#I don’t think I can watch it if a single iPhone is in any shot

[idealisticrealism]

TCL 2x08 recap

Well, I guess it’s not surprising that I broke my record with this one lol. Honestly this episode made me suffer so goddamn much and I loved every single minute of it. 

So in honour of the hiatus this week, have this very belated monster instead lol

Like seriously, you already know you’re ~In For It~ when the ep opens with Thony watching her baby boy sleep like she’s been sitting there practically all night ugh.  And then her hurriedly packing a bag with enough clothes to last at least a week or more and not even waiting for the rest of the household to wake up before getting Fi to get them out of there?? God you just know she spent the whole night thinking about the danger she’d put them in, and all the choices she’d made, and now she’s doing what Thony does and Trying To Fix Everything Herself. At least she finally tells Fi a tiny bit more about what’s going on with Garrett and the FBI though (sidenote: I find it really cute to imagine the conversation last night where the family is all ready to go to bed and Garrett is just like ‘oh don’t mind me, I’m just gonna hang here on your couch for a couple hours… any chance you have an iphone charger?’ lol). But ugh I love Fi’s “If we go, we go together” to Thony bc firstly these two and their sisterhood gets me every time, but also it’s reminiscent of Arman’s “We’ll do it together” from 2x07, and now I’m emotional thinking about the fact that for years Thony could only truly rely on herself, and now she is surrounded by people who love her, who want to help carry her burdens with her and who would do anything for her. Plus the whole “Oh so this is about him?” / “No, it’s about you! It’s about our family” exchange is so goddamn amazing because the truth is that it’s both– Fi and the kids are her family, but now Arman is her family too, and she is doing whatever she can to protect them all ughhhhhh

Ugh Chris and Fi continually have such incredible scenes together. I love their dynamic, the conflict and the support and the way that they’re still always a team. There’s such a well done mix of parent-child dynamic (like her reassuring him when he started to freak out that the cops had come back), and a kind-of-team-mates situation (him helping get the kids ready to go to JD’s, etc), which makes a lot of sense for an oldest child and a single parent. Chris has shown before that while he’s definitely a moody teenager lol, when it comes down to it, he really does take that ‘man of the house’ role seriously and if Fi’s biggest protector– like when he got in between her and Marco and defended her when Marco was yelling at her in like 1x09 or whenever that was. Which is probably partly why he ended up going to the police station too, because he couldn’t face her being punished in order to protect him when his whole job (as he sees it) is protecting her. 

Honestly this show just loves stomping on my heart– Thony’s face as she says goodbye to Luca just kills me, because it just takes me back to 1x06 and “I just want to hold Luca without thinking it’s going to be the last time, you know?” ughhhh.  Back then it was Luca who could be taken from her at any moment, and while tbh that still remains a possibility (whether from rejection of the liver, or one of Kamdar’s men coming after him), now the fear is more that she might be taken from him, that she won’t live to see Luca and the others come home. And god the shot of her standing there alone as they drive away, not even able to force a smile and a wave as they go?? I already feel personally attacked by this episode and we’ve literally only just gotten to the title credits ugh

Ok as much as I hate female characters being killed off to further the development of a male character, I do kind of look forward to seeing what happens with Garrett as a result of all this. Also oooh his suggestion of a mole is interesting– hopefully not Jefferson though, bc he’s cute and I like him haha. I think Garrett might be grasping a bit at the mole idea because if that’s not the case, then he’d have to face the idea that maybe it was him that messed up and left her vulnerable somehow. Also lol getting Kamdar on profiteering is so Al Capone; he’d probably love the idea of following in such famous footsteps. He’d have his lawyers get him off immediately though, bc lbr he can afford the best. But damn Russo’s “[these men are] never the ones pulling the trigger”-- don’t we know that all too well ugh

Of course Thony is doing housework lol– I’m going to take that as a subtle throwback to 1x01, when she was frantically cleaning the kitchen after Theo’s murder and Fi said that she does this when she’s spinning out. Bc though she looks outwardly calm rn, I definitely think she is spinning out, especially with the way she freezes at the knock on the door. But ugh the way she practically slumps in relief at Arman’s voice just gets to me; she’s there alone, spending every moment in fear of someone coming to hurt or kill her, and then the one person she feels safest around– who has literally proven (twice!) that he’d kill for her– turns up instead. (I’m not crying, you’re crying). Though I’m guessing she was expecting him– from the way they talk about meeting with Garrett, it sounds like they’ve been in communication between last night and now; plus, given that Fi took the van, Thony has no transport to get to any meeting location. But ugh the way he only ventures a few steps into the laundry– far enough that he gets a small glimpse of the rooms beyond, but still not really entering her home, because he has no idea whether he would be welcome in that space or not. And when he sees the neatly made bed that is clearly Luca’s, and hears the kind of eerie silence that never exists in a house full of kids, he knows what she’s given up because of him. I love his “you should have gone with them”– telling her that she doesn’t need to see herself as trapped like he is, and that he wouldn’t blame her if she left, even if it caused Kamdar to retaliate against him. Her safety is what matters to him more than anything else. And then omg when he says he’s going to stay with her (Is anyone else hearing faint strains of ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’ playing in the distance or is that just me??), and she just nods???? (never mind me, I’ll just be over here screaming into a pillow for a few minutes at the idea of them staying there alone together aaaahhh). But also oh man I am obsessed with the fact that the old Thony would have said that she was fine, that she was handling things and she could manage on her own. But now she has learned to trust him, and to let herself rely on him to be there for her. She knows that she’d be safer with him there, and she also knows that he doesn’t have a place of his own at the moment– but above all that, she just wants him there. She needs him, and she’s still hurting for the both of them about what happened last night– you can see it in the way her eyes are less able to hold his, and hear it in “I keep playing it in my mind… what he made you do…” ughhhh.  I love her line “maybe we could have done something different” because I could see him instinctively taking that to mean she wished that he had found another way, had made another choice rather than shooting Maya; but she’s actually wishing they’d been able to do something that would have prevented Robert ever using him in that way, would have prevented that pain and burden being put on him. Like I definitely think she is struggling a lot with Maya’s death, but when it plays over in her mind, I don’t think it’s Maya that she’s focused on. I think it’s Arman’s face that she keeps seeing, the panic and then the pain as he realises what he’s going to have to do, and the devastation afterwards, his tears in the car still haunting her. Honestly even though this show hasn’t given us a Thony-crying-in-the-shower scene since the pilot (which is both a good thing and a tragedy, honestly lol), I’m absolutely certain she sobbed in the shower last night after taking off that red dress. Crying for Maya, for Garrett, for herself; but above all, for Arman.

And now, standing here with him in the laundry, she seems like she’s trying not to cry again, her voice all low and her body tense, and it’s only a minute before he cracks and has to reach for her; he’s clearly been holding himself back from her but he just can’t anymore. But ugh the gentleness of the way he touches her arms– instead of just pulling her into an embrace, he basically asks permission to hold her, giving her the chance to either step back and maintain her space, or to lean into his support. And though she hesitates for the tiniest moment– which I’m interpreting as her being afraid to hold him because she feels that if she does, she might not be able to bring herself to let go– she soon gives in and just lets herself have this, lets herself lean into him and wrap her arms around him. Tbh I wasn’t sure at first if her arms were still kind of between them, but after many rewatches I’m convinced she’s definitely holding onto him– and plus I stg there is a sound right before she sighs, like movement against fabric, and I choose to believe the sound mixer person put it in there as the sound of her arms wrapping around him under his jacket lol. And then oh god the sigh. The way she closes her eyes and lets out that breath, lets herself have just those couple of seconds to forget everything else and just be held by him?? Help??

Except ugh that’s all she allows herself– after that one brief moment, her eyes open again and her jaw clenches, and she bites her lip and holds on just that little bit tighter before she forces herself to move back and away, getting them both back on task. And he lets her go immediately– the whole time through the hug he kept his grip light, giving her the control, and honestly the hint of reserve in the way they hold each other makes perfect sense. For him, it’s about not wanting to push her; for her, it’s about protecting herself. She may trust him completely, and be able to rely on him for anything, but she’s careful with her heart, and he’s still married. He’d never deliberately string her along or hurt her, of course, but his situation is still complicated and she doesn’t know what is going to happen. What she does know, though, is that she loves him, and that this might be all she ever gets to have of him. 

God it is such a blessing that the caddy is so recognisable (and probably very inefficient in terms of gas lol), because it means that the bike is the go-to choice for transport these days, and I am so supportive of this lol. Not only is it hot, but I am definitely into all the semi-embracing involved haha. Like what’s the bet Thony actually holds him closer than she needs to on the ride, sinking into him in the way she couldn’t allow herself during their hug? And ugh they look like such a sexy matching pair with their jackets (ngl I saw a jacket the other day that looked a fair bit like the one she wears in this ep, and I ended up buying it lol), which just further highlights their partnership as they face off against Garrett. But oh boy, this is awkward: “now we’re going to take Kamdar down for murder. Him, and whoever pulled the trigger [...] I’m going to make sure every one of those bastards rots behind bars” and lol well if they were planning on trying to tell you the truth before, Garrett, they sure ain’t now.  And ugh the way Thony stands up to him and says that they can’t help him catch Maya’s killer, and Arman immediately looks at her– possibly wondering if she’s about to tell the truth, but trusting her enough not to try to stop her if she is– and then instead she protects him, using logic to explain to Garrett why they can’t help, yet still lying to him just like she’d said she didn’t want to do. Honestly I love so much that even despite her reluctant regard for Garrett, and the way she feels indebted to him for the ways he’s helped her family (though lbr that’s got to be tempered by the ways in which he has previously also hurt her and her family), there’s no question about which side she’s on. Even from the start, her loyalty to Arman outweighed Garrett’s threats and the power of the law behind him, and though she wants them all to be on the same side, she will protect Arman to the end, even if it means completely betraying Garrett and screwing him over. Still, she and Arman are caught between a rock and a hard place rn, trapped by both Kamdar and by Garrett. But if they can take down one, they can be free of the other, so they agree to set up the meet to trap Kamdar. I love that when he brings out the listening devices (sidenote: they’re cool and I’d probably choose the USB or the necklace lol) Arman immediately refuses to let Garrett put her at risk by making her wear one, while Garrett tries to push her into it by using her family as an argument– and I could have easily seen that escalating into a conflict between the two men but Thony just calmly uses logic again and tells Garrett about Kamdar always checking for wires. And ughhhhh that means that this is yet another moment where the writers could have given me the gift of the Robert-making-her-undress reveal but didn’t! Goddammit haha. Anyway to Garret’s credit, he does actually listen to her most of the time, which is why I can’t help but have a certain fondness for him haha. But ugh I’m forever obsessed with all the little glances between Thony and Arman in this scene, the silent conversation happening that Garrett is not a part of– this is some legit married behaviour lol

Okay I’m like unreasonably delighted by the fact that Thony brings Arman in through the front door this time? Like look it could have purely been due to filming factors (ie, having the whole thing shot in the kitchen/lounge area saves having to film them walking through the laundry first), but still. The symbolismmmmm. @enigmaticfox has already made this amazing post about it (seriously go read it) and like she said, there’s something so impactful about the way Thony opens the door wide and grants him access (get your mind out of the gutter Laura), and then when he hovers in the kitchen– looking to her for direction, not wanting to overstep his bounds– she instantly invites him further into her space, the place that is her home and her sanctuary. I love that she takes her shoes off– part habit, of course, but also a sign of feeling comfortable and secure– while he leaves his on. Which is also likely partly habit, since leaving shoes on in the house is common in the US, and also when a guest in another’s home in Mexico. But I also think he is half-expecting to be dismissed at any moment, and so taking off his shoes would feel kind of presumptuous, like it would be sending a message that he’s now here to stay regardless of what she wants. And ugh the way his eyes move around the space, taking it all in, and then focus over in the direction of Luca’s room– while he doesn’t look directly at her bed, I’m choosing to believe he clocked it and realised that that area is her ‘bedroom’, and so despite his intense curiosity about this aspect of her life that he hasn’t yet seen, he respectfully keeps his gaze away, letting her have her privacy. And then ugh I could even get all metaphorical about the way he sits on a single chair while she sits on a couch (aka, furniture which is designed to be shared by multiple people) and also with one of Luca’s toys right next to her– her family isn’t there, but they’re there, always beside her; meanwhile he's alone, visibly separate– except that with her body language, she bridges that gap between them. And don’t even get me started on the way she crosses her legs up under her, much like she does when around her family– like with her taking the shoes off, this is another sign of how safe she feels with him, basically the human equivalent of how a cat will only sleep with its paws tucked under its body when it's around people it trusts. You don’t sit like that if you feel there is any chance you need to escape the situation or protect yourself; it's purely the way our instincts are wired. But ugh anyway of course his first question is to ask her if she’s okay– he knows her, can see she’s struggling just from the look on her face, from the way her eyes are mostly fixed elsewhere rather than meeting his; and all he wants to do is try to ease that burden. I think that being in her space– what is so clearly a family home, but now completely devoid of that family– has really highlighted to him what helping him has cost her, what it could cost her if they don’t get this situation with Kamdar and the FBI resolved as soon as possible; he suddenly feels he’s done nothing but drag her into danger and pain and emotional turmoil, and you can hear in his voice that when he says “then you can get back to your family and forget about all this” he also means forget about me. And then when her response to that is to look him in the eye and tell him “We have to be done with this guy”, you can see how it affects him– there's something so soft and grateful in the way he looks at her ugh, knowing that even after everything she’s been through because of him, she still hasn’t abandoned him; that they’re still in this together. 

So I’ve decided that Agent Chan is one of my favorite side characters lol. She was there during the hotel raid in 1x10 as well, right? Though ugh her not-super-subtly pointing the mic and talking into her earpiece is making me stressed lol. As is the fact that Armony literally cannot control what Kamdar will say– god how terrifying to walk into that situation, knowing that they’re being listened to by the literal FBI, and knowing that Kamdar is exactly the kind of man who loves both the sound of his own voice and gloating over other people's misfortunes? Honestly it’d be a miracle if they managed to pull this off without him saying something that tipped off the FBI about their involvement with Maya’s death. (Also sidenote, but something I love about this show is that we repeatedly see cleaning ladies? Like I mean this one that’s just walked past Armony may turn out to be plot-relevant, but we also see them when they have no bearing on the plot at all– like at Cortes’ place, and in La Habana, etc. I like to think that the show is reminding us that these women are always there, and they are not invisible). Anyways I swear that Joseph has never checked either of them at the door like this before, but sure I’ll just roll with it haha.  And then oooooh damn who do we find in the office? Not Kamdar, but Nadia. I have questions about this, because firstly Arman said they’d ‘set up a meet with Kamdar’– so did they actually contact anyone to say they were coming? Or did they just rock up? Because if they’d contacted Joseph or whatever, then surely they should have known Kamdar was out of town. Unless Arman contacted Kamdar directly and the devious prick just thought it would be funny to have him be faced with Nadia instead when he got there? Which tbh would be consistent with his character, and would also answer my next question, which is when the hell Kamdar put Nadia in charge, considering that last night at the party she seemed very out of the loop. So ok headcanon time: Arman messaged Kamdar to make a time for the meet in the afternoon, and RK (I’m getting sick of typing Robert or Kamdar lol) decided to have a little fun, and immediately called Nadia and told her he wanted her to run things while he was away. It’s genius, really; he gets to score points with Nadia by showing her he trusts and values her, and he gets to set up Arman to most likely have another fight with Nadia while also not getting his cut for the deal. Win-win for RK lol.

Anyway I do like that Thony was the one to suggest aborting mission first; though lbr that was likely mostly because the whole point is to get RK, but at the same time I think she wants to leave Nadia out of things if she can. (another sidenote: I find it very satisfying that Garrett believes Thony and Arman had no idea about Nadia’s connection to RK lol– oh Garrett, you sure miss a lot, don’t you buddy). But ooooh then Nadia insists that she’s RK’s right hand, and so they can deal with her– and tbh I think that that pisses Thony off big time, because Nadia’s supposed to be Arman’s wife, and yet she chooses to ally herself with the man who is trying to destroy him?? I think that that is the moment when she decides that she can’t keep going out of her way to try to protect Nadia, especially since doing so potentially endangers herself, Arman, and her family. Both she and Nadia have chosen their sides, and so now it's just a matter of bahala na– whatever happens, happens. Of course Arman can’t see it like that, and simply has to protect Nadia; partly because she’s family, but also because he’s already betrayed her once by falling in love with Thony, and can’t face the idea of betraying her in this way too. And while Thony understands his need to protect her, I can see her being frustrated about it, especially given her temper– like is he really going to put protecting Nadia above potentially saving the rest of them??? 

Okay the fam all rocking up at JD’s and being welcomed so warmly is just so cute ugh. I just love them?? And then ugh J-Fi being all cute in the kitchen (while putting away the biggest slices of pizza the world has ever seen??) and Jazz watching them is just so funny– I know, girl, I ship it too. Although apparently JD’s gf is called Laura so maybe I should ship that instead, out of solidarity to a fellow bearer of the name lol. (Ngl, I would date this man in a heartbeat haha). But ugh this height difference kills me, and so does their comfort together ugh. He’s sweet and kind and he makes her laugh, and he loves her family like they’re his own (bc they are). So please pleaaaaase writers let them be together ughhhhh

Ooooh Garrett is Big Mad about Arman sabotaging the sting, and lbr Thony’s not delighted about it either. But ugh the way she looks at him every time he says ‘my wife’ and defends Nadia so vehemently? You can see how much it hurts her, each time a sharp reminder that he’s not hers–  she used to have better armour to protect her from that reality, but the more time she’s spent with him, the thinner it’s gotten, and now every reminder pierces straight through. And yet even despite that, she still comes up with a way to get RK without endangering Nadia– but she doesn’t do it for Nadia’s sake. She does it for him, and then when she realises that there’s no way to make the plan work without him taking back his place in Nadia’s life– and all that that entails– she does what she has to do and lets him go, even though it means breaking her own heart. (I’m fine, I’m not crying, shut up). But god this scene was so fucking LOUD with things unsaid; for example, when Arman says he can’t get the keycard bc of being kicked out, the natural response from an outsider, ie Garrett, would be ‘well just kiss and make up then??’ because of course the expectation is that as the dumped party, he would be wanting to fix things and get back together. And then there’s the way Thony suggests it– the “well maybe you should reconcile” where she almost manages to hide the unwillingness with which she says it (it’s the tone and the maybe that gets me, bc someone who was emotionally unaffected in this situation just wouldn’t sound like that). And then to immediately follow that suggestion– that very reasonable suggestion of a man making up with his wife after a big fight, aka something that most people would presume he wants and is already actively trying to do– with the statement “It’s the only way we can protect our families”?  Like honestly they’re both acting as if she’s sending him to the gallows rather than back to the life he was living literally less than a week ago, which is not at all a normal way to behave in this conversation– that is, unless you’re sacrificing the very thing you want most, and telling the man you love to go back to his wife even though it means the two of you can never be together. Because like I said in this ask, it would be a real dick move for Arman to go profess love and devotion to Nadia, and then drop her again the moment he got what he wanted from her– and so if he is going to go ahead with this reconciliation, he has to be all in; he has to commit to making his marriage work, because both he and Thony have too much honour to do otherwise. Which means that getting the keycard for Thony will basically be his parting gift to her, and they both know it; it’s in his quiet ‘alright’ and his grave expression, and it’s in the way she looks at him like the words I don’t want you to do this are screaming inside her head. Which, honestly, is a huge fucking deal in itself; even if she’s not admitting anything aloud, she’s still letting him see what she previously would have done her best to hide, and I can’t help but feel that that– the truth written all over her face, the silent admission that this was never just a one-sided thing– is her parting gift to him.

Meanwhile Garrett is just over here seeing all this intense eye contact and mutual angsting and is all like ‘Seriously guys? Right in front of my salad??” lolll. Like honestly, if he didn’t know they were in love with each other before, he sure as hell does now. Though unless he really is an absolutely terrible FBI agent, he’d no doubt have already had some fairly major suspicions based on… well, everything these two have done since they met lol. And I mean the way he looked right at Thony when Arman said Nadia had kicked him out of the house suggested he has a pretty clear idea of what’s up haha. But ugh okay headcanon time: Thony can’t face the idea of the long ride back home with her arms wrapped around Arman– possibly holding him for literally the last time– or the conversation that he might try to have when they get to the house (she’s holding things together right now, but there’s no knowing how long that will last, especially if she has to Talk about it), so she asks Garrett to give her a ride back, saying something about how they don’t have much time so Arman needs to go and start working on the keycard (read: on Nadia) right away. And Garrett looks between the two of them and then is all ‘right, sure, yeah’ and so she just turns and heads straight for the car, and Arman immediately takes a step as if to follow her and reach for her arm, but then he stops and clenches his jaw and turns back to the bike without a word, his movements jerky and rough as he shoves on the helmet and then roars out of there, leaving Garrett standing in a cloud of dust. And Garrett just sighs and shakes his head, then walks around to get into the car. Thony’s staring out the window and he can see the muscle working in her jaw, so he just starts the car without a word, and neither of them say a thing until they reach her house and she starts to get out. “Hey, Thony,” he says quietly, and when she half-glances in his direction, he adds, “I’m sorry.” Because even though he thinks she’s definitely better off being as far from Arman as possible, he knows a little about having a broken heart. She tells him that Kamdar needs to go down for everything he’s done to them, and Garrett promises her that he will. Then she nods and climbs from the car, and he watches as she disappears into the house alone. 

But ugh anyway. I appreciate the symbolism of Arman ringing the doorbell rather than letting himself into the house; it’s not his space anymore, and he doesn’t have a right to be in there without her permission. (And maybe he knows she’ll be more receptive to him if he’s seen as being especially respectful of her boundaries, who knows). Ngl the ‘what the fuck bro’ look she gives him when she sees him standing there is actually kinda funny though. But ok I really want to know how long has passed since they saw each other in the office– probably no more than a few hours, right? Bc I assume Garrett wanted to meet with Thony and Arman pretty much right away after the sting went bust, and I assume Arman went right to the house when he left the meet, so it can’t have been super long? Though tbh I would love if Arman didn’t go straight to the house, and (headcanon time lol) instead took a different road back to the city and ended up stopping by some ravine somewhere, tossing his helmet away from him with a roar of frustration before violently hurling rock after rock over the edge, until he finally slumps back onto the bike, both physically and emotionally exhausted. And then he still doesn’t go to Nadia, but instead rides straight to Thony’s place, sitting there behind the back fence for who knows how long before finally letting out a curse and taking off for ‘home’. But ugh anyway my point (before the headcanoning lol) was that I respect how quickly Nadia went from that sleek sparkly blue number in the office, to her (very cute) around-the-house wear lol. I guess she was upset by the altercation in the office and headed home soon after? Also I love that despite literally being on a mission to woo Nadia back, the first thing he does is order her to stay away from Robert. Like bro are you trying to suck at this? But then ugh when she tells him to leave her alone and go back to taking care of ‘Thony and her kid’– and I wonder if she wishes now that they’d had a child together, so he would have had more reason to stay, since it clearly seems that she alone isn’t enough? Loved that she repeated the ‘there is no us’ and says that he made his choice– but tbh, part of the whole problem is that he hasn’t made his choice? He’s been actively avoiding it this whole time, because while he knows he’s in love with Thony and wants to be with her and would do anything for her, he still loves Nadia as his family, and doesn’t want to just completely abandon her. Especially considering the fact that if she came over from Argentina with RK all those years ago, she likely has no family in Vegas; Thony at least has her little family unit around her, but Nadia has no-one but him. Well, him and RK– and as he says, she’s not safe with RK. Loved getting that bit of backstory that she’d left RK because of being afraid of him (honestly though I am SO curious how one gets away from a man like that and stays in the same city without him trying to drag her back in; unless getting married to a guy who had the protection of a major crime family had something to do with that….?).

Anyway I'm also loving that this scene is proving some of my theories right about Nadia thinking she can control Robert, and also wanting to be around him because he values her. And then she tells Arman to go, and he pauses, clearly trying to find the right thing to say, and settles on the truth, that he’s worried about her. But she’s not interested in hearing it, because she knows that that’s not the issue here. And ugh the shininess to her eyes as she asks him if he loves Thony just hurts me. I hate seeing the pain she’s experiencing because of the two of them and the connection they share– one that they ever intended on, but never stood a chance against, but still. It sucks. I love that even as he made himself lie and say no, it comes out as barely more than a whisper, rather than a firm denial; and then he can’t just leave it there, because on one hand, the lie feels too much of a betrayal of Thony, and on the other, he can see that Nadia doesn’t believe him anyway. But he can’t tell the truth either, because if he were to let that yes out there, she would never take him back; she has too much pride to knowingly be with someone who's in love with someone else. So he settles for the middle ground, because he knows that framing his feelings for Thony as unclear and uncertain and confusing is something Nadia could accept, especially when he says with all honesty that he loves her.  Because he does! She’s his family, has been practically the only family he’s had for years, and he wants them both to always be in each other’s lives. But he hasn’t been happy as her husband for quite some time, and Thony’s appearance in his life just made him able to understand why.

But anyway hooooo boy I do have to say that was some impressive kissing haha– ngl on my first watch I practically had to watch this scene through my fingers, but I’ve built up a bit of a tolerance now lol. And ok I don’t know how much of it was deliberate manipulation, but I did like the way he was very respectful with her, going slow and not pushing, letting her decide if she would let him kiss her or not. And damn when a man can kiss like that, who could blame her for letting him??? 

Gotta say I don’t think I have ever seen a show have scene transitions so goddamn rude as going from Arman seducing Nadia on a goddamn countertop, to Thony sitting motionless and alone in her dark and empty house for hours, to Thony’s entire family laughing and having fun together in the warm light of JD’s place without her???  Like jesus christ writers, why must you hurt me in this way????? (Though ngl the camping in the living room thing was fucking adorable). But ugh Thony calls Fi, reaching out to her family while sitting on Luca’s bed because it’s the closest she can get to being with him, and it’s also a reminder that she’s doing this for him, to keep him safe. And ugh the somberness in her voice is such a contrast to the loud and laughing voices of the family, and even though she tells Fi she made the right call (about sending her family away, about sending Arman away) it seems more like she’s trying to convince herself than Fi. And then she sees Luca, and it makes her really genuinely smile for a moment– and then all too soon he’s gone to play with his sibling-cousins and the call ends and she’s hit again with how completely alone she is. (Like literally when was the last time she spent an entire night alone?? Definitely not since Luca was born, and ughhh that knowledge hurts me).

And then the next thing we see is her curled up on top of Luca’s bed, looking so incredibly small, and tbh I think the writers were having a competition to see how many times they can make me almost cry over Thony in this ep because god dammit this hurts?? Having her so alone and terrified is just awful– and then when she’s startled awake by the sound of someone outside and runs to grab any weapon she can, knowing how little chance she has of protecting herself?? Fuck. She’s so caught up in the panic that even after she hears Arman’s voice, she forgets she’s holding the knife for a moment and has to put it down in the laundry, but then she doubts herself again– she’s been wanting to hear his voice, wanting for him to show up and stay with her like he’d said he would before everything went to hell– so she has to peek out through the blinds to be sure it really is him there. And then she lets him in, heart still racing but her terror replaced by relief– not only that there wasn’t some intruder breaking in to get her, but also that Arman was there, and she wasn’t alone. I really wish we knew what time it was during this scene– ie, like midnight vs just barely pre-dawn, because that would change her perspective of why he’s here. I’m going to assume it’s just late at night, and so she’s looking at him secretly hoping that he’s come to tell her that he failed with Nadia, that there would be no reconciliation and that they would find another way to get access to the office. And hoping that maybe then he would ask if it was still okay for him to stay, to watch over her so she wouldn’t be alone… but instead he says that he’s just stopping by, and then hands her the keycard– and she just stares at it for a second, because let’s be real, it’s like he just handed her a certificate that has ‘JUST RENEWED MY WEDDING VOWS! ALSO MOST DEFINITELY JUST CAME HERE FRESH FROM HAVING EXCELLENT SEX WITH MY SUPER HOT WIFE’ emblazoned across it in fucking giant neon print.  And god the way she takes in a breath and opens her mouth like she’s trying so hard to find something neutral to say– even something simple like ‘okay thanks, I’ll call Garrett’– but then she makes the mistake of looking up at him and the words just die in her throat because she can’t do it, she can’t pretend like this is fine, like it doesn’t hurt to have him standing right there in front of her but now even further out of her reach than he’s ever been. The fact she doesn’t hide that pain from him is huge– yet another wordless admission that she previously never would have allowed herself– and he sees it, and it hurts him too, knowing that he can’t fix it. He’d probably been lying there staring at the ceiling while Nadia slept, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say to Thony, because how do you tell someone that you love them and wish you could be with them, while actively taking steps to be with someone else? No wonder she cuts him off– I don’t think she could have handled it if he’d tried to tell her what he felt for her right then. So she brushes it all aside with an “It’s fine”– even though they both know it is absolutely not fine, but he respects her decision anyway and doesn’t try to continue the conversation, knowing that he doesn't have a right to try to close the distance between them that he himself has just created.

Ngl when I watched the ep for the first time, I viewed both this moment and the ‘maybe you should reconcile’ scene as him thinking her response meant she didn’t feel the same way about him, and being all angsty like ‘how could she just send me back to Nadia like she doesn’t even care?? Waaaaahhh she doesn’t love me back’ lol, because the idea of him wallowing in completely oblivious misery while she was wallowing in fully-aware misery was pretty damn delicious haha, but then the moment I watched those scenes again I was like ah no he for sure knows exactly what this is doing to them both, and tbh that’s actually even more delicious lol. Because that means that mixed in with all the turmoil and angst and pain, there’s a glowing thread of ‘oh my god she loves me back’ (or at the very least, ‘omg she wants to be with me too’ in case he doesn’t dare hope that she’s like truly ~in love~ with him) but that in turn makes the turmoil worse because it shows exactly what he’s giving up. And I’m honestly so proud that she let him see the truth, let herself be vulnerable and open instead of hiding what she really feels away behind layers of hastily-rebuilt walls. Bc they’ve been doing this dance for so long already where they’ve been practically shouting their feelings for one another through their actions, even as they don’t dare to breathe a word of it aloud; but now they’ve finally at least acknowledged that they’re there, even if they haven’t put a name to them. Which would be really fucking amazing if it wasn’t happening in a situation where they both think that any chance of being together is now gone hahaha. But ugh anyway she manages to bring things back to business by mentioning Garrett (a sure way to kill any romantic moment lol) and then sighhhh she opens the door and shows him out, which is some more downright rude symbolism from the writers tbh. Also this reminds me, I answered an ask about this scene here, which also has my interpretation of his “I don’t know how much time I can buy you”. (Ngl I am immature so I giggle at the implication that he cannot satisfy a woman for very long lol, but also c’mon we already know that’s totally not the case for him haha). But tbh I do love that line, because while he’s mostly trying to protect her by encouraging her to get in and out of the office as quick as she can, there’s also a hint of a plea there; like he’s saying that this reconciliation is by no means guaranteed to last, and is begging her not to give up on the two of them just yet. Which makes her tiny nod mean even more; lbr, he’s going to be clinging to that faint spark of hope in the days ahead. But ugh the way she glances out at him through the blinds one last time while locking the door behind him, and then looks down at the keycard she’s still holding, her jaw clenching? She’d gotten what she needed, but the question is– was it worth it??

Okay seriously, seeing Nadia wake up looking so happy and satisfied really sucks haha. (I mean, this is a great sign for how much Thony is going to enjoy her future life with Arman lol, but damn I really did not need the reminder of all the sexing that occurred– so thanks for that writers, you absolute sadists lol). Seeing her react to the empty bed beside her was hard too, and then the way she smiles at him when he appears with coffees?? Like dammit he’s already broken her heart once and now it’s almost definitely guaranteed to happen again– and even worse this time, because I’m convinced she is going to find out that this make-up was a ruse to allow him to steal her keycard, probably when he inevitably confronts her about the marriage certificate and she realises that the only way he could have seen it is by accessing the office. Not only will the realisation that he used her like that– and even worse, used her in order to help Thony– absolutely shatter her heart, but it will be such a huge blow to her pride that I wouldn’t be surprised if she legit tried to murder him lol. And tbh I wouldn’t be able to say that it’s not warranted, because holy shit this really was a betrayal of epic proportions (no matter how good his intentions were or the fact that he was trying to protect her, it was still unforgivable), and like I said in one of those previous Asks, their relationship will never, ever, ever recover from it. Which tbh is why I couldn’t hate all the Arman/Nadia in this ep, because the way it happened (Arman fighting to get her back, not for her, but for Thony) was literally like watching the titanic get put on a collision course with the iceberg; there’s nothing but absolute catastrophe lying ahead. Plus that’s not even to mention the fact that he was able to convince Nadia to take him back so easily, which clearly shows that the only reason they hadn’t reconciled earlier was because he actually hadn’t even been trying at all. Regardless of what he’d been telling her, he didn’t actually want to get back together with Nadia– especially not when her leaving him had freed him from the obligation that had kept him bound, that had kept him apart from Thony– but it wasn’t until the moment that Thony asked him to reconcile with her that he'd realised it. And then it didn't matter, because like he said in 2x04, he always does whatever it takes to keep Thony safe– even breaking his own heart.

Phew honestly it’s a relief to have an FBI scene, bc this ep is just too goddamn heavy lol. I’m happy to see Agent Chan again, and I hope she was the one who actually messed with his car haha. And then ta-da, looks like the cleaning lady we saw earlier did turn out to be plot-relevant after all, as Thony has put on her trusty cleaning-lady-disguise and taken her place. But ugh I can’t help but think about the fact that she’s in here alone, literally risking her life to get them all free of RK, while Arman is busy canoodling in the comfort of his king size bed. Though lbr, I don’t think anyone hates that fact more than Arman– how awful it must feel, to be deliberately deceiving one woman you love in an incredibly hurtful way, all the while knowing that the woman you love even more deeply is in danger and yet you’re here betraying her (no one will ever convince me that he doesn’t feel like he’s cheating on Thony right now) instead of there protecting her. Aaaand oops I managed to make the FBI scene about Armony lol. Also I get what Russo means with her comment, but I still take offense at her calling Thony ‘your girl’ lol. She is only one man’s girl (and as the song goes, he needs her, lol) and that man sure as hell ain’t Garrett. But ugh of course RK has a fucking advent calendar instead of a safe; thank god Thony gets lucky and finds the ledger after only a few goes, rather than having to search the whole fucking thing lol. But the ledger is not the only thing that she finds– and whatever that piece of paper is, it’s clearly hugely important, because she risks going back to get a photo of it even though she can see Joseph already headed her way. But ugh I do appreciate that Garrett was ready to rush in and save her, but looks like he has learned his lesson about busting in after what happened with Cortes. But also omg the stress of Joseph walking right past her in the hall?? Good thing the old cleaning-lady-invisibility appears to still be effective. Though ngl I was imagining a scenario where he and the other cleaning lady are a ~thing, so when he sees her there he goes over to flirt a bit, and then he realises it’s Thony and they stare at each other like wtf lol. But of course that would not have gone well for the mission, so I guess I will just have to give up on my Joseph x Faceless Cleaning Lady ship dreams for now haha. 

So Thony’s sitting in the kitchen looking at the photos on her phone (or lbr, one in particular, aka the mystery paper) and there’s the knock at the door, and she freezes for a moment, waiting– and then as soon as she hears Garrett’s voice she goes to let him in. And tbh I wonder if her waiting to hear who was at the door wasn’t just about making sure it wasn’t a potential threat, but also maybe she was wondering if it was Arman again, and so she hesitates because she’s not sure she can face him right now? Especially because they’ve now achieved what needed to be achieved, so technically he could call off the reconciliation with Nadia (though as I’ve said before, they both know he actually can’t/won’t, not without it making him an utter bastard). But maybe I’m just making stuff up here lol. Anyway I find it kinda interesting how she and Garrett are a little matchy matchy in their blue tops, like she and Arman had matched in their black jackets. Maybe the costume department showing her connection to both of them? But again, probably just me making stuff up. And then lol of course he casually does the social faux pas of scrolling through someone’s photos without permission, and she gets the phone back real quick, clearly to stop him seeing the pic of the mystery paper. But okay so he tells her they can get RK on criminal profiteering, and I’m confused again about the way he’s changed his tune?? Earlier in the ep he was super against the profiteering charge and was determined for him to go down for murder. What changed?? Or is Garrett planning to use the information gained from the ledger to trap RK in some other way? I need answers lol. But ugh it genuinely sucks when he is all compassionate towards her now because it just makes her feel so much more guilty about Maya… which is why she tries to make it clear to him how grateful she is for everything he’s done for her and her family, and how he’s not to blame for what happened with Maya. I guess she’s hoping that he will remember this conversation after he finds out the truth about Maya, and will know that she did genuinely care for him and that she wasn’t just using him the whole time. (Sidenote, she thanks him for everything he did for her family ‘last night’ but it was actually the night before that. Keep up, writers! lol). Also I can’t remember what ep it’s from, but I swear Garrett has said ‘good work today’ to her before and I’ve decided it’s his little catchphrase lol

Ughghhhhhh have i mentioned lately how much I love the De La Rosa family?? The pureness of the sibling bond between all three kids, and the way that all of them (Fi included) are able to have fun and be silly together? Like ngl this video game scene was an incredibly accurate family depiction haha. Also I love the melodic little sound Fi makes as she walks into the room, like a happy little wordless greeting? God she’s so cute, I want to be besties with her lol. Anyway honestly being here on this little ‘holiday’ with JD has been good for all of them ugh. But oooh the conversation between Fi and JD about Thony is interesting– she tells him it’s unfair for him to say he doesn’t want Jazz anywhere near Thony until the FBI stuff is over, but honestly is it unfair? He’s her father and he doesn’t want her in danger, and I mean before now it wasn’t like there was a way to remove Jazz from that situation, but now he’s back and has a safe place for her to stay, and she’s far better off with him than at the home where Thony’s enemies could find her. And his point about Thony putting them all in danger is kinda fair too tbh. Of course I’m a Thony supporter all the way, though, so I want to say ‘It’s not her fault! She didn’t have a choice!’.... except that that’s not entirely true. With regard to season 1, it was; she was doing whatever she had to do to save Luca, and if that came with a small risk to the family as a whole, she had no option but to accept that and take steps to minimise it as best she could. But now– with all the stuff with Kamdar– it’s different, because it’s not Luca or the family that she’s trying to save, it’s Arman, and she did have a choice. Bc honestly, after 2x04 (when Mr Motel Mustache is dealt with), she could have basically walked away from it all– she didn’t need to continue getting meds with Arman and selling them to help his and Nadia’s debt. And when the fight in 2x05 happened and Arman said they were done, she could have decided that they really were over and that she needed to remove herself from his world, and from him, and he wouldn’t have tried to force her back in; even with RK telling him to get Thony to come clean the office, if she’d outright said no and told him she wanted nothing more to do with him, he would have called one of La Habana’s cleaners and then just gone and borne the consequences of RK’s displeasure himself. But the truth is she was never going to do that. She was never going to walk away from him, not when he needed her– even though she knew it meant putting herself directly in the sights of a man as dangerous as Robert, she did it anyway. But the real question is, if she’d known then everything that would happen as a result of helping Arman, would she still have made the same choice? (Honestly, my gut says yes).  And okay anyway I love that Fi defends her and says that Thony’s the only one who’s always been there for her, but I mean really? How? They’ve been living in separate countries for 15 years, and who knows if Thony has ever even been able to visit before– not to mention that in the past 5 years she’s been completely occupied with just keeping Luca alive and also not going bankrupt from Marco’s assholery. Like I appreciate Fi’s loyalty but I have some questions lol. But oooh yessss at JD’s insistence that they all stay with him until it is all over, I fully support this! Bc as much as Thony being all alone hurts my soul, I love the J-Fi and kids family dynamic– and I mean, Thony’s house being empty means that Arman can come over and that they can…. talk….. without being interrupted lol. Just saying, those two have some reconciling of their own to do  :P

Speaking of the reconciling, god the way Nadia looks like she’s walking on air as she heads into the club is absolutely killing me (though again, what an excellent sign for future-Thony’s happiness haha) bc ugh it’s not fair that the source of her happiness is built on a lie, and that the whole thing is going to come crashing down around her very soon and leave her even more brokenhearted than before– bc let’s be totally honest here, this reconciliation was doomed from the start; we can’t control who we love, and despite Arman’s best efforts and intentions, at this point it would be easier for him to stop breathing than it would for him to stop being in love with Thony. Plus like I said before, there’s no way the man is going to be able to just ignore the marriage certificate– the evidence that she’s been lying to him since they met, and also the thing that could potentially mean their own marriage is void– and so when he inevitably confronts her about it, she’s going to realise that he got into the office somehow, and put two and two together. And ugghhhh even despite my love of Armony, that moment is going to be so hard to watch, because while Nadia has her flaws, she doesn’t deserve this.  And ugh we see just a tiny glimpse of that hurt when she realises the keycard is gone and is faced with the horrible possibility that Arman took it– but of course Thony protected him and left it somewhere where it would be found quickly, but would also still be believable that Nadia would leave it. Which is just even further manipulation of Nadia and ugh it feels gross to watch (though at least we know that both Thony and Arman feel terrible about it, and are only doing it because they have no other choice).  But ugh anyway on a happier sidenote, it’s cute that Nadia waved to the bouncer on her way in; I bet she’s made friends with all of them and they think she’s the best, and I could totally see her with a whole little army of loyal bouncers lol. (So look out, Arman! haha)

Okay so I might be getting a little conspiracy-theorist here, but I’m going to say it anyway: what if Russo is dirty??? Like what if Russo actually was the mole, and has been indebted to RK this whole time??? I mean I know Garrett found the tracker in Maya’s things, and so he now believes that that’s how RK knew where to find her– but who brought him those things? Russo. Russo, who knows him very well, and so would have known that he would have taken absolutely every precaution to hide Maya, meaning that Maya’s abduction and murder would have had him convinced that there must be a mole in their department. And so she preempts that by planting the tracker in Maya’s things and letting him discover it himself, completely erasing his suspicions and leaving her in the clear. Which makes me also wonder if her big promotion is either a) because Kamdar pulled some strings for her to get her the job she wanted, or b) was her looking for reassignment so she can get away from RK without him threatening to expose her. And so what if the whole reason she is pushing for him to be brought down for profiteering rather than murder is because that’s run by a different department, and so RK won’t know that she was involved? Bc I can imagine that if her department tried to take him down, he’d be like ‘well you better make this go away or I’m telling everyone about our arrangement and taking you down with me’. And so while she can’t risk being the one to take him down, she desperately wants to be free of him, which is why she’s pushing for the profiteering angle. But anyway I know I may be way off base with all this, but idk this theory just has a grip on me now lol. Like I don’t think Russo is bad, I think RK just has her in a tough spot, like he has Arman and Thony and so many others. Plus, the way Russo says “Now you know you’re not to blame” after Garrett finds the tracker makes me believe that she didn’t just plant it to cover her own ass– she also did it so he would be able to forgive himself, because she genuinely does care about him and hates that he’s hurting. But ah well, I guess we’ll see in the coming eps whether I’m onto something here or not lol

Damn, the fact that Thony is waiting for Arman outside despite the lingering threat of RK sending someone to hurt her?? I guess she really doesn’t want him in her space rn / is really trying to keep her distance now that the situation between them has changed. (again, the fantastic post by @enigmaticfox really highlighted this).  But ugh I need to know what she said to him to get him to come over– like I assume she texted rather than calling (hearing his voice and knowing that Nadia was likely only in the next room would have just been too hard to bear), and she was probably careful with her words in the text because she knew that there was the possibility Nadia would see his phone. So did she use some kind of code or something, because a ‘we need to talk’ would definitely not go down well if Nadia were to see it lol. So maybe she made up something about there being an issue with the meds that they needed to sort out, knowing he would understand what she was trying to say– and then after sending it she immediately gets a text back saying ‘on my way’ like he’d been keeping his phone close and just waiting to hear from her. But ugh I feel for the position she’s in– caught between the need to protect her family, and the irresistible urge to protect Arman (even from himself). And even as she asks if he knew about the marriage, she already knows the answer; simply because if he’d known, he would have told her already. They don’t keep things from each other, not anymore, which is why she risked going back to the certificate to get a photo– she wanted to be able to show him the definitive proof, so he wouldn’t be forced to choose between her word and Nadia’s. (Sidenote: from the certificate itself, we can see that Nadia’s surname was De Leon, which is freakin badass; and also that she and Robert got married 8 years ago, which means the maximum amount of time that she and Arman have been together is probably about 7 years, but may well be less). But anyway ughhh the way Thony makes it clear to him that she genuinely wanted to help him protect Nadia, but that if the only way to take down RK is for Nadia to go down too, then she’s going to have to take it, because she has to put the safety of her family first. And then they just stare at each other, because they both know what this means; if he chooses to put his family (aka Nadia) first– and protect her even if doing so means RK walks free– then he and Thony will have no choice to be on opposing sides in this fight. 

