#(not on the actual zipline thank god

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

anyway if weird shit could stop happening in my life for a while that'd be great

[zerobasekazuha]

I NEED MORE POSSESSIVE VENTURE /NF 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ Your writing is giving me sustenance. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, brunch… uuh midnight snack, water, WHATEVER

Side note, but I personally love the Venture fics where they’re possessive over the reader, like the reader is a precious, yet-to-be-discovered artifact that Venture just CANT get enough of! 🫶

That’s actually so sweet thank you anon ♡ but I also do think Venture would be pretty possessive and I think this short fic could be a sneak peek into a longer one 👀 btw this is a fem reader!!

Sloan had a jealousy problem. It wasn’t like they didn’t trust _____ But they didn’t trust the people around her. Sloan admired their partner so much. More than anything in the world. They would spoil her and put her above all else, like she was their god and they had to obey her every order.

_____ was very humble. She was thankful that Sloan loved her so much but she’s almost never experienced this type of treatment. Almost every anniversary Sloan treated her to something better than the last, Ziplining, check. A very romantic expensive dinner, check. Everything and anything done for her.

This day in particular Sloan was treating _____ out to this restaurant that served worldwide dishes. Even booking a night took ages and was very very expensive. But Sloan didn’t care, money was something they could earn and burn. As long as it made their wife happy they’re life was.

But _____ looked absolutely stunning. The dress she wore absolutely had a chokehold on them. Seeing her body softly carved by the fabric of the dress almost made her look like Aphrodite. Simply wonderful. They looked like a lovesick puppy admiring her, and others could very clearly see that.

Unlike somebody who didn’t get the memo. Some random guy who appeared to keep glancing over at the two. His eyes shifting all over _____. Sloan didn’t like that. They were possessive about what was theirs. Artifacts or their partner they would fight tooth and nail for those items precious to them.

One of Sloans arms snaked around _____s waist pulling her almost closer to them. Sloan was more touchy though the night of them having dinner. The guy who seemed to feel that this was a challenge walked over, invading them.

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight mama.” The male said looking down at the couple sitting at the table. Hearing this made Sloans blood boil.

“Thanks I think this suit-“

“Not you, her.”

_____ didn’t take compliments from strangers that often. She looked up at the guy and nodded. “Thanks…” Sloan held her hand, making sure the engagement ring was on display as they kiss the top of her hand.

“I think that my wife is quite ravishing.” They said smiling at _____. The man obviously rolled his eyes as he gave Sloan a look. Then a snarky reply before stepping away from the two. Sloan was too heated to care about what he said.

Sloan also had a habit of becoming very tense in these situations. _____s gentle hand brought them back down to earth and made them relax as they felt it on their shoulder.

“Ugh that guy was just so-“

“You’re so cute, you know that?”

Sloan froze hearing those words. Her compliments always made their heart soar no matter how simple they were. They blushed with a huge smile appearing on their face.

“Really?”

They felt like a high schooler again. _____ nodded and kissed their cheek, leaving one of her lipstick marks on them.

“Yes really, you should eat before it gets cold.”

And Sloan obeyed. No matter how jealous they got she was the one who seemed to calm them instantly. And they wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Hello bingsoo here!! I hadn’t written in a couple of weeks (I’m preparing for a trip) and I hadn’t had much motivation. However I’m back on the grind (grind?) because I love venture like y’all do.

[whoops-im-obsessed]

Moments I loved in Newsies London

UKsies is a fansie's dream, every member of the cast is so in character even after the show ends and it leads to brilliant moments and interactions such as these:

*spoilers under the cut*

During 'Santa Fe (prologue)' there is fully a newsie undressing on the side of the stage, if you're sitting in the Bronx you'll get a lovely view

Zipline

Specs breaks up a fight between Race and Albert before 'Carrying the Banner' even starts

Crutchie has his own slingshot and shoots various members of the cast with varying degrees of accuracy

*steals apples from fruit cart, celebrates, gives one to a newsie sat alone*

Splasher jumps a skipping rope, he then proceeds to do a back flip in said skipping rope. You'll be hearing more about Splasher (Ross Dorrington) he is Something Else

Race actually smokes his cigar and blows the smoke in Morris' face

Splasher gets yeeted, cheerleader style

Oscar deliberately takes the paper from Davey's stack

Les makes sure to show his sad face to each side of the audience

Newsie fully asleep on the stairs on the side of the stage during 'The Bottom Line'

'Football? VIOLENT'

Davey tries to sell his last paper to the audience 'paper for you? Nope? Okay then :(

Les blows a bowery beauty a kiss and she gives him a feather, adorable

Couple of newsies watch Medda's show ('she's talking to me!' 'Nah, she's talking to me')

One of the newsies (?Race) nods his head along to all the knocks in 'Don't Come a-Knocking'

Bowery beauty kick line punctuated with 'woo!'s

Flirting 101 with Jack: 'the new york sun? I work for the world :D' *swings his legs and shows off his newsie bag proudly*

There is so much hugging in this show, this cast is so affectionate, its adorable

'AiNt wE tHe HoI PoLlOi'

'We got a ton of rotten fruit and perfect aim' *slingshots newspapers everywhere*

References to bway seize the day choreo in world will know

'Who wants Brooklyn?' (?race or tommy boy, couldn't see) *puts cap over face and plays dead*

Jack stays to talk to Katherine instead of going with the boys, Crutchie tries to get his attention - 'Jack come on! Oh for God's sake' and walks off. From where I was sat it sounded like ffs

The newsie wheeling Katherine's chair on stage for 'Watch What Happens' rides on it and goes 'woo!', she thanks them

side note: Matthew Duckett's Crutchie uses his crutch on the (technically) correct side, i.e. opposite side to injury, random but we love to see some medical accuracy in our shows lol

Crutchie initiates fighting the scabs and looks disappointed when he's stopped

Splasher doing no less than 10 box jumps in a row, possibly more

Splasher gets yeeted pt2

Les ascending

Crutchie using his crutch as a jousting pole

'They're slaughtering us!' *Splasher gets yeeted pt3*

Act 2

Cup clinkage

Driving the tables like cars around in kony - 'Zyoom!!!"

Ascension

Katherine's fork crown, apple orb and paper scepter

Crutchie breaking the forth wall and grinning conspiratorially at the audience in 'Letter from the Refuge'

Specs coming to get the letter from Crutchie and a refuge newsie helping him offstage

Jack putting les on his shoulders in 'Watch What Happens (reprise)'

Jack dusting himself off a seat in Pulitzer's office

The general reaction to Brooklyn

Jack hurriedly taking down his drawings when Katherine's there and hesitating before taking down a pic of (who I assume to be) Crutchie

'These kids put out a pretty good papeeerrrr' *runs away from pulitzer*

Roosevelt handshake fangirling

Spot intimidating Pulitzer

Crutchie wearing a police hat when he comes back in ('aint been the same without ya man!')

Crutchie holding his character and wincing to himself after getting his papers in the finale

'You already work for my father' - cue Crutchie breaking the 4th wall again to look directly at me and call Jack a numbnuts

Race greeting Wiesel with 'hey beautiful'

Spot to other newsies 'im not scary!' *hugs*

*standing ovation*

[catchyhuh]

Building off of camping… if they were to holiday/vacation, yknow, outside of their usual “work” trips (which tend to be basically vacations anyway) how do they go about it? *Will* they holiday? Or are they dragging the others around on a madcap mission? …Where do they visit? How do they pack? What are they like at the airport?

…That’s a lot of questions. Please please feel free to pick and choose, or ignore this entirely if it doesn’t tickle your fancy, or if you’ve answered something similar already that— for some reason— I cannot remember right now!

you’re right that IS a lot!! but as you’ve noticed by now i fucking LOVE talking so i’m absolutely DELIGHTED that it’s a lot!!!

i briefly hit vacation spots they’d like a while back, but in terms of vacation PREPPING and the flights…

lupin:

lupin will call a weekend trip to some dead old thief buddy’s place he was asked to clean out a “vacation.” he loves this stuff.

packing though? eeehhh

it’s rough, because he despises packing (ironically, since he loves planning out significantly more complex things like heisting and physics for ziplines and shit) because there’s always one freakish scenario he forgot to account for JUST BECAUSE he’s traveling. he got pollen up his nose once and didn’t have any antihistamines anywhere in his luggage. anywhere. he brought stuff for nausea (which none of them even get on a BOAT, much less a plane!) he brought stuff for muscle cramps, for excessive bleeding, for swimmer’s ear, fucking everything but stuff to kill that runny nose. hell on earth

waaay too lax at the airport. way too lax. terrifyingly so. they’ll be calling out his gate, his ROW, and he’ll just casually stroll along. he always just barely manages to make it. but if the others are even one step behind him… eeeehhh…

usually whoever he’s traveling with decides to just wait by the gate like normal people do. if the plane leaves without him then thank god, right

however, traveling with lupin has one major advantage, the advantage that’s really the main reason the others will bother standing him falling asleep on them barely an hour into the flight-- sneaking stuff past tsa. don’t ask him how. he’ll get even sneakier about it if you ask how

jigen:

half-asleep the entire duration of waiting for the flight, wide awake during the seven hour process. nothing cures him of this problem, nothing. he’s doomed to live it forever

doesn’t mean he can’t pretend to be asleep so the others don’t bother him though!

window seat guy, not because he needs to see the view that bad or anything, but because he knows when he’s planting his ass down he’s not moving unless some higher power wills it. and he doesn’t want people pushing past HIS legs all day

packing for jigen is just. so simple. he only ever has like 5 suits at a time, total, his hat, shoes, all that’s ON his person as they’re leaving, really all he has to do is grab a hairbrush, cologne, and a toothbrush. he just uses goemon’s toothpaste for convenience’s sake anyway

however, he actively enjoys packing for the show it gives him. he’ll sit on the couch and watch lupin and fujiko move from room to room mumbling to themselves so they don’t forget whatever item is currently on their mind. it’s like that scene in clue where they’re all running through the rooms

none of this is just THAT serious to him! it’s just not! calm down you guys! actually, no, don’t. it’s kind of funny. look, he’s gonna forget his razor again, watch

fujiko:

fujiko packs like she intends to live on the plane. she packs like she’s anticipating crashing in the middle of the pacific on some uncharted island and having to live there for the next 15 years

and she’s a fucking tetris master with the way she packs her bags. however, this also means the cute hot pink cheetah print suitcase that she’s had since 2002 roughly weighs as much as a small palette of cinder blocks. but nobody tries to swipe her luggage because of it!

she’s never late for a flight! never ever! why try to cram in shit before the actual exciting part of getting to the destination, right? why stress over the mediocre coffee she can get on the other side of the globe, cheaper for that matter, when she can just sit and fucking relax. because for her, the vacation begins the minute she’s on the plane and secure she’s heading to her destination

which means nothing but first class. all the time. undebatable. she’s just straight up not going otherwise. you’re going to make fujiko mine sit squished between two random strangers? who don't have the decency to use earbuds?? C’MON NOW

she tends to rack up quite a bill every time the flight attendants come by with the little snack and drink carts and stuff. it would be a real problem if the name on her ticket wasn’t fake

goemon:

airport dad shit going on here to a degree no sane person would ever conceive

his line of thinking is “what if the plane is early” and despite the numerous explanations of “then they just wait” he seems CONVINCED they’ll be ready to leave without him

he also seems to be the only one with full awareness that they are. internationally wanted criminals. hacking the no-fly list to get through is one thing, but are the others not concerned about being recognized as, again, internationally wanted criminals??

packing for goemon is even SIMPLER than jigen. but there’s a certain stressor that comes with it. that’s a lot of metal to deal with at security. why am i even typing all this they already animated it

so, physically, the easiest packing job! emotionally, pretty damn taxing. he thinks lupin’s just lying when he says he just “can’t find a good way to hide it.” he knows the fucker is giggling watching him stand there silently sweating waiting for his ONE OF A KIND, HIGHLY VALUABLE, BORDERLINE MAGIC SWORD

but yeah otherwise he’s chill with vacations :) he doesn’t exactly go out of his way to plan them but yeah he’ll follow along :)

zenigata:

you already know he’s fighting the idea of a vacation, i already know he’s fighting the idea of a vacation, but we’re forcing him to go on one so we can study the scientific results

if we’re making him vacation with like. yata. or by some miracle the gang he is unfortunately the one who ends up carrying half the shit. not a big deal with yata! not a big deal with “sorry sir, my arm’s just asleep from the plane ride, could you hold my bag for a minute?” vs “well since you’re already standing by the little suitcase conveyor belt it wouldn’t KILL you to grab my little suitcase, right, pops? and maybe fujiko’s. you know how she gets. and maybe jigen’s. not goemon’s though he gets picky about that,”

cannot sit through a flight without passing the hell out. yet another point backed up in canon. somebody has to wake him up or he just won’t even get off the plane

he gets progressively more and more peeved with each minor instance with tsa and when the others give him a wary look he’s standing there, arms crossed like no no. they’re doing their job. and then the agent finds yet another pair of handcuffs and just throws them out and zenigata clenches his hands a bit tighter

[piratekenway]

for @codextober day twenty-eight: nexus.

Jacob tactfully realigns his leg with barely a wince, and says to Edward, who’s picking a bullet out of his flesh, “Let me guess. Shot to death while climbing.” “And you,” says Edward, “cocked up a leap of faith.” “Fell from a zipline, actually,” says Jacob, just as their surroundings in the Nexus change again and a figure blurs into view. Jacob realigns the other leg, so the bone sticking out of his skin doesn’t scare the shit out of them, but he sees that Arno’s gone and pulled his hood up over his head, so he says, deadpan, “Lost your face again, didn’t you, Frenchie?” “I thought the Assassins fixed that glitch,” Arno fumes. He’s careful to keep his lack of face turned away from both Edward and Jacob, and thank god for that, because Jacob caught the glitch happening once and he’s had nightmares about it ever since. “I know they did!” “I once got caught in my own ship,” says Edward. “Poor bloke had to log off. It actually still happens sometimes, I think they’ve just kept the glitch ‘cause they’ve grown fond of it.” His lips purse, as if he’s found himself sucking on a rotting lemon, and says, “I’m even less fond of it now than I was the first time it happened.”

[beaversatemygrandma]

I guess weekly yapping about people and work

work is just boring without my people around. those people made work fun. Now the biggest form of social entertainment is this one 18yo dipshit (if you follow my yapping, the snitchy and not exactly looking out for fellow coworkers one) who proceeds to do stupid things when bored. And with it being quiet season until school gets out, that's a lot. Yesterday, he found a leafblower and proceeded to speak in nothing but spongebob quotes, while occasionally blowing at one of us. I threatened to hit him with a wet paintbrush of brown paint, he stopped. (these threats are not lies. when the guys get bored, they get stupid. I've whipped a previous one with a towel bc of dumbassery, with no warning bc he scared me and we were close) Today was repelling himself down from a zipline to paint the upper part of the office. When there was a pause, i glance down the porch to see him literally swinging aimlessly from one side of the office to the other. It's the boredom. I was out back with him before that, and suddenly rope was falling in a solid stream like six inches behind me and at the end of the rope, i fully expected him to just thud right down beside me (of all things he has nearly dropped on my head in the last two weeks) but the rope stopped and I hear "oh thank god" from above. He's still alive. The boss even joked to me "tell me how loud the thud is so I know how tall I have to dig the hole" depending on who fell from this rope system today. Other than all this going on, I have been So Fucking Bored at work.

