice or acknowledge it. He continues to stare at Y/n, laughing at whatever comes out of your mouth. 

“You’re a dance major? That’s so cool!” You gush, and if he didn’t know you so much, Namjoon would think that you were flirting back. No, you were just that naive. 

“- Thanks!” Hobi suddenly laughs at something that Namjoon didn’t manage to catch, but what he does catch is the look on Yoongi’s face when Hobi touches your forearm. 

Even Jungkook, who was talking to Yoongi, gulped and took a step back. Jin gestures something to Jimin, and Jimin shoots back an enthusiastic thumbs up. He then shouts something over to Namjoon, but he can’t quite hear over the loud party noise. 

 Based on his own mediocre lip-reading skills, he either said ‘It’s going well’ or ‘Jungkook smells’ He’s thinking maybe it’s the first. Namjoon slides away from the kitchen to join Jin, who is happily watching all of this unfold from the sidelines. 

“When do you think he’ll break?” Jin says, sipping on a bright blue drink that Namjoon doesn’t even want to know the contents of. He quickly glances over at Yoongi’s face, which is getting redder by the moment. 

“Anytime now. His glass is about to explode from his grip.” Sure enough, Namjoon predicted correctly. A few moments later, Yoongi begins to stalk over to the kitchen, and Jin clinks his bright blue monstrous concoction against Namjoon’s glass. Grumbling, Jungkook also comes over and slaps a $10 dollar bill into Jin’s palm, scowling when Jin smiles and accepts it. 

“Yeah, so a group of otters are actually called a romp, can you believe that- oomph!” Seemingly popping out of nowhere, Yoongi grabs a hold of your hand, glaring at Hobi. 

“Yoongi!” You squeak out. Namjoon, that fucking liar! He left you all by yourself with a new friend and didn’t even bother telling you the love of your life was in the very same room? You didn’t even wash your hair yesterday night! Well, at least someone finally listened to what you have to say about otters… say, that was a bit unordinary, nobody else has ever been interested in your otter fun facts before- 

Your trail of thought fades away when you look back up at Yoongi, who is still strangely looking at Hobi. “Um...” How is he holding you right now? He flinches away whenever you poke him on the shoulder, how is he holding your arm right now, completely unaffected? Oh. 

Of course Yoongi wouldn’t touch you willingly. He just has to be stupidly noble and moral and save you when you’re alone with a man he isn’t familiar with. “Oh, ah… Yoongi! This is my new friend, Hobi! You have nothing to worry about, I was just talking to him about otters and- oh, nevermind. Anyways, you don’t… have… to… hold my hand anymore.” Well, at least you can save him from the embarrassment of holding your hand any longer. 

“Yoongi, Yoon- Yoongi,” He doesn’t let go of your hand, even when you attempt to slip yours out of his. He seems to be gripping on, for a reason you can’t seem to comprehend. All he’s doing right now is maintaining eye contact with Hobi. Instead, he just glares into his eyes, repeating your words. 

“Friends. Friends?” 

“Yes, friends! Oh, ah, let me introduce you, um, Hobi, this is Yoongi, and Yoongi, this is-”

“Jung Hoseok. You call him Hobi?” 

“Well, yes- oh! Do you two know each other, or?” 

“Of course!” Hobi says, pouring another drink out. He stretches out his arm and offers the glass to Yoongi, but all he does is stare at the glass, not moving an inch. Still smiling brightly, Hobi just brought the glass to his lips, sipping on two separate drinks at a time. 

“Long time no see, man! Yoongi, how’ve you been?” Yoongi, still clutching onto your hand, stayed silent for a while, all while Hobi continued to smile. 

“I’m… fine.” He eventually chokes out. 

“Yoongi, are you okay? You seem really-” You’re once again interrupted when Yoongi pulls you away, stomping out the kitchen. You lean backwards, yelling out a quick apology to Hobi, but he doesn’t seem affected in the slightest. 

“Yoongi, you’re being rude! I said you don’t have to worry! Hobi is a new friend I met, he’s a friend of Namjoon’s, and we were just talking about otters-” 

“Why are you defending yourself?” Boy, you just keep on getting interrupted tonight. 

“Wha- huh?” Yoongi finally lets your hand go when he reaches the apartment door, shutting it closed, leaving it swinging in midair, even though he regretted it immediately after. You can still faintly hear the party going on through the door, but you had no time to process the fact that Yoongi just pulled you outside the party when he spoke up again. 

“I said, why are you defending yourself like that? You have no reason to. You’re acting like I just caught you cheating.” Yoongi’s voice turns faint towards the end of his sentence, and he looks down at his feet, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. 

“I’m not defending myself! I’m just- I’m just, well, I-” You fumbled with your words, stuttering and fidgeting around with your fingers. Why were you defending yourself? It’s not like… Yeah, it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything. 

“You can talk about otters to whoever you want. You might want to change up your flirting tactics though, not many people can put up with your strange obsession with otters-”

“hEY!”

“- Anyways, Hoseok’s, not a bad man. He’s pretty great, actually,” Yoongi admits. “He’ll treat you well. And he seems to be super interested in you, so… ” Yoongi clears his throat. You narrow your eyes and look down at his shuffling feet. This is probably the most Yoongi has ever spoken to you, in private, anyway. Why is he so unbothered? And why does that bother you so much? He doesn’t even care a little bit? Does Hobi really seem like such a great guy? 

“You don’t care?” 

“No, just, you know, don’t get hurt, or whatever. I’ll have to murder him… Or something.” You let out a small laugh, but he doesn’t seem to be joking.  

“So, if I go straight back in and ask Hobi out, you wouldn’t mind?” You swear that a vein pops out from Yoongi’s neck, but perhaps it was just your imagination. 

“Why would I mind?” He says, through clenched teeth. 

“... You’re right. Why would you be mad? You don’t care about me anyways.” Something ticks in Yoongi’s jaw. 

“What do you mean I don’t care for you?” He blurts out, just as you were about to head back through the apartment door. 

“Oh no, please, it doesn’t bother me as much now, trust me. It’s fine, Some people just don’t… vibe with you, I get it! You don’t like me all that much, it’s okay! It’s not like you’ve hurt me or anything! You just don’t like talking to me because I’m kind of a dumbass, that’s alright. It’s okay to keep avoiding me. And again, I’m sorry for the whole elbow thing, you didn’t talk to me for like the next two weeks, and again, I totally understand, you know?” Yoongi stares at you, blinking in realisation. 

“So… you mean to tell me that all this time, you’ve thought that… I didn’t like you?”

“Well,” Now you’re blinking confusedly along with him. “Isn’t that… why you run away everytime I come over to hangout with Jimin?” Yoongi brings his hands out of his pockets and buries his face in them, groaning. 

“And that’s why you don’t like talking to me, right? And that one time I spoke to you and you went into the bathroom and screamed for like five minutes? … Do you not hate me?” A look of realisation floods his eyes, and Yoongi leans against the wall, slowly sinking down to the ground until he’s practically sprawled out on the floor. Staring aimlessly, he reaches up and grabs your hand again, pulling you down to face him. You let out a small squeak, but you crouch down on your feet, awkwardly looking at your right hand that Yoongi (!!!) is currently holding for the second (!!!!) time. 

“Forgive me, Y/n.” He whispers, dropping his head onto your hand. 

“Forgive you? What for? Yoongi this is a little dramatic, don’t you think? This is technically a public area, um, maybe you wanna go back to your dorm? I can call Jimin out here, I’m sure he’ll leave the party early, let me just-” He pulls you back and won’t let go, even when you try to stand and leave his grip. 

“Yoongi!” Like a child clutching onto his mother, he just sits there and pouts, not letting your hand go. 

“I’m sorry!” He wails, lightly kicking his feet up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being my emo self and avoiding you, I’m sorry for making you think I hate you when that really isn’t the case at all, I’m sorry for being an idiot and screaming whenever you touched me, I promise that none of that was ever your fault, because you must have felt so hurt and disgusted by me-” Yoongi suddenly looks up and glares at you. 

“Yah! Why didn’t you just slap me!”

“Slap… you?”

“Yes, slap some sense into me, you idiot! I was so mean to you, why didn’t you just tell me you were hurt?” 

“Well,” You said, smiling nervously. “I wasn’t hurt!”

“Yes you were!” He wails again. Some sort of strangled noise comes from the back of his throat. “You must’ve been really hurt, and I’m sorry! I don’t want you to be hurt! I don’t want you to date Hobi, and I don’t want to lose you, because I’m selfish, and I’m fucking stupid!”

You speechlessly opened your mouth and closed it again, like a fish. Well, that was a full 180. What is he talking about? Apologising? You had dealt with the uncomfortable small talk and denying your feelings for years only to have him apologise now? You finally manage to open your mouth and firmly say something, but what comes out of your mouth is certainly not what you planned to say. 

“Min Yoongi!” You yelled and watched him slightly tilt his head up. “How could you say that now!?” His head is fully up now, gazing at you slightly dazed. “How dare you mess with my feelings for the past two years, just to completely, unexpectedly, blurt all of this out outside of Seokjin’s shitty house party?” You cry, slouching down onto the ground and sitting cross legged. Your unoccupied hand reaches up to your hair, frustratingly running your hand through your messy locks. 

“... If it counts for anything, I think that your obsession with otters is really cute.” You sniffle, for no particular reason, and nod. 

“... Does that mean you like me then?”

“Y/n,” Yoongi sighs, taking your other hand out of your hair and placing it into his own. “Isn’t that obvious, you fucking dumbass?” 

“You’re kinda giving off mixed signals here.” Yoongi squishes your cheeks together in a brave act from an unusual burst of courage that he managed to somehow build up. 

“Y/n,” 

“Mmph- Yesh?” 

“I like you. I like you a lot. I’m sorry for being a dumbass who couldn’t ask you out, and I’m sorry I had to do this at Seokjin’s ‘shitty house party’, but I’d really like it if you would go on a date with me sometime.” 

Yoongi releases your cheeks from his grip when you stay silent for a small while, red slowly creeping up from the neck up to his ears. 

“I mean, you know, only if you want to, it’d be fine if all of that was just, you know… ” Yoongi mutters, gesturing around randomly. 

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Yoongi.” 

“Oh. Cool, that’s cool. That’s… yeah that’s cool.” 

“Text me the details?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll, I’ll do- I’ll do that.” 

You can hear a faint scream when you enter Seokjin’s apartment again, but instead of filling you with the insecure, horrible feeling like it once did, you just smile and giggle to yourself again. What you don’t seem to notice is Jimin, Jin, Joon, Tae, Jungkook and Hobi exchanging victorious glances across the room. 

(About a week later, Yoongi took you to the zoo for your date. He slightly regretted that decision after you spent an hour making faces at the otters.) 

[misterewrites]

Threads of Fate 2: Electric Boogaloo (Jason Todd X reader)

Hello everyone, E here with another story! this time it’s part 2 for the story i wrote for my good friend @hains-mae last year for her birthday! so naturally it’s her birthday again cuz that’s how they work! Red Hoodie X reader. I hope you all have an amazing week. I will be trying to write my original story and post it sometime this/next week but we’ll see what happens. Stay safe, take care of yourself, for the love of all that is holy stay inside! wear masks! PLEASE! GET THE FLIPPING VACCINE IF YOU CAN!

E out, byeeeeeee! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAE!

Here’s both parts conveniently in one place for you (cuz tumblr hates me and my tags)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955270/chapters/73737858

“Romeo and Juliet? You’re so cliché that troupes are rolling their eyes at you.”

I shoot him a dirty glare “Says the guy that has Pride and Prejudice in his jacket pocket. Yeah yeah” I cut him off before he begins to throw out excuses “I know you say it’s thick enough to stop bullets but you’re not fooling me. You love some classic romance.”

“You’re no Lizzy Bennet” he grumbles behind his mask.

“And you no Mr. Darcy yet I tolerate you all the same.”

“It’s for my charming personality.”

“Certainly not for your face.” I playfully throw back “Smooth, featureless and red isn’t exactly my type.”

“I’m surprise you have a type given your lack of taste in books.”

I roll my eyes “Oh great now the former crime lord is giving me crap about my tastes in book.”

He rose his hands in surrender “Hey, that was my edgy phase.”

“Was? You’re still dressing like a goon from indie action film.”

“You kidding? Goons wish they looked this good.”

“I don’t think any respectable goon would shop at the thrift store.”

“Low blow. Low blow.”

I give the costumed vigilante a sideways smile as we settle into a comfortable silence.

It’s been about two years since Red Hood decided to intrude my quiet life (well as quiet as life could be in Gotham) and we have developed this strange friendship.

Every moment he wasn’t on patrol or at a briefing (coughfamilymeetingcough) he spent here. At first, I thought it was just him checking up on me like some overburdening mother worried their child couldn’t handle a minute in the backyard but I soon realized this became some sort of haven for him, a place for him to just exist. Not quite relax and let his guard down but just to be. No appearances of brutality to keep up, no disappointed glances from his estranged father figure. Just him picking on me because he’s a jerk.

But then again so am I.

I nervously glance at the red string tied snugly around my finger. It pulled off to the side though not too much further from me as its other end was wrapped around Red’s finger.

Strings of fate mom used to call it. My power to see the threads of destiny tying two people deeply together. At first I thought it was love or something junk like that but now I’m thinking maybe it just leads you to someone you need and someone that needs you back.

Or maybe it is love, what do I know? All I know about my power is it makes walking the streets harder than it needs to be. Ever see those old pictures of cities with powerlines just in every freaking direction? The strings are at least ten times worse than that! Luckily they’re not real? Well more an abstract concept that I see and not physical and you know what don’t worry about it.

“So” Red spoke up after a moment “Hungry?”

“After you insulting my taste in books?” I gave a fake pout “Starving. Oh shoot, I forgot to go to the store.”

Red chuckled “You didn’t forget, Penguin decided to try to extort it for protection money.”

“Oh” I blush in embarrassment “Right.”

“And you fell back asleep.”

I waved him off “Sometimes you just wake up, see the news and decide it’s not worth it.”

“I never get to sleep in.” Red rose to his feet “but honestly I’ve always had trouble sleeping.”

The nightmares. He mentioned it once in an off hand comment when he asked me why I toss and turn at loud noises. Gotham just does that too you. Eventually you learn to get ready to bolt at any loud noises over 190 decibels. Fun fact, that’s the noise level of a shotgun fired by your ear or a rocket taking off.

Or Joker laughing on the roof of your apartment building. Let me tell you, nothing’s louder than that madman. Thunder sounds like cats and dogs once you hear the Joker’s manic chuckle just a few feet away from you. One time years ago and I can still feel the chills run down my back whenever I think of it.

“So are you going to order pizza or what?” I asked quizzically “Since you’re aware I don’t have any in the fridge.”

I could practically hear the sarcasm dripping in every word out of his mouth as he held a bag of groceries aloft “I was trained by Batman. I’m always prepared.”  

Batman. Whatever his relationship with the dark knight currently is, he always spoke of him with a soft, gentle voice. A quiet pride that out of everyone in the world, the Bat chose him. But with that pride was a hint of shame. Everyone knew Red Hood hadn’t exactly made it easy on the old bat and while Hoodie was changing his ways, there was still some friction between them.

I didn’t say anything though. No point. He knew where he stood with his father figure and bringing it up would just make him sully. Besides I was way too curious to know how good of a cook he was.

I marveled in an awe silence as he expertly placed the various ingredients across my messy counter. He chuckled to himself as he cleared it to make space for dinner. I could feel my cheeks burn.

Watching him was oddly mesmerizing: His movements were precise yet graceful for someone with his build. He glided across the floor effortlessly, smoothly dicing whatever he brought one moment then by the time I blinked, he was warming up the frying pan by the stove.  

Soon an incredible smell filled the air while the sizzling of meat practically had me drooling.

“Your chin.” Red motioned to my lip with a spatula. I brought up my hand and flinched at how moist it was. Okay so it was drool. Sue me! You’d be drooling too if you had to deal with waiting for whatever heavenly meal he was cooking, okay?

Desperate to change the subject, I piped up “Should be I concern how well you handle that knife?”

He gave a casual wave with said instrument  “I hold the power of destruction and creation in my hand.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

Red coughed loudly “I’ve trained with various weapons knives included. You’d be surprised how much overlap happens between cooking and weapons handling.”

“Right. Sure. That’s a totally normal statement.”

“What about me” He gestured to himself “Is normal?”

“Fair point.” I conceded.

-----

“Am I forgiven?”

I grumbled a half answer as I tried not to let on how delicious this meal was. I don’t make the best money and let me tell you before this the fanciest thing I ever ate was some overpriced pasta from some restaurant chain.  This easily beat anything I have ever tasted except mom’s cooking but I hadn’t had that in years.

Red snorted, his voice smooth and melodic not filtered through some robotic alternation. I didn’t really had a dining room or a dinner table so we sat comfortably on my couch, tv playing some nonsense in the background as we both took in the sight of the city beyond my modest window. The lower part of his mask retracted backwards via some kind of high tech witchcraft and allowed him to eat his food without needing to show the rest of his handsome face.

I mean I think it was handsome. I assumed it was handsome given I accidentally figured out who was under the whole persona he set up for himself. I never told him that I knew though I suspect he knew that I figured it out. He was smart even if he acted like an idiot and it really was for the best. Plausible deniability. If I never asked, he never needed to answer.

“You know if you want me to cook again, you need to forgive me. Otherwise I’m not gonna waste my time anymore.” Red threatened with a tease.

I let out an exasperated groan “Fine, fine! It’s good. It’s the best food I’ve ever had! Is that what you want to hear?”

“Naturally. Though I could never compete with Alfred. He has no equal in the kitchen. Better than my brothers though. They can’t cook to save their lives. Tim practically lives on fast food.”

I stopped shoving food into my maw as an icy chill ran through my body. The comfy silence that filled my humble apartment turned tense.

One of those names I could pretend away: Tim? Alfred? Every day common names. But together? Tim AND Alfred. Everyone knew every member of the Wayne family because they were the only rich family in Gotham who didn’t want to screw everyone else over. And he brought up his brothers. That was the final nail in the coffin.

I put down my fork slowly. I could feel myself breath heavily but I refused to see him. I refused to meet his mask with nothing but my own shocked reflection to look back at me.

“I know you know who I am.” He said simply.

I could feel the syrupy urge to look at him ebbing at my resolve.

I swallowed uneasily “What now? What happens to me?”

‘Us’ I left unasked.

Silence.

“I don’t know”

I tried to calm my breathing but I could feel panic grip at me: Does this mean he’s not going to come anymore? Does this mean I have to go into witness protection? Is Batman going to scold me?!

“But I want to.”

I couldn’t help myself. I turned to him and for one of the few times in my life I was left speechless.

I was not staring at Red Hood. I found myself not looking at the smooth, featureless mask I had grown accustom to these last two years but Jason Todd.

Out of all of Bruce Wayne’s children, Jason was the one who seemed to just fall off the face of the Earth. There was a rumor he had died a few years back but those were debunked when he appeared without warning, just walking the streets of Gotham like he went on an extended vacation.

There wasn’t too many pictures of the enigmatic Mister Todd but that quick glance I had gotten forever ago did not do him justice: He was my age. His eyes were a piercing blue that I did not know could be that shade. I know it’s cliché but I felt like he was staring directly into my soul. His face was rugged, rough but still handsome. His hair was a messy jet black but there was few streaks of white that looked too natural to be dyed.

“I….didn’t see anything?” I offered helpfully, giving him a chance to put the mask on and pretend this none of this ever happened.

His nose wrinkled as he gave me a playful scoff. I could feel my heartbeat roaring in my ears.

“I’m not that ugly. Better looking than Dick.” he joked playfully.

“I dunno. Dick’s got the better ass.” I mumbled out, still too caught guard from the whole reveal.

“But I got the muscles.”

“Yes you do.” I eyed his body carefully then flushed a bright pink.

That knocked me out of my stupor.

“Are you sure you want me to know?” I whispered, unable to keep the fear out of my voice “I mean I didn’t mind pretending I didn’t know.”

“I do.”

His face soften and for a moment he didn’t look like Jason Todd, wayward son of Bruce Wayne or the Red Hood, moral gray compress of the batfam.

He just look like a regular guy who needed someone.

Evidently me it seemed.

I took a calming breath and offered my hand. He stared at me like I’m crazy but I kept it outstretched.

He took it gingerly and shook carefully, still unsure what was going on.

“Hello Jason Todd.” I beamed cheerfully “It’s nice to meet you!”

He said nothing, instead opting to smile softly.

“Nice to meet you too.”

I stared at the metaphysical string that tied us so neatly together.

I have never seen it that red before. And has it always been that thick?

I wonder what that means.

Eh, it’s probably nothing. I had other things to worry about.

[creativeashproductions]

Faded Memories // Julie Molina

Summary: After the death of her mother more than music is dropped from Julie’s life. Julie breaks up with her best friend turned then girlfriend Ramona. When Ramona gets closure it causes Julie remembers that Ramona was more than a girlfriend. She was her best friend too.

Warning: Swearing, talk of death, break-up, angst (ain’t new here), Julie and Ramona are ex-girlfriends and no happy ending (oops)

Characters: ex!Julie Molina x ex!Ramona Monet (just worked better with an OC even when it will get less traction, sorry)

Words: 2.9k

A/N: So in my Charlie Gillespie imagine A Walk Down The Aisle the reader played a character Ramona Monet on the show. @leave-reality-behind wanted a fic off the tiny scene I wrote. So here you go.

Please ask to be tagged in my inbox because I can’t promise you will through commenting on the fics.

Masterlist

Ramona Monet’s deep burgundy lips manoeuvred into an ‘o’ as she released a deep breath of air sending her fringe flying. The last place she wanted to be was the spirit rally, but her Pops had banned for from the hidden gem in the older parts of LA. Ramona’s love of old movies stemmed from the many times her father had dropped her off at the movie theatre on his way to work. Being banned and her best friend performing at the rally is the only reason she would show her face.