And that’s the last place either of them wants to be. 

[devynthegreekmyth]

I pray the show is set in the 2000’s

[lockefanfic]

White Silk

Parts One, Two, and Three of this series of oneshots.

-

There were only few moments in your life when you truly cared about the weather.

Once when your much-anticipated camping trip was spent inside your tents hiding from a torrential downpour. Another time when your apartment’s air conditioning broke down during an unprecedented heat wave. A final time when icy roads brought you close to you wrapping your car around a tree.

This was another one of those moments. Outside, what seemed like the storm of the century battered the building relentlessly, turning the day into a dark, stormy mess.

Inside, however, Lee Jieun somehow still managed to shine.

She was utterly beautiful - no, beautiful seemed inadequate to describe the sight. She stands with her back half turned to you, her perfect silhouette framed by the window. And while it is dark and stormy outside, she somehow still manages to glow, her very presence seeming to battle against the gloom that pervaded the rest of the day, seeming to defy it, seeming to tell it “No, your rain and clouds will not dim my brightness.”

She turns when you enter the room - and time slows to a crawl. It was like one of those moments in the movies when the female lead meets the male lead for the first time. As she turns her head, her hair, unstyled and seemingly also unbrushed but somehow still flawless, whips carelessly over her bare shoulder, almost as if in slow motion - a shampoo commercial come to life. 

Wrapped around her lithe, thin frame is a white silk dress. Made of the finest of materials and woven by the most talented of seamstresses, it is almost a work of art in and of itself - but without the young woman on whom it draped it is little more than a useless scrap of overpriced fabric. No, the woman made the dress, and not the other way around. It is she that makes the dress beautiful.

From the second you met her so many years ago you’d thought she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever met - but right now, as a bride on her wedding day, you knew she’d never been more beautiful. All women are beautiful - but on their wedding day they glow just a little brighter.

Jieun’s eyes meet yours. A glimpse of a surprised reaction - one she quickly hides. She opens her mouth to speak, and you expect some eloquent, powerful observation on the storm raging outside, and how it will not affect her spirits.

“I need some fucking alcohol,” she spits.

You smirk a little at her first words of the day to you. She looked like a princess, but sometimes she had the tongue of a sailor.

“Sorry,” you answer as you step towards her, “there’s no bar on the premises, unfortunately, although I hear the reception will have one. Cash bar, though, so best hit up an ATM before arriving.”

Jieun sighs and returns her attention to staring out the window. You feel the room get a little dimmer as she takes her attention away from you.

“Of course not. Nothing today can go right, apparently.”

You stand beside her, staring out the same window at the angry grey skies and the seemingly endless torrential downpour.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says after a few shared seconds watching the raindrops trace random patterns on the glass.

“You’re not exactly kicking me out.”

Jieun scoffs. “Well everything else today is going horribly wrong so yeah, why the hell not have you show up?”

“What else is going wrong, exactly?”

“The photographer came down with a cold, so the best we can muster is my cousin and his fucking iPhone. The hair and makeup artist I hired is stuck in traffic on the other side of the city and probably won’t make it here on time, which is why I currently look like a fucking college student on the wrong end of a weed bender. The florist thought the wedding was tomorrow, so the only flowers we have are those sad looking almost-dead bouquets from the fucking gas station. Oh, and the reception hall had a goddamn double booking and neglected to tell us that the banquet hall won’t be available until 10pm, once the fucking high school math olympics has finished its awards ceremony!”

You frown. There wasn’t really much you could do to ameliorate the situation.

“Clusterfuck and a half,” you state.

“Clusterfuck and three quarters,” she counters, “coming real close to two full clusterfucks. Compared to all the bullshit that’s already gone down today, yeah, fuck it, you may as well be here, even when you very clearly shouldn’t be. I’m getting married today, if you didn’t notice.”

You glance over to her for the first time, and even though she is currently wearing a frown on her cute little features, you are nonetheless still struck by her beauty. Such a cheesy thing to admit to - being awestruck by a woman. It was something that surely only happened in books and movies and on Netflix; surely in real life no woman could ever be so beautiful as to render a man temporarily physically paralyzed.

But Lee Jieun had a way of doing that to you. She did it when she walked into the busy downtown Korean barbeque place that your mutual friend had dragged her to on that fateful day so many years ago. She did it when she just so happened to sit next to you, and again when she reached out her slim, pale hand and introduced herself with a cute handshake and a blinding smile. 

And she did it every single day you’d met her since. Today was no different, even if it was one of the most important days of her life.

“I overheard one of the bridesmaids saying you weren’t doing so well,” you say. “I had to make sure you were going to make it up the aisle.”

“Well I feel nauseous as fuck at the moment so I might make it up there only to barf all over the goddamn groom when I get to the altar.”

“What a lucky guy.”

“Damn straight. He gets to spend his entire life boning this hot piece,” she says with an exaggerated flourish of her hand over her body that was more sarcastic than serious, a deadpan frown on her face.

“I’m jealous,” you say.

Jieun buries her face in her hands, where she lets out a long sigh.

“Are you sure you don’t have a shot of soju in your jacket or something?”

“No,” you say. “I do have these, though.”

“I swear to god if you’re referring to your balls I’m gonna punch-”

When she lifts her head from her hands, she finds you with your arms wide open and the cheesiest of smiles on your face.

It begins slowly - just a slight crack of an upward tilt at the corners of her mouth, like a small ray of light piercing dark clouds. Eventually her soft pink lips and cute cheeks follow suit, and soon the metaphorical clouds part, her face surrendering to the reluctant smile and short chuckle that she allows to escape her mouth along with an adorable little snort.

She steps forward into your embrace, and you wrap your arms tightly around each other.

“You’ve always been there for me,” she says, her words muffled by your chest.

“I always will be.”

“Even when I’m married?”

“Especially when you’re married. Married guys can be dicks.”

Jieun chuckles again, and the soft vibration of her laugh against your chest makes your heart sing. She presses herself closer against you, as though she were fleeing from the accumulating problems of the day and had just found a hiding spot in your arms.

“How much time do I have?” she asks, barely audible.

“About an hour or so, I’d say,” you reply. Only a few of the guests had arrived and the groomsmen and bridesmaids were occupied with putting out the myriad of little fires that came up during weddings. There was still some time to yourselves before the start of the show.

“Then kiss me,” she says, lifting her head from your chest.

Time slows again. Time moves slowly, almost incrementally slowly, as you bend your head to kiss her.

It felt so wrong, so dangerous - but it also felt so right, so perfect. You should not have been there, not on her wedding day, mere minutes before she was to walk down the aisle. You could have, and perhaps should have, been anywhere but here.

But Jieun had always had that hold over you. You didn’t think yourself whipped for any other woman in your life, but when Jieun called you answered - no questions asked. You hated yourself for it sometimes, hated that a woman could have such overwhelming control over you, could have you wrapped around her finger like she did. 

But one smile - and sometimes, one kiss - was all it took to remind you why you did it: you were in love with her.

The kiss deepens, becoming something more passionate, more needy. Tongues begin to explore familiar mouths and find their counterparts willing and ready to touch and taste. Hands tighten around torsos. Hips press against hips. The bride tries to find solace from a day of ruined plans in the kiss and embrace of a man that meant so much to her.

You are happy to leave it there - merely seeing her was already probably a mistake - but Jieun was never one to stop things she had started. She breaks the kiss and pulls at the back of your head until your mouth is on her neck, and you begin devouring the sweet, pale flesh there with your hungry lips and tongue. She cranes her neck up and back, offering up more of herself to you.

Her hands slip between your bodies to work at your belt, which she quickly undoes.

“Here..?” you manage to gasp in between kisses. She was taking your breath away, again, although this time for another reason.

“Here,” she snaps, as though she were surprised you would even dare to ask, “Everything else is going wrong. I need this now. I need you now. Fuck me like you always do. One last time.”

Before you could say anything further she has you out of your boxers, her slim fingers suddenly cold and chilly around your quickly hardening shaft. Soon she has you at full stiffness. It doesn’t take you long. It never did. Especially not now, given the circumstances. Given the knowledge that the hand wrapped around your shaft and pumping it up and down would soon have a shiny diamond ring on it for the rest of her life.

You groan into her neck as the pleasure she is conjuring inside your body begins to overtake your senses. You feel her cheeks move against the side of your face - a wicked smile on an angel’s lips.

You are content to let her have her way with you, but you are reminded of her request - to fuck her the way you always did. And when you fucked, you were the one in control. Her innocent, girl-next-door exterior belied the fact that she loved to be taken, loved to be called names and used - and you weren’t one to disappoint her, even today, on this most important of days. You hated yourself sometimes for how much control she had over you in your day-to-day life; but you relished the fact that in your most intimate moments the roles were very much reversed.

You bring your hands to her shoulders and turn her around until she is facing the wall. She lets out a gasp of surprise - one that turns into a low moan as you press yourself, and your stiff shaft, against her. She braces herself against the glass, her forearms and palms flat against it.

Your hands, still on her shoulders, trace the top edge of the perfect white dress wrapped around her like a second skin. When they reach the front of her dress, you grasp the top edge and pull downward.

Jieun gasps as you pull the dress down to expose her breasts, and you grin devilishly over her shoulder as you watch her reflection in the glass as her small, perfect round mounds bounce free from their silk prison. Before she can react further your hands are already on them, squeezing them none too gently, enjoying the feel of her body molding itself into your hands, her already stiffened nipples poking between your fingers.

“You gonna let me fuck you on your wedding day, Jieun?” you hiss into her ear.

“Fuck yes,” she hisses, her breath a mist upon the glass, “I want you to fuck me right fucking now.”. She reaches down, pulling her long, flowing skirt up to bunch it around her waist. It takes her a while - her skirt is so long - but soon the pale, perfect round cheeks of her pert little ass are laid bare, your cock pressing impatiently against her lower back. 

You smirk at the sight of her, the perfect little bride on her wedding day, now a wanton, needy little thing, begging for it, begging to be fucked in a dress that was supposed to symbolize her innocence with its pure color. She wasn’t even wearing underwear, as though she knew this would happen, was expecting to be fucked wearing this dress.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, as though every moment you kept her waiting was making her more and more upset. “Fuck me please. I’m so wet for you.”

“Such a slutty little bride,” you observe. ‘So wet and hot already, and I’ve barely touched you.” You pinch her nipples. She sighs. You grin at the sight of her in her pristine white dress, an angel engaged in an act that was not at all angelic.

“Fuck yes. I’m such a slut. Such a slutty little bride. Now fuck me!”

“You want to get fucked against this glass in your pretty little white wedding dress?”

“Mmmm!” Jieun gasps, every sound that leaves her throat dripping now with need, “Please, fuck me now. Fuck this bride’s tight little pussy until you cum in it.”

You let go of her breasts, but not before giving her stiff nubs one last pinch that elicits a sharp gasp from her throat. Your right hand drifts to your cock, you line up your tip with her entrance, and within moments you slip inside Lee Jieun’s body.

You’d had her plenty of times, but today is different - and you wonder if perhaps the circumstances and the sheer audacity of what you were doing somehow added to the way she felt around you. She was slick and hot and wet and so, so very tight. It almost drove you insane to be inside her. Judging by the way her fingers curled against the hard glass, seeking something to claw into as she is filled with your cock - Jieun felt the same.

“Fuck,” she hisses, the curse word leaving her mouth in a breathy sigh. You both take a moment to savor the sensations - hers of being filled, yours of her wet, hot body wrapping itself around your stiff, aching shaft.

You don’t waste any time. You had little to waste, nor did you have any desire to deny yourself the pleasure her body promised. When you withdraw your shaft from between her round cheeks to find it glistening with her juices, you quickly drive yourself back in - this time to the hilt.

Soon you are fucking Lee Jieun against the glass, her naked breasts pressed against it, stiff nipples crushed against the cold surface as she is taken roughly, your cock pumping in and out of her wet, slick pussy at a frantic pace. 

If she had problems with the liberties you were taking on her body she was not showing it. Her reactions told you much the opposite - that she loved each thrust into her needy pussy, loved feeling you piston in and out of her at the quick, hard pace you had set for yourselves.

“Oh my… oh my fucking god,” she hisses, her face pressed now against the glass, a soft mist forming on it with each hot breath that leaves her lips. “Fuck me, fuck me like this.”

You are almost afraid to look down, almost afraid to watch your cock pump in and out of her needy body - but you eventually tear your eyes from her pleasure-stricken face to glance down between your torsos.

Her juices are flowing freely, lathering your stiff shaft with a thick sheen of her slick, glistening  wetness. Her lips grip every inch of your shaft, parting softly to welcome it in with each thrust, grasping it tightly with each withdrawal as though not wanting to let it go. You reach down and squeeze her tight little ass with both hands, filling your hands with her cheeks, parting them slightly to give you a better view of each thrust of your cock into her slick, wet pussy.

“Oh… oh fuck!” she gasps as you reach a new depth, bottoming out your thrusts now as you fill her with every inch of you, filling the mewling young bride as deeply as you could with stiff cock. 

“Fucking take my cock, Jieun,” you snap, bringing your hand up to her chin to tilt it toward you. “Fucking take it.”

“Y-yes! Fuck me… I’m yours. I’m yours!”

The filth of her words, of her submission to you, would have been pleasurable any other time. But now, mere minutes from her marriage - it meant something more, something more perverse - and something more deliciously sinful.

You reach around her torso to grasp a round breast with your free hand, finding her stiff nipple and teasing it at first before pinching and twisting the sensitive bud. You turn her face toward you with the hand on her chin, wanting to watch as every thrust into her body twisted her small, adorable face with little spasms of pleasure. For a few long, delicious minutes you fuck the mewling, squirming young bride against the glass, the pleasure you both found in each others’ bodies far outweighing the filthy wickedness of your act.

“Is your husband going to fuck you like this every single day? Fuck your needy, slutty little pussy whenever he wants?”

“Y-yes!” she manages to gasp, her words interrupted by each thrust of your cock into her juicy pussy, “Yes… whenever… wherever… however he wants!”

“And you want my cum dripping down your legs while you walk down the aisle? While you get married?”

“Yes! Oh fuck please I want it, I want your cum inside me, I want it dripping out of my pussy oh please oh fuck, cum inside me oh fuck cum inside me please, fill my pussy, fill me with cum, fuck me, fuck me, oh, oh I’m cumming, oh--!”

You always dreaded Jieun’s orgasm during sex, because it was so powerful, so overwhelming -  not only for her, but for the both of you. And it usually meant that you came soon after.

Jieun turns into a mewling, quivering mess of flesh, held up against the glass only by your hands on her chin and breast - and the cock still pistoning in and out of her pulsating pussy. You fuck her through her orgasm even as you feel your own beckoning, concentrating on each thrust, pushing yourself as deep as you can inside the young bride before pulling out only far enough to thrust right back inside her.

The random pulsating of her slick pussy, the wordless cries of pleasure brought upon her by her orgasm, and the soft breast in your hand - it all combined to push you dangerously close to the edge. But the thought of it - of fucking this needy young woman mere moments before her wedding - and at her demand, no less - it pushed you right over it.

You push yourself as deep inside her as you can go before you finally allow your orgasm to overtake your senses. Your mind tunnels, becoming focused solely on your pulsating cock as it spurts hot, thick semen deep inside Jieun’s tightly gripping pussy. The bride gasps - a soft, lustful sound - with each rope of cum that splashes into her depths, each stream further adding to the mess you’d made inside her body.

You both spend a long minute trying your best to piece your realities back together after your respective orgasms have shattered it, both reduced to heavily breathing, barely standing masses of suddenly weak flesh. It was a quick little session - not more than a few minutes from her first kiss to your mutual orgasm - but it still left you both exhausted, chests heaving in an attempt to refill lungs drained of air.

You reach up, tilt her chin to yours once more, and you give her a kiss - one that was more affectionate than perhaps either of you were ready for, but one you find her returning willingly and passionately.

Slowly you draw your softening shaft out of her body, and Jieun tries her best to clean herself up and look presentable, doing her best to look as though she didn’t just have rough sex minutes before walking down the aisle.

There is a knock on the door. It opens just wide enough for the maid of honor to poke her head inside - and you are thankful that she didn’t decide to do so a few minutes earlier, lest she catch you fucking the bride against the glass. She gives you a quizzical look.

“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” she asks.

“I think we’ve used up all our bad luck for today, Nayeon,” Jieun answers. “What’s a little more bullshit on top of the shit sundae that is our wedding plans?”

Nayeon frowns, confused by the bride’s nonchalance towards the day’s ruined plans. “Aish. Anyway, the makeup lady is here. And one of the groomsmen managed to track down a photographer. One of you should talk to him.”

“Thank you, Nayeon. We’ll just be a few minutes,” you reply.

The maid of honor gives you both a look before she closes the door behind her.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Jieun says.

“Me neither.”

“I’ll see you up there. You’re walking down that aisle first. Try not to trip.”

“Try not to drip.”

Jieun gives you a punch in the arm, but her hand lingers there for a moment, before sliding down and grasping your hand in hers.

“I love you,” she says.

“And I, you,” you reply. 

You kiss her, and the peck on the lips turns into a soft but passionate kiss. She gives one last look out the window and the cloudy, stormy weather that continued unabated outside, although it all seemed to matter a little less to the both of you.

“Let’s go get married,” she says, the smile on her lips all the sunshine you ever needed.

-

Author’s Note: Short but hopefully sweet. :) I had to sneak in an “I, you” (IU) reference in there somewhere lol.

So I felt kind of bad about the way Green Silk ended and wanted to have a similar twist but this time with a happy ending lol. Also lol at maid of honor Nayeon, I bet being IU’s maid of honor would be a dream come true for her haha.

[study-coffee-chicago]

Seasons of PD: Season 5: PTSD (A Halstead brothers + Halstead! sister imagine)

As always, I don't own any quotes from 5x01 of Chicago PD!

Your age: 16

Jay's age: 30

Will's age: 32

"I just talked to Ballistics. The bullet that hit the little girl was a nine-millimeter."

"I thought the bangers were firing 45s."

"They were."

"You're saying I shot that little girl?"

That. That was the conversation that was replaying in Jay's head as he sat on the couch of his apartment that afternoon. How could he call himself a cop, a good cop, if it was him who shot that girl? He should've known that there an illegal daycare center there, even though no one could've known, he still should've figured it out somehow. But, he was taking heavy fire and he did what he needed to do. But, that didn't make him feel any better. A little girl was in critical condition and fighting for her life at Chicago Med because of him. It was all his fault.

***

Your mind wandered back to the day earlier in the year when it was your sixteenth birthday...and you had gotten the iPhone that was currently blowing up with Twitter notifications all about Jay.

You had gone for breakfast with your dad because he had completed the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous and was doing a lot better. He also had visitation rights after he completed the 12 Steps, so he had the right to see you. Since you were 16, you could refuse, but you didn't want your dad to feel bad. And, from what you had heard from Will who had been going to see how he was doing to see if it was safe for you to see him, he was doing really well.

During breakfast, he had given you a gift. You opened it and immediately recognized the bracelet.

"Is this Mom's?" you asked. "I thought you said you couldn't find it when I asked for it when I was like ten."

"I've kept it all these years, I was just waiting for the right time to make sure you'd be able to take care of it and not lose it."

You remembered playing with the charm bracelet when you were little when it dangled off your mom's wrist. There were a bunch of different charms from places she had gone, such as Mount Rushmore, Washington DC, a record charm that she had bought in Hollywood, and for other special occasions, such as a steering wheel charm she got from her parents when she got her driver's license, a graduation cap she got for graduation which she also got from her parents, a wedding dress charm which symbolized the day she married your dad, among other charms.

"Thank you," you replied as you held back tears.

He'd changed, he'd recovered, but there's still no way you'd go back to live with him.

***

"How was breakfast with Dad?" Jay asked as you walked into the apartment after you had breakfast.

"Good. He's doing really good, Jay." You walked up to him and opened the small gift box you were holding. "He gave me this." You held the box out to him and he smiled.

"Mom's charm bracelet?" You nodded. "Want me to put it on you?"

"Please."

Jay's breath hitched as he took the bracelet out of the box. It was like he was holding a little piece of his mom, and this piece of your mom would forever be with you the moment he fastened the clasp.

"It's perfect," you said as you fiddled with a few charms.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just thinking about the fact that this was your mom's and it was now yours.

"Ready to go get your license?" Jay asked, breaking the silence.

"Is that even a question? Yes!"

You had taken your driver's test a week ago after completing the long process of going through two segments of driver's training classes, taking a written test, securing your learner's permit, and accumulating 50 or more hours of driving practice with either Jay or Will.

Jay chuckled at your excitement. "You good with how you look? You'll have the same license photo until you're 21, you know?"

"Let me go put on some lipstick!"

"Not that super dark reddish-purple one!"

"Yes, that super dark reddish-purple one! It's my favorite and it looks good on me!" you yelled as you ran to your room.

Once you had applied your lipstick, you and Jay made your way to the Secretary of State with all the necessary documents for you to get your license.

***

"Why's my license vertical and not horizontal like yours?" you asked after you exited the building with your brand new license.

"You get a horizontal one when you're 21. Just makes it easier for us cops to identify if you're underage if we ask for your license. And for bartenders to know you're underage if you try to buy alcohol."

"Oh, okay."

"You wanna drive?" Jay asked you.

"Sure. It's no different than me having my permit, though because you'll be in the car," you pointed out.

"So, you don't want to drive."

"No, I do!"

"That's what I thought."

He handed you the keys and you unlocked his truck. You both got in and you started adjusting the seat and the rearview mirror.

"Don't forget to--"

"Adjust the side mirrors. I know, Jay, I know. We've been through this a ton. Trust me."

"You're essentially driving a missile down the road, excuse me if I get nervous."

You rolled your eyes and started to drive, but when you were supposed to turn right, he told you to go left.

"Where are we going?" you asked.

"The district," he answered.

"Why?"

"You'll see. Just drive. I'll give you directions because we both know you're bad with those."

"Shut up!"

"What? We both know it's true!"

"No comment."

When you got there, Jay told you to park in front of what he called the "roll-up". To say you were confused would be an understatement; you didn't even know what this was!

"It's where we load our weapons and drive out sometimes. It's the basement," Jay explained.

"Where the cage is?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Adam told me about it. And then when you and  Erin were on  a lunch run for everyone, he showed it to me."

"I'm gonna have to talk to him about that."

Once you finished parking, you turned off the car and handed the keys back to Jay. Then, Jay did this weird, complicated knock on the garage door of the roll-up.

"Surprise!"

You were met with Will standing there. Behind him, was a car, with a bow on top.

"Is this mine?" you asked.

"Yup," Will confirmed. "Dude," he said to Jay, "You're lucky Goodwin let me out early."

"2010 Buick," Jay said as you walked over to examine the car more. "Seized it from a mob boss two weeks ago. It was going to be impounded, but Kev's got a really good car guy, so I didn't have to pay a lot for it."

"Wait," you started, "So this is just from you, Jay?"

"My gift is in your driver's seat," Will said and then he tossed you the keys. Somehow you caught them...you weren't the best when it came to hand-eye coordination.

You unlocked it using the fob and opened the driver's side door. There, on the driver's seat, was a box. And, not just any box: an Apple box.

"Is this...?"

"Open it." Will smiled.

So you did and you squealed so loud that Jay covered his ears. "Damn, high-pitched screams...sometimes worse than the sound of gunshots."

"Sorry! I'm just so excited! I can't believe I got a car and iPhone! You guys are the best! I love you guys so much!"

"We figured it'd save me a ton of time in the morning not to have to drive you to school and, if I get called into a case early or stay at work late, then I wouldn't have to find someone to drop you off or pick you up. And, figured I could always track your phone if necessary," Jay answered.

"I knew there was a catch," you answered.

"Always is," Will joked.

"Are there traps still in the car?" you asked, causing Jay's eyes to go wide.

"How do you know about those?"

"I watch crime shows."

"No," he answered. "Made sure that was one of the very first things Kev's car guy did: remove the traps."

"Aw, man! I was gonna have fun with those!"

"And put what in them?" Will asked. "Candy? Those fancy pens you like?"

"One, there's two different kinds I like: Papermate pens and calligraphy pens. And two, a little bit of this, a little bit of that."

"Care to specific on what those might be?" Jay asked.

"Not really."

"May I remind you that I am a cop and can toss your bedroom like--" He snapped his fingers. "--that."

"Don't you need a warrant for that?"

"It's my house, so I can do what I want. And, I hope I don't need to bring charges against you for whatever you're hiding."

You burst out laughing. "You guys, I'm kidding. I just wanted to see Jay's reaction when I mentioned traps! I wouldn't do anything...especially with Jay as my brother. I'm not that stupid."

"Oh thank God," Jay sighed.

"Can we go? A little birdie let it slip that there's a surprise party for me at the apartment."

Will glared at Jay. "What?" Jay asked as he put his hands up in a sign of surrender. "I promise you I did not say a single word about it."

"Mhm." Will rolled his eyes.

"Y/N, would this little birdie be Ruzek?" Jay asked.

"No comment."

"I am never telling him anything remotely secretive again."

But now, you kinda wished you didn't have that phone. Because, all over Twitter, there were people who didn't even know your brother who was saying that he was a racist cop and a child killer.

***

You walked inside to see a very distraught Jay. he was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. And, even though you could only see one side of his face from where you were standing, you could see the dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

"So, it's true?" you asked. Jay jumped and looked at you. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"H-How do you know what happened?"

You sat down next to him. "Twitter. My mentions were blowing up."

"Y/N, you gotta believe me. I wouldn't intentionally shoot a little girl--"

"Jay, I believe you."

"At least she's at Med. Will said she's got a good chance of making it."

"Oh, you didn't hear." He furrowed his eyebrows. "She passed away. I got a notification about it like an hour ago. I'm so sorry, Jay."

"Fuck," was all he said as he buried his head in his hands and began sobbing.

You wanted to comfort him, you really did, but you had no idea what to say. You knew Jay was a good cop and, whatever happened, you knew that he wouldn't purposely kill an innocent little girl. So, you just put a hand on his shoulder as he continued to sob, reminding him that you were still there.

"I'm gonna go talk to Will," he said as he stood up a few minutes later.

He walked over to the kitchen sink and splashed his face with water and dried it with some paper towels while you walked over to him.

"I'll drive you," you told him. "You're not in any shape to be driving right now. I know you'd tell me the same thing."

"No, Y/N, I can drive myself."

"This isn't up for discussion, Jay."

"Yes, it is. My picture's all over the internet. If someone decides to come after me, I don't want you near me out in public. I need you to be safe. Just stay here. Please." His voice cracked on the last word.

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"But please try your best to get home in one piece."

Jay nodded and grabbed his jacket. "I'll be back soon."

But, what he was thinking was totally different. After what I did, I don't deserve to come home in one piece.

***

Jay stormed into the ED just as Will was leaving a treatment room and Will caught sight of Jay and walked towards him.

"You said she was gonna make it!" Jay practically yelled.

"Hey," Will said, quieter, trying to use his trying-to-calm-down-a-patient-voice to hopefully make Jay calm down.

"You said she was gonna..." Jay took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Hey, I said she had a chance, okay? She was in bad shape. Lost too much blood."

"I know."

"There's only so much we can do."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just...the bullet came from my gun. Even though I was aiming at an offender, it went through his abdomen and through a fucking door and into her, Will. Even though it was an accident, I still shot her. I killed an eight-year-old little girl. I killed her."

***

"50-21 George!" Jay yelled into his radio. "I'm taking heavy fire! I got two civilians down in the north alley behind the building."

"This is Sergeant Hank Voight. Advise responding units to shut down a two-block radius."

"Help! Help!"

Jay turned his attention to the building and when he saw it was clear, he pushed open the wooden door and entered.

He nearly choked when he saw what happened.

It was you. You were eight years old, clutching Beary in one hand while Hailey held you and tried to stop the bleeding.

"Y/N!" He had no idea why you were even here, maybe your parents couldn't afford a good, legal daycare center because of your mom's medical bills, but whatever it was, you were here, and you had somehow been shot. He kneeled down next to you and all but threw his sniper on the ground.

"Alright, I'm gonna call an ambulance," Hailey said.

"We don't have time." Somehow, he was aware of where his keys were in his tactical gear. "Go get my car. Fast."

He handed over the keys. "Ready?" Hailey asked as Jay positioned his hands above hers to try and stop the bleeding the minute she removed her hands.

Jay nodded and quickly replaced Hailey's hands with his as she sprinted off to get his truck.

But, then the scene changed.

It became hotter. Jay could feel the dry heat in his mouth and in his throat. He felt the sweat trickle down his face and back. He felt beads of sand on his hands and arms. He looked down to see you resting your head against his leg. And, he wasn't in his normal clothes that he'd wear to work. No, he was in his Rangers uniform.

He had his hands over the same spot on your chest as he had in the daycare center. And, you still had Beary in your hand, albeit a very loose grip on him.

You coughed, causing some blood to come out of your mouth.

"No, Y/N, not like this. Not like this." He removed one hand from the wound and applied all the pressure he could with one hand while he reached for his radio. "This is Halstead to Base." Crackles. "This is Halstead to Base." More crackles. "Please. This is Halstead to Base. I need a med truck now! My sister's been shot." No response. "Please. She's only-- She's only eight years old." His voice cracked. "Please."

You coughed once more and Jay knew trying to reach Base was useless at this point. Jay took his canteen and dabbed a little bit of water on your face and smeared it around, trying to clean the blood off your face. But, as fast as he could clean it, more would come up and out of your mouth.

You let out a strangled breath. Jay knew that sound. That was the sound of someone's last gasp of air that they'd ever take.

"Y/N, please. Please, Short Stack. Stay with me. Help will come. Please, just hang on a little longer."

Then, he saw the all too familiar look of empty eyes in front of him. He let out a strangled sob as he placed his fingers on your eyelids and gently pulled them closed.

Jay shot up in bed with a start. He reached for his chest, feeling for his radio to try and call for help again. It was only when his fingers brushed his bare chest that he realized that he wasn't in the desert of Afghanistan, but in the safety of his own bed, in his own apartment, here stateside, here in Chicago.

He went into the bathroom after his breathing calmed down and jumped into a freezing cold shower, hoping to get the image of an eight-year-old you being shot and killed by his gun out of his head.

But it wouldn't leave.

Jay dried off and then quietly made his way out of his room and over to yours.

He crouched down by your bed and watched as your chest rose and fell, signaling that you were in a deep sleep. You were sleeping on your side and had one leg thrown over the other and a few toes sticking out from under the covers. Beary was next to you. You weren't clutching him like in his nightmare, hell you weren't even holding him, but he was still in your bed. Jay was pretty sure that if that bear wasn't in your bed at night, you wouldn't be able to sleep, despite you being sixteen.

Jay longed to put two fingers to your neck just to check your pulse and make sure he wasn't hallucinating the rising and falling of your chest. But, he knew that was paranoid. He could trust his instincts now. After all, he was awake. There was no stifling heat, no hot sweat (at least, after his shower there wasn't), and no sand. All that was below him was the fluffy rug on your bedroom floor.

He slowly left your room and went back to his. But, instead of getting into bed, he tugged his comforter off his bed and grabbed his pillow. Then, he dragged those two things back into your room and settled down on your rug.

He knew it was probably paranoia, but after that dream, he wanted to make sure you were safe. He wanted to be close to you. Because, God, that dream felt so real.

She's alive, he kept reminding himself as he tried to fall asleep. And, that was the last thing on his mind when he finally fell asleep once more: that you were still alive.

***

Your alarm blared through your quiet room and you rolled over with a groan and turned it off.

"Christ, that was loud. How deep of a sleeper are you?" Jay asked as he rolled over.

You looked at him with sleep still in your eyes. "What are you doing in here?"

"Was a rough night." He yawned. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Okay...?"

"I say ten more minutes."

"Jay, I'll be late."

"I'll drive you, lights and sirens and all."

"Night."

***

"You okay?" you asked around 11:00 pm two weeks later when Jay finally got home from working a case.

"Yeah, just tired," he answered as he went to put his badge and gun away in his room.

"Are you sure it's just that?" you asked when he came out from his room in pajamas.

"I'm sure. Why are you asking?"

"You had that street fair bombing case and two weeks ago, a bullet from your gun--"

"Y/N, I'm fine. I promise. don't you have to get to bed?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I don't have school tomorrow."

"So it is. I'm gonna turn in. See you in the morning."

"Aren't you gonna eat something?" you asked.

"I'm not really that hungry. Goodnight."

You knew something was off, but you weren't going to push it, so you just grabbed the remote and started looking for a movie to watch.

***

You coughed, causing some blood to come out of your mouth.

"No, Y/N, not like this. Not like this." He removed one hand from the wound and applied all the pressure he could with one hand while he reached for his radio. "This is Halstead to Base." Crackles. "This is Halstead to Base." More crackles. "Please. This is Halstead to Base. I need a med truck now! My sister's been shot." No response. "Please. She's only-- She's only eight years old." His voice cracked. "Please."

You coughed once more and Jay knew trying to reach Base was useless at this point. Jay took his canteen and dabbed a little bit of water on your face and smeared it around, trying to clean the blood off your face. But, as fast as he could clean it, more would come up and out of your mouth.

You let out a strangled breath. Jay knew that sound. That was the sound of someone's last gasp of air that they'd ever take.

"Y/N, please. Please, Short Stack. Stay with me. Help will come. Please, just hang on a little longer."

Then, he saw the all too familiar look of empty eyes in front of him. He let out a strangled sob as he placed his fingers on your eyelids and gently pulled them closed.

He saw a figure moving towards him and in his hand, a grenade.

"Would you like to join her?"

Jay jolted awake, breathing raggedly. He tried to catch his breath and swallow, but it was no use, the familiar feeling of bile was rising in his throat and he dry heaved all the way to the bathroom before he finally emptied what little was in his stomach into the toilet.

Meanwhile, you furrowed your eyebrows as you slowly opened your eyes. You thought you had heard gagging, but it was gone now, so you tried to close your eyes and go back to sleep. But, then you heard gagging and the sound of something hitting what sounded like water.

Wait, was Jay sick? He never got sick.

You got out of bed and walked over to his room and quietly opened his door. From the dim light of the bathroom, and the disheveled covers on his bed, you knew he was in the bathroom.

"Jay?" you asked as you crept towards his bathroom.

"Y/N, l-leave. Please, just leave me alone ri-right now." You could tell from the sound of his voice that he was panting as if he had just run a marathon.

"Are you okay?"

No. "I'm fine. Just a stomach bug or food poisoning. Go back to bed."

You poked your head into the bathroom. Jay was leaning against the bathtub without a shirt on, with sweat dripping down his face. His mouth was wide open as if he was trying to capture as much oxygen as was humanly possible.

"Maybe I should call Will. I don't think he's on shift."

"Y/N, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You don't look fine at all."

"Y/N, go back to bed. Now."

"But--"

"I said go to bed! So how about you listen for once and just fucking do that? Jesus!"

Your breath caught in your throat. You'd never heard him yell like that...not directed at you at least.

"O-Okay."

You trudged back to your room and laid down. But, sleep didn't come for a while as tears rolled down your cheeks.

Jay put his head in his hands. He had yelled at you. Not only that, but he had sworn at you and you were just trying to help. God, he felt like a terrible brother, a terrible guardian, an overall terrible human being.

He tugged at the roots of his hair, hoping the bit of tugging from that physical pain would calm the mental and emotional pain that had been stirring inside of him for weeks. For weeks he's been like this. Ever since he had been put on his medication, he hadn't even had a nightmare and now he's had them every single day, and he's scared to sleep. What kind of police detective and ex-army ranger is afraid to sleep when they're safe in their own house? He was one of them and, God, he hated himself for it.

Not getting more than three restless hours of sleep per night was starting to have an impact on him at work. They all knew that a sleepy cop was a dead cop, but Jay was still alive. But, there were downfalls, such as getting jittery from all the caffeine he was ingesting early in the morning and then crashing and almost falling asleep doing reports when he had to work late. Well, he didn't have to work late per se, he decided to work late to put off sleeping. He knew none of this was helpful and none of this would solve the problem, but he thought it would be fine. Everything would be fine and the nightmares would eventually go away. They always do. And then everything would be normal again in his brain.

God, he longed for that: the normalcy.

So, for the umpteenth night in a row, he grabbed a pillow and a blanket and made his way to your bedroom to sleep on the floor to make sure you were alive. He put his watch on vibrate and set the alarm for 6 am because he knew you wouldn't be awake that early...especially not on the weekend.

Only when the irrational part of his brain was sure that you weren't going to die, did he finally find solace in sleep.

***

Went to get coffee with Will and to work on homework. Be home eventually, you scribbled on a sticky note and stuck it on the back of the apartment door before you left. Jay had gotten called in to work a case earlier this morning, and you needed a change of scenery to work on some AP World History homework.

You grabbed your backpack, keys, and wallet, and made your way to the parking garage. Then, you left.

About ten minutes later, you arrived at the coffee shop. Not seeing Will, you set your stuff down and went to grab a coffee and a muffin. Don't get it wrong, Jay still didn't like the fact that you drank coffee, but you only drank it when you went out to get it. It wasn't like you drank it every morning or drank two or three cups a day like he did.

You started to read your textbook and take some notes on the vocab. You were so focused that you jumped when Will slid into the chair across from you and said your name.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Lots to do?"

"Not a ton," you replied. "Just gotta read a chapter and take some notes. Then I'm done with homework for the weekend."

"So, you said you think something's up with Jay?" Will asked.

You had texted him that morning to see if you could meet up because you were worried. You had seen how tired he looked and how he poured his coffee into a larger tumbler than normal, one that was almost double the size of his normal one. Bags under his eyes and more coffee than normal had given you the impression that Jay was no longer sleeping, and rightfully so.

"I don't think he's sleeping," you told him.

"And you know this how?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because he looks like shit- sorry, he looks like crap, and he drinks a ton more coffee in the morning than he normally does."

"Maybe he just doesn't like the coffee at the district and is bringing more from home," he suggested.

"I don't think so."

"Is he still working out? Still going to the gym?"

"I think so. I'm usually still asleep when he goes, so I wouldn't know either way."

"Anything else?"

"Uh, actually, yeah." You closed your textbook. "I'm pretty sure he was sick last night."

"Sick? Like how sick?"

"He was puking. I wanted to call you but he told me no."

"How'd you find him?"

"Leaning against the bathtub, no shirt, dripping sweat, and mouth wide open."

"I see," Will said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Last night when I mentioned calling you, he said he was fine. But, when I pushed, he told me to leave and when I told him no, he yelled and cursed at me."

"He swore at you?" Will grit his teeth.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I don't know what's going on, Will. He hasn't been himself lately."

"Hey, I'll figure it out, okay? I'll make sure he's okay. I can even come over later tonight and check him out if you want me to."

"He'll fight you on that."

"I'm used to unruly patients. Is that what you--" His phone rang and he held up a finger to you to wait for a second while he answered. "Hey, Maggie. What's up?" He paused and then sighed. "I'll be right there." He hung up the phone and started gathering his stuff.

"What? Did something happen and you have to go to work?" you asked.

"Oh, something happened all right. I just got a call saying Jay was brought into Med."

You started to pack up your backpack and grabbed your keys. "I'll follow you there."

***

Jay didn't know what happened. One second he was driving, blinking heavily, the next Hailey was yelling at him and had reached over to grab the wheel, but it was too late. He was too close. When he opened his eyes, he tried to slam on the brake, but it didn't help. The next millisecond, he and Hailey crashed into an electrical pole in Pilsen.

He was awake after that.

"What the hell happened?" Voight asked after he had thrown his car in park and he and Al rushed over to Jay and Hailey.

"I think he fell asleep at the wheel," Hailey answered as she and Jay both stepped out of the truck.

"I did not," Jay protested.

"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain you just running into an electrical pole when there weren't even cars running us off the road?" Hailey yelled.

"I didn't fall asleep! I'm fully awake! Just drop it, Upton."

"Drop it? You do know if we would've hit that at full speed and it fell on us that we could've been electrocuted to death, right?"

"But that didn't happen--"

"Halstead, Upton, I'm bringing both of you to Med to get checked out. After that, you're going home to get some rest, Halstead. You look like hell," Voight told them.

"Sarge--"

"This isn't up for discussion. Get in the damn car." The two detectives walked to Voight's car, while Voight turned to Alvin. "Call Platt to get us some patrolmen to help. You good waiting here for them to pick you up while I bring them to Med?"

"Yeah, go. I'll handle this."

When Jay finally got to Med, to say he was not happy would be an understatement. He didn't need to be in the hospital and he sure as hell didn't need to be kicked off the case and told to go home to get some rest.

"Mags, what room is he in?"

Shit, they had called Will.

"Treatment Four."

Will walked into the room followed by you.

"You didn't have to come, neither of you did."

"Well, too bad," Will said. "Should've put her as your emergency contact instead of me. Oh wait, you can't, she's still too young. Guess you're stuck with me."

"All set," Hailey said as she walked in. "You ready to go?"

"Who's this?" you asked.

"My new partner," Jay told you. "Hailey, this is Y/N and Will, my siblings I told you about. Y/N and Will, my new partner, Hailey Upton."

"Nice to meet you. I've heard good things."

Will scoffed. "Would one of those good things be that Jay absolutely hates hospitals and I always have to make sure he doesn't leave against medical advice?"