Due to all the firing, I've gotten to the point where I literally say, in front of the managers btw, "you guys make me miss (the parolee) and i just saw him yesterday." The new guys are not fully trained and lets be honest here, the one who is is fairly stupid. And probably comes like a foot away from concussing me at least weekly.

But then speaking of the parolee. Yeah, I managed to slow down his whole crush, but definitely didn't kill it bc for some weird reason I Keep Wanting to go to his place after work. Like, it just works. Guy knows how to crack my back Good which is nice after a day of work. It gives my bf some extra time to get his remote work done so he can try to actually get more than 10 hours a week in. And I guess just hanging out with somebody different from usual. Today we actually ended up being alone in his garage instead of having his daughter run up every couple minutes. I was Chatty due to the nature of today's work (painting, minor sitcom like chaos going on in the background, sudden burst of 33 5th graders in a day of otherwise nothing...) So he's just continuing his work on his motorcycle which he's just excited to drive again next month while I'm just going on about shit for an hour. Once i say i should head out bc sunset is like 25 minutes away and i can't drive at night with a 25 minute drive, he does the usual back crack (which i swear is getting physically closer each time he does by the day), and i just briefly mention this knot in my shoulder i had for the last two days which just stopped hurting. This guy straight up just grabs my shoulder in just the right way that targeted where i pointed out there being a knot and started rubbing. I melted to this. Like holy shit. Hands of a fucking god there. He could definitely tell that I just fucking melted to that and went ahead and got both shoulders for a minute before suddenly stopping and just leaving me there dazed and mildly confused about the sheer melting and says that I should go before he just does that all day. Which honestly, I'd let him.

Anyways, this is actually a few days later edit. Trying to keep this out of certain eyes. He made a more ballsy move and texted me while I was at work that summed up to how he's been feeling a bit too soft and shouldn't be catching feelings for somebody who's already got a bf and obligations and such. I ended up just assuring him that the soft is half the reason I keep coming back anyways and explained the actual situation with my bf. I'm only really still here bc I can't really go anywhere else. My bf doesn't really satisfy me in more ways than one, I remembered why he annoyed me in high school, he can't get anything done, and i just don't see this relationship going anywhere. It's stagnant and I'm bored. Apparently that was the vibe he was picking up when he thought that I was subtly giving him signs. The signs were just me when manic and feeling a bit more antsy about my whole situation. I've been stuck and wanting to let loose again. I was doing that to everybody, he's just the only one who noticed. Either way, the conversation ended with him admitting that he wouldn't be able to help the situation at all, due to his own awkward living situation, and basically saying that he just wants me to be happy and content. I also told him that I'm still gauging the level of red flags i get from him. Bc again. Parolee. Dude is Not in a good place for this and I'm still a bit unclear on what led him to be there.

Either way, I'm still just continuing. I'm now flirting with a single dad over top of his daughter while she's trying to get his attention and became visibly jealous that I was getting a lot of it. I mean, she's five. But it was kinda funny. Today when i swung by it was just casual conversation in between minor child chaos, and subtle flirting through the whole thing. Though, he went to immediately crack my back once i said i should head out, and his daughter just got all up on him about doing that for her and just suddenly wanting every bit of attention after i got a bit more physical attention. She was the first one to say bye to me. When i head to my car and sit there with the door open as I get ready to drive off, she reiterates her bye and slowly shuts the door as she just scooters past. Like this kid wanted me out of her way and he was holding back that whole time and i could easily tell. I've never had to deal with somebody with a kid like this, mostly bc the only other one didn't have custody. I have no clue how to deal with a kid, period, let alone here.

My whole thing is wondering why the hell I'm doing this. Like the entire thing just sounds like a terrible idea. But he is genuinely a very sweet guy. And I can tell I'm getting in deep bc when he's still trying to be all 'hard and masculine' I'm just sitting there thinking 'what a fucking dork.' And what still trips me up about the whole situation is the fact that he had the attention of so many women at work and he focused on me. like what. We are not on the same level in the slightest. I mean, it's a bit of an ego boost, so hey.

And you know how i said that i swear he's getting physically closer with things each day? Yeah. He wasn't as close today. Bc the kid was Right There. I was right. He's doing that. I mean, i thought it was weird that i was feeling mildly turned on each time I left, but yeah, that was the goal. Something is definitely going on there. Like it's even a doubt that something is going on now, but still. And tmi, but what really just puts a nail in the coffin for this, is at one point where i left there mildly turned on, I tried to do something about that with my bf and wow was i disappointed. Like what the hell. I mean, yeah sure, haven't really had a good lay in like two years now, but i did NOT realize it was that bad. So bad that just that little bit of contact with this guy has that much of an effect on me. Not to mention the whole sex dream with him that involved staying the night and the hot tub. I want to use the hot tub again for the sake of my muscles bc that thing was miraculous, but I both do and don't want to end up recreating that dream.

This is both driving me nuts and i don't want it to stop. So. That's just great. I didn't exactly want feeling to form for him, but here we are i guess. Probably shouldn't go for this one, but here we are.

[venturingvietnam2024]

#6 The near death experience

Checking out is probably the worst part of the travelling life at the moment, because you check out at 8am but need to be organised enough to have you day pack ready for the day adventure and your belongings for the overnight train later in the night - but you will also use the communal shower prior to that, so bag organisation is an effort!! That and the fact you lose your air conditioned room that you may have only used for one hour the night before, but hey, you keep on keeping on! Today’s adventure, ATV and Zipling! The bus left at 8.30am and Elias (Norway) joined the lobby at 8.28am, well timed. We made our way through the city and out to the mountain where the roads were as windy and bumpy as they come. Think great ocean road x2 with a billion pot holes. However, when we got to the location, it was actually quite resort-y! We were not expecting that! Naively, nor was I expecting the 10cm jungle spider outside the bathroom window (without glass). Definitely in the jungle now! We had a 3 mins safety demonstration for the Zipline, jumped in the golf buggy and we were away - plenty safe so far.. The Zipline was actually great! There were about ten lines through the rainforest with a few climbing obstacles also. Easy enough for sure. Safe enough for sure. We sat down to what felt like a private lunch in the rainforest with chicken and rice, a small soup and drinks. It was actually lovely getting my to know Elias better, at 20 on his first solo venture. His mum lives in the Arctic circle, on an island above Norway, where he also did high school. He said they love snowmobiling out there for fun, however noted you must take a rifle because of the polar bears and be wary of the glacial cracks that you can plummet down.. Ek, okay! He also shared insights on the day and night routine, with the area dark for 24 hours most of the year. Crazy. After lunch, we organised ourselves for the ATV. Another 3 minute safety demonstration and a test lap and good to go. Safe as, once again. I felt okay, having done it in Canada and thinking it would be relatively the same (minus the snow) - it was not. I legit feared for my life through half of it. Within the first 100m, I had used the brakes on an inclined hill (which is an error but the person in front was going to slow!) and started slipping backwards toward the edge - which was a drop covered into Vietnamese jungle and god knows what animals. Slightly nervy, but continuing on. The roads were carved out with valleys where the water had ran down the mountain, and the inclines were really quite steep! Whilst I pushed on, the guide helped me on two occasions because I was actually terrified to do it alone and roll the quad bike. Anywho, there are few photos of that experience, because I was essentially holding on for dear life the entire time! But - made it back in one piece, phew! Actually a close call on about three counts. Back in the reception area, the bus was an hour off so we went down to the waterfalls for a swim. Without bathers, underwear it was! The water was clear, but I only had a quick dip and attempted to dry off for the bus. That and the jungle has taken enough of me today, I don’t need to be eaten by anything in the water! Heading back, I was so glad I went on that adventure. I nearly didn’t, as I thought I was going to be alone as Elias booked late, but it was a great day! One that sharing to the rest of the group later was a fun tale, I’m just glad we came out unscathed! Vietnamese jungle 1 - Lis 0. Back at the hostel, we wandered for Greek Gyros for dinner and I showered (read, ran cold water over my body and the sweated up a storm whilst attempting to get dressed, so ‘shower’ is a loose term) and got organised for the overnight train. The days have been busy! With little place to base ourselves of late, and heading into our second overnight train, fatigue is setting in! I’m thankful my sleeping ability is excellent, but an afternoon nap might be in order tomorrow. Hoi Anh, you beautiful lantern covered city, we are coming for you!

Written Monday March 25th at 9.10pm

[ivanarias]

at mountainside pharmacy with @khalilhassan

It was unfortunate that, she had a photoshoot the next morning and yet she couldn't find it in her to sleep. Every time she tried, she tossed and turned and ultimately gave up. To make matters worse, when she got up to use the restroom, she noticed she was all out of tampons. She supposed the brightside to that was, despite her last night proclivities, at least she wasn't pregnant. She could only imagine the field day her followers and haters would have with that, if that had been the case.

Being that it was late, Ivana was later relieved once she realized no one else had decided to pop into the pharmacy at the same time she did. She took her time browsing the aisles, tossing toiletries and cosmetics and even a midnight snack or two in her basket. Once it was full, she decided it was time to check out. "Nice night, isn't it?" Ivana smiled sheepishly in response to the salesclerk who rang her items up slower than paint could dry. It was slightly annoying at first, but it became only more bothersome once the doorbell above the entrance dinged and in walked another customer. One, Ivana recognized. Though, she had to do a quick double take just to confirm her suspicions and once she had, she cursed her luck out loud. "Fucking hell."

For most of her life, Ivana was used to being the one to ghost other guys when she got tired or bored of them. But, she'd never had one ghost her until him. And admittedly, it had hurt because, she actually liked him and truly thought their relationship (or as close to one as they got) was going somewhere. Then one day, out of the blue, he just vanished on her. No warning, no goodbye. No text to say I'm sorry but this just isn't working out.

What kind of person does that??? Khal, apparently. So then, Ivana moved on, or so she thought because she figured she'd never see him again. At least, that was the plan. "What's my total?" It was Ivana's way of politely telling her cashier to hurry the fuck up.

Yet it was too late. She could already feel the electricity zipline up her back as he fell into line behind her. "That'll be $38.73." Oh, thank god. Ivana practically threw her change on the counter and encouraged the cashier to keep the rest so she could slip out of the door, unscathed. But, of course, that'd be too easy and she'd overestimated how much distance stood behind them as she stepped aside and accidentally backed right into his chest. For, fucks sake. "Sorry," she apologized, while looking keeping her head down and focused solely on his shoulders rather than his face. "I didn't see you there." Which was a total lie but, how would he know?

[normaltothemax]

Barnes is, he’ll admit to himself, a very good kisser. His mind actually went fuzzy, for a second there, and his lips are now tingling. Tingling. What the fuck even. It’s totally unfair, knowing that it was purely to keep their cover and definitely won’t be happening again. Completely unfair that he’s probably going to get socked in the mouth for it, later. At least Barnes didn’t have murder in his eyes when he pulled away, though Clint’s not sure that means much: Barnes exceeds expectations in most fields, including acting, apparently.

Again, super unfair.

The guy’s got 70 years of training on him, though, so Clint won’t bitch about it.

Too much.

“Think we have time to stop at the hotel? I wanna change first. You ever zipline in jeans? Because, let me tell you, it is not as fun as it sounds.” Not that they’re actually going ziplining, but his point still stands: they’re not the most comfortable of pants to do it in. Clint knows from experience.

He keeps up idle conversation as they walk, covertly watches their reflections and checks rooftops to make sure they aren’t being followed. He’s sure Barnes is probably doing the same sort of thing beside him. What Clint doesn’t do is think about the kiss. He does not think about Barnes pressed up against him, or that metal arm around his waist, holding him in place. His mind certainly doesn’t wander to even less kid-friendly places, thank you very much.

Because he definitely does not want to have sex with Barnes. Finding out if he’s as good at that as he is everything else is not one of the things Clint wants to do. Because Barnes is an asshole that hates him for some goddamn reason and Clint has more self-respect than that.

God, he can feel Natasha laughing at him right now.

They manage to make it back to the hotel without incident and without a tail, thank fuck. Clint can’t help but feel a bit of dread the closer they get to their room, though. As soon as they’re alone, Barnes will be free to give him shit for that kiss. Maybe he won’t get punched in the face, while they’re still on this mission, but there are plenty of other ways Barnes can hurt him that won’t leave a mark. He’s sure the guy’s got a whole list of them.

He doesn’t let any of that show on his face, though. Isn’t about to show weakness like that. Not when the guy can practically smell fear. Clint refuses to roll over, show his belly, and beg for forgiveness, no matter how strongly his hindbrain suggests doing so. Again, he has more self-respect than that.

Shut up, Natasha, nobody asked you.

Bucky's already starting to angle their path towards the nearest exit from the plaza that won't raise eyebrows for tourists to take. Blue Shirt keeps looking over, keeps eyeing him, and if they don't either get the hell out of here or find a distraction soon Bucky has the distinct feeling that's going to lead to trouble.

There is, of course, an easy distraction tactic close to hand, if he can find the right opening; people don't generally like looking at PDA, which is why as annoying as their cover is it's incredibly useful. Who's going to think twice about a disgustingly-in-love couple snogging the hell out of each other at random points while on their honeymoon? The trick is to make it look natural, and since Blue Shirt has already been watching them it's going to be weird if it doesn't fit the natural flow of conversation.

Before Bucky can actually start angling for it, though, Barton solves that problem for him. Bucky can feel himself turning, head tilting up, his eyes meeting Barton's before their lips meet and there's the kiss. Warm and slow and deep; hardly pornographic but definitely enough to make people look away.

And Barton's a surprisingly good kisser, too, though he's not sure why that's surprising exactly.

Oh well.

Bucky does his part, returns it in equal measure, lets his arms slide around Barton's waist to pull him just that much closer, even goes up on tiptoe for a second when Barton pulls away to complete the image.

His eyes don't leave the archer's face, but in his peripheral vision he can see Blue Shirt is ignoring them again, thank fuck, and they've once again become just a part of the tourist crowd. Perfect. Time to get the hell out of here. He's not exactly sure why Barton is blushing now of all times, but he's not gonna complain about it; it just boosts their cover that much more.

Lacing their fingers together again Bucky lengthens his stride to better keep up with the - infuriatingly taller - archer rather than let himself get actually tugged along. "12:30, I think," he says with a shrug. "We should probably start heading that way."