Ramona had chosen a red tartan shirt with her fishnets that would more than likely land her in Principle Lessa’s office. As usual, she would fight ‘it broke dress code’ earing a little less respect from the adult but admiration for the quick retorts. Ramona made her way to the gym as the first beat of Carrie’s song played, her black ankle boots finding the way to the bleachers.

“Hey, Monet,” Nick spoke, leaning forward from his concealed position in the nest of jocks. The kind blonde had always been lovely to his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Nick.” Ramona nodded looking back as Carrie burst into the fast pace choreography that went with the pop song.

Dirty Candi’s music was not what Ramona listened to, but she couldn’t fault that it was a catchy song that would be in everyone’s head for days. From a distance, Carrie’s brown eyes finding Ramona wearing her self-made merch.

Ramona’s shirt sported the letters of Dirty Candi in the iconic colours Carrie had stressed over in the beginning. The black shirt was bleached in a tie-dye fashion, but it made Carrie’s heart flutter at the supportive friend she had.

“Whoo!” Ramona called over the loud background noise as Carrie gracefully dropped to perform the floor choreo. The words referencing to the band Queen made the teen girl knowing it was Carrie’s way of acknowledging the car karaoke.

Ramona’s attention was brought to the side where two girls were watching the performance. Flynn and Julie had been in the back of Ramona’s mind since the accident happened; Ramona’s heart dropped at the girl. Julie and Ramona had a good history tainted by tragic loss and teenage angst.

Ramona and Julie had been childhood best friends being a few houses from each other and that history was bittersweet. The two girls had nervously shared their first kisses in the now dilapidated treehouse in the Monet’s backyard. A relationship bloomed like a flower in the morning sun before the sun was concealed behind a storm cloud. Julie’s mom died, and Julie asked for a break.

Now everyone knows that a break is really a breakup and the naïve girlfriends had believed that. Then as Julie struggled with music, she struck out to the closest person, her girlfriend and Ramona found herself dumped. The dumping shattered Ramona’s heart, and the friend group divided. Flynn chose Julie and Carrie, disgusted by the cruel words, chose Ramona in a true Carrie fashion; Carrie and Ramona had initially only interacted together for their mutual friend/girlfriend. Then Ramona’s heart was obliterated when days later, she caught Julie staring at Nick with the same look Ramona used to get.

Ramona’s head turned to disregard the girl that had run out of music class the previous day during her performance. Rumours circulated by the end of the day that Julie Molina had been officially kicked out of the program; Ramona was both sad and relieved. Julie’s own head turned to catch the profile of her ex-girlfriend.

“Go Bobcats!” Carrie Wilson chimed strutting off to the girls change room for the dramatic exit. Needing a break from Julie, the Monet girl followed Dirty Candi into the change room.

“Nailed it,” Ramona spoke, revealing white teeth behind her dark lipstick gaining the pink-haired girl’s attention. Carrie’s face beamed at the compliment.

Ramona and Carrie Wilson couldn’t be farther in comparison with their different tastes and appearance. Carrie was all pink and glittery while Ramona was grunge and angst. Ramona was the one to push Carrie into making a YouTube channel, even promoting the group to Ramona’s followers without prompting.

“Oh! Thank you!” Carrie tugged her best friend into her arms, choking her taller friend with the tight embrace.

“So, I overheard Julie and Flynn when I walked by the music room. Julie’s going to perform for Mrs Harrison.” Ramona warned her best friend concerned as Carrie’s complexation changed to make the gaudy pink wig, “OH!”

Carrie’s French manicure gouged Ramona’s bare arm as she was tugged after the teenager back into the gym. A gasp fell from both their lips as Kayla, the purple dancer for Dirty Candi appeared. The three students rushed the stage where three guys popped out of nowhere on the stage. 

“What the hell?” Ramona demanded watching her ex-girlfriend break out of her music shell, “Wow.”

“What do you mean ‘wow’ Ro?” Carrie asked in exasperation as her best friend stared at the stage, enjoying the music being played. Carrie scoffed only to soften when she saw the expression on Ramona, “Ro, she doesn’t deserve you. She never did.”

The sad smile appeared on Ramona’s face as her eyes met the bass player’s wink. Ramona flushed at the attention taken aback from the confidence. For a split-second, Ramona considered wiggling her way into the band to get back at Julie. 

But while Ramona dressed like a confident badass, it was inside that she felt alone and hurt that Julie was doing so well without her. That sent rage flooding Carrie’s body so when Kayla fawned over the band Carrie glared at her. Kayla dropped her head at the glare.

“I’m gonna go,” Ramona spoke walking away from the stage and her ex who apparently, she still had feelings for. God help Ramona. Why was it when Ramona was shaking the feeling that Julie had to come back with a bang?

Ramona was striding out of the gym as the band disappeared, leaving the Molina girl alone to explain. Ramona leaned against the bathroom sink uncaring of the germs in carried staring at the teen in the mirror. The bubbling sadness faded down, remembering the changes that had happened, she was better without Julie.

Ramona walked back into the hall, catching the tail end of Julie’s conversation with absolutely no one near her. Ramona’s mossy green eyes rolled as she walked by the younger girl the bubble of anger reaching the surface. The sheepish smile on Julie’s face as a concerned custodian pushed his cart by.

“Oh, so does this girl.” Reggie spoke, watching as a rocker chick made a wide berth around his only remaining alive friend, “Ooh, she’s pretty.”

Julie watched the older girl walk by keeping her gaze ahead, “Hey Mona.”

Ramona cast a weird look at the other girl with a roll of her eyes, “Good on you for performing. Surprised someone other than Flynn survived Bitch Bomb 2019.”

Ramona turned around the corner of lockers leaving the Puerto Rican’s shoulders to deflate at the remind of Flynn running off. Sunset Curve watched the interaction with raised brows flicking between the very different girls.

“What was that about?” Alex wondered, viewing the sad expression of the gifted singer’s face. The utter sadness reminding him of when he broke up with his first boyfriend in ’93 and the lingering feeling.

“That was Ramona.” Julie sighed, picking at the braided bracelet on her wrist that had matched the one you used to wear. 

Being fourteen without jobs and little allowance gifts had been mostly thrifted or homemade so for the six month anniversary they had braided bracelets. They had never come off their wrists until the breakup; Ramona had cut it off in a puddle of tears. Julie couldn’t bring herself to remove hers.

“When did Julie get smart enough to how about holograms?” Carrie scoffed as Ramona joined her at the lab table. The performance lingering like a bad taste of the girl’s tongue, “I worked weeks on that song! It was so hard getting Katy’s choreographer to help.”

“Carrie she-“

“She is so stupid! We’ve all lost someone, and we didn’t pull a Bitch Bomb 2019.” Carrie exclaimed referring to the first months of Julie’s grief-led wrath. 

Carrie was both right and wrong in that sense because everyone grieved differently, Carrie would do retail shopping. Ramona’s way of dealing was locking herself in a room with a piano and lugging up water balloons to a roof; very Peyton Sawyer of her. Julie never reached out to apologize for her actions, but Ramona blocked her on everything.

“Car focus on the lab. You still have that bomb-ass song you’re working on.” Ramona sympathized with the teen. Carrie nodded her head, deciding to not focus on some girl with a fluke of a performance; Julie almost puked on the piano a few days ago, so her surprise band was probably a one-time thing.

“Don’t you have anything better than-“

“Carrie do you hear something?” Ramona pursed her lips, scanning the classroom with a feigned look of confusion. Carrie’s lips twitched at her best friend’s antics, “I swore I heard the voice of irrelevance.”

“Ooh and I swore I smelt gutter water perfume too.” Carrie flicked her hair over her shoulder, smirking at Flynn’s look of anger, “Mr. Taylor! Flynn threatened to burn me!”

Mr Taylor turned his attention from Kayla to Flynn’s expression of disbelief and the glare directed at the table ahead. Putting on a look of shock, Ramona appeared genuinely flabbergasted to the chemistry teacher.

“Flynn, that’s detention.” Mr Taylor spoke, turning back to Kayla.

“You bit-“Flynn was cut off by the bell ringing. Ramona and Carrie had already left the confident girl in the room. Flynn was fuming with both Julie’s lying and the unfair detention because of two popular vindictive girls. 

One would expect Ramona Monet, as a member of the music program, to play guitar or drums. However, Ramona was a classically trained pianist with an affinity with stringed instruments as well. The Monet family had a footing in the music world with her mother taught in the same way, and her father a composer.

“Oh! Sorry.” Ramona’s intense focus on the music enchanting the room was pulled as the awkward form stood in the entrance.

“Seriously, Molina?” Ramona winced as her hands fell on the keys creating an ear gouging shriek. Her green eyes shining brighter with the bare face she had chosen with little motivation for makeup, “I’ve been using this room every day at the same time since freshman year. You should know that. Guess I really wasn’t even an afterthought.”

Ramona’s hand shoved soft top binder of her notes in her black bag covered in many pins and embroidered patches. Her bright pink nail polish surprising Julie but her eyes drowned in the form-fitting ripped black jeans with the wine red cable knit sweater. Cheeks flushing Julie stuttered.

“S-sorry. I just-“

“Whatever.” Ramona shoved passed her ex-girlfriend, “Why do you even wear that?”

Julie glanced at the meaningful bracelet that Ramona intensely stared at with the dark and light strings braided. Julie’s eyes fell to see Ramona no longer wore braided bracelets but a bracelet with a moon charm.

“It means a lot.”

“Just not the person.” Ramona darkly chuckled, “Kinda childish?”

Julie shuffled uncomfortably on her feet picking at her cuticle at the insult her antagonist ex threw at her. Three ghosts glared at the Monet girl pissed at the unfair treatment she was giving Julie.

“Hey! What the hell is your problem?” Luke snapped, stepping forward even as Alex made his input of it being unnecessary; they were dead. To Alex shock, the disgruntled girl shifted her gaze from Julie to the trio.

“My problem is none of your damn business Uncle Jesse.” Ramona spat earning raised brows at her reference.

 “Did she die in the ’90s too?” Reggie stage whispered to his best friend staring the pretty brunette down. Ramona’s eyes rolled.

“Should have known. The only people Julie didn’t scare off would be the dead.” Ramona snarked twisting on her heel to storm off into the distance.

“I’m sorry!” Julie yelled, bringing the brunette to a dead stop with her foot not planted on the floor yet as the apology finally came.

All Ramona had ever wanted was Julie to apologize for her shitty decision to dump Ramona cruelly. Using bitter words on her personal life to drive the wedge but the final nail in the coffin was the slammed door in Ramona’s face.

“For what?” Ramona seethed, “For asking for space and screaming when I gave it? Dumping me and acting like I was the black plague? How about when you forgot about my audition? Burning the flowers, I sent for the funeral? Or making breaking off communication and Flynn completely ignoring me?”

“Oh damn.” Luke murmured, stepping back to the drummer and bassist floored at the confrontation. His heart dropped, finally understanding why Julie avoided all topics relating to Ramona.

“I was wrong.” Julie admitted, “I pushed you away. I got mad when you gave me what I wanted. I should have talked to you and not broke up with you that way I did.”

“She burnt funeral flowers. “Alex whispered to Reggie, surprised at the out of character action from his new friend.

“I chose you over my audition. I chose to offer support for my best friend, not just my then-girlfriend, on one of her worst days. I get to the funeral, and you refused to let me say goodbye to the woman that practically raised me as well.” Ramona calmed down, staring at the younger girl breaking apart in front of her.

It felt like a weight dropped off Ramona’s shoulders or the chains of heartbreak and confusion unlocked with the key of closure. The clouds disappeared, letting the sun help the flowers bloom after a year of rain. A genuine smile spread on the girls face as Julie’s dropped at the beautiful sight.

“I hope you well Birdie.” Julie’s heart fluttered at the pet name Ramona had coined for the teenager. It shortened from songbird to birdie, and Julie hadn’t heard in what felt like years, “I gotta go. It’s filming day.”

Julie went pushed into a memory.

Summer 2018

The camera was entirely set on Ramona in the treehouse that her Pop had built when she was five years old. Fourteen-year-old Ramona was relaxing as she fixed her white off-shoulder crop top to be straight once more. The cover of the song accompanied by her acoustic guitar was pretty to the years of the short girl at the entrance.

“I still think it’s cheesy to call it Music Monday.” Ramona told the camera with a shy smile after strumming the last note. Her eyes meeting the girl that tackled her in a hug, “Birdie!”

“Birdie?” Julie questioned leaning back from her kissing attacks on every inch of her dirty-blonde girlfriend.

“Songbird is a bit of a mouthful.” Ramona blushed hiding in Julie’s neck unaware of the camera still rolling. The blush deepened at the lingering kiss to Ramona’s hairline.

“I love it.” Julie softly spoke, leaning back to gaze into Ramona’s green eyes swimming in the soft feeling.

Julie Molina and Ramona Monet had been the classic best friends with hidden crushes that shattered one afternoon. Ramona was nervous about a date she had the next day, and she had never kissed anyone. Julie, awed by her best friend, admitted she’d never kissed anyone and so in a cliché, the girls decided to share their first kiss. Feelings were revealed, and the two started to date.

“So, what brings you here.” Ramona asked, stopping the camera from recording as her girlfriend shifted, “What’s up?”

“If you’re ready I’d like to have you over for dinner.” Julie shyly asked, avoiding Ramona’s gaze.

“That’s not new Birdie.” Ramona chuckled helping the shorter girl to her feet fingers caressing the bracelet that was a twin to her own. Julie’s eyes flicked down to the light pink shorts that matched the butterfly click in Ro’s hair.

“Not as my best friend. As my girlfriend.” Julie murmured fearing the response.

“Should I call your parents Mr and Mrs.” Ramona wondered, kissing Julie’s cheek as the other girl relaxed at the statement. Julie feared Ramona wasn’t ready or didn’t want to be at that stage in the relationship, “If you are ready, then so am I.”

“You’re the best thing to happen to me.” Julie beamed, “Oh! I wanna show you the song Mom, and I made!”

Julie tugged her pretty girlfriend to the front of the house to lead her to the Molina’s garage they renovated into a music studio. The girls’ laughter floating in the summer breeze, the relationship blooming under the sun as it developed further. Naïvely the two young teens believed nothing could rip them apart, if only they knew.

“So, I’m guessing she’s off-limits?” Reggie offered as he bounced on his heels, attempting to lighten the mood. The glare from Julie was enough to answer that question.

“Reg. Firstly, don’t date your friend’s ex. Secondly, you’re dead.” Alex deadpanned at his best friend to turn to Julie, “Are you okay?”

 “No.” Julie honestly spoke, “I guess I never realized that losing my girlfriend also meant I would lose my best friend.”

On the other side of the school, Ramona Monet could finally smile as the memories with Julie regained the colour grief had erased. Ramona Monet was better than fine, she was happy.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds​ @kcd15 @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​ @ssprayberrythings​​ @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon​ @zukoshonourr​ @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch​

[yuulina-vre]

Gifting you a new life

Trouble

Pairing: Steve x Bucky, Reader insert

Warnings: Mild angst

word count: 2388 words

Part: Five

Summery: Y/N get’s a letter that is upsetting and bringing up some part of her life she rather forget. Steve get’s to know Bucky.

Masterlist

* * *

Y/N stands in the kitchen, envelops and newspaper in hand, sorting them. Steve’s looking through the shelves, probably hunting for some snack before Bucky will arrive in two hours or so. It’s quiet, content. A truly normal, but peaceful Saturday evening. It takes her a minute until she has sorted the envelopes for bills, Steve’s, and her own letters. Then she dins it. The envelope in her hand is yellow, not the ordinary white. The address is scribbled per hand with crooked and smeared lines. Handwritten. She can’t shake the feeling of knowing this handwriting but there’s no picture to it. She just knows that it’s familiar. And it's not the first this week. She rips it open and reads it over, stopping shortly and frowning before reading it again and again. Suddenly she feels confused, unsure, and maybe a little bit angry. It only makes her angrier the longer she reads the words, sees the handwriting and the name on the end. She makes a noise between a sigh and a grunt which makes Steve turn away from the cereals and faces her. “What are you looking at?” She startles, looks up at him, and folds the paper to shove it back in the envelope. “Just a letter from my Mom. Nothing important.” It’s a lie. The letters not from her mom or dad, not from any of her friends. But if she tells Steve who’s letter it is then he will get worried. She doesn’t want him to worry, not today. Never if possible. Especially not when he’s going to finally get to know a potential love interest, maybe even getting himself a ate and something from his dad back. Steve frowns at her and comes closer. “And that makes you sigh like you want to punch the wall and cry at the same time.” Y/N cringes a bit and quickly searches for a new excuse. “Wasn’t a really good letter.”

“Is your dad okay? He was sick, right?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Out of hospital and refusing to rest like always.” She smiles at him and stuffs the envelope in her bag. “What are you doing here anyway? We're supposed to eat dinner in two hours.” Steve raises his eyebrows and looks at the clock on the wall. “It’s half-past four. I’m starving now and Bucky won’t be here before six.” Bucky and Steve had texted on and off yesterday after the grocery store. Steve finally able to talk to him after having met him properly. Bucky had told him when he’s going to come over and that he will bring beer for the game. Also asking a lot of questions relating to dinner, bringing something else and all that. Y/N found it endearing but slightly annoying the Steve didn’t even listen to her rambling about Tony’s plans for the next school year. “Right.” Steve shrugs at her but studies her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” She curses herself lightly. The answer was way too rushed, maybe even a bit too fast. “I mean… I – I didn’t decide on what to make for dessert, yet. And I have to call Tony because of next year’s schedule and my classes. We didn’t get everything finished yesterday.”

“Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“I- I rather have it sorted out today. I’ll be quick, I promise.” It’s not all true but true enough. He had met Tony yesterday between classes, talked to him about peter and some of her classes for the next year, and listened to his ideas. She had some lingering questions but nothing that can’t wait until Monday. She somehow feels pressured to lie to Steve, when in reality there’s no real reason to do so. “Okay.” Steve stretches the last letter, not quite believing her, his eyes falling on the letter in her hand again. It’s clear to see that Steve wants to say something else but holds himself back, probably sensing that she won’t answer him anyway. Y/N sighs and puts the letter down, looking at Steve. “I’m alright. I promise. How about, instead of filling your stomach with things that won’t do anything for your hunger, you go upstairs and find something to wear?”

“Why?”

“Are you really going to meet Bucky in your paint speckled shirt and dirty sweatpants?” She scoffs a little, looking him up and down with a frown. Steve looks down on himself. “Right, Not really… nice.”

“Not really, no.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to shower and redress. Call me if you need help.”

“With what? I can’t really have the kitchen burning because you tried to boil water.”

“That was one time and the kitchen didn’t burn!”

“It almost did!” She laughs at Steve’s red face and watches him grumbling leave the kitchen. She looks after Steve for a moment longer before her gaze switches back to the letter on the table. “When will you finally leave me alone?” She walks into the living room and to her smartphone on the coffee table, picking it up and looking through her contact until she finds the Stark-Potts contact and pressing on the calling button. It rings a few times, time enough for Y/N to get a little lost on her thoughts. Her nerves are almost frayed with fear. She doesn’t want to think back at her relationship with Rumlow. It was one of her worst mistakes she ever made and apparently, he has not forgotten about her. He keeps popping up in her life, mostly when she believes she finally left him behind her. In her old life. As if he wants to remind her that he’s still there and still waiting for her to realize that she belongs to him and forever will.

“Stark-Potts. Here is Pepper.” Pepper's words rip her out of her memories of an old life, almost making her flinch. “Oh Pepper, here’s Y/N. Is Tony there? And right now?” Who knows which business the rich man tends to in his free time. “He has a video conference in ten minutes, when you make it wick then I can fetch him for you.”

“Please.” She nods despite Pepper not being able to see it and sits down on the couch, fussing with her free hand on one of the pillows Steve brought in a thrift shop. She hates the thing and still suspects that Steve brought it to annoy her. But he seems to genuinely like it so she allowed the ugly piece of brown fabric to stay. “Are you okay? You sound upset.” She can hear Pepper walking through their house. “He’s back, Pepper.” Her voice is dry, hoarse. Empty. “Who?”

“Brock.”

“Oh my god. Alright. I make sure you two have time talking.” Y/N nods and turns around to make sure Steve’s still upstairs and won’t catch a word of what she’s going to discuss with Tony. She doesn’t have to wait long. She hears some muffled voices, some rustling, and then there’s Tony’s voice, playful and quirky as always. “Y/N! My favorite person in the whole world, after Pepper, of course. You’re saving me from one of the most boring calls I have to witness this week.” She can practically see the grin plastered on his face and if she wouldn’t feel so bad it would infect her just right now and she would laugh or snort, send a remark back and make a joke or something. But right now, it just makes her feel sick. “Tony.” Her throat feels dry. She has the feeling that a lump has embedded itself in her windpipe, catching the air she needs and forcing it back out. The letter, still lying on the dining table seems to bore itself in her head. Would it be a person, its eyes would send glares at her, boring her with deep red and evil eyes, a devilish grin on its lips, and a mocking look all over its face. “What’s wrong? Fighting with Steve?” Y/N takes a deep breath. Her eyes gliding back to the offending piece of paper on the table in the kitchen. She can see the writing in her inner eye, doesn’t even need to look at it. It’s as if it burned the words in her brain. “Y/N? Pepper’s looking worried so I assume she knows what’s up. Do we need to come over?” 

“No! No. I…” She sighs, frustrated with herself for letting a letter, or several over the past week, get herself lose control “I got a letter.”

“Okay.”