"He didn't mention that, no."

"Well, either way, nice to meet Jay's new partner. Do you mind if I talk to him? Privately?"

"No problem."

Will turned to you. "You too, Y/N. Go grab some food or hang out with Hailey or something."

Will focused his attention on Jay when you and Hailey had left the treatment room. "Y/N told me she doesn't think you're sleeping and from what I heard from Maggie about why you were brought in here, don't even bother lying to me."

"I'm fine, Will, really. Nothing to worry about."

"Fine then. I'm gonna go order a blood test."

"Blood test? You're not even on shift! And, you can't even be my doctor if you were!" Jay protested.

"I read that April's your nurse, so I'm going to go find her and tell her to order a blood test then."

"Why?"

"To see if your plasma cortisol levels are elevated and if your cortisol testosterone levels have decreased," Will answer matter-of-factly.

"And you need those because...?"

"If the plasma cortisol level is elevated and the cortisol testosterone level is lowered, then those are both indicators that you haven't been sleeping. Be back, little brother."

Jay groaned and threw his head back. He didn't think he'd need to be stuck with a needle today. If only had put someone else down as his emergency contact, then this wouldn't be happening. Or, if his brother just wasn't a doctor or didn't work at this specific hospital then this wouldn't be happening, either.

***

Jay was walking you to school when you were eight years old. On your back, you had your backpack and you were holding Jay's hand and skipping to keep up with his long strides. Jay chuckled at how cute and innocent you were. He didn't want you to ever grow up.

"Jay Jay," you started, causing him to look down at you, "Did you get all the bad guys when you left?"

"Why do you ask?" He swallowed. He knew if you asked the right questions, he might not know how to answer them. And, his last tour was horrific, losing all the members of his unit except Mouse...the burning Humvee...the combatants still coming towards them...

"I don't know. I just wanted to know if there were any left?" you asked.

"There probably are."

"Do you have to go back there? Do you have to leave again to go fight the bad guys?"

Jay's breath hitched. He was honorably discharged after what had happened, so he wouldn't have to back. But, as he was thinking about how to answer you, the scene changed.

Screaming. All he could hear was screaming and the crackling of flames.

He looked around saw the scene from his last tour, his Humvee flipped over with all the members of his unit currently burning to crisp. He and Mouse had been walking behind, keeping watch of their six which is why they weren't in there.

"Help! Jay Jay, help!" He heard you scream and racked his brain from where that could be coming from because you were an ocean away, no way were you actually there.

"Dude, your sister's in there!" And Mouse took off running.

Jay quickly caught up to him. "What? She's not here! She's at home in Chicago!"

"No, she's not! You couldn't bear to leave her, so you brought her with you!"

Okay, now Jay knew he was caught in the midst of a nightmare because he would never do that. He would never bring a little girl into the midst of a war where she could get hurt or killed. Damn that melatonin he took that night because he was currently in so deep a sleep that he couldn't wake up.

"Jay Jay!"

He took off running again and came up to the edge of the Humvee. Your leg was crushed under it and it was one of the only parts of the vehicle that hadn't caught fire...yet. He needed to get you out and he needed to get you out fast or else you would be burned to death. But, to do that, he knew he'd be sacrificing your leg.

"Mouse! Get me a tourniquet and the biggest knife you have! Make sure you sterilize it!" Jay shouted. You let out a whine.

"You're doing a field amputation?" Mouse asked as he grabbed the supplies.

"I don't have any other choice." You let out a whimper. "Hey, hey, look at me. Focus on me. I'm gonna get you out of there."

"P-Promise?" you asked as tears ran down your cheeks.

"I promise. Now I need you to hold really still and be a brave girl, okay? Can you be brave for me?" You nodded as Mouse handed Jay the equipment for the tourniquet. "This is going to hurt," Jay warned you as he slid the piece of fabric underneath your leg and then started tying it.

You screamed out in agony.

"I know, I know. But, It's gotta be tight. It's gotta be tight, kiddo."

"Jay! Nine o'clock!"

Jay turned to his left and pointed his gun straight at the combatant.

"Jay...Jay..." he heard your voice wavering as you tried to get his attention. But, it didn't sound like your voice. It sounded lower, more mature even. "Jay, please." the voice that sounded like you was pleading now. "Jay Jay, please. You're- You're safe."

Jay snapped his eyes open.

There you were, at sixteen years old, holding your hands up in surrender. He was home, in Chicago.

"Jay, please," you whispered once more.

It was only when he looked down that he realized he must've thought you were the combatant in his dream because he had his service weapon pointed straight at you.

He dropped his gun onto his bed. "Y/N, I- you gotta believe me. That wasn't--"

But you were already running out of his room to grab your keys and get as far away from Jay as possible.

***

Will was awoken to a loud knocking on his door at 2:37 in the morning. "Who the fuck is here right now?" he muttered as he rubbed his eyes and stood up and threw on a shirt.

But, all his anger at being woken up at this ungodly hour washed away as he looked through the peep-hole and saw you, tears still streaming down your face.

He yanked the door open. "Y/N, what are you doing here?"

"He pointed a gun at me!" you wailed as you entered.

Will shut the door and made his way over to you. "Who? Did you tell Jay? Where were you?"

"Jay was the one who did it, Will! He pointed the- the gun right at me!"

Will's breath caught in his throat. He had his hunches that Jay was having nightmares again based on what you had told him and based on him falling asleep while driving and based on his blood work, but he didn't think they'd have gotten this bad. "Are you okay? he asked you quietly.

You shook your head and Will led you over to the couch.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You sighed. "I heard him scream, so I woke up to see what was wrong. When I walked- When I walked into his room he was squeezing his pillow with his hand like he was holding something. He was dripping sweat."

You paused and took a deep breath.

"It's okay," Will told you. Take your time."

"Then, he just, he just whipped around and grabbed his gun from- from on top of his nightstand. I don't why it wasn't in the safe where it usually is. And that's when he..."

"That's when he pointed it at you?"

You nodded as tears rolled down your cheeks. "I said his name over and over and he finally snapped out of it."

"And that's when you came here?"

You nodded again.

"Well, how about we put on a movie, and then you can try to get some sleep. I'll stop over at Jay's tomorrow when you're at school. I'm pretty sure you have some clothes here just in case."

"Thanks, Will."

"No problem, Short Stack."

***

Jay heard a knock on his door the next day. Will had texted him and told him that you were safe and at his place because Jay had been blowing up Will's phone looking for you. So, at least he wasn't worried about that anymore.

Jay sipped his beer and waited for the knocking to stop, but it just became increasingly louder.

"Jay, open the damn door!"

Reluctantly, with beer still in hand, Jay stood up and opened his apartment door. "What the hell are you doing here?" Jay asked.

"Gimme that," Will said as he ripped the beer bottle from Jay's hand after he'd entered his apartment. "And, for your information, I'm making sure you're not drinking yourself to death." He looked around at the two other empty beer bottles on the counter. It wasn't even one o'clock in the afternoon yet. "Which, I guess I came just in time."

"Just let me drink it." Jay tried to take the bottle back, but Will held it out of his reach. Then, he made his way over to the kitchen sink and poured it out.

"Shit, man. I paid for that."

"I don't really give a damn right now, Jay. You pointed a fucking gun at our little sister. She came to my place bawling last night. You're lucky she didn't get into a car accident because of how distraught she was when she was driving."

"I know, I know. I fucked up, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, you fucked up all right. This is probably the single-handed worse thing you've done in your entire life."

"Did you just come here to lecture me?" Jay yelled. "If so, the door's that way and you can get the hell out!"

Will sighed. "I didn't come here just to do that, but I needed to get that out first. You need to talk to someone about this, Jay."

"I'm talking to you. Isn't that enough?"

"A trained professional."

"You are a trained professional."

"I'm a trained medical professional, not a trained psychological professional."

Jay sat on the couch and put his head in his hands. That scene from last night had been replaying in his head for almost twelve hours now.

Him hearing your voice...seeing you with your hands raised while they were shaking...how much of whisper your voice was...the feeling of guilt that swallowed him whole when he noticed he was holding his service weapon...you sprinting out of the house in the middle of the night...

"Jay," Will said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You still with me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm still here. Sorry." He paused. "Last night, I guess I was so out of it that I forgot to lock up my gun and left it on my bedside table. If I had just locked it up, this wouldn't have happened. If I just wouldn't have taken the melatonin, this wouldn't have happened. If I was just able to fucking sleep this wouldn't have happened."

"How long haven't you been sleeping?" Will asked gently.

"The nightmares started when I shot that little girl, Will."

"Jay, it's been weeks since that happened."

"I know. And they just keep getting worse. At first, it was Y/N who was the little girl I shot when I was chasing the offenders when the bullet went through the illegal daycare center. And then, they started turning into me being overseas and Y/N somehow being with me and her being shot over there. Last night- last night was the worst."

"You don't have to tell me what happened if you don't want to."

"Thank you," Jay replied. Because in all honestly, that was one of the worst nightmares he's ever had since getting on his medication.

"Is that why you're sleeping on Y/N's bedroom floor?"

"How'd you know? I didn't even think she knew."

"She knows. She said she'll wake up in the middle of the night and you'll be there, on her floor, with a pillow and a blanket, and you'll sneak out before she wakes up."

"I just, I needed to make sure she was safe. I needed to make sure she was still alive, Will."

"I really think you need to talk to someone. Maybe ask about getting your meds increased."

"I've been on the same dose for over two years now. You really think they'd need to be upped?"

"It's a possibility. But, we need to talk about Y/N now."

Jay sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, we do. I have no idea what to do, Will. I'm supposed to be her legal guardian and I couldn't even keep her safe. I was the one who made her feel not safe."

"I know it's gonna be hard for you to hear this," Will started, "but, she doesn't want to come back here for a little while."

"Yeah, I figured that when she didn't answer my texts."

"Listen, she and I talked this morning, and if you go see someone today or tomorrow and see someone about getting your meds upped, she'd stay with me for two weeks so the meds have time to get into your system, and then we'll go from there."

"So, all I have to do is get my meds upped?"

"Well, that might be the best option. But, I still think you should talk to someone, Jay. Either a therapist or a psychiatrist or even a veteran's support group might be helpful."

"Okay. But, can you just tell her that I'm so sorry? And that, I wasn't in my right mind? I didn't know it was her, I swear."

"I know you didn't. Now, no more drinking, you have appointments to schedule." Will paused. "Have you talked to Voight? Maybe you shouldn't be working while you're trying to figure this out."

"I do not need to take time off."

"Yes, you do. Do you want our little sister to hate you or not?"

"Fine. I'll take two weeks furlough."

"That's all I ask. Please do not get shitfaced because I will babysit you if I have to."

"Then who's gonna stay with Y/N?"

"I'll figure something out."

***

"You're sure I'm good to go back?" you asked Will as you walked into yours and Jay's apartment building.

"Y/N, he hasn't had a nightmare in a week and a half. Everything's gonna be fine," Will answered.

"I know. I know I shouldn't be scared of my own brother, but, uh, what happened that night, it was..."

"Terrifying?" Will finished for you.

"Yeah, that."

"Well, I'll be there the entire weekend in case anything happens."

"Thanks, Will."

***

Later that night, you laid in bed, trying to fall asleep. But, you couldn't. You just couldn't shake the feeling of walking into Jay's room to try and wake him from a nightmare and having a gun pointed right at you. You couldn't shake the feeling that maybe tonight was the night that Jay would have a nightmare and end up sleepwalking into your bedroom with his gun drawn.

So, you were sitting up in bed, at 3:30 am, having just finished your last movie an hour and a half ago with your lamp on and the current book you were reading open.

You heard the sound of your door opening and looked up.

You held your breath.

Jay was in your room.

"Y/N, what are you still doing awake?" he asked, slowly moving closer to you so he didn't scare you.

You sighed in relief. He was conscious. He was awake.

"I can't sleep," you answered honestly.

"Is it because of me? That you can't sleep?" You looked down and that was all the confirmation Jay needed. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I've said it a lot these past few weeks, but I'm truly sorry. You have to understand that it wasn't me."

"I know. I just, you scared you me, Jay. I was scared I was going to die that night."

"Y/N, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened."

"And you haven't had any nightmares?"

"None in over ten days," he answered.

"Then why are you in my room? I know you come in here sometimes after you have nightmares."

"I came to make sure you were sleeping. Will mentioned you were nervous and I know you don't like to sleep when you're nervous."

"Oh." You paused. "Can you tell me what you were dreaming about? When you pointed the gun at me?"

"Y/N, I'd really prefer not to. I don't want to go back there."

"I get it," you said. "It's traumatic. Like how even though Dad isn't drinking anymore, I don't want to go back and live with him."

"Exactly."

You moved over. "You can come sit if you want." Jay sat down on the bed next to you and handed you Beary so that he didn't squash him. You closed your book. "Can you tell me a story?"

"Like a fairytale like when you were little and Mom would make me read those princess books to you?" Jay chuckled.

"No, maybe a you and Will story or a me and you story from I was little and don't remember much?"

Jay thought for a second until he found the perfect one filed away in his brain under Y/N stories. "Do you remember that time when you brought your first aid kit on your bike because you had just made it in girl scouts?"

"A little, but not really."

"Okay, I'll tell you that one then."

"Jay Jay!" little seven-year-old you exclaimed as you run up to Jay. "Ride bikes with me?"

"I think my bike has a flat tire, but I can get my skateboard. Is that okay with you?" Jay asked.

"Yeah! But Mommy said you gotta wear a helmet because she said we gotta protect our heads," you told him while putting your hands on your hips.

"That's right! How could I forget that? I'll be right back and then we can go, okay?"

"Okay!"

While Jay ran off to find his bike, you ran off to get your first aid kit that you had just made in girl scouts and Beary to put in the little basket on the front of your purple princess bike.

You waited for him and when he reappeared with his skateboard and helmet, he asked what you had.

"Beary and this I made in girl scouts yesterday," you told him. "It has bandaids and this white tape and white soft stuff and wipies."

You handed it to him to take a look. Inside, there were different sizes of bandaids, medical tape, gauze, and antiseptic wipes. "This is such a good first aid kit, kiddo!"

"Thank you!"

You got your bike out of the garage and clipped on your helmet. Jay pressed down on the horn attached to your handlebars before stepping onto his skateboard.

You two rode down the street and then Jay got to a ramp that some kids had made. There was one ramp, a gap, and then another ramp.

"Jay Jay!" you exclaimed. "Can you go on that?"

Jay had gone on homemade skateboard ramps like those hundreds of times. Hell, he'd even made one home and he and Will would do kickflips in the air when going on it when your guys' mom was home. She'd have a heart attack if she saw her sons doing that.

"I can even do a trick while I'm in the air," Jay told you.

"Really?" you asked, your eyes going wide.

"Really. Wanna see?"

"Yes please!"

Jay started a few yards back from the first ramp and started propelling himself forward, gaining speed. Then, your jaw dropped as he skated onto the first ramp and into the air.

"Whoa," you whispered to yourself as he did his kickflip in midair between the two ramps.

But, Jay had overestimated the distance between the two ramps, so when he landed, he landed on the road and not the ramp with way too much force, causing him to fall off his skateboard and land on the ground, scraping his hands across the road.

"Jay Jay!" you yelled as you quickly kicked down your kickstand and grabbed your first aid kit. "Are you okay?" you asked.

Jay stood up and grabbed his skateboard. "I'm fine. Just a little blood, nothing to worry about."

"You're bleeding? Where? I can fix it."

He held up his right hand where his palm was a little bloody. You started to open your first aid kit and Jay knew there was no point in arguing with you, so he just crouched down to your height.

You grabbed a bandaid and started to open it. "You gotta clean it out first, nurse," Jay told you.

"Oh. With the wipey-thingies?"

"Yes, with those."

You opened one of the antiseptic wipes--with Jay's help because those were really hard to open!--and wiped down his palm. Then, you put the bandaid on.

"All better!" you exclaimed as you put the trash back into your first aid kit. "Can we keep going?" you asked.

"We sure can!"

You ran back to your bike and put the first aid kit into the basket next to Beary and then you got on your bike and caught up to Jay. And then, you were off around the block again.

"We really thought you were going to be a doctor or a nurse after that," Jay said. "But, then you realized you hated both math and science." He looked down at you. "Oh, you're asleep."

He set your book on your nightstand and turned off the lamp. Then, he slowly crept out of your room and closed the door, and went back to his room to fall into a nightmare-less sleep.

Despite Will sleeping on the couch, things were back to normal in yours and Jay's apartment and neither of you could've been happier.

A/N: Hey guys, I wanted to get this posted before I'm away for the weekend and probably without internet. As always, thank you for reading, and please reblog/like and comment! I love hearing what you guys think, as it gives me tons of motivation to keep writing! If you want to be added to my taglist, just tell me and I’ll add you!

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e @i-like-sparkly-things 

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Polished

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 15.6k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 💘 this is the bodyguard AU that i’ve spent all week writing. she’s another long one (i think i have a problem lol) but i worked really hard on it and i’m super proud of how it all turned out. i really hope you like it! if you do, please feel free to leave me some feedback here. 

thank u to the people who acted as my betas for portions/the entirety of this fic: @emotionally-imbruised​, @gucciwoodnymph​, @poppunkdork​ and @atlafan​! i appreciate it so much! 

warning: this fic contains mentions of blood, minor violence, attempted assault, weaponry, and a single use of the f-slur. if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please keep scrolling.

with all of that being said, enjoy! i can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💖

~*~

     September 18, 2020

“Cheers!”

The tequila burns its way down your throat as you toss the shot back. Your ears are ringing, the sound amplified by the music pulsing through the nightclub. Lights flash from the ceiling, bathing everything in pinks and blues and greens and purples. To your right, Sydney leans forward, smiles toothily, and yells something at the bartender. You think she might be telling him that it’s her birthday, even though that won’t be true for another month—perhaps it’s an attempt to secure an additional round of drinks. Your hips sway unconsciously as you sink your teeth into a slice of lime.

It’s a Friday night.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch the bartender nodding with a permissive smile on his face.

It’s a Friday night, and Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila.

Someone places their hand on the small of your back as they pass. A little zap of electricity races down your spine.

It’s a Friday night, Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila, and you’re drunk. You’re very, very drunk.

The pinch of salt that you lick off your hand stings the edge of your tongue. You don’t reflect on the sensation for too long, though, choosing instead to tip your shot glass back and let the alcohol run its course. The bottom of the glass thuds against the countertop when you slam it down, but the noise is lost amidst the heavy bass pouring through the club. Sydney smiles up at you as she bites into her lime, a green grin. You laugh.

“So!” your friend screams, grimacing at the sour aftertaste lingering on her lips. “Where’s Harry?”

“What?” You squint and lean in, bending down slightly so that you can hear her properly.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and repeats the question: “Where’s Harry?”

“Oh!” You smirk, shooting her a mischievous wink. “Managed to shake him off for the night!”

“No shit!” Sydney yells, her jaw dropping. “He let you come?”

You pucker your lips, averting your gaze. “Er…not exactly.”

In response, her eyes widen, and she just laughs. You grin when she slaps your arm gently and grabs your wrist, tugging you away from the bar and into the dancing crowd.

“Who cares?” she says loudly, throwing her hands toward the ceiling and shaking her hips. “He’s got a stick up his ass either way!”

Despite your inebriated state, part of you longs to correct her. He’s actually not that bad, you want to say, because it’s true. In public, Harry is stoic and reserved and always on high alert, but that’s because he has to be. It’s his job. You resent the fact that he intimidates your friends, and that it complicates your outings, but you don’t resent him. He’s been assigned to you for two years now, and there’s never been an incident—you wonder if it’s because he’s good at what he does, or because you don’t really need protection after all.

All this time…perhaps your mother was just overly paranoid. And perhaps she continues to be overly paranoid, even to this day.

You shake those thoughts from your mind; they’ll just give you a headache.

Another hand lands on the small of your back, but this time, the contact isn’t fleeting. Fingers pinch and tug at the material of your shirt, relentless. You’re about to whip around and demand that this badgering stranger unhand you, but then a pair of lips are right at the shell of your ear. Hot air fans down your neck—you shiver.

“Why do you insist on making my job so much harder than it has to be?”

~*~

Harry doesn’t speak a word after ushering you into the car. The whole ride back, you sit with your arms crossed, staring out the window and trying to shake off your dizziness. A deep pout is etched into your lips. Your somber expression doesn’t shift, not even when Harry pulls up to the tall metal entrance of your estate, punching in a code on the keypad and sticking his head out of the driver window to undergo a retinal scan. He settles back into his seat afterward, blinking rapidly and waiting for the front gates to creak open.

“How’d you find me?” you slur as you stumble into your bedroom. It’s the first time you’ve spoken since he dragged you out of the club.

Harry doesn’t answer as you make your way over to your bed; your room is large, rivalling the size of an overpriced studio apartment. The furniture is all carved from the finest mahogany, and a glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Tall, full-length windows are framed by satin curtains. On the opposite wall stands the door to your private washroom, and next to it, the entrance to your walk-in closet. It’s lavish, it’s luxurious, but it does nothing to ease the situation at hand.

“What?” you ask, plopping down onto your bed. You lift one foot up, fiddling with the strap around your ankle. “Ignoring me for the night?”

You purse your lips as you struggle to get your heels off. Your head is swimming, and a deep feeling of shame is blossoming in your chest. Groaning loudly, you smack your hands down against the duvet and squeeze your eyes shut.

Footsteps approach, but you pay them no mind. You only open your eyes once you feel a pair of rough—albeit nimble—fingers dance down your shin. Through the slight blur in your vision, you find Harry kneeling before you, his hands working deftly to unclasp the strap on each ankle and gently tug your shoes from your feet. You wiggle your toes, sighing appreciatively.

“Thank you,” you murmur, swallowing heavily.

He only grunts in response.

The two of you sit there in silence—you on your duvet and him on his haunches. He’s looking down at the ground, and you take the moment to study his features—the sharp bridge of his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the twisting of his lips. His black suit fits him well, filled out in all the right places; gold cufflinks glint in the moonlight. He’s attractive, and you’re not blind. But your relationship is strictly professional, no matter how much you like to think that the two of you have grown close enough to be friends.

“Find my iPhone,” Harry mutters suddenly.

“What?”

You recoil. He looks up at you with piercing green eyes, and only then do you realise that he’s answering your initial question.

“Oh,” you say, nodding. “Well…good to know.”

His lips twitch.

You wobble into the washroom, trying your best to rub off the makeup on your face despite your inebriated state. Somewhere beneath the buzz, you know that you didn’t get all of it—and that there’ll probably be dried crusts of mascara beneath your eyes tomorrow—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You missed some.”

You jump, your gaze snapping upward. In the reflection of the mirror, Harry is leaning against the doorway. You groan, raking your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble.

Harry’s brows creep up his forehead, surprise evident on his face. “Aren’t you always telling me that it’s important to take it all off before bed?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m smarter when I’m sober.”

He snorts. “Good one.”

You frown.

He pushes off from the doorway, stepping closer to you and reaching for the pack of discarded makeup wipes. When his eyes meet yours in the mirror, he tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the toilet on your right.

“Sit.”

You pout like a child, plopping down onto the ceramic lid and waiting impatiently. Harry takes his sweet time, slowly pulling a wipe from the package and unfurling it gingerly. You’re momentarily entranced by the way the rings on his fingers sparkle in the light. But then a yawn tears past your lips, and you begin to tap your foot against the bathroom tiles, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“C’mon. I’m tired.”

He shoots you a stern look. It’s enough to shut you up.

You watch him intently as he crouches down in front of you and grabs your chin between his fingers. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. The deep baritone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His ministrations aren’t as tender as they should be—you make it a point to tell him as much.

“You’re rubbing too harshly,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. “Be gentler with it.”

“Quiet,” Harry huffs.

Spurred on by his irritation, you continue: “Are you always this rough? Your poor girlfriend…”

He grits his teeth.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he deadpans. You whimper when he drags the wipe unforgivingly over the delicate skin of your eyelids. “But if I did,” he adds, “she’d like it rough.”

Your shoulders stiffen once his words sink in. He says nothing else, choosing instead to crumple the wipe up into a ball and toss it in the garbage. You follow his movements with wide eyes, staring up at him as he stands.

“Brush your teeth,” he tells you, rubbing his fingers over his jawline. “Your breath stinks.”

And then he’s gone.

After a haphazard attempt at brushing your teeth, you shuffle back into your bedroom. Harry is still there, but he’s holding two pieces of fabric for you to take. You recognize them as the baggy t-shirt and the shorts that you usually wear to bed.

“Thank you,” you say, laying the material out on your mattress. Your lips part with another loud yawn as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall from your hips and pool around your ankles. When you cast a glance toward Harry, you find him facing away from you, his fingers laced behind his back.

Always a gentleman.

You tug on the soft, cotton shorts—the hem falls a few inches below your bottom. You reach behind your back, trying to thumb open the clasps of your shirt, but quickly grow frustrated as the seconds draw out.

“Harry,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yes?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Can you help me with this?”

Gingerly, he peers at you over his shoulder. Once he takes note of the fact that you’re dressed, he steps closer to you. You toss a thumb backward, gesturing to the column of buttons stacked along your spine.

Again, Harry manages the task easily. You stiffen as he parts the fabric of your shirt, your eyelids growing heavy with each new inch of skin exposed. Though he’s not standing nearly as close as you would like, you can still feel faint puffs of air floating across the nape of your neck. The room is silent; you’re afraid that he can hear your heart battering against the confines of your chest.

Do his hands linger a touch longer than necessary, or is it just your imagination?

“Thank you,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

You pull your shirt off, leaving yourself in just a lacy black bra. Harry’s sharp intake of breath is audible, and then he’s whipping back around.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give a guy a warning next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” you parrot, emboldened by the alcohol in your system. “Am I going to be stripping for you on a daily basis?”

He grunts. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You smile to yourself, unclipping your bra and shrugging on the baggy t-shirt he’d given you. “I know.” You clear your throat. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

Harry glances over at you as you climb into bed, pulling the covers back and nuzzling your face into your pillow. He bites his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as you settle in for the night. Once your shuffling has ceased, he squares his shoulders, his gaze flitting toward the door.

“Well, if that’s everything—,” he starts, taking a step back.

“Wait!” you say, shooting up into a sitting position.

He freezes, his eyes going wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your duvet and avoiding his eyes. “Would you—I was just wondering if maybe—you could stay?”

“Stay,” Harry echoes. You nod, still refusing to look at him. He sighs, and the pet name that he seems to have reserved exclusively for you falls past his lips.

“Love…you’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” you shoot back. “I’m drunk and I just…it feels like I’m floating, and I need something to keep me grounded. And—” you groan, “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but could you please stay? Just—just until I fall asleep. Then you’re free to go, or whatever.”

Harry’s eyes are wide by the time you’re through with your little speech. His expression leaves you feeling even more embarrassed than before. You’re about to roll your eyes and grumble out a never mind, I’m being stupid, just leave, but then he’s approaching your bed cautiously, like you’re a deer that he doesn’t want to startle.

“Just until you fall asleep,” he confirms, drumming his fingers over his bicep.

You nod, expecting him to settle into the armchair a few feet away.

He doesn’t though; you watch attentively as he lowers himself down to sit at the edge of your mattress. His posture is stiff, back straight—he uncrosses his arms, but then locks his fingers together and places them securely in his lap. You hold back a laugh.

“You can relax, you know,” you say, rolling onto your side so that you can fix him with earnest eyes. “I won’t bite.” You pause. “Unless you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll leave,” Harry threatens without missing a beat.

You giggle, smothering your cheek into your pillow. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry.”

The ghost of a smile dances across his lips. Your eyes fall from his face to his lap; without thinking, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and tugging his hands apart.

“It’s already chipping,” you say, a hint of admonishment seeping into your voice. “You should’ve let me put on the protective coat, dummy.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, flexing his fingers in your grasp. “You’re just gonna redo them on Wednesday, anyway.”

“Still,” you murmur, thumbing over the purple varnish on his nails. You scrape your knuckles against his, letting out a quiet sigh. “What colour do you want next? Are we sticking with lavender again?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s try something new.”

“I went shopping yesterday with Sydney and bought mint green,” you tell him through a yawn. “What do you think of that?”

“’S nice,” he replies, though it sounds like he’s far away.

You peer up at him through your lashes, only to find that he’s staring at you intently. Under normal circumstances, you would offer up a quip about how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. But you’re tired, and you’re warm, and his hand is now stroking over yours, and you don’t want to ruin the moment.

Maybe he’ll stay the night, is your last thought before you drift off to sleep.

When you awaken the next morning with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, Harry’s gone. The only proof left of the night before is a tablet of ibuprofen and a glass of clear liquid sitting on your nightstand. The ceiling wavers above you; you might still be a little drunk.

You sit up, popping the pill into your mouth and knocking it back with a large swig of water. There’s a dull ache in your chest but you ignore it, opting instead to pull the covers back up over your head.

He didn’t stay. You try not to feel too disappointed as the realisation sinks in.

     September 23, 2020

Harry is waiting for you once you get out of class.

Usually, you fall into step with him, ready with a teasing remark about how he must not have anything better to do with his time. He knows that the two of you probably look like quite the pair—you, with your bag and your coffee and your cheeky smirk, and him, resigned and rigid and expressionless. He would give anything to claw his way out of this situation, to smile along with you and laugh at your jokes and tuck your hair behind your ear. But he needs this job, and your mother loves him like a son, and he doesn’t want to do anything to screw that up.

Today, however, you leave class with a new friend. Harry’s entire body tenses when he notes just how closely the man is walking next to you. He follows the two of you from a safe distance, trying his best to be inconspicuous. You laugh at something that your companion says, and his jaw clenches—he pretends not to know why.

It feels like eons have passed before you and the man finally part ways. Harry doesn’t waste any time.

“Hey,” you say without even turning to look at him. When he glances down at you, he finds a shadowy smirk on your face.

“Hi,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Good class?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“That’s good.”

He blows out a breath, pushing through a door and holding it open for you to follow. You thank him softly, releasing a happy sigh as the warm sunlight hits your face. Harry’s gaze is drawn to the serenity of your features, but he looks away quickly. He’s not really in the mood to endure your taunts. Not today.

“So,” he starts as the two of you amble down the sidewalk, “you made a new friend?”

“Yeah,” you say, shouldering the strap of your messenger bag. “His name is Kevin. He’s nice.”

“He’s funny, too, I’m guessing.” The slightest tinge of bitterness seeps into his words. He hopes that you won’t notice, but of course, you’re as perceptive as ever.

You glance over at him, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Harry keeps his eyes trained in front of him, where he can see a black car inching into view on the road ahead. Your chauffeur rolls down the window, lifting one hand in greeting. Harry waves back, his expression betraying nothing.

“It’s a good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?”

You laugh at his comeback, but the noise isn’t as cheerful as usual. If anything, it sounds a bit forced.

“Yeah,” you say. Harry opens the car door for you, and you climb into the backseat. “I guess it is.”

~*~

“Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not my hand, it’s yours.”

“You’re smudging it.”

“Because you keep moving!”

You sigh, sitting back against the headboard of your bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t need to see Harry to know that he’s fighting a smirk. The discography of your newest celebrity obsession is playing on your phone. Harry has told you multiple times that he hates this song—and that’s exactly why you have it on repeat.

“Can we please listen to something else?” he asks, shifting carefully on your bed.

You crack one eye open. “Can you stay still long enough for me to finish doing your nails?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You scoot closer to him, reaching for your phone and shuffling the songs in your library. Harry exhales in relief when a new, slower melody begins to trickle from the device. You toss it away, holding out your hand and looking at him expectantly. He lifts his chin, placing his fingers onto one of your crossed legs.

The sensation of his hand on your knee shouldn’t leave you breathless, but it does. You feel like his palm is burning a hole through your sweatpants. It’s been like this for as long as you can remember—painting his nails every Wednesday night, listening to music and enjoying each other’s company. Some evenings, conversation is scarce; others, it’s like you haven’t spoken in months. It doesn’t make a difference to you—you just like knowing that he’s there.

“How’d the call with your mum go?” Harry says. He makes a move to rest his chin against his fist before realising that the action will inevitably disrupt the polish on his other hand. You notice, smiling softly at the awkward moment.

“It went well,” you hum. Harry likes the way you purse your lips in concentration. “She’d landed in Amsterdam a couple hours prior. Called me when she got to the hotel.”

“That’s good.” He blows out a breath. “How long is she staying for?”

“A few months.”

“I see.”

You peer up at him, your eyes swimming with curiosity. “Do you know why she’s there?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Love,” he starts, frowning gently, “you know she doesn’t—I’m not—she doesn’t keep me in her circle.”

“I know,” you say, somewhat mournfully. “I just thought—maybe she would’ve told you.”

A dejected crease forms on your forehead. Harry longs to lean forward and smooth it out with his lips. He hates when you get like this, but on the other hand, he can’t blame you. Surely, it must be difficult to be kept in the dark, especially for so long. It’s been years, and you’re still not exactly sure of what your mother has gotten herself into.

And despite your frequent questions about her trips, you’re not exactly sure if you want to know.

Silence ensues, and the two of you wordlessly agree to drop the topic—at least for tonight. You finish painting the nail on Harry’s middle finger, bending down and blowing cool air on the wet varnish in hopes of speeding up the drying process.

“Careful,” he warns when your hair tumbles over your shoulder. Without thinking, he reaches out, trying his best to gather the strands in one hand so that they don’t fall onto the freshly-painted nails splayed out over your knee.

You squawk in surprise, sitting back up and circling your fingers around his wrist. “What’d you do that for?” you say, admonishment evident in your tone. “You’re gonna screw these ones up!”

“I was just—!” he tries, but you shush him, scrutinising the semi-dry polish on his other hand. After a long moment, you sigh in relief, returning it and narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re lucky,” you tell him, snorting quietly. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Like you could take me,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You smirk, peering down at the mint green covering three out of his five nails. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers over the hills of his knuckles, softly tweaking his pinky at the end of your journey.

“We’ve come a long way since the black, haven’t we?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. “That was so boring.”

“It was.” Harry nods.

It’s comical, really—a big man like him, sitting cross-legged on your bed. A man covered in an intimidating black suit, hunched over and watching with wide eyes as you meticulously paint shiny varnish onto each one of his nails.

A year ago, you would have been reminding him of this at every available opportunity.

Now, though…now, you’re just enjoying the closeness of it all.

“Er,” Harry clears his throat, and you peer up at him through your lashes.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“I—,” he looks away. “I just wanted to apologise for earlier today.”

“Earlier today…,” you trail off, frowning in confusion. “What happened earlier today?”

“When I—when you—never mind.” He shakes his head.

You smile. “I’m totally fucking with you,” you tell him, snickering quietly. You shrug. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, his lips curling down into a scowl.

You laugh, reaching forward and shoving his shoulder gently. “You love it.” Your own shoulders shake as you look back down, dipping the dried nail brush into its accompanying pot of green polish.

“Plus,” you add, trying to keep your voice light. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, you’re the only man in my life.”

Harry lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Should I be insulted?”

You resume painting his nails, giggling at his sardonic tone. “You should be flattered.”

     October 10, 2020

You’re walking back to the car when it happens.

It’s a beautiful day—the sun is shining brightly, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. You and Harry pass by a woman walking her dog, but not before you bend down, transferring all of your shopping bags into one hand (a feat, Harry thinks) and cooing at the furry little creature.

“She’s adorable,” you tell the owner, peering up at her with shining eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Blossom,” the woman replies, smiling.

“Blossom,” you repeat, turning your gaze back to the fluffy white dog. “Oh, you’re beautiful, aren’t you? I just want to eat you up.”

The owner laughs nervously—Harry doesn’t blame her. You’re harmless, but he’s right behind you. He’s sure that he looks intimidating, lingering in a black suit with his arms crossed over his chest. He makes no move to engage with the woman or her dog, even though the little boy in him yearns to run his fingers through Blossom’s soft white fur. Instead, he stands there, waiting patiently as you bid the lady goodbye and blow one last kiss in her pet’s general direction.

The two of you continue walking; the car is only about fifty feet away.

“That was one of the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen,” you say once you’re out of earshot. You glance back over your shoulder, sighing longingly. “Do you think she’d put her up for sale if I asked?”

Despite himself, Harry smirks.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he begins, uncrossing his arms. “You can’t buy everything you see.”

“I bought you, didn’t I?”

“I’m not for sale. And even if I was, technically it would’ve been your mother who bought me.”

“Okay, well then, we bought…your services.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “You make it sound like I’m a prostitute or something.”

You laugh.

Harry loves your laugh. He loves the sound, loves the tone, loves the pitch. He loves the way your features crinkle up with joy as the noise slips from your mouth. Every time he hears your giggle, his gaze is drawn to your face, like an inborn reflex.

He’s grateful for that. He sends out a prayer of thanks to whatever mighty powers that may be, because when he looks at you, he sees everything. He sees your smile, the apples of your cheeks, your full, fluttering lashes.

And he sees the shaky red dot positioned squarely between your eyes.

“Get down!”

You squawk in surprise when he tackles you to the ground.

“Harry—!” you start, but then a telltale whizz! rockets past your ear.

You scream.

Your shoulder makes contact with the cement of the sidewalk, and a flare of pain blazes up your arm. Harry’s on top of you in an instant, his hands on either side of your head and his green eyes wild with panic. You’ve never seen him look so scared.

You know what’s happening, but you can’t seem to move. Your pretty pastel shopping bags are lying around you in a heap. Some are still on your arm, digging into your wrist and cutting off circulation. Harry appears to realise this as well, because he climbs to his knees and yanks your hands free.

“Go!” he shouts, but his voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The two of you stagger to your feet. You take in your surroundings, your lips parted in shock. “My—my bags…”

“Forget the bags!” he yells. He grips your biceps callously, spinning you around and shoving you in the direction of the car. “Fucking run!”

~*~

“Harry…”

“Harry.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he roars, whipping around.

You stumble backward, nearly bumping into the wall behind you. You’re standing in the front foyer of your estate, your face littered with tears and your hands perpetually shaky. Harry locks the door and then wrenches closed the curtains on the windows flanking the entrance. The abrupt action causes him to wince.

“You’re hurt,” you state, though your voice is weak. “Harry, your arm…”

“’S just a graze,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming past you.

You follow him as he makes his way toward the tall, winding staircase in the middle of the room. The steps span every level of your house, from the top floor to the basement. Harry pauses on the first stair of the flight leading downward, his hand on the bannister and his back to you.

“Go to your room,” he orders lowly, refusing to look at you. “And stay there.”

“Go to my room?” you repeat incredulously, your eyes bulging out of your head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he blocks you out, descending the stairs into the basement without another word. You let out an angry yell, furiously fisting the material of your cashmere sweater. A few long moments elapse before you grit your teeth, and then your feet are smacking heatedly against each step as you rush after him.

You’re quiet once you reach the bottom of the flight, looking both ways for any clue as to where he could’ve gone. You purse your lips when you see him turn the corner, his left hand clutching his right bicep and a deep scowl etched into his face. Silently, you follow.

He ducks into a room at the end of the hall, pushing the door closed. However, it doesn’t click into place, leaving a small crack for you to peek through once you reach the threshold. You place one hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, watching with wide eyes as Harry yanks his suit jacket from his torso.

His white button up is crisp and pristine—save for the right sleeve, which is soaked through with blood. You nearly gag.

Harry stalks through another doorway—a quick glimpse inside reveals it to be a bathroom. You push open your door ever-so-slightly, taking in the scene in front of you.

His bedroom. Of course.

You’ve never actually been inside his room. You’ve always known he lived somewhere in the house—a safe haven to frequent after midnight—but you’d never been bold enough to seek it out. You’re surprised to find that his room is quite similar to yours. It’s smaller in size, but the layout is the same (excluding your full-length windows and luxurious chandelier). The walls are painted a deep shade of burgundy, and the bed is made up of black satin sheets. He also has a walk-in closet and an adjoining washroom, just like you.

Bolstered by your discovery, you slip inside, nudging the door closed. Something on his dresser glints, catching your eye—you turn toward it.

It’s a picture frame. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it bears a photo of Harry. He’s young, but not that much younger than you are, now—maybe nineteen or twenty. He’s got his arms wrapped around two women, holding them against his sides; one is older, her face slightly weathered with age, whereas the other is youthful and alert, sporting bright eyes and smooth cheeks.

With a jolt, you realise that Harry and both of these women all look eerily similar—and that they all share the same smile.

The sound of running water jerks you out of your daze. Your head snaps up in the direction of the washroom; the door has been left ajar.

Harry is standing in front of the sink, soaking a washcloth underneath the faucet. His hair is dishevelled, and his button-up has been ripped open, exposing his chest and abdomen. A silver pendant—a dog tag—hangs from his neck. You’re shocked to discover all of the tattoos littering his skin—you’ve only ever been privy to the cross inked into the dip of his thumb.

Your eyes trail up his body, landing once again on the bloody sleeve covering his arm. The sight of it is enough, giving you the courage you need to speak up.

“Just a graze, huh?”

Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet yours in the mirror. A small part of you is upset that you didn’t manage to catch him by surprise. Are you really that predictable?

“Thought I told you to go to your room.”

You place your hands on your hips, scowling deeply. “And I thought you were twenty-six, not fifty. Who are you, my father?”

“No,” Harry says, and you hate the coolness with which he addresses you. He wraps the wet washcloth around his fingers, squeezing excess water from the fabric. “But I am your bodyguard.”

“You’re also hurt,” you retaliate, taking a step toward him.

Harry moves to the side, trying to put some distance between your bodies, but you’re not deterred. You back him up until his leg knocks against the edge of the bathtub, lifting one eyebrow challengingly because he has nowhere to go. His nostrils flare in irritation—you don’t think he’s ready to give up.

“You have two options,” you tell him, set on holding your ground. “You can either stop being such a proud prick and let me help you, or we can stay like this, and you can bleed out onto the bathroom floor.”

A long stretch of silence ensues. Harry stares at you with hard eyes, but you refuse to let your foundation crumble. Just when you think he’s going to force his way out of the situation, he sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. You hold out your hand, and he dumps the washcloth into your waiting palm.

“Come here,” you say, backing up.

You hop onto the counter, spreading your legs and beckoning him closer.

He hesitates. You roll your eyes.

“Get over yourself,” you snap, shaking your head. “You’re not that dreamy.”

It’s unmistakably a lie, and you both know it, but neither of you say anything. Harry settles into the gap between your knees, keeping his arms securely at his sides. You peer up at him nervously, setting the washcloth down onto the counter and reaching forward to lightly grasp the collar of his shirt.

“This might hurt a bit,” you whisper, tugging the material away from his shoulders. He hisses when the fabric passes over his wound, scraping unpleasantly against the raw skin. You purse your lips, murmuring gentle apologies.

His left arm is covered in tattoos. You want to stop what you’re doing, trail your fingers over each design, and marvel at every little detail. But you can’t—you have bigger things to worry about at the moment, and not even your priorities are that screwed up.

Harry swears under his breath when you press the washcloth to his bicep. The material is warm and wet, and you use it to soak up the blood that’s been smeared down to his elbow. Once you’ve cleaned the area around his wound, you lean in to get a better look at what you’re dealing with.