[risaonda]

venuss can u give me your thoughts on desth stranding..i'm gonna start watching a playthrough soon but i want to know ur opinions on it first

(sorry this emoji image is so big btw)

game of all time i love to deliver my silly little cargo and me and my bb are best friends and everyone hates me for it

[delopsia]

Just And Just As | Nick Furcillo X Reader

Word Count: 10,000 t.t Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: Implied NSFW, brief mentions of food. Really just a lot of fluff and borderline smut. Idk man, I blacked out when I wrote this. Gender-neutral reader and mentions of a height difference because I couldn't resist.

No, no no no, this is not how your plan ends.

The voices behind you are growing louder. Closer. They'll be here any moment. Trembling hands turn the doorknob once more. It turns. Pull again. Nothing. The damned thing is jammed and won't budge.

"Y/N!"

Shit.

They're almost here. They know this is where you've gone. Any moment now and they'll be rounding that bend into camp. One more time. One more time.

Again, you turn the knob and pull.

No dice. You're accepting defeat - the ziplines would have been a better place to run. Fuck, why did you choose the fucking pool of all places?

The doorknob tears out of your hands as it flies open. Familiar hands grasp your wrists and tug you inside. There's no time to grasp what just happened, no time to avoid stumbling face-first into a broad chest.

"Whoa!" The door audibly slams shut behind you. "What's got you in such a rush, sweetheart?"

Temptation to step back is ebbed away by the arms that circle around you, gently securing you against his chest, fingertips tracing circles into your spine.

"The campers were getting close," you grumble, peering up to meet his eye, "and I couldn't get the damn door to open."

He's silent — just for a moment, brown eyes flickering to the door, then back down to you. "You do remember..." he pauses to fight the big, goofy grin that's sprawling across his face — his efforts are futile, "that the door is a push to open, right?"

Your cheeks burn.

"Oh my god," you bury your face back into his chest, concealing your shame, "what am I supposed to even say after you've just stood here and witnessed me act a fool for a full two minutes?"

"You could say, 'Nick, you're such a good boyfriend, thank you so much for saving me from those rabid counselors and their equally vicious kids'," you're vaguely aware of a nose bumping against the side of your head. It's the best he can do to bend down and rest his head next to yours without outright bending down.

Nick's fingertips ghost up your naked spine, featherlight, settling at the base of your neck. They're firmer, a singular finger tapping the skin there until you draw your face from his chest to meet his gaze. "You look beautiful in this swimsuit," it's barely a whisper, so quiet that you briefly consider whether or not you'd actually heard it. The flame in Nick's cheeks state otherwise, visible even in the darkness of the pool room.

"I wish you could have come to the island with us," your hand wanders up to brush the hair from his eyes, he leans into it, "you would have loved the view from the treehouse."

"Unfortunately, someone around here has to keep all the campers fed," Nick tilts his head to press a kiss into your palm. He misses by a bit, getting the side of it more than anything, but still, it lands. "I've got a lot better of a view right here, anyway."

Both of your cheeks go up in flames, and you have to look away for a moment to regain your composure. You're not quite sure who the comment affected more, you or him. Words are hard to come by, your fingertips idly fidgeting with a lock of his hair. All this effort and planning for some alone time together, and now you can't even find the words to respond to a witty compliment. Nick takes hold of your hand, guiding it further up until you've fully tangled your digits in his long hair. It drives you impossibly closer to him, noses bumping together in your efforts to compensate for your height difference without standing on your tiptoes.

"I hope Jacob didn't trouble you too much while you were out," he says, with a dimpled frown. Jacob's constant pestering has only ramped up now that he became witness to a poorly timed peck on the lips — so much for keeping your relationship a secret, for your sanity's sake.

You shake your head, nose rubbing against his in an unintentional nose kiss, "he's calmed down since your stint in the woods last week." The image of Nick losing his temper and slamming Jacob up against an oak tree is one that will forever be burned into your memory.

Nick's stepping away, and for a fleeting moment, you're afraid that he's suddenly decided that you're far too awkward for his tastes. There's the slightest of tugs upon your wrist and it hits you that he's just leading you behind the lockers. As soon as you've rounded the corner, Nick's crowding your space, backing you into the corner until you have no space left to give him.

His lips bump against yours, touching but not quite there, "you seem to enjoy bringing that up," he observes, and before you can defend yourself, he cuts you off, "you couldn't possibly have a thing for me being mad, hm?"

Again, words fail to find you. You're saved by the familiar pressure of lips against your own, just a peck, one, two, three, four times. He goes in for a fifth, and this time you're standing on your tiptoes and catching him off guard, kissing him properly. Nick whines oh so softly, big, clumsy hands finding their way to your waist as he leans into it. The sound travels its way straight to your core, lighting a fire that burns impossibly brighter as a palm travels down your hip, fingers seizing a plush thigh. He does this every time, yet you still squeak against his lips as your leg is guided up to his hip.

You have to break it, lungs burning as you take a deep breath in, and with Nick's shoulders as leverage, hoist yourself up. It's a far cry from your first attempt, where you had jumped too low and Nick reacted too slowly, finding yourselves in a red-cheeked heap on the kitchen floor and fumbling for an excuse when Mr. H rushed in, fearing the worst.

Nick's giggle shatters the memory, and only now do you become aware of the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips. He makes no effort to break it, squeezing your thighs as he meets your lips once more. Here, with Nick comfortably settled between your legs, it's so much easier to kiss him, no ache from craning your neck up and standing on your tiptoes, just the comfortable flutter in your chest as your lips melt against his.

Cheeky, you nip at his plush bottom lip, tugging it in the slightest of nips. He gasps, lips parting oh so beautifully. He knows your tricks, meets your tongue halfway, chuckling at your surprised retreat. He chases you, hot tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with your own in the softest of touches. He tastes like peanut butter. Your lungs burn as you chase him back, spit-slicked lips sliding against his in the messiest of kisses.

You don't have much time, you both are aware of that, and you take the chance to break away from him in exchange for further ventures, catching your breath in between pecks and licks down his neck.

"Baby," he warns, and you're becoming increasingly aware of a blooming pressure between your legs.

The warning is futile, though, because your lips land on a sensitive spot just below his jaw, sucking at it gently. Nick twitches under your touch, pressing you further into the lockers with his hips, a newly freed palm gripping the back of your head as your tongue salves across the spot. The pressure of Nick between your legs is a new one, you can't quite recall a moment where he was ever this close.

"Baby wait, oh," he's powerless at the way that you nip at his skin, it's one of your favorite things to exploit.

Light explodes above you, white LEDs burning into your poor retinas.

Nick's letting you down almost immediately, backing away as if burned. The room feels impossibly cold without him crowding your senses, drowning you in all he has to offer.

"I knew I'd find you two stooges in here somewhere," Mr. H's voice is jarring, compared to how softly you and Nick had been speaking. It's only now that you realize that you've shut your eyes. "The hell are you two doing in here?"

"Intense game of rock paper scissors," Nick supplies, "we're going to Nationals, haven't you heard?"

When Mr. H doesn't immediately buy it, you fill in with your preplanned lie. "I got a migraine from the sun and this was the only quiet, dark place we could find," you've told this lie so many times that everyone is beginning to think it's true.

"Where are the sunglasses I bought you?" Mr. H makes a motion for you and Nick to head towards the door. You follow without question.

"Emma borrowed them for a theater class and never gave them back," at least you're honest, this time, "it's all an exploit to keep me from telling you how she's sneaking out at night."

"Are you sure you don't want us to tell you how they're doing it?" Nick chuckles, bumping his shoulder against yours with a not-so-discreet wink.

Mr. H shakes his head, fumbling with his keys. Hell, he's locking the door this time. "I want to catch them organically, in the act," he says, rather jovial for a man who just walked in on two of his counselors making out in the locker room, "what use am I if I can't even catch two horny twenty-year-olds sneaking out?"

His loss, you suppose. Ever since Emma figured out that Mr. H religiously goes to bed at 10:45 PM sharp, gets up once to pee at 2 AM, and then sleeps until 6:30, they haven't been caught once.

Nick bumps you again, harder this time, forcing you to glare up at him and acknowledge his presence. There's a red spot under his jaw and a funny little glint in his eye — like he's gotten away with murder.

"Back to why I'm looking for you, Y/N, you have a patient, and Nick, you have mouths to feed." Just like that, your excitement has exited from your body and flown off to the high heavens.

Back to work.

Blaire Whitson is one of those children that is almost always in your office, nursing a new injury. Yesterday she fell off the swing and cut her hand wide open, the day before that, she burned her tongue on a freshly roasted marshmallow.

"Why did Lucas push you off the canoe?" Talking is hard when you're focusing on this stubborn splinter, but it's all you can do to keep the poor girl from crying.

She huffs, loud and dramatic, "same reason he pushed me out of the tree last week. He doesn't like that I have a crush on Antonio."

You've almost got this splinter, but she keeps moving and you keep losing the damn thing, no matter how hard you try to keep her knee still.

"I still think he's just jealous," there's only one person at this camp who bares that accent.

"Hi, Counselor Nick," Blaire giggles. In her moment of distraction, her knee finally holds still long enough for you to get that damned splinter. She doesn't even notice it.

"What are you doing all the way up here?" You sneak a glance up to Nick whilst you reach for the Neosporin.

He's settled himself in the doorway frame, idly massaging his wrist as he watches you do your thing. "Burned myself in the kitchen," he lifts his hand, showing off the angry red burn along the side of his right palm, "my hired help turned on the wrong burner."

You don't need to ask who his hired help is. It is common knowledge that Dylan is a menace in the cafeteria and should not be allowed within fifty feet of a microwave, regardless of whether he's being chaperoned or not. You suppose that's why you've been smelling something burning for the past half hour.

"Why would Lucas be jealous?" You haven't quite figured that one out, just seems like childish bullying, but you're not usually spending time with the kids.

Nick settles in an open chair next to you, still has a faint red mark along his neck. You practically have to drag your eyes away from it, and only because Nick is leaning over to whisper in your ear. "Ryan confiscated a love letter from him this morning."

Ah.

It takes less than a minute for you to finish cleaning up Blaire's injuries, and then she's rushing off to get dinner before it's too late. She's eaten late meals in your office far too many times for it to be a fun experience for her anymore, and you're thankful that she doesn't linger like a lot of kids do.

"Sit." You point a finger at the newly empty bed, getting up to fetch a cold compress and anything else you suspect you may need to treat his burn. You assume it can't be too bad — Nick has never been great at hiding his pain, and he doesn't seem all that bothered right now.

The burn isn't too bad, much to your relief. Nick whines every time you touch it, but that's the most you gather out of him.

"Love note, huh?"

"Said something about being upset that every girl likes his brother and not him," Nick grumbles as you massage aloe into the angry flesh of his hand, "couldn't imagine why the ladies aren't all over him."

"It's almost as if people avoid bullies, out of fear of being bullied themselves," you're struggling to focus on the task at hand. Nick's uninjured hand working its way up your shoulder is proving to be quite distracting.

"What? You don't consider being shoved out of a canoe a quality trait in a man?" He teases, giggling at his own dumb comment.

"Not exactly, no," you raise your head at the same time he does, brushing your noses together.

You can't quite bring yourself to pull away. You really should, considering the door is wide open, but you can't resist just one kiss. It seems Nick had the same idea, because he meets you halfway, chases you down for another as soon as the first one ends.

"I wish we got to have more alone time," he pouts, the moment your lips have left his. "There's literally nowhere to escape, and our wonderful coworkers take over the boathouse every damn night."

An idea strikes you as you reach for the gauze. "Why don't we sneak down to the ziplines? There's a dock down there, too."

"Oh thank the Lord, are you two finally gonna fuck?"

You're not sure when Dylan arrived, but there he is, smug as ever in the doorway. Before you can ask what he's doing here, he points to your medicine cabinet. "I need hard drugs and a nap."

Ah, right.

Dylan has a habit of getting migraines while in the cafeteria. Something about the various noises and smells just sets him off. He's brought his honorary bottle of water, saving you the trouble of fetching one yourself.

"Cabinets unlocked," you supply, beginning to wrap Nick's hand, "don't overdose."

You know the drill by now. Feed Dylan some painkillers and allow him a 30-minute nap on one of the beds, and he's good as new. You're thankful that he doesn't follow up on his first statement. If there's anyone at this camp who knows how to tease without being a genuine pest, it's Dylan.

Jacob should start taking lessons.

"Is this where you go every night after dinner?" Nick is so wrapped up in his new revelation that he doesn't notice when you finish wrapping his injury, leaving his hand stuck out even as you step away to put your things back.

"Congrats, you've found me out," Dylan says around two ibuprofen, "took you long enough."

You don't have to ask about what's coming next, ushering Nick out of the room to avoid any more fussy remarks from your most frequent patient. You just so happened to have picked the one room with a decent mattress, and Dylan religiously picks that room to sleep in.

"What's going on?" Nick wonders aloud, once the door has fallen shut behind the both of you.

"That room has the only decent mattress," you elaborate, yawning, "Dylan refuses to sleep anywhere else."

With Dylan curled up in your office, Nick walks you down to the cafeteria under the promise of reheating a meal for you. Dinner is already over, much to your dismay, but there seem to be some perks to dating the lead chef. The kitchen is a damn mess, but it's one that Nick seems to know like the back of his hand. He breezes through it, alternating between a variety of pots and pans seamlessly. There's only one empty space, in the corner next to the fridge. You swear Nick keeps it cleared just because you always sit there. You're just beginning to sit down on the wooden stool when he comes bounding over like a puppy.

"Chili mac 'n cheese," he announces in his best southern accent, placing a bowl in front of you, "and cornbread." The cornbread is on a napkin, he's been improvising ever since Dylan knocked over a whole rack of plates last week.

"Is this how you got rid of all those different noodles?" There are at least five different noodles in this, even alphabet pasta, strangely enough. Nick nods, long hair bouncing with the motion. He's always like this, eagerly awaiting your reaction to his cooking.

Nick can be quite the chef when he wants to be, and that proves to ring true even with this unusual-looking chili. He starts grinning when you go in for a second bite and cheers when you give him a thumbs up.

"Do you have tomorrow figured out or is that still a work in progress?" You ask, reaching up to push his hair from his eyes.

"Chili spaghetti," he chirps, around a mouth of cornbread. He's been obsessed with it ever since Mr. H lent him the Hackett family recipe, makes it two or three times a week anymore.

You're not sure if you heard him right. "Chili what now?"

"Chili spaghetti," he says, slower this time, "my dad and I tried it after we went camping midwest last year. I've been thinking about it ever since." His stomach growls as he speaks, as if to put emphasis on his statement.

If you had your phone, you would look this up, because you have no idea what the hell this entails. Alas, Mr. H is hellbent on keeping the camp as "original as possible", whatever that means. It makes sense for the counselors, but you'd really appreciate it if he would lighten up on the rules. Especially considering how often you overhear him playing Candy Crush.