“From… him.” There’s silence for a second before she hears a sound that could be a groan, a scoff, or something entirely different. “Brock Rumlow again. I didn’t expect him to come back so soon.” Knowing that several expressions run over his face right now she sighs and falls back on the couch. Anger is probably the most dominant emotion for tony right now and she knows, if Steve knew, he would be furious right now. Not at her for hiding it but for Brock to even trying to get back in contact with her. “What do I do now?” Y/N’s voice is filled with fear and she knows it trembles. “What if he comes?” 

“Does he know where you work?”

“I-I don’t know. But Tony! He knows where I live. I move d four times and he still found me. How difficult can it be to find out where I work?” Y/N shakes her head. “He never went to this house with me. If he didn’t follow me then he shouldn’t know about it and now that he does…. I don’t feel safe, Tony.”

“Does Steve know?”

“No! Dear god, Tony. I can’t tell him. He’s finally getting on his feet, even found someone to flirt with. I-I can’t bring him up. Not now.”

“Okay.” Y/N can hear Tony pace around his office. He’s mumbling some things she can understand. Then she hears him talking silently to someone. “Happy. Take Jarvis and Pietro on Monday and secure the gate. No strangers are allowed to enter coming next week. No, that’s not a joke. Students have to show their Student ID, otherwise, they won’t enter… Who? When?” Y/N starts nibbling on her lower lip and startle a little as she hears the stairs behind her creak. She turns around to see Steve enter the living room with a smile, turning to show off his beige khakis and his light blue button-up. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask if he looks better and Y/N just nods. The Steve mouths ‘Still Tony?’ And she nods again while Steve rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen. “Y/N? You still there?” She twitches a little and stumbles over her own words. “Y-yeah. I-I’m here.”

“Do you know a brunette man with long hair and silver hand?”

“I-I don’t think so. Why?”

“There was someone in school on Thursday, asking for Steve.” A silent ‘o’ forms on her mouth, thinking of the only person that might have been asking for the blonde. Wait, he has a metal arm? “That- That could have been James Barnes. Pepper might remember him. He’s from the military. He has something from Steve’s dad.” She hears Tony asking pepper and her answering, though, she can’t really make out any words. “He was okay, Happy. Though, don’t let anyone in without informing me. I send you a picture of a man who’s not even allowed to be near the school. Make sure we don’t even catch a glimpse of him.” Steve comes back in, toast in his mouth and crackers in hand, flopping down beside her and holding the crackers up. Y/N shakes her head at the offer, watching him shrug. There’s an itch in her body to lean over, lie her head on his shoulder and cry for the rest of the day, bathing in her misery. “Okay, Y/N, Happy’s taking care of the school. Do you need something else?”

“No, I-I guess not.” There’s silence in the line for a moment before she hears Tony sigh. “Y/N. You know I would never let him near you. Not at school anyway. I will do everything I can. I can’t protect you at home but you know you can call me if somethings up, no matter how late. And you have Steve there, too. Think about telling him. It might be good to have him know. Rumlow is an asshole and Steve hates him more than I do. You should tell him because we both know he would want to know.” Y/N shakes her head with a deep breath. “Alright.” The air leaves her body and she finally leans over to Steve, resting her head on his shoulder with closed eyes. She can feel the man shift a little, draping his arm around her shoulders, planting a kiss to her temple before going back to his toast and crackers. “Pep’s getting pepper spray for you. Though, I could give her to you. She’s better than any spray available.” Y/N snorts a small smile before she shakes her head. “No, I think I’m good for the moment. Thank you, Tony.”

“No problem, but remember to tell me if somethings up. And better don’t go home alone. Let Steve drive you or something.”

“I will.” She smiles again and then says goodbye, putting the phone down in her lap and listening to Steve’s munching. She’s not sure if she will be alright, though. She really doesn’t want to see Brock again and certainly not at her workplace. She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on and just as Steve moves does she look over to him. He has turned a little to face her. His face is filled with concern, maybe shock, too, and his hands are hovering over her, crackers abandoned on the coffee table. “Everything good? You’re crying.” Startled she lifts her hand to her cheek, making a surprised noise. Is brock already making her that out of her mind that she doesn’t even notice when she’s crying?

“Y-yeah, don’t know why.” She laughs a little, feeling like crying even more now. “Let’s get this dinner ready, yeah?” She whips her eyes once more and lifts herself from the couch, matching into the kitchen, successfully ending the conversation and escaping any questions that would come for the moment.

Previous Part / Next Part

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.2 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch isn’t running away, not really.

He took the bus.

Only to end up in a little town in the middle of nowhere, meeting unusual people, dealing with unexpected happenings, what the hell is going on in this place?

Content:  Spicyhoney, Midwest Gothic

Note:  Just as a heads up, I'd give this story a warning for mild horror and mild gore. None of our boys, but better to let y'all know!

~~*~~

Read Chapter Two ‘Meet and Greet’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

For the next week Stretch spent most of his time trying to figure out the method in the madness to Red’s store management. His first day of ‘training’ pretty much consisted of Red showing up long enough to demo the cash register and then shuffling off to the apartment at the back where he lived. Not that pushing a couple of numbered buttons was that complicated, but that wasn’t the only issue cropping up around here along with the local corn.

First of all, nothing in the shop was priced. All the items were recorded in a ragged notebook with coffee ring stains on the cover, where Stretch got to figure out if an item fell under the category of ‘toilet paper’, ‘paper, toilet’, ‘ass wipers’, or ‘shitty ass wipers’, all written in Red’s sloppy handwriting. The sheer number of items that fell under ‘ass’ and ‘shitty’ were staggering.

Turned out, the little store actually did a fair amount of business. Plenty of Humans stopped in to pick up one or two things rather than drive to the nearest Wally World which according to Granny Collemore, who Stretch was guessing was the unofficial town gossip, was better than a thirty-minute drive away.

“Don’t need to be driving an hour for a little bum tissue,” she bellowed happily, “shopping day is Sunday, we’ll stock up then!”

Stretch nodded as he rang her up, wincing away from her volume. He’d figured out pretty quickly that the old woman was stone deaf, but she didn’t seem to care if all she got was a smile and plenty of nods, so that was fine.

She handed over a wad of cash pulled from a little embroidered change purse that let out a puff of lavender so strong when she opened it that it overshadowed the store’s normal musty smell, hollering the whole time. By the time she left, Stretch knew enough about the local weather patterns to make a rain prediction and that the way someone named Pritchard was hamming on a pretty young’un Eloise meant they’d best they be married soon ‘fore it turned into a shotgun wedding. He nodded along with every proclamation, hurrying around the counter to open the door for her and ended up spending five minutes waiting for her to shuffle her way out, her bunny slippers leading the way.

But as she was leaving, she reached up and gave him a gentle pat on the cheekbone, her wrinkled hand barely able to reach. “You’re a nice boy,” she told him, too loud and with a pink, gummy smile.

Stretch was too startled to flinch away and only managed to mumble a thank you as she headed off into the growing heat of the morning, a hunched figure in a flowery dress and pink slippers, her bag of emergency tp bumping against her hip as she trundled along.

That was another thing. He’d thought that the Humans around here would be distrustful, even malicious, but that wasn’t proving to be the case. Aside from a little surprise when they first saw him, all the customers so far were small-town kindly. Kids came into the shop to raid the nickel-candy rack, their bikes left in piles outside as excited groups came roaring in. Mothers came in with babies wearing only their diapers, fanning themselves and laughing out their, ‘my, isn’t it a hot one today?’ as they bought a half-gallon of milk and some fresh apples to put in the bottom of their strollers.

No one in town seemed to care that he was a Monster past asking his name and maybe it was just ‘cause of Red being a skeleton, too. Could be that Granny Collemore was out there somewhere bellowing that the local shopkeeper had family visiting, who knew? It was sure different than he was used to. The general sentiment in Ebott about Monsters was resentment; over them taking jobs, enrolling in the schools, whatever it was, they didn’t want Monsters doing it.

It was…nice, he decided, to not have someone dislike him on sight.

That was how he spent his mornings. He worked in the shop, idly dusting, putting away the deliveries that a guy in the pickup truck and overalls brought in daily, and borrowing Red’s wifi to listen to soft music on his phone. The calls had trickled to only once a day and the glaring red alert number of his messages kept climbing.

Stretch didn’t look at them, only skipped right over to Spotify and the 'The Wedding Singer Divorce Special pt 2' playlist.

Red came in every day to relieve him at around two. He grunted out something that resembled a hello as he heaved himself up on the stool, leaning his cane against it as he pulled out a battered romance novel from beneath the counter. The creased covered did not in the slightest hide the young, scantily-clad woman caught up in a fiery embrace with her highland Lord.

“be back later,” Stretch said as he hung up his apron. Not that it mattered, wasn’t like Red was his dad or even a friend, not really, and he didn’t care when Stretch came home. A couple times they’d eaten together, takeout from the local diner that was imaginatively called ‘Mama’s’, not ‘Eats’, watched a little but that was it. His lack of idle chitchat was the complete opposite of Blue’s constant stream of chatter and after years of that, the silence was kinda disconcerting, but maybe not in a bad way.

Red didn’t even look up from his book, only pulled a crumpled bill out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter, “pick up some beer at the station, wouldja?”

“sure,” Stretch said, almost grateful for something else to do. It was miles better than sitting the rest of the day in his little room with its faded, floral wallpaper where the air conditioning wasn’t quite able to combat the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. He’d done that once, the first day, and after that made a point of staying out of his room until sundown to give it chance to cool off.

The town itself wasn’t much more than a bunch of ramshackle houses. To the west were fields, the leafy tops of what Stretch was now certain was corn rustling in the wind. Off to the east, the landscape slowly went from flat plains to trees, their wilting leaves yellowing in the heat and ending in a wooded area that surrounded maybe half the town. Shame it was too far away provide much shade unless you went walking right into it. Main street consisted of a few other public buildings; a tractor store right up next to the thrift shop, a little one-room schoolhouse with an attached shed that served as the town library, the Sheriff’s office, and the movie theater.

On the outskirts of town there was also a bar, The Whistling Cow, its glowing neon sign a single point of orange light on dark nights. As much as Stretch wanted a drink, he stuck with filching beer from the cooler Red kept under the counter. Hanging around with strange, drunk humans usually didn't end well for him.

The movie theater was where he’d taken to heading after work. Someone with a sense of humor must’ve named the place, since ‘The Grandeur’ literally only had one theater and maybe thirty seats, if that. The proprietor ran the ticket booth and the concession stand, and in his threadbare uniform with its yellowing shirt, he looked a lot like Lurch's second cousin, once removed.

But he was a nice enough fella and it was a good way to waste some time. Even if the only movies showing were old black and whites, the popcorn was fresh, with real butter, and the added bonus of air conditioning. Besides, the Three Stooges were funny as shit any old day.

That was where Stretch was headed today; the afternoon showing only cost two bucks, then another for popcorn and he was set for a few hours. It was better than trying to get anything to tune in on the television in his overboiled room. With a lot of coaxing, he might manage to get a PBS channel, but there was only so much time a person could spend sweating their way through a staticky version of Sesame Street.

Stretch got to his seat just as the lights were going down, settling in with his popcorn. Before the movie there were a few cartoons, and it was kinda wild to get to see Steamboat Willy chugging along on the big screen again.

Today’s flick was an honest to bitsy silent movie and Stretch watched with a wide grin as Charlie Chaplin slap-schticked his way across the stage. There were a few other people in the seats, at least one of them snoring; probably only came to get out of the summertime heat.

But it wasn’t really the movie he was here for. Not today.

He’d seen her the first time he came. Sitting in the far back row, not that uncommon, some people liked to sit far away. No one else seemed to notice her and that wasn’t strange either. Normally even he didn’t pay much attention to anyone else in the theater, who did? So long as a person was quiet, made no ripples in the pond, no one saw them. Movies were for escapism, not to make new friends.

But this lady. To begin with, her clothes were about a century out of date, with her pink suit and matching pillbox hat, her white gloves, and whenever the house lights came up while they switch the reel, she vanished without even a shimmer of dust motes, only returning once the darkness did.

He’d been back three times so far and she’d been in the theater for every showing. Sitting on her own watching the flick, always in the same seat. This time, Stretch was sitting in the seat next to it. He munched his buttery popcorn and watched as Charlie Chaplin-ed his way through the movie. He didn’t have to wait long.

None of the Humans noticed. The black-and-white light coming from the screen was dim enough that anyone sitting in the audience was nothing but a shadow. Humans tended towards the unobservant side, anyway, none of them had to be as aware of their surroundings as a Monster did, especially one like Stretch with only 5 HP between him and dust.

Besides, there wasn’t any fanfare about it. One minute the chair next to him was empty and the next, a young woman was sitting there, her hands clasped primly in her lap as she looked up at the movie with rapt attention.

“like the movies, huh?” Stretch said, very softly. “always wanted to be an actor myself, but i don’t have the guts for it.”

Waste of a good pun, he didn’t even think the woman had a chance to notice he was a skeleton. She startled, one faintly translucent hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. Stretch only munched on another piece of popcorn and let her gather her wits or ectoplasm or whatever ghosts had. Wasn’t like he had room to talk, the inside of his skull was as hollow as a drunken apology.

She settled quick enough and asked in a wispy little voice, “you can see me?”

Stretch slouched back and propped his sneakers up on the seat in front of him. “sure. it’s a monster thing. we see things that humans don’t, sometimes.” Or didn’t bother to see, Stretch wasn’t sure which.

“Sometimes they see me,” she admitted. “but they always run away.”

Yeah, Stretch couldn’t really blame them for that one. Humans weren’t used to ghosts, not the way Monsters were, and now that he was sitting up close, he could see the way she flickered a little, that pretty face sometimes flashing onto something else, half still pretty as a picture from an old magazine and the other a bloody ruin. There was a gaping hole on one side of her head, her blonde hair matted into dark clumps, and one blue eye stared out, unseeing. There were flecks scattered on the shoulder of her pink suit, chips of ivory, and Stretch knew enough about bones to recognize skull fragments. Another flicker and it was gone, only a pretty young Human woman looking back at him. The effect was a little off-putting, true, but it wasn’t like she could help it.

Besides, Stretch didn’t have to look. He was watching the movie.

“what’s your name?” he asked, softly.

She hesitated and he wondered if she didn’t want to tell him or if she didn’t know. Her eyes were large, absurdly long lashes sweeping against her cheeks as she considered. When she spoke again her voice was a little stronger, surer, “Doris.”

“doris, my name is stretch,” he told her, “and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

They sat together in silence for a little while. The music coming brightly from the speakers was as cheerful as a carousel, offering happiness and humor when she spoke again abruptly. “I know this is very forward. But. Could you do something for me?”

“maybe,” Stretch said, a little wary. Better not to make promises to unknown ghosts, they could get tetchy.

She smiled, a wry curve of lips as if she could hear his thoughts. “Your popcorn.”

He looked down at the paper cup in his hand, still half-full of buttery kernels. “you want some?” he asked, bemused.

She let out a whispery laugh, like a wind rustling through summer cattails. “No, but. Can I smell it?”

Oh. “sure.” He held the cup out and she leaned over it, inhaling deeply, or, well, looked like she did, he didn’t think ghosts actually breathed, but who knew? When she bent down twin ribbons of blood ran from both her nostrils, dark and slick. It didn’t drip into the popcorn, couldn’t, it wasn’t present in the same way the little carton was, but he felt his appetite fade. He still politely pretended not to notice.

She leaned back with a happy sigh and all signs of the blood were gone. “Thank you. I go behind the counter sometimes to smell it, but it’s not the same.”

“i bet. gotta be in a paper bucket or it ain’t right.” If she could go out to the concession stand, that meant at least she wasn’t stuck sitting in this one seat. Maybe it was just her favorite. “you get out much?” He jerked his head towards the door, “outside, i mean.”

“No,” She shook her head sadly, and her hair brushed her shoulders. “I have to stay in the theater.”

He nodded sympathetically. That was gonna make this a little harder, but not too much. He liked the movies, anyway. “yeah, it works that way sometimes. but hey, i’ll stop back in and see you again. if that’s okay?”

She brightened visibly, coming sharply into focus like a lens turned on a camera, until the chair behind her only barely showing through. “Would you?”

Now that was a vow he could make and Stretch sketched a cross over his chest with a finger and said solemnly, “i promise.”

Their chat must’ve been getting a little loud. Someone was turning around in the front seats. The room was too dark to see, but he didn’t have to witness a glare to feel it. Stretch slouched down in his seat and took the hint.

Hey, he’d made a friend. Well, most of one and it was the important part. A soul without a body was a lot nicer than a body without a soul, hands down.

Which made him wonder about the gas station attendant, because Mitch made Red seem like a warm, outgoing person.

The ancient artwork on the front window of the gas station showed a shiny, smiling attendant in a tidy uniform, his neatly cut hair almost hidden beneath his cap as he held up a dripping gas nozzle in offering. That guy must’ve gotten promoted out of state, because the only dress code Mitch followed was ‘fuck it, looks clean.’ Long, straggly hair poked out from his dirty baseball cap and, of all things, he was reading the New York Times, the business section.

His saving grace was that his disinterest in all customers was universal. Mitch was an equal opportunity kind of guy; he didn’t give a shit about anyone.

Stretch opened the door carefully so that the cowbell only gave a muted clang. He hesitated inside the door and decided to brave a question. Hey, he’d made one friend today, may as well push his luck. “you got any coffee on?”

It was a pretty safe bet, even as hot as it was. Coffee wouldn’t help with the sweat that was already dampening his shirt from walking over from the theater, but Stretch felt a little unsteady from meeting Doris. He could use a dose of caffeine to shore him up.

Mitch didn’t look up from his paper, but he jerked his chin towards the back wall. “Yep, but the only coffee I got is hot. Ain’t no ‘spressos around here, Slick.”

“Hot is fine.” He didn’t bother correcting him on the name. Started with an S, close enough, they’d be best pals in no time. The carafe of coffee smelled surprisingly fresh, considering that Mitch looked like he’d been holding that chair down for a few hours. There was a plastic basket next to the carafe filled with little coffee mate creamer cups. He added four French vanilla, carrying his murky coffee up to the counter with Red’s six-pack. Beer was one thing they didn’t sell at the store, no alcohol at all, something to do with the liquor laws in this county and Red not paying those skinflint jackholes for a license, not on his ass, thanks much.

He paid for both, picked up his change from where Mitch tossed it unhelpfully on the counter and went outside, fumbling out his smokes on the way.

Stretch sat down on the crumbling curb, drinking his coffee and smoking, letting the caffeine and nicotine wash over him in a twin, soothing rush. He’d been trying to cut down with his funds being on the uncertain side, cigarettes were a pricy vice, and he couldn’t bum any from Red the way he did the beers.

The sun was still high overhead pouring down the heat, coming up off the pavement in shimmery waves. Sweat was rising up on his bones, his t-shirt clinging damply to his ribs and spine. Somewhere nearby, he could hear children playing, the hollow thud of a basketball and their laughter carrying on in the still air. He didn’t have anywhere he needed to be, no one’s expectations to live up to.

When his cigarette was done and pinched out, Stretch climbed back to his feet and headed for the grocery to drop off the beers before they got warm. Again, he went easy on the door, keeping the bell to a faint rattle rather than a clang. It was only when he turned around that he saw the front counter was empty, Red’s book bent open on the counter but no skeleton around to pick it back up.

He set the beers on the counter, calling, “red?”

No reply and that was strangely ominous in a little store where even a short skeleton would be hard pressed to hide.

There was a long hallway in the back that led past a couple storerooms to the apartment Red lived in. He gave the storerooms a glance, just in case Red had a sudden urge to restock the sanitary napkin display, and wasn’t very surprised to find them unoccupied. He saw the door to Red’s apartment was open a crack like it never was and that cranked ominous up to sinister. The lingering sweat on his bones was chilling in the air conditioning, but that wasn’t the only reason a sudden shiver rattled him.

“red?” Stretch called weakly as he pushed open the door.

The living room was small with a ratty plaid sofa and a coffee table littered with beer cans and balled up chip bags, and standing in the center of it was a person who was not Red, not unless he got one hell of a growth spurt while Stretch was gone.

Once, Stretch would’ve just taken a shortcut out, right the hell to the Sheriff station down the road and never had he missed the skill more than when the guy-who-was-definitely-not-Red started to turn around. The instinct to teleport was still there even if the ability wasn’t, fizzling out with an aching pain right in the middle of his chest.

It was only a minor distraction and Stretch blundered over to grab a lamp from a side table, yanking the cord right out of the wall as he brandished it over his head like a club, yelling shrilly, “what the fuck are you doing in here?”

The guy turned around, looking back at him with deep crimson eye lights that flicked briefly up to the lamp before meeting his wild gaze. His voice was as smooth and dark as deep water as he stated coolly, “I believe that’s my question.”

Stretch could stare and the only coherent thought amongst the many tangled ones scrambling through his mind was only two words. Simple. Descriptive.

Oh, shit.

-tbc-

[lilhemmo]

Can I uh get a "bookshop au" + "flirting under fire" au for sweet pea? your writing is so good and he's my baby please give me more

a/n: yes, friend, you can!!! i know this is.. old, but, hey, what can i say? i’m not apologizing!! 

ps, dear chels @the-gargoyle-queen i am so sorry for picking on your ghoulies but it’s just sO EASY

You’d inherited the book shop from your grandmother once she passed, but you never really had a hand in it until you heard about the state Riverdale was in. So, you packed your things and moved back into the loft upstairs, taking a much more direct approach with the store. 

You bought books online, through thrift stores - anything you could find to keep the shelves stocked. Eventually, your shop was a safe haven - a Switzerland, if you will. It was a place where anyone from any walk of life could take a seat and escape the world.

There were high schoolers who host homework and study sessions, middle aged moms who gather for book club, and even Southsiders who show up just to get away from the street’s carnage every once and a while.