The skin is pink and irritated, and there’s a deep groove running across the width of his arm. He’s lucky—he’s so, so lucky—but even as you stare, blood begins to pool all over again. You quickly press the washcloth back against the laceration.

“Fuck!” he chokes, reaching out and gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry.” You shift, trying to catch his eyes. “Do you have any disinfectant? And bandages?”

He nods, bending down and pulling open one of the cupboards below the sink.

“Let me—,” you start, but he cuts you off quickly.

“Still got one good arm, don’t I?” he grumbles.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to reply.

The disinfectant stings like a bitch—you tell him as much before spritzing it onto his wound. He lets loose a string of colourful curse words, and despite the tension hanging in the air, you smile. The bandages are next; you rip off a long strip, winding it around his bicep and tying it into a tight knot at the end.

“You need to keep pressure on it,” you murmur, though you don’t know who you’re addressing. “That should stop the bleeding, eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoes. You stare fixedly at his collarbones and nod.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumble, looking down at your lap.

He grunts. “For what?”

“For this,” you say, shaking your head and gesturing between your bodies. “You—you got shot, Harry.”

“Graze,” he reminds you, but the correction only makes you feel worse.

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

For the first time since he’s known you, he witnesses you speechless. Your squished lips part, but no words come out. Harry sighs, releasing your cheeks and stepping back from in between your legs. You watch as he approaches the bathroom door, pulling it wide open and making his request clear.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, and once again, he refuses to meet your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

     October 12, 2020

Harry pokes his head through your bedroom door just as you end the call with your mother. You groan, tossing your phone onto your mattress and flinging yourself into the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard. When you catch sight of him in the periphery of your vision, you greet him with a glare.

“You told her?”

He shrugs, stepping into your room and clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you say, mildly annoyed. “Your job is to make sure that I don’t get killed. Not to go running to my mother at the first sign of danger.”

Harry bristles. “She’s my boss. And you’re her daughter—she deserves to know.”

You groan, shutting your laptop and rolling over onto your stomach. Your sheets are soft; you wish that you could sink into the fabrics and let them swallow you up until you wink out of existence.

“What did she say?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

“She wanted to come home,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I told her to stay where she was.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fine!” you tell him, exasperation leaking into your words. “And I know that I’ll never hear the end of it if she has to cut her trip short because of me. God forbid she act like a parent for once in her life.”

“She’s trying her best.”

You laugh hollowly, turning onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

You peer over at him with raised brows, like you’re truly noticing his presence for the first time. “I’m surprised you’re still on duty. Does she not care about the fact that you’re injured?”

Again, he doesn’t respond. His silence, however, reveals everything.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Bullshit,” you bark out, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “So, what?” you ask, your lips curling down into a scowl. “You get to decide what’s ‘relevant’?”

“I’m here to protect you,” Harry states firmly, fixing you with stern eyes. “And I can’t do that from the sidelines.”

You scoff but say nothing else. A hush washes over the two of you, hanging heavy in the air. You pick at a loose thread on your duvet, your brows tucked tightly together.

Harry is the first one to break.

“Have you told your friends?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

“They don’t need to know.” You shrug. “Sydney’s rented out a booth for her birthday on Saturday, so I’m just going to go and pretend like nothing ever—”

“Hold on,” he cuts you off, wrinkles creasing into the skin of his forehead. “You—you’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about Sydney’s birthday?”

“No, I mean—,” he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. You stare at him, utterly bewildered. He stands up to his full height, and the exasperation warping his features fades; apathy takes its place. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going.”

“What?” you shriek. Your unbothered appearance quickly disintegrates into a heated grimace. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”

“You’re not going,” he repeats, and you hate the calm—almost tranquil—expression on his face. “That’s final.”

“Okay,” you start, scrambling to your feet and holding up your hands. “Let’s pause for a second, yeah? I know we fuck around and laugh about my daddy issues sometimes, but…you do know that you’re not actually my father, right?”

“This isn’t about your daddy issues,” Harry declares, though his tone is void of any and all emotion. “It’s about your safety.”

“And what about my sanity?” you fire back. You tug the sleeves of your crewneck over your clenched fists, desperately searching for something to keep you from falling apart. “Are you saying that I’m basically trapped in my own goddamn house?”

“You’re being dramatic.” The mask that he’s wearing seems to have been carved from stone.

“Well, you’re being a dick.”

“I can live with that.”

“Harry!” You stomp your foot—like a fucking child—as your eyes dampen with tears. Your initial sense of shock washes away, replaced by a helplessness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

The next question that leaves your lips is pathetically frail.

“Why are you doing this?”

He finally meets your gaze, and for the first time since he’d walked in, it feels like he’s looking at you rather than through you. His back straightens, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for divine combat. You approach him carefully, a stray tear streaking down your face. Before you can wipe it away on the material of your sleeve, Harry is reaching out with his uninjured arm, cupping your cheek and catching the droplet with his thumb.

“Less than forty-eight hours ago, an attempt was made on your life,” he murmurs, staring at you with earnest green eyes. “And you’re already so willing to risk it again?”

You sniffle, lifting your chin in defiance and batting his hand away. Harry’s expression falls, and his gaze grows cold once more. You wrap your arms around your torso, glaring at him angrily. Your subsequent command drips with venom.

“Get out.”

He doesn’t put up a fight.

     October 14, 2020

It’s nearly one in the morning when someone knocks on your bedroom door. At first, you don’t hear it, too preoccupied with the song pouring from your headphones into your ears. But then it’s there again, a bit firmer this time, and you pause your music, calling out a gentle, “Come in!”

You don’t know who you’re expecting to see. Maybe it’s one of the housekeepers, doing some late-night laundry and bringing you fresh towels for the next day. Maybe your personal chef has been baking cookies again—a common coping mechanism for when she can’t sleep. Your mouth waters at the thought.

All of your hopes are dashed, however, when the door creaks open.

The first thing you notice is that Harry’s not wearing his usual attire. You don’t know why you’re surprised—it’s past midnight, and he’s technically off-duty. It’s still shocking, though, seeing him sporting a plain t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants instead of the crisp, dark suit to which you’ve grown so accustomed. Your eyes drop to his hands—at least he’s still wearing his rings.

“Hi,” Harry utters lowly.

You turn back to your laptop, not saying a word.

He sighs, dragging a palm down the side of his face. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. For some reason, the sight startles you, and you remember that this is the man who had quite literally taken a bullet for you.

You suppose that it’s time to remove your head from your ass.

You shut your computer, pushing it to the side before tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. Harry watches you cautiously as you approach him, still as a statue. Swallowing heavily, you reach out, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and brushing your fingers over his wounded bicep.

“How is it?” you ask, your voice no higher than a whisper.

He relents, shoulders deflating as he exhales. “’S better. Still sore, but it’s healing.”

“Can I see?”

He nods.

You’re surprised at how easily he lets you take the lead. You push the door closed with one hand, lifting your chin in the direction of your bed. He obeys your silent request and pads over to your mattress, easing down onto the duvet with his sock-clad feet still flat against the floor. You join him a moment later, settling in on his right side and crossing your legs to get comfortable.

His arms are limp, but his posture is straight. He stares at the door as you tug on the knot of his bandages, watching as they loosen around his bicep. Slowly, you unwind the gauze, subconsciously holding in a breath and awaiting what lies beneath.

The graze has started to heal. The skin around it is a lighter shade of pink, and the wound itself has begun to mend. You’re relieved to see that there’s no blood dotting his skin. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

“It looks good,” you murmur, unsure of whether you’re talking to him or to yourself.

He just nods again, remaining motionless as you wrap the gauze back around his arm. You redo the knot at the end, and then you have to physically restrain yourself from leaning forward and smoothing your lips over the concealed wound.

Instead, your hands fall to his wrist. Harry stiffens, but then relaxes when you lift his fingers up to your face. Your brows furrow as you study the chipped green varnish on his nails. He’s been choosing the same colour for weeks, now—you’re glad that he seems to like it.

“Do you want me to?” you ask softly, peering up at him through your lashes. You’ve never been in his company so late at night (whilst sober, at least) but you suppose that there’s a first time for everything.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, fidgeting with the material of his sweatpants. “Please.”

You shoot him the tiniest smile imaginable, and then you stand, making your way into the washroom to retrieve the worn, well-loved nail kit hidden under the sink.

~*~

“Do you want to keep the green?”

He shakes his head. “No, let’s try something else.”

“Okay.” You nod, dumping the contents of the bag onto your mattress. Little, colourful glass bottles clink together as they roll out onto your duvet. You look up at Harry with a raised eyebrow, gesturing luridly to the selection laid out in front of him. “Take your pick.”

His gaze sweeps over each shade before he shrugs—you don’t miss the slight wince of pain that passes over his lips. “I can’t decide,” he says simply, and when he looks back up at you, he’s almost shy. “You choose.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power, you know,” you say wryly. A soft chuckle slips from his mouth. After a brief moment of deliberation, you settle on pastel yellow, holding up the bottle so that he can see it clearly. “This might be pretty.”

“Pretty,” he echoes, staring straight into your eyes. His gaze knocks the air from your lungs and leaves you wondering if he’s talking about the colour, or about…something else.

You give the tiny bottle a good shake, catching sight of your phone laying off to the side. Without thinking, you snatch it up from the duvet, unlocking it and tapping onto your music app.

You hand the device over to Harry. When he shoots you a confused look, you just say, “If I’m picking the shade, you can pick the songs. Seems fair to me.”

He smiles.

You screw open the cap of the nail polish, studying the consistency of the liquid inside. “I might need to apply two coats to make it opaque enough,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Harry just hums in agreement as he scrolls through your music library.

He eventually seems to settle on a decision, because just then, a soft, monotone note wafts out from your phone’s speaker. You recognize the tune right away.

“Girl Crush?” you ask, the corners of your lips kinking up into a nostalgic smile. “I would’ve never guessed.”

He returns your tender expression, tilting his head to the side sheepishly. “It’s a nice song.”

“It is,” you concur. A sharp spark passes between your fingers when you reach for his hand, but neither of you comment on it. “Okay,” you say, shooting him a faux-menacing look. “Don’t move.”

The two of you sit in silence for the next ten minutes. You’re meticulous as you paint the varnish onto each one of Harry’s nails, your tongue caught between your teeth and your brow furrowed in concentration. You can feel him staring at you—he’s practically burning a hole through your head—but you say nothing, mostly because a small part of you is enjoying the attention.

“What were you doing before I showed up?” Harry asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Working on a presentation for my seminar class,” you hum, dipping the nail brush back into its bottle. “It’s due Friday.”

“Are you nearly finished with it?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

“Love,” he starts, and you think you hear a hint of admonishment creeping into his tone. “Why’re you wasting your time giving me a bloody manicure?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave away his qualms with an absentminded flick of your hand. “I’ll get it done; I promise.” You pause for a moment, puckering your lips before you add, “Plus, I like doing your nails. It’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic,” he repeats. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah,” you nod, blowing cool air over his fingers. “It’s nice—this. Us.”

He doesn’t reply.

You start on his other hand, careful with your ministrations. The memory of his closing wound is still fresh in your mind, and you don’t want to risk any sudden movements that might open it back up. You work noiselessly for the next few minutes.

“It’s weird seeing you dressed like this,” you murmur suddenly. The words slip out before you have the time to register them.

Harry chuckles faintly. “I’m usually on-duty, aren’t I?” When you nod, he continues: “Plus, we’ve never done this so late at night.”

“We can,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly. Your ears grow hot with embarrassment, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful for the fact that you have an excuse to not look at him. You stare hard at the rings on his fingers, swallowing heavily. “I mean…if you want. I’m sure it’s more comfortable sitting in sweatpants instead of slacks.”

“Don’t you have an early class on Thursdays, though?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his question ripe with subtle mockery.

You chew on your bottom lip and refrain from telling him that you’ll happily show up to class with bags under your eyes if it means spending more of your time like this—with him. “Oh. Right.”

He laughs softly, and silence falls over the two of you once more. Just when you think that your conversation has tapered off for the night, he addresses the elephant in the room that you’ve both been trying your hardest to ignore.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

You freeze, nearly smearing a glob of yellow onto the cuticle of his pinky. When you offer up nothing in response, Harry persists.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he mutters, lowering his head in shame. “I hated seeing you like that.”

You look up at him with wide, shining eyes. You’ve never witnessed him so full of remorse—the sight makes your heart ache.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, discarding the nail brush back into the pot of bright varnish. “I—you were probably right, anyway. It’s too dangerous.”

“No.” He purses his lips. “I think I was just being selfish. I was…trying to protect my ego.”

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

His fingers flex when you stroke over the rough skin of his knuckles. He sighs.

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” he says. The words are slightly strained. “And I nearly failed.”

“But you didn’t,” you say, leaning forward.

“But I almost did!” he counters. You recoil, stunned by the emotion in his voice. He clears his throat and covers your hands with his. You can’t even be bothered to worry about the fact that his nails might ruin.

“When you told me that you were going out again, and so soon…,” Harry trails off, shaking his head. “I panicked, and I tried to take control. I’m sorry.”

You squeeze his wrists comfortingly and nod. “It’s alright,” you say thickly. “I forgive you.”

He blows out a relieved sigh, straightening up and blinking rapidly. Just like that, all evidence of his personal sentiments is gone. He can turn his feelings on and off so quickly—you suppose that it’s necessary in his line of work. Still, though…you don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“You should go to Sydney’s birthday,” he states matter-of-factly.

A small smile forms on your face. “I—are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head in approval. “But I’m coming, too, obviously. Need to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Your modest smile grows into a bright grin. Somewhere beneath your vibrant excitement, you realise that both of your hands are still tucked tightly between his.

“Escorted to a party by my hot, British bodyguard,” you tease. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

     October 17, 2020

The club is packed. You can barely move, squished between perspiring bodies and gyrating hips. You can’t even see the bar because of how many people are crowding the counter, waiting to order their drinks. It’s dark, and hot, and the air smells of sweat and desire—typical.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve never come out on a Saturday night. The pros simply do not outweigh the cons.

Thankfully, though, these aren’t normal circumstances.

The booth that Sydney has rented is a beacon of hope, a little island of peace in the surrounding sea of chaos. You’re right next to the birthday girl, laughing at how captivated she is by the song booming through the building. She wraps one arm around you, tilting her head up and accepting another swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

The rest of your friends are scattered. Some are with you, lounging in the booth and drunkenly screaming lyrics up at the ceiling. Others are out on the dance floor, blending into the crowd and twirling around without a care in the world.

Sydney is plastered; you’re not too far behind.

A quick glimpse at your phone tells you that it’s a few minutes past one in the morning. It also makes you realise just how badly you need to pee.

There’s a man standing near the bar—he’s been eyeing you unsubtly all night. From what you can tell, he’s cute. A baby blue button-up hugs his shoulders nicely, and his blonde, shaggy hair is swept sideways on his forehead. He’s tall and handsome, and you don’t think you’d mind kissing him. As you inch your way toward the edge of the booth, a large part of you wonders why you haven’t already made a move.

You trip over your own two feet as you stand, and you’re sure that you would have broken your fall with your face if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that catch you mid-tumble.

And oh. It comes rushing back to you, wrapped up in stark clarity.

That’s why.

Harry’s pained grunt reverberates lowly in your ear. With a loud gasp, you realise that your fingers are digging loosely into his injured bicep.

“I’m so sorry!” you yell over the music as he helps you back onto your feet. “Are you okay?”

He just nods, shaking off his discomfort and clenching his jaw.

He hasn’t moved from the edge of the booth all night. He’s been standing there for hours, untouched by the turbulent current of drunk socialites. You suppose that it’s because he appears to be just another member of security, watching the crowd and ensuring that everyone is staying safe.

“Where are you going?” Harry shouts. His question is barely audible, swept away by the basslines vibrating through your body.

“Bathroom!” you yell back.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You pat his shoulder gently and shake your head. “I think I’m perfectly capable of taking a piss by myself! Thank you, though!”

He frowns, looking like he wants to argue. When he sees the expectant, mocking expression on your face, however, he clamps his mouth shut.

You shoot him an appreciative smile, tossing your thumb over your shoulder and barking out a quick promise of, “I’ll be right back!”

You’re pleased to discover that the washrooms of the club are split up into private cubicles rather than simply aggregated in one big space. The walls of the corridor are lined with doors and littered with a few drunken stragglers. You pass a man and a woman who are locked in a blazing kiss, and a hot pang of longing claws its way down your sternum, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

The last cubicle on your right is vacant. Breathing out a quick prayer of thanks, you duck inside. There’s an empty shot glass standing on the edge of the sink, but other than that, the room is in good condition. You tug your underwear down as you position yourself above the toilet, clutching the hem of your dress close to your chest and doing what you came to do.

Two minutes and one flush later, you’re screwing open the faucet, sighing happily as cool water runs over your wrists. To your right, a dispenser containing lavender-scented soap is nailed into the wall. You wash your hands quickly before wringing them out and wiping the excess wetness against your thighs.

When you open the washroom door, you freeze in your tracks. A man—that same man who’s been making eyes at you all night—is standing in the threshold.

He’s even taller in person. And now that you’re closer to him (and shrouded in better lighting) you can see that his hair isn’t blonde like you’d originally thought, but light brown. His eyes are a stark shade of cobalt blue, attentive enough to indicate that he might be one of the only sober people in the entire building.

“Hi.” His voice is as smooth as velvet.

“Hi,” you reply, offering up a small, wary smile. He’s cute, but who the fuck tries to pick a woman up as she exits the bathroom?

“My name’s Lukas,” he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly, quietly introducing yourself in return. He smiles at the mention of your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You stand on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder and chewing on your bottom lip. “Sorry, my friends are waiting—”

“That’s a pretty dress,”  Lukas tells you, placing his hands on either side of the doorway. Somewhere beneath the buzz of alcohol in your system, you’re aware that he’s successfully blocked your only way out. He takes a step toward you, and you match it with a step back, nearly tripping over a shallow crack in one of the tiles on the floor.

“Thanks,” you say, your lips curling into a dim scowl, “but I really should be going.”

“Or we could hang out in here,” he suggests, shrugging innocently (in the back of your mind, you know that his thoughts must be the furthest thing from innocent.) “Just the two of us.”

“No, thanks.” You shake your head vehemently. Your palm finds a place on the wall, and you use the leverage to keep yourself steady. Your eyes rake down his body as he inches toward you, searching for any potential weak points.

Elbow to the nose? Knee to the groin?

Just then, a gruff utterance of your name is heard from out in the hall. You nearly sob in relief.

“Harry!”

Less than a moment later, a large, sweaty hand slaps down over your mouth. You squeal, frightened tears rushing to your eyes as Lukas heaves you up against the wall. He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, keeping you pinned with one hand while the other reaches for the door, aiming to slam it shut.

Before it can close all the way, a strong, ringed hand appears out of nowhere, shoving the barrier back open. Hinges creak as the doorknob crashes into the side of the wall, nearly putting a hole through the plaster.

Harry’s nostrils flare as he absorbs the scene laid out in front of him. Only a second passes before he’s stalking inside the cubicle, his mossy eyes alight with one palpable emotion: rage.

“Get the fuck off of her!” he bellows.

His palms make contact with Lukas’ shoulders, and he uses the brunt of his weight to shove him away from you. The other man goes tumbling into the opposite wall, almost stumbling over the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

“The fuck is your problem?” Lukas snaps, rubbing the back of his head as he regains his bearings.

Harry pulls you out of harm’s way, putting himself between you and your aggressor. You watch the scene unfold from behind him, anxiously fumbling with the hem of your dress.

“Don’t—,” Harry points at Lukas threateningly. His voice has returned to its normal, low octave, but you can still hear the fury simmering beneath his words, “—ever fucking touch her again.”

Lukas pushes himself off of the wall, cracking his knuckles and angling his head to the side. His blue irises glimmer maliciously as he looks over at you.

“Is this your boyfriend, sweetheart?” he asks. The words are nothing but a wicked taunt. He sizes Harry up, assessing his figure.

You watch his eyes widen when they land on the pale yellow polish decorating your bodyguard’s nails, and then—much to your horrified surprise—he laughs.

“Oh, my mistake.” He shakes his head, a spiteful smile splitting across his face. “He’s just a fuckin’ faggot.”

Harry doesn’t react to the insult—but you do. Before you can even register your actions, you’re slipping out from behind him, lifting your arm high into the air and delivering a sharp, backhanded blow to Lukas’ right cheek.

Your knuckles sting at the contact, but the pain is overshadowed by the smug sense of vindication that settles in your chest. Anger warps your features, turning you into someone unrecognizable.

“How dare—?”

The rest of your sentence dissolves into an alarmed shriek when Lukas seizes your wrist. He snarls.

“Know your place, bitch!”

You brace yourself for his retaliation, but the strike never comes. In the blink of an eye, Harry has Lukas’ arm pinned behind his back. Blue eyes well up with agony, and a pained shout slips from his lips. You recoil, startled by the sudden shift of power.

Harry leans down, his mouth just above Lukas’ ear. He glances up at you briefly before looking back down at the cowering man before him. In that moment, your gazes meet for only a millisecond, but the contact somehow puts you at ease.

“Apologise to the lady,” Harry mutters, pulling Lukas’ arm even tighter across his back. “Or I break it.”

Lukas whimpers, glaring up at you with angry eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, though there’s no sincerity behind the phrase.

Wordlessly, you lift your chin, spinning on your heel and making your way toward the door. Behind you, a surprised yelp slices through the air, followed quickly by a violent thud. When you peer back over your shoulder, Harry is brushing his palms off on the lapels of his suit, and Lukas is kneeling over the toilet, his chest heaving.

“Harry,” you say, calling him over. You hope that neither of the men can hear the slight quiver in your voice.

Harry approaches you, and you reach out for him. He offers you his uninjured arm; you link your elbow through the gap between his bicep and his torso.

You expect it to end there, but then Lukas mutters something unfamiliar under his breath. The words are nearly indiscernible, but you know for a fact that they’re definitely not English. Harry must hear them too, because he freezes in his tracks.

“Harry,” you say, tugging gently at his sleeve. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Say goodbye to your friends,” he replies bluntly, dodging your question. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

~*~

The journey back home is painfully quiet.

Harry says nothing until the car drags through the metal gates of your property and peels up the roundabout leading to your front door. Once your chauffeur cuts the engine, Harry turns to him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for the ride. You bid the man goodnight, catching his kind smile in the rear-view mirror.

He seems nice. You should probably learn his name.

But that can wait.

The effects of the alcohol in your system seem to have worn off. You attribute your sobriety to the fact that you were cornered and nearly attacked in a public bathroom not too long ago. You’re still a bit wobbly on your feet—not to mention the loud, persistent ringing in your ears—but your mind is clear. That’s all that matters.

Harry leads you inside, cupping his palm beneath your bent elbow and keeping you steady. Part of you longs for him to slide his hand closer and trail his fingers down your back until they’re tickling the base of your spine. But that would be unprofessional, you remind yourself, so you keep your mouth shut.

Walking into your room fails to bring you the familiar sense of comfort that it usually does. You swallow heavily, kicking off your heels (these ones aren’t embellished with any straps or buckles, thank God) and making your way over to your bed. As you approach your mattress, your fingers find their way to your back, grasping for the zipper of your dress that’s settled just above your shoulder blades.

You grit your teeth in frustration, stopping suddenly and casting a glance behind you. Harry is waiting at your door, standing rigidly with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Can you…?” Your question is hushed and incomplete, and you don’t wait for his reaction before turning back around. The sound of his low footsteps reaches your ears; your skin prickles in anticipation.

His fingers are gentle as they tug your zipper down. He’s close—closer than usual. You can feel his warm, laboured breaths puffing out against the nape of your neck.

Harry pauses when he drags the zipper past the middle of your back, exposing the clasp of your bra. His hands abandon your body, leaving you confused. Before you can question him, however, he’s fiddling with the little hooks on the undergarment. A moment later, the cups holding your cleavage in place loosen and slip lower on your chest. A soft, dazed gasp tumbles from your lips.

Harry then resumes his previous actions, unzipping your dress the rest of the way and stepping back once he’s finished. You face him, clutching the sagging fabric against your sternum to keep it from sliding down your torso.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Suddenly, the floor is a lot more interesting than the man standing before you.

Harry just grunts in response.

You hesitate, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air; you feel like it might suffocate you if you don’t voice the question dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“What was it?” you ask quietly, refusing to take your eyes off of the ground. “In the washroom, before we left—what did he say? It wasn’t English—”

“French,” Harry cuts in. You pause, clamping your mouth shut and waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t add anything else.

“What did he say?” you repeat. Beneath the loose, shapeless material of your dress, your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Nothing,” Harry utters after a long moment of silence. “At least, nothing that you need to worry abo—”

“You’re lying,” you seethe, and the abrupt wave of irritation that washes over you is enough to make your head snap up. Your gaze burns into his face, lips curled down into a vivid scowl.

“Harry—,” you say, reaching out with one hand and shoving helplessly at his chest. He doesn’t budge, of course—the realisation only makes you angrier. “Stop lying to me.”

He clenches his jaw, and strong, slender fingers circle around your wrist before you can pull away. You squawk in surprise, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the contact. Harry’s green eyes blaze with an emotion that you can’t quite recognize, but even then, it still leaves you utterly breathless.

You watch, stupefied, as he slides his palm beneath yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the hills of your knuckles. Your jaw slackens, but—for the first time in your life—you have no witty comeback, no sharp retort.

“Une putain gâtée, tout comme sa mère.”

The words are a low murmur. His mouth brushes against your skin as he speaks. You’re enthralled by his French accent, but the sour expression on his face tells you that he must’ve just said something rotten.

“A spoiled whore,” Harry translates—he looks almost ashamed, “just like her mother.”

Your hand slips from his grasp.

     October 18, 2020

You’ve been in your room all day.

Harry hasn’t moved from his station outside, standing in front of your door with his arms folded over his chest. It’s been hours, and he hasn’t heard a peep from you. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s bored. You’re usually right next to him, talking his ear off and being your bossy, teasing self. He misses all of your little quips, not to mention the devilish smiles that you give him when you take a shot at pushing his buttons.

Now though, the silence is getting to him. He considers pulling his phone out and indulging in a trivial little game to pass the time, but then ultimately decides against it. The sun has fallen from the sky, and the moon has risen in its place—his shift is nearly over.

His cellphone chimes from inside his pocket. He fishes around for the device, eventually tugging it from the depths of his trousers. When he taps onto the screen, he finds a text from Lana, your personal chef.

Her dinner is ready. Do you want me to bring it up?

Harry purses his lips before typing his reply.

No, I’ll come down. Thank you.

A single smiling emoticon is her response.

After retrieving your plate from the kitchen and bidding Lana goodnight, Harry makes his way back upstairs. He stalls in front of your door for a few seconds before shaking off his uncertainties. His fist raps three times against the wood, and he waits expectantly for your answering call.

His shoulders deflate in relief when he hears a faint, yet familiar, “Come in.”

The room is dark, illuminated only by a small lamp on your nightstand. You’re lying on your bed, spine against the mattress and eyes trained on the ceiling. Your hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you haven’t changed out of your sleepwear (though it’s late now, Harry supposes, so there’s really no need). Cotton shorts sit low on your hips, but thankfully, your t-shirt is covering everything that needs to be concealed. When you turn your head toward the door, Harry notices that your eyes are rimmed with red.

You’ve been crying. The realisation makes his chest ache.

“Hi,” he says quietly, approaching your bed with cautious footsteps.

“Hi,” you croak. You sit up and clear your throat.

He holds out your plate. “Dinner is served.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“That’s true.” He tilts his head from side to side, acknowledging your words. “But you haven’t eaten all day.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” you mumble, though you take the dish from him with eager hands, confirming his hypothesis. “Mac n’ cheese?” you ask, peering up at him with wide eyes.

He nods. “Compliments of the chef. She said it was your ‘comfort food’, or something like that.”

You pick up the spoon resting on the side of your plate, dipping it into the pasta and scooping up a large bite. Flavour explodes across your tongue, and you hum in appreciation at the taste. “Lana’s the best.”

Harry doesn’t respond. When you look over in his direction, you find him standing awkwardly at the side of your bed, like he’s not quite sure where to go.

“Do you want to sit?” you ask through a mouthful of food. His lips twitch at the warbled quality of your voice.

“No, I—,” he starts, shaking his head. “I can leave you alone.”

You swallow heavily, running your tongue along the roof of your mouth. “Stay,” you tell him, averting your gaze. The softness of your tone makes him pause, but you just shrug. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

~*~

You finish the entire plate of macaroni in a matter of minutes. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen you scarf down food that quickly. You offered him a bite, but he turned it down, claiming that you needed it more than he did.

He was right, of course. But you would rather die than tell him as much.

You set the dish down onto your nightstand, snatching up the reusable water bottle on the corner of the little table. Harry watches, amused, as you take a large gulp of the contents inside. Once you’ve swallowed, you chance a glance over at where he’s sitting on the edge of your mattress. There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you ask wryly.

He chuckles lightly. “Nothing.”

You smirk but decide to drop the subject.

Harry shifts, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “How are you feeling?”

You look away—you knew that he would try to breach the topic of last night, but the question is still a punch to the gut.

You shrug wordlessly. He clucks his tongue.

“That’s not an answer, love.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. A loose thread on your duvet catches your eye, and you twine it around your index finger. Another long moment of silence passes before you finally speak.

“I’m just…confused.”

“Confused?” Harry’s eyebrows knit together.

You nod.

“How so?”

A rushed, humourless laugh falls from your lips. “You’re joking, right?”

When Harry shakes his head, you sigh.

“All my life,” you say, a lump forming in your throat, “I’ve been kept in the dark. Do you know how embarrassing it is, as a little kid, to not have an answer when your friends ask what your parents do for a living?” You wrap your arms around your torso, hugging yourself tightly.

“I even used to joke about it at school,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “‘Yeah, guys, my mom’s secretly a drug dealer!’”

Harry doesn’t say anything. You take his reticence as a sign to continue.

“But then, as I got older, I realised that maybe I wasn’t that far off. She might not be in a fucking drug ring, but she’s still doing something illegal. There’s no way that we could afford to live like this, otherwise.” You gesture toward the glossy chandelier hanging from your ceiling.

“And then you came into the picture,” you say, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “And that’s when I really started to panic. But I didn’t want to show anyone how I was feeling, obviously—so I kind of just kept it all bottled up.”

“Until now,” Harry murmurs, his expression unreadable.

You nod. “Until now.”

The material of your t-shirt is twisted up in your fists. You exhale heavily, releasing the fabric and smoothing it out with your palms. Several long seconds of tranquility ensue, until—

“Arms.”

Your gaze snaps over to Harry. “What?”

“Arms,” he repeats gruffly, staring directly at you. “She’s not dealing drugs. She’s dealing arms.”

You sit back against the headboard as his words sink in. Silence hangs in the air, growing thicker by the moment. Your mouth opens as you try to make sense of this newly-revealed information, but your lips only form around dying sounds and nonexistent sentences. Eventually, you settle for a simple, “Huh.”

And despite the trepidation of the situation, Harry laughs.

The sound brings a small smile to your face. It quickly slips away, however, when you remember something else.

“Last night, the guy at the club…,” you trail off, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think what he said was just an expression.”

Harry’s eyes are solemn. “Neither do I.”

“He told me his name was Lukas,” you say, straightening up. “Has my mother ever mentioned him before?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know anything else,” he replies. Deep down, you recognize that he’s telling the truth. “She only shares things with me when it’s absolutely necessary. My job—first and foremost—is to protect you. I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shifting closer to him. Harry stiffens briefly when you place your hand on his arm, but then relaxes again. The fabric of his suit is soft, pressed to perfection. “I—thank you for being honest with me. I feel better now that I know.”

He nods.

“And thank you for yesterday,” you add, swallowing heavily. “For keeping me safe.”

“Next time, I’m accompanying you to the bathroom,” he mutters. “End of discussion.”

You laugh. A tiny, barely-there smile creeps onto his lips. Your eyes fall to the yellow polish on his nails, and you hesitate.

“Harry,” you say. Anxiety unfurls in your stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Course.” His voice is a low rumble. “What is it?”

“Last week,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers, “after you got shot—or grazed, whatever you want to call it—”

He freezes. You have a strong feeling that he knows where you’re going with this.

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.

Your mouth goes dry. Harry won’t look you in the eye, but you refuse to let him shy away. You squeeze his forearm softly, hoping that the contact will prompt him to meet your gaze.

It does. When he peers up at you, the green of his irises sets off a series of echoes in your head.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

“Why did you?” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He blinks, embarrassed.

“You know why,” he grumbles, staring fixedly at your duvet. A loose strand of hair flops onto his temple as he shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it.”

Something shatters inside of you. Impulsively, you lurch forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

Harry’s face snaps toward you as you sit back. You’re greeted by wide eyes, foreign and unrecognizable, and seemingly unable to make out who you are. The small mountain of hope that had been growing in your chest crumbles into nothing, scattering like dust in the wind.

You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself composed. He’s looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“Sorry,” you sputter. Panic washes over you, and your eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Just as it had last week, Harry’s hand finds your face, squishing your cheeks together and cutting off your apologies. You gaze up at him as he leans in; he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s berating you. “Why would you—?”

“I’m sorry,” you eek out. Water beads along your bottom lashes.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” he carries on, smoothly disregarding your regrets. “Trying to keep myself from—”

He breaks off, gritting his teeth and staring directly into your eyes. His next words are stern, finite.

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

His fingers release your cheeks and migrate to the back of your neck. He uses the leverage to pull you in so that you can meet him halfway, and then he’s kissing you. It takes a moment for everything to register in your brain, but soon thereafter, you’re melting into him and kissing him right back.

You grip the lapels of his suit between tight fists, tugging him closer as you pour every ounce of yourself into his embrace. Harry’s lips work fervently against your own; the palm on the back of your neck slips lower, settling at the base of your spine. His other hand comes up, splitting apart so that his thumb and middle finger find themselves on each side of your jaw. The grip is bruising, unforgiving—you whimper in delight.

“This is—,” Harry can barely get the words out. “—unprofessional.”

“It is,” you murmur, nodding fiercely.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“We shouldn’t,” you agree breathlessly.

But neither of you stop.

Harry lays you down on your bed, climbing on top of you whilst still doing his best to keep your lips attached. Your hands slip beneath his suit jacket, fingertips digging into his back over the white button-up covering his torso.

“You’re wearing too much,” you whine once the two of you break apart for air.

He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his knees. You watch, awestruck, as he fiddles with the buttons lining his abdomen, undoing each one swiftly before yanking the jacket from his shoulders. A shadow of pain passes over his features.

“Careful,” you say softly, referring to his injured arm.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings himself back down to where you are, wasting no time and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm,” he hums, smacking his lips together. “Mac n’ cheese.”

You giggle. “Guess you got a taste, after all.”

He nods, smirking. “In all honesty, though,” he murmurs, his lips smearing against the lower-half of your cheek, “I’d much rather get a taste of something else.”

He punctuates the innuendo with a gentle bite to your jaw, and you moan.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to travel south. Harry gives you a questioning look when his fingers reach the elastic waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?”

You nod.

He curses when the digits slip beneath the fabric, because you’re not wearing anything underneath. His palm scrapes over the triangle of trimmed hair at the apex of your thighs, and he nearly starts salivating right then and there. You whine impatiently, bucking your hips up to spur him along.

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “Gagging for it, aren’t you?”

A strangled squeak echoes in the back of your throat, but you say nothing.

“Answer me,” Harry growls, nipping softly at your earlobe. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it!” you choke out. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, guiding his hand lower so that he can feel just how wet you are. “Please—I want it.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, sponging his lips up to your temple. Your eyelids flutter shut when he begins to rub languid circles into your clit. “Where are those manners usually hiding, hm?”

“Harry—,” you sigh, feeling your face grow hot. You’ll never admit it, but his taunts stoke the fire building in the pit of your stomach. He laughs darkly, sliding his middle finger down your slit and prodding coyly at your entrance.

“You’re soaked, and I’ve barely done anything,” he mutters. His thumb stays positioned squarely on your clit as he lowers his head, pecking your lips delicately. “Want me inside?”

You nod, but he only tuts in disapproval.

“Words, love.”

“Yes!” you whine, pouting deeply. “I—I want you inside.”

He smiles.

You squirm when he slips his finger into you, adjusting to the intrusion. Harry probes around curiously, stroking along your walls until he brushes against a spot that has you crying out in thrilled surprise and squeezing your eyes shut. The patronizing laugh that falls from his mouth is hot and heavy against your warm cheeks.

“That’s it, yeah?” he asks. “That’s the spot?”

You breathe out a weak whimper of confirmation, and he snickers. When he peers up at you and finds your eyes closed, a small frown tugs at the edges of his lips.

“Look at me, love,” he orders, adding another finger into your heat. “I wanna see you.”

You shake your head and turn away, face hot with humiliation. It’s good, though—it’s so, so good.

“Look at me,” Harry repeats, “and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s an offer that you can’t refuse.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. He grins at you, pride sweeping over his features. You keep your gaze trained on him, even when he speeds up the movements on your clit, his thumb rubbing quick shapes against the sensitive nub. Your back arches, toes curling into the duvet as your orgasm approaches. Harry kisses your lips, humming happily at the contact.

“Cum,” he commands quietly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll ruin this cute little cunt.”

The filthy promise has you falling apart.

He holds you tightly as your high washes over you, absorbing all of your little moans and cooing words of encouragement into your mouth. You shake, staring up at the ceiling and watching as the chandelier above you splits into doubles. The glass crystals twinkle alluringly in the dim light of your room.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers. He pecks the clammy skin of your cheek, and you sigh.

“That was…,” you trail off, unable to find the right words.

“Good?” he supplies, pulling his hand out of your shorts.

You bark out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Way better than ‘good’. I don’t think I can feel my—”

Your confession falters when you turn to the side, just in time to witness Harry slide two of his fingers past his lips. He groans desperately at the tang that spreads over his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in a trance. He nuzzles his nose against yours, dropping his hand onto the bed next to your head. “You’ll let me have a proper taste next time, yeah?”

Without a second thought, you nod rapidly. “Yeah.”

Harry grunts in surprise when you push him off of you. His back lands against your mattress with a dull thud, and he chuckles faintly when you sling your leg over his waist, straddling him.

“What’re you doing?” he asks playfully as you begin to unbutton his white shirt. You pepper kisses down his chest, worshipping each new inch of skin that becomes exposed. His hands subconsciously find their way into your hair, gathering the bulk of it into a makeshift ponytail. Your clit positively throbs, ignited by the dominant undertones of the action.

“You got me off,” you say. Though the accompanying shrug of your shoulders is nonchalant, your heart is thundering beneath your ribcage. “Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

You undo his belt and flick open the button of his black trousers. Harry groans as you palm him over his slacks, sinking into the plush pillows cradling his head.

“Right,” he breathes. “Only fair.”

His cock twitches when you dip your hand into his boxers, and God, he thinks to himself as he shudders, he loves you.

~*~

You awaken in the middle of the night to sounds of restless shuffling. Your room is dark, engulfed in black. Blinking the sleep from your vision, you push yourself up, peering around and waiting for your eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity of your surroundings.

The spot next to you on your mattress is still a bit warm, covered with wrinkled sheets. When you finally zero in on the source of the noise, you find Harry sitting in the armchair a few feet away from your bed. He’s slouching, his head supported only by a closed fist. His white shirt is draped over his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. Gray boxers sit low on his hips, revealing a pair of ferns inked into the skin just above his pelvis.

Not even five hours ago, you trailed your tongue along those very same tattoos.

“Harry?” you say groggily, and he freezes. “What—what are you doing?”

His eyes are bright, despite the encompassing darkness.

“I—,” he hesitates. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” you retort. You slide your legs over the edge of the mattress so that you can face him properly. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We kind of just passed out, and…I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with me, like, sleeping in your bed. I didn’t wanna cross any lines.”

You balk.

“Harry…,” you start, fixing him with a drowsy yet bewildered look. “You’ve literally had your fingers inside of me, and now you’re worried about crossing a line?”

A quiet chuckle of accountability falls from his lips; the sound makes you smile. You reach out with one hand, wiggling your fingers at him and tilting your head toward the rumpled pillows waiting for you.

“Come back to bed.” Your request is soft.

The storm in his eyes dissipates, and he obeys.

You sigh as you settle back underneath the duvet, snuggling into his side and tossing a leg over his thighs. Harry wraps his good arm around you, craning his neck and pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Your fingers creep up his chest, toying with the dog tag resting between his pectorals.

“Is this going to change things between us?” you ask in a small voice.

A long moment of silence ensues.

At last, Harry replies:

“I don’t know.”

You were expecting that kind of answer, but it still stings. A big part of you wants him to say no, things won’t change. He’ll still have you, and you’ll still have him, and the two of you will still bicker back and forth like children fighting over a candy bar. He’ll still roll his eyes at your antics whilst nevertheless being willing to take a bullet for you. You’ll still tease him relentlessly to mask the way your heart races whenever he’s around (which, unfortunately, is all the time).

But the logical side of your brain knows that those fantasies are just fabrications of flimsy, wishful thinking. The two of you have crossed a line—just like he said—and you can’t go back.

As though he can sense your inner turmoil, Harry squeezes you closer into his side. “I was looking online…,” he begins, and you peer up at him with curious eyes.

He meets your gaze—his chin creases adorably—and continues. “And I saw these cool photos of someone’s nails; they painted little cherries on them.”

“That sounds cute,” you mumble.

“It was.” He nods. “And I was thinking that maybe, on Wednesday…would you want to try something like that?”

Warmth spiderwebs through your chest.

The two of you have crossed a line, and you can’t go back.

But you can move forward. And perhaps better things are waiting on the horizons up ahead.

“It might not turn out like the pictures,” you warn lightly. “I’ve never really done nail art before.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, brushing your hair out of your face. “I just thought it’d be fun to give it a go.”

You lean up, slotting your lips against his. Harry cups your cheek, keeping you close. When the two of you finally break apart, you smile, running your thumb lovingly over the edge of his jaw.

“Remind me to pick up the tools tomorrow after class.”

~*~

READ PART 2 ON PATREON

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: CLAMM

CLAMM is a punk rock trio out of Melbourne, whose second album CARE was recorded in any interval permitted during Australia’s strict COVID lockdown.  The band, made up of childhood friends Jack Summers and Miles Harding plus bass player and singer Masie Everett, rails against that and all other restrictions in an album that Jennifer Kelly described as landing, “brutalist punch after punch in battering songs that are anthemic without being especially devoted to melody. These are shouty, rally-the-masses adrenaline hits, stripped to pounding one-two simplicity, and sheathed with echo.”  All three members contributed to this Listed.  

Miles Harding

Giorgio Moroder, Son of My Father

I've always known Giorgio Moroder as the “Father of Disco,” and I sort of left my knowledge at that. Then my neighbor across the road pulled out this album and put it on, and I was blown away. “Automation” and “That's How I See Her” are the top tracks for me, but Side A and B barely have a lull, all hits in my opinion. 