Boomers.

You finish your food quickly — Nick's waiting on you before he starts cleaning, and you'd like to lend him a hand so that he doesn't get stuck in here until 11 PM again. It's happened before and you'd feel guilty if you let it happen again. You take off to hunt down stray utensils in the cafeteria, while Nick begins the long, strenuous process of washing every single dish by hand.

"I have eleven runaway spoons and a singular plate," you announce, upon your re-entry. Nick makes a noise, you can't tell if it's him acknowledging you or if he's just pissed off with the pot he's scrubbing. He's got a glove on his burnt hand, which only seems to be getting in the way more than anything.

With a clean towel, you dry the dishes and put them away, working as quickly as you can to catch up to Nick's queue. It's not hard — most of the dishes are the same and as such, go in the same places. Between that and the pots, you catch up to Nick rather quickly. You're leaning against the counter, waiting for the next dish when Dylan comes bounding in.

"We're back in business boys," he yawns, making a beeline for the spare sink, "Y/N I hope you can keep up."

Going into this, you weren't aware it was a challenge. Regardless, you're up for it. With two pairs of hands washing, your job gets a lot more hectic. Back and forth, you alternate between the two stations, drying the dishes as you walk them to their destinations.

"So are you two actually going down to the ziplines tonight?" Dylan asks as he hands you a particularly large knife, still dripping with water when you take it.

Nick's handing you a handful of spoons as you breeze past him. "Depends on whether we finish these dishes in time and if Mr. H catches us."

The knife block is just out of your reach, to your dismay. You have to clamber onto a stool to get to it, have to ignore the amused grins of your much taller peers. Sometimes you catch yourself wishing witchcraft was real, just so you could pay a witch to make them short for a day. Humble them a little. There's laughter outside, and you're pretty sure that's Kaitlyn who's raising her voice to garner everyone's attention.

Dylan huffs dramatically, sets down a bowl a tad too hard, "another campfire without us." It's an ongoing issue — the kitchen crew gets left behind to do all of the cleanups while the rest of the counselors go to the campfire to listen to Ryan's campfire tales. You used to go with them, but ever since you stumbled across Nick and Dylan washing dishes after midnight, you've felt too guilty to not help them out.

"We're almost done," Nick, ever the optimist.

You're working up a bit of a sweat, jumping between the two stations, drying dishes as fast as your hands will allow. Nick's moving as fast as he can. He really wants to make it to one of these fires — you can see it in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, tongue poked out of his mouth as he scrubs away, determined to get these dishes done.

"Is there a reason why the nurse is in the kitchen?" Mr. H's voice is so jarring that you nearly drop the plates you're cradling.

"I want to sleep at a decent time," Dylan's tongue is sharp as he speaks, "forgive us for accepting some much-needed help."

You choose not to speak, smiling as you breeze past to take another freshly washed dish. It would be far nicer if Mr. H would go ahead and just scold or kick you out, but he just stands there in the doorway, hands on his hips, staring. His presence makes it harder to focus on the task at hand. Your hands tremble as you take the next set of dishes, nearly drop a spoon when you're separating it from the forks. 'It's okay', Nick mouths, out of view of Mr. H's careful watch.

"Y/N, get to the campfire and help with the kids," your heart sinks, "I'll take over and help them finish up."

"We literally have ten plates left," Dylan deadpans.

Mr. H is quiet, stares until it begins to feel uncomfortable again. Frowning, you hand off your dish to Mr. H and head for the door. You feel like a stray cat being tossed out into the rain, slinking out into the rapidly darkening outdoors. The campers have already been herded down to the fire pit, leaving the main section of the camp empty and deserted. Walking alone in the woods is not your favorite cup of tea. It's not even that far, but the dark forest is ominous, trees towering overhead, bushes concealing God knows what behind them. The constant reports of kids seeing something lurking in the woods at night are certainly not helping the matter.

Alone and out of Mr. H's watchful eye, you drag your feet, walking as slowly as you can manage without outright stopping. Either time must be passing slower, or Mr. H is talking the boys' ears off because you find yourself approaching a roaring campfire and the boys are nowhere to be seen. Kaitlyn's waving you over, perched up on the 'Counselors Log' as she calls it. You're still not sure how she's managed to ward off all the kids, but she's successfully staked her claim and so far it seems to be well respected.

"How did flirting with Nick go?" She asks once you're within earshot.

"Great until Mr. H ran me off," pause for dramatic effect, "twice."

"Keep on trying my little Storm Trooper," you can smell the faintest twinge of alcohol on her breath, must've been a hard day for her to dig out the vodka she smuggled in, "once you get out of here, you'll be set for life with that man's fortune."

Here we go again. "I still don't know what makes you think he's rich," there's not much space on the log, you're surprised you have room to fit. Of course, all of the counselors could hypothetically fit, if Jacob wasn't taking up an entire quarter of it.

"Dude, he was wearing a designer jacket at orientation!" Emma chirps, kicking her feet. "He has to at least come from a little money."

Right on queue, Dylan and Nick walk around the bend. Mr. H follows closely behind, like some sort of creepy shadow. Something cold hits your legs, and you realize it's Kaitlyn handing you her canteen. "Hold this and pretend it's yours," she whispers, "I'm afraid Mr. H may be on to me and my drinking habits."

There's a big shuffle to fit the two extra counselors — Jacob doesn't want to move to the edge and close his damn legs, Ryan nearly knocks Abigail's notebook into the fire and she just about smacks him upside the head with it once it's returned. You find yourself teetering on the edge of the log, thrilled that Nick has chosen to sit next to you, but it's getting hard to stay on this damn log. 

"This log could be just a little bit bigger," Nick chuckles, watching you struggle. "Would you rather sit in my lap?" 

You're not sure if it's his words or if it's the raging fire that puts the red in your cheeks. "Are you sure?" 

"Long as you're comfortable with it," he says it so easily like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

Despite your better judgment —the kids are definitely not going to let this one go— you agree. Nick shuffles a bit, adjusting to the extra space, and reaches out for you with open arms. He curls around you, long arms securing around your waist as you settle into his lap. Vaguely, you become concerned that you may be a bit too heavy for him. You attempt to alleviate that worry by putting more of your weight onto your feet than you are in his lap, it's an awkward sensation. 

Nick's arms tighten, pulling you the rest of the way down. Plan? Foiled. "You're not too heavy for me, darling, don't even worry about that," lips ghost against the shell of your ear, presses a kiss behind it. There's a loud gasp from the kids that has you freezing, fearing the worst. Did you do something?

Then you hear Ryan's voice, and it hits you that he's just telling a story. Nick's chin hooks over your shoulder, a welcome weight that draws the stress from your tired body. He's so warm, all wrapped up around you like an oversized blanket, it's like you were made to fit right into his arms. 

You've forgotten about the canteen in your hand. At least, forgotten it until Kaitlyn reaches over and plucks it from your hand. "Don't you two just look cozy," she teases, and you feel Nick hide his face in your shoulder. 

Ryan's tale of the night comes to a close, and the kids are not happy about it. A handful of them beg for another story in their shrill little voices, someone offers their fruit snacks as bribery. You really need to pay attention to his stories more often, they're the highlight of the night, and half the time, you don't even hear them. 

"I think I've told a story for just about everything," Ryan's mostly just talking to himself, albeit loudly. 

"Have you told a story about werewolves yet?" The words tumble out of your mouth before you can do anything about it. 

Ryan's eyebrows furrow, and he's quiet for a moment. "Can't say that I have, actually." 

"Hey guys," Mr. H is lowering his voice, stepping between you and the fire, "let's just skip the werewolf topic and get everyone to bed." 

It's not like you're being scolded, you've done nothing wrong, but his tone makes you feel like you've committed the most heinous crime imaginable. Your coworkers share the same expression, confused beyond words. 

"Mr. H, we still have thirty minutes before bed," Nick's protest goes nowhere. Mr. H's words are law, and if he wants everyone in bed now, what more choice do you have?

With a bucket of water, Mr. H puts out the fire, and you're once again tasked to do a job that you don't get paid enough for. Getting out of Nick's lap is the worst part—you feel so safe there; it's like nobody could lay a single finger on you. 

Getting the kids back to their cabins is like herding cats. Someone is always doing their own thing and not listening to instructions, and it makes your job impossibly tricky. You lose sight of Nick rather quickly, too wrapped up in stopping a group of boys from marching off to 'hunt down the wendigos themselves'. In a way, their attitude reminds you of Jacob. Invincible until they're not. It's all you can do to keep the ringleader from tearing off into the night, and he's only talked out of it once you're out of the forest altogether. 

"Campers, head to your cabins!" Kaitlyn shouts, "don't make me tell you twice!"

She's gonna have to tell them twice. About half the kids, including your Wendigo Fighters, trudge to their cabins, but the remaining half cant give a damn what she just said. Who's truly in charge here? Because it seems like the campers could overrun this place if they so chose. Speaking of running camps, you can see Mr. H tying some sort of rope to the side of the pool building. He's dragging the rope across the lawn, looks like he's taking it all the way across the main exit of camp. The hell is he doing?

There's a small voice behind you that barely stands out among the chatter of campers. Blaire stands behind you, Antonio close behind, holding her tiny little hand.

"Did you say something?" You ask, kneeling to get on her level. 

"Counselor Nick asked me to ask you to come and save him," she repeats, pointing off to your right.  

Ah. There's Nick.

He's amassed himself a small crowd, and he really doesn't look like he knows how to get out of it. This happens every time he opens his mouth; the kids love asking him to say things in his accent. 

"Thanks, Blaire," you reach up to fix a stray hair, "head on to your cabin now, 'kay?" 

With Blaire and her friend running off to their cabins, you're faced with the familiar task of saving your boyfriend from certain doom. You can hear the words he's saying, "butter," "squirrel," and "juice box," being the first three you hear. 

"Okay, kids, let's not harass Counselor Nick anymore than we have to," you hate raising your voice, but it's the only thing that's ever worked in the past. The kids are disappointed, but they scamper off just as Kaitlyn whips out the megaphone. 

You get the feeling that you're no longer their favorite Counselor.

With the megaphone out, you only have a few moments before you need to disappear into your respective cabins, but Nick's wandering hands are finding your waist, bringing you in for the quickest of kisses. "You never told me your plan for tonight, love." 

You'd almost forgotten about that. Had you even planned anything? 

"The two stooges sneak out at eleven fifteen; we might be able to get out after they do," you offer. Quite frankly, you have no other ideas. 

"Works for me," another kiss, and then you're separating, jogging to your cabins before Kaitlyn can come after you. It's happened before—you still think your left ear is ringing a bit. 

Your bunk isn't much, just some tiny thing tucked into the corner. The frame is cracking, so nobody sleeps above you, and you've tucked a spare sheet around it to create some makeshift curtains. It's nice; privacy is a rarity around here. As a bonus, your bed is pushed right up against the window, granting you full, unlimited access to it. You're really glad that you left the blinds open this morning because opening those would make a lot of racket.

The kids settle in rather quickly; your cabin has learned the hard way that Kaitlyn does not mess around when it comes to bedtime. She is a woman of routine, and she has no problem reminding them who is in charge. The problem is that now, the cabin is impossibly quiet, and you have nothing to help pass the time. 

Pushing open the window helps a little bit—at least now you have some fresh air. The camp is eerily quiet, forest looming behind, a monster in plain sight. You will never understand how people go camping alone. What do you do if something gets ahold of you? If something goes horribly wrong?

It feels like an hour has passed before Jacob's cabin door opens up; your watch says it's only been twenty minutes. Emma comes out next. It's clear that she does this pretty often because she makes no effort to be quiet. How Mr. H constantly fails to catch them, you'll never know. 

Nick's door is the last to open. He's more cautious about it, minding the squeaky, loose stairs far better than Jacob and Emma did. He crouches next to his cabin, only scurries across camp when the two have their backs turned on their way out of camp. Unfortunately for him, he isn't graceful enough to avoid stepping on and snapping a rather loud twig.

"Did you hear that?" Good lord, why is Jacob observant now, of all times? He wasn't very observant last week when he drove the golf cart into a ditch. 

Emma is dismissive, you don't hear what she says, but she's tugging on his arm and urging him on his way. From behind the central tree, Nick pokes his head out, wide-eyed and pale. You feel like you're in a spy movie when you clamber out of the window as quietly as you can manage. The way that Nick scurries over reminds you of a puppy, clumsily tripping over his own feet, just barely able to catch himself.

The loudest cowbells you've ever heard ring in the distance. 

So that's what Mr. H was doing earlier. You can hear his voice in the distance, a bright white flashlight landing on the two escapees. There's no time for Nick to run back, not without getting caught himself. Nick seems to have gathered that himself because he picks up his speed and jumps, grabbing onto the railing and hoisting himself over in one fluid motion. He doesn't need to say anything, you're already climbing back through the window, and Nick is tumbling in after you. 

Limbs are everywhere, you don't know where Nick starts, and you end. This bed is barely big enough for you, never mind you and Nick. He might as well be a second blanket, with the way he's sprawled out on top of you, panting in your ear. 

"This isn't how I imagined this escapade turning out," he whispers, voice unintentionally sending a ripple down your spine. He must feel it because he finally squirms himself away from your ear. 

Mr. H is beginning his lecture outside; you can hear it in his tone. Preaching about responsibility and putting the kids first. You'd heard enough of this at orientation. 

"After all, what will the parents think?" Nick mocks with a roll of his eyes. 

"If something happens to the kids, their parents won't send them back next year," you finish, much to his delight. 

Nick shuffles around, rearranging your positions to put you closest to the window. Your pillow barely accommodates the two of you, but you hardly even notice it. It's hard to think of anything when Nick's all wrapped around you, legs tangled with your own, barely an inch of space between you. 

His hand slips under your shirt, settling flat on the small of your back. "Isn't it silly that a lecture is what brought us together?" 

It was only a month and a half ago, but it feels like it's been a millennium since that day. Framed for a mistake made by Emma, you and Nick had been subjected to an hour-long lecture and a three-day sentence to cleaning. You've been bound at the hip ever since. 

"Remember the fight in the showers?" It's growing hard to think; Nick is so warm that he's putting you to sleep. 

He hums, "I was convinced that you hated me." 

You'd coincidentally thought the same thing. Strange how all this worked out. Nick presses a kiss into your forehead, then another one, right between your eyes—you can't help but giggle at the sensation. 

"Shh," a kiss to your nose, "your giggles are going to get us caught."

"Well, nobody was bothered by the cow—," you're cut off by a pair of familiar lips, effectively shutting you up. The kiss is too short for your liking, Nick may have only intended it to be a small peck, but you didn't sneak him into your bed just for a peck.