The tattoo artist from the Pretty Poison Tattoo Parlor stops by once a week for a new book on nature and you’ve managed to have a short conversation with him each time.

You’ve learned his name - Sweet Pea - and that he gets the books to study for his tattoos. A lot of the people who come in are female bikers who want different flowers mixed with skulls and crossbones tattooed on them, so he has to be educated.

“Got another random tattoo booking later this week, gotta learn how to draw…” Sweet Pea shakes his head, holding out the book, “Whatever the hell these are.”

You’re laughing but then the whole room goes silent, cold. You look up just as a car steers off from the road and crashes into your glass windows. Sweet Pea wastes no time in hopping over the counter and grabbing you up, turning so his back is to the car and you’re caged under his arms.

“Shit,” he shakes his head, turning get a glance of the people in the car. “Fuckin’ Ghoulies.”

You blink slowly, your head spinning as your heart beats increasingly faster, “G-Ghoulies? Here?!”

Sweet Pea nods and for the first time you notice the serpent tattoo on his neck. You’ve only known him through the winter, and now that it’s spring, he’s no longer wearing turtle necks or thick jackets to cover his tattoo. You grip him by the flannel, staring up at him, “B-But this isn’t…this is supposed to be a safe space.”

“Seems like the Ghoulies don’t agree with you. Call 911, I’m gonna see if I can do anything.”

He’s gone before you can protest, and you swear you hear the zing of a knife in the air, but you disregard it. Grabbing up your phone, you call the police and shakily tell them all of the details. Luckily there are officers on foot who make it there before too much carnage breaks loose.

They have to grab up Sweet Pea and administer medical treatment and also question him regarding the knife wounds they found slashed into various Ghoulies, but he manages to describe it well enough as self-defense that they release him once they’re finished.

“H-How can I thank you?” you ask, wrapping yourself up in a blanket given to you by the police department.

Sweet Pea shrugs, “I like gettin’ to kick those jackasses around, so I don’t need a thank you.”

You’re smiling and he wants to ask why, but the sound of shattering glass makes him pause. Your frame is practically shaking, and he remembers a conversation where you told him you lived in the book shop, above the store in a one bedroom situation.

“Hey,” he nudges your calf with the toe of his boot, “do you need a place to stay?”

You swallow, blinking the tears away as you realize that your home has been crashed into, your livelihood ruined for an innumerable amount of time. You shake your head despite yourself, “No, I-I think the county is going to give me a bit of an allowance to stay at the motel up the street.”

“That place is infested with cockroaches,” Sweet Pea chuffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you come shack up with me and Toni at Poison? She’s hardly there anyway, now that she’s got that little Northsider girlfriend, so you can take her bed.”

The laugh that bubbles from your lips makes him look you over again - still in your resolve, head held high despite your home being destroyed and your heart and soul crashed by a set of pathetic Ghoulies trying to make a name for themselves.

“I don’t know that your roommate would like you giving up her bed,” you sigh, glancing up at him through thick, wet lashes. “Really, it’s okay.”

Sweet Pea shrugs, “Well, it’s always available, okay? We’ve got a pull out couch too, if you change your mind.”

-

Well, you do change your mind.

Sweet Pea is all but not surprised to see you on the doorstep of the Poison Parlor later that same night. 

“Cockroaches?”

“Cockroaches.”

He’s laughing as he lets you inside. There are a couple of late night customers and you can hear the buzzing of tattoo guns as Sweet Pea walks you through the parlor and up the stairs.

You’re making yourself comfortable on the pull out couch when he turns to go back downstairs, but you stop him, “H-Hey, Sweet Pea?”

“Hm?” he looks over his shoulder to acknowledge you.

Your whole face goes beet red, but you stand to your full height and say it anyway, “I-uh, I want you to teach me how to defend myself.”

There’s a silence that hangs in the room and you wonder for a moment if he thinks you’re crazy. Of course he wouldn’t train a weakling Northsider like you, even if your shop was Switzerland for his Southside buddies. What the Ghoulies had done, you couldn’t have stopped anyway.

“L-Listen, I just, I want to be able to stand up for myself. It’s not like I can stop a crashing car, but I can punch a guy in the gut or keep myself from getting snatched off the street,” you start rambling, using your hands as you talk, your voice growing in octaves the longer he lets you speak.

“Hey,” Sweet Pea grasps you by the wrist, “I get it.”

There’s a mutual understanding that passes between the two of you, quiet but determined. He releases you and walks back down to the parlor, leaving you to get settled in. 

And that’s how it starts.

When your bookstore is back up and running six weeks later, you’re practically a boxing prodigy. Sweet Pea has taught you the simplest of moves, and you can catch him off guard every once and a while. He has the crooked nose to prove it.

The tension between the two of you has grown as well. He’s given you a small tattoo that you’ve been dreaming about since high school, and you’ve taught him words and jargon that he never dreamed could be real. You spend almost every waking moment of the day together, between training to grow stronger and smarter, the both of you have developed a routine.

The next time you spot a band of Ghoulies, you and Sweet Pea are helping to close up the tattoo parlor. You’re taking the trash out in the back alley, and when a snap resounds against the brick walls, your heart drops into your stomach.

You swallow the lump in your throat, toss the garbage into the bin, and turn, fists held tight at your sides.

A taunt passes your lips and then the Ghoulie on the right jumps towards you with a knife held tight in his grip. You spot his weak form and step downward, using his weight to roll him over your shoulders and toss him against the dumpster.

“What?” you laugh, “Scared now?”

The other lets out a grunt before slashing at you with a makeshift shank. He looks like a feral animal - teeth bared and knuckles white as saliva gathers at the corners of his mouth. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the dramatic gang member, but when he tries to kick you in the face, you grab his ankle and twist, sending him soaring over your shoulder to lay unconscious with his Ghoulie counterpart.

There’s a loud noise from inside the parlor and your mind starts racing - Sweet Pea. Sure, he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but your heart still picks up the pace as you run toward the door.

He’s got two on either side of him, and another set of three in the back rummaging through the money drawer and supplies. You grab the nearest thing to you, a case of ink, and throw it against the back counter. It pegs one of the Ghoulies in the head, the other two turning their attention to you now.

“Th-They’re on something!” Sweet Pea shouts even though his throat is currently in the grasp of one of the brawnier Ghoulies. You laugh, shaking your head as the two from behind the counter charge at you, “You don’t say?”

Sweet Pea shoots you a glare and you barely have time to shrug before you’re back in attack mode - focused on the two grown men in front of you. Their weight and their obvious lack of focus is something you can prey on, just as you did the two in the alley.

“So, do I get a raise or something?” you call between punches, landing a kick into one of their chests. Sweet Pea now has one of them in a headlock, the other crumpled against the wall, twitching as he tries to stand back up.

“Funny, I didn’t know I paid you,” he grunts, dropping the bulky guy to the ground once he stops struggling.

You stumble backward, but he catches you, “You don’t.”

“Maybe I should start.”

The duality of the phrase makes your spine shiver, but you’re back to action before you can contemplate how much you want to kiss him. You get a good, solid punch into one of their faces, turning to hit the other in the sternum.

“Finally putting those lessons to good use!” Sweet Pea winks at you from across the room where he’s got the Ghoulie held up by the throat on the wall.

Him holding someone by the throat, blood on his nose and knuckles, should not turn you on the way that it does. Either way, it makes you smirk. Your attention falters just long enough for the smaller of the two Ghoulies to land a punch to your jaw.

You seethe in pain, gripping at your face as you stumble backward. All you can see now is red, blinding rage like a filter in your vision. You dig your fingernails into your fists so hard you think you’ve drawn blood, “Oh, that does it.”

They swing at you again, both moving sloppily as whatever drug that has tainted their system begins to wear off. You fight them both off until you hear Sweet Pea stalk across the room, his combat boots making noise as he stomps towards you.

“Did good,” he grunts, grabbing one of them by the arm to yank them away from you, dealing with him on his own. Sweet Pea struggles, taking a shot to the eye, but you make eye contact with him just as you say, “I had a good teacher.”

You swear you see a smile on his face, but you can’t pay him much mind as the Ghoulie tries to stab at you with the pocket knife they’re holding. You slam their wrist against the tattoo table, the knife clattering to the ground a few feet away.

Now both goons are crawling on the floor, and you take a step toward Sweet Pea with adrenaline pumping through your veins, “Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

“Hell yeah,” he manages to get the words out before pulling you to him for a harsh kiss. His hands are on your waist and your palms find purchase against his flannel.

You feel a feeble arm wrap around your ankle and you snap your knee forward to kick him in the face, eliciting a moan from the perpetrator. Sweet Pea’s palm drifts to your jeans, tucking into your pocket to anchor you to him for just a moment longer.

“You call, I’ll tie,” he pants as he pulls away, the high wearing off as he looks into your eyes. “Sound good?”

You nod, releasing your death grip on his shirt, “There’s two more in the alley.”

The shining admiration in his eyes does little to quell the churning of your stomach and you find yourself wanting to tackle him right here and now. Instead, you turn and head towards the parlor phone, not missing the gentle tap he gives your backside as you walk away.

“Sheriff Jones? Yeah, it’s me again…”

-

a/n: i hope that was enough flirting under fire! 

taggin: @the-gargoyle-queen @theangriestpea @sweets-rivervixen @southsidearchive @cactiem 

[sooibian]

Stranger Things (1)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader ft. Kyungsoo

Genre: Fluff, meet cute, non-idol AU

Description: While waiting to receive Kyungsoo at the airport you run into an insufferable someone - Byun Baekhyun. Despite yourself, you are unable to resist his charms.

A/N: No BaekSoo, no life. Know BaekSoo, know life. This is a highly self indulgent oneshot because I simply cannot resist bobohu anymore. Also if I edit, I’ll never upload. So please, bear with this unedited mess and bad humor (: and try not to hate on OC! 

Word Count: ~ 2k

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four (Final)

gif credits: @x-exo​

“He’s a lawyer”, you tilted your head to the side with your nose in the air, foolishly waving your platinum band bearing hand in his general direction. Byun Baekhyun, the man you’d met barely thirty minutes ago, had managed to bring out your inner “chatty Cathy” while eyeing you with the slightest of the smirks tugged at his lips. It was nauseating. The smirk, his bouffant persona, the way he slurped his ramen, his unkempt fake blond hair - he insisted on running a hand though the annoying yet bountiful tousle ever so often  - disheveling it further. One glance at his showy Rolex and you’d written him off as a wealthy fop. Yet, here you were, seated in front of him, trying to make sense of the situation. 

Kyungsoo’s flight was delayed by over an hour. Although you wanted nothing more than to find the inviting comfort of your bed, you decided to keep your promise of picking him up from the airport. Even if it meant spending time with this strange (literally and figuratively) man. You were no night owl. Therefore, you needed the caffeine fix to stay conscious so you huddled to the coffee shop closest to the arrival gate only to run into him again. The single vacant seat happened to be on his tiny table which he graciously put up for offer - I’m Byun Baekhyun. And I don’t bite! Apart from the unbridled desire to prick his inflated ego with a needle, you realized you’d come on a bit too strong earlier when he mistakenly put his hand on yours while going for the same copy of Forbes in the magazine kiosk. Was he apologetic then? No. Not really. But you didn’t have to pull an ugly face and call him a creep. Sure, lack of sleep made you crabby but you shouldn’t have taken it out on him. It wasn’t your best moment. 

You took the seat because (a) never had a person made you feel so conflicted about them. Always too quick to judge, within a few moments you could tell whether you liked someone or absolutely didn’t care about them. But with him you honestly couldn’t figure out whether you loathed him or were in absolute awe of his unabashed demeanor (b) you wanted to make absolutely unnecessary amends. 

“What was his name, again?”, stretching and yawning he leaned back in his chair. His shoulders widened to full glory. Lazily, he ran a hand over his chest. Realization hit you like a truck. You were blatantly staring and he’d caught you in the act. Your eyes met his and it made you want to punch that stupid, now very prominent, smirk off of his face. It was time for damage control. Attack, after all, is the best defense.

“Looks like you’re bored. I shall stop”, you said tersely, moving to quickly grab your things.

“It’s 2:45 a.m. Can you blame me?”, he yanked your wallet out of your hand and shoved it in his back pocket, “Continue the story”

“Yahhhhh, give me back my wallet”, you glowered at him.

“Story first”, he sang pulling the wallet out and waving it at you. “Yahhh!”, as you lunged forward, he instinctively drew further back. Frowning, he suddenly ducked under the table.

“What - what happened?”, a quizzical expression clouded your face.

“I’m looking for something”, he mumbled rising gradually. Was that a pout?

“Yah, I can tell. What are you looking for?”

“Your manners. You seem to have suddenly dropped them somewhere”

 You felt your face flame, “Byun Baekhyun-ssi!”

“Please, you can call me oppa”

“I may be older, you know?”

“Your cheeks tell an entirely different story”, he chuckled

Fuming, you untied your hair in a desperate attempt to frame your perfectly round face, “Doh Kyungsoo”, you deadpanned.

“Byun Baekhyun”, confused, he pointed at himself.

“Doh Kyungsoo, my fiance”

“Ah… Sounds as boring as ‘civil lawyer’”

“How did you know?? I don’t remember mentioning -”

“Ha! So he is a civil lawyer! So what do your dates look like? Haunting worn down museums? Marvelling over runes?”, he swayed dreamily, eyelids fluttering.

Your saccharine smile didn’t reach your eyes, “Byun Baekhyun-ssi, what do your dates with your girl look like?”

You were surprised to see a genuine smile grace his face. Albeit unconsciously, you mirrored him. It was warm and luminous, his smile, and you were enchanted.

“Ahem”, the ridiculous smirk came back on, “Dates with my Yoona?”

So, there is a girl. You felt a slight pang of jealousy. You prayed for it to not reflect in your eyes.

“My Yoona?” you gagged dramatically and he responded with an equally dramatic loud sigh.

“Let’s see….long walks by the Han river, a little after sunset.. We walk all the way up to the Namsan Tower. She looks radiant in the moonlight… just my Yoona and me...relaxing...chilling”, he smiled like a heavily infatuated thirteen year old.

“That’s a really long walk. Oppa doesn’t have a driver’s license?”, you chided.

He guffawed, “Guess you and Mr. - ?

“Doh! Mr. Doh of Doh, Gom and Associates!”, 

“Yes, you and Mr. Doh of Doh - Gom - and Associates”, his words slow, deliberate, “wouldn’t recognize romance if it danced naked in front of you. And that platinum band”, he paused, slowly shaking his head.

You drew your hand close to your chest defensively, “What about it?”

“So… a very close friend of mine got engaged recently and I went ring shopping with him. It was an intense drill. But now I know all there is to know about the right cut, hallmark, color, purity, you get the drift. And that”, he took a piteous glance at the ring.

“I could really do without the condescension”

“I’m sorry, but it looks thrift store bought”

“Baekhyun-ssi, your limited experience may have falsely led you into believing that you’re a connoisseur of platinum. But if you care to look past your high-end store shopping spree, you’ll see that this is heirloom”

“Does it have P-950 stamped on it?”

Your glare shut him up and he raised his hands in surrender. Pouting. Again.

You gawked at him in pure admiration. How could a man like that be capable of the most endearing pouts was beyond you.

“Look, I don’t know if you care about Kyungsoo but the flight should’ve landed by now and I don’t want to keep my friend waiting after a red eye flight… so”, he got up to leave and you hurriedly followed suit, “it was an absolute pleasure meeting you”

Your hand met his in a firm handshake which neither of you cared to break for a good thirty seconds. You knew you’d never see this man again and you felt a certain unpleasantness wash over you at the thought. 

His captivating grin made an appearance, accelerating your heartbeat.

You exited the coffee shop first and when you turned around to look for him, he was gone.

***

You greeted Kyungsoo with a punch in the shoulder, “You’re late”

“I tried but they wouldn’t let me into the cockpit”, he said pinching your ear with one hand and twisting your arm with the other.

You successfully managed to wiggle of his strong grasp and attack him with a bear hug, “I’ve missed you”

He softly patted your head before your show of affection started to smother him. Breaking out of your hug he teased, “Tsk, tsk, you’ve grown soft”

“Can you blame me? My best friend moved to a strange city to farm! He’s not been around much to toughen me up” You didn’t care that he hated it. You leaned in to hug him, anyway, “any progress on the land dispute?”

“I’ll be seeing a lawyer for it”, he indulged you by continuing to gently sway you. Apparently, he’d missed you, too.

“Hmm...a civil lawyer”, you contemplated. 

“What’s that?”

“Nothing”, you sighed pulling away from him to call a cab, “When are you seeing this lawyer”

“Right now”

“What? Kyungsoo! It’s 4 in the morning! Can’t this wait?

“No”, he deftly locked your phone, “because he also happens to be a friend of mine and he’s here and he has offered to drive us home”

“He’s here?”

Kyungsoo forced your head to take a 180 degree turn.

You froze at the sight of the blond haired man standing in front of you. Your eyes barely short of pleading, you grabbed Kyungsoo’s hand lacing your fingers with his.

Baekhyun chuckled, “Congratulations, man. I didn’t know you were engaged!”

“Engaged? No, I’m not engaged!” Kyungsoo's voice now a several notches louder.

You were quick to nudge Kyungsoo’s arm with your elbow and snicker softly, “He likes to joke when he’s tired...We’re all tired. Won’t you bring your car now, Baekhyun-ssi?”

“You two know each other?” Nothing made sense to Kyungsoo anymore.

Your feeble No was drowned by Baekhyun’s loud Yes.

“Anyway..”, Kyungsoo introduced you to Baekhyun as his best friend and it made you want to be on the next expedition to Mars. 

“And this is Byun Baekhyun. My elementary school friend”. Baekhyun handed you a business card which you accepted with trembling fingers.

Byun, Park and Associates

Byun Baekhyun

Partner

LL.M.

You were mentally prepared to go on a solo expedition to Neptune and freeze to death.

“We lost touch in high school only to meet again at Jongdae’s engagement party”

Platinum, Baekhyun mouthed when your guilt ridden eyes met his.

“And he has very kindly agreed to help me out with my case”

***

“What- What the hell was that?”, Kyungsoo hissed.

“I don’t know… at first I didn’t want him to think I was available. So I started to spin a web of lies. Then I was curious to see how far I could go, you know, without faltering. Besides, you always keep calling me a bad liar. He was just...in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess…”, you let out a huge yawn.

Kyungsoo flicked your forehead. “Couldn’t you have found someone else to be your guinea pig? It had to be my lawyer? The airport is swarming with people - ”

“AND viruses!”, you adjusted your mask pointedly, “Yet, here I am. For your ungrateful ass!”

“Soo! HELP”, you cried.

“Forget this ever happened. You’re never going to see him again, anyway”, he was dismissive of your plea.

“Soo, but I want to”, you said in a small voice.

Kyungsoo was too dumbfounded to speak. His eyes did all the talking.

“I want to see him again”, you avoided his eyes.

Still, nothing.

“It’s a crisis situation, Soo!”, defeated, your face slumped into his chest, “I think I’m in love with a man who apparently has a girlfriend and most probably thinks that I’m a pathological liar.”

[96harmony96]

Chapter 15

Friday found Trey sharing breakfast with Cary and me after an overnighter. As I drank the day’s first cup of coffee, I watched him interact with Cary and I was genuinely thrilled to see the intimate smiles and covert touches they gave one another.

I’d had easy relationships like that and hadn’t appreciated them at the time. They had been comfortable and uncomplicated, but they’d been superficial in a fundamental way, too.

How deep could a love affair get if you didn’t know the darkest recesses of your lover’s soul? That was the dilemma I’d faced with Lauren.

Day 2 After Lauren had begun. I found myself wanting to go to her and apologize for leaving her yet again. I wanted to tell her I was there for her, ready to listen or simply offer silent comfort. But I was too emotionally invested. I got wounded too easily. I was too afraid of rejection. And knowing she wouldn’t let me get too close only intensified that fear. Even if we did figure things out, I’d only tear myself apart trying to live with just the bits and pieces she decided to share with me.

At least my job was going well. The celebratory lunch the executives gave in honor of the agency landing the Kingsman account made me genuinely happy. I felt blessed to work in such a positive environment. But when I heard that Lauren had been invited—although no one expected her to show up—I returned quietly to my desk and focused on work the rest of the afternoon.

I hit the gym on the way home; then picked up some items to make fettuccini alfredo for dinner with crème brulée for dessert—comfort food guaranteed to put me in a carbohydrate coma. I expected sleep to offer me a break from the endless what-ifs my brain was recycling, hopefully long into Saturday morning.

Cary and I ate in the living room with chopsticks, his idea to cheer me up. He said dinner was great, but I couldn’t tell. I snapped out of it when he fell silent, too, and I realized I was being a less than stellar friend.

“When are the Grey Isles’ campaign ads going up?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, but get this…” He grinned. “You know how it is with male models—we’re tossed around like condoms at an orgy. It’s tough to stand out from the crowd, unless you’re dating someone famous. Which I’m suddenly reported to be doing since those photos of you and me were plastered everywhere. I’m the side piece of action in your relationship with Lauren Jauregui. You’ve done wonders for making me a hot commodity.”

I laughed. “You didn’t need my help for that.”

“Well, it certainly didn’t hurt. Anyway, they called me back for a couple more shoots. I think they might just use me for more than five minutes.”

“We’ll have to celebrate,” I teased.

“Absolutely. When you’re up for it.”

We ended up hanging out and watching the original Tron. His smartphone rang twenty minutes into the movie and I heard him speaking to his agency. “Sure. I’ll be there in fifteen, tops. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Got a job?” I asked after he’d hung up.

“Yeah. A model showed up for a night shoot so trashed he’s worthless.” He studied me. “You wanna come?”