The Caretaker, Everywhere at the end of time

Everywhere at the end of time by The Caretaker

This is one of the most interesting things I've heard in recent times. In six stages, The Caretaker embarks on artistic reflections of specific symptoms which can be common with the progression and advancement of the different forms of Alzheimer's. It's quite a journey but a worthwhile one.

破地獄/Scattered Purgatory, 山險峻/Sua-Hiam-Zun

山險峻/Sua-Hiam-Zun by 破地獄/Scattered Purgatory

Pretty sure Jack found this album at Strangeworld records in Melbourne. If my memory serves me correctly, the guy who runs the shop recommended it to Jack, he's good at that. Scattered Purgatory are from Taipei and formed in 2013, I don't know much else about them but this album is some ambient mastery. 

Corrosive Crowd, “Insektenliebe”

My brother showed me the song “Insektenliebe” a while ago,  and i Ihave never stopped listening to it. New wave/Punk out of Switzerland in 1980. I've always found music from the 1980s challenging, but maybe Corrosive Crowd are a gateway into good stuff from the 1980s if you also find it challenging. 

Roland Klick, “Deadlock”

I had a bit of a CAN obsession and got put onto the trail of their various soundtracks and film scores that they composed over the years. I watched this film purely to see their music through a cinematic experience but wound up really enjoying the film. It was dubbed poorly and my first Spaghetti Western experience and I loved every moment.

Masie Everett

Cataldo, “In Now and Then”

One of my absolute favorite songs of all time. I can’t remember exactly when or where I first heard this song, I think I discovered it on Bandcamp maybe around five or so years ago. I’ve probably listened to it once a week for the past five years. To me, it’s one of those songs that is just perfect in every single way - like as if it was made for my ears. The production, the structure, the melody, the lyrics, the way the horns breathe in and out throughout the song, every single god damn little detail! Just perfect. Timeless. I put it on and it matches whatever mood I’m in — happy, sad, anxious, angry, excited, bored, anything. It’s an incredibly beautiful piece of music. 

The music video for “Direction” by Mat Kerekes

Mat Kerekes is the singer of Citizen, a band I was really into in my younger teenage years. I was a bit of a nerd and really into new wave American/Midwest emo. Anyway, he released some solo stuff which was really cool, but I remember watching this film clip for the first time and just being in absolute awe. I can’t even really properly explain why haha! I think it’s one of those personal soft spots or emotional connections you feel for random things that probably won’t resonate in the slightest with most other people. It’s basically a video that’s been reversed and slowed down of this man passionately dancing in front of camera. I’m pretty sure it was just shot on an iPhone or something, but I remember watching it for the first time and for whatever reason just falling in love, not with the man in the video but with the way he was moving. I think the reason why I love it so much is that it’s a really just a depiction of how a regular person dances, like at a party or at a festival, but it’s been filmed and slowed down in a totally different context with different music, and you can actually see how beautiful it is when someone is just dancing like a goofball, you know? I remember watching it a bunch of times and trying to replicate his dance moves in the video because I wanted to try and convey the same emotional reaction I got from watching the clip. I absolutely adore watching people dance. I guess everyone does. Music and dance are probably the two most beautiful forms of self-expression in my opinion.

SOPHIE, “Is It Cold in the Water”

I discovered this song only very recently, and I fell in love instantly. It’s a beautiful song. The vocals and the melody are just phenomenal, and I love the urgency of the ascending synth throughout the song. I also learnt that tragically, Sophie passed away last year, however her legacy remains through her incredible music

Jack Summers

Broadcast, “I found the F”

I rediscovered this song the other day and let out a chill “wow….” It is the opening track from Broadcast’s 2005 album Tender Buttons. It’s a classic. They must have finished that song and known it had to be the opening track. I don’t really know that for sure at all. Trish Keenan had a beautiful voice. The song makes me feel like time is all floaty, and life is passing by around me, and everything's a bit funny and nice. I listened to it and made sure I had the album downloaded so that I can listen to it in some of the many hours we are about to spend in a van together on tour. 

Robbie Basho, “Moving Up a Ways” 

Robbie Basho was born in the 1940’s in Baltimore. He made Asian-inspired folk music. I think he played in an open C tuning on a 12-string guitar because he was inspired by a Hindustani instrument called the sarod. With one guitar he manages to create this constant ringing sound throughout the song like you might hear in meditative music or from traditional Indian instruments. The song’s a beautiful, strange journey.  

“Moving up a ways, over yonder 

Where the rainbow sighs 

And the eagle cries to sun 

We are all one.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Carolina in My Mind” (Rated PG)

Summary: Things get a little spicy when Sebastian decides that Kurt and Blaine are going to start doing TikTok challenges... in part to exact revenge on his boyfriend for covering him in glitter and posting photos on Instagram. (1845 words)

Notes: It's not as lurid as the summary makes it sound XD Makes a reference to an earlier quarantine one-shot 'All The Glitters'.

Part 67 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

"We're doing TikTok challenges now!?" Kurt groans, sliding to a halt in front of his boyfriend, arms crossed over his chest before he comes to a stop.

Sebastian beams, flashing Kurt his iPhone screen with the app already open. "Ah. I see you got my message." 

"Aren't we already living through hell? Do we have to add humiliation to the mix?"

"You're one to talk! If you get to cover us in makeup and glitter and post photos on Instagram, I get to do this!"

"But that performance makeup contest was hosted by the ISI," Blaine points out. "What merit does a TikTok challenge have?"

Sebastian watches Blaine glide to a stop beside his boyfriend and pulls a face. "Well, Doubty McDoubterson, tons of people join TikTok every day, including figure skaters. You two were worried about staying in the public eye during the pandemic. This will be great visibility for us within the skating community."

"A-ha." Kurt shares a skeptical side glance with Blaine. "Now, why don't you tell us why we're really doing this."

Sebastian gasps, stumbling back as if punched in the face. "Kurt! I'm wounded! Deeply wounded! I'm being completely honest here! I'm only thinking of you guys, working hard to keep your names in the mouths of... "

"Before you say another word," Kurt interrupts with a finger raised, "may I remind you that you have a five o'clock sesh riding on this answer."

Sebastian's mouth hangs open, caught around the next word. But a beat later, he snaps it shut. "Fine. We're doing this because we've been on lockdown for about ten years and I'm bored to tears!"

"Nice," Kurt says, "seeing as you've spent all of quarantine with us."

"Will you be partaking?" Blaine rushes in before Sebastian can shove his foot any further down his throat. He's not being entirely selfless, but he'd rather not admit out loud that Sebastian's plan is a decent one, ulterior motives aside. Blaine has a TikTok account and has wasted plenty of precious training time scrolling through clips. Sebastian is right - a lot of figure skaters post on there, even some big names in their sport. It's a better platform for it than Instagram. If they pull this off, they could become TikTok famous, and that wouldn't exactly hurt when they make their comebacks.

"I am." Sebastian wiggles his camera in front of their faces. "I'm the cameraman."

"Of course," Kurt mutters under his breath. "So what's the challenge?" he asks, eager to get this over with, hoping he doesn't regret it too much later. "It is a skating challenge, right?"

"Of course it's a skating challenge! In fact, you guys get to perform your routines... " Kurt stares at his grinning boyfriend, waiting for the shoe to drop. And it does when Sebastian picks up a small paper bag off the boards and holds it out to them "... after you've eaten this pepper. There's one in there for each of you."

"I guess it's too much to hope it's a bell pepper," Kurt remarks as Blaine takes the bag and opens the top. He reaches a hand in and pulls out a bright reddish-orange vegetable the size of his thumb. Kurt recognizes it right away, his eyes going wide at the Carolina Reaper pinched between Blaine's fingertips.

"A little bit, yeah," Blaine says.

"What th---? Aren't those things illegal?" Kurt asks, on the brink of turning and running, leaving his friend behind to suffer the consequences.

"Nope. They're perfectly legal," Sebastian says. "And they won't cause any permanent damage. I checked."

"That's so nice of you."

"Come on! This'll be fun!"

"For you! You're running the camera!"

"I've got you guys. Look! I brought you some milk for after," he says, producing the smallest, middle-school carton of two percent in existence. How he expects the both of them to share that, Kurt doesn't know. It's probably part of the schtick, Kurt thinks, to cap off the hilarity - the two of them fighting over seven ounces of milk with their mouths on fire. "Also... " Sebastian deliberates when he feels himself losing ground, running through options in his head he hopes Kurt might jump at so he can get his TikTok "... I'll let you pick the next challenge. Then you can be the cameraman."

A malicious grin spreads across Kurt's face, but Sebastian squashes it with the stipulation: "But remember - whatever you make me do, Blaine has to do, too."

"Don't I get any say in this?" Blaine asks.

"No," Sebastian answers without looking at him.

"Well, do I get a turn at choosing?"

"Maybe... provided Kurt agrees to my conditions."

Kurt glares at his manipulative ass of a boyfriend, putting him on the spot in the name of social media currency. But what the heck? This could be fun. Plus, turnabout is fair play. He'll get Sebastian back. 

Oh yes. He'll get him back.

Besides, Kurt isn't a stranger to spicy foods. His dad has put plenty of red and green gremlins, each residing on different ends of the Scoville scale, in that disastrous chili he makes every fourth of July. How much worse could eating this one raw be?

"Fine." Kurt snatches the pepper out of Blaine's hand but doesn't bring it anywhere near his mouth.

Blaine, on the other hand, goes all in, grabbing his pepper out of the bag, popping it into his mouth, chewing like crazy, and then swallowing, probably in the hopes that it would hurt less if he did it fast, like pulling off a Bandaid. Then he skates off.

His plan doesn't work too well though. Thirty seconds into his backward crossovers, his face scrunches. He puts a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut, cheeks flushing beet red before Kurt's eyes. "Jesus Christ! I can't see!"

Kurt fixes steely eyes on his boyfriend, filming and giggling like a fiend as Blaine attempts a triple Axel and singles it, arms flailing when he tries to fan his mouth at the same time. 

"I'm picturing a Speedo," Kurt says as he prepares to drop the Reaper into his mouth. "An embarrassingly tight Speedo, seven gallons of honey, an angry beehive... " He carefully places the pepper on his tongue. His salivary glands kick into overdrive when its waxy exterior makes contact, but he can't persuade his teeth to bite.

"Ooo," Sebastian coos, provoking him. "Blaine covered in bees? That's going to be hilarious! And I can't wait to see his face when he finds out it was your idea. But what are you going to make me do?"

That does it. 

Kurt's teeth clench inadvertently, catching the pepper as it rolls off his tongue and pummeling it to bits between his pearly whites. The burn washes through his mouth, spreading in an instant with the obliterated pepper sitting for too long on his tongue.

"Shit!" he yelps, swallowing what remains whole. He coughs violently, almost puking up his lunch. "Shit shit shit!" 

"Don't die," Sebastian teases. "Not for TikTok."

"Nice to see you have priorities," Kurt growls, overcome by a sudden urge to get as far away from his insufferable boyfriend as his skates can take him. 

Now he has to pull this off so he can rub it in Sebastian's face.

Remembering that Blaine has a head start on him, he forces his feet to move. A swiftly blossoming headache completely erases his new routine from his brain so he begins improvising, starting with the opening of his last Regionals piece. He opens with a pancake spin.

Big mistake.

Crouching low over his bent leg as he spins forces his mouth closed, everything from his gums to his cheeks aflame. 

"Nope!" he sputters. "Nope nope nope!" He ends his spin prematurely, hacking as he settles into backward crossovers. 

These are worse. 

Since he's pushing into the air with his back, none of it hits his face, depriving him of relief. He catches sight of Blaine skating as fast as he can with his mouth wide open, preparing to enter another jump. He performs a double toe loop, then another, then another. Kurt doesn't understand. Blaine doesn't perform doubles in his routine. He's beyond that. 

Then it hits him.

Blaine can do a row of doubles faster than he can perform consecutive triples. He's using rotational inertia to cool his face.

It's genius.

Kurt launches into the air, stringing together three of the most lopsided double Salchows he's ever landed. And he barely lands them at that, overestimating his edge and nicking his toepick. He gives up on his choreography altogether, performing whatever move he has to to shove ice-cold air into his mouth. Element by element, Kurt's routine devolves until his goal becomes keeping his mouth from bursting into flames. 

He can't remember the last time he flubbed up this badly. He and Blaine probably look like drooling dogs doing the most, but his throat burns so badly, he couldn't care less. Kurt's nose runs like a faucet, but nowhere near as much as his eyes, which he has the hardest time prying open. 

He decides to skate blind, praying he doesn't collide with Blaine, whose blades he can no longer identify on the ice. By the time Kurt strikes his final pose, he's puffy-eyed, sweating like no one's business, with his lower jaw hanging to his chest, wheezing as he sucks in mouthfuls of cold air. He can't hear much for the ringing in his ears, but he suspects Sebastian may be laughing his ass off. 

Why did he agree to this again? 

"How did I do?" he asks, skating back to his boyfriend, trying not to touch his tongue to his lips, or his lips to each other.

"Meh. You've done better," Sebastian replies, replaying the video over and over, snickering at choice scenes.

"Thanks, coach," Kurt seethes, wondering how well Sebastian would skate if Kurt shoved one of those peppers up his nose.

"At least you fared better than Blaine."

"Why?" Kurt pants, scanning the rink through the narrow slits of his swollen eyelids. "What happened to him?"

Sebastian jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Took himself out of the running before his second Axel attempt, the poor schlub."

Kurt peeks over Sebastian's shoulder and spots Blaine, lying on his stomach, tongue pressed flat to the ice.

Kurt makes a face. He doesn't blame the guy, but still. 

Yuck. 

"Blaine? Honey? That's not a good idea."

"Yeah, weirdo. We have milk."

"I 'as saving da 'ilk for 'urt," Blaine explains, not moving his tongue while he does.

"Oh!" Kurt sighs, pressing a hand over his heart, overdoing the swoon because he knows how much it will irk Sebastian. The jerk deserves it. "That's so sweet!"

Blaine smiles. At least it looks like he does.

Sebastian grimaces. Great. Upstaged by a boy who looks like he just Frenched a patch of poison ivy. "Yeah, yeah. Cavity inducing. Get your ass up, Anderson. You're just making it worse. Besides, you're burning a hole through my ice."

[crazy-bi-btch]

Exploring ( Sweet Pea X Reader)

Summary: Sweet Pea and Y/n have a dirty secret that can lead to trouble.

Paring: Sweet Pea X Reader

Warning: NSFW, MA, smutttt like alottt, light BDSM

Word count: 5k

A/N: Okay  so this was a request from a long time ago and i like how it started so I want to make a second part to it! Hope yall like it!

-Present time-

“ We need to talk!” Cheryl grabbed my arm, pulling me into the nearest empty classroom. I flinched as she pressed on the fresh bruise. Her eyes widened, “ Take the jacket off!”

I sneered, “ Damn, Cheryl— don’t think Toni would like that.” She glared at me and I caved in. That's it. Our secret will be brought out by Ms. Cheryl blossom. I told Sweet Pea, not to leave a noticeable mark. But of course, this is Sweat Pea I’m talking about. Shit. I annoyingly took my serpent coat off and Cheryl’s eyes widened and a small gasp left the poor girl.

Now how the hell do I tell her that the serpent that is the most trouble in the gang is secretly fucking me behind everyone’s back.

“ Jesus! Y/n What the actual—” 

“ I can explain.” I rush over to her to coax her from making a big fuss. She was furious. I mean she’s the biggest feminist I know beside Betty and Veronica.

“ Did the ghoulies do this to you! WHO DID THIS! IS THIS THE BOY—” I clamped my hand over her loud ass mouth. 

“Shhh!” She mumbled under my mouth and rolled her eyes crossing her arms. 

“ No one beat me up! It’s this boy—”

“Is he hurting you because I can send some serpents, his way!” She practically stomped, her frown very visible. I sheepishly remembered every single bruise and mark and how they were made.

“ It’s...a sex...thing” I mumbled avoiding her glare, she clearly couldn’t hear me.

“Huh?” Her arms crossed and an annoyed face pressuring me to spill my truth.

“ God dammit Cheryl I’m having kinky sex..” I whisper-shouted, a blush invading me as I heard myself admit it. 

She looked like she was about to faint. “ That-” she pointed wide-eyed, I nodded, pulling the coat over my bruised arms. She turned around, rubbing her temples.

“ With who? And what the hell is wrong with you! It looks so-” I cocked my eyebrow at her

“Painful?” 

“ YES!” She exclaimed concerned, I giggled softly.

“ Don’t kink shame me Cheryl Blossom because I know damn well you and Toni go all 50 shades of gray.” She blushed but was ready to counterattack like always.

“ But I don’t bruise her— visibly!” She pointed out again, I sighed and hugged her.

“ Look, I know you’re concerned… but I’m fine... We have a safeword and it's fun!” I reassured her as she hugged back.

“ Okay… I trust you! But I don’t know about him. Who is he?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows at me. I smirked at her. 

“ That’s a secret I’ll never tell..” I giggled and ran out the classroom, but not before hearing her classic  groan of annoyance.

-48 hours before-

Saturday. It was finally here! Your phone rang, waking you up from your deep slumber.

“Fuckkk…” I groaned, half asleep as I blindly looked for my annoying phone.” Hello.”

“Hey.” My stomach flipped and my eyes shot open. Sweet Pea.

“ Hey.” I smiled softly as his voice gave me the energy and brightness enough for the day. Then I realized, today is our ‘appointment’.

“ Just decided to call you and let you know I’m excited for today.” The smirk in his voice is practically oozing. I rolled my eyes playfully.

“ Oh really? What is so special today?” I acted coy with a hint of playfulness, his demeanor fell as his voice cracked. 

“ Don’t play with me y/n.” He hissed softly into the phone, it sent a shock straight to my core. I bit my lip. 

“ Sorry Pea...I can’t meet with you today. I have another meeting with someone else tonight.” I teased, laying back into my pillows like a cliche teenage girl in a teen-drama movie.

He groaned, clearly angry, “ Who the fuck….— In a minute Fangs! I swear to god y/n if your fucking someone else.”

“ Yeah I am….and he takes very good care of me… he’s my daddy..” I edged him even more, the game suddenly starting now. The small sigh and chuckle that he released gave my heart a kick. He was jealous.

“ He sure does huh?” He teased  his voice suddenly deeper and lower. “ I have a surprise for you tonight. More like a gift.” Then the background noise became more noticeable.

“ Oh really?” I questioned—suddenly curious,  he then changed the subject signaling Fangs and the others were around.

“ Yes, Doug, 6:00pm I know! You and your stupid stash. See you then.” Sweet Pea gloated with laughs of the boys echoing through,” You better pay up a little more than last time.” The last part was definitely for me. Then he hung up. 

I squealed in excitement as I tossed and turned in bed. It sucked being friends with benefits, in secret may I add. It’s extremely hard and exhausting, but we knew that. We both found that in sex we weren’t getting what we wanted. We weren’t fulfilled. So on a drunk night as we were the last up in the trailer as everyone else was passed out drunk. We played a stupid game.

Flashback

“ Never have I ever faked an orgasm.” Sweet Pea slurred, laughing at nothing, barely able to sit still. 

“ Shhh! Be quiet! Umm… Yes I have!” I stifled a giggle as my finger fell from the rest that were propped up.

“Ohh I want to know!” He teased taking another swing of his beer. I pretended to zip my mouth and throw the key making us laugh.

“ My turn, Never have I ever wanted to try something new in bed.” I giggled like a 13 year old as I slurred it out. Pea shrugged and put his finger down. I exaggerated a gasp pointing at his finger.

“ Sweet Pea is kinky!” I laughed but shushed myself.(Very drunk may I add) “ Me too!” I exclaimed. And we both fell silent as we both stared at our 3 fingers remaining up.

“Never Have I ever wanted to be tied up during sex.” His voice serious and dark. And I was suddenly quiet. 2 fingers were left.

“ Never have I ever wanted her to call me daddy.” I sighed out, praying for him to drop a finger. If not then that would be embarrassing. But his finger fell.

“Never Have I ever wanted to be choked.” His signature smirk came out as he realized his power over me now. I was left with one finger. I gulped.

“ Never Have I ever wanted to fuck my bestfriend.” I croaked out, both of our expressions falling. His finger fell. “ We’re tied.” I sighed as I stared at his lips. He gulped and put his hand down, ending the game. Our eyes say everything. We wanted this….bad. 

In an instant we both crawled toward each other meeting in a fiery kiss, breaking the innocent friendship we had and entering a whole new dimension. 

End flashback

We snuck around, doing all of our deepest fantasies. We were exploring our sexual fantasies. BDSM, nothing bad with that right? Except that it was ruining our friendships around us. We were lying to them. Making them believe we have suddenly become enemies. That we couldn’t stand each other in public, at times hurting each other's feelings.

My trailer was farther to the sides from our friends trailer which made it easy for Sweet Pea to come to me. Plus, I had to put soundproof padding in my trailer room, my excuse for when friends came over. “I’m working on my singing career from home.” They believed it. 

Boys were too afraid to hurt me, or not be hard enough. But Sweet Pea… He lived for that. We fit perfectly. 

I finally decided all that overthinking and reminiscing was not gonna keep me as excited. Unless, I looked for the old iphone in my drawer where we kept our...videos. We filmed moments but only on this old phone and it NEVER leaves my drawer. We vowed it was for us but mostly for me when things happen and we can’t meet up.

I logged into it, opening the photos and started looking through all the different videos. One was that one time on Valentine’s day when he got me a new toy. It was cute and simple, but the ribbon that tied the box was long enough for my wrist to tied together also. That night was rough, safeword was used once because he didn’t let me come for the 4th time! The way he degraded and fucked my on camera seemed to always trigger those vivid memories for moments like these.

Just as I was about to pull my pants down and ease my ache, my phone dang—cutting my mood. 

SP: Red or Blue?

That was a strange message.

Y/n: Red? Why

SP: you’ll find out ;)

Okay now this was gonna kill me! 

I went on with my day cleaning the trailer, taking a shower and shaving, taking my birth control (Sweet pea pays for it and also plan B for just-in-case moments) and finishing any homework I know I will not do tomorrow because I will be too sore to do. It was 4pm and I was feeling bored out of my mind. Usually he comes earlier so we can actually do friend stuff like hang out and watch a movie but today was different. I decided to change into a cute red lace set since he did ask what color I wanted. I did light makeup and curled my hair. 

“ Damn, I look fuckable ass fuck.” I commented as I saw my reflection. Some light green on my thighs from the previous week slowly fading. A quick idea popped into my head.It would piss him off, but it would be good to let him know. I took my phone and texted.

Y/n: Wyd?

SP: Doing some serpent stuff, missing me already?

I scoffed at his cocking response.

Y/N: Maybe… Anyone around you??

SP: No...I’m in the truck waiting for them? Why?

 I jumped up in excitement and positioned myself by the mirror in the perfect angle to get a glance at everything pretty much. He’s gonna be furious… but I won’t mind. I made sure to send them quickly. Sitting down in anticipation.

Sweet Pea stared at his phone after not getting a response, it made him a little suspicious and antsy for the boys to hurry from the daily drop off service. But when he saw two pictures pop out, his vein by his temple was practically about to pop. She knew the risks. What if he wasn’t alone? They would have seen! And bam no more sex. He locked his phone and honked 4 times and the boys came running out ready to leave.

“ Yoooo Sweet’s what's the rush!” Fangs and the other laughed, he sternly glared at them.

“ I got shit to handle so can we go!” Fangs nodded but stifled a laugh as they drove away.

He didn’t respond! What the hell. He may be too busy. I decided to wear an oversized shirt and walk to the living room where I watched Friends pass the time. Then my phone rang. It was Sweet Pea.

SP: You're in trouble.

My heart raced, I got up and ran to the room making sure to get everything out, lube, handcuffs, ribbon. I sat on the bed leg shaking slightly. Then I heard the familiar steps that led up to my trailer door. His spare key twisted into the lock. Just in time. The butterflies in my stomach flutter all the way down to my thighs and core. He came in taking his boots and coat off. His footsteps coming towards the room. And I froze putting the best puppy eye dog eyes that would not save me. His face was serious, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. 

“ Hi.” I sheepishly spoke. I took a deep breath.

“ You know what you did was risky, right?” He barked, I got up making my way towards him, but he backed up slightly. 

“ I’m sorry.. I thought since you said you were alone...I missed you.” I crossed my arms defeated and looked down at the floor. Maybe what I did was out of line. Fuck this isn’t a relationship where you can send nudes Y/n! These were dick appointments, that's it!

I sighed defeated, “ If you wanna reschedule that’s fine… It was out of line—” I turned away from him only to be yanked up against him.

 His hot breath fanning against mine, a bruising hold on both my arms.” Why would I pass up the opportunity to punish you.” Just like that, I was putty in his hands. Like always. He made sure to forcefully take the oversized shirt off throwing it somewhere, to reveal what the photos told him. He watched as I stood flustered, shocked, and blush red. His hot gaze is enough to get me going. He sat at the edge of my bed and pulled out a small box from his leather jacket. It was black. He signed for me to get closer so I did. I towered over him slightly as he handed the box a smirk on his face. I eyed the box suspiciously.

“ Open it.” He urged so I did. My mouth fell open slightly. It was a red butt plug. What the fuck. I looked at him dead in the eyes.

“ I know you said you weren’t ready for anal...but I thought this would help ease us in. Literally.” he chuckled darkly. I was speechless. It was hot, and uncomfortable to think that it would end up...there. I sighed shakily. He caught on to my nervousness.

“ Remember at any time you can stop me.” He reassured, making me smile softly. Besides the sex, he always was my friend never pushing me to do anything I didn’t want. I nodded and took it and placed it by the nightstand where the lube and other stuff were. I walked back easing my way to straddle his lap and take his leather jacket off. Our gaze is soft and friendly for now.

“ I’m sorry again you know.” I sighed my hands working on any knots in his shoulders, his eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed under her. Deep down Sweet pea would be a sub for her if it meant it started with massages. 

“ It's fine.” He sighed, seeing him vulnerable for a brief moment made me ache and even more wet than I was. I pushed my body fully up against his, arms draping around his neck. His eye opened to meet my dark ones. My hips grounded down on him, “ I’m ready.” I sighed, that was enough for Pea to grab her hips forcefully gripping them down to make her feel the hard-on she caused. 

“ You made me hard in the fucking truck,” He made one of his arm free to hold her chin forcefully to make her stare at him while he spoke. Y/N yelled softly as she tried to keep her eyes from rolling back as he rutted his hips towards her. “ I couldn’t get out of the truck, I had to drop them off.” 

“ That was the plan daddy.” I moaned, making him growl in frustration. He pushed me off him, hand in my hair as he yanked me to the mirror where I took the pictures. It was a long full body mirror by my bed. His body flush against my back, one arm still in my hair and the other racking his ringed up fingers against my skin. 

“ You’re gonna look at yourself, and learn why you don’t tease me.” His lips on my neck as his finger roughly yanks the lace bra cup down, making me squeal. The electric feeling as his cold finger massaged my breast made me dizzy.

“ Pea…” I sighed rolling my eyes back, head limp against his shoulder. His grip on my hair wakes me from my bliss.

“ Look!” He barked, making my goosebumps jump out, his neck went back to work. His arm slowly going back but skimming down to where I needed him the most. I knew he wasn’t going to give it to me that easy. “ Please...Daddy” I whimpered as he barely grazed the skin on my thighs. He bit harder on my neck as he pushed his leg between my thighs, hand dipping into my core. I let out a shaky gasp as he went straight for my clit.

“Fuck.” I gasped watching as his fingers teasingly moved circles around it. My hand reached to cover his for support, for once he didn’t intervene.  And the other reached to his hard on that was covered but prominent against me. Pea couldn’t help but let her touch him, he watched as her hooded eyes watched as he slowly touched her. But the moment her hand gripped his hand he yanked it away and tsked her. He walked away from her taking his shirt off.

I stood stunned and breathless, the ache only growing by the minute. I turned around and followed him by removing the rest of the bra. And pried at his muscular back. Kissing it softly wrapping my arms around him.

“ You just don’t know when to keep your hands to yourself now.” The ribbon in his hands as he turned around. Fuck. With one shove I was on the bed with Pea crawling up to tie my wrists together above my head. 

“ C’mon Pea…” I whined as my hips bucked towards him for any friction, fuck was it painful. He smirked down at me.

“ You  know that's not how it works right?” I groaned in annoyance. His face came down close to hers as his hands wrapped around her thighs and as pulling her flush against him again. 

“ Pea kiss me or so help me—” His mouth was instantly on mine, nothing fluff about it. open , hot kisses as my hips wildly looked for him. His hand suddenly smacked my ass leaving a deep red print.

“ Shit-” I cried against him, his mouth moving against my jaw, his tongue leaving a hot trail down to the valley of my bare breasts. I resisted against the restraints as his ringed fingers and mouth attacked my breast.

“ Your squirming even before I touch you, you're so needy.” He laughed against my skin. I blushed madly arching my back towards him.” Answer.” He hissed, as his hand rubbed hard and rough circles against my clit. I bit my lip trying to talk.

“ Yes..ugh...Daddy..fuckkk” I moaned loudly as his pattern quickened and his finger flicked my nipple. The overstimulation nearly brought me to the edge, he watched me from above how breathlessly I squirmed, threw my head back and clamped my thighs around him. Just as I felt the brink, he pulled away. I whimpered out in pain, feeling empty again. Sweet Pea made sure to leave any mark all over her body avoiding her whimpers and cries for his actions. His fingers plunging into her abruptly, at a vicious pace that made her scream. He made sure to stare right at her as she exchanged glances to his actions and his wicked smile. “ You want hard, rough? That’s what you want right?” he spat gritting his teeth as he felt her wall clench and contract against his fingers.

“ Oh my goddd…. YES!” I screamed staring deep into his evil eyes, “ Daddy harder please!” My head thrashing back as I felt my legs convulse and shake. I wanted to come so bad, and the wet sounds that came out of me were not helping. My fingers were placed on the covers as they remain tied up above me. “ Not yet.” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear as he stopped again. I shivered as my body tried to recover from another withdrawal, eyes shut in pain as my clit throbbed from lack of release.” Please….Please.” Tears at the brim of my eyes, searching into his for a little bit of mercy. He only ignored me and turned me around chest into the mattress and ass up. The lube coming in contact with my asshole sending a jolt up my spine. At this point anything that would give me some pleasure was acceptable. Pea made sure to adjust my wrist and tie them again against my back, and my face on the mattress. He then kissed my head as the tip of the plug made contact with me. I hissed softly as he slowly pushed it in. Surprisingly, It wasn’t as bad as I thought. 

I sighed as I felt somewhat full as it sat in me. “ Damn baby.” He mumbled, I could practically picture his face. All flustered and vulnerable at her position and gleaming core. 

Not long after his hands held my tied arms in a tight grip as he grinned against me.” mhm.’” one hand constantly smacking my ass till my buttcheek felt numb. I really won’t be able to sit tomorrow. “ You're such a slut begging for me… for this… Can’t even wait till I get home.” He seethed as his rough jeans rubbed perfectly against me and the plug. 

I moaned loudly, “ Pea fuck me please! Anything I promise you anything but fuck me please!” I yelled in frustration as I tried wiggling my hips to get any extra friction. He grunted in defeat and practically sighed in relief as I heard his belt unbuckled and the bed suddenly becoming light behind me. I tried looking around to see him, but only his hand made sure to push me further into the mattress. “ You wanted this, so take it!” He roughly shoved himself into me with no warning, a loud gasp ripping through me followed by a choked moan. His size always felt like the first time, painful and blissful at the same time. “ FUCK!” Pea moaned as he steadied his hips as he made sure to feel that moment, being deep in her, ass up, red ribbon around her wrists like a present, shit it was perfect. He pulled out and back in bruisingly fast, hands back on her arms.

“ Shit shit shit!” I screamed out my eyes shut as he hit the right spot constantly but grazed the plug as he pulled out.

“ You look….so gorgeous right now fuck.” He grunted as Pea focused on not coming anytime soon but rather feeling every inch tighten around him. Just for him. Only making his grip on her arms terribly harder. The pain and pleasure as he bruisingly fucked her from behind only made her squeeze her eyes shut, her mouth wide as she felt the familiar knot about to explode. 

“ I’m going to cum! Holy shit please Pea let me cum pleaseee!” I begged as Pea made sure to rub hard and fast fingers against her clit. 

“ Come on baby, take it, squirt for me baby.” The profanities and the way his voice and body worked around her did just what he asked.

“ Shit shit shit!” I cried out as my legs shook and fluid leaked out around Pea’s finger.

“Fuck.” He growled and made sure to keep fucking her through her orgams, nearing her to the next one. 

I screeched softly and huffed as he kept his bruising pace, “ Pea oh my gawd Don’t stop! Fuck me!” Sweet Pea practically came then and their but pulled out to control himself. 

“ No, NO!” I cried as my wrist withered to pull him back. Pea shakily sighed, stroking himself softly. He watched as she squirmed and whimpered trying to be set loose. He untied her wrist sending a buzzing feeling of excitement through her as she propped herself only for a second. Pea made sure to pull her around by her hair. “ You really are prettier all tied up, huh.” He teased. 

I widened my eyes, “ No! Not again!” I wrapped my arms around his neck pulling him into a kiss and flush against my hot skin. The feeling of his skin against her finger pads was heavenly. It was rare to be able to touch him, and when he let her, she loved it. Her mouth on his hungrily as her hips bucked against his hard on. Pea grunted against her mouth, his hands moving from her breast where he quickly pulled on her red nipples and down to her bruised hips. “ You won’t be able to walk for a week baby girl.” He whispered as he teasingly rubbed against my swollen nerve. A weak moan only for a response. He slipped in easily and then faster, digging his mouth onto my neck as I scratched his shoulders. “ Ohhh, Yes….Mmmm” I moaned wrapping my legs around his waist as he pounded so hard into me, practically into the mattress. 

Pea made sure to come up to see her face as she practically cried at her second painful release. Seeing her silently watch in awe as her eyes rolled back, it brought him to the edge.

“ Come on cum with me, Come on!” Pea yelled his chin forcing her to look at his furious face, only adding to her orgasm. Pea made sure to keep his pace as she yelled his name and tears ripped through her as she threw her head back. As she saw white, Pea went balls deep and stayed in as he came in her, his groans and moans muffled into her neck. She made sure that with the little bit of energy to wrap her fingers into his damp hair, easing him down from his own high. Pea made sure to pin her arms away from him, scaring her slightly at his abrupt move.

“ I’m not done with you.” He made his way down to her core, instantly going to her almost numb and in pain clit. 

I hissed as his lips and tongue wrapped around me. I didn’t have the strength to cum again, I almost wanted to call the safe word just for my sake to rest but the way Sweet Pea looked up at her, in between her thighs. Pea knew exactly how to make her cum and he wanted to see her cum underneath him all over again. “ Shit...Fuck.” My hands grabbed handfuls of the sheets as I rocked my hips against his hot mouth and tongue. 

To make matters worse, he purposely groaned and hummed against me, I never felt like cuming so fast in the times being with Pea. Each time he knew her better enough to get her on edge in seconds. His hand made sure to hold down painfully hard on her hips as she chanted his name.

“ Yes...Yes yes yes!” I back arched and watched in awe as his tongue did wonders, followed by his thumb that flicked and rubbed so hard I lost track of time. Pain ripped through my abdomen to my core, ready for a painful orgasm. It was so much. “ Pea! I can’t I-” I cried and sure enough my body cracked under him, fluid squirting out as tears fell out and high pitched moans echoed into the room. Pea pulled himself up to watch her tears stained cheeks, suddenly nervous it was too much. “Hey, Are you okay?” His soft voice made me crane my neck back to see his worried face, with a wet face may I add. I smiled weakly and wiped his cheek with my thumb. “ You are unbelievable Sweet Pea.” He smirked laying next to her as they both sighed. 

I was exhausted not wanting to move or speak. Just stare at the ceiling and acknowledge how great her body felt, for now. 

“ Wait I have to take something—” His hand pulling my ass to the side, “ Relax, I don’t wanna hurt you.” I scoffed but was cut short by the feeling of the plug coming out. I hissed softly and turned back around on my back.

“ I should get you a bath running before I leave.” Pea said as he kissed my semi wet cheek and got up to find his clothes. I watched as he pulled on his underwear and jeans and disappeared into the bathroom. I was smiling. At him. Here I was catching feelings over something we told ourselves was nothing serious. I pushed myself up to distract myself only to be extremely sore. I tried propping myself up to walk to the bathroom only to fall on my knees in pain. He really fucked me till I couldn't walk. I burst out laughing making Sweet Pea walk back into the room extremely confused. 

“ Come help me up weirdo!” He went over to pick her up but just ended up carrying her bridal style. He laughed as she groaned but laughed also. 

This was nice, their company and well the sex also. Sweet knew that it was temporary and he reminded himself that everyday. Deep down he was a romantic, and he knew his soulmate was out there. But for now he just wanted to explore himself a little more and who else to help than his best friend. He hated leaving her after, something in him told him to stay, but he was enough of a gentleman to know that staying would only send mixed signals and ruin everything. So he stuck to the plan.

“ Well, I’m gonna head out, and I’m sorry if I went overboard—” Pea flinched as he saw the bruises show up around my arms and legs, the water instantly healing some pain. I sighed sinking deeper into the tub. Pea kneeled next to me, waiting for some goodbye gesture. I looked at him smiling, “ It was great, plus I'll be fine...but,” I held his hand that rested on the side of the tub. “ Can you stay...to hang out?” I watched his reaction change from content to flustered. It’s insane that friendship intimacy was weird to us but seeing each other naked wasn’t. 

He coughed and looked at his clock, “ I don’t know—”

I patted his hand, “ Pea it’s fine, it was just and offer.” I casually played it off, waiting for his response even though it did hurt to see him turn me down. He stood up and sighed in defeat. “ How about this. I have to do some stuff to do with fangs for a night delivery, and if everything goes smoothly...I’ll crash with you.” He looked down at my surprised face. He chuckled at my silent response.

 “ Oh- Yeah sure! Sounds good.” I cooly said somehow suddenly interested in the bath water. 

“ Alright see you later!” I said before leaving entirely with the sound of the door closing, I sat in the water somehow happy but nervous that he easily accepted my offer. I giggled to myself, but was cut short by my sore body.

“ Fuck, this is more painful than my Serpent initiation trial.” I mumbled softly. 

Somehow I managed to get out of the bath, with wobbly legs, and into my soft pj pants and tank top. It was 8 pm, my eyes sleepy and my body tired. I laid in the wrinkled up bed, forgetting that someone would be coming back. 

[shinymooncolor]

For my fellow Sweater Weather fans ❤️ @lumosinlove - thank you!

Kudos to @frombeauxbatons for helping me with Finnish.

@wxlfstxrx and @siriuslyqueer love youuu 💕

Sweater weather chats #10

The team goes to Vegas. Kris gets a new phone. Olli speaks Finnish. Remus and Sirius are in their honeymoon phase. The team dads ship it. Kasey gets cuddles. Logan gets lost. Leo is mad. Everyone bets on Sergei. Dumo is not a fan of Russian cheering during sex. Will we ever find out about Prague?

Wednesday 9.22 pm

Eliascookie: eyyy fucking love wifi in the air. 🤪

Dumodad: shhh someone is trying to nap and you guys are loud 🥴

Logantremblayzzz: sorry grandpa. Not all of us are old and cranky.

Sergei_81: careful I fight people for you

CarbO’Hara: and we love you dearly for that. But no denying you and dumo are old and cranky. You could literally both be Leo’s dads

Ollibear: he looks more like sunny and sergei’s baby than dumo’s

Blizzard: ohhh a love triangle 🙊😳

Sunnysideup: as much as I love sergei, I wouldn’t get between him and dumo. They’re the bromance of our gen :) also not my type

Kaneyoudigit: yeah. Where does that butt slap come from anyways? Even when one of them is out or injured they find time for that 👻

Bradygunz: I don’t think anyone understands it... where does it come from? Something about Prague - Allison was super cagey about it.

Dumodad: shhhh let us sleep. Night boys. Got another few hours and practice tomorrow is not optional. Sleep.

Nadotheman: VEGAS BABY

Krisvolley: practice and a game Nado.

RussianGod: DONT be boring krissy

——

Friday 12.33 pm

Remus created a group chat

Remus added Dumo, Sirius, Sergei, Sunny and Krissy

Remus named group chat HELP

Remus: okay boys. Sorry for this but I’m a little worried. We’re in Vegas and with a whole day of no games and only practice tomorrow once we touch down in LA, I can’t keep an eye on the entire team.

Dumo: haha dont worry go have a nice date with cap. God knows he’s cranky enough that you were away for that course for three days.

Sunny: don’t worry I sleep with ear plugs anyways 😜

Remus: hey we have separate rooms!

Krissy: wE hAvE sEpErAtE rOoMs....... it’s ok remmy 😉 cap plays better after you do whatever it is you do.

Sirius: alright stop. I wasn’t cranky. And leave Remus alone. You’re supposed to be the mature ones. Also Krissy?

Krissy: yes. I got a new iPhone and made the mistake of asking timmers and Olli to help me set it up on the plane. Now I can’t get it to change back. They set it to Finnish. Have no fucking clue and haven’t managed to get hold of Olli yet. 😳😳😳😳

Sergei: cap and re go enjoy honeymoon we take care of babies

Sunny: 😜😜😜😜😜 enjoy it while it lasts. Before you know it’s chores, babies and using alone time to catch up on sleep

Dumo: yeah. Don’t take your blissful kid free life for granted. 😈

Krissy: didn’t Logan and the other two walk in on your guys doing it in the kitchen last month?

Dumo: so?

Sergei: haha just kitchen? I’ve caught them worse. Is ok. You understand when you have babies. 😆

Krissy: I have a baby. I’m just single 😫😫😫

Sunny: want us to find a girl for you?🤓

Krissy: no thank you. Leave my sex life alone.

Sergei: u even have one?

Krissy left the group chat

Dumo added krissy to the group chat

Dumo: Sergei is sorry......... also he walked in on us maybe 5 times calm down. There’s nothing like Russian cheering to kill a mood....

Sunny: 5? That can’t be right. You were bunnies when she was pregnant last. I saw things I cannot unsee 🤯🤯🤯

Sirius left the group chat

Remus: you broke Sirius. Anyways I’ll leave the babysitting to you guys then.

Sunny: HAVE FUN REMUS 🥳🥳

——

Friday 2.54 pm

Logantremblayzzz: guys I’m lost. I’ve been walking towards that big pointy thing and the map from the hotel is crap and I got away from finn and he’s not picking up

*picture of map*

Blizzard: Logan.

Blizzard: THATS A MAP OF PITTSBURGH. WE’RE IN VEGAS. ALSO ITS UPSIDE DOWN.

Blizzard: how the fuck have you lived to see 23? 😆

Logantremblayzzz: oh. That makes more sense. 🙈🙈🙈

Newt-leo: what do you mean you lost Finn? Are you both lost somewhere in Vegas? Just use your phone and get back to the hotel...