He gasps against your mouth, effectively surprised at how you chase him down, and for an agonizing moment, he goes still. Your hand finds its way up his chest, fingers splaying out over his heart, and that's what draws him from his stupor. It's a sensation that you never want to get used to, the way you fit together, the pressure of his soft lips against yours, the strength of his arms around you. 

Teeth clack together with a soft noise; your mouth opens to him, a hot tongue delving into your mouth. His tongue is rather short, can't quite reach yours unless you meet him halfway, and the muffled whine you receive makes it all the more worth it. You don't know who's melting more, can't tell who is breaking kisses to gasp for air and who is starting them again. What you do know is that it's you who moves your leg up; it's Nick who whimpers when your thigh presses into your groin. 

Oh, what you wouldn't give to be in a place where you could adequately act upon your inner thoughts. 

"Fuck," Nick pants, breathless, although you're not much better yourself. He shifts a bit, only making your thigh press harder into him, and you suddenly become very aware of what you're doing to him. 

Drawing your lips away from his feels like the most monumental task you've ever completed; it's all you can do to stop yourself from kissing him until your lips bruise and your heads spin. You don't want to go to sleep, but you know that if you continue on, neither of you may be able to stop. 

Neither of you recalls exactly who fell asleep first or when. It just happened somewhere between Nick's thumb rubbing the side of your cheek and the novelty of sharing a bed for the first time. One moment you're gazing into sleepy brown eyes; the next, Nick's watch is vibrating and stirring you both from your slumber.

"What...?" Words are difficult. Your bones are heavy; it feels like you've slept for a century and a half. 

"Just my alarm," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. 

Despite the growing need to get up and be ready before the kids, neither of you can bring yourselves to move. Nick is so warm against you, a stark contrast to the cool breeze coming in through the open window. The moment is fleeting, though, as Nick's watch reminds you of the time. 

"Find me in the kitchen later," kiss, "I have something to show you." Before you know it, he's slipping out the door and scurrying back to his own cabin before Dylan can wake everyone with his announcements. 

You don't get a chance to visit Nick until after lunch.

Usually, you have time in the morning, not for long but enough for a kiss on the cheek and a chat about the day's plans, but your day is going wrong in every possible way. First, two of the showers broke, and your morning shower rapidly turned into a midday one, and so, so many kids fell when on their trail hike with Ryan and Jacob. You've never seen so many scraped knees and elbows in your life. 

When you do finally get to visit, Nick is... "What are you doing?" 

Nick all but jumps, startled by your sudden appearance. It's short-lived because very quickly, he's grinning and waving you over to look at what he's concocting now. 

"I don't get it," really, you don't. He's got what appears to be raspberries or strawberries in a strainer and a tin can underneath. 

"Do you remember how Mr. H bought all that lemonade, and now we don't know what to do with it?" Whatever this is, he's excited, practically vibrating with it. 

Cautious, you nod your head. You were one of the poor souls who had to carry all of it in and put it into the freezer. It's hard to forget that much lemonade. 

Nick moves the strainer, revealing a bright red liquid underneath. "I made syrups," he can barely speak with how much he's smiling, "now we can have a little variety."

Where he's found the time to figure this out, you're not sure. He's handing you a glass from the fridge, already mixed with syrup and ready to go. Nick has never given you something that didn't taste amazing, and as you take your first sip, it continues to ring true. Strawberry lemonade. 

"God, you look at Y/N like they hand-crafted the universe," Dylan must be coming up with these in advance—he's too quick with it. 

"Hey," Nick scoffs, "you're not much better than I am." 

"At least I don't give off the vibes of a golden retriever." 

Speechless. That's what Nick is. Jaw slack, eyes wide as he glances at his reflection on the fridge. Now that it's been pointed out, you can't unsee it. 

It falls quiet. Nick is still looking at himself in what you can only assume is horror; Dylan is getting into the granola stash, and you're so busy watching them that you don't even think to speak. Distantly, you think you can hear Emma and Jacob bickering, a familiar sound around these parts. 

"Romeo and Juliet got sentenced to three days of hard labor," Dylan supplies around a mouthful of granola. Nick grimaces, and you can't tell if it's in response to the punishment or the granola. 

"I can't believe Mr. H caught them with cow bells on a rope," there's a glint in Nick's eye as he speaks. "What's he got them doing?"

"Do you want to find out?" Mr. H's voice is loud, booming through the quiet little kitchen, effectively shaking you to your core. You don't realize that you've jumped and grabbed onto Nick until his arm is wrapped around you, anchoring you against him. 

Emma stumbles in through the door, her cheeks red from the sun, "Y/N, can I borrow you? For...something?" Being borrowed means, you'll be busy until sundown. But you'll take anything over Mr. H staring through your very soul as if he knows all of your wrongdoings. Slipping from Nick's protective embrace, you follow her out of the building. She's got a mini play going on, but she needs extra hands, and Jacob is being particularly...Jacob, today. 

"I just need someone to keep an eye on the extras and make sure they don't wander off," she tells you. 

At first, you don't understand it, but then it becomes very clear that her group tends to wander. You feel like a herding dog, weaving back and forth and turning the little heathens back to the task at hand. One of the kids spills your lemonade all over the ground, and nobody owns up to it. You hadn't even gotten to drink much of it, and now your glass is completely empty.

Mr. H really doesn't pay you guys enough. 

"Has Mr. H been rude to you lately, or is he just doing it to me and Jacob?" Emma asks you shortly after Ryan has come to escort the kids to dinner. 

"He definitely has been sort of..." you have to stop cleaning up just to have a coherent thought. Yeah, now that she mentions it, he definitely has been teetering between pleasant and snappy lately. "Snappy? Menacing?"

"An ass?" She drops some gnome hats into her costume box, "he got mad at me and Jacob earlier just for being in the same room." 

With all of the gnome gear packed away, the two of you are finally able to leave. The sun is already falling, bathing the forest in deep hues of red and orange—a true golden hour. It's comforting, a stark contrast to how menacing it can be once the sun goes down. A shiver ripples down your spine. 

As you grow near the main building, Mr. H's truck tears out of the driveway, sending dirt and gravel flying up into a plume of smoke. Idle, Ryan stands stiff as a board where the truck was once parked. Even from a ways away, you can see the whites of his eyes, like a deer in headlights. When he finally does come to face you, he remains the epitome of shocked, jaw-slack, eyes distant. 

"What's going on?" Emma's the first to speak. 

Ryan's quiet for a moment, and then, "he's...leaving for the night?" He says it as if he doesn't quite believe what he's saying. 

There's a cheer to your left. It sounds like Jacob and...

"Nick?" You're surprised to hear your own voice. He just grins, stepping out from beside Jacob to come to you. 

"We're finally unsupervised!" Jacob looks like a little kid as he all but stumbles over to you, taking the box of props from your hands, "I'll take this."

With Mr. H gone, Jacob and Emma are bound at the hip again, and you get the feeling you won't be seeing them until morning. In the back of your mind, a tiny voice suggests you do the same, but your grumbling stomach has its own ideas. Nick doesn't need to say a word, taking your hand in his and walking you to the cafeteria. 

Sometimes you think he'd go hungry if that meant keeping you fed. 

Chili on top of spaghetti is not what you expect him to put in front of you. To be fair, he did tell you that this is what he'd be making, but it still gets you. For once, you get to sit at the Counselor's table, a luxury you don't often have these days. Nick settles next to you, absolutely enthralled with what he's made. 

"Didn't you eat once already, Nick?" Kaitlyn remarks, biting into a slice of garlic bread. Nick's cheeks turn pink, all he can do is nod and stare at his empty plate. 

Is he...pouting?

You choose not to bring it up with the others around, Nick's never been good at explaining what he's feeling, and teasing will only ensue if you ask. He does, however, scoot closer to you. Enough so that your thighs are pressed together, and your shoulders brush with every movement. You stay like that, listening to the conversations happening around you as you finish your food. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Dylan heading for the stairs, bleary-eyed and half awake. 

Abigail leans her elbows against the table, lowering her voice as if Dylan can somehow hear her over all the chatter. "Where does Dylan always go this time of the day?" 

"Not a clue," lying straight through your teeth. He's probably curling up in your office as you speak, but that's none of your concern. 

With Mr. H gone, you and the counselors have free reign over what to do for the night, and together you all decide that the best thing to do would be letting them play at the cabins until bedtime. A far easier task than herding them to the fire and back. 

The routine begins. Nick takes your dishes, disappearing into the kitchen just before Kaitlyn and Abigail begin directing the kids. In the blink of an eye, you're carrying leftover dishes into the kitchen, and you're once again taking up a towel to begin the drying process. 

"I'm here, I'm queer," Dylan all but bursts into the kitchen, "and I don't want to be here."

"This would be so much easier if Mr. H would actually invest in this place," Nick's critique is not without reason. It feels like half of the camp is falling apart around you. From the unfinished construction and deteriorating structures to its barely functioning equipment. Hell, the golf carts are so old that parts for them are becoming rarer by the day. 

"At least he's left us for the night," you try to be positive about the situation, but there's nothing positive about a whole bunch of dirty dishes. 

It's dizzying, spinning back and forth between stations so mindlessly. With no Mr. H to worry about, it goes smoothly. Nothing gets dropped, and it's looking like none of Nick's plates have gone missing, for once. The same cannot be said for the forks, which seem to have dropped in numbers since yesterday, likely at the bottom of the trashcan. None of you get paid enough to go in after them.

It's quiet outside. Far too quiet, actually. Usually, you can at least hear the kids playing or a counselor talking a touch too loud, but all you hear tonight are crickets. Nick must be picking up on it, too because he's squeezing your hand a bit tighter than usual, and he's not torn his eyes away from the path. 

Darkness has already fallen, casting a blanket of black and blues upon the forest. A full moon hangs in the sky, acting as the only light to guide you through the poorly-lit trail. The cabins are deserted, with not a child in sight. 

"Can you believe it?" Kaitlyn's sudden appearance startles you. "We got everyone in bed without a singular thing going wrong."

"Gee, did you threaten them, or did they do that naturally?" Dylan barely dodges the swift kick that comes for his shins. You don't think he'd even have shins anymore if Kaitlyn's legs were any longer. 

"It just required a werewolf story," you hadn't even seen Ryan sitting on the cabin steps. Had he been there the whole time? "Kaitlyn called for bedtime, and they scattered like roaches."

Abigail giggles next to him. "You should have seen them, scurrying to their cabins like a werewolf was after them."

As conversation blossoms, Nick lightly tugs at your hand, eyes darting from you to the beaten path leading to the ziplines. Well, here's your chance to finally go through with that plan. You move slowly, at first, feet treading lightly as you depart from your group. If anybody notices, they don't mention it. 

Then, Nick's picking up the pace, and you're all out running, wrapped in a fit of giggles as you sprint hand in hand to the ziplines. Finally, finally, you have each other all to yourselves, with absolutely no one around to impose. The forest is dark and Lord only knows what's lurking in the shadows, but the path feels like it's lit up like a Christmas tree. Absolutely nothing can come between you, Nick, and the open trail ahead of you. 

"Do you think they know we're gone?" Nick pants, just as the ziplines appear in your line of sight.

You're already stumbling to a slow walk, lungs burning, out of breath for all the wrong reasons. Nick's long strides are hard to keep up with. "Let's just hope they don't come looking for us."

The ziplines aren't as nice as the boathouse is. It used to be illuminated by a singular fluorescent lamp post, but the bulb has since gone out, and Mr. H refuses to buy "unnecessary lights." The stairs are a different monster in of itself. Old wooden boards creak menacingly beneath your feet, seemingly growing louder with every step you take. 

"Y/N."

"Did you say something?" You turn to look up at Nick, who just cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy. 

"Nope," he blinks, "at least...I don't think I did?"

It happens again, at the bottom of the stairs. A faint whisper of your name, fleeting, dancing around your ear just long enough for you to become convinced that you didn't make it up. 

"Did you say my name?"

"Baby, I haven't said a word since the last time you thought I said something."

You're not sure if you buy it or not, but Nick is tugging you into his chest, wrapping you into the sweetest of hugs—tight, just enough to remind you that you're safe. He's got you. You're safe here. He sways you back and forth, the motion shaking all of the worries from your head and filling the space with nothing but Nick. Nick and his heart that you can feel pitter-pattering against your ear. The way his fingertips trace invisible shapes into your spine, the way his cologne meets your nose, a faint mixture of vanilla and coconut that's just barely there. 

"It's just the forest playing tricks on you," he murmurs into your ear, chin heavy on your shoulder, "I've got you."

You only unwrap from each other to go and sit at the end of the dock, feet dangling off the edge. Nick's feet just barely avoid touching the water; any wrong move and you're afraid he may end up with wet feet. 

"I think this is the first time we've ever truly been by ourselves," yawning, he leans over to rest his head against yours, "as strange as that is to say."

"Do you think we'll get more moments like this before summer ends?" You hadn't intended to ask that yet, but it tumbles out of your mouth anyway. 

Nick hums, the noise sending a quiver down your spine. "I like to think that we will," soft lips press a kiss to the skin just before your ear, "maybe after we leave, we can have a night to ourselves at that one hotel in town."

"Harvester?"

"Harabinger?"

It starts with an H; that's all you can recall. It's hard to think with Nick's nose pressed against your cheek, hot breath fanning out against your sensitive skin. An unknown voice calls your name from across the shore; you know you heard it this time. Yet you pay it no mind—distracted by the kisses trailing across your cheek and the sparkling brown eyes that could drown you if you gazed into them for too long. 

His lips meet yours, a gentle, unmistakable pressure that you've come to know so well over these past weeks. He breaks it, then comes back, once, twice, thrice. You don't have time to consider pulling him into something that isn't just a few teasing pecks; he does it all for you. It's soft at first, just a simple caress, and then he deepens it in a way that has your head spinning. 

His arm is circling you, drawing you closer until there's no space between you, and that's still not enough. Even as his tongue licks into your mouth, testing the waters, he's still not close enough, won't be until there isn't an ounce of space left between your tired bodies. It's that feeling that guides you to breaking the kiss—you can barely manage it, especially not when Nick whines and attempts to chase you down— to swing yourself over and straddle his lap. 

His surprise is heard only through a small gasp. It's short-lived, his arms circling your waist, gathering you against him. Your arms are draping around his neck, and then you're kissing him again. He's all you can think of, senses clouded with Nick, Nick, Nick. You can feel him now, pressed against you between your legs, and it's all you can do not to take advantage of that face.

"You do such crazy things to me," his accent is thick as he mumbles against your lips, breathing heavily. 

He falls backward, taking you with him as his back hits the rotting wood of the dock with a soft thump. Then he's kissing you again, insistent mouth parting your lips, hot tongue meeting yours for a fleeting second. An unfamiliar heat blossoms in your core, a dancing flame that threatens to grow into a wildfire at the drop of a hat. Nicks's hands are everywhere, tracing up your spine, cupping your cheeks. All the while, he's humming against your lips, a small noise that you've rarely heard him make. 