I stretched my legs out on the couch. “Nope. I’m good right here.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“All I need is mindless entertainment. Just the thought of getting dressed again exhausts me.” I’d be happy wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and holey old tank top all weekend. As much as I hurt inside, total comfort outside seemed like a necessity. “Don’t worry about me. I know I’ve been a mess lately, but I’ll get it together. Go on and enjoy yourself.”

After Cary rushed out, I paused the movie and went to the kitchen for some wine. I stopped by the breakfast bar, my fingertips gliding over the roses Lauren had sent me the previous weekend. Petals fell to the countertop like tears. I thought about cutting the stems and using the flower food packet that came with the bouquet, but it was pointless hanging on to them. I’d throw the arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of my equally doomed relationship.

I’d gotten farther with Lauren in one week than I had with other relationships that lasted two years. I would always love her for that. Maybe I’d always love her, period.

And one day, that might not hurt so badly.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Cary singsonged as he yanked the comforter off of me.

“Ugh. Go away.”

“You’ve got five minutes to get your ass up and in the shower, or the shower’s coming to you.”

Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was shirtless and wearing baggy pants that barely clung to his hips. As far as wake-up calls went, he was prime. “Why do I have to get up?”

“Because when you’re flat on your back you’re not on your feet.”

“Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor.”

He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look. “We need to go shopping.”

I buried my face in the pillow. “No.”

“Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a ‘Sunday garden party’ and ‘rock star gathering’ in the same sentence. What the hell do I wear to something like that?”

“Ah, well. Good point.”

“What are you wearing?”

“I…I don’t know. I was leaning toward the ‘English tea with hat’ look, but now I’m not so sure.”

He gave a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s hit the shops and find something sexy, classy, and cool.”

Growling a token protest, I rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to shower without thinking of Lauren, without picturing her perfect body and remembering the desperate sounds she made when she came in my mouth. Everywhere I looked, Lauren was there. I’d even started hallucinating black Bentley SUVs all around town. I thought I spotted one damn near everywhere I went.

Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced all over the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his autograph, which tickled me more than him, I think.

“Told you,” he crowed.

“Told me what?”

“They recognized me from an entertainment news blog. One of the posts about you and Jauregui.”

I snorted. “Glad my love life is working out for someone.”

He was due at another job around three and I went with him, spending a few hours in the studio of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering it was Saturday, I slipped into a far corner and made my weekly call to my dad.

“You still happy in New York?” he asked me above the background noise of dispatch talking over the radio in his cruiser.

“So far so good.” A lie, but the truth helped no one.

His partner said something I didn’t catch. My dad snorted and said, “Hey, Chris insists he saw you on television the other day. Some cable channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won’t leave me alone about it.”

I sighed. “Tell them watching those shows is bad for their brain cells.”

“So you’re not dating one of the richest people in America?”

“No. What about your love life?” I asked, quickly diverting. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nothing serious. Hang on.” He responded to a call on the radio, then said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy.”

“I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful.”

“Always. Bye.”

I killed the call and went back to my former spot to wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lull, my mind tormented me. Where was Lauren now? What was she doing?

Would Monday bring me an inbox full of photos of her with another woman?

____

Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of Stanton’s town cars for the drive out to the Vidal estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring the serene vista of rolling meadows and green woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I realized I was working on Day 4 After Lauren. The pain I’d felt the first few days had turned into a dull throbbing that felt almost like the flu. Every part of my body ached, as if I was going through some sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned with unshed tears.

“Are you nervous?” Cary asked me.

I glanced at him. “Not really. Lauren won’t be there.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I wouldn’t be going if I thought otherwise. I do have some pride you know.” I watched him drum his fingers on the armrest between our two seats. For all the shopping we’d done yesterday, he’d made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I’d teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect fashion sense going with something like that.

He caught me looking at it. “What? You still don’t like my tie? I think it works well with the emo jeans and my lounge lizard jacket.”

“Cary”—my lips quirked—“you can wear anything.”

It was true. Cary could pull any look off, a benefit of having a sculpted rangy body and a face that could make angels weep.

I set my hand over his restless fingers. “Are you nervous?”

“Trey didn’t call last night,” he muttered. “He said he would.”

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just one missed call, Cary. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything serious.”

“He could’ve called this morning,” he argued. “Trey’s not flakey like the others I’ve dated. He wouldn’t have forgotten to call, which means he just doesn’t want to.”

“The rat bastard. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures of you having a great time looking sexy, classy, and cool to torment him with on Monday.”

His mouth twitched. “Ah, the deviousness of the female mind. It’s a shame Jauregui won’t see you today. I think I got a semi when you came out of your room in that dress.”

“Eww!” I smacked his shoulder and mock-glared when he laughed.

The dress had seemed perfect to both of us when we’d found it. It was cut in a classic garden party style—fitted bodice with a knee-length skirt that flared out from the waist. It was even white with flowers. But that’s where the tea-and-crumpets style ended.

The edginess came from the strapless form, the alternating layers of black and crimson satin underskirts that gave it volume, and the black leather flowers that looked like wicked pinwheels. Cary had picked the red Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps out of my closet and the ruby drop earrings to give it all the finishing touch. We’d decided to leave my hair loose around my shoulders, in case we arrived and learned that hats were required. All in all, I felt pretty and confident.

Clancy drove us through an imposing set of monogrammed gates and turned into a circular driveway, following the direction of a valet. Cary and I got out by the entrance, and he took my arm as my heels sank into blue-gray gravel on the walk to the house.

Upon entering the Vidal’s sprawling Tudor-style mansion, we were warmly greeted by lauren’s family in a receiving line—her mother, stepfather, Christopher, and their sister.

I took in the sight, thinking the Vidal family could only look more perfect if Lauren was lined up with them. Her mother and sister had her coloring, both women boasting the same glossy obsidian hair and thickly-lashed green eyes. They were both beautiful in a finely wrought way.

“Camila!” Lauren’s mother drew me toward her, then air-kissed both of my cheeks. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. What a gorgeous girl you are! And your dress. I love it.”

“Thank you.”

Her hands brushed over my hair, cupped my face, and then slid down my arms. It was hard for me to bear it, because touching was sometimes an anxiety trigger for me when the person was a stranger. “Your hair, is it naturally brunette?”

“Yes,” I replied, startled and confused by the question. Who asked a question like that of a stranger?

“How fascinating. Well, welcome. I hope you have a wonderful time. We’re so glad you could make it.”

Feeling strangely unsettled, I was grateful when her attention moved to Cary and zeroed in.

“And you must be Cary,” she crooned. “Here I’d been certain my three children were the most attractive in the world. I see I was wrong about that. You are simply divine, young man.”

Cary flashed his megawatt smile. “Ah, I think I’m in love, Mrs. Vidal.”

she laughed with throaty delight. “Please. Call me Elizabeth. Or Lizzie, if you’re brave enough.”

Looking away, I found my hand clasped by Christopher Vidal Senior. In many ways, he reminded me of his son, with his slate green eyes and boyish smile. In others, he was a pleasant surprise. Dressed in khakis, loafers, and a cashmere cardigan, he looked more like a college professor than a music company executive.

“Camila. May I call you Camila?”

“Please do.”

“Call me Chris. It makes it a little easier to distinguish between me and Christopher.” His head tilted to the side as he contemplated me through quirky brass spectacles. “I can see why Lauren is so taken with you. Your eyes are a deep chocolate brown, yet they’re so clear and direct. Quite the most beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen, aside from my wife’s.”

I flushed. “Thank you.”

“Is Lauren coming?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Why didn’t her parents know the answer to that question?

“We always hope.” He gestured at a waiting servant. “Please head back to the gardens and make yourself at home.”

Christopher greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, while lauren’s sister Ireland sized me up in a sulky way that only a teenager could pull off. “You’re a brunette,” she said.

Jeez. Was lauren’s preference for light-haired women a damn law or something? “And you’re a very lovely brunette.”

Cary offered me his arm and I accepted it gratefully.

As we walked away, he asked me quietly, “Were they what you expected?”

“Her mom, maybe. Her stepdad, no.” I looked back over my shoulder, taking in the elegant floor-length cream sheath dress that clung to Elizabeth Vidal’s svelte figure. I thought of what little I knew about Lauren’s family. “How does a girl grow up to be a businesswoman who takes over her stepfather’s family business?”

“Jauregui owns shares in Vidal Records?”

“Controlling interest.”

“Hmm. Maybe it was a bailout?” he offered. “A helping hand during a trying time for the music industry?”

“Why not just give him the money?” I wondered.

“Because she’s a shrewd businesswoman?”

With a sharp exhalation, I waved the question away and cleared my mind. I was attending the party for Cary, not Lauren, and I was going to keep that first and foremost in my thoughts.

Once we’d moved outside, we found a large, elaborately decorated marquee erected in the rear garden. Although the day was beautiful enough to stay out in the sun, I found a seat at a circular table covered in white damask instead.

Cary patted my shoulder. “You relax. I’ll network.”

“Go get ’em.”

He moved away, intent on his agenda.

I sipped champagne and chatted with everyone who stopped by to strike up a conversation. There were a lot of recording artists at the party whose work I listened to, and I watched them covertly, a bit starstruck. For all the elegance of the surroundings and the endless number of servants, the overall vibe was casual and relaxed.

I was starting to enjoy myself when someone I’d hoped never to see again stepped out of the house onto the terrace: Magdalene Perez, looking phenomenal in a rose-hued chiffon gown that floated around her knees.

A hand settled on my shoulder and squeezed, setting my heart racing because it reminded me of the night Cary and I had gone to lauren’s club. But the figure that rounded me this time was Christopher.

“Hey, Camila.” He took the chair next to mine and set his elbows on his knees, leaning toward me. “Are you having fun? You’re not mingling much.”

“I’m having a great time.” At least I had been. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. My parents are stoked you’re here. Me, too, of course.” His grin made me smile, as did his tie, which had cartoon vinyl records all over it. “Are you hungry? The crab cakes are great. Grab one when the tray comes by.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Let me know if you need anything. And save a dance for me.” He winked, and then hopped up and away.

Ireland took his seat, arranging herself with the practiced grace of a finishing school graduate. Her hair fell in a single length to her waist and her beautiful eyes were direct in a way I could appreciate. she looked worldlier than her seventeen years. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Where’s Lauren?”

I shrugged at the blunt question. “I’m not sure.”

she nodded sagely. “she’s good at being a loner.”

“Has she always been that way?”

“I guess. she moved out when I was little. Do you love her?”

My breath caught for a second. I released it in a rush and said simply, “Yes.”

“I thought so when I saw that video of you two in Bryant Park.” she bit her lush lower lip. “Is she fun? You know…to hang around with?”

“Oh. Well…” God. Did anyone know Lauren? “I wouldn’t say she’s fun, but she’s never boring.”

The live band began playing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” and Cary appeared beside me as if by magic. “Time to make me look good, Ginger.”

“I’ll try my best, Fred.” I smiled at Ireland. “Excuse me a minute.”

“Three minutes, forty seconds,” she corrected, displaying some of her family’s expertise in music.

Cary led me onto the empty dance floor and pulled me into a swift foxtrot. It took me a minute to get into it, because I’d been stiff and tight with misery for days. Then the synergy of longtime partners kicked in and we glided across the floor with sweeping steps.

When the singer’s voice faded with the music, we stopped, breathless. We were pleasantly surprised by applause. Cary gave an elegant bow and I held on to his hand for stability as I dipped into a curtsy.

When I lifted my head and straightened, I found Lauren standing in front of me. Startled, I stumbled back a step. she was seriously underdressed in jeans and an untucked white dress shirt that was open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, but she was so damn fine she still put every other woman in attendance to shame.

The tremendous yearning I felt at the sight of her overwhelmed me. Distantly I was aware of the band’s singer pulling Cary away, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Lauren, whose wildly green eyes burned into mine.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, scowling.

I recoiled from her harshness. “Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t be here.” she grabbed me by the elbow and started hauling me toward the house. “I don’t want you here.”

If she’d spit in my face, it couldn’t have devastated me more. I yanked my arm free of her and walked briskly toward the house with my head held high, praying I could make it to the privacy of the town car and Clancy’s protective watch before the tears started falling.

Behind me, I heard a come-hither female voice call out lauren’s name and I sent up a prayer that the woman would stall her long enough for me to get out without further confrontation.

I thought I just might make it when I passed into the cool interior of the house.

“Camila, wait.”

My shoulders hunched at the sound of Lauren’s voice and I refused to look at her. “Get lost. I can show myself out.”

“I’m not done—”

“I am!” I pivoted to face her. “You don’t get to talk to me that way. Who do you think you are? You think I came here for you? That I was hoping I’d see you and you’d throw me a goddamn scrap or bone…some pathetic acknowledgment of my existence? Maybe I’d be able to harass you into a quick, dirty fuck in a corner somewhere in a pitiful effort to win you back?”

“Shut up, Camila.” Her gaze was scorching hot, her jaw tight and hard. “Listen to me—”

“I’m only here because I was told you wouldn’t be. I’m here for Cary and his career. So you can go back to the party and forget about me all over again. I assure you, when I walk out the door, I’ll be doing the same to you.”

“Shut your damned mouth.” she caught me by the elbows and shook me so hard my teeth snapped together. “Just shut up and let me talk.”

I slapped her hard enough to turn her head. “Don’t touch me.”

With a growl, Lauren hauled me into her and kissed me hard, bruising my lips. Her hand was in my hair, fisting it roughly, holding me in place so I couldn’t turn away. I bit the tongue she thrust aggressively into my mouth, then her lower lip, tasting blood, but she didn’t stop. I shoved at her shoulders with everything I had, but I couldn’t budge her.

Goddamn Stanton! If not for him and my crazy-assed mother, I’d have had a few Krav Maga classes under my belt by now…

Lauren kissed me as if she was starved for the taste of me and my resistance began to melt. she smelled so good, so familiar. Her body felt so perfectly right against mine. My nipples betrayed me, hardening into tight points, and a slow, hot trickle of arousal gathered in my core. My heart thundered in my chest.

God, I wanted her. The craving hadn’t gone away, not even for a minute.

she picked me up. Imprisoned by her tight grip, it was hard to breathe and my head began to spin. When she carried me through a door and kicked it shut behind her, I couldn’t do more than make a feeble sound of protest.

I found myself pressed against a heavy glass door on the other side of a library, lauren’s hard and powerful body subduing my own. Her arm at my waist slid lower, her hand delving beneath my skirts and finding the curves of my butt exposed by my lacy boy shorts underwear. she wrenched my hips hard to her, making me feel how hard she was, how aroused. My sex trembled with want, achingly empty.

All the fight left me. My arms fell to my sides, my palms pressing flat to the glass. I felt the brittle tension drain from her body as I softened in surrender, the pressure of her mouth easing and her kiss turning into a passionate coaxing.

“Camila,” she breathed gruffly. “Don’t fight me. I can’t take it.”

My eyes closed. “Let me go, Lauren.”

she nuzzled her cheek against mine, her breath gusting hard and fast over my ear. “I can’t. I know you’re disgusted by what you saw the other night…what I was doing to myself—”

“Lauren, no!” God. Did she think I left hee because of that? “That’s not why—”

“I’m losing my mind without you.” Her lips were gliding down my neck, her tongue stroking over my racing pulse. she sucked on my skin and pleasure radiated through me. “I can’t think. I can’t work or sleep. My body aches for you. I can make you want me again. Let me try.”

Tears slipped free and ran down my face. They splashed on the upper swell of my breasts and she licked at them, lapping them away.

How would I ever recover if she made love to me again? How would I survive if she didn’t?

“I never stopped wanting you,” I whispered. “I can’t stop. But you hurt me, Lauren. You have the power to hurt me like no one else can.”

Her gaze was stark and confused on my face. “I hurt you? How?”

“You lied to me. You shut me out.” I cupped her face, needing hero to understand this one thing without question. “Your past doesn’t have the power to push me away. Only you can do that, and you did.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” she rasped. “I never wanted you to see me like that…”

“That’s the problem, Lauren. I want to know who you are, the good and the bad, and you want to keep parts of yourself hidden from me. If you don’t open up, we’re going to lose each other down the road and I won’t be able to take it. I’m barely surviving it now. I’ve crawled through the last four days of my life. Another week, a month…It’ll break me to give you up.”

“I can let you in, Camila. I’m trying. But your first response when I screw up is to run away. You do it every time and I can’t stand feeling like any moment I’m going to do or say something wrong and you’re going to bolt.”

Her mouth was tender again as she brushed her lips back and forth over mine. I didn’t argue with her. How could I, when she was right?

“I hoped you’d come back on your own,” she murmured, “but I can’t stay away anymore. I’ll carry you out of here if I have to. Whatever it takes to get you back in the same room with me, talking this out.”

My heart stuttered. “You were hoping I’d come back? I thought…You gave me back my keys. I thought we were over.”

she pulled back, her face set in fierce lines. “We’ll never be over, Camila.”

I looked at her, my heart aching like an open wound at how beautiful she was, how broken and in pain she was—pain I’d caused to some degree.

On tiptoes, I kissed the reddened handprint I’d left on her cheek, clutching her thick silky hair in my hands.

Lauren bent her knees to align our bodies, her breathing harsh and erratic. “I’ll do whatever you want, whatever you need. Anything. Just take me back.”

Maybe I should have been scared by the depth of her need, but I felt the same passionate insanity for her.

Running my hands down her chest in an effort to soothe her trembling, I gave her the hard truth. “We can’t seem to stop making each other miserable. I can’t keep doing this to you and I can’t keep going through these crazy highs and lows. We need help, Lauren. We’re seriously dysfunctional.”

“I saw Dr. Petersen on Friday. He’s going to take me on as a patient, and—if you agree—he’ll take us both on as a couple. I figured if you can trust him, I can try.”

“Dr. Petersen?” I remembered the brief jolt I’d felt at seeing a black Bentley SUV when Clancy pulled away from the doctor’s office. At the time, I’d told myself it was wishful thinking. After all, there were countless black SUVs in New York. “You had me followed.”

Her chest expanded on a deep breath. she didn’t deny it.

I bit back my anger. I could only imagine how terrible it must be for her to be so dependent on something—someone—she couldn’t control. What mattered most at that moment were her willingness to try and the fact that it wasn’t just talk. she’d actually taken steps. “It’s going to be a lot of work, Lauren,” I warned her.

“I’m not afraid of work.” she was touching me restlessly, her hands sliding over my thighs and buttocks as if caressing my bare skin was as necessary to her as breathing. “I’m only afraid of losing you.”

I pressed my cheek to her. We completed each other. Even now, as her hands roamed possessively over me, I felt a thawing in my soul, the desperate relief of being held—finally—by the woman who understood and satisfied my deepest, most intimate desires.

“I need you.” Her mouth was sliding over my cheek and down my throat. “I need to be inside you…”

“No. My God. Not here.” But my protest sounded weak even to my own ears. I wanted her anywhere, anytime, any way…

“It has to be here,” she muttered, dropping to her knees. “It has to be now.”

she chafed my skin ripping the lace of my panties away; then she shoved my skirts to my waist and licked my cleft, her tongue parting my folds to stroke over my throbbing clit.

I gasped and tried to recoil, but there was nowhere to go. Not with the door at my back and a grimly determined Lauren in front, one hand keeping me pinned while the other lifted my left leg over her shoulder, opening me to her ardent mouth.

My head thudded against the glass, heat pulsing through my blood from the point where her tongue was driving me mad. My leg flexed against her back, urging her closer, my hands cupping her head to hold her still as I rocked into her. Feeling the rough satin strands of her hair against my sensitive inner thighs was its own provocation, heightening my awareness of everything around me…

We were in Lauren’s parents’ house, in the midst of a party attended by dozens of famous people, and she was on her knees, growling her hunger as she licked and sucked my slick, aching cleft. she knew just how to get to me, knew what I liked and needed. she had an understanding of my nature that went above and beyond her incredible oral skills. The combination was devastating and addicting.

My body shook, my eyelids heavy from the illicit pleasure. “Lauren…You make me come so hard.”

Her tongue rubbed over and over the clenching entrance to my body, teasing me, making me grind shamelessly into her working mouth. Her hands cupped my bare butt, kneading, urging me onto her tongue as she thrust it inside me. There was reverence in the greedy way she enjoyed me, the unmistakable sense that she worshipped my body, that pleasuring it and taking pleasure from it was as vital to her as the blood in her veins.

“Yes,” I hissed, feeling the orgasm building. I was buzzed by champagne and the heated scent of Lauren’s skin mixed with my own arousal. My breasts strained within the increasingly too-tight confines of my strapless bra, my body trembling on the edge of a desperately needed orgasm. “I’m so close.”

A movement on the far side of the room caught my eye and I froze, my gaze locking with Magdalene’s. she stood just inside the door, halted midstride, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the back of Lauren’s moving head.

But she was either oblivious or too impassioned to care. Her lips circled my clit and her cheeks hallowed. Sucking rhythmically, she massaged the hypersensitive knot with the tip of her tongue.

Everything tightened viciously, then released in a fiery burst of pleasure.

The orgasm poured through me in a scorching wave. I cried out, pumping my hips mindlessly into her mouth, lost to the primal connection between us. Lauren held me up as my knees weakened, tonguing my quivering flesh until the last tremor faded.

When I opened my eyes again, our audience of one had fled.

Standing in a rush Lauren picked me up and carried me to the couch. she dropped me lengthwise on the cushion; then hauled my hips up to rest on the armrest, arching my spine.

I eyed her up the length of my torso. Why not just fold me over and fuck me from behind?

Then she ripped open her button-fly and pulled her big, beautiful penis out, and I didn’t care how she took me just so long as she did. I whimpered as she shoved into me, my body struggling to accommodate the wonderful fullness I craved. Yanking my hips to meet her powerful thrusts, Lauren battered my tender sex with that brutally thick column of rigid flesh, her gaze dark and possessive, her breath leaving her in primitive grunts every time she hit the end of me.