Blizzard: Finn left his phone here in the room😂😂😂 better send out a search party

Logantremblayzzz: well I don’t know what happened. I can’t find him now. 😭

LeWilliam: There’s literally one strip of road in Vegas and you’ve gotten lost. 🐸

Dumodad: I swear to the fucking hockey gods we were never this stupid. Idiots. Get back here for 5, and we can go have a team dinner for those who want. Sergei is buying

Evanderbell: ohh @tylerthemighty and I are in!! Thanks @sergei_81!!!

Sunnysideup: he’s sleeping? Hahahah he’s gonna be unhappyyyy 😂

RussianGod: hehe thanks we’re play too...

Nadotheman: he means game. But yeah. Free dinner 😎

Prongstar: I think this one @logantremblayzzz has to go into the promo videos hahahahah 😂😂😂 I’m telling Marlene.... 😘

Ollibear: is anyone looking for Finn?

Newt-leo: yeah me and @krisvolley are going out now

——-

Friday 3.44 pm

CarbO’Hara: THANKS FOR DITCHING ME LOGAN

Logantremblayzzz: I was lost too! Not my fault you wander about

CarbO’Hara: I was talking to a puppy and when I got back up you were gone 😔 didn’t have my phone. Had to ask two Cher’s and an Elvis how to get back. 😫

Newt-leo: you’re back at the hotel now?

CarbO’Hara: yes. Forgot my phone.

Newt-leo: WELL THATS FUCKING GREAT. 😡

Walkietalkie: uhhh someone is in the dog house 😂😂😂

Nadotheman: bad fish... no goalie love for youuu

Blizzard: I can cuddle ya Finn. No worries. 😘😫😘

Logantremblayzzz: you’re not cuddling Finn. Go cuddle Nado if you need to.

RussianGod: come on blizzard. We do goalie sandwich 🥪🥪🥪🥪

Blizzard: gimme five minutes boysss 😍

Krisvolley: we’re heading back now. You’re paying for our cab Finn. Leo is really mad 😉

Friday 3.52 pm

Timmyforrealz: awww 😍

*nado and Kuny cuddling blizzard in a goalie sandwich*

Ollibear: there’s a lot of bromance in my room right now. 😂

Walkietalkie: at least they’re fully clothed. 🤞🏻

——

Friday 6.33 pm

Sergei_81: IM NOT PAYING FOR YOU All

Dumodad: yes you are. It’s your turn. 😘

Sunnysideup: u know it. It’s the deal. Shouldn’t bet if you can’t pay up.

Sergei_81: is thanks I get for fighting for you all.

Sirius: you keep bringing that up. But you love fighting for us. We love you for it 😜

Dumodad: haha cap’s got a point my friend. And you’re a glorious fighter. Haha your punches are feared through the league. Even the linesmen try to avoid getting between you and your victim

Nadotheman: you know there’s a bet in the league? First rookie to take you down gets a Rolex from a draw? Everyone chips in at draft? 😜

RussianGod: is true hehehe I put money in on never so I want watch

KrisVolley: was that an option? 😳 how did I not think of this

RussianGod: I’m smart just not in English. English stupid. Russian best 🥳

—-

Friday 9.33 pm

Ollibear: Mä oon niin ilonen mut mulla on ikävä kotiin. Mulla on ikävä muumeja.

Ollibear: Ja mun äitiä.

Ollibear: Tykkään myös tosi paljon pannukakuista.

Prongstar: Olli.exe stopped working…….

Sunnysideup: eh anyone’s got an eye on Olli? He’s defaulted to Finnish… 🙊🙊🙊

Dumodad: @timmyforrealzzz @nadotheman @russiangod

Dumodad: WHAT DID YOU IDIOTS DO NOW

KrisVolley: hahahaha Olli just had some shots. The waitress was making googly eyes at him and I guess he couldn’t say no 😆

Timmyforrealz: I think we should get him back to the hotel 😁😁😁

Nadotheman: not it!!!!

RussianGod: I got him. He dont walk

——-

“Kuny, he can’t even walk”

“I’m got him. He very drunk. Hehe not hold liquor well for Finn. Is embarrassing” Kuny snorted and hoisted his teammate more firmly over his shoulder.

“He owes me $100 for bribing the driver to take us”

“Sä oot hyvä venäläinen. Et ilkee venäläinen. Tunnen pahoja ja ilkeitä venäläisiä.”

“Any idea what he’s saying?”

“Not sure is even Finnish. Sound like just words”

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Ain’t Sayin’ She’s a Gold Digger: Part 2

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Negan x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: Sugar baby relationship, swearing

Word Count: 3,343

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well don’t you clean up nice.” Jeffrey said as you stepped out of your apartment building in a black silk Saint Laurent top, red denim shorts, and red to black gradient Louboutin’s with an old, worn suitcase in your each of your hands that were stuffed full of clothes.

“So I think I fucked up.” You huffed as you set the bags down on the stoop and pushed a new pair of sunglasses up on top of your head.

“Oh?” He asked with a small smirk as he leaned back against his car and crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you do?”

“Well… this is only bags number one and two.”

“Oh shit.” He laughed as Dana opened the door and carried out bags three and four out with her. “OK, James will get the rest, girls.”

“There’s only one more.” You huffed as you handed the bags at your feet to his driver. “And it’s one with the dresses… oh!” You gasped and lunged toward suitcase number two, which was probably as old as you were, as it ripped down the zipper and spilled half of your carefully planned and neatly folded outfits onto the stairs. “Damn it.”

“Sweetheart.” Jeff said as he lurched forward and helped you and Dana pick up your things. “Why didn’t you get new bags?”

“I just… I thought about it.” You sighed as you brushed off a dress on the bottom of the pile and set it on the seat of the car so it was out of the way. “But I had already went from a little less than a month of clothes to way over, and it was just getting so expensive, I just figured that my old suitcases would work, and I just had to buy these Louboutin’s because they have just been my wet dream…”

“Alright, well now we have to go and get you suitcases before we leave.” He said with a shake of his head as he searched your eyes. “What else did you skimp out on?”

“I made it through purchasing clothes, and the salon so she was up to my standards.” Dana said as she handed you the last bit of clothing with an evil smile. “But I know her make up’s old, and she probably got it from Walgreens.”

“Dana, shut your face.”

“I see what you mean about this one being a run for my money.” Jeff laughed as he handed his driver all of your folded clothes to put in the trunk with your bags. “Are you trying to be difficult?”

“Oh, I’m not trying…”

“She will always be difficult.” Dana said as she kissed your cheek. “Now go! I have things I want to do…”

“Make sure you shut the blinds this time if you’re gunna go dance naked in the living room some more.”

“Go to hell.” She laughed as she headed up the stairs. “Keep in touch, and you take care of my best girl.”

“Come on, sweetheart. We got some stops to make and I gotta postpone a jet.”

——

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, sweetheart.” Jeff said softly as you sat down next to him on the U-shaped couch on the Regent cruise line’s private jet.

“I feel bad I’m the reason we’re all late.”

“And I think we are right on time.” You smiled at him softly and sighed through your nose as you crossed your legs and put your hand on top of his on your knee. “So tell me about you.”

“It’s… well, it’s a long, long story.”

“Well we have a seven hour flight ahead of us.” You smirked and looked over at him as you turned on the leather toward him a bit more.

“What if I wanna be difficult?”

“Oh, I like difficult.” He chuckled as he glanced up and took two champagne glasses from the stewardess with a small nod.

“OK, well champagne is going to make being difficult, really difficult.” You laughed as you tapped your glass against his. “And I am an double orphan, that was adopted by a single mom who died of cancer, and then raised in group homes and with foster families, so I know how to be difficult.”

“You were an orphan?”

“I was an orphan.” You repeated before taking a big sip of your drink. “Well technically I still am. I was left at a police station when I was a year and a half old by my mom. And I was placed with a foster family while they tried to track her down, but they never did. She’s the lady who taught me how to play piano, my second mom, mama Beth. For the whole first month I was living with her, I didn’t say a word or make a sound, I just stared at her baby grand piano because I’d never seen one before. And eventually, she just picked my ass up, plopped me down on the chair, and taught me everything I know.”

“How long were you with her?” He asked before taking a sip of his own drink. 

“Almost ten years.” You said with the slightest hint of tears in your eyes. “Until she passed away. After that, I went to a few different group homes and other foster families that I hated until I aged out. Went to Juilliard on a scholarship and then became a bartender after that. And now I’m here.”

“And now your here.” He parroted back as he set his drink down in the cup holder on the table in front of you to buckle his seatbelt. “I was a little more fortunate in life.”

“What, not all people own cruise lines and hotels and fly in private jets?” You teased as you fastened your own seatbelt.

“Surprisingly, no.” He laughed as his eyes lit up even more. “Usually people own much bigger companies.”

“Oh, well you are slacking!” You giggled as you let him take your hand and lace his fingers with yours. “You need to step up your game, Jeffrey. Do I need to be the one to make… like a vision board or some shit to you can manifest the new dream?”

“No, we don’t need that.” He said as he slowly brushed his thumb against yours. “You know, you really are a breath of fresh air.”

“I’m not doing anything special.” You nearly whispered as you laid your head down on his shoulder for only a second, before you popped it right back up again. “Oh, there’s a big TV?!”

“There’s a bed in the back, too.” Your head whipped over toward him and your jaw dropped in shock.

“Shut up.”

“I use this plane for VIP guests that go on our more expensive cruises overseas, or VIPs that visit our hotels and want a more personal experience with our company. I’ve tried to do everything I can to make everyone’s vacation as memorable as can be.”

“Is it just VIPs that use this… oh!” You squeaked as you squeezed his hand a little tighter as the plane picked up speed and shot across the runway.

“It goes quick.” He whispered in your ear as he put his other hand on your knee. “First time flying?” You nodded your head and took a deep breath, before forcing a smile on your face.

“OK, it’s not that bad.”

“You get used to it.” He chuckled. “And usually it is only VIPs that use this. It’s a pretty penny to fuel and staff this thing…”

“Would you should consider doing a raffle every year?” You asked before you finished your champagne as the plane leveled out at your flying altitude. He looked at you questioningly at the interruption and you shrugged and set your glass down in the cup holder beside his. “Sorry. You just said that you want to make people’s experiences memorable. As someone that grew up without, who has never been on a vacation before in my life, let alone going overseas, this is a pretty amazing experience. One that I will always remember. Now imagine giving that same feeling to a couple of love sick newlyweds going on their honeymoon, or the kids of a single mother who worked three jobs after she divorced her husband to give her kids something joyful in their dark life like my friend’s mom did in middle school.” You shrugged and gave him a tight lipped smile. “I don’t know, it’s just a thought.”

“It’s actually a very good thought.” He said with a smile as he took his hand off your knee to reach up and push a piece of hair back behind your ear. He searched your eyes for a moment and shook his head. “Fuck, Dana was right about you. You really are something special.”

“Honestly, I’m just being me. I told you, I don’t know how to be your typical Baby. So you’re gonna get me just the way I am.”

“And that’s what I need right now.” He reassured as he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “I need something real. Something that isn’t putting on a mask to be what they think I want. I may hate her, but I miss my wife because she was the only person who treated me like a person and not a bank account. And I can already tell that you’re the same kinda person.”

“I mean, I won’t lie to you…” You admitted as you leaned into his touch. “The money is nice. But it’s certainly not everything. Even in the short amount of time we’ve spent together, I can tell you’re a great guy. And I’m glad I can be the one to get to know you. So I guess we can both be grateful that I met Dana.”

“How did you meet Dana anyways?”

“Well I can be grateful I got kicked out of Juilliard for that. I lost my place to live and didn’t have any money. She happened to be on a run past Juilliard as I was tossing trash bags of my shit out of the dorm, and I knocked her ass over with a bag of shoes.”

“Oh, Jesus.” He laughed as he nodded at his stewardess and sat up a little bit to snack on the extravagant charcuterie board that was set on the table in front of you.

“She obviously forgave me.” You laughed as you nodded your head at the stewardess when she held up the bottle of champagne. “And she gave me a couch to sleep on until I could get a job and get my shit together. And the rest is history.”

“Well here’s to history.” Jeff said with a smile as he held up his full glass. “And to making friends.”

“And to perfectly timed moments in time.” You added as you tapped your glass against his.

“I can definitely drink to that, sweetheart.”

——

“Ummm… how old is that phone?” Jeff asked with a laugh as he watched you take photos of London out the town car window with an iPhone 6 that had a giant crack across the screen but still worked just fine.

“As old as you are.” You teased with a glance over your shoulder before looking back out the window at the landmarks wizzing by on your way to one of Jeff’s hotels for the night before the cruise. “So about as old as the dinosaurs.” He laughed behind you as he sat forward in his spot. 

“Find an Apple store…”

“No.” You said quickly as you shook your head and turned back toward him. “No, that’s alright.”

“Just find us an Apple store.” Jeff repeated with a shake of his head as he looked back down at his phone and the dozen or so emails he had gotten when you were in the air.

“You’re being ridiculous.” You huffed as you turned away from him for a moment.

“No, you trying to take good photos on an old broken phone on your first international trip ever is ridiculous.” You looked over at his smirk and narrowed your eyes as he glanced over at you out of the corner of his eyes. “You are ridiculous, sweetheart.”

“Why?” His smirk turned into a full smile as he turned off his screen and turned toward you casually.

“I like to take care of people.” He started as he rested his arm on the back of the seat and picked up a strand of your hair to twirl around his finger. “It’s the way I was raised. When I was young, my mom used to make me work with her at a thrift store her woman’s club ran couple times a week. It was the biggest pain in the ass in my opinion because I would have much rather been out playing with my friends. But one day, one of those friends lost their house to a fire. And they needed help. And so the stuff I had been organizing just the day before became everything to my friend. It was maybe a half dozen t-shirts and maybe as many pairs of shorts, but that was all he had. And it made me wanna do more. But as a kid there was only so much I could do. So from that day forward, I did everything I could to help people in ways they couldn’t do themselves.”

“So that’s why you went into hospitality?”

“Part of the reason. The other part was the money. And when I met and married Hillarie, I had someone I could take care of, so my philanthropy kinda fell to the way side… but after she left, I just…”

“You’re just missing something.” You interjected with a smile as you pat his thigh gently. “I get it. This kinda makes a lot more sense now, you and me… Oh, Tiffany!” You said as you pointed out the window behind him at the building you had just drove past. “That place always has the cutest things. I can never stop myself from browsing… Sorry, that was rude…”

“You can just stop here.” Jeff said as he gestured to an open parking spot. “I do think a nice Tiffany necklace would look great with this outfit of yours before we find you a decent international phone for the month we’re here.”

“OK, let the record show that I’m not a fan of being spoiled like this.” You said as you got out of the car behind him with a giant smile. “But at the same time, the broke girl that spends way to much money on fashion magazines is dying.”

“Listen to that second voice.” He laughed as he put his hand on the small of your back and pulled the door to the designer department store named Selfridges open for you. “Spend the money.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This ship is absolutely breath taking.” You sighed as you walked with Jeffrey so he could double check all of the work that was put into the ship before its maiden voyage. “Every single detail is… it’s just beyond words.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jeff said with a smile as he brushed his thumb across your back. “I wanted to make sure, even though it looks very similar to one of the line’s other ships, that it would still be an unrivaled experience for the guests.”

“Well I think you got it spot on.” You leaned into his side and looked up at him with a playful smile. “You know you’re gunna have to play bocce with me.”

“I will play bocce with you.” He agrees as he lead you into a lounge you hadn’t seen yet because you had been distracted by the culinary arts kitchen and picking one of the classes to take so Jeff knew it was a worth wile experience to have. “But you have to play for me first.”

“Oh, my God.” You gasped as you walked over to the gorgeous grand piano in the middle of the room. “This is a Steinway.”

“I take it that’s a good thing?” He asked as he opened the keys cover for you and gestured to the bench.

“You have no idea. We had one of these at Juilliard for showcases, but I never…” You shook your head as you gingerly danced your fingers across a few keys and slowly sat down on the bench. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”

“So you want me to play bocce with you or what?” He asked as he nodded at one of the bartenders who were preparing the bar for when the boarding process began in a less than an hour. With a smile, you nodded your head, turned your attention to the black and white keys, and started playing ‘Clair de Lune’ by Debussy. 

Just like you had the very first time you played a note, you were instantly lost in the sound. It took you away to another place, where everything was much simpler and black and white. It was like a cloud lifted you off the bench and took you a million miles away, cradling you and lightening the dark parts of your orphaned soul that had been marred by the system that failed so many children before and after you, and a society that mostly fended for themselves. The piano spoke in ways you knew you would ever be able to, expressing itself much more fluently than you even believed possible.

As he leaned on the bar and sipped on his scotch, Jeff felt something he had never felt with a Sugar Baby before. A desire that he had assumed had all but disappeared when he caught Hillarie with another man. Part of him wanted to snuff it out as fear overwhelmed him, but the other part, the much bigger part, wanted you more than he had even wanted Hillarie. You had a fire in you that he could already feel warmed the darkest reaches of his soul, and a mischievousness to you that made him want to get in a little trouble just for the fun of it. He loved how easy it was to talk to you, and how you checked all of your inhibitions at the door, which made him wish he was able to do the same thing.

‘No one would want to be with some… old man like you.’ Even six years later, Hillarie’s words still cut like a knife straight through the heart, reminding him exactly why dating Sugar Baby’s was the best thing for him. It had been the same script that played through his head whenever he had moments like this. Moments where he thought he’d be able to move on in life and find someone that could stand spending any length of time with him for any reason other than his money. Which is the exact reason why using his money to pay for company that otherwise wouldn’t want to be with him anyways was the only way to go at his age. He startled the slightest bit when the bartenders beside him clapped when you finished your song, the sound pushing his thoughts away for the time being, and he joined them as well as you turned on the bench and blushed.

“Oh, stop.” You laughed as you slipped your shoes back on and stood up. “That’s an easy one.”

“Well, I’m so glad I thought long ago that it would be a good idea to put a piano in the suite we’re in too.” Jeff said as he set his glass down and stuck out his hand for yours.

“Can we just go see it?” You asked with a smile as you let go of his hand to lace your arm with his. “For like one song length of time. And then maybe go down to the pool to people watch for a while before dinner?” He smiled and nodded his head as he led you to the elevators to go up to the fourteenth deck.

“That sounds like an absolutely fucking perfect idea, sweetheart.”

Part 3

[shhhlikeme]

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #14:

———————————

TABLE OF CONTENTS

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP ONE 

Since Y/N is back at school and life will get that much harder for Aone Takanobu, The problematic K_nji’s devise a plan to help their white haired middle blocker survive his heartbreak.

In Aone’s den, Futakuchi stood facing the couches like Captain America while Koganegawa stuffed his face with half of Aone’s fridge and Aone was sitting on the arm chair as if he had been called to the principals office, because, well—he kind of had. 

“While I am very happy you got Aone-san out of his room, what is this about, dad? Can I put on the baseball game now? You’re standing in front of the tv” 

“No, and shut up. I’m recording it and you know that.” 

Kanji pouted, lifting the bag of chips upside down so that the crumbs dumped in his mouth. The chips spilled down his chest and Kenji fumed, scoffing.

“What?! LIKE YOU DIDN’T SPILL THE ORANGE JUICE THIS MORNING AND I HAD TO CLEAN IT UP—“

“Oh boo hoo you big baby It’s the least you can do since I do your freaking laundry—“

“Kusa didn’t call me a big baby when we were on the phone last night—“ 

“Oh? But she sure wanted to when you lost the arm wrestling match to me yesterday and you almost crie—“

“Stop bickering. Or I am leaving.” Aone warned. While he wasn’t speaking as much as he used to, he was getting better within the privacy of his own home, now Uttering several sentences a day only to the two boys that lived with him. Takanobu was even leaving his room a bit more now to spend time with them, whether that be to watch one movie or tv show and then scurry back to his room when he got too sad again. Hey, they would take it.

Kenji shook his head. “Fuck, sorry. Don’t leave. I called you both here because I think it’s about time we did something, Aone. I made a plan to help you, and told this one about it.” 

Mountain Man narrowed his eyes, not sure if he liked where this is going or not. “A…..Plan……” He repeated lowly. 

Kenji nodded. “Yup.” 

“I am not following.” 

Futakuchi was about to explain before Kanji gasped. “OH! IS THIS ABOUT OPERATION: HELP AONE-SAN DEAL WITH HIS BROKEN HEART?!”

Kenji glared at his underclassmen. “That is not what it’s called you idiot. But yes.”

Aone’s face remained rock hard. Kenji mirrored his expression. 

The two 3rd years were completely quiet for a while as they had a silent conversation about whether Aone should agree to this plan or not.

The big boned setter just munched on his snacks while looking between the two of them in fascination. “It’s so cool how you guys do that.” He complimented with a mouthful. 

They continued their speechless chat.

After a minute, Aone broke the silence.

“…….You know how to make the pain……stop?” He asked seriously, his voice cracking from lack of use.

Kenji nodded, crossing his arms, still standing like Captain America. “I think so. But there are multiple steps.” Kenji stopped pacing for a second to stand in front of the white haired giant. “Starting with…. What’s your phone background right now?” 

Aone shrugged and moved a bit to slip his iPhone out of his back pocket. He handed his phone to Futakuchi’s awaiting hand. When Futakuchi pressed the home button to look at it, he immediately let out a loud exasperated sigh.

“Oh hell no.” 

“What is it?!” Asked Kogane, imitating a chipmunks spunk.

Kenji showed the screen to him, who widened his eyes when he saw it and shook his head!

“What is wrong with my background?” Losty Aone asked. 

“It’s of freaking Airhead and Perdu!!! Absolutely -the fuck not. I’m changing it.” 

“Do not call her an Airhead, please...” Aone raised his voice an octave, clearly upset with his friend who knew better.

Kenji only smirked. “Gotcha. Force of habit. Still changing it though.”

Sad, baby Aone thought about protesting—but stopped himself because he thought about how badly he really did want this all-encompassing heartache to let up, even if just a little. If he was going to deal with his unrequited love for you forever, he might as well accept help to make it a bit more bearable. As of right now it was torture, so if his brunette friend knew how to fix that—alright. 

Aone’s heart sunk when he realized Kenji had switched the photo to one of Perdu alone. While he loved that specific photo of his precious turtle, he loved the one with you smiling and wearing him as a hat even more. You are so so so so pretty and so fun.

“That was step one.” Kenji stated loudly, knowing where Aone’s mind headed and snapped him out of it. He began to pace again like a drill sergeant. 

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP TWO 📸🗑

step two was almost abandoned because Aone was not allowing his friends to delete all the photos of Y/N from his camera roll. 

“Let. Go. Mom!!!” Whined Koganegawa as he tried to pry the phone out of his senpais hands. Both he and Futakuchi were tugging with all of their combined might and they still weren’t able to retrieve the device. 

“No. It was a very happy time in my life.” Aone stated, not even breaking a sweat yet as he battled for purchase.

“I SAID I’m not going to delete them! Just gonna send them to my phone for the time being!” Kenji growled, pushing his foot into the couch for more leverage as he tugged. 

Aone still remained unfazed. “No. I know you, Futakuchi-san. You will delete them.” 

Kenji sighed loudly. 

“Okay! I would have. HAPPY I ADMITTED IT? Then, forget me! We will send them to the big boned setter. He won’t delete them, he’s too nice!” 

Kanji fell on his butt as he kept pulling like: 

“Yeah! I would never—UGH how the frick are you so STRONG—delete them, mom!” 

Aone shook his head still. “I truly believe you that you would not delete them, Koganegawa. However, you lose and or break your phone on a trimonthly basis. So I cannot trust you to be a good gatekeeper, either.” 

“We will upload them to Kogane’s iCloud then!!!” Kenji yelled, twisting his arms in an attempt at a better grip. “That way they can never be deleted—“ 

Aone contemplated this. “Hmmmmmm.....” He grunted. 

“Listen to dad, mom, he’s right! Plus.....I know you don’t have social media but if you really wanted to see Y/N you could just go to her Instagram page and—AHHHHHHHH!” 

The two boys toppled over on the carpeted floors because Aone let go of his phone. Not even a little out of breath, Aone nodded. “It hurts to see her…. so I should really take them off, I guess. I will agree to take them off temporarily and upload to Kogane’s iCloud. If I want them back, I get them back immediately. I’ll admit it does make me feel better that I could check her social media page if I really need to see her smile. Staring at photos of our relationship all night did intrude on my sleep. So As long as my photos are not deleted, that should be fine. And Sorry. I hope I did not hurt either of you.” He stated solemnly. 

The two athletes laid flat on the ground, chests heaving, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Deal.” They said in unison.

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP THREE 🙈💥

“Step Three: Avoid that Bimb— uh I mean your ex at all costs. She’s takes one way to class? Start taking the long route. She’s cheering in the gym? Stay outdoors. She’s in the cafeteria? I promise to order us Uber Eats or something and we will eat anywhere else. Normally, the best way to get over a chick is to cut her off cold turkey—but since you are forced to see her 5 days a week at school, the only option is makeshift block out. Pretend she’s still home sick.” 

Kogane snorted. “Haha. You’re good at blocking on the court so this kinda blocking should be a piece of cake, Aone-san, ITAI!!!” The Big Boned setter folded his body in two in order to caress his right toes that his brunette senpai just crushed by stepping on. He tried to swing but Kenji dodged it. “Aoneeee!!!!!!” Kogane whined. 

“Futakuchi, stop hurting our kouhei.”

Kenji smiled, ignoring the whines of the setter. “Got it. Anyway, Aone-san, any questions?” 

Aone shook his head. “Truthfully.... my heart didn’t hurt as severely when she wasn’t at school. The pain is at about an 85 when I am alone or I don’t see her, which is still awful, but whenever I do see her, smell her, or hear her—the pain jumps to about a 130. So perhaps avoiding her is best. I doubt she wants to see me anyway.” 

Kenji grumbled. “I don’t care what she wants to see. Our priority is you: not her. Okay?” 

Aone nodded slowly. 

Koganegawa cut the tension then. wish he hadn’t. “Hey, Aone-san, you should be trying to avoid Y/N-chan at all times no matter what though because from what Ive seen she’s constantly being asked out by all these guys. I even heard guys in my class hoping to have a shot with her but I told them—“ 

Kenji didn’t even need to harm another hair on the setter’s head because the combined menacing glare coming from both Takanobu and Futakuchi told the setter all he needed to know:

(In which Kenji is Regina and Aone is the principal):

“Uh......sorry. I’ll shut up…….. but if it’s any consolation…….. I heard Y/N is rejecting every single guy—even the football team captain who has apparently liked her for a while and when he heard you two broke up he actually said that—“

Kenji started glowering at Kogane like: 

“Uhh....... I think I’m going to use the bathroom….” Kogane started, getting up with his tail between his legs. 

“You do that.” Kenji seethed.

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP FOUR 🍆💭

“Step Four. And we’re all brothers here so I’m just gonna come out and say it, okay?” 

Aone nodded. He had nothing to hide from his two best friends—especially since they had now seen him at his utter worst—so he was all ears. Aone accepted the fact that with these steps he honestly felt like he could manage this heartbreak one day. Not get over you, that was out of the question—but maybe not act like a zombie anymore so that maybe you’d see some worth in him as a friend…..perhaps. 

Listening, Aone didn’t understand why his confident captain looked so nervous all of a sudden to introduce step four. 

“Aone-san...um.... What’s going on with your…..uh…….y’know......” for some strange reason, Kenji couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes. 

“My....y’know?” Aone asked, rather perplexed. 

Kenji sighed in response.

“OH!!!! I remember step four! Don’t worry Futakuchi-senpai, if you’re too nervous... I can say it! Basical—“ 

“—No!” Kenji scrambled to try and stop him, but Kanji spoke fast. And loud. 

“Are you still jerking off to thoughts of Y/N?” 

Aone clasped his mouth shut as a deep blush overtook his pale features. He immediately looked down, realizing he would rather have the pictures of you deleted than confront this part. 

“Well fuck. Do you have any shame?” 

“We are trying to help him, and you’re stuttering like my moms Michael Jackson records. What are you, FIVE?!”

“Grrrrrrrrrrr—“ 

Aone interrupted with his answer, calmly. “The answer is no. Not really.” 

Kenji deadpanned at the reply, his attention leaving the big boned setter. “What do you mean, not really?! That was a yes or no question!” 

“Yeah, mom, I don’t see how you can ‘no not really’ think about Y/N while you—“

“Don’t say it again.” Snapped Kogane’s parents in unison. 

“Sure thing!” Kanji opened the bag of popcorn and started digging in instead. 

Aone looked away. “What I mean is.......no, I’m not still pleasuring myself to thoughts of Y/N…..not successfully. And not for lack of effort, I should say. I wish she didn’t still arouse me as much as she does, but I think I crave her even more now because my feelings have not stopped getting stronger….. I miss her touch.... so when I think about her— her healthy hair, and her expressive eyes, and her smooth skin, and her soft, supple, incredibly soft lips......” Aone paused to bite his own lip, feeling a stir below. Without meaning for them to, his thoughts on your beauty got the better of him. “When I think about her in her bikini, or her cheerleading uniform, or in the genie costume............ or in the birthday lingerie on my day of birth I just........” 

“Imma stop you right there.” Kenji started, familiar with the tone Aone was using because he’d heard it in many a wet dream descriptions before. “So you do still .... y’know .... to thoughts of Y/N.” 

Snapping back into reality, Aone shook his head. “Not exactly. I attempt not to, but because she is still the most attractive girl I’ve ever seen and thoughts of her excite me beyond belief...I can’t help myself .... but then every single time I begin to get into it, my depressive thoughts of the break up end up flooding in and before I know it, the mood is long gone, washed away by my clenching heartache. It basically happens every night.” 

“WHOA. Man. Now I for realllll understand how much your heartbreak must be hurting, Aone, because you mentioned Y/N in the cheer uniform, the costume, and the lingerie, but I mean you’ve also seen Y/N naked, haven’t you Aone-san ?! She must look soooooo fucking hot..... For something to make you feel so terrible that it gets the image of one of the hottest girls in the school naked out of your mind I would say that our steps won’t even work for you, at all, I mean—“ 

Kenji cleared his throat loudly again at his underclassmen, mentally planning how he was going to kill him in his sleep tonight:

Kogane stopped talking. He shrunk in his seat, pretending to busy himself with.....absolutely anything else. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

How absolutely clueless his kouhai was lead Aone face to let out the tiniest of a smile. Something Futakuchi hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. Only Kenji caught it, and it made the brunette feel like maybe all hope was not lost. 

Maybe. 

———————————

Outtake #15: CLICK HERE

[moonbelt]

»the moon, the sun

↳ ex-best-friends to lovers au | college athletes au

pairing » jeon jungkook | reader

genre » big angst + fluff + sexual themes

word count » 11.770

» there’s not a single thing you like about jungkook. no. not his jokes or his thinly veiled overwatch obsession or his supreme swimmers body. absolutely nothing. there is, however, a multitude of things you hate. wait, sorry that was rude, vehemently despise is better. 

 » mutual pining that could've been resolved if either of them exercised some basic communication skills lol, mild coarse language, lots of angst, cocky jjk but also crack jjk??, gamer memes, poufy haired jjk, also supposed hate-love relationship. 

YOU ARRIVE AT THE SWIM CENTER WITH A THROB in your knee and a resounding ache in your head. It felt like your brain was about to explode into a thousand gory pieces as you pushed open the wide frost-tinted glass double doors that led to the locker rooms.

Now that would have been a great start to a low-budget horror flick. You could just picture it, a lonesome girl? No… Woman? At twenty, you weren’t sure if you still qualified as a girl but the term woman felt too formal, too stifling, too mature to be attributed to you. But whatever, that was semantics you could spare for another day.

So, there you’d be; creeping into a university swim center at the ass-crack of dawn and then bam! Your brain impedes on itself. Maybe it’s because of some mutant phenomenal viral disease, maybe it’s repercussions from tempering with a portal to the paranormal realm that only exists in semi-open pool arenas. Whatever it was, it would have to be epic and a far cry from the truth. Which was, you were used to indescribable, continuous pain. It came with the territory of being an athlete. If you didn’t wake up in the morning with some part of your body feeling uncomfortably off then that just meant you didn’t try as hard the day before. Or at the very least, that’s what you told yourself to keep going.

Yawning, you punched in your locker code and began the mental and physical process of getting ready for the next three hours of practice before break. You usually where the first one in the building and the last one to leave if you didn’t have classes or work.

Swimming made you feel good, made you feel like there was something special about yourself. It didn’t help that the more you practiced, the more you were able to outpace everyone else. Practice birthed results and your stubbornness, wait no, competitiveness was off the charts. So, of course, you wanted to dominate every single athlete in your division.

Still though, waking up at four in the morning had to be the singular dumbest thought you’d ever conceived.

Once you were suited up, you padded back into the arena that held the huge industrial sized swim pool. The overpowering smell of chlorine and humid air made you feel more at home than the dormitory you’d just left less than thirty minutes ago. You honestly might’ve started crying right then and there at the sight of the crystal clear water and the humongous life-sized painting of an unknown swimmer in the midst of a beautiful breaststroke at the center of it all.

Today was after all the first day of the semester. Your collegiate swimming career was finally back on. Your lips twinged at the sight of the polished, tiled floor and how it felt cool under the soles of your feet.

You’d gone back home for winter break and although you’d kept up with the training regime your coach had persistently emailed out, there was just something fundamentally different about being back on your own turf. In fact, you were fairly sure a few tears slipped past your barriers and hooked at the corners of your eyes at the thought. Only to be blasted into near oblivion by the sound of a phone camera going snap snap.

You whipped your head to the direction of the camera like a person possessed. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, My Zelda. This is glorious.” The goddamn stalker, wait he wasn’t a stalker if he was a member of the swim team. Right, the goddamn fiend had the guts and audacity to say with an open-mouthed grin marring his face. “You’re actually crying. There are literally tears in your eyes. I can see ‘em.”

“Screw off, Jeon.”

Him. The only other person dumb enough to be at the swimming center at five am. A full hour before the scheduled practice time. God, how long had he been watching you? And to think he even had time to whip out his phone and document this moment. You were never gonna live it down, that was for sure. You? Crying? Over – you took a grand look around your surroundings – water?

“It was only three weeks, you know. You wouldn’t die if you didn’t swim for a month or two.” He still found the whole scenario funny, if the laughter in his voice was any indication.

“Coming from someone that I doubt showers even once every three days? Yeah, I’ll pass on that lecture.”

“Ooh, a solid burn from the Ice Queen,” he clutched a hand to his chest like he’d been shot with a bazooka or something. Dramatic. “That one hurts my ego immensely.”

You snorted. It was debatable if anything could seriously damage Jeon Jungkook’s ego. That shit was built with solid uranium. No matter how you tried to smash it. He was his own number one supporter and he’d built himself up in his head that he was the greatest at whatever he laid his hands on. At that moment, however, you wanted to snatch the iPhone out of those deft hands of his and dig a well through his head with it. Couldn’t he go be great somewhere else?

Instead of replying and subsequently dragging out this conversation longer than necessary, you busied yourself with adjusting your swim cap and bringing your goggles to rest on the bridge of your nose.

It didn’t matter that Jungkook was here. It didn’t bother you one bit. It’s not like it was abnormal. You’d known him longer than you’d known anybody so of course you were used to his presence. Although you didn’t particularly like the fact that you’d known him almost your whole life. Or the fact that your body prickled with awareness every time he stepped into the nearest vicinity. You couldn’t control that. What you could control though, was how you felt about it.

And right now, you hated him. Wait, no hate was too strong a word, perhaps vehemently despise was more fitting.

You make your way to lane five, take a deep breath to calm your nerves and then dunk yourself into the ice cold water. Better to get it over with than squirm around the edges with him around. For Zelda’s sake, he has his phone camera on standby!

Yeah okay, you didn’t hate Jeon Jungkook; the son of a family friend that lived on the other side of the cul de sac. Instead, you vehemently despised the boy that was a walking, talking human critic. You bite your lip ferociously in a bid to punish the thought of Jungkook out of your mind. After a second or maybe three, you push into the water.

“Your shoulders look tense from up here... you’re so not gonna perform well if you don’t stretch that baby out.”

That’s the first thing you hear other than the rushing of water leaving your ears as your face breaks out against the surface of the pool. You jerk your goggles off your eyes, look up and scowl at him. Mr. I-Should-Basically-Be-A-Coach-With-All-These-Pointers-I-Give.

“I am not tense.”

“Yeah, no. You don’t have to lie about that. I could legit see your muscles almost cramping up down there.”

“Are you really going to stand up there and pretend we have some kind of mentor-mentee relationship going on? Seriously? It’s five in the morning, Jeon.”

You could clearly see the wheels in his head turning and then zeroing in on the one word you shouldn’t have said. Relationship. Gah, you need a chastity belt for your lips. His eyes basically sparkle with rays of mischief and a dash of mastered superiority. “Well, I am seven months older, so when you think about it that way it’s only natural that I take you under my wing and —”

“I swear to you, I will physically break your knee caps —”

“Wait,” he looks genuinely confused, perfect lips pouting. “What do you mean by physically? Is there any other way to break a knee?”

Ugh! You stare at him and he stares right back, cocking his head to the side like he can do this all day. You want to scream, hell maybe even shapeshift into a fucking banshee and scream the roof off this building.

And then his mouth curves into a roguish smirk. The type he reveals when he manages to squeak by a better time than you or like that one time (okay maybe five?) that he got randomly stopped by some modeling agency recruiter when your parents had forced the two of you to carpool to swim meets back when you were a tad younger and he was the only one with a car. The smirk that just screams ‘I’m getting under your skin, aren’t I? And dude, it feels fan-fucking-tastic.’

“Get a life, Jeon. Or better yet, get in the water. It’s only been three weeks, no way you suck even worse than usual after that. I mean, by fuck, it hasn’t even been a month!” You twist his words back at him and then feel proud about it. So what, you are competitive and you hold grudges. There could be worse things.

His smirk deepened and okay, you won’t lie to yourself. He is attractive. Critically so. It would be hard not to notice that. It’s a continual and conscious effort to even attempt to un-notice it. But still, moments like these when the fluorescent lights beamed on his face at just the right angle and the shadows cut across his features and illuminated his golden skin to the heavens, boosting his overall aura like he was some sort of reincarnated god of beauty. Or worse, a Final Boss that you had to most certainly defeat. It became increasingly hard not to notice how much he affected you and your breathing.

Yeah, it’s in these moments that your better judgement faults and for a split second you are transported to that one November night in the middle of eleventh grade when fuck no! Absolutely not! You refuse to walk that horrendous trip down memory lane and relive one of the most humiliating, and this is coming from a girl that threw up because of nerves in front of judges at a talent show, experiences of your life. This was not the time.

“Your shoulders are still stiff as a board. Tell me, child, have you gotten laid recently?”

You let out the most frustrated sound of agony you could muster. You’re going to murder him. Forget you being the star in some crazy horror film, you were going to be the director. And you were gonna serve up a mean case of Deck Jungkook’s Ass With Supernatural Intervention as the main course. Maybe you’d win an Oscar for it. Heck, maybe you’d get a home run and even win Best Picture.

He chuckles like he’s cracked the greatest joke since Netflix Original Films. You’re too busy orchestrating a slugfest in your head to really pay attention. “I’ll take that as a negative.”

You barely manage to spit out a dignified response. “One of these days I’m going to seriously maim you.”

“Tsk tsk, you and your threatening bodily harm tendencies. I wonder if that’s like a kink thing?” He asks as he taps his chin with his forefinger and squats down to a level that is closer to you. His dark brown hair that looks almost a shade of black sways like a river to his beat. This is much better, it hurt your neck staring up at him like he was some guardian deity.

But the action happens to highlight the ridiculous tightening of his abs. The abs you’ve painstakingly not ogled at because they are sculpted beauties. Hell, you’ve yet to meet a swimmer's body that isn’t the epitome of fitness but Jungkook’s is different. He is carved. Probably why you don’t like looking at it, stare too much and he might notice and of course, you wouldn’t want that happening.

“Jeon?”

“Hmm?” He sounds so innocent. The liar.

“Shut up before I drown you. I don’t care how long you can hold your breath. I will send you down to hell personally.”

He wiggled his eyebrows like the concept of hell was all he’d ever wanted to discuss in life. “Does that mean you’d be coming with? Fascinating. Let’s make a road trip out of it. Maybe you’ll even find some demons down to fuck all that tension out of your body. You know, DDTF. Get your exophilia on, if that’s your thing.”

Exo-what?

Beat. He’s beaten you at your own game. How the heck are you supposed to reply something snarky when all he ever does is blow the thing to epic proportions and have you running in circles. This is why the best strategy was just to simply ignore him.

You shoot him one last look that you hope is as menacing as it ought to be. You yank your goggles from resting on your forehead and dunk them in the water to get the fog out. Placing it back gingerly across your eyes, you let take in a soothing breath.

“I am serene. I am calm. There is nothing around me in existence that bothers me. I am the pinnacle of collected.” You refrain from adding tense-free.

There’s no way you’re tense after running the three and a half miles between your dorm and the swim center. You repeat the words aloud twice before you actually believe them. And then you tear back into the water. You still have roughly thirty minutes before the rest of the team comes in for practice. You’ll be damned spending all your time talking to the fool with shaggy hair and a crooked smile that made you want to burn something.

The only sound other than the whoosh in your ears and the rapid pumping of your heart as you exert yourself is the uncanny, blistering laughter of Jeon Jungkook. At least someone was enjoying your torment.

You swore at that moment that you were going to deck him someday. Even if it was the last thing you ever did. Maybe not even physically, gah, but you were going to get a time so fast, so unbelievably better that Jungkook would be dumbstruck in awe and lagging to catch up. You grin at the thought.

   By the time practice comes to an end, your knee has migrated from a troublesome ache to a colossal titan. Dragging your body out of the water proves to be much a greater task that you previously took for granted. You try and fail to hold back your groans as you attempt to not limp back to the locker rooms and take a shower. Also, you need a painkiller stat.

The coach is too busy being circled by the hyena pack that is freshmen to really pay any attention to you. However, you know better than to think you’ve slipped past his radar. He’s definitely going to catch you sometime later to rim your ass for going too hard the first day of the semester. You guess that makes him a great coach in the grand scheme of things but you’d rather he let you be.

“Your knee acting up again?” Your lane buddy and a veteran senior in the program, Seokjin asks as he saddles up next to you and rips the navy blue swim cap off his head. You fear a little bit for his hair. “I thought doc cleared it?”

You sigh, not really wanting to remember last year when the university-affiliated doctor told you that you needed to take three months off swimming to heal and you’d barely lasted two weeks without going insane. You shiver at the horror of it all as you wrap your Legend of Zelda limited edition Link towel around your dripping body.

“Yeah, he did.” You send him a smile that comes off like a wince and then you give up on trying to downplay the pain altogether. “Guess it’s just not doing so hot today.”

Seokjin nods solemnly like he understands. “Some days are worse than others. I get that.”

“It be like that. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you think you’d be set for March though? Coach’s probably going to start analyzing his final picks for the comp.”

Ugh, Goddess of the Sea take me now! The National Collegiate Swim Competition is an annual event held every March and even though you’d made the cut as a naïve freshman, a knee injury caused you to be sidelined in your second year. But now though, you have to get on the final lineup. An absolute must.