Your head is spinning too much for you to focus, leaves you no option but to break away and gasp for the sweet, sweet oxygen that fills your stinging lungs. Nick looks so pretty underneath of you, hair splayed out on the wood beneath him, swollen lips, and glistening eyes illuminated by the light of the moon. It's hard to stop. Even with how dizzy you've become, you can't resist leaning back in to kiss down his neck, tongue soothing over every spot you come across. 

"Shit," Nick gasps, "wait." 

Just like that, you've frozen in place. "Is something wrong?" 

He shakes his head, fingers catching your chin to guide you back up to him for a sweet peck. "Not here," his voice is trembling, unable to get above a whisper, "I want to make it perfect for you." 

You're rolling your eyes before you can stop yourself. "It's perfect right now." 

"Baby, if I have you now, I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep myself off of you for another month."

He says it so seriously that you can't help but giggle. "You have a point." 

Breathless, you settle down on top of him, your ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and his arms intertwined around you like a vice. Time has stopped; the only thing in this world moving are your two heaving chests. For just a moment, you close your eyes and just breathe. 

You awake to a strange sensation. Nick's there; you can feel him against you, but your legs are swaying in such an unnatural way, and his heartbeat is no longer as loud.

"Are you carrying me?" It's a dumb question. As soon as you open your eyes, you're met with a sleepy-eyed Nick and the dark cabins looming directly ahead of you. 

"I was trying not to wake you," he frowns, kissing your forehead. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't at least try to carry you to bed." 

You grumble, burying your nose into his shirt. There's a weight in your chest that grows heavier the closer you get to the cabins. You really should get to bed, but even as Nick stands at your door, you can't bring yourself to get down. Nick's too warm to let go of. 

"Baby?"

"Hm?"

"We're at your door."

"I know." You still make no effort to get down, only clinging tighter.

Nick chuckles, low and heavy in his chest. "Is this your way of saying you don't want me to go?" 

Nod. 

If Kaitlyn is awake, she doesn't say anything when Nick opens the door and steps inside. Only when he sits you on the bed, do you let go of him, just long enough to kick your shoes off and crawl under the covers. Nick is quick to follow after you, wrapping around you like a blanket.

 Yeah, you could get used to this. 

[nat-20s]

Part 2 of post-canon Wonderful! Au because it is extremely fun for me to write!

~*~

Martin: Hello again, and welcome back to, uh-

Jon: -the shitshow?

Martin: No! At worst this podcast is like, the audio equivalent a messy living room. If there’s no worms or clowns or, or evil bosses that are actively trying to kill you, it’s not a shitshow.

Jon: You are aware that comments like that are the reason that we have conspiracy theorists, right?

Martin: Hey, I’ve read a fair amount of those conspiracy theories, and a couple of them have been weirdly bang on.

Jon: Martin, love, no, please do not feed into their suspicions. Once again, as general disclaimer, this show has no larger narrative. It really is just us having a nice time.

Martin: Seriously, though, what about our discussions of beekeeping or the feeling of discovering a new favorite album has got people believing we’re secretly vampires? Or from a parallel universe slightly to the left of this one? Could you imagine?

Jon, dry enough to chap lips: Hardly.

Jon: Though I will say, any of the theories that involve one or both of us being supernatural creatures are my personal favorites.  I’m fascinated by what people are picking up on there, considering we are two perfectly normal human people.

Martin: Well, you are preternaturally handsome.

Jon: Oh god, shut up! That was terrible! First of all, even if that were true-

Martin:-it is. To everyone listening, my husband is very very good looking. I’d say he’s a trophy husband, but it turns out he’s also smart and loving and funny and strong and kind-

Jon, somehow blushing out loud: Will you stop it! As I was saying, first off, this is audio only, they have no idea how I look-

Martin: -you sound handsome-

Jon:-secondly, my husband outshines the sun, so if anyone should be accused of being preternaturally handsome, it’s certainly him-

Martin crosstalking, pleased:- christ, being on the receiving end of that is awful-

Jon: and finally, weren’t you last week saying something about an embarrassing old men in love quota? It’s wildly unfair of you to deplete our entire allowed supply in one comment at the top of the episode.

Martin: We actually got some feedback on that. Some of it was like, “no quota, we love love”, which is very nice, but trust me, it would result in an unlistenable show, and I’m the one that has to edit it. Most of it was closer to “old men? Aren’t you both in your mid-thirties lol?”. We are, but you know how people have the sentiment of “age is an attitude” when trying to encourage 60 year olds to go ziplining or whatever? Turns out, they’re right, and we’re in our 70s yelling at kids to get off our lawn.

Jon: Speak for yourself. My all white hair and deeply limited ability to care about popular culture makes me an absolute paragon of youth.

Martin, laughing: Of course. Especially by calling it “popular culture”.

Jon: Check the tik tok, it’s the preferred vernacular of The Youths, of which I am one.

Martin, still laughing: Yes, dear. Anyway, now that we’ve said nothing of import for a good three minutes, we should get on with the actual content, huh? Got any small wonders?

Jon: Yes?

Martin: Want to elaborate on that a little?

Jon: I do. There’s. Um. I swear there was something.

Martin: Want me to go first and come back to you?

Jon: Please.

Martin: My small wonder is the third area of feedback we got about last week. Specifically, it’s a five star review from Caitlyn S. that simply says, “I Can Not Stand Them” followed by a heart emoji.

Jon: Thank you Caitlyn. We also cannot stand each other, heart emoji.

Martin: Now it’s your turn to speak for yourself, I can stand you plenty. Actually, I would say I more than stand you, I rather like you a lot, heart emoji.

Jon, fond: Someone’s in a mood today, huh?

Martin: What can I say, it’s the first day of sun we’ve had in two? Two and half? Weeks. Forgive me if I feel like everything is a bit lighter.

Jon: No forgiveness necessary. Actually, that’s my small wonder, the first day of sunshine after weeks of grey, and, more specifically, how it makes my husband obnoxiously effusive with affection.

Martin, not genuinely wounded: Obnoxious?!

Jon: Only for others to witness, darling. If we weren’t recording right now, I would be personally responding to it with some very enthusiastic kissing.

Martin:…

Martin: So that will take us to our ad break.

Jon, laughing: We don’t have ads. Even if we did, this isn’t live.

Martin: What I’m hearing is that you think we should sacrifice artistic integrity-

(Jon snorts)

-and the genuine flow of conversation, before, might I add, we’ve even done our first things, in order to participate in some, ah, distinctly non-sexual but still amorous activity?

Jon: I didn’t say that, but I’m not opposed to it either.

Martin. In that case, listeners, if you hear any sort of audio differences as I talk about my first thing, no you didn’t, why would you, because we’re definitely not going to take a 5 to 15 minute break right now.

[THERE IS A DISTINCT OUT OF BREATH QUALITY TO THEIR SPEECH AS THEY BEGIN DISCUSSING MARTIN’S FIRST THING]

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

#ALSO a fic AND edit combo?? how spoiled are we -- lucia you're amazing#now on to the edit: something about overdriven guitar goes so good with the car scenes#WAIT I RESTARTED IT AND THE DRUM BEAT WITH THE GUN SHOT AT THE BEGINNING IS SO GOOD -- *chef's kiss* timing#'come on in' and napoleon does (but he would also do it uninvited)#'the freak show parade' with them ziplining made me giggle#and then it made me sad bc i remembered the fic and i feel like illya would consider himself 'a freak show' during his episodes#napoleon would believe everyone wants to be him (i say lovingly) -- the look on his face is *perfect* for those lyrics btw#wrap your arms around me like a...fishing wire? haha get it? bc napoleon had to fish illya out? (i'll leave)#ok 'pull out the fire' with illya's angry look is everything#the scene's you chose for illya 'coming undone' and napoleon being 'the only one' are so good <3#i especially love love love illya flipping the table and setting down the phone#the hand grab the hand grab the hand grab -- i'll forever be in love with that moment bc of your edits#i've been meaning to make a post about their little looks on the boat BC IT'S SO GOOD#OK WAIT napoleon 'selling tomorrow's dreams' is so perfect-- like omg he really is in that moment (and 'tomorrow' def = them being together#giggling bc it's like waverly is God (he is) (...or at least he thinks so--oop)#HA i bet Waverly *has* had better days...but also worse ones?#wait sad-thinking about the fic again now and illya dreaming of a better tomorrow/future but feeling like god's forsaken him#something about 'you drag me to my knees but i'm still falling' hurts my heart for illya#THE PHONE AND THE FEAR (anger despair) IN HIS EYES#i saw the 'i feel the earth beneath my feet disappear' scene in your WIP post and was so excited bc the lyrics/timing are everything!!!!!#'I'm out of words' with the phone is also so genius!!!#wait is illya 'out of time' bc the watch is broken? haha that's so good#and then 'give me your hand reach out for mine' is just so good with the watch bc it really is napoleon showing love/trust/reaching out ahh#thank you for sharing!!#hurt! illya my beloved#casually re-doing this bc i ran out of tags the first time LMAO -- even tumblr's telling me to shush (via @falling-into-peril)

BESTIE HELLO tumblr is just being mean bc i don't think u should shush

also LOVE the fishing wire thing HELLO (he definitely does have to fish him out that is so silly i love it lol)

you drag me to my knees/but i'm still fallin' is such a banger line omg i love it so much actually

yes bc in that moment he is so scared and so angry and *screams*

just yes yes yes to all of this omg i loved reading all of your reactions they were so amazing (and tumblr is wrong don't ever shush)

Come Undone

read the companion fic on ao3 here

[lixiehugs]

Haruko In The SOOP Ep.1 : First time taking such a time off...

“As soon as we arrived in the forest, I instantly felt calm. It reminded me of the forest I used to play in when I was a child,” Haruko is heard in her voice-over. 

“When I first started as a trainee, I had to move here from Japan and live with my aunt. I was in third grade. I was nine,” Haruko says in her solo interview before lightly laughing.

“Hello!” Haruko greets the camera as Seventeen walk into the parking garage. She is wearing a mask, but you can still tell that she is smiling by the way that the edges of her eyes crinkle up. She does a finger heart. 

The camera cuts, and Haruko takes a selfie with Jun, Mingyu, and Seungcheol before getting in the car. Haruko also brought her bike on the trip. It’s on top of their car, along with Seungcheol and Mingyu’s bikes. 

“Mingyu, Haruko, let’s bike around a lot there,” Seungcheol says as they drive.

“Yes, let’s bike one hundred kilometers,” Mingyu responds.

“Let’s do it!” Haruko exclaims.

As the SOOP comes into view, Haruko has the biggest smile on her face. As they get closer, Haruko is bouncing in her seat. Mingyu looks away from his own window to the girl with a slightly concerned smile. 

“Yah! Don’t kick my seat!” Seungcheol calls, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

“Sorry!” Haruko answers, stopping her excited movements abruptly. Mingyu looks at her for a moment before laughing, soon causing the others to laugh, as well. 

Haruko is one of the first ones in the playroom. She kicks her shoes off by the door before almost running inside. She goes over to the floor couch first to see what’s around it.

“There’s board games!” Haruko shrieks, pointing to the assortment of board games on the side of the room. Jeonghan looks over at her fondly from where he is sitting next to her.

“Can I have a treehouse?” Haruko asks the staff when all of the Seventeen members were being asked what they wanted to have in the SOOP. Her question surprises the other members. They all quickly look at her and laugh loudly, not expecting that to be what she wanted. Haruko has a big smile on her face.

“Didn’t you ask for this, Wonwoo oppa?” Haruko asks, pointing to the large telescope in front of them. 

“Yes,” Wonwoo answers.

“Wait, does that mean I have a treehouse?” Haruko thinks out loud. She quickly turns around and runs out of the playroom, not bothering to wait for someone to answer her question. She almost bumps into some of her members on her way out. “Sorry!” she calls in response to her actions. She continues running outside without any shoes on and looks around. “Where is it?” she asks as she continues walking around the playroom. She walks around the back of the house before squealing in excitement. “Oh, my god! I love it!” she chirps before turning around and facing the camera with a huge grin on her face. “Thank you, PD-nims. I’ll use it well,” she says. 

“Wa, it’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Woozi comments, coming outside with Jun.

“And there’s a zipline?” Jun points. 

The treehouse has a tall ladder leading up to it with about twenty steps. The actual treehouse is a big room furnished with bean bags, some small couches, and small chairs. There are some snacks inside, along with other decorative and fun things. 

“I’m so excited! I’m going to spend all of my time there!” Haruko gushes, still looking up at the treehouse. She has a massive smile on her face before turning around and going back over to the playroom, wanting to see what else is in it. The members who came outside after her stick around for a moment longer before also going back inside. Haruko walks funny back inside as she has no shoes on. Woozi snickers at her.

“It’s almost kind of mean to bring us here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love it. In fact, I love it so much that I know I will be really sad to leave,” Haruko says in her solo interview. She smiles and laughs lightly.

“I can sleep anywhere. I’m fine anywhere,” Haruko says when deciding who sleeps where. “S.Coups, Jeonghan, Dokyeom, Wonwoo, Haruko will be at the upper house. And we need three more... Jun,” Seokmin announces as they are still deciding who sleeps where.

After deciding, Haruko takes off her makeup quickly and runs her hand through her hair a few times. She doesn’t change her clothes as she traveled in comfortable clothes already.

She walks out of the house past Dino and continues outside to see Seokmin and Mingyu at the brick oven.

She goes over to them. “Are you guys making the brick oven?” she asks. “Yes,” Seokmin responds with a proud smile, pointing to the partially made brick oven. “It looks good,” Haruko smiles. “Thanks,” Mingyu smiles back at her. “Call me if you need help,” Haruko jokes. Mingyu and Seokmin laugh. “Fighting!” she encourages before continuing to walk in the direction of the dining hall. 

“I’m hungry~,” Haruko sings as she walks into the dining hall to see Minghao, Jun, Hoshi, and Woozi eating together. “Come eat,” Minghao says. “Did you make shabu shabu?” she asks. “Yes, you can have some,” Minghao responds.

“Wa, it’s so good!” Haruko exclaims with a mouth full of food. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. You can praise our cooking after,” Minghao scolds lightly. 

Haruko is mentioned when Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Joshua are in the playroom together. “The reason I haven’t taken out my blocks yet is because there are so many parts. If someone walks by and a part disappears...” Jeonghan trails off. “You’re right,” Joshua agrees. “If you worked with Haruko, she would make sure that no one got near it until it was finished,” Wonwoo states, making the other two laugh. “You’re right,” Jeonghan responds. 

After Haruko finishes eating, she goes outside to see Seokmin trying to split the firewood with Minghao’s assistance. 

“Right on!” Haruko cheers as Seokmin hits the firewood with the axe. She stands next to Minghao and cheers with him. 