A trembling moan left me, the friction of her drives stirring my never-sated need to be fucked senseless by her. Only her.

A handful of strokes and her head fell back as she gasped my name, her hips rolling to stir me into a frenzy. “Squeeze me, Camila. Squeeze my dick.”

When I complied, the ragged sound she made was so erotic my sex trembled in appreciation. “Yeah, angel…just like that.”

I tightened around her and she cursed. Her gaze found mine, the stunning green hazed with sexual euphoria. A convulsive shudder wracked her powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. Her cock jerked inside me, once, twice, and then she was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into the clutching depths of my body.

I didn’t have time to climax again, but it didn’t matter. I watched her with awe and pure female triumph. I could do this to her.

In the moments of orgasm, I owned her as completely as she owned me.

[ryrycaptain]

Lets See Where This Goes

Description:

Dan and Phil go to the same high school, with Phil a year older than Dan. Phil’s aesthetic is more 80’s/retro, whereas Dan’s is a grunge e-girl aesthetic with makeup. Ever since Dan’s freshman year, Phil admired him for embracing individuality and slowly started to fall for him. However, they never talked except for Phil being nervous and clumsy around Dan. Little did he know that Phil had feelings for him but didn’t show it.

Notes:

Hello! Thu is my very first fic for the PRB, and I'm excited for you all to read. My piece was inspired by the lovely art futurebunnyfluff made. My amazing beta was supermariohbrothers! . I hope you enjoy the fic.

ao3 link

When Phil first saw Daniel Howell, the younger boy had been talking to Phil’s new maths teacher for directions. He quietly slipped past the pair, but it didn’t stop him from noticing the younger boy's style. Dan had been wearing a black shirt with a small logo of an upside-down smiling face. The shirt was worn over a black and white striped shirt and tucked into black shorts that were adorned with white ruffles. The belt cinched around his waist pulled the outfit together and highlighted Dan’s curves. Although the outfit was bold, Phil was surprised to see the purple lipstick that coated the younger boy’s lips.  He also noticed the slight blush on his cheeks and the purple eyeshadow coating his eyelids. Overall the younger boy looked absolutely breathtaking with his brown curly hair and chocolate eyes.

His attention had been stolen by the way the boy stood confident by the teacher and how he moved his hands while talking. Dan was confident, and he knew he was special. Phil couldn’t help be inspired by the way the younger boy presented himself when there were so many threats for being different.

Phil’s style wasn’t too out there, but it still stole attention from all the wrong people. He liked the 80’s aesthetic he’d come to life over the year. It helped represent his old soul. He'd been bullied on multiple occasions, and his sexuality had been a popular topic amongst his classmates for a good half of last year. He couldn’t imagine being as confident as Dan was. Needless to say, Phil had been distracted for the rest of the day.

It didn’t get much better after that though. He was often caught sneaking glances at the other boy, and it became a hot topic at his lunch table. He was sitting with his food in front of him staring at the younger boy when PJ dropped into his seat across from Phil. The other boy followed Phil’s gaze, “Have you talked to him yet?”

Phil shook his head. “Every time I try I get too nervous and back out.”

It was true. In a way, Dan had become his idol, and Phil looked up to him like he looked up to Muse. It was stupid, but Phil couldn’t stop his mind from creating situations where Dan would run away or think he was obnoxious. Just as he was about to spiral, Pj interrupted him, “Stop overthinking it, Phil. He’s just another teenager.”

PJ had been his friend since the day he accidentally stepped on the other boy's sandcastle at the park. They’d grown close quickly, and PJ could somehow read his mind at this point.

“I’m trying, Peej.”

Pj sighed “What could go wrong?”

Phil didn’t even need to think before he started listening off all of the reasons introducing himself to the younger boy could go wrong. “-might think I’m weird and hide from me for the rest of my life. Really there are a million ways it could end badly.”

“I wasn’t being serious,” Pj said glaring, “Seriously though, you should go talk to him. I don’t think I can stand you looking at him like a lost puppy for the rest of the year.”

Phil huffed, “Fine.”

He stood up and made his way to the other boy’s table, walking with confidence he didn’t know he had. When he actually gets to the younger boys table, he loses it immediately. He can feel the blood rush from his face, and his lips are moving but no words are coming out.

Dan looks flawless yet again. The younger boy has a purple crop top that stops just above the band of his black ripped jeans and he sports clunky Doc Martens. He’s wearing makeup again, and it sparkles against his eyelids. Phil’s pulled out of his reverie by a small cough. “Hi,” Dan says.

His voice isn’t as high as Phil imagined it, but it’s still smooth. “Hi,” he responds, “I’m- um- Phil. Yeah, that’s right. That’s my name. Phil. Phil Lester.” He laughs awkwardly and then he’s taking off, away from the table and back to the one friend he has.

When he flings himself into his chair, Pj jumps and he looks at Phil with caution in his eyes. “Did everything go down well?”

Phil feels like he’s about to cry and he has to blink a few times to clear the unshed tears from his eyes. “God I screwed everything up,” he groans.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Pj reassures him.

“I promise you it was that bad.”

Pj snorts, “Not everything is as bad as you think it is.”

After that, Phil lays low and he doesn’t talk to anyone but Pj. He wouldn’t say he was a social butterfly, but he made an effort to talk to people most of the time. He’s worried that Dan’s going to start rumors about him and it’s not implausible.

Dan had become quite popular a few days into the school year. He’d made a lasting impression on most of the popular girls, and he seemed to get along well with them. Phil was pretty sure a few of the girls even had crushes on him. The only thing keeping Phil’s hopes alive is the rumor that Dan’s gay. The younger boy hasn’t commented on it yet, and for all Phil knows, the younger boy could be dating one of the most influential people in the school.

The only thing keeping Phil from worrying about the girls themselves whispering about him is the fact that Dan sits away from them with his friend Louise. Louise was nice with curly blonde hair dyed pink at the tips. She seemed like a mother hen, and Phil constantly caught her fixing Dan’s hair or lecturing the younger boy.

Phil’s pretty sure he should try talking to the other boy again to quell his fears, but he still hasn’t convinced himself to do so. He ends up going to talk to Dan on several occasions before chickening out.

He spends the rest of the year giving Dan longing looks and wishing he wasn’t socially inept. His wishes don’t come true though so he stays away and sulks. Pj confronts him multiple times and he ignores the other boy’s advice every single time.

—

The next school year, Dan starts dating one of the football players at school and it confirms one thing for Phil. [ Dan likes guys. ] After his hopes are confirmed his crush gets worse and he’s desperate for a relationship with Dan whether it’s a friendship or something more.

When he finally gains the courage to talk to the other boy, he trips right over an outstretched foot, and he can’t stand to look at Dan for days.

He’s always been clumsy and he doubts he'll ever be able to get away with hurting himself in front of Dan. This time rumors spread, but he doubts Dan was the one who started.  He’s only giving Dan the benefit of the doubt because everyone saw it.

His avoidance of Dan spans the rest of the school year, and Phil spends most of his summer listening to Muse and complaining to Pj about his lack of social skills. He also finds Dan’s social media and stalks it for days mesmerized by his makeup looks. He’s seen Dan in makeup before but those are simple looks that don’t draw too much attention, but the looks he posts online are extravagant and eye-catching.

It inspires Phil and he spends a lot of time painting eyes and other random designs onto thrifted clothing that he finds on his shopping spree. By the time he’s done being inspired, he has enough new outfits to last him the first two months of school.

He’s amazed by what the younger boy brings out him, and they don’t even know each other. It makes him think about how much more inspiring Dan would be if they were friends but he pushes that thought away and distracts himself with something new.

—

The first day of school this year was the last and Phil was excited by the idea. He dressed in a black button-up that had a retro pattern scattered across in and threw a pair of stared overalls he painted over top of the shirt. The patterns meshed well but still provided a neat look. He lastly threw on his battered pair of converse and headed off to school.

His day starts off well but it gets better when he finds out Dan is in the same AP art class as he is. He’s honestly surprised the other boy likes art but then he remembers the amazing makeup the younger boy does.  He realizes he barely knows anything about the younger boy. He knows things from rumors and social media, but half of it could be fake.

Phil spends most of the class sulking over the fact that he isn’t near Dan, but his luck pulls through a few weeks into the school year. They’re doing a partner's projects and the teachers picked the pairs. He usually picks Pj, and most of the time, the teacher pairs them up as well. She must have noticed the way he smiled at Dan though because she makes them partners.

He gives Pj an apologetic look and makes his way over to Dan’s desk. “Hi. I’m-”

“Phil. Phil Lester,” he teased, “I remember.”

Phil groans, “Sorry I’m so awkward. I’m surprised you didn’t run away when you found out I was your partner.”

Dan laughs at that. “Why?”

“I’ve been so weird in front of you.”

“That just made you all the more interesting. I’ve been trying to get to know you for years, and you’ve just now noticed.”

“You have?”

“I’m mean- of course. You really inspire me.”

Phil’s caught off guard by that. He’s never seen himself as an inspirational person. He runs away from most of his problems, and he avoids human connections like the plague. He isn’t popular, in real life or online. It makes him feel awkward, and he wonders what Dan knows about him.

What happens if he doesn’t rise to Dan’s expectations? Phil can’t imagine disappointing the other boy, and he becomes self-conscious immediately. Besides, he’s borderline obsessed with the younger boy and he starts to worry if Dan has seen the internet stalking that Phil does. It would be even more embarrassing if Dan knew about Phil’s tendency to stare at the other boy.

“Why?” he asks Dan. It’s the only way he can find out what Dan thinks about him.

Dan hums and sits in thought for a few moments. “You seem happy with what you have. I have all of these friends and I’m treated like I queen by half of my dates, but I’m still not sure I’m the happiest I can be,” Dan sighs. “I’m sorry if that was too deep.”

“I don’t think it was,” Phil reassures him. “I had a lot of trouble at first. People aren’t the best at handling differences, and some people tried to change me. It made me stronger in the end though.”

The bell cuts off their conversation then, and Phil realizes they never discussed the project. He doesn’t even know what the prompt is. “Do you want to exchange numbers?” He asks Dan,

“Uh- sure,” he sputters, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Phil takes a few seconds to type in his number and hands Dan the phone. “Text me?” Phil asks, “To talk about the project and stuff.”

“Yeah of course.”

—

Phil is stuck staring at his ceiling. He can’t seem to sleep and his brain is repeating the conversation he had with Dan earlier. It was weird to know that Dan looked up to him in the same way Phil looked up to Dan. Somehow they both comforted the other even though they barely knew anything about each other. He feels slightly guilty for not telling Dan about his admiration. He wishes he had Dan’s number so he can clear his conscience, but the younger boy still hasn’t texted him. It makes him worry he creeped out the other boy, and he doesn’t know how he’d get through the project if he has.

It’s like Dan’s reading his mind because the next thing Phil knows, his phone is brightening up with a message.

From Dan

Hey. It’s Dan :D

Phil can’t help but smile at the smiley face at the end of the message. It fits perfectly with Dan’s personality.

To Dan

Hey, stranger. What are you doing up so late?

From Dan

I couldn’t sleep. You?

To Dan

Same. I can’t stop thinking.

It feels weird to actually talk to Dan outside of school. He wants to run away from the awkward vibe the messages are giving off, but he isn’t risking a low grade in the class. Then again he doesn’t know the prompt so he’s probably doomed to a failing grade in the class anyways. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Dan, but he’s a bit wary about working with someone other than Pj.

At least Pj is working with someone he knows. The girl’s name is Sofie, and Pj had mentioned her multiple times at lunch. Phil’s surprised he hadn’t noticed the look in Pj’s eyes when he talked about her before. Phil’s definitely jealous, but he’s happy knowing that Pj is living the dream.

From Dan

That’s never good.

To Dan

I suppose so.

He watches as the three dots in the corner of his screen move and waits for Dan’s reply. It’s awkward. Phil doesn’t like talking about himself that much, but he’s finally having a conversation with Dan. After a few minutes, the bubble disappears, and Phil is left alone again.

—

When he wakes up the next morning his eyes hurt from leaving his contacts in. He must have fallen asleep after Dan and he stopped talking. He stretches out and makes his way to the bathroom, relieving himself and trading his contacts for his glasses. His reflection looks exhausted and it makes him realize how tired he actually is. He tries to sort out the bird's nest that his hair has become and pushes it into a quiff.

His closet is a mess of colors and patterns, and he can’t seem to focus on any of the pieces. He ends up throwing on a random sweater and a pair of pants that he’d painted over the summer. He remembers his phone and picks it up. It’s completely dead and he can’t help but chastise himself for not plugging it in last night. He throws it on the charger and finishes his morning routine.

When he gets back to his room, his phone is back on and he has another text from Dan. [I can’t wait to work with you].

—

As soon as he meets up with Pj, the other boy is rambling about Sofie and how much they’ve talked. Apparently, they share multiple interests, and Pj thinks he’s found his soulmate. He can’t seem to talk about anything else, and Phil mopes in silence. He needs Pj’s advice on the whole Dan situation, but he can’t bring himself to interrupt his cheery mood.

At lunch, Sofie joins the duo at their table and Phil can't help, but feel like a third wheel.  The other two can’t stop talking, and Phil gets annoyed quickly. Dan must notice the bored look in his eyes because he calls him over at lunch. “What's up?” Phil asks.

The other boy is wearing yet another black shirt, this one decorated with the print of an ouija board, and his classic Doc Martens, but the piece that surprises Phil is the skirt that Dan’s sporting. The piece that pulls the outfit together is thigh high socks that hug Dan’s long legs. Phil can’t help but stare for a few moments. He’s interrupted by Dan’s voice, “You looked bored.”

“I feel like a third wheel with them,” Phil shrugs. He turns to Louise. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Phil,” he states, sticking his hand out.

“I know,” she replies simply.

At that comment, Dan blushes. “Do you want to sit with us?” he asks, “We can talk about the project if you want.” Phil grimaces. “Or we don’t have to. Just sit with us.”

Phil slides into the seat next to Louise so he doesn’t have to turn to see Dan’s face. “What were you guys talking about?” he asks.

“Makeup,” Louise chirps.

“We can talk about something else if you want to though,” Dan adds.

“I don’t mind,” Phil answers.

Dan shakes his head. “Come on Phil. I want to get to know you better.”

“I’m not that interesting,” Phil replies.

“I don’t care if it’s boring. What’s your favorite band? favorite color? Do you have any hobbies?”

“My favorite band is Muse-”

“I love Muse!” Dan exclaims, cutting him off. “What’s your favorite album?”

“I guess Origin of Symmetry,” Phil replies.

“No fucking way.”

“What?”

“That’s my favorite too. You must have an amazing taste in music.”

Phil blushes at that comment. He never gets compliments, especially not from cute boys. “As for my favorite color. It’s blue, and I paint. A lot. I also play video games sometimes. What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you have a favorite color? Hobbies? This isn’t going to be one-sided, Dan.”

“I guess my favorite color would have to be black, but I love pastels too,” he says gesturing to his outfit. “As for hobbies, I like makeup, though you probably already know that since you follow my Instagram page.”

With that comment, Phil’s face turns bright red. “I’m sorry. I just think it’s really pretty,” Phil mumbles.

“Don’t worry. I’m just glad you aren’t an asshole who thinks boys shouldn’t wear makeup,” Dan states. “Though I also like video games. I’ve been getting into Animal Crossing recently.”

“Good choice.”

They sit and talk with each other for the rest of the period, and Louise butts in from time to time. He feels bad for putting her in the same situation he was in with Pj and Sofie, but she seems caught up studying for a class for most of the conversation.

It’s weird getting along with someone so well. Even though their styles and friend groups differ, their hobbies and interests are almost the same. It’s easy to talk to Dan. He’s sarcastic and witty, and it makes Phil fall in love with him a little more.

—

When Phil finds out what the project is, he immediately relaxes. It’s a symbolic portrait. All he has to do is create a portrait that reveals parts of Dan’s personality. He’s looking forward to learning more about the younger boy, and he can’t wait to see what Dan does to represent Phil.

It’s hard coming up with an idea at first. Dan has so many layers that Phil has learned about over the past couple of days and it’s hard to choose the most important aspects. He wants to pick something that most people don’t know about Dan, but it’s hard when Dan is so popular. That’s when he thought of a plan.

——

They were up next and Phil was a mess. He was half-convinced he was dying even though he knew it was just an anxiety attack. His palms were incredibly sweaty, and he felt his chest constricting. He could barely focus on the duo presenting in the front of the classroom. They were talking about fish or something similar.

He was jolted out of his dream-like state when he felt a hand being rested on his shoulder. He turned his head expecting Pj, but he wasn’t surprised when he was met with Dan’s doe eyes. “You ok?” the younger boy asked, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m swell,” Phil breathed.

“We both know that’s bullshit, mate. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the nurse or something?” Dan pressed.

“It’s just another anxiety attack. It’ll be over soon.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or breathe together? I don’t know what you like to do, but anxiety attacks suck.”

“I just need to calm down.”

“Let breath then.”

Phil was reluctant but Dan eventually convinced him it would make the edge of the attack go away, so they took a few breaths. After a few seconds, Phil’s head felt much clearer and he was suddenly aware of everyone staring at his and Dan. He blushed before shrugging Dan’s hand off his shoulder.

“You good now?” Dan asked.

“Yeah. I feel a lot better. Thanks.”

——

Phil was walking down the hall a few days later when Dan ran up to him. They’d texted briefly over the past couple of nights, but they weren’t having as many conversations as they had when they were working on the project together. Phil had gone back to sitting with Pj and Sophie which was extremely awkward at times. Overall he missed the bond they’d formed and he really regretted losing it.“Oh my god, Phil! Did you see our grade?”

“Yeah,” Phil chirped, “100%”

“I’m glad. It took me a long time to finish.”

“You definitely deserved it, Dan.”

Phil was being honest. When he’d first seen the outcome of Dan’s hard work his jaw had dropped. Every color seemed to jump off of the page and they seemed to move in a strange way. Dan had managed to capture so many of his quirks and interests that it blew his mind.

Phil thought his project had been less interesting though. His picture was grayscale with hidden shapes dotted throughout the landscape. Phil wanted to capture the hidden layers of Dan’s personality, and he had tried to portray it with the colorful shapes breaking through and symbolizing a different part of him. It seemed like a shitty metaphor, but somehow their teacher had loved it.

“You did too,” Dan replied, “I like how much thought you put into it.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Of course. I just love the idea that everyone has a hidden personality and that you never know everything about someone.”

“Yeah.”

“You took Trig already. Right?”

“What’s with the sudden change of topic?”

Dan blushed, “I’m struggling a bit on the new lesson and I need some help.”

“Oh. Of course, I can help! At least I’m assuming that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah,” Dan replied, “Can we meet in the library after school? Around 3?”

“That sounds good to me.”

——

“You seem to be doing really well with this lesson. Are you sure you need help?” Phil asked.

They’d been in the library for about twenty minutes, and Dan had answered every problem right so far. It honestly wasn’t bothering Phil because he enjoyed spending time with Dan, but it was a bit strange. “Maybe I’m better than I thought?” Dan said though it came out as more of a question than anything else.

“I think you’re fine,” Phil reassured him. “I think you just need to be a bit more confident in your math skills.”

“Me? Not confident? You wish, Lester.”

Phil laughed. “Ok, maybe I choose the wrong words. But if you ever feel like you need help again I’m here for you. Unless it’s history, I’m horrible at remembering dates.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dan nodded.

They sat there in awkward silence for a few seconds. Phil didn’t want to leave Dan and risk never hanging out again. He panicked and before he knew it, he was blurting out a set of questions. “Do you want to come over to my house and play video games? Like right now? I got the new Mario Kart and I’ve been waiting to test out my skills.”

“I don’t know. I have a ton of work due tomorrow.”

“Shit I forgot about homework,” Phil groaned, “Do you want to go back to my place and keep each other company while we do it?”

“Sure. Sounds good to me.”

——

“I’m sorry it's a bit of a mess,” Phil said while he was kicking his shoes off. “My mom's been busy at work and I’ve been busy at school so we haven't been able to clean up recently.”

“It’s fine,” Dan said with a shrug, “Where are we going?”

“Up to my room,” he pointed up the staircase, “You’ll probably be able to tell which room is mine.”

Dan scampered up the stairs, and Phil followed shortly after with a sigh. He didn’t know how much longer he could spend with Dan before he broke out into a crazy story about how perfect Dan is.

When he arrived at the top of the steps he found Dan staring at his door in awe. “Did you paint this,” Dan asked.

“Ah yeah,” Phil said, “I did it a few years ago so it’s not the best piece I’ve done.”

He’d painted an array of vegetation along with his door with various small items hidden through them. A few of his favorites were the stars and eyes scattered throughout, but he really appreciated the piece as a whole. “Do you want to head in?”

“Yeah.”

As Phil walked in front of Dan, their shoulders brushed and he felt a jolt of electricity run through him. They’d touched before but none of those had felt as electrifying. He pushed open the door and flung his backpack onto the ground. “You can take the desk and I’ll take the bed?”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Just let me grab my laptop real quick and I’ll get out of the way. And sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really planning on having company and that’s where I plan my paintings and stuff.”

“It’s fine. My makeup desk is a mess too,” Dan smiled.

“Well I’ll let you get to work,” Phil said before situating himself on his bed and opening his laptop.

——

Phil felt a jab against his shoulder and he rolled over with a groan. “Phil,” someone whispered.

“It’s too early for this, Mum,” he mumbled.

“You’re not telling me I sound like an old lady right now, are you, Lester?” said a voice that was definitely not his mother’s.

He opened his eyes a bit to see who it was before springing up. “Oh my god Dan, I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. I’ve just been having a stressful day and I can-“

“Calm down, Phil. I’m not mad,” Dan rolled his eyes. “I was going to let you sleep but your mom wants to know if you’re hungry. She shouted up.”