Your cold heart won’t take it to be on the stands watching your teammates accomplish something you dreamed of. Something you’d worked and sacrificed so much for. You won’t stand to watch Jungkook rub it in your face how he’d come in a mere 0.6 seconds away from the first position. And you definitely won’t stand to have another year put on hold when your dream is literally right in front of you.

You bite out a laugh that sounds foreign even to your own ears. God, your knee is killing you. “You know what they say about pain.”

Seokjin gives you a quizzical look. Like he, in fact, has no idea what you mean. And you’re about to launch into a tirade about exercise mottos when you feel a tall presence step up behind you. You don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. Of course, it’s him. Who else would encroach in on your personal space without a second thought?

“She means she’s gonna push through her limping and her tense as fuck shoulders and pull a win out of her ass. Don’t you,” the way he says your name is so patronizing, so unbelievably condescending that you whip your head up to glare at him.

“That’s impossible. If anyone knows how to take care of their body and not push their limits to insanity it’s Y/N.” Seokjin appears appalled that Jungkook would even think of such a thing. But Jungkook knows you better than anyone, albeit hatefully.

“Mm-hm. You doubt how crazy obsessed she is with winning.”

“Says you,” you spit out but it lacks your usual snark.

In truth, maybe Jungkook was right about your shoulders not being as stretched out as they should’ve been. They feel sore and they almost gave out on you during a lap. You were basically running on guts and mental fortitude for the last four laps. But you’d rather swallow butcher knives than admit that aloud for his ears to hear.

Seokjin is oblivious to the simmering tension between the two of you. Instead, he turns to you with so much concern sweeping through his posture it makes you uncomfortable and yet happy at the same time. “Take care of yourself, Y/N. There’s no point in winning if your body crashes on you, yeah?”

You know he means well and it’s not like you like lying to your senior but you know he just won’t get where you’re coming from. “Yeah,” you stare down at the suddenly interesting aqua-tiled floor.

He pats your shoulder once before he turns down the other way to the male locker rooms leaving you and Jungkook alone. You’re about to go on your own merry way — agonizingly slow of course, when a hand latches to your upper arm and stops you.

You swear you shouldn’t feel anything but your skin almost scorches at the contact. Your brain is divided: a part of you wants him to never let go, while the other half can’t get away from him fast enough. You don’t breathe, heck you don’t even move.

“Winning isn’t everything.”

You don’t mean to — truly, you don’t — but a scoff slips out of your lips before you even register it. “Coming from the golden boy that basically has a clear shot at making the lineup? Yeah, I won’t drink to that anytime soon.”

Jungkook uses his free hand to run through his hair like a maniac. And you entertain the idea that perhaps you really do get under his skin as much as he does you. The thought elates you and dilutes the throbbing in your knee to a lesser degree. He’s your biggest tormentor and you can only dream to be the same thing for him. Equivalent exchange and all that jazz.

He clicks his tongue at you and somehow that infuriates you even more. “You know what? Do whatever you want. Ruin your body for all I care.” He lets go of your arm like it’d be painful to hold it any longer. He pulls at the towel he has around his shoulders so hard that even you feel the burn and then he drapes it over his head, effectively blocking you out.

A forgotten part of you wonders why he’s so concerned about your body anyway. It’s not like he should care at all.

The two of you aren’t friends. Once upon a time that wasn’t the case but you aren’t one to cry over spilled milk much less bemoan over it. But it still rubs you some kind of way that Jungkook thinks it’s normal to voice his concern to you. The two of you are not close like that. At least, not anymore.

You scowl to yourself as you weave your way back to the locker room. You’re not much of a talker but you wave back at a few of the girls that bother to look your way. And spend a good ten minutes talking to a freshman about how she needs to stop holding her breath for long periods because all that does is make you dizzy and liable to pass out. After all that, it’s no wonder that you’re the last one out of the showers.

Tugging your baby blue beanie tight across your forehead, you curse yourself for forgetting to pack your knee brace when you left your dorm this morning. But whatever, you’ll push through it. You always do.

What you’re not expecting is to see a lithe body resting on the bench right outside the swim center.  And it strikes you as odd that you immediately know in your gut that it’s Jungkook. Even though you’re too chicken now to admit it, there was a time when you’d engraved his whole body into your mind like he was a science project you were desperately in need of completing. Although his body has since gained more muscle mass and reduced way more body fat, it’s still him. No matter how hard you try to burn him out of your memory, he never leaves. You fear your only remedy might be self-induced amnesia.

What you’re not expecting is for that body clad snugly in black sweatpants, a really oversized navy sweatshirt that has ‘I AM NOT GONNA BE MERCY’ branded in fine print across his chest, and a beanie that suspiciously matches the one on your own head, to turn up and catch your gaze like he knows you’ve been staring.

You blink once and then twice and then once more just to be sure. Weird. You have no idea why he’s waiting out here and you’re even more confused as to why he owns a beanie that looks way too much like yours to be a coincidence. You shift your gaze to the sidewalk, debating if it’s worth it to strike a conversation with him. All it will do is leave you irritated, so you decide to continue to your dorm instead. Screw him and whatever he’s out in this cold as shit weather for.

“What? You’re just gonna ignore me now?”

Huffing, you pretend he’s not matching his strides to your sluggish pace.

“This is cold, even for you.”

Maybe if you keep quiet he’ll think you’ve gone magically inept in the span of forty minutes?

“You know I thought I was doing a good thing by waiting for you.”

That gets you to break your mental battle. “I didn’t ask you to do that, Jeon.”

“I know that. But what if you slid across the pavement and went straight to the dimension of hell? I have to be there for that.” He sounds genuinely invested in the matter at hand.

“I can still walk perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You almost smack your head dead against the stoned ground when your foot snags a loose edge of the sidewalk. Fuck.

“Pfft.” He’s barely holding in his laughter but you don’t cower. Har-dee-har-har. You don’t need him breathing down your neck thinking he’s doing you a favor or anything.

You don’t need pity parties hosted by Jeon Jungkook. Not again. Not after that one night that you thought was perfect and monumental when in reality all it really was a blip in his radar. You’re nothing special, or at least Jungkook thought so. It’s been years since then but that’s the funny thing about pain. It doesn’t just die down because you refuse to think about it. It simmers, it boils, it festers. Pain is a living, breathing monster and simply because you don’t devote time to it doesn’t mean it’s not taking up space under your bed.

But you are not going to think about it. Because you are definitely over it. Yep. That was it. You are over your ex-best friend and you are happy... Bah, what-fucking-ever.

Maybe he realizes that you’re not in the mood for the snark he would normally throw your way because the walk back to your dorm is relatively quiet after that. This is the most civil the two of you have been in a long while. Most of times the both of you are too busy making jabs at each other. But you’d noticed that ever since your accident last year that busted your knee, he’s been different.

You’ve yet to decide if that difference is for good or bad but it doesn’t matter because you’re back at your dormitory which means you get to sleep the rest of the day before work. Yes, maybe there is a God.

“Look, take care of yourself, okay?”

You stop on the stone steps to take him in. His hands stuffed deep in his pockets, the January chill making the tip of his nose bright red but his eyes don’t hold the same mischievous fight as before. He’s determined. You know him well enough to know that.

“I’m not going to die climbing up some stupid stairs.”

He shakes his head. Guess he’s not up for jokes then. “I mean it,” he breathes your name out with so much seriousness it stuns you. “You can be cruel to me. You can be angry at me. But don’t take it out on your body. Just... don’t.”

What does he know about cruelty? He knows not jack shit about cruelty. Cruelty was a seventeen-year-old girl waxing poetic love to a boy that she thought hung the moon, the stars and the sun only for him to trample over it just because. Maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was the timing, maybe it was every fucking thing in between but that night had been a changing point. Horror movies weren’t half as scary as being rejected by your best friend since before you were five and not know why. Cruelty was not whatever this limbo you and Jungkook had. You’d experienced cruelty and that was far worse.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not then and certainly not now.”

Pushing your body to its limits is something you have to do. Getting better at swimming is something you would die trying to attain. Not because you particularly love swimming all that much but rather because it’s the one thing, the only thing that you really do believe you can beat Jungkook in. The only thing you can compete with him and with hard work win. You have to win. You can’t stand being second place next to him. It makes you want to gag. It makes you revert back to that seventeen-year-old girl you thought you’d killed off in your origin story.

Pathetic, you think to yourself. But you won’t stop because you’ve already come so far.

You rush up the stairs and into the dorm like lightning. You’re so quick that you don’t even feel any twinge of pain ricocheting from your knee or anywhere else to be honest. You’re a running painkiller. You haul ass all the way to your room and it’s only when you’ve locked the door and released the longest sigh of your whole adult life that it hits you.

And here’s another thing about pain: it always comes rushing back.

If it’s even possible, over the next few weeks your knee becomes even worse of a problem. Waking up in the morning becomes more of a drag than usual, you can barely walk to your classes much less the swim center without your brace on and then perform a Mission Impossible skit so that the rest of the team doesn’t see the brace dangling in your locker. You’re seriously considering ripping the whole joint out. For Zelda’s sake, it has to hurt significantly less, right?

To make matters worse you’re basically lying out of your ass to Seokjin and the rest of the team that your knee is not bothering you one bit. You’re such a liar, someone needs to lock you up for it. But it’s already the end of February and you can already taste the end of it all. All you need to do is hold on by the skin of your teeth for the next couple of days and then you’ll be free. Sure, rationally you know you’re not swimming your best right now but that does nothing to deter you from what you’ve set your mind on.

“Hey, Y/N,” the voice of the Student Assistant, Namjoon stops you in your attempt to blend in with the other swim members exiting the building after a rather rough day. “You came in later than usual today. Something up?”

Namjoon is an amazing guy. Attentive but not too overbearing. A great listener but he doesn’t go overboard with trying to get you to confess your deep, darkest fears to him. But even with knowing all of this, you still don’t want to tell him a thing. You know he’ll understand, that’s not the problem. The problem is, he would seriously blow it out of proportion. All you want to do is head home, nap for a good hour or three and then head to your afternoon class and get back to crashing. Was that too much to ask?

“Yeah, I’m great. Just a little tired.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, flipping through the sheet on his clipboard. “Hmm, your times been dropping since last week. You sure everything’s fine?”

Fuck. You fumble thinking of an answer, your eyes skittering around the tiled floor till you look up and lock on Jungkook staring right back. He’s a few feet away near the front door discussing with one of the assistant coaches but for some reason, his big, brown eyes are glued to your frame. An inane section of your brain wants to beg him to come over and rescue you from lying so horribly to Namjoon. While another insane part of you wants to sneer at him and tell him to stop freaking looking at you when you’re at your worst.

“I... uh,” you stutter and return your attention back to the kind senior in front of you. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow at you, disbelieving. “Is it your knee? We could get the team doctor — ”

Your eyes widen in alarm and you stumble away from him, your thoughts passing the point of loudness and encroaching into deafness. No way. There’s no way you’re going to let him bring up your injury and then take it up with the other coaches because you know — deep in your bones — that if he does that you won’t make the cut for the lineup talk less of being able to just attend practice. You’d be kept on the side like an invalid.

Hate.

You hate it. Your stupid knee, the stupid way you were running late to practice almost a full year ago and then proceeded to fall down a flight of stairs and dislocate your knee so bad that when the seasons shift from sunny to cloudy, your knee throbs like an ingrained weather alert.

You hate how much the pain makes you want to cry. You hate yourself for pushing yourself, even more, when you know you shouldn’t. You hate how everyone is so damn concerned about you like you somehow deserve it. You hate that you don’t deserve their kindness, not when every other athlete next to you is getting better and better by the second and you don’t want to be left behind.

“Bro, she’ll be fine.” You don’t realize your savior and yet tormentor has weaseled his way into the conversation until you you hear the soft timbre of his voice. He stands so close to you that you smell the sweet scent of vanilla from his clothes. “I mean, look at her. Her technique is still kicking ass, no one can touch her when it comes to form.”

Lips wobbling a little under the pressure of your teeth, you peer up at him. Your mind running a mile a minute trying to place what his endgame is. Why is he here? What does he think he’s doing?

Namjoon laughs, his features becoming even more stunning with the action and you glance away from Jungkook. There’s no way he bought that blatant form of flattery. “That is true. Y/N has the best technique in the program right now. Probably best in the state.”

Lies. You know there’s talk about some super senior at a neighboring powerhouse school being the best in your division. But your mind is clogged up with your loud thoughts that you don’t say anything to refute his claim.

“Anyways, let me know if you need anything, ‘Kay?” Namjoon demands your attention. “Take it easy and rest up this weekend.”

You nod profusely and Namjoon smiles at the action like your adorable. You frown at that. And then he’s gone and you’re stuck with Jungkook and the thoughts clamoring around in your head.

“I didn’t need you to save me. Or lie for me.”

“Sure,” he says but his eyes say something different. That maybe if you really didn’t want his help you shouldn’t have looked at him like a deer in headlights practically begging the floor to swallow you up. “And I wasn’t lying. You do have a better technique.”

You roll your shoulders, ignoring the praise. “Seriously. I was fine.”

“Fine my ass,” he mutters, pushing past your body and heading outside the door.

“I didn’t need your help and I don’t owe you —” The frigid air whips across your cheeks so hard that you have to stop and close your eyes for a beat. When you peel them back open you find Jungkook looking down at you without something akin to disappointment swimming in his eyes. “What?”

He stares at you for what seems like an eternity. You try not to break away from his gaze but your eyes skittle across his outfit. The beanie on his head that outrageously still looks similar to the one you have on, his grey padded jacket and a similar shade of sweatpants. And by the time your eyes reach back to his face, his focus has diverted to glaring needles at your knee.

“What?” You repeat, this time though you’re whispering like you might not like what he will say next.

“I don’t get it. You of all people know how horrible last year was. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to relive your sophomore year. “Why do you care?”

“Why?” Jungkook practically stutters at the question, his already big doe eyes transforming into the size of craters. “Are you trying to prove something? To who? Me?”

“I don’t care about you, Jeon. And I don’t need to prove any single thing to you. You’re dead to me.”

“You think that by carrying this invisible burden and pushing yourself to the point of borderline insanity you’re going to get better? That you won’t burnout? That somehow you’re going to get back at me? After you’ve ruined your knee and not only ruined your chances at swimming competitively ever again but just in general? You think you’d finally feel like you’ve served me a hot plate of revenge?”

There’s no reason for him to be able to see right through you so easily. There’s no reason for him to know how stupid this whole thing is and how really the only one suffering is you. Always you. Only you. Alone.

Jungkook’s face twists into a vision of pain and you’re stunned into silence. It’s like you can tell how much your disregard for your own body is affecting him when it shouldn’t. He’s your self-proclaimed enemy that was once your friend. You shouldn’t feel like you’re hurting him more than yourself.

You don’t even feel the lone tear that slips past your walls and slides down your cheek until he moves closer and uses a smooth thumb to wipe it away. Dammit, you’re better than this.

“Not everything is about you, Jungkook.” But right now it is. For you, it is.

He nods his head once. The pain that was painted on his face morphing into something you can’t discern but his thumb doesn’t lift from your face. Instead, the rest of his fingers cradle the side of your face like they’re protecting you. You inflate at the action. After several seconds, they’re gone.

“I should go,” he states matter-of-factly.

Don’t, you want to say but the words live and die in your throat You know if you start you’d say too much. “Yeah.”

Even though you want him to make up some silly excuse as to why he has to walk you home. Like maybe you’d slip and knock yourself into the netherworld. He does nothing of that sort. He puffs out his cheeks; resembling a bunny, and then he sends you a wary smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

For the first time in ages, you don’t like the sight of his retreating back. For the first time in a long time, you don’t even have the energy to pledge eternal damnation to Jeon Jungkook. All you want to do is ask him why. Why were you not enough? Why did he hand you back your heart when all you wanted was for him to keep it. And why did he suddenly do a one-eighty in college, resorting to snide comments and remarks that make you boil but also instill air into your lungs like you are finally breathing again? Why does it seem like he still cares?

You’re on a mission to drown out everything that has to do with Jeon Jungkook. You don’t like that he has created a rupture in your stratosphere. You don’t like that you’re realizing that you’ve been waging a war but not against Jungkook like you’d originally perceived. Now now that you think about it, when has he really been a rival? You’ve really only been fighting yourself.

The two of you aren’t even in the same category. You don’t even specialize in the same swimming techniques. And now that you’re seriously going through it, has he ever really been conceited about getting better times? All he ever did was point out things you were doing off and even though you hated it, it wasn’t like he was lying.

You’re one step away from your dorm when your phone buzzes with a flurry of text messages. It’s from the swim team group chat for juniors and seniors.

Taehyung: It’s the weekend mi amigos *dancing emoji*

Vivian: whatever you’re thinking... it’s gonna be a no! from me! also i thought u were sick?

Taehyung: aw come on i havent even said anything yet

Taehyung: not! sick! it was just the flu

Seokjin: flu is a sickness, no?

Vivian: im so tired dudes,, im not going out with y’all to get smashed

Nathan: im down

Taehyung: yes!!!!

Taehyung: guys i promise! you’ll love me for it. a friend of a friend is hosting a party on Greek row. Let’s GO!!

Vivian: it’s not like we’re the only friends you have. ask someone else dude

Before you even think about it, you’re typing a response.

You: I’ll come. We don’t have training tmr so...

Taehyung: OMFG

Nathan: i had no idea you were in the chat lol

Vivian: rude. if y/n’s going then maybe she’ll keep Tae’s head on straight

Seokjin: don’t know if JK’s down but I’ll drag him out if I have to.

You: don’t do that.

Taehyung: why? don’t you guys have that whole foreplay thing going on or?????

You: WHAT

Vivian: wait i might come after all

Seokjin: Tae, leave it alone.

Taehyung: okay but it’s not my fault they both barely look at anyone other than themselves during practice. i can’t be the only one that noticed them basically eye-fucking each other all day everyday

Nathan: i second that

Vivian: ... sorry, y/n. but i third that

Seokjin: GUYS. if she leaves the chat because y’all can’t keep your mouth shut istg,,

Nathan: wait is jungkook reading this?

God, how you want the whole universe to open up and swallow you whole. Your phone feels like a hot potato in your hands. You throw the wretched thing into the back of your jeans pocket and blink over and over again as you rush into your dorm and up the elevator.

It takes the rest of the day to calm your cheeks from splitting from humiliation or embarrassment, it’s a close tie. You don’t pay attention in class, you can barely nap without the words blinking at the back of your eyelids like neon target signs.

Foreplay? Foreplay?!

You almost spontaneously combust.

You hear the telltale sound of a key unlocking your dorm room door and you hightail out of the ensuite bathroom before you can even think.

“Foreplay?!” You all but scream at your roommate and fellow swim team member, Vivian.

At the very least she looks sheepish, smiling nervously as she pushes a piece of her coiled hair behind her ear. “I thought you knew. I mean, everyone talks about it.”

“What about me wanting to rip his ass from his hole screams foreplay to anyone?!”

She shrugs, her lilac sweater falling down one brown shoulder. “I don’t know, it’s kinda sexy.” She drops her backpack on the only sofa and turns back to you. “He’s the only one you really talk to in the team so, everyone just kinda assumed y’all were either a has-been or a to-be couple.”

Wheezing, you lock your arms defiantly across your chest. “I don’t like him.”

“Yeah, okay.” Vivian laughs, unconvinced for some reason.

“I’m not kidding. He’s annoying. Always breathing down my neck like he’s my personal trainer or something. Any time I do a thing it’s like he has to say something in response, you know. I don’t hate him but I don’t... I don’t like like him.”

“Do you think he’s attractive?”

“Everyone does.”

She smirks at you like she’s caught you dead in a trap. “And you?”

You bite your lip. It’s not worth the hassle to lie. “A little bit. A teeny-tiny bit.”

“What about him do you think is attractive? And don’t mention his thighs because we all know those are in a different league of their own.”

That gets a laugh out of you. Vivian’s mouth widens at the sound. You realize then that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been hoarding things in for too long. And you appreciate Vivian because she’s always been nice and has tolerated your one-worded answers and four am showers like a champ. You want to give her an award or something.

You lean against the wall and think about her question. “Well, in a way his nagging and pushing my buttons can be seen as being attentive? I mean, he notices things about me that I don’t. And I’ve been… thinking that maybe he’s not really all that bad like I conjured up in my head.” More than that, before everything turned to shit, you thought he was the kindest, funniest person in the galaxy.

“Well, I’m no team Jungkook,” she snickers at her own Twilight reference and your lips tilt up as well. “And I won’t pretend to know what’s gone on between you and him. But whatever it is, maybe y’all just need to, like, talk it out.”

“I—”

Vivian shushes you. “You know I’m right.” She sashays to her room door and then turns back to you. “We’re going to go to Taehyung’s friend of a friend’s frat party and you’re gonna get the liquid courage to talk to him. I think everyone on the team would appreciate the whole sexual tension going on between the two of you finally being exiled into the cosmos.”

Cosmos?

You’re not really sure what happens after that. You let Vivian convince you to trade your comfortable sweatpants for an A-line skirt, tights and a stylish sweater that you’d bought on a whim. At least if you’re going to really say screw all and go for this party, you refuse to be a shivering mess.

Even though Greek Row is truly not that far from your dorm, you let Vivian drive the two of you over. She talks about everything and anything and it feels like it’s been forever since you hung out with anyone that wasn’t during scheduled practice and workout sessions.

Hell, what have you been doing for the last four years? Being obsessed with results that apparently your arch-nemesis doesn’t even care about?

Vivian tells you about the dude she’s dating and how he’s on the university’s volleyball team. You’re more surprised than you should be. You can’t believe you’ve been roommates with her for almost two years and you barely know anything about her other than surface-level shit. Oh, Zelda, this is one big bitch of an awakening.

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely as she puts the car in park aways from the actual fraternity building. The entire street is blocked up with cars so it was hard to find any space. “For being here and yet not really at the same time.”

Thankfully, Vivian doesn’t make you sweat. “S’cool. Everyone’s got their own shit.”

“I’ve been really shitty lately.”

“Hmm, well, we can get drunk off our asses and feel really shitty together?” You decide then and there that she is amazing and only the devil will be able to pry this budding friendship out of your cold hands.

You find out that Vivian is very skilled at mixing drinks. It takes barely half an hour for you to start feeling a buzz and by your third round of whatever she stirs for you, you’ve straight up arrived at the land of Drunkenville: population; one. You’re busy debating with her and her boyfriend about how sports anime is simply the best branch of cinema to have ever been created and the one sub-genre that truly speaks about the resilience of the human spirit when you feel a heavy arm wrap around your shoulders.

“Y/N,” the voice all but screams in your ear. You hazily look up to see Taehyung’s chiseled face smiling down at you. And even your intoxicated self can tell that he’s pregamed the fuck out of this night already. “I brought lil Jungkookie for you. At first, he was all blah blah not going but when I said you were going to be here. Boi jumped like a fish in water.”

Taehyung laughs and you laugh with him, not really sure if you get the joke but happy nonetheless that he’s happy.

“‘Sup Viv and Viv’s boyfriend,” he salutes them and weirdly enough, Vivian’s boyfriend doesn’t take offense. He salutes back.

Vivian rolls her eyes but then she clasps two strong hands across your shoulders, effectively washing away the tipsy gaze from your eyes for a moment. “Now, listen. You’re going to find Jungkook and let him know how you really feel. Use all this liquid courage and let him have it. And you shouldn’t care that we’re at a party because almost everyone is drunk anyway.

And if that goes to shit and you want out of this place, don’t you dare even think of walking home, okay? You look for me. Don’t think I haven’t seen you limping your way across the dorm like a crazy bitch. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have the right. But so help me, if you so much as think of walking back I will ... I don’t know what I will do but you won’t like it! So go find Jungkook and do us all a favor and end this eternal foreplay.”

Foreplay... that damned word again. It overrides your brain system and makes you think of things you shouldn’t want. But you’re stupidly confident right now. Hell, your knee hasn’t really been bothering you since you woke up from your nap. The alcohol in your blood is dancing to its own beat and it’s lighting your system on fire.

If not now then when?

You have a gazillion and one questions to ask Jungkook. Questions you’ve kept silenced and bottled down in your heart for years. Questions that keep you up at night. And maybe its because the last month and a half has made you question everything about yourself and your ethic and your predicament, you know you have to do this now.

Fuck it. Who cares if you become the source of this boorish party’s entertainment like a walking cliché? It’s not like you’d remember anything that happens here and you only know a handful of people. Embarrassment? You don’t know her. Not today.

You find him in the basement with a cup of something near his booted feet and his gleaming eyes transfixed on the TV in front of him. His tongue poking a hole in cheek. There’s a small crowd of people around him and you take one glance at the screen and see that he’s playing Super Smash. Of course. He looks beautiful like this. Different than the last time you saw him and better because he doesn’t have that look of agony coloring his eyes.

You could probably spend a whole day just looking at him. Taking in the man that’s grown from the boy you once knew and called your own. His body is a work of art and ought to be chiseled and crafted like the sculptures of the Renaissance era. If you were any good a sculptor, you would’ve done just that. Instead, you commit him to memory. Because even though it is possible that neither of you likes each other anymore, you want to remember this.

He looks perfect like this. Happy. Not distressed and sad like when you’d confessed to him. When you had laid your heart bare before him and he didn’t even react. You wish you could say he had pried your heart out of your hands and ripped it to shreds. But that wasn’t the case. Your heart hadn’t shattered by his blatant rejection. It had melted.  

You watch as his character, Link, of course, K.O’s his opponent and Player 2 Victory flashes on the television screen. He wins. Like always. You don’t feel mad like you usually do. Maybe you’ve finally accepted that there are just some things you can’t win no matter how steadfast and committed you are.

Jungkook looks up from his controller, pumping his fist in the air, his long, dark hair flopping around his face like a curtain. Your veins practically burst with electricity when his smiling eyes notice yours in the corner like you knew they would. The smile dims and you expect that. You’re not asking for a love to cure all epidemics or a lie to burn your body to ash. You just want to move on. To finally escape the purgatory you’ve put yourself in.

“We need to talk,” you try to say as loud as you can but the cheers and conversations of the people around you drown you out.

Somehow in someway, he hears you and nods his head. Maybe he’s a glutton for pain like you. He scoots out of the loveseat, standing to his full height and making pleasant excuses to his newly acquired friends that you don’t know. Maybe it’s the fake courage but you don’t take your gaze away from him. You’re going to do this. You have to — you suck in a huge breath — you must.

Once he steps into your bubble of personal space, the rest of the world fizzles out.

“This is a bundle of firsts, Ice Queen. You? At a party and instigating a conversation with me first? Damn, did you get a taste of hell without me videoing?”

“You always joke about everything,” you decide to bite the bullet. “I used to find that really cute.”

Alcohol o’ alcohol, why hath thou forsaken me? You almost look up to the heavens and question what possessed you to drink so much but then you rehear Vivian’s speech in your head and you find your resolve and strangle it.

Jungkook’s eyebrows fly up like he’s not quite prepared for this. “Wait, what are you... Are you drunk right —”

“I’m not good with words. And I’ve always sucked at speaking my mind and being thoughtful and generally being a good person. Like you,” you smile sadly when you remember the first time you ever made a friend; the boy in front of you that had offered you to come over sometime and play his GameCube with him when his older siblings were too busy to hang with him. “I’m passive at best when it comes to anything that’s not swimming. And even that, you got me into it. You were the reason I started it. You know this, I would’ve rather died than engage in anything that made me exert energy. But you made it fun until I genuinely loved it.”

“That’s not,” Jungkook shakes his head adamantly. “That’s—”

You shoot him a look. “Let me finish okay? I have this whole thing in my head and ... please, just let me say it.”

You hadn’t realized the curious looks the people around had been shooting your way until you see Jungkook scowl at any and every one before he intertwines your hands with his and pulls you out of the basement in a swift motion. You don’t mind the giddy feeling enveloping your chest at the sight of your fingers wrapped around each other. A part of you actually loves how cocooned it makes you feel. You want to bottle this feeling up and bathe in it.

He must be overfamiliar with the frat house because he leads you expertly into a room at the end of the hallway on the first floor. He shuts the door and then locks it. For a minute, he stares at your locked hands and you wonder if he feels the same pull you do. If he’s ever felt the same pull you do.

“When I handed you my heart and my everything, why didn’t you want it? Why did you act like I had committed a grievous crime against you and your glorious self?”

There. You’ve gone and said the thing. The biggest question that has plagued your mind for months and years. If your best friend didn’t even find value in you then really, was there any to begin with?

Jungkook lets out a heavy sigh that careens his shoulders down as if he’s carrying the weight of the world. A sigh so deep that it shakes his body from the vibrations visible through his black tee, and crashes into your soul. He closes his eyes for his barely a second but you wish he’d just spit it out. Pour acid on your wounds so you can feel the fire of a thousand suns and finally, fucking finally move on. Baptism by fire they call it but what you want is a goddamn exorcism.

“You thought I shat gold and that I hung the moon and that I was this perfect person when I’m not. I mean, have you listened to yourself? You think you’re a bad person because all you’ve ever done is compare me to you. But it was you and me. Not either or.

You think I really love swimming when you’re not the one egging me on? Pushing me to be better? You think I would’ve let you confess your magnificent love for me and then accept it when every sentence you said contrasted you from me. Pitted you against me? I’m competitive, you’re competitive but I didn’t think you needed competition when it came to that. You’d already won. And then I had this crazy stupid idea that maybe just being friends with you would work. I mean, love isn’t something you need to fight yourself bloody and dead for. Why would I accept this really amazing love from someone that was going to feel less than me and feel like shit for it?”

“So, what were you gonna do? Just wait till I up and decided that I was insecure and didn’t have a major inferiority complex I had no idea about?” Your sober thoughts vomit out of your mouth with impressive speed.

“I was still your friend,” Jungkook almost yells and out of his aggravation, his hands slip out of yours. The loss is staggering. He jabs his index finger into his chest. “I did everything I could do to still be your friend. But you wouldn’t talk to me. And I get that we were sixteen and there were so many ways we could’ve done better but you shut me out.”

“No, I…” You begin to say but the words die in your mouth.

Truth be told, you did shut him out. It wasn’t like you blocked him on every site. But when he tried to talk to you at school, you pretended he wasn’t there. When he stopped over at your place, you told your parents that you were sick and to keep him out. When he sent party invites on the gaming platforms the two of you shared a love for, you ignored them and turned off your console. But it wasn’t like you did all of this out of spite to begin with. It was just easier.

You were hurt. Seeing him brought on multiple feelings of shame, embarrassment, and pain all wrapped snugly like a demonic burrito. And he was your best friend, it wasn’t like you didn’t have other friends you could’ve asked for advice but the one person you wanted to talk to was the one person you couldn’t reach out to. So you didn’t think about it. Instead, you threw yourself headfirst into freezing ass water and worked your butt off with the one thing you had left.

And contrary to what Jungkook believes, he made you feel good about yourself. Like an anchor. You didn’t have to hide your nerdiness between a cold exterior so as to not get teased about it. With him, you were free. Like he was a sun that burned a path that enabled you to breathe easy. To be yourself so that you wouldn’t drown.

“You think I really go around joking with every bum on the swim team about Down To Fuck Demons for hire or that I walk every person with a rubbish knee home in fucking negative degree weather? Or that I worry about everyone that’s throwing their whole future away over a rivalry that doesn’t even exist? You think I’ve been playing the role of a pest around you because I hate you? —”

“Vehemently despise,” you choke on your words but your sense of seriousness causes Jungkook to burst into a staccato of quick muted laughter.

“Y/N,” he whispers your name like it’s a thing of beauty. And maybe it is. Right now you think so. “Firstly, I was dumb and I thought if I left things as they were maybe you’d realize how fucking awesome you were without me. But then all you ever did was practice and practice like you were training for an aquatics mafia or some shit. And then I realized that maybe you’re not the only one that sucks with words and when to say them. I should’ve told you that I did love you. Platonically. Romantically. And you made me feel great and not because you were less than but rather because being with you meant that I was my best self.”

You feel a cascade of water flooding down your cheeks like a waterfall but you don’t release a sound and you don’t really care about it because this moment feels sacred. Because you’re not crying out of pain or agony or longing. Rather it’s because you finally understand.

“You were like the sun and you were so blinding that I thought I would incinerate if I was still next to you like nothing happened.”

“Ha,” Jungkook scoffs, using a palm to run across his face. Then he squints his eyes at you like he’s seeing you anew for the first time. “If I’m the sun then you are —”

“The sun eater.” The words fly out of your mouth with ease. Quoting your fave anime characters was a thing the two of you had done relentlessly for days, heck, years.

Jungkook nods his head, elated that you remember like there was ever a time you’d forget My Hero Academia. “I’m not gonna apologize for not accepting your confession back then. I can’t. Not when I genuinely think neither of us knew what the fuck we were doing back then. Still don’t.”

“And I’m not going to say sorry for pulling away from you. I mean, I’m not a masochist.”

He lets out a throaty laugh that washes your insides clean. And you give a watery smile back, feeling soberer than you did a couple hours ago. You bet you look worse for wear but you don’t care because you’re done not pretending.

“Why did it take four years for me to...” your voice chokes and you almost break down right then and there. But your stubbornness is a thing of pride. “For us to finally talk about it. It would’ve made so much more sense if we had just talked and now I feel like I’ve wasted four years of my life being angry? Feeling discarded? But it’s not like that at all.”

Jungkook’s smooth yet experienced hands cradle the sides of your face and the overflowing tears pool in the flesh that connects his thumbs to your skin. “Friends fight all the time.”

You snort and he grins. “Most friends aren’t half as dumb as us.”

“You got that right. I think dumbness is attractive.” He says with an overflowing aura of achievement. “This just means we’ll just have to spend more time making up for it.” He dips his head down till his lips brush the tip of your ear. “And by the way, I think I’m done being your friend exclusively,” he says.

“Yeah?” You ask and for an inane reason, you smile even harder because the tears on your face feel like rain. And you’re still breathing easier, albeit a tad bit faster. But there’s no crash and burn after you’ve soared too close to the sun. Unlike before your heart feels like it’s glowing instead of charring.

“I think I want to take you out on a date.”

Your eyes widen with faux-horror. “Just one?”

“Oh my Zelda, can I at least finish my grand speech?” He rolls his eyes. “As I was saying, it won’t be one date but you know that kinda depends on if you’re still god at Fortnite. I mean, partying up is basically the same as marriage, you know?”

“Kook?”

“Yeah?”

“Your inner nerd is showing.”

Jungkook sputters loudly, the action making his hair swish across his forehead and his hands drop from your face. “Oh, forgive me. I thought you loved my nerdiness.”

“Love,” you correct him. “Present tense.”

His mouth practically breaks even with the floor with how wide he’s gaping. You haven’t sprouted a second head, have you?

You clear your throat, attempting to be blasé about the whole thing. “Well, if we’re really going to pursue this whole dating thing then I have to be honest, right? I think it’s quite sexy how knowledgeable you are about gaming and stuff even though we’re like hardcore athletes.”

“So I’m like an onion? Three dimensional? The more you get to know me, the more you love how I’m not like Other Guys trademark sign?”

You guffaw so hard you almost start crying all over again. “Oh my Zelda, we were having a moment. Why did you ruin our moment?”

“Think I can make up for it.” He looks at you with something akin to competition and licks his lips.

Your eyes falter at the action, zeroing in on them. Suddenly the distance between yours and his feels like a crime against humanity. It’s comical really, how the temperature of your body can fly from ice cold to a blazing inferno in less than minutes.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“As you wish.”

Jungkook bends his lips to connect with yours in a swift motion. You’re surprised but a part of you must have anticipated it because you are pushing deeper into him as quickly as humanly possible. His arms snake across your waist, his hands landing squarely on your ass and his groan eliciting a magnitude of butterflies in the pit of your stomach as his tongue danced an infinite tango with yours. Smoothly, he backs you up until you feel your head tap a wall for support.

Holy crap shit. Your mind is a mess. No wait, your mouth is a mess. A warped sense of dizziness floods through your body and it has nothing to do with the alcohol you consumed earlier and everything to do with the sensuous teeth nipping at your bottom lip while his hands deftly squeeze your ass. Fuck, you can’t breathe. You don’t want to breathe. You cling unto his shoulders for stability and revel at how corded they feel under your touch.

He tears his lips away from yours, breathless, resting his forehead against yours. “God, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“You can’t die until we get to the part where we role-play as demon and a naive spell caster.” You’re out of breath as well because that kiss was something else. Divine, maybe.

“I get to be the demon though, right?”

You grin at that. “Of course. I’m not a heathen.”

This time you kissed him, pushing all thoughts of future escapades further away from your mind and focusing on the beautiful man in front of you. Reaching up, you dig your hands through Jungkook’s abundant hair and moan. You understand then what it must have been like for Icarus to fly off to the sun. It must have scorched his skin to death within seconds, and yet at the same time, it must have been oh so slow. And you doubt he despaired because in the end he was heading home and he was finally not alone. You understand so well because the more the fire in your veins expands, the more you come close to burning up entirely. And you love it. You’re losing all control and you don’t care because he’s losing his alongside you.

Everything turns into a mess of frenzied motions. Him reluctantly removing a hand from your ass to reach up and use his fingers to clasp around your throat and position it just right enough for him to latch his lips there and suck. hard. When he pulls away from you to admire his handiwork, the lopsided grin on his face almost sends you into another need to kiss him.

“I’m not gonna fuck you at a frat party when only Zelda knows how many losers have cummed on a singular bedsheet,” he announces without remorse.

“Fair enough.”

“But I am going to do very wicked things to you that’ll loosen up those shoulders to the point of being supple. And after that, you’re gonna promise me that we’ll go get your knee checked out later.”

A few hours you would’ve kicked and screamed at the idea of anything derailing your plan of getting on the lineup for the competition. You thought that admitting you need help meant that you were quitting. Punishing yourself for something so irrevocably at out of your control. Now though, you nod your head drowsily. You hate the doctors but you hate self-destructing even more. Especially now when you have someone that hurts when you hurt.

He’s unraveling you.

“I’ll go.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, not believing how easily you’ve conceded to him. “Where has my sweet, stubborn Ice Queen gone? Bring her back to me, please. All this ecstasy must have gone to her head.”

God, whoever said you still won’t want to deck Jungkook even after experiencing something so explosive. But his grin threatens to split your heart two. Like he’s happy to just be with you, adoring you, joking with you. Oh, how your body is singing with praises.

“Yours?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

Jungkook beams. He’s the sun and you’re the moon. Now that you’ve tasted this, you’re never going to let go. You are simply submerged.

“Haven’t you realized? You’re my girl.”

a/n: i know very much that i took a lot of liberty when writing about collegiate swimming/sports in generral (i took an advanced swim class at my uni last semester so thats where all my info comes from) i tweaked it a lil bit to fit my purposes but it was fun to try to write about it hehe. 

i hope you all loved this fic as much as i loved writing it!!!! 

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2020 kai, high-on-food. ✉

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 2: You Can Run Around Infinite In My Head]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. 

Potentially a better love story than Twilight (we’ll let @killer-queen-xo​ decide when it’s all said and done 😉).

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Rome by Dermot Kennedy.

Chapter Warnings: Language, mentions of violence. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​  @killer-queen-xo​​ @maggieroseevans​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​ @escabell​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​ ​ @queenlover05​​ @someforeigntragedy​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​ ​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​​ @deacyblues​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​ ​ @brianssixpence​​ 

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Missing In Action

I wish she would stop staring at me.

Lucille sat at the Lees’ usual table and apathetically picked through a heaping salad. (Friday was salad bar day, which I appreciated considerably more than the chicken finger obsession that marred Mondays at Calawah University.) Every once in a while, Rami nudged her and Lucille would spear a cherry tomato with her fork and bite it in half with perfectly even, white teeth. But her large blue-green eyes—they reminded me of webs of seaweed tumbling in the cold, frothing La Push waves—always found their way back to me, strangely focused, inquisitive, perhaps accusatory.

Ben probably told them how much he hates me for whatever nebulous reason and now they all hate me too and I’m going to spend the next two years being death-glared by five ridiculously attractive and somewhat incestuous foster kids.

Chemistry was a three times a week class. Ben hadn’t shown on Wednesday, and I was 99% sure he would skip again today. I spotted him around campus periodically, always from a distance: dropping quarters into a vending machine, clandestinely vaping behind dorm buildings (what self-respecting pre-med student VAPES?!!), browsing YouTube videos in the library next to a tower of unopened textbooks, biology and chem and physics and calculus. He wasn’t home, he wasn’t sick; there was no attempt made to construct any sort of pretext. He was patently avoiding me.

I stabbed moodily at the serrated disks of cucumber in my salad. Jessica was blathering away about the latest season of The Bachelor and ranking the contestants’ eyebrows from best to worst. “...Like seriously, has she never heard of microblading?!”

“For real,” Angela offered, not especially invested but forever a good sport.

Lucille’s eyes settled on me again as she sipped a cup of steaming tea, staring until her forehead crinkled with the effort, staring hard, almost leering.

“What’s her problem?” I muttered.

Jessica shot a glance towards the Lee table and slurped her Sprite. The great mystery surrounding her potential Mormon-ness persisted. “Who? Lucy?”

Only Lucille’s friends called her Lucy. Jessica, a shameless aspiring socialite, presumed she was everybody’s friend unless they explicitly informed her otherwise, which of course no one ever did.

“Yeah,” I answered glumly.

“Maybe it’s your dress.”

“My dress? What’s wrong with my dress?”

Jessica wrinkled her nose and surveyed me as if I were a bug, and not a cute bug like a roly-poly bug or The Very Hungry Caterpillar or whatever. Like a really hideous bug. Like one of those spider-cricket hybrid things that hopped straight out of a hell dimension and into the dark, drippy corners of your basement. “It’s, like, very 1960s. But not in a sexy Woodstock way. In a ‘I’m about to join a hippie murder cult’ way.”

“I got it at TJ Maxx. It was on sale.”

Jessica snorted. “Probably for a reason.”

“That’s it. I’m giving all the hippies in my new murder cult your address.”

She and Angela laughed. Mike and Eric, the missing pieces of our daily lunch puzzle, were preoccupied with a campus protest to convert fried fish day (Thursdays) into tacos day. I sympathized with their efforts, but didn’t feel that my one-week tenure as a Calawah University student gave me much right to go around overhauling the dining hall schedule.

“I doubt she’s actually offended by a dress,” Angela said, nibbling on French fries that shed grains of salt like snowflakes.

Jessica sighed dreamily. “But Lucy’s just so fashionable...and that accent...” She drifted off into some daydream which began—I could only assume—with Lucy’s invitation to go shopping together and concluded with marrying Ben on some lush tropical island in the South Pacific.

Lucille was definitely fashionable, especially today: short black dress with sheer sleeves that ran to her fragile wrists, black polka dot tights, black heeled oxfords, dangling ruby earrings like beads of blood. She would have blended in perfectly at Paris Fashion Week. Rami was wearing a cardigan and khakis, per usual; Joe was in dark fitted jeans and a roomy U Chicago hoodie despite the fact that Forks was at minimum a thirty-four hour drive from the Windy City. What did Angela say his major was? Finance? No, Mathematical Economics. So he’s probably aiming at Chicago for an MBA or Econ PhD someday. Angela had told me that Joe was wicked smart. He better be if he’s entertaining fantasies of grad school at the University of Chicago.