“Haru-yah, you should try,” Minghao suggests. 

“Can I?”

“Go ahead.” Seokmin hands her the axe, and she walks over to the wood on the stump. As she holds the axe, Seungcheol walks up to them. “Okay! Let’s go!” Haruko raises the axe and swings it down. She goes slightly off-center and only ends up getting a third of the wood cut off. Minghao, Seokmin, and Seungcheol cheer for her.

“Woo! Our Haruko!” Seungcheol cheers while clapping his hands. Haruko looks back at them with a grin.

“Coups oppa, you try,” Haruko says as she hands Seungcheol the axe. 

A little later, Haruko is in the playroom with Jun, Wonwoo, Minghao, Jeonghan, and Joshua. She is sitting between Jeonghan and Joshua and is helping Jeonghan with his Legos. 

“Look over there,” Jun says, pointing to the window. Haruko looks up to see what he is talking about. She sees Seokmin and Mingyu blowing wind into the brick oven outside. She smiles at them, laughing lightly as they struggle.

After Seungcheol goes outside to help them, Haruko ventures outside with Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Jun to see. 

“Right on! Keep going, Dokyeom oppa!” Haruko cheers as Seokmin blows air into the fire with the spinning thing.

When Mingyu is cooking the Tomahawk steak, and Hoshi is blowing the “Kwon fire”, Haruko goes outside again with Jun, Wonwoo, Joshua, and Jeonghan as they had gone inside again earlier. She doesn’t stay out for long before going away with Jeonghan and Joshua back to the playroom. She offers them a few cheers before leaving. 

When the three of them come back, the first piece of meat is cooked. Haruko jogs over to them, in front of Joshua and Jeonghan. 

“Can I have some?” she asks as Mingyu is cutting the meat. 

“Go ahead,” the tall boy answers. Haruko grabs a piece of the cut-up steak with her fingers before putting it into her mouth. Her face scrunches up as she holds her mouth as far apart as she can while still keeping it shut.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asks, judging by her expression.

“Hot,” she mutters weakly. The others laugh at her. She holds her mouth open with a hand covering it to try and cool down the food. Once it is cool enough, she finishes eating her piece. “It’s really, really good!” she smiles with a thumbs up.

Haruko is shown briefly at the end once the Tomahawk steak in the brick oven is finished and is being carved. She comes outside with Wonwoo after going inside again.

[solarsavoy]

Assassin Skills Required – Round One Teaser

I didn’t expect this to happen.

I lose my balance on the toppling platform beneath me and shoot a zipline to save myself. It attaches to a bar only for it to detach from the ceiling, leaving me falling towards a hungry black sea and wondering how I got here. It seems so unreal. Just yesterday, I was on a boat heading towards an island for some “contest”. Now, it seems this contest is really trying to kill me.

“Karma!” Nagisa yells, flying over me and desperately trying to reach out.

I don’t even attempt to grab his hand. I already know our arms aren’t long enough.

“Well damn.” I say to myself, the drop happening in slow motion, allowing my mind a moment to flashback to earlier in the day.

I was so excited, so confident, so ready to test my assassin skills here. It was the cherry on top of actually being allowed to kill my teacher. But now… I don’t know what now.

This first challenge was supposed to be simple. Make it to the goal. Easy. It was an obstacle course of sorts, but nothing too fancy. It wasn’t until something started eating things up behind us that the class began to wonder. A few of my classmates were consumed by this tar-like darkness only to cry out in agony right after, and I’m seconds away from joining them.

What will it feel like, I wonder.

I smile emptily and can hear the darkness screaming in my ears before I hit it. I grit my teeth and wait for the impact.

Well, I don’t actually know if this will kill me.

Maybe I’ll be fine.

Maybe it’s not real.

-----

Binge the entire ASR series now on AO3 or spread it out and read a new chapter every weekday on WattPad as I post it over the next few months. Please reblog if you know someone that might be interested in reading “The Contest – Assassin Skills Required” series. Comments from readers: 

tuuli – “This is an excellent story, well-written too, and I'm really curious to see how all this will be resolved! It makes sense that this is based on a dream, there really is kind of a nightmare-like quality to all that's going on. …”

moiiishhhh – “AAAAA OH MY GOD THIS IS SO MMMMMMM THIS IS SO GOOD ISTG I really love this whole thing- sure i don't understand half of the things happening sometimes but it's just so good m a n thx for creating this masterpiece …”

Saichin4249 – “It's a shame I can't give multiple kudos :( … This fic really brighten my week …”

hooootaO – “THIS IS SO GOOD WJAT THE FUCK”

viol_et_a – “That was really creepy! But what else can you expect from Nagisa. XD great job making these challenges so very Nagisesque!”

MakesCentsNotSense – “i just binge read the entire series, super cool idea!!! karma and stag talkin to each other in code... AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

  Thank you for your readership. 💙

[permanentcrossfics]

Intentional // h.s.

Gently, you hooked your fingers into the thin gold chains dangling around his neck. They were dim under the shadow of his chin and his eyes flickered down briefly as you slowly pulled the crosses out from underneath his t-shirt. You ran your fingers back and forth, moving the pendants along the chains as if they were on a zipline.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

Then, you stopped. Almost in tandem with your fist closing around the chains, Harry tipped his cap back before ducking down to kiss you. You swayed, senses overwhelmed -- his skin was under your nose, his mouth was over yours, his groan was in your ears, and his hands were slinking behind you, shielding your back as he pressed you into the shelving. Right then, he was the world. Everything and everyone outside of this aisle was muted and shunned into total darkness. Tentatively, you wrapped your hand tighter in his necklaces and tugged, and all but immediately he dug his fingers into your back without so much as taking a breath. You whimpered and, hand still tangled, you slid it up his neck. You’d just gotten your forearm around his neck when he pulled away.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

Read NOW on Patreon // Tumblr // Wattpad

Transitions were… tricky.

Before you and Harry had joined hands and taken the leap, you were convinced there was nothing worse than the agonizing tickle of did he or didn’t he, would you or wouldn’t you. There was nothing worse than your racing heart when he let his hand linger in more than friendly ways -- in the dip of your lower back, across your shoulder, anywhere he could get that wasn’t copping a feel. Nothing worse than resting your face in the crook of his neck, nose brushing his skin, and listening to him talk through his chest, voice somehow deeper that way. Nothing worse than watching his face fall when you said no, you couldn’t get dinner with him. Why? You had a dinner date with someone else.

Even now you remembered the pang of his confusion and how his easy smile had slipped from his face.

Not long after that he’d cornered you in his visibly nervous resolve. It ended with you perched on top of your kitchen counter, legs spread and him between them as you made out in sweet relief.

How’d you not known? How’d you not have any idea? You’d teased that you were blinded by your pining, but it was bad for him, too, he’d insisted. Awful wondering how to go about it without fucking up a friendship if friendship was all you wanted. All those times of trying to initiate a shift -- first with a slow drawl of, “Is this ok?” while dragging his thumb across the backs of your knuckles in more than the quick passes he’d done in the past. Then, the “All right?” he’d rumbled in your ear when he’d kept you in a hug longer than either of you usually did had you arching into him at the time. To his credit, he hadn’t laughed. If anything, he’d pulled you closer so all of you was stretched across all of him and he’d held on tight. He never let go if he could help it.

That was weeks ago -- three by now, give or take. Three weeks and the bliss of not dancing around suspicions or purposefully sidestepping signs was like a weight had been lifted from both your shoulders. Three weeks of staying in and coffees out and walking through the park after dark and in the rain because that was how privacy could be next to guaranteed. Three weeks, but no date.

“What’ve we been doing?” you’d asked when he’d made the observation over curry takeaway.

“Hanging out.” He shrugged. “Y’know? We haven’t--” sighing, shoulders slumping, he said, “I haven’t taken you anywhere, or….”

So, a date. A real date -- a first, devoid of the jitters and uncertainties that came with meeting someone new, but full of different ones. A date set with the intent of being a real date, not like anything else you’d do.

Just Harry. Just your friend, just your buddy, just someone who was no longer just anyone anymore. Harry, but your fingers shook and nearly spilled the contents of your purse when he rapped on your door.

“Coming!” you called, voice strained. Two twists of your lock later and your door was open. “Hey,” you said. Those off-white loafers he’d more than worn in, grey trousers, the cap stuffed over his hair, and the scooped neck of his tank top underneath his long wool coat assured you that you’d made the right choice with your outfit. His onceover of you was almost imperceptible -- another habit he’d sworn to you he was sure you’d noticed more than once despite himself, and one he’d thought secured him in your mind.

“Ready?” he asked and you nodded, stepping out and pulling the door closed behind you.

“Where--?”

Could you ask that? As friends you’d have badgered him, but as friends he’d have told you beforehand instead of omitting the plan.

He grinned, key fob in hand. “Thought we’d go somewhere we both like….”

“Which is?”

His eyes slid to you and his cheek dimpled deeper. “Maybe go listen to some music.”

***

The record shop was an institution. For all intents and purposes, it was a hole in the wall -- decades of cigarette smoke permeated the walls by at least three inches, and the thick floorboards were warped and creaked with even the slightest step. What the aisles lacked in width they made up for in height, with row after row of albums loaded onto shelving units that nearly touched the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Some were wrapped in cellophane, but most were opened with handwritten pricemarks affixed to the front of them, colors distorted and worn from fingers and care throughout the years.

“This isn’t ‘hanging out’?” you asked quietly, scanning the shelves as you moved along them slowly.

“No,” came his answer from several steps behind you. “It’s something we like doing together.”

“Friends look at records,” you said. “Can you hand me that one?” you asked, pointing at a shelf that was just out of reach.

“Hmm?” Harry looked up from the back of a sleeve he was examining. “Oh, sure.”

“Thanks.” You took it from him and flipped it over. “Do you have this one?”

“I do,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard you play it?”

Harry shrugged and you huffed. “You have everything, don’t you?” you said, putting it back. He smirked, but otherwise didn’t react, and you bit your lip, deflating, and averted your eyes. When he’d parked the car out front, you had felt a certain level of ease with the familiarity. Now, though, you felt like… Jesus, you hated admitting it because it made you sound needy, but you felt like you had to vye for his attention. You were his date, but music was his wife, his children, his wife’s children from her first marriage, and more wrapped up into one. At least before, you would sometimes catch each other’s eye in a way that felt forbidden or you’d trade stories and ideas -- anything to have an excuse to talk or get close.

You’d never had this problem as friends.

Your shoes thudded along the floor as you walked through the narrow aisles, the rounding corners and twisting through crates that were stacked one on top of the other -- rescued vinyls, CDs, 8-tracks, and cassette tapes that would’ve met some other end if they hadn’t been sheltered here. It was like stepping through the wardrobe into a musical Narnia where time was lost and you could move seamlessly across it -- decade to decade, month to month, day to day. Twisting your purse so it was behind you and out of your way, you started thumbing through albums, stopping suddenly and pulling one out when it caught your eye.

“What’ve y’got there?”

You jumped, throat closing, and nearly dropped the album on your foot. “Oh my God, Harry!” you whispered. He grinned widely, obnoxiously and obviously pleased he’d startled you, and if it wouldn’t break, you’d hit him with the record. “You absolute--”

“Dunno how you didn’t hear me,” he said. “Floors are--” He leaned back and forth, the squeaking almost musical.

“Stop that,” you said, turning away from him. You were reading the back when he slipped his hand around your waist, palm splayed over your hip.

“What’s that?” he repeated his previous question close to your ear. Wordlessly, you flipped it around and he hummed. “That’s a good one. Don’t have that, actually.”

“No?”

He shook his head and the ends of his hair brushed your ear. Your pulse quickened. Having him this close and letting him so casually step into your bubble of personal space and linger was still so new and unfamiliar. Even now, questions about whether it meant anything cropped up, tickling your brain -- surely this had to be an accident, not anything intentional. Surely he had to not even realize what he was doing. Surely none of this could mean anything.

Surely.

“D’you think you’re gonna get it?”

You inhaled quickly and cleared your throat, slipping it back onto the shelf. “I-- don’t know.” Your mouth was dry and you coughed delicately, but when you made to spin to slip by him, he got his hand on your other hip and held you in place.

“Where’re you going?”

Straightening up, something pulled behind your navel. Electric -- the word made you roll your eyes, but it was the only one you could describe the intensity of the charge you felt. Almost nose to nose, you could see every detail on his face. You’d seen them countless times before without a thought, but they were somehow more now. Every crease of his eyelids, every slight variation in the shade of his eyes, the patches of his facial hair that were thicker and darker than others, the freckle on his lip and the other on his chin and the way his throat bobbed, and--

“Just looking,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” Harry asked. “M’lookin’, too.”

The bell above the door clanged at the front of the shop. It was muted, distant, and voices were muffled. Next to no one ever came back here -- that’s why he liked this place. It was so deep, no one would ever find him. He could duck in, disappear, find a gem or three, and quietly leave without anyone being the wiser.

It was Narnia. Safe, surrounded by mentors of times gone by, with no one to interrupt.

Gently, you hooked your fingers into the thin gold chains dangling around his neck. They were dim under the shadow of his chin and his eyes flickered down briefly as you slowly pulled the crosses out from underneath his t-shirt. You ran your fingers back and forth, moving the pendants along the chains as if they were on a zipline.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

Then, you stopped. Almost in tandem with your fist closing around the chains, Harry tipped his cap back before ducking down to kiss you. You swayed, senses overwhelmed -- his skin was under your nose, his mouth was over yours, his groan was in your ears, and his hands were slinking behind you, shielding your back as he pressed you into the shelving. Right then, he was the world. Everything and everyone outside of this aisle was muted and shunned into total darkness. Tentatively, you wrapped your hand tighter in his necklaces and tugged, and all but immediately he dug his fingers into your back without so much as taking a breath. You whimpered and, hand still tangled, you slid it up his neck. You’d just gotten your forearm around his neck when he pulled away.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

Already? You’d only just gotten there, and you thought maybe for all his talk of a date, he’d….

Harry tilted his head, green eyes unblinking and imploring you to understand something. His cheeks were pink and he opened his mouth before closing it quickly with a mumble of, “M’mean… we don’t have to-- if you’re not, then I don’t….”

Oh.

Oh.

“Sure,” you gasped. “Yeah.”

You’d no sooner gotten the words out than he’d unwound your hand from around his necklace to hold it in his and pull you with him back from Narnia to the front of the shop and into the real world.

***

The car ride was hell. Whatever tension had settled and relaxed on the way over had grown tenfold on the way back. You were pretty sure he broke at least three rules on the way that included saying, “No one ever comes down this road, anyway,” under his breath and flooring the gas in a way that had you gripping the door and seriously debating your answer when he asked if you were ok. But the click of his turn signal before he rolled into his driveway was like a ticking time bomb.

You were home. Your friend who was a bit more than friendly had invited you home with the clear and unmistakeable intention to have sex.