“Oh shit, I forgot she comes home early on Thursdays.”

He rushed down the stairs quickly and into the kitchen where he found his mother stirring a pot of noodles. “Sorry, Mum. I forgot what day it was.”

“That’s fine, sweetie,” she said before glancing over his shoulder. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, that’s Dan.”

“Ahh. The elusive Daniel. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she hummed to Dan.

“All good things I hope,” Dan said, easily slipping into the personality Phil saw him use around their teachers before.

“Of course dear. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Only if you’ll have me. I’m assuming my visit wasn’t run past you.”

“No,” she sighed, “But dear Philip is a bit scatterbrained so I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“Hey,” Phil mumbled in mock offense.

“She's right you know.”

“That’s a very mean thing to say to your host.”

“Ah like falling asleep isn’t a mean thing to do to your guest. Was I really that boring, Phil?”

“No, I already told you-“

“I’m joking, Phil.”

Phil turned back to face his mother and saw a quick flicker of fondness in her eyes. “You’re sure it’s not an issue if Dan stays? I don’t want to put any pressure on you. We can go eat out.”

“He’s fine, Dear,” she laughed. “Besides I need a new person to gossip about you with.”

“What does gossiping about Phil entail? Do I get to see baby pictures?”

“Shush he’s not supposed to know about that part,” she laughed, “but yes dear I suppose that can be arranged.”

Phil blushed in embarrassment knowing that Dan would finally figure out that his hair was naturally a strange shade of orangish brown. He hadn’t been keeping it a secret on purpose. Especially since his roots took to peaking through every once in a while. “Please don’t show him,” he muttered.

“Why not?” Dan frowned.

“Philip was an adorable baby. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want anyone to see his squishy face.”

“Very funny, Mum.”

“I’m being serious,” she laughed. “Dinner is finished though. It’s nothing too fancy. Just some spaghetti.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lester.”

“Oh, dear, you can call me Kath.”

“Ok, Kath.”

——

Dinner went by smoothly and Phil was sat listening to his mother telling Dan what he was like as a baby for what seemed like ages. The worst part was when she brought out the baby books and started to show Dan his pictures.

“Your hair is naturally orangish? Why’d you dye it?” Dan asked.

“I like it better this way,” Phil responded. “Though one time I did try to dye it blonde. Let’s hope she doesn’t show you that picture though because I look like a literal highlighter.”

Dan giggled. “I’m sure you were a cute highlighter.” Phil watched Dan’s cheeks turn bright red and then he was off in another conversation with Phil’s mother.

He came up with a plan then. He would ask Dan out. He didn’t know when, but the new Avengers movie was coming out that weekend, and he knew they’d both enjoy it. He just hoped he was reading Dan’s messages right.

——

They’d ended up back in Phil’s room after some ice cream, and Dan was packing his stuff into his backpack. It was the perfect time to ask but his nerves were everywhere, and he didn’t know if he could get the words out. Dan’s voice broke him from his thoughts, “I really like your mom.”

“Yeah,” Phil replied. “She's pretty cool.”

“She wasn’t as judgemental as some of the other parents I’ve met. Most of them make assumptions and stuff.”

“I think I’ve trained her well enough not too.”

Dan laughed at that. “You can’t take the credit for her lovely personality. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“I’m pretty sure I can, Daniel. Besides, Who said she wasn’t just as naive as everyone else’s parents before I- you know- came out.”

“Yeah. She tried though. Not everyone’s parents do.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Phil watched as Dan’s face twisted into a scowl. “My Dad wasn’t the best. He was very picky about what we could do, and he forced us into sports early on. He was concerned that we wouldn’t be manly enough because people started to accept others more. I was rebellious so I started stealing my mother’s skirts and messing around with her makeup. It made me feel like myself,” Dan said. “My parents divorced when I was just starting secondary school. My mom tried to help us move away from the idea that men had to be a certain way. I started incorporating more stereotypical feminine items into my style.”

“Your dad sounds like a shitty guy, but I’m glad you found yourself.”

“Yeah,” Dan mumbled, “He's not in our lives anymore. He has a new family and I guess that’s okay with me. I never really had him so it's not like I miss him.”

“I get what you’re saying. Look I know this is pretty shitty timing, but do you maybe want to go see the new Avengers movie with me?”

“Oh yeah. I forgot that was coming out. What day do you want to see it?”

Phil internally groaned. Dan wasn’t seeming to get that Phil was trying to ask him on a date. Sure he had bad timing but he thought the excessive nerves would clue Dan in. “Friday’s good for me.”

“That’s perfect.”

“It’s a date then.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. I’ve liked you forever, Dan.”

“Why didn’t you ask sooner?” Dan said punching him in the shoulder. “You had to have seen that I liked you too.”

“I didn’t really notice it until we started working on that project together. Why didn’t you ask me?”

“I thought you didn’t like me and I wasn’t going to be an annoying underclassman.”

“Oh my god we’re both so stupid,” Phil laughed.

“We really are,” Dan agreed. “I'm really excited to see where this goes.”

[artificialqueens]

If You Ever Wanna Be In Love (I'll Come Around), Chapter Two (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: After a mix-up at work leads to Vanessa pretending she has a wife, she uses this fake wife to get out of work events. But when she runs out of excuses and needs a wife for a party, Vanessa finds herself turning to Nina’s friend Brooke, who just so happens to need a fake girlfriend.

Previously: Brooke and Vanessa agreed to a fake dating arrangement Now: Brooke pretends to be Vanessa’s wife at a work dinner.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback for chapter 1! It really does mean so much to me that you enjoyed it and are excited for more! I hope you like this chapter and leave feedback if you’d like! Thank you so much to Writ for betaing, you’re the absolute best <3 <3 <3.

Brooke dumps half her closet on the bed. She hasn’t done this in a while, hasn’t stalked around her room in a robe and makeup, trying to pick an outfit. Sure, she goes to work everyday with fierce eyeliner and sharp suits and silk shirts, but this is different. She’d been extra steady with her eyeliner, blending her contour until it was perfect, but she’s not sure why. Maybe she just wants to take advantage of the night and an opportunity to look nice. Maybe she wants to impress Vanessa–who’s definitely prettier than she remembered–and show her that she’s going to be the best fake wife she can be, good enough to turn heads and have them be the perfect couple at the party.

Whatever the reason, it has her rifling through every dress and pant suit she owns, trying to decide if purple or black or red is the right color, if she should go stripes or plain, form-fitting or loose. She and Vanessa exchanged numbers after coffee, and Brooke has a text asking what to wear half-written before deleting it all. No need to bother Vanessa over this. Eventually she pulls on the plain black dress that pops against her pale skin, figuring a classic will work.

Vanessa is smiling hesitantly when Brooke gets in her car, shooting out apologies for the mess. Brooke moves aside an old magazine advertising fun kids’ activities and settles in, legs bouncing as she gets a good look at Vanessa, soft waves tumbling down her back and dazzling teeth giving the sun a run for its money.

“You look nice,” Brooke says, hoping it’s okay to say. Vanessa does look nice, and she figures compliments should be part of their fake marriage. Her dad always complimented her mom whenever they went out, leaving Brooke and her sister with their grandma whose cloud of old-lady perfume almost dissolved their lungs.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Thanks.” Brooke looks at her lap, panic growing as blocks pass in silence. She knows almost nothing about Vanessa, and somehow she has to convince people they’re married for the night. Can they really pull this off? This could be one of the worst situations she’s been in, aside from the time she and Nina tried to dye their hair pink after finals and spent the night scrubbing the dorm bathroom clean, pink staining their hands for days.

Vanessa peeks over at her when they hit a red light. “Hey, Brooke? Thank you for doing this. You really saved my ass.”

Brooke blushes. “You don’t have to thank me, it’s not any trouble. I would’ve just been watching Gilmore Girls with my cats for the third time.”

“Gilmore Girls?”

“It’s a really good show. Really soothing, too,” Brooke says. She doesn’t add anything else, doesn’t add whether Vanessa would like or not because she doesn’t know the kind of things Vanessa likes. Vanessa could be a horror movie fan for all she knows, but from the way she jumped out of her seat when a squirrel ran in front of the car, Brooke’s thinking that’s a no.

Vanessa nods. She cranks up the radio when Beyonce comes on, chattering about work, and as they drive further away, Brooke almost forgets her nerves.

—

Vanessa’s hands are stuck on the wheel as they pull into the restaurant parking lot. Brooke looks nice–a lot nicer than Vanessa expected. Her sleeveless dress reveals strong arms that taper into clever hands and long fingers, and Vanessa has to stop looking.

Brooke fidgets with her gold bracelet, and Vanessa knows she’ll have to take the lead to get them through this. She notices her own hands are sweaty, and she dries them on her dress, forcing herself to stay calm. Paul and everyone else already bought the fake wife story, Vanessa reminds herself. All she has to do is turn up the charm until they’re completely sold.

“We got this, right?” Vanessa meets Brooke’s eyes with a hopeful smile.

“Right. We go in, we act married, we get out,” Brooke says.

Vanessa laughs. “You’re making us sound like spies! Just relax, okay? Follow my lead and we’ll be fine, I promise.”

Brooke nods, and Vanessa hands her the second fake ring she’d gotten from the thrift shop. It shines in the dim parking lot lights, gaining its second life through Brooke.

Brooke opens her door then slams it, turning back to Vanessa. “Wait. How did we get engaged?”

“What’s it matter?”

“If I’m playing a part, I want to do it right. And what if someone asks? Our stories have to match so we don’t get caught in the lie.”

Vanessa takes a breath of awe. As absurd as this whole thing is, she clearly has the right person for it, someone careful and dedicated enough to make sure they succeed. Vanessa thinks for a second. “You proposed to me on the beach, at sunset.”

Brooke scoffs.

“What?”

“That’s so lame! That’s something a boring straight guy would do for his girlfriend he knows nothing about. If I’m gonna propose to you, it would be better than that!”

“It’s not even a real proposal!” Vanessa argues, though part of her is touched that even if it is fake, Brooke wants her to have something nice.

“Still,” Brooke insists.

“Got any ideas?”

“What would your dream proposal be?” Brooke asks. “Not some generic beach thing. Something special.”

Vanessa’s pictured her wedding before—gold sun streaking through red and orange leaves as her dress flows behind her on the walk to her wife, the fall air crisp as an apple-—but hasn’t considered all the exhausting details and planning that would get her to that point.

“Well, don’t laugh, but I had a pirate thing when I was little. My mom would put coins and toys in the sandbox and give me a map and I’d dig for them. So let’s say you did a little treasure hunt that ended in the proposal.” Vanessa never knew how much she wanted something like this, something to show her wife knows her like no one else, but as she speaks, she can see it happening. Her breathlessly flipping over a tattered map to see neat lines and bright red X. Her going through each step, faster and faster as her excitement builds, until she reaches the end and Brooke is on one knee with a box—

Vanessa shakes her head to clear out the image.

Brooke smiles. “I like that. It’s nice.” She leans in closer, like she’s sharing a secret. “I had a dinosaur thing, so I won’t laugh.”

“Seems like you still have a dinosaur thing, Miss Museum Head,” Vanessa teases.

Brooke blushes, and Vanessa’s heart leaps. “I guess I do.”

There’s a beat of silence, and they both realize this is it. Doors slam, locks click, and they give each other one last nod before entering the restaurant.

The small restaurant room Paul reserved is packed with disgruntled library employees eager for a night off, and every single head spins toward her and Brooke. A few mouths drop open, and Vanessa grins. They do look impressive, Brooke’s black dress flowing down her long frame, a perfect match for Vanessa’s red dress with tiny black stars, one of her favorite thrift store finds.

But beyond the outfits is something Vanessa can’t quite describe. She gets a look at her and Brooke in a mirror on the wall, and something about them looks right, like they could be on opposite sides of the room and you would still know they were a couple. Maybe it’s the way Vanessa leans into the space around Brooke, or the way Brooke slows her pace for Vanessa’s matchstick legs, but there’s some sort of magic bubbling around them.

Couples cling like koalas and Vanessa throws an awkward arm around Brooke’s waist to look more couple-y. Brooke stiffens slightly before relaxing into it.

Paul runs over. “So you’re Vanessa’s wife,” he says to Brooke, pumping her hand up and down with no sign of stopping.

“That’s me,” Brooke agrees. “I’m Brooke, if Vanessa hasn’t told you.”

“Actually, she hasn’t,” Paul says, giving Vanessa a look. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for months but Vanessa says you’ve been sick a lot lately. I hope you’re doing better after your stomach problems last week?”

Brooke shoots Vanessa a death glare, but she still answers warmly. “I’m much better now, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” Paul ushers them over to the table, and Vanessa quickly pulls her arm back.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “Just thought we needed a little touching.”

“It’s fine,” Brooke says, sighing in relief as they slide next to Nina at the table.

Vanessa quickly makes the introductions to her coworkers. Silky smiles devilishly and A’keria and Yvie narrow their eyes, serving as her test panel for the night, to see if she and Brooke can really sell things for the admins.

“Now, about those stomach problems?” Brooke demands. Her eyebrows are furrowed and Vanessa has to consciously stop looking at how adorable the expression makes her.

“Well, when I don’t want to go to parties, I use you as an excuse sometimes,” Vanessa says sheepishly.

Brooke pinches the bridge of her nose. “And how many times have you said I was sick?”

Vanessa shrugs. “I kinda…lost count?”

Brooke groans, heaving a mighty sigh. “I really hope this food is better than slightly-above-average.”

—

The food, it turns out, is actually better than Vanessa expected. She makes her way through fish in lemon butter, but Brooke’s lasagna came with garlic bread that’s calling her name. They’re supposed to be married, after all, so why the hell not? She reaches over and grabs a chunk. Brooke then asks for a bite of fish, and Vanessa knows from her friends’ approving nods and the calm behavior of the others that they’re completely selling the wife thing.

Vanessa doesn’t know what exactly makes a marriage look real, but she follows stuff her parents did—sharing food and joking with each other, letting their hands brush every now and then, each one making her whole arm tingle.

Brooke does her part wonderfully, no question about it. She maintains her calm all through dinner, answering question after question about herself and work. Even though Brooke seems to hold back when she talks about her job, like she’s afraid no one is interested, Vanessa finds herself really engrossed in what Brooke does, no acting required.

Brooke does a lot more than look at bones all day, Vanessa learns. She supervises the museum’s dinosaur collection and has been working on a special summer exhibit for months, getting permission to borrow a T-Rex skull from another museum. She’s also started more kids’ programs, special events and days just for them. As she speaks, Vanessa can see it. She can see Brooke strutting across the museum’s stone floor in a sharp black suit, opening up a crate of fossils and grinning like a little kid, staying at the museum long past closing to set it all up. It makes her smile, and the smile doesn’t leave.

Vanessa also learns that Brooke likes hiking on the weekends, and she’s grateful they’re not really married, because if she ever had to tag along on a hiking date she’d probably pass out.

When they walk back to the car amidst Paul shouting his hopes to see Brooke again, Vanessa feels sad somehow, like the thrill of tonight is fading.

“I, um, I had a nice time tonight,” Brooke says quietly, after Vanessa starts driving. “I haven’t been out in a while. I’ve been focusing on the T-Rex exhibit since January. Haven’t had time for much else.”

Vanessa nods. “Yeah, I get it. We get a lot more kids in the library for summer, I’ve been pulling crafts out of my ass to have more activities. But I love it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Brooke says, grabbing her purse as they pull up in front of her apartment. “Um, I’ll text you about the party at my mom’s, okay?”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Vanessa almost wishes the night didn’t have to end, that they could still buzz with that same magic that overtook them in the restaurant. She wonders if she’s getting her wish when Brooke releases the door and turns back to her.

“Your ring,” Brooke explains, and it hits Vanessa again that this is all fake, just an act. Brooke’s face falls as she tries to twist the ring off. “It’s stuck.”

“What do you mean,stuck?”

“I mean it’s stuck!”

“But it went on okay.” Vanessa shakes her head. “I bet you crack your knuckles. My mom made me stop, said I’d get big knuckles—“

“That’s a myth!” Brooke shoots back, tugging harder on the ring.

“Let me help.” Vanessa twists it with her, trying not to hurt Brooke.

“If I lose my finger, I’m mailing it to you so it can haunt you forever,” Brooke says, a hint of panic creeping into her voice.

“No one is losing a finger! Hang on, I have lotion.” Vanessa grabs the mini bottle of Aveeno in her purse and rubs it into Brooke’s hand, trying not to think of how soft—albeit sweaty—her skin is. Vanessa gives one last tug that sends her flying into the door, ring triumphantly in her fist.

Brooke massages her hand, then meets Vanessa’s gaze. Suddenly, they both erupt into laughter so fierce it brings tears to Vanessa’s eyes and makes her stomach hurt. I’m that moment, Brooke becomes more real to her, shaking and snorting with laughter, her face stretched into a grin. Brooke isn’t just someone who passes dishes at Nina’s without being asked, but someone Vanessa thinks she might want to know more, and she’s suddenly grateful for the birthday party coming up, grateful for more time with her.

“Okay, okay,” Vanessa wheezes. “Good night, for real.”

“Good night.”

Brooke gracefully walks into the building, and Vanessa finds herself staring at the empty space Brooke occupied long after she’s safely inside.

—

Brooke can’t quite believe it, but dinner with Vanessa was fun. Even with the number of questions Vanessa’s coworkers threw at her and the answers she had to keep spitting out, things began to feel less like a contest to prove their fake relationship and more like a real dinner party.

Vanessa is funnier than Brooke had remembered, telling story after story about the library’s chaos, from the time a grown man got stuck in the bathroom to the woman who almost went over the library desk when she found out there was no vending machine in the children’s room. Vanessa acts her stories out like she’s on stage, changing her voice and making exaggerated faces and swinging her arms all over the place.

She and Nina meet for their weekly breakfast the next day, and it’s nice to be around her warmth, nice to be around someone who knows the previous night was fake, freeing Brooke from pretending to be someone else. Even so, all Nina can talk about is how well Brooke and Vanessa did.

“I’m just saying, you really pulled it off,” Nina says around a mouthful of toast. “And she took some of your food! That was so cute, did you plan that?”

Brooke shakes her head, turning to the waffles she won’t have to share with anyone today. Not that she had really minded Vanessa’s slim wrist darting to her plate. “We didn’t plan it. She literally just stole my garlic bread.”

“Well, it worked. You looked so natural. I know A’keria, Silky, and Yvie were impressed, and they’re hard to win over.”

Brooke smiles a little at that. You can’t assign grades for being someone’s fake wife, but Brooke likes knowing she did a good job.

“Yeah. Vanessa’s gonna be my fake girlfriend at my mom’s in two weeks, and then I guess that’s that.”

“You’re really just doing the two things and that’s it?” Nina stares at her in surprise.

Brooke looks down, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah? I mean, that’s what we agreed to…” she trails off. After last night, she was starting to think that more time with Vanessa could be a nice thing. Vanessa is funny and kind and charming, almost like Nina in a way, and Brooke was sucked into her personality in the dim restaurant lights. But now, in the cold morning light, the effects have worn off. They’re just two people who barely know each other, pretending to be in a relationship a few times. They might keep in touch after, talk at Nina’s parties, but there’s nothing more than that.

“Well, maybe you could stay friends after and do things,” Nina says. “You seemed like you had fun.”

“Yeah.” Brooke shovels some waffles into her mouth, because Nina is right and they both know it. Luckily, Nina moves the conversation onto the library carnival they’re having, and Brooke can forget all about last night.

—

That night, Brooke’s phone buzzes while she’s curled up with the cats, watching TV. Her heart flutters a little when she sees the sender.

Vanessa Mateo: So how long do I have to wait for Lorelai and Luke to get together?

Vanessa Mateo: Is Rory gonna end up with this Dean guy?

Vanessa Mateo: I need answers!

Brooke’s fingers hover over the phone. It’s been a while since she’s texted someone besides Nina or her mom, and she’s not sure how to approach this. Just as friends, she tells herself, and begins to type.

Brooke Lynn Hytes: You’ll just have to wait and see ;)

Vanessa Mateo: Brooke Lynn Hytes did you just winky face me???

Brooke Lynn Hytes: ;) ;)

[erintoknow]

your friend

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Just friends. [i wanna be your girlfriend]

[Read on AO3]

It’s a few weeks into October before you secure a reliable way to liquidate the cryptocurrency you lifted from Pennybags. In the meantime you manage to hit a few more villains, expanding your collection. Dreadnaught is a wanna-be business tycoon. He doesn’t have the financial sense of a garden slug though. If you hadn’t cleaned him out, someone else would have through some less direct means. No one has heard from Psychopathor since his capture by the Directive last year, a convenient secondary target. Combing through some of his old hideouts had turned up a few more funds.

It was a good plan. But now what?

You’ve spent so long skating by on the skin on your teeth and now you have… You check the balance for your shell company’s account. A cool eight million. All at once. It doesn’t feel like a real number. That’s not even all the cryptocurrency. You’re leaving some be, just in case you need it as is.

Okay.

Okay. You have to… treat this carefully. It’s still a limited resource. You only grabbed so much because you need the money to fund supplies and upkeep. Can’t let it get to your head. What would you even get anyway?

You push yourself away from your desk and stare up at the apartment ceiling. The ring of brown water damage that snakes across the room.

Nope. Can’t think of anything.

Your phone buzzes and you startle, almost falling out of the chair. The seat of the damn thing broke the other day from your inability to just sit like a normal person and now the whole thing’s out of balance. Need to remember to scavenge up a new one later this week.

Flailing hand finds the phone, slide and unlock. It’s a text message this time, not a call.

Huh.

From… Ortega.