Scarlett had come straight from Fencing Club and was wearing bright pink yoga pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out, sprinkling Hot Cheetos into her open mouth, her blonde hair secured in a tight French braid. You know those girls who are so irrationally, gluttonously, unfairly beautiful that it doesn’t seem possible the genetic lottery could spit out so many winning numbers at once, and you comfort yourself with the certainty that there must be some set of circumstances that would level the playing field—I bet she looks like anyone else without all that makeup, she just has a really good sense of style and knows how to maximize her assets, there are definitely some goofy oversized ears hiding beneath that hair and that’s why she always wears it down—and then one day you run into them wearing sweatpants and a ponytail in the tampon aisle at Walmart and they’re still so perfect it stings you, baffles you, makes you feel like there must have been some divergence in the evolutionary chain because there’s no freaking way you’re the same species? Yeah, Scarlett was one of those girls. Scarlett was the queen of those girls.  

Ben was conspicuously absent from the table.

Scarlett’s pink leopard-print iPhone rang and she answered. “Hello?” She turned to Joe. “Dad says you left your phone at home. Do you need it?”

Joe was gnawing his way through his third slice of pepperoni pizza. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

Scarlett relayed the message. “Dad says he’s going to bring it by just in case.”

“Oh my god, ScarJo, I’m fine! Tell him not to!”

“Dad says he doesn’t trust you and he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. He’s also bringing the Game Theory homework you left by the hot tub.”

Joe groaned and rolled his lively dark eyes as Rami grinned at him; Lucille was still watching me and entirely oblivious.

“Isn’t it weird that Ben and Lucille have accents?” I asked Jessica. “That they’re from the U.K.? I didn’t think fostering kids was an international thing.”

“It’s not that weird. Dr. Lee is British too. Maybe there’s some kind of exchange system, I don’t know. But you know what I do know?”

“What?” Now my interest was piqued.

She smiled. “That the British accents are hot.”

“Ugh,” I exhaled involuntarily.

“Please get a hobby,” Angela begged Jessica. “Start a YouTube channel. Make care packages for orphans. Grow marijuana. Adopt a cat. I have a shift at the animal shelter this Sunday morning, you want to come with me?”

“Sorry, can’t. I have a temple thing.”

Temple on Sunday. The mystery is solved. She’s a Mormon for sure. I mentally resolved not to let her set me up with anyone unless I was still single on Valentine’s Day. Which, obviously, assuming I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, I will be.

I gathered up my trash and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, well this has been a bizarre lunch to be completely honest, and now I have to go to Chemistry so I’ll see you later and hopefully we can brainstorm some more alternatives to Jessica’s current life trajectory on Monday. Because I am not looking forward to being a bridesmaid in these impending Lee nuptials.”

“Oh please!” Jessica lamented. “He doesn’t even know I exist. You, on the other hand...”

I scoffed. “Yeah, he wants to kill me. I truly have a gift.”

They waved as I left. I could feel Lucille’s eyes on me until I reached the door.

Sure enough, Ben wasn’t in Chemistry. I tried not to notice. I drew my atoms, wrote my equations, took my notes diligently and in my favorite sky blue ink. But I felt the emptiness in the chair next to me like a black hole, like an immense and dragging weight, like a snag in the fabric of all those interwoven strands of physics that orchestrate the universe like an immortal puppeteer. Why can’t I forget this guy? Why do I still feel like I’ve met him before?

Halfway through class, I hauled my emergency sweatshirt out of my backpack and pulled it on over my dress, floral and flowing and golden yellow like the sun, the sun that never shines here in Forks. I had liked it plenty under the florescent lights of the fitting room at TJ Maxx, and I had still liked it this morning; but Jessica’s words hummed around in my skull like wasps. The zipper of the sweatshirt was broken, but it accomplished the task of obscuring my dress well enough.

After Chemistry, I journeyed to the campus library to find a book I was supposed to read and present for a different class. I looked it up in the computer catalogue, spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out how the Dewey Decimal System works, eventually wound up finding the book on the highest floor of the library...and, to add a little extra peril to the mission, on the highest shelf. The book mocked me from its lofty, unattainable stronghold. The title was embossed in gold letters down the crimson spine. The Walruses And Me: A Transformative Experience. Idiotic title, I’m aware. It’s about some marine biologist who spent months alone in the Arctic studying the lifecycles of walruses. A noble pursuit, sure, but still a terrible title.

There wasn’t a chair or stepstool in sight. I tested my weight by stepping up onto the second-lowest shelf. The metal immediately squealed and shifted in protest. I retreated back down to the carpet, defeated by gravity. I scowled up at the book and sighed melodramatically. Ugh.

“Need something?”  

I spun around to see Joe in his University of Chicago hoodie and pale flawless skin and intangible magnetism, that bewildering trademark Lee ethereality. I instinctively crossed my arms, clutching the sleeves of my sweatshirt, shrinking inwards like a startled armadillo in the Arizona desert.

“Are you, uh, anemic...?” he ventured.

“Oh no, I’m not cold. I’m just trying to hide my dress. My friend said it was too hippie-murder-cult 1960s.”

I figured he’d laugh, make a snide comment, maybe just blink in confusion. Instead, he glimpsed down at my dress—what could still be seen of it, anyway—and shook his head. “The neckline isn’t right for the 60s. And you seem like you’ve showered at least once in the past two weeks, so definitely not a hippie.”

I smiled, completely unexpectedly. “I didn’t realize Econ majors knew anything about leftist counterculture.”

“Disparaging it is our favorite pastime. Are you trying to get a book or are you just disrespecting university property for entertainment?”

I pointed. “The big red one.”

“The Walruses And Me...?”

“I know, it’s a horrible title. Not my personal preference. It’s for a class.”

“Bestiality 101?”

“Good guess. Marine Mammals.”

“Ahhh.” He glanced up and down the aisle, tapped his chin with agile fingers, pondered something I wasn’t privy to. “Turn around for a second.”

“What? Why?”

He waved his hand mysteriously in front of his grinning face. “It’s a magic trick. I’m going to make your problem disappear.”

“You can’t climb that,” I warned. “You’ll fall and break your neck. Or you’ll knock the whole shelf over and cause a tragic domino effect and the university will withhold your diploma until you pay them restitution.”

“I’m extremely athletic.”

“Are you sure?” I appraised him with exaggerated skepticism for comedic effect. “My dad refers to you only as the spindly annoying Lee.”

Oh my god, WHY did I say that?

Now he would definitely hate me. Now I’d have two mortal enemies on one campus. I mentally calculated how humiliating it would be to transfer to some Florida college, any Florida college, after only one week at Calawah. Hi mom, yeah I’m coming to live with you and Paul, a gang of hot pasty foster kids wants to slaughter me.

Instead, Joe threw back his head and cackled wildly. A librarian—mid-fifties, angry red hair from out of a box, fuzzy cat sweater—glared into the aisle and shushed him.

“Chief Swan...he actually...he calls me that? Really?!” Joe managed, wiping his leaking eyes. “That’s hilarious. I’m so glad my life is in his hands. Okay seriously, turn around.”

“Why would you help me?” I asked suspiciously.

“That’s just what I do. I’m a friendly guy.”

“This friendliness must not run in the family.”

Again, Joe’s cheerful demeanor didn’t falter. “You mean Ben? Forget about Ben, he hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.” Then he added: “Plus, as I’m sure you know, we’re not biologically related. No overlapping genetic material whatsoever. I didn’t get the male supermodel gene, he didn’t get the irresistibly charming gene, life’s not fair but the world keeps spinning.”

“It sure does,” I agreed softly. Unexpected wisdom from my new favorite Lee. I turned away from him. “Fine, I’m not looking, go ahead and dazzle me with your supernatural friendliness—”

“Done.”

“What?” I whirled around. Joe held The Walruses And Me in his hand. “How...did you...?!”

He passed me the book as I sputtered incoherently. “I told you. Magic trick.”

“I don’t....?!” I gawked up at the top shelf, at Joe, back to the top shelf. Sure enough, the space where The Walruses And Me once lived was now just a vacant slit in the row of dusty books. How could he have climbed up there that quickly? How could I not have heard anything? “The shelves didn’t even creak,” I murmured shakily.

“Yes, well, that’s due to my conveniently spindly physique.” Joe winked. “Any other problems I can help you solve at the moment, Baby Swan?”

“No. And don’t call me Baby Swan, or I’ll push this whole bookshelf over and tell the feisty librarian lady you did it.”

“That’s cold, ma’am.”

I liked that Joe didn’t make me feel like Ben did: unworthy, unloved, infuriating. Joe made me feel something else, something lighthearted, casual, buoyant; like the world didn’t have anything in it worth worrying about, regretting, agonizing over. Like unadulteratedly myself was all I ever needed to be.

I heard a muted buzz and Joe slid his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. Dr. Lee must have successfully delivered it. “Whoops, I forgot that Ordinary Differential Equations existed. Got to go. See ya.”

“Bye,” I replied. And then Joseph Lee was gone, very quickly, a little too quickly, the same way that Ben had vanished on that first afternoon after Chemistry.

Forks is weird. Calawah University is weird. And the Lee kids are super fucking weird.

Long Walks On The Beach

“Can I ask you a random question?”

“You just paid me $100 for an oil change that took fifteen minutes. You can ask me anything you want.” He grinned, flashing bright teeth and deep dimples.

It was Saturday afternoon. I had shoveled down a Chipotle veggie bowl as Archer changed the 1999 Accord’s oil in a small garage with a cracked concrete floor and the searing pungency of gasoline fumes thick in the air. He had apprenticed all through high school and rented his own shop after graduation. Archer now had a loyal clientele that encompassed virtually the entire Quileute reservation and a growing chunk of Forks...including Charlie and me, of course. Archer was the only child of Larry Foxchild—Charlie’s best friend since they worked together at Dairy Queen as teenagers—and the closest thing to a son my dad would ever have. I guess that made him like a brother to me, something that seemed intuitive now that I’d thought of it.

After the Accord was serviced we drove it down to La Push to walk on the beach, climb the salt-lashed rocks, toss pebbles into the roiling surf, reprise our childhood enthusiasm for poking dead washed-up marine creatures with shards of driftwood.

“Do you know anything about the Lees?” I asked Archer, investigating a deceased green shore crab.

His brow furrowed. He looked so serious like that, suddenly so much like Larry: the same tan skin, jet black hair, umbral eyes like oil wells, strong jaw overlaid with the stubbled shadow of a beard. We really aren’t kids anymore, are we? “The doctor and his kids?”

“Yeah. The foster kids. They’re really pale and strange and half of them are British.”

Archer chuckled. “I know who you mean. They’re hard to miss.”

“Are they...” Just eccentric rich people? Traumatized from abusive childhoods? Government experiments? CIA agents? Secret murderers? The image of Ben in that first Chemistry class came roaring back to me, including the adjective that had flashed red behind my eyes like an emergency exit sign: fierce. Finally, I decided: “Dangerous?”

Now Archer full-on laughed, gripping his belly, shaking his head. Drops of saltwater flew from his short hair. “Seriously?!” he exclaimed. “Come on, they’re freaks but they’re not, like...that kind of freaks.”

“Are you sure?” I was starting to feel better already. Of course they’re not actual demons, you fucking idiot. This is Washington, not The Twilight Zone or Black Mirror. Not goddamn American Horror Story.

“Yeah.” Archer skipped a grey pebble over the water, something I’d never been able to do. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know them all that well. They usually keep to themselves. But I’ve never heard anything bad about any of the kids. And everyone respects Dr. Lee and appreciates him for taking the pay cut to come to some bumblefuck town like Forks. He’s insanely highly credentialed, has degrees from Harvard or Yale or somewhere like that. Super impressive. We’re lucky to have him. I definitely sleep better at night knowing he’ll be the one to fix me up if I ever get a few fingers ripped off on the job.”

“Don’t even say that. Then who would I grossly overpay for oil changes?”

Archer smiled, then sobered as he peered out over the Pacific Ocean.

“What?” I asked, feeling a plummeting in my guts like primal fear.

“Well...okay, so there is one thing that’s always bothered me. You remember Grandpa Foxchild?”

“Yeah, of course.” He had been an impossibly ancient man with long grey braided hair, a low rumbly voice, gnarled arthritic hands, ceaseless wrinkles. I remembered Charlie calling me when he passed away last spring. Renee and I had picked out a flower arrangement to send to the funeral.

“So,” Archer said slowly, like he was still puzzling it out himself. “Grandpa used to say things like ‘That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.’ Which of course makes no sense, the Lees moved here like two years ago. And I’d tell Grandpa that, but he completely ignored me. He would just keep repeating it. ‘That Dr. Lee shouldn’t still be here.’ ‘That Dr. Lee should go on home to where he came from.’ ‘That Dr. Lee isn’t right.’ Creepy shit like that. My dad and I always assumed it was the dementia talking, but...I don’t know. It just bothered me. Because Grandpa...he wasn’t just being gossipy or suspicious. He was angry. And he was afraid. Grandpa was at Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima and he would talk about that no problem, mention landmines or flesh melting off a soldier’s face like it was nothing. He was a tough guy. Immeasurably tough, I’ll never be half the man he was. But if you mentioned the Lees, Grandpa got scared. Why the hell would he be so scared of them?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, not a single word. I just stared at Archer, my eyes growing huge, my heart sprinting, blood pounding in my ears. He knew. Grandpa Foxchild knew there was something off about them, and now I know it too. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Archer tittered nervously. “Anyway, that was genuinely disturbing. But like I said. It was probably just the dementia.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“It had to be,” he insisted. “There’s no other logical explanation.”

“I guess,” I agreed, scooping up the green shore crab corpse with my bare hands. I hurled it out into the waves, imagined it sinking through murky water and suspended grains of sand, the body settling into prehistoric silt, the scavengers descending upon it, the inescapable wheel of birth and death and resurrection through those who unwittingly carry our atoms with them into the next generation, into the perpetual future.

That night my dreams were full of pale skin and scorching eyes, Ben and Joe and Rami, Lucille and Scarlett, crashing waves, cold water and bleached bones; and Grandpa Foxchild’s mistrustful refrain: That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.

Benjamin

I soared down the staircase and through the dining room. Gwil was working late at the hospital, Mercy outside tending the animals, everyone else presumably scattered throughout the house. I had to get out before anyone noticed me. I had to get out without Rami or Lucy knowing.

I yanked open the door to the back porch. Rami was waiting there.

“Good evening,” he greeted me in that slow, thoughtful drawl.

“Stay the fuck out of my head.”

“You know how it works, Benny Boy. I can’t ignore the loud thoughts. And you’ve been having some very loud thoughts lately.”

I stared down at my shoes, all black Adidas. Black is good. It doesn’t show stains. For example, purely hypothetically, splatters of human blood and organs. “I can make it quick. I can make it painless.”

Rami’s aura flared maroon; not enraged, no, not quite that, but certainly revolted. I was always finding new and horrifying ways to revolt them, whether I was trying to or not. “She has a family, Ben. A father. You know Chief Swan, you’ve seen him around town. He’s a good person. She’s a good person. You really want to do this? You really want to relapse like this?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. Hearing thoughts is a tricky thing, and not a gift that I would ever want; unspoken words are rarely a steam and usually a storm, disjointed and twisting, interrupting each other, bottomless layers of whispers and screams. But I was sure Rami could catch the important parts: that I didn’t know the difference between good and bad people, that I didn’t know what to think of people at all, that for me her blood was not a desire but a compulsion. I couldn’t stop envisioning it spilling over my tongue and teeth, down my throat, hot and pulsing erratically and fading. “Why can’t you hear her? Why can’t I see what she’s feeling?”

Rami shrugged, characteristically placid and restrained. It was maddening. “There are seven and a half billion people on this planet. So maybe every once in a while you get one that lives in our blind spots, there’s something chromosomal or psychological that puts them on a different frequency. I don’t know. How the hell should I know? All I know is that you definitely shouldn’t be seriously considering...well. What you’re considering.”  

“Have you ever met someone whose thoughts you couldn’t hear before?”

“No,” Rami admitted; and was that a ghost of unease that crossed his face?

“Please, Rami. Let me go. Pretend you never saw me.” My words come out strained, hushed, like a spilled secret, like a confession. I’ve never wanted anyone’s blood like I want hers.

He heard that; I could see the dismay in his eyes. Now his aura is dark grey, almost black. Disappointment. Resignation. Mourning. “I told you what Lucy saw.”

“What she saw is impossible and you know it.”

Again, Rami shrugged. That blind, mindless faith. I wished I knew what it felt like. “She’s never wrong.”

“Have you told him?”

“Who, Joe?! Of course I haven’t told Joe. He...”

“He wouldn’t believe it either?” I snapped, like it was a victory.

“No,” Rami amended carefully. “No, he would believe anything Lucy saw.” Lucy had visions: flashes of the future, the past, the present. They were rare and unpredictable, often fragmented, snapshots rather than arcs. But they were always true. Or, rather, the other Lees claimed they were. The real Lees. “I don’t know what he would do about it,” Rami said finally. “So I’m waiting it out. And killing one of the primary participants is definitely not waiting it out.”

I seethed as I glared at him, hating him in that moment, hating myself only slightly more; and he heard that too. But then that wispy, fleeting haze around him was a pink like the last threads of sunlight sinking into the Western horizon. Forgiveness. Attachment. Love.

“Come with me, Ben,” Rami said gently, opening the door. “Come back inside. You can beat this. You’re better than this. You’re a good soul. You wouldn’t be with us if you weren’t.”

I tried to laugh. It came out like a snarl. “I haven’t had a soul in a long time.”

[et-lesailes]

safe place

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3500 waow

summary: while clubbing in boston, you happen to see your favorite actor, none other than chris evans himself. unfortunately, his anxiety seems to be acting up again, and you can tell. you have a plan to help him out, and even though you know fully well you could embarrass yourself, you’ve gotta try it for him.

themes: this is just pretty chill n fluffy, highlights struggles with anxiety as well!

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @bval-1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @pining-and-tired , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit, @a-distantdreamer, @malthestorytellerblog, @rainbowkisses31, @jbug491writinghelp, @quaiderade

note: yeah kinda had sudden muse for this out of nowhere hence the longer word count, and i really luv discussing mental health so i thought it could be kind of interesting to talk about anxiety in this one. tbh i feel like it’s a lot of rambling so i apologize in advance! hope you all like it though!

It had been a while since you had been out with your girlfriends, but now that everyone was back home in Boston for at least some of the summer, it was a good chance to catch up with the friends you had made back in high school and reminisce on all of the good times. You had remained in Boston for work along with a couple of others, but everyone else had moved to all different parts of the country-- it seemed like a miracle in itself that everyone was able to make it back at the same time, but you had also all planned for this. To take the same week off from work, summer classes, whatever it was everyone was doing-- all to go back home and reconvene as one big group.

It was Friday night, and you were ready to hit the clubs. You inspected yourself in the mirror of your apartment where everyone had decided to gather to get ready, smiling satisfied at what you saw. A typical LBD was perfect for a night like this-- yes, it was cliche, but you didn’t care. You looked good. It was just the right amount of revealing, showcasing cleavage and legs that managed to look slightly lengthier thanks to the shoes you had picked for the night, and you had actually decided to do your hair for once. “Whew! You look sexy!” your friend Delia complimented, and you shot her a little grin. “Thanks, Del. So do you, red is really your color.”

After taking at least a couple more shots, you were all ready to go. Piling into an UberXL, you made your way deeper into the city where the best nightlife was, reveling in just the perfect amount of buzz and feeling ready for anything. You had been planning on dancing with a few guys tonight, maybe getting a little action in, but nothing serious. You definitely had not been expecting on meeting him.

_____________

As a group of young women, it was rather easy to get access to VIP. Besides, a majority of you had been brought up in Boston; by now, you knew people, had connections. You were currently lounging on a plush leather couch with a fifteen dollar drink in your hand, deciding to worry about the consequences the next day. Most of your friends were off dancing with other people they had befriended in the club, so it was just you and a couple others chilling, drinking, and talking-- and then you suddenly felt a rough nudge to your arm. “Ouch. Gabby, what the hell?” You wrinkled your nose though you were mostly exaggerating, looking to her with more amusement than anything. “What?” However, you were far more intrigued upon seeing the shock upon her face as she was staring at something a little further away. You followed her gaze, only seeing a crowd of people and iPhone camera flashes in the next couch area a few feet away. “What?” you repeated yourself, craning your neck trying to see what the big deal was. You could see a Red Sox cap sticking out from the center, but that was not anything interesting considering you were literally 3 miles away from Fenway.

And then the figure with the cap moved slightly, and you almost spit out your drink.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Gabby seemed to have found her voice again, her eyes widening. “That’s Chris fuckin’ Evans. Oh my God, should we go say hi?” You still had your eyes on him, unable to help it-- God, he was even more gorgeous in person. You were about to agree instantly, the awe practically taking over your inebriated mind. Of course you wanted to say hi. You had loved Marvel for years now, and Captain America was your favorite Avenger. Not only that, but you had taken a liking to Chris’ acting because of his Marvel movies, which had encouraged you to watch several others. Living in Boston, it had always been a hope of yours that you would somehow run into him, but you never imagined it would actually happen. And now here he was, standing about five feet away from you-- sure, he was surrounded by girls, but you and Gabby could totally squeeze through.

But then you stopped to actually look at him. Not in the fangirling, celebrity idolizing way, but just to actually look at him. You could see on his face that he looked a little tired. Like his smile was forced. It did not seem disrespectful to you, but more so that he was… overwhelmed. He was still taking pictures with every single girl around him, even making effort in having conversation, but you caught every single sign. The frequent looking around, eyes not focused on one thing or one person. How he’d take off his hat and run his hand through his hair, but practically every ten seconds. The slight inward tug of his bottom lip, and while he made it look sexy, it was obvious he was not doing it to be seductive. You had listened to interviews of Chris speaking of his anxiety, and considering you had faced it before and had friends who did as well, it was hard not to see the signs. Now, if anything, you were getting a little pissed at these clubbers surrounding him, even though you were almost quite literally going to be one yourself.

“He seems a little on edge right now,” you noted, frowning slightly. “Maybe we should wait a bit, yeah? It’s not like VIP’s that crowded anyways, so hopefully once those girls leave him alone we can have a chance to just say hi or something.” Gabby sighed loudly but nodded her head. “Okay, okay, fine. But I’m gonna head downstairs to tell the girls. You stay here and keep an eye on him!”

“Wait--” you started to say, not wanting her to spread the news, but she was already leaving in a tipsy fit of giggles and excitement. You sighed and looked back towards him. He seemed even worse than before, and it had only been five seconds.

And then an idea came to you, and you nibbled on your lower lip wondering if you could really be that drunk or if this was just actually a brilliant plan. No. No, no. It was crazy. Absolutely insane, really, and you would look like a total idiot if it didn’t work. Which it most likely wouldn’t.

And so you downed the rest of your drink, barely fazed by the bitter taste of alcohol at this point as you stood up, taking a deep breath. Walking right over, you called out as loudly and confidently as possible over the music. “Chris? Chris! Chris, is that you? Oh my God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you last! I can’t believe you’re back in town, this is great!”

Everyone immediately turned around to look at you, and you prayed that your cheeks weren’t burning. God, what had you done? How drunk could you be? Part of you wanted to simply turn around and run away, it wasn’t like you’d ever see him again. But you watched his reaction, hoping your own expression was visible enough to him to show that you were very clearly hinting at him to go along with it. At least, if anything, this pressure was helping in somewhat distracting you from how damn handsome he looked up close. How was it possible that the camera didn’t do him justice when he looked so hot in all of his photos?

Yeah, maybe you still were a little caught up in how handsome he was.

He seemed a little confused for a second, but suddenly, the corner of his lips tugged upwards. Your heart raced faster. Was he about to laugh at you, humiliate you in front of his fangirls? Or was your plan working? “Holy shit,” he stated, lightly pushing himself through the small crowd to step closer to you. “I didn’t know you were still in town, that’s crazy! Fuck, how long has it been? A year? Two? I’m so happy to see you!” You could not believe it; there were at least a million thoughts running through your mind right now. He actually went along with it. He’s standing right in front of me now. He’s smiling at me, having a direct conversation with me. And he swore, oh God, he sounds so hot swearing…

You snapped yourself back to reality. This was not about meeting your idol at the moment, this was about helping someone with what could turn into a straight up panic attack if this kept on any longer. You smiled back at him brightly before looking around at everyone, clearing your throat. He might have had to be polite because he had an image to protect, but you did not. “Excuse me, can you please leave us alone? Chris is one of my friends and I’d like to be able to catch up with him. And I’m pretty sure half of you aren’t even supposed to be up here…” you commented with a raised eyebrow, eyes glancing towards the lack of VIP wristbands on their arms. There was a lot of scoffing, huffing, and bitchy glares, but they eventually turned away, all furiously typing away on their phones most likely posting photos on every social media site possible. 

You exhaled just as he did, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “I can, uh, leave you alone if you want. I swear I didn’t just do this to be able to talk to you too, I just noticed you looked a little… stressed.” You paused before quickly adding, “Not that I don’t want to talk to you. I mean, fuck, I love your shit, you know? I think you’re a great actor. But you shouldn’t be swarmed by fans or anything. So, yeah, I can leave.” After that word vomit, you decided the only proper way to do said leaving was flinging yourself off the balcony. But instead, he just smiled wider as he looked down at you, shaking his head. “No, no. Of course not. I really appreciate what you did for me back there, trust me.” He tilted his head, seeming curious. “Did I really look stressed?” You blinked but nodded truthfully, biting your lip. “It just looked like a typical bout of anxiety to me, if we’re being honest,” you told him, then wondered if that was somehow offensive. “I mean, I know just because you mentioned having it doesn’t mean you’re just always some anxious person, and I’m not trying to assume anything either but I’ve also had experiences with it too so it’s kind of easier to catch signs, you know? But if I was wrong then I’m really so-”

“You weren’t wrong,” he cut you off, but he was still smiling kindly at you. Damn, his eyes are beautiful. “Yeah, I was definitely feeling a little crowded back there. So thank you. Really. What’s your name? Can I buy you a drink?” You looked up at him somewhat shocked. “Me? Oh, please, you really don’t have to do that,” you shook your head, not wanting him to feel obliged to you in any means whatsoever, even though a drink would Chris Evans would probably be all you needed to die happy. “I’m sure you have friends waiting on you or something, really, it’s okay. I genuinely just wanted to help.” He raised an eyebrow, slightly stepping closer and it was taking you everything not to creepily deeply inhale from how good his cologne smelt. “And I genuinely want to buy you a drink,” he spoke with an amused grin, eyes twinkling even more than before. “Please. Or if you don’t drink, I can at least get you a--”

“Oh I drink.” You cut him off way too fast, then realized afterwards. “Okay, but like, I don’t mean I’m an alcoholic or anything, I just--” you finally just sighed loudly, looking down for a few seconds before looking up at him, silently cursing your brain for not allowing you to sober up at least a little. Despite the fact that it was solely your fault for having decided to chug a freaking vodka sour. “Okay, yes. Let’s do this. But-- unfortunately my friend is about to bring my entire horde of friends up here, so let’s try a different bar in this club.” He was laughing as he listened to you, but it did not feel mean or embarrassing; he simply seemed like he was actually having a fun time with you, almost as if he were a friend. He then blinked, curious and slightly confused. “In this club? Is there another one, besides the VIP one and the general one downstairs?” You laughed softly, nodding your head. “You gotta come back to Boston more! They just opened a rooftop one upstairs that’s way less crowded, but it’s pretty exclusive.” You raised a brow, continuing, “But I’m pretty sure we won’t have any problem getting in...” He chuckled and it was a deep rumble of heaven, but you forced yourself not to be annoying or even more triggering towards his anxiety. “Well, that would have been nice to know earlier, but I’m glad I at least get to know it from you. Lead the way….” he trailed off, waiting for a name to use. You giggled lightly at the slight flirtation, in disbelief that it was even happening but of course introduced yourself, lightly taking his outstretched arm and walking towards the staircase to the roof.

_____________

“Sebastian said that to you? Oh my God, that’s hilarious.” You laughed upon listening to a story he was telling you from a drunken night he, Sebastian Stan, and Anthony Mackie had shared in LA, a beam spread across your entire face. “You guys seem like such cute friends.” He laughed and nodded his head fondly, looking out towards the view. “Eh, they’re alright, I suppose,” he spoke playfully, and you giggled for the hundredth time within that hour, looking out towards the city lights yourself. 

The two of you had been chatting away, the peaceful nighttime air and breeze definitely helping you in sobering up a little more. Not that you had been absolutely trashed before, but you wanted to be as present in this moment as possible. You knew something like this would never happen again, but you were trying not to think about that. You loved that he was also asking you questions about yourself, and seemed sincerely interested, at that. He was so easy to converse with, so relaxed and thoughtful, you felt bad knowing what his anxiety could do to such a kindhearted person like him. You were sure he would have loved to be like this with all of his fans, but he had even explained to you himself that it was difficult for him to be in front of big crowds. “I know that seems kinda ridiculous coming from a Hollywood actor,” he said with a sigh, chuckling lightly, “but I can’t control it, ya know? I wish I could.” You nodded sympathetically, unable to even imagine what it would be like having to deal with such conflict in his current occupation. 

“But what about you?” he asked, surprising you again even though he had shown genuine interest in you and your life this entire time. “You said you’ve dealt with anxiety before, too?” You nodded with a sigh, taking a sip of your drink. “It used to be pretty bad for me in high school. I guess high school’s just a rough time in general, though,” you said with a laugh, shrugging your shoulders. “I still get attacks every now and then, but I’ve learned how to cope with it much better. Definitely better than hormonal, puberty ridden me, anyways,” you chuckled. He laughed too and you tried to ignore how adorable the sound as well as his face was when he did so. “Mm. Definitely don’t wanna reminisce on those days,” he playfully shuddered before tilting his head with interest. “How do you cope with it?” You could not believe Chris Evans was here asking you for advice, but you pondered this over. “I guess this is common sense and easier said than done, but I think I’m just a lot better at being able to mentally step back from a situation and think it through more logically when I’m feeling anxious. I just go through a rundown in my head and remind myself that it’s okay. It also helps distracting myself from it by talking to friends, like to call my best friend if I’m feeling down or weird about something.” You told him, barely biting your lip-- you had never really talked about such topics with any guys before, and it was crazy how it felt so comfortable with a celebrity. 

“Yeah? Well maybe next time you could call me, too?” he asked, and you were practically baffled. “Like, on my cell phone?” you asked rather dumbly, then closed your eyes as you rubbed your forehead. “Okay, yeah. Duh. My cell phone. It’s not like I own a landline. Who really does anymore, besides old people. But I mean--” you stopped and collected your thoughts briefly before looking up at him. “You’d really feel comfortable giving me your phone number? And you actually want to… talk?” He laughed again, even tilting his head back slightly before nodding with a wide smile. “Yeah. I mean, hell yeah, I do. I’ve had a lot of fun talking to you tonight.” He slid his phone out of his pocket, unlocking and handing it to you with a hopeful grin. You slowly smiled, nodding and taking it from him to input your number. Much to your delight, when handing it back he went straight to sending you a message, looking to you as he arched an eyebrow playfully. “You have my number now, right? You didn’t give me a fake one?” You blinked before laughing loudly, taking your phone out of your little crossbody bag. “Why the hell would I give you, of all people, a fake number?” You waved your phone at him to show him that the message had come up on the device, then looked down at it to save his number. You had assumed he just sent a “hi” or an emoji, something simple-- but you paused as your eyes scanned the words on your screen.

“Go on a date with me.”

You stared at it somewhat dumbfounded before looking up at him, knowing your cheeks were slightly red. “A-a date?” you asked; sure, the two of you had been hitting it off and flirting a little, but you had kept reminding yourself throughout the conversation that he was a celebrity. He probably had tons of girls in his life, you were someone who could just be an acquaintance. If that. But now he wanted to take you out on an actual date?

“I’m in Boston for the next few months. And I know that’s not permanent, but I really, really liked talking to you tonight, and.. I want to see if this works. Please.” You almost didn’t reply due to being too shocked that he was begging you to date him, but you quickly cleared your throat. “I’d… yeah, I’d really like that.” You admitted, feeling excited and terrified all at once. But that was how dating should feel, right? “But, um, how does this… work? Do you, like, not want me to tell anyone…? Do I not save your number at all, in case anyone hacks into my phone? Or should I just save you as a fake--”

“Okay, okay, don’t go all secret agent on me.” He interrupted you with a loud laugh, eyes twinkling fondly as he gazed down at you. “Honestly… I trust you. Call it a gut instinct, but I do. So tell whoever you���d like, or don’t. The only thing I’m more worried about is your own privacy, because it most likely won’t be respected if we’re not careful about this. But when it comes to people knowing about me taking you out, that’s fine with me. I’m allowed to have a love life, aren’t I?” he said with a smile, then glanced down at his phone. “Oh, shit. I need to go, my brother’s waiting for me. And I’m sure your friends are, too.” He looked at you and chuckled softly, probably at the disappointed face you wore. “Hey. Text me tonight, alright? Promise.” You smiled at that, arching an eyebrow playfully, teasing, “Wow, you’re already pretty needy, huh? Yikes, what am I agreeing to here?” He blinked before scoffing, though clearly amused. “You know what? Yeah, I am. And it’s your fault.” 

He suddenly took a light hold of your waist, gently pulling you closer to him and leaned down. You widened your eyes slightly but did not move away, looking up into his beautiful blue orbs instead silently confirming that you were alright with what was about to happen. 

You would remember that kiss for the rest of your damn life-- you were sure of it. 

[you-a-southpaw-doll]

Deaf ~ A Max (The Resident) One-Shot

Summary: Max gets a new tenant...and maybe a new family? With all the silence, will Leigh be able to draw Max outta the walls and into her life? 

Warning(s): Angst. Happy ending. Single mother OFC. Mentions of cheating. Bisexual OFC. Hearing issues. Deaf infant. Implied PTSD. Implied childhood trauma. Panic attack. Self-harm. First aid. Non-canon. OOC Max. Slight voyeuristic tendencies. OFC’s P.O.V. Soft Max. Hurt Max. Scared Max. Touch-starved Max. Max just needs some love.

Author’s Note(s): So, I watched The Resident (2011) a couple nights ago, and got this idea. I don’t do rape, so I changed Max’s character so he never goes that far. I also decided to do this from the OFC’s P.O.V. and show a different side of Max, one that would hopefully, kinda sorta, explain why Max seeks the refuge the walls give him. For people that suffer from PTSD, and other mental illnesses, everyone finds their own way of coping with their struggles. I’m not in any way condoning what Canon Max did. I just wanted to try and a different, less creepy, softer side. Also, in this story, Max is not a rapist, nor is he a murderer. And...I wanted a happy ending for Max, so that’s what I gave him.

Word Count: 7,982 words.

Relationship(s): Max x Leigh Sullivan (OFC) [romantic]. 

Characters: Max. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Maxwell Dean Sullivan (OMC). Chris Sullivan (OMC). 

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho @ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl @sebs-padawan

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Story Time:

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~

It’s been two weeks since I moved to New York City to start my new job at the museum and try to get on with one of the numerous publishing houses for my next books. Two weeks of sleeping in a cheap hotel room. Two nights of frantically searching for a somewhat cheap apartment that would be big ‘nough.

Two weeks of missing having his little body snuggled up next to me. Two weeks worth of triple FaceTime calls to my brother back in San Deigo just to see his cute little face. Two weeks of missing my baby boy. Two weeks of missing my adopted, six-month-old son, Maxwell. Two weeks of being completely alone in a new place for the first time in years.

It’s been two days since I saw that flyer pinned up on the hospital bulletin board after passing out from dehydration. Two days since I went to that old building that’s close to the huge bridge stretching out over the river. Two days since I saw the fancy apartment still being renovated that was clearly well outta my price range.

Two days since I met him and saw that beautiful dimpled smile hiding under the construction mask. Two days since I felt my heart flutter for the time in nearly half a year. Two days since that deep, slower than molasses but sweeter than honey voice told me it was mine for only $3,800 a month, minus utilities. 

It’s been two hours since he, my new landlord left my apartment after sitting down to enjoy a dinner of takeout from the nearby Chinese restaurant once we’d finished moving my meager belongings in. Two hours since he and I opened up a little bit to each other, getting to know the other person. 

It’s been two hours and I still haven’t stopped smiling. 

Leaning back in my chair, I slide my iPhone outta the pocket of my men’s holey, Skinny Flex American Eagle dark blue jeans. Holding my thumb down on the button so it recognizes my thumbprint, I wait for it to unlock before I click on the FaceTime app and call my brother. I take a deep breath, relaxing, as I wait for him to answer. 

Only...he doesn’t. Instead of my slightly younger brother answering, I get the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. The moment I see my son’s face fill the screen, I tear up and smile. 

“Hey, baby boy! You playing with Uncle Chris’s phone?” I coo in a soft voice.

I don’t get an actual response, but that’s ok. My son Max is deaf. He was born that way and the doctors said it’d be a few more months before we could even try to get him fitted for hearing aids. The said it was a side effect from where his birth mother had been using hard drugs for 99% of the pregnancy, even though I tried to get her help.

Max makes a bunch of soft, cooing noises as he holds the phone close. I realize that he hasn’t noticed that I’m the phone yet. Especially once I see his gums get closer to the camera. I laugh, knowing he’s trying to gnaw on the rounded corner of my brother’s iPhone. Hearing movement on the other end, I watch as the phone jostles, and a loud thunk echos to my end. 

A moment later, two small, chubby hands grasp the phone and my son’s face fills the screen once more. I watch as his eyes widen and he lets out a high pitch squeal, giggling, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Max has finally noticed that I’m on the phone. Smiling, I wave to him and blow him kisses.

It just makes him squeal more, louder, and happier. I giggle and happily listens to his giggles, squeals, and babbles. After nearly 15 minutes of listening to him, and slouching in my chair, the phone jostles once more and I hear Max let out a whine and hear him sniffling, knowing his ‘bout to start crying. 

A second later, my brother’s face fills my phone’s screen and his eyes widen too, making him chuckle.

“Hey, sis. Sorry. Didn’t realize you were on the phone. I guess Max got ahold of mine when I went to fix him a bottle and a small jar of that mushy baby food you picked up for him before you left.” He says.

I smile. “Nah. Max didn’t call me. I called. He answered. Took him a hot minute to realize I was on the phone. Then he started telling me ‘bout the stuff y’all did today. Sounds like a productive day.”

Chris laughs and I watch as he gets settled on the couch in his apartment, holding my son in his lap, keeping him to where he can still see me on the phone.

“Oh yeah.” He chuckles. “Real productive. 3 naps, 6 poopy diapers, and a few bottles.” 

I giggle. “Sounds like it.”

He chuckles more and shakes his head. “Anyway. How’s the city? D’you switch motel rooms? That don’t look like the one you’ve been staying in.”

I grin from ear to ear. “That’s actually why I called you. I found a place. By the river and train tracks.”

“Yea? That’s great! You all moved in?”

“For the most part. All that’s missing is little man. Oh. And the actual furniture. I was thinking...think you and Max could be out here tomorrow?”

“Uh...yea. I still got 3 more weeks’ worth of vacation time saved up at work. Give me a sec to pull up flights and shit.”

I smile and nod, waiting as Chris sets his phone down. After listening to some shuffling and the protests of my son, my brother and my son’s faces are visible once more. I help guide my brother through the process of looking for, booking, and getting two cheap plane tickets. I tell him my card info so he can type it in.

“Alright, sis. It looks like we’ll be flying out ‘round noon our time. And, after a 5 and a half flight, we should be to the city by dinnertime. How’s that?” Chris double checks.

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me! I can’t wait. I’ll meet y’all there!” I grin and cover my mouth as I yawn.

Chris chuckles. “Good. Looks like you need to get to bed. It’s what, 11 there?”

I nod. “Yea...I think so. It’s been a long day.”

“I can tell. Well, get some sleep. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to see y’all. It’s been a long two weeks.”

“I bet. I honestly don’t see how you’ve been a single mom for the last 6 months. I’ve been watching this little monster for 2 weeks and I swear, I’m never having my own kids.”

I laugh. “Shut up! He’s not that bad. He just misses his mommy. And, you never wanted your own kids. You’ve always been too scared. Couldn’t even sit down if there was a kid in the room.”

“Hey! I just didn’t want to risk accidentally sitting on them and squishing them!” 

I giggle as my brother grins. “I know, bro. I’m just giving you shit.”

“Yea. Just like your son’s been doing all day.”

I laugh, yawning again. “Shouldn’t have given him the sweet potato mush. I warned you.”

He rolls his eyes, chuckling. “Whatever.”

“I am proud of you, bro. You’ve done so well with him, and I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me. I know it’s been a long couple of months, not just the two weeks I’ve been out here.”

“I just wanna see you happy again, sis, and I’m always here for you. That’s why I’m more than willing to help you.”

“I know. And it means the world. Give him kisses for me and tap his little tummy twice to tell him I love him?”

Chris smiles. “I will. Be careful, yeah? We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll try. Love you.”

“Yea. Ok. I know.”

He grins and waves, getting Max to copy him as he hangs up the call. I smile to myself. My brother’s never been one to say “I love you” to someone. He’s been like that since we were little when he was 5 and I was 6. So, I don’t take it personally when he just responds as he does. I know he still loves me. 

He’s been there for me, just like I’ve always been there for him. After my last relationship hit the fan and I caught my fiancé cheating on me with a man and said she no longer felt like being a mom in a same-sex relationship, just a few weeks before Max was born and we were supposed to gain custody of him, Chris offered to let me move in with him once Max was born. 

So, that’s what we did. Max and I left Kentucky where I’d been living all through and well after college and moved to San Diego to live with my brother. The 5.5 months we were there, I looked ‘round for a job that I could use my history degree in, while also working on my last novel. After getting an offer from a museum in New York, I broke the news to Chris that Max and I would be moving to the city.

He’d been shocked at first since we were both from a small town in the mountains of Western North Carolina, and I’d sworn I’d never live in a big city. ‘Specially one in the North since it got too cold in the winter and I’d always been made fun of for my strong Southern accent. I’d explained to him that I had to do what was best for Max, that I had a son to think ‘bout now.

He’d understood after that and was willing to watch Max while I traveled back across the country to a new place, to look for a good living arrangement, and get settled in for my new job. He told me that once I got settled, he’d bring Max out and then help me get all moved in and everything. Which is what led us to tonight. 

After hanging up with my brother and my son, I plug my phone up, set a few alarms, and curl up in the chair to try and get some sleep, knowing that tomorrow’s gonna be an even bigger day. All while never knowing that I was being watched by landlord peeking through a strategically placed and well-hidden hole in the wall.

When I wake up the morning, well early afternoon really, groaning and blindly reaching out for my phone to shut up the annoying alarms, I stretch and rub my eyes. I’m definitely not a morning person, and usually, get my best work done between the hours of 1 and 7 am. It’