With him.

That was a little more different.

Harry turned the car off and twin pops of seatbelts unfastening followed in quick succession. Abandoning chivalry, he left you to your door in favor of racing to his front one to open it up and usher you both inside out of the light drizzle that’d started halfway there.

You were walking into his house to have sex with him.

It was warm and cozy inside. Decorated in all its eccentric ways, his home felt like it was still getting used to having him home more often. Your shoes scuffed and squeaked the hardwood and his loafers padded with purpose as he went around flicking lights on to brighten the rooms. His cap was gone, having carelessly tossed it somewhere on his way in, and he was shaking his coat off when you fumbled with your bag before dropping it on the sofa and kicking off your shoes.

Ready.

Set….

“I’m--”

Gonna go upstairs.

The rest of it, though, was lost when Harry spun you by the waist and you only just caught sight of his curls — disheveled from the hat he’d stuffed them under — before he reeled you in with a smashing kiss. Unrestrained, unrelenting, and unforgiving, he was off, and it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders for dear life as he backed you up in the practiced way someone who lived there and knew every quirk and oddity of his own house might. He was free to touch, and you were, too, and you did. You touched his back, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, the zipper on his trousers, and his thighs with greedy hands that were learning as fast as they could. As in the shop, again he pulled away and grabbed your hand to lead you up the steps, and your knees quaked so badly you nearly fell down more than once on the way up.

You felt naughty. The same frantic energy of two teenagers trying to beat the clock after school before Mum came home to make dinner pricked you, and judging by the permanent smile pulling his mouth and carving smile lines deeper, he felt it, too. Hurry up, quick, before anyone caught on that you were going to have sex with your friend Harry.

“Everyone probably thinks we’ve already--”

His barking laugh cut you off -- a little wheezy, but it was deep from his belly, and infectious -- and you followed him, giggling, into his bedroom.

It smelled like him. It was the whiff you got when you hugged him, or, more recently, kissed him, but even more, and it was so concentrated it made you woozy. The bed was made, if haphazardly -- like he’d decided on it while getting dressed because he thought he should, but he hadn’t wanted to spend the time on doing it right -- and clothes were visible through half-open drawers and draped onto the stuffed armchair in the corner of his room.

“Did you clean?” you teased. He exhaled sharply and shook his head, but his mouth quirked at the corners and his cheeks were pink. Biting your lip, you squeezed his hand and he stepped closer.

“Is this ok?” he asked. Nodding, you tilted your head up slightly to meet his mouth. Less hurried and violent than the one downstairs, this kiss reached deep, stirring up nerves and butterflies. Each time he broke it, you chased him for more, and he smiled into it, pressing his warm hand on your cheek. “Gonna take your clothes off now,” he mumbled between several smacking kisses.

“Ok….”

Your clothes and his were gradually removed -- button by button, snap after snap, and zippers, too, slowly and with careful intent despite the rush you were both in. Discovering him and having him discover you was nothing short of exhilarating. Harry drew his hand over your bare shoulder with almost curious possessiveness before ducking down and sponging kisses up and down it that had your eyes fluttering shut and your head rolling back. He groaned in the back of his throat and his teeth scraped your skin when he bit you gently, pulling a gasp from you and you yourself back to consciousness.

Dazed and lips parted with each gulping breath, you stared at him. His hair was dark and twisted, pulled this way and that by your hands and his, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, the same crosses you’d tugged earlier glinting in the streaks of soft grey light peeking through his curtains. Even the most faded ink on his torso and arms seemed to pop bright and black on his skin, and without thinking, you pressed your palms to it, absorbing the warmth as you skated over him before doing as he had and leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder.

How many times had you suppressed thoughts of kissing his skin? How many times more had you indulged in them feeling guilty and unsure, because he was your friend and things weren’t like that for either of you? How many times had you wondered when you’d get to do this since things had shifted? You kissed and pulled at the skin along his shoulders, chest, and arms, relishing his stuttered breaths, and you only paused when, glancing up, you caught the look on his face. With hooded eyes and a parted, bright red mouth, he looked like a man -- not a man who was your friend, but a man you wanted to rip into and who you wanted to rip into you. A man who could, and was perfectly capable of it, and who would without even having to be asked if you only said yes, please. It was feral, it was instinctual, and you clapped your hand behind his neck before smashing your mouth to his with a desperate whimper.

Harry turned you smoothly onto his bed and you squeaked when your back hit the mattress with a bounce and he went with you. You were covered by him from head to toe, and you ran your foot up his calf, hooking it around the back of his knee. “Ha--” muffled against his mouth, he groaned immediately.

“I know,” he said. “I know, I know….”

One bra strap and then the other snapped when he slipped them down your arms, but the sting barely made an impression when he let out a slow, hot breath against your chest and peppered kisses over the tops of your breast. Nose pressed to your skin, he took a deep breath, and the anxiety that had wound itself into tight little balls in you of unchecked energy gradually loosened and dissolved. He was nervous -- not enough to inhibit him, but enough to roll off him and onto you. You almost laughed. You’d been so focused on your own perspective, you’d lost sight of the fact that this was different for him, too.

His best friend was in his bed, nearly naked, and he was about to have sex with them.

“Is this ok?” you whispered over his head. Harry stopped and looked up at you.

“Is…?” He grinned, laughing, and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s great.”

Simple and silly, that one word sent you soaring. Great -- you were great. This was great. Pushing his chest, you sat up when he rolled off you as you wordlessly reached behind to unhook your bra. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped automatically when you shimmied it down your arms, and you smirked in a way you hoped was half as coy as you’d tried to make it.

“Go,” you murmured, pushing his chest again.

“Ah,” Harry said, doing as you asked and falling back onto his elbows. “They like to be in charge, then?”

Heat crept up through you when you straddled his thighs. “Sometimes.” You slipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, noticing very briefly how soft his skin was against your knuckles before you pulled the elastic firmly. Harry lifted his hips so you could get them down, and just as his had, your eyes dropped despite yourself. Mostly hard, he rested against the crease of his thigh. Any number of adjectives ran through your head, and you only realized you were still looking, lost in thought, when you caught the cocky twist of his mouth.

“Go on, then,” he said quietly. Snorting, you rolled your eyes and fell forward, chest-to-chest with him, and he drew you up into a kiss. Smashed together, you stayed just like that, hands stroking, dipping, and exploring bare skin. You shivered when he slipped his hand into your underwear to knead your ass, and your wriggling made him grunt in a tortured way. “Condom’s in the drawer,” he mumbled. “Gonna… have to… wait… wait here.”

Harry gently eased you away by the waist before rolling across his bed and stood to open his bedside table. You dropped your head onto his pillow and watched him with a small smile. “Were you planning this?”

He tore a condom off the strip. “No. I mean….” Harry shrugged. “Had hope that… maybe eventually… y’know…” he said sheepishly. He looked at you as if gauging your reaction. “Is that…?”

Your smile widened and you held your arm out, inviting him back, and he let out a deep breath, taking it.

“Know how t’keep me on my toes,” he mumbled.

“Good,” you said just before kissing him, arm tight around his neck. He inhaled deeply and sheets rustled as you rolled in them, turning him onto his back and sending you with him. With your weight settled on top of him, you lay there comfortably, languidly kissing through soft, breathless moans. He, for his part, seemed content to let his hands wander the sides of your breasts, your back, your hips, over your ass, the crease along your thighs, and finally….

You stilled with a gasp when he slid the pads of his fingers over you -- up and down, up and down -- before he carefully parted you with just the tips. Gulping, you broke from his mouth and rested your forehead on his shoulder with a rattling breath, gripping his bicep and shifting to bring one of your knees up. Harry grunted and adjusted himself beneath you before pressing a kiss to your ear and sliding his fingers deeper. He curled them and your mouth fell open. Beneath you, he chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he pumped them in and out of you, each wet, slick stroke somehow louder than the last. God, could he hear that? Of course he could.

“Come on,” he whispered, gradually slowing his fingers. He pulled them out and drew them up your skin, leaving a sticky trail behind. “Come….” The wrapper crinkled when you tore into it, and he pinched the top while you smoothed the condom down to his base. Hands braced on his chest, you held your breath as you settled over him.

“Breathe,” he warned, jaw tight and eyes flickering between your face and where you were above him. “Breathe, yeah? Just--”

“I’m ok,” you assured him, drawing his head between your legs, sliding it until you found your entrance. “I’m….” You trailed off into a sigh when you opened around his head, and, swallowing hard, you eased down, down, down onto him until you were nearly seated on his thighs. “Oh my God,” you moaned under your breath.

“Breathe,” Harry said again. Eyes closed, you did as he said, taking slow, deep breaths in and out. He was… this was a stretch. Not painfully so, but one regardless. You pulsed, grimacing immediately, before rocking on top of him. There -- that wasn’t so bad. Not at all, even, that was good. Hands still on his chest, you braced yourself and pushed back and forth, slowly at first and then with more certainty. Beneath you, Harry grunted and clapped his hands over your hips as if caught off guard. “Shit,” he breathed.

Eyes stamped shut, he tilted his head back, drilling it into his pillow, and you marveled at the long column of his neck. You watched his throat bob several times and you followed the path up to his sharp jawline, his tight mouth, to where his nose was flaring harshly. He laughed breathlessly and opened his eyes, but there was an unfocused gleam to them. “Y-y’killin’... killin’ me,” he stuttered. “You….”

He trailed off when you hooked your fingertips into his chains again and tugged. His chin doubled when he lifted his head and when he locked eyes with you, you grinned impishly before easing down onto him. Clapping a firm hold on your ass, he brought you down hard and you groaned abruptly. That was deep -- that was in your belly -- and your face screwed up when he did it again and again, thrusting his hips sharply against yours.

“Oh my-- Harry-- fuck!”

The bands of his rings, warm from his body heat, pinched your skin when he tightened his hold. He practically shook beneath you with the effort he was using, every breath labored, but suddenly, he stopped. Before you could so much as whisper, the world spun around you and you were on your back, empty.

“Shit!” Harry spluttered, pushing his fingers through his now damp hair. It fell right back in front of his forehead and you let out a wheezy stream of giggles. “That-- that was not supposed to be that….”

You laughed louder and he kissed your jaw, grinning against it while kneading one of your breasts, thumb rolling back and forth over your nipple. Eyes closing, you sighed breathily when he ducked down and sucked with a low, reverent groan and incomprehensible mumbles. When he stretched out above you again to push in, you wrapped both your arms around his back as yours arched with a quiet moan.

“God, this feels good,” you said, candid and unprompted, sinking into the feeling as he sank into you.

“Feels amazing,” he said. “Feels so fucking….” Grunting, he shuddered and dropped nearly all his weight on top of you. “Bring your legs up,” he said. “Bring your legs--” You complied, locking your ankles just above his ass, thighs spread wide. “Good, good girl.”

“You like to… to be the boss?” you teased, echoing his earlier jab.

He thrust sharply, punching a shout from you.

“Yes.”

Again and again he drove into you, and it was all you could do to grab onto him. He’d been holding back! He’d been holding way back! You hiccuped a breath and pressed your mouth to his shoulder, face twisted as you grappled his back with shaking fingers. This was good sex -- this was the type of sex that elevated you and made your toes shake and curl while you gasped for breath. The type of sex where you were going and going until you lost your breath right on the edge and you had to pause and feel the tickles of an orgasm slip away because it was that or pass out cold. This was sex you kissed and bit your way through and would leave you sore from your scalp down through the balls of your feet. It was roll over, lift like this, deeper, there? There sex. This sex was….

You weren’t sure at first because it felt fast, but it was confirmed with the first contraction deep in your abdomen. “Oh my God,” you moaned in disbelief. One of your hands slipped against his back and he hissed, faltering for just a moment as you uttered a pitchy, “Sorry… sorry!” while finding your hold both in his firm upper back and the softer muscle close to his hips.

“Close?” he ground out, voice muffled, and you nodded against his shoulder, turning your face into his sweaty neck. The smell of cologne and sweat was strong, almost dizzyingly so, and each new contraction brought on by his pelvis grinding against yours made it worse.

Swallowing, mouth dry, you whispered, “I’m think I’m gonna cum,” in an almost confessional tone. “I think--”

“Ok!” he said under his breath. “Ok-- oh, shit….” He moaned, a long, loud, drawn out sound and his hips faltered. ‘Wait! Wait, fuck!” Breathless and keening he thrust roughly, like he was trying to beat a clock only he could hear, breathing raggedly under your ear. Panting, you locked your arms and legs around him. You’d never been particularly loud -- years of necessity had built a habit -- but you could hear yourself now, calling out things that didn’t even make sense, writhing underneath him like you were out of your mind. It was almost pornographic, and you almost laughed, but it got caught in your throat when your cunt pulsed and your whole body tightened.

“Oh, Harry, oh, God!”

Harry smashed a stubbly kiss to the corner of your mouth, and his chin hit yours so hard it hurt. Your eye watered, whether from pain or the intensity of him still grinding, but seconds later through sputtered pleases and increasingly frantic thrust, he groaned so deeply you felt it in you. You went entirely still as he trembled, cock throbbing, and in the next minute he’d collapsed full weight on top of you. You sucked soft, wheezy breaths in as best you could, but your lungs were crushed in your chest with the pressure he was putting on them. Just as you were about to ask him to… maybe… please, Harry… move… he pushed up and off you to the side just enough to relieve you.

“Shit!” he rasped, face planted against your shoulder. “Shit.”

Yeah. Shit. Did you say it out loud? You couldn’t tell -- you couldn’t tell much of anything anymore. Everything was somehow pleasantly hot and numb at the same time, and you were thirsty. Your head was ringing, too, and you couldn’t remember the last time sex had left you this finished. Totally and thoroughly finished.

You’d done it. You’d had sex with him, with intent, and it was incredible.

Harry slipped his hand around your bicep and squeezed, pressing kisses to your skin in silence. Your lips quirked, but any quip was half-formed, and each one died on your tongue. Gradually, your breathing settled and the roaring silence did, too. Outside, the clouds had passed, and raindrops clinging to the window panes were slowly drying up in the sun that’d deemed it safe enough to peek again. It was still early -- after the nerves, the jitters, the trip to the shop, dancing around each other, and flooring it back to his place, and the sex, there was still most of a day ahead of you.

With a final squeeze, Harry kissed the top of your breast before rolling away, bed creaking beneath him. Shaking his head, he stood, and picked his trousers off the floor before patting them down and taking out his phone.

“S’get summat t’eat,” he mumbled, voice thick, as he passed it over to you. “Lemme buy.” He gestured to himself vaguely. “Gonna go… and maybe pick up that record you didn’t know I had.”

He stumbled, waving you off when you giggled. Just the same as before -- lunch in the afternoon with albums spinning until you couldn’t stand to get up to change them again -- but with a few crucial differences that made it so much better.