Of course, who else? That’s right, you’re going to the Pasadena soup kitchen today. Maybe you can give them some of this money? Better filter it through like two more shell companies first just to be safe but yeah, that seems… feasible?

You turn the computer off and stand up. You can look into that later. Right now you need to get ready.

What do you dress as? Fuck damnit chickadee, don’t overthink this. Just – just dress normal. You’re doing work together. Volunteer work, but work. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing else. Don’t mix up your relationship with Ortega for Jane’s, you idiot.

–––

Carol is polite enough to hide her disappointment that Ortega is just here to help you organize the donations. Ortega, for her part, doesn't offer anything more. She seems happy enough to follow your lead. That feels weird. Almost familiar, but hell if you can remember familiar of what.

“You – uh, you sure you’re okay with this?” You glance across the box of canned beans. “I know it’s… not as glamorous as reading to sick kids.”

Ortega stands at the other end of the storage room, sorting through types of soup. She glances up from the can in her hand, flashing you a smile. “I’m good. It’s nice to get out of the public eye for awhile.”

You raise your eyebrows at that, smiling back despite yourself. “Well you f–found the expert.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” She grins at you, flashing teeth.

“S–shut-up!” You duck your head back down. Focus on beans. Not Ortega. That’s why you’re here. Sorting beans. Nothing more. Don’t even think about checking whether Ortega is still looking at you.

Thanksgiving is coming up soon and with it the donations are picking up in quantity. There’s something reassuring in seeing it. That even in a city like Los Diablos people still take the time to offer something.

At least… You frown at the rusty can you pull out of a paper bag. At least when they aren’t passing off baked beans from 1985. With a disgusted frown you quietly move that can to the ‘to be disposed’ bin.

A few hours of monotonous sorting later, Carol pops back in clapping her hands together and thanking you both for helping out. “I’m just going to finish closing up here with my staff. I’m sure you two have places you’d rather be, the Friday night before Halloween.”

“Thanks for keeping us busy.” Ortega smiles back at her, a little too broadly.

“This is a big help, believe me.” Carol titters, cheeks tinged red. Oh. Oh, of course.

Ortega’s grin widens, and she finishes off with a wink before turning away to wave you over. “It’s about five, you wanna get something for dinner Ari?”

“Um.” You frown, glancing down at the row of boxes. Wrapping your hands under your shawl you shake your head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Y–yeah.”

“Alright…” Ortega is silent just long enough for both of you to gather your things. “Well, take a walk with me?”

You narrow your eyes at her, glance at Carol’s retreating form. “W–why…?”

“Well… this used to be your neighborhood,” There’s a question in her eyes. “Why not show me around?”

“I thought you knew everywhere in this city.”

“I don’t know if you remember Ari, but there’s not a lot of time for sightseeing when you’re in the middle of fighting the human bulldozer.”

That gets you to laugh. “Fine. Alright. But, I was only here like, um… a year before I moved further north. It’s not like I’m any less of – uh, of a tourist.”

“Now you’re just being modest.”

“It’s been a–a–a decade. I’m sure everything’s different now.”

“Have you really not been back since…?”

Vertigo hits and you have to grab the table to steady yourself. “I – I don’t want to… be reminded. Of… before.” This was a bad idea. Why did you get it in your head to do this?

Ortega steps closer and you tense up, expecting to have to fend off another unwanted touch. It doesn’t come. “If that was the case, you could have picked a different kitchen.”

“I know.”

Out the street, Ortega follows in your shadow, uncharactistically silent. It makes you nervous. What is she thinking? Static, the sound of a television tuned to a dead channel. You remember reading somewhere that part of that static snow the television and radio picked up was the cosmic microwave background radiation, the birthpang of the universe. Is that what you’re picking up when you try to feel Ortega’s thoughts? Some sort of primordial sign?

If there’s a deeper meaning there, it remains a mystery.

A buzz from your purse pulls you out of your head with a jump.

“Who is it?” Ortega stops alongside you. “Anyone I know?” She laughs.

You don’t. “Uh – actually. It’s… shit.” You make a face. “I forgot about training with Herald.”

“Tell him I say hi.”

“Yeah… s–sure.” You lie, intending to do no such thing. Quickly typing out a response. “We’ll just uh, just have to reschedule. I’m sure wonderbread has better things to be doing today anyway.”

“Wonderbread?”

“Uh…” You glance around as you put your phone away. “You know… like… the brand? White, bland, tasteless?”

Ortega laughs, shaking her head. “That’s a little harsh.”

You resume walking, fast enough that Ortega has to work to keep up. “Y–yeah, well. He can get a better nickname when he shapes up.”

“No mercy huh?”

You flinch at that, avoid looking her way. “He – he, uh, asked for my help, so… he’s gonna get it. Help. My help. Is what he’s gonna get. Fuck.”

Oh god, you need something anything to divert this conversation right the fuck now.

“Look,” You stop in front of the store the two of you had almost powered by. Tap on the glass. “This, uh. This used to be a thrift shop. Got some good stuff out of there.” You peer through the darkened windows. What was it now? Not open, apparently.

“That’s the first thing you show me?”

“It’s – it’s practical, okay!?” You huff, hands on your hips pushing out the sides of your shawl. “I d–d–didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.”

“You were always so tight-lipped back then.”

“Well… I – I don’t know.” You step away from the window and Ortega both. “I guess I… I didn’t want you to think less of me. Any of the Rangers really.”

“Less of you for what? That you were poor? What, did you think I was going to kick you out of the club house? ‘You must make this much to ride’?”

You shoot an accusatory glare her way. “Steel sure wanted to.”

Ortega sighs, reaches back with a hand to rub at her neck.. “Wei can be a little… overzealous. He has his own stuff he’s working through.”

“I know. He uh… he apologized to me. The other day.”

“He did?” Ortega blinks, then smiles. “He did. That’s great! Wow. Wei never backs down.”

“I know. Did… you say something? To him?”

“What haven’t I said to him?” She laughs, still rubbing her neck. “I mean, I’m glad, but I doubt it was because of anything I said. Ari… we’ve all changed, you know. These past years.”

Because of you. Because you died. Your fault. Like everything else.

You don’t say that though. Instead, you give her a wry look. “If you’re about to say your wiser and older, I’d uh, I’d agree with the older part, but definitely not the wiser part.”

“Ass.” She takes a swing at you.

You dodge it easily. “You like it.”

“Found me out.”

There’s an awkward silence between the two of you. Eyes meeting the other just a little longer than comfortable. You step back, look away across the street. Ortega glances in the opposite direction, trying to peer into the darkened windows. “What do you think they sell here now?”

“Who knows?”

“I think I see some costumes there. Maybe it’s a costume shop? Or was one?” You catch Ortega looking your way again from the corner of your eye. “Hey, you want to go to a Halloween party tomorrow?”

Your eyes widen. “No! N–no way! Are you f–fucking nuts?”

“What’s the problem? You’re retired. You can dress up in something with a mask. I’ll get something too. I think Esmé on the Guardian force is having a party we could crash. No one will know it’s us.”

“That’s…” You shake your head. “Ortega, I’m not crashing a superhero party held by your rival team.”

“Com’on,” Ortega bats her eyes at you, laying it on thick. “It’s the perfect excuse to make trouble.”

It… would let you get some intel on the Mayor’s team. Ortega gives you the inside scoop on the Rangers but sooner or later if you keep messing with the politicians they’re going to send their own task force after you.

You shake your head. “No. No way.”

“Fine.” Ortega pouts, crossing her arms. “One of these days, I’m going to get you in that ‘sexy Sidestep’ costume, mark my words.”

You have to grab the wall to hold yourself up. “Oh my f–f–fucking god, don’t tell me you still have that fucking thing.”

“It was a work of art and you set it on fire, in my arms.”

“F–f–fuck you.” You cross your arms and glare at her. Praying your face isn’t as red as it feels. “I d–don’t seem to remember you lining up for that sexy Charge suit.”

Ortega meets your glare with a smug smirk. “Oh, I totally would.”

“W–what?”

“If you dress up with me. Solidarity. That’s the deal.”

“In your dreams.”

Her smile only broadens, the smug asshole. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You set off down the block and away from Ortega. You have to get this image out of your head before you do something incredibly stupid.

“Hey!” Laughter from behind you. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

You cross the street before waiting for her to catch up. “Find someone else f–f–for your debauched fantasy.”

“Hey,” She puts up her hands, worry creeping into her face. “I’m just teasing, okay?”

“I’m not dressing up.”

“Okay. Okay. Ari, relax.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is all she gets out of you as you set off down the sidewalk again. You hunch your shoulders, arms hugging your chest.

“...everything alright?”

“S’fine.”

“Okay…”

The conversation lapses. Fuck.

Had to go make things weird, didn’t you?

“Sorry.” You offer.

That throws her off. “What for?”

“I… I don’t know. Being me?”

“Hey…” Ortega’s voice is soft. You don’t stop walking, make her pick up the pace to keep even with you. “You’re my friend. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

You frown. The rest of the tour goes by in a blur, watching yourself go through the motions. All forgotten the moment you set foot back home in your apartment. The only memory that sticks is the knot in your stomach.

[geekygee01]

Paralyse Me

Summary: You are one of Thanos’ daughters, an omega fugitive trying to survive on earth after the snap. Three years later you past catches up to you, Clint wants to make you pay for your hand in the disappearance of his family. But when he smells your impending heat, plans change...

Pairings: Ronin/Alpha!Clint x Omega!Reader

Overall warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of rape, claiming, breeding, coercion, dubious consent (the reader is in heat and not in her right mind to consent, no matter how much she begs)

A/N: Just a little side note, my main sources of inspiration are; @sherrybaby14 @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @youngmoneymilla So if you want some insanely good pics to read I suggest checking them out.

The rain pelts down as you rush along a deserted sidewalk, occasionally glancing over your shoulder and glancing at any corners or dark spots. Just a little further and you'll be back at the abandoned apartment you've been calling home the past week. You never remain in one place too long and you try to stick to busy cities, lose yourself in the anonymity. Not that many cities are 'busy' these days. Ever since your father succeeded in decimating half of the universe. The process killing four of your siblings and almost costing you Nebula too. Though she may as well have died, you haven't seen her in almost three years. And once he had won, once he had completed his lifelong mission he went and disappeared. Abandoning you in Wakanda, abandoning you to be captured or killed. Fortunately, in all the pain and confusion of the eradication, you were able to slip away undetected, and from there you ran. You ran until you couldn't breathe and then you ran some more. You found yourself in Kenya, and then Johannesburg, Mexico, Texas, Arizona, Washington, Alberta, Ontario, and who knows where else. Five years later finds you in Shanghai, China. It used to be the most populated place before the snap, and even now it is still busy enough for you to feel semi-secure. But you never let your guard down, you have to keep your head down, stay in your lane and keep moving if you want the slightest chance of surviving. This planet has become chaotic and lawless since the snap. With politicians, soldiers and police force disappearing the remaining population turned on each other. Many turned to crime to survive or for the fun of it, it wasn't like there was anyone to catch them. Petty theft, brawls and the unwanted claiming of omegas weren't anyone's priorities anymore, which puts you at yet another disadvantage. You were a child of Thanos; you helped in the decimation of many people's friends and families, and you were an unclaimed omega ripe for the taking. In this new world there were only a few outcomes for you; dead, forcefully claimed or trafficked. Always moving, wearing second-hand clothes from alphas and betas, stolen suppressant and heat blockers were the only ways you could keep yourself safe. And even that was getting harder and harder. Border security was getting tighter, and the medicine you needed was getting scarce. Three years without any more being made, you were surprised there were any left at all. But that's likely due to most omegas being claimed or trafficked, you were probably one of the only ones still around, still using them. Your hand reaches down and holds the package in your jacket pocket. The suppressants you had risked your life for. Travelling around so close to your heat, stealing from a drug cartel, but you had no other choice. You had skipped town, only taking the clothes on your back, you hadn't the time to grab any of your things, including your medicines. You had been thrift shopping in Osaka, but your gut told you someone was watching you, someone dangerous, so you hitched a ride as soon as you could. Swapping cars and directions every so often, trying to ensure you lost whoever may have been following you. You didn't even get everything you needed tonight, but you had heard fighting and gunshots across the road and left as fast as possible. You'd try again somewhere else tomorrow, but for now, the suppressant will do just fine. You'll layer up on alpha clothes and stick to more populated stores. You finally make it to your building and push on the heavy old door. You amble up seven flights of stairs and enter the apartment you've been borrowing. Whoever lived there before was long gone, most likely dusted, but you still slept on their couch. You only ever slept on couches or floors. Sleeping in their beds felt wrong like you had killed them and then violated their personal space and belongings. You flick the lock, attach the chain and slide the deadbolt, placing one of the dining room chairs under the doorknob just in case. "Wasted effort, seeing as I'm already here," a deep voice rumbles. You freeze in place, your hands shaking as they let go of the chair. You start to turn, but hands are already on your arms, spinning you around and forcing you against the wall by the door. You look up into hate-filled, cold blue eyes on an otherwise handsome face. "Who are you?" you ask softly. The stranger grins down at you, but it holds no warmth. "I'm a guy whose family you killed." "That wasn't me," you try to wriggle out of his hold, but he slams you back into the wall, harder than before. "You may not have been the one to snap your fingers, but you helped the monster who did. He's already dead so I can't get my revenger on him, you're the next best thing." "My father's dead?" that's impossible, he was almost invincible. But that explains why he left you behind, he had no choice, he was dead "that's why he left me," you whisper to yourself. The man keeping you captive chuckles "he was killed months after the snap, he left you and then he was killed." You try to blink back your tears, shaking your head "no, you're lying." "I'm no liar sweetheart." "Just a killer." "Big talk coming from the daughter of Thanos," he glares down at you. "I had no choice! He killed my family and kidnapped me as a child. Forced me to fight my sisters and tortured me when I refused. Or tortured me if I lost or tortured me if my technique was flawed. And when that stopped working, he'd hurt my sisters when I did something wrong. He turned them against me so that all I had was him and his will." You start struggling against him again, managing to shove him away. You turn to the door and pull at the chair and reach for the deadbolt before a heavy weight knocks you to the floor. You kick and flail, manages to kick his stomach and hit his mouth, he spits blood on you before growling. "I was just going to kill you because you killed my family. But now I'm going to make it hurt," he grins down at you before slamming his forehead into your face. The last thing you see is his malicious, blood-stained smile. X X X You slowly open your eyes, blinking away the darkness. You're in the lounge room, tied to a dining room chair. You can't even shift in place. You try looking around. It seems as if the room is empty, but you can't see into any of the other rooms, or behind you. He could be doing anything, could be anywhere.

You feel the ever-familiar prickling under your skin, a warmth spreading throughout your body. The slight burn on your throat where a mating mark would go, the desperate clenching of your heart, trying to fill a void. Your heat is starting. You have to get out, get away from this crazy alpha before he picks up on it.

You start struggling in earnest, desperate to free yourself before the unthinkable can happen. "Finally joining the party," you startle at the sound of his voice, your heart leaping to your throat. You swallow thickly as he comes around the chair and faces you. Your mouth tastes metallic. He points to the cut on his mouth "we match now." "You're sick," his lips quirk into a half-smile. "No, I'm desperate." "Desperate?" you question. "Desperate for vengeance, desperate for revenge, desperate for my family back. Guess where you fall?" his hand strokes down your clammy cheek, and you flinch away, though the omega in you is desperate to lean in to his touch. "Do your worst," you spit blood onto his shoe and bare your teeth. "Feisty," he laughs before turning serious once more "you won't be for long." "I've survived daily torture at the hands of the mad titan Thanos, you think you, a tiny mortal man, could do any worse?" "Guess we'll find out."

X X X

You try to blink away the fuzziness in your vision, you need a clear head if you’re going to think up an escape in this short reprieve of torture. Though you have endured worse at the hands of your ‘father’ it never quite felt like this. All those times being tortured by Thanos your omega nature was supressed. Now, so close to your heat, being tortured by an alpha, it’s somehow nowhere near on Thanos’ level and yet so much worse.

“This would end faster if you were to beg,” the alpha come closer to you.

“What?” you rasp.

“Beg for forgiveness, beg for mercy, and I will end this.” He stares into your eyes, so close and yet worlds away.

You look back at him and let out a deep breath “I’m sorry,” you start “I’m sorry that you’re such a pathetic excuse of an alpha that you need to beat omegas to make yourself feel strong.”

He sneers down at you before aiming a punch to your head. You feel the pain radiate on your temple but it’s slightly muted. It’s nothing more than an unpleasant tingle in comparison to the crushing pain in your lower abdomen. Courtesy of your heat, not his pathetic attempts at torture.

He raises his fist as if to hit you again but freezes, his nose twitches and he glances around the room before his gaze zeroes in on you. He breathes in deeply and a wicked grin takes over his face.

“Omega.”

Your heart stops, ice cold panic fills your veins “stay away from me,” you try to sound tough, but it comes out as more of a whine.

He laughs as he unties you from the chair. You try to fight him, to free yourself from his grasp now that you are free of the chair, but your heat and his beating has taken a toll on your body. You feel so weak, and your limbs are lethargic, they refuse to cooperate. He drags you into the bedroom and throws you down on the bed and ties your wrists to the headboard.

“So, what, now you’re going to rape me before killing me?”

“I’m not going to kill you omega. I have plans for you.”

Your eyes widen in fear. He’s going to traffic you, or breed you, or both. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Well you took my family from me omega, I think it’s only fair you make that even, don’t you?”

“I would bring back your family if I could, but I don’t have that kind of power,” you feel tears running down your bruised cheeks.

“I know you don’t. I don’t expect you to bring my family back, no, I expect you to give me a new family. It is what you were born to do after all.”

“NO!” “I won’t do it.”

“I think you’ll find that you don’t have much of a choice,” he strokes your face as you try to squirm away from him.

“Were you always a sick rapist or is this your desperation talking again?”

He laughs at you again “I’m not going to rape you omega. In short time you’ll be begging me, and then, only then, will I give you what you need.” He then turns and leaves the room. Leaves you to stew in your ever-worsening heat.

[bagels-and-seagulls]

72 please “You know you can be a right prat you know that?” bc canon or not, Matteo’s always a little shit ^^

Matteo stared up at the ceiling, listening to the ticking of David’s old watch that he found at a thrift shop one day downtown with only one hand still working and the other stuck in place while the hours circled around, and around, and around. He couldn’t sleep. He could never sleep. Never, ever, ever, and god, he was tired of it. That, and just down right tired. He couldn’t sleep, and he was bored. God, he was bored. He was so bored, listening to the ticking, and ticking, and the ticking because one of the hands was broken, so the watch was trying to make up for it in other ways. 

He sighed and curled up behind David, sticking his nose that was just a little bit chilled into the bottom of his hairline and wrapping his arm around his stomach, breathing him in and hoping it would help. David always helped. Well, usually. He usually helped, when it came to this, this whole sleeping thing. Or the lack thereof, he supposed. 

God, he just wanted to sleep. 

There was a hole in David’s shirt near his hip, and Matteo tucked his face onto the back of David’s shoulder and picked at the fray threads coming out from it, picking at it and making the hole wider, not on purpose, not really. He was just bored, and it was late. Or early. It didn’t matter. Everyone was asleep, except for him, and he just wanted something to do. So he picked at the hole, and picked, and picked, and picked. 

“Wha’re doin?” David mumbled out quiet and rough and sleepy. He tucked himself further into Matteo’s chest, and Matteo smiled, just a little, at that because that felt nice, the way that David curled into him without even really thinking about it. It felt a little bit like a consolation prize right now. 

“Nothin,” he responds and kisses the back of David’s neck. “Go back to sleep.” For both of us, he thinks a bit bitterly before his sleepy brain could stop himself, feeling his fingers still pulling at a thread that was between his thumb and pointer and thinking about how he was still a little bit bored and still a lot a bit tired. 

“Okay?” David asks, gripping at Matteo’s wrist slow and light, and Matteo had to strain ever cell in his being to be able to feel the sweet and warm tingling that David’s fingers always smoothed into his skin. 

He closed his eyes and pressed his nose further into the back of David’s neck, and David gripped his wrist harder at the chill of it, making Matteo want to only breathe him in further because there was something hot sinking into his skin with the pressure of his grip, almost in time with the ticking. 

“Go back to sleep,” Matteo repeats and keeps picking at the hole in David’s shirt as David’s grip loosens on his wrist as he listens to the ticking of a watch with a broken hand. God, he was tired, he thought. 

“Matteo!” 

“Wha?” Matteo muttered and shoved his face further into the pillow, and he didn’t know when he fell asleep. But fuck, he wasn’t going to try to wake up now, now that he couldn’t hear that fucking watch tick, tick, tick anymore and the back of his eyelids didn’t burn when they were closed tight, keeping him wrapped in a light darkness that was a little warm and a little nice. 

“Matteo, wake up!” David said and hit him on the back with a pillow that he ripped out of Matteo’s arms, and wow, that was rude, Matteo thought. And uncalled for, he thought after. David was supposed to be on his side.

“What?” Matteo asks as he blinks his eyes open to look up at the ceiling and rub at his eyes with the back of his hands. He looks over at where David was sitting up, fuming, with steam coming out of his ears and glaring down at Matteo, gripping at Matteo’s pillow in his hands. “What?” Matteo asks again. 

“Look at this!” David practically screeches and pulls at the side of his shirt where there was a giant hole splitting up the center of the side from the waist all the way up to the arm. “Look what you did!”

And Matteo can’t help it. He really can’t. He ends up bursting into a fit of giggles where tears are rolling down his eyes, and he has to clench at his stomach because oh my god, he was still so tired. But this was so funny! And he starts laughing even harder when David huffs at him and groans out loud, hitting Matteo with the pillow again, who just catches it and stifles his snickers into the fluff of it. 

“You know you can be a right prat, You know that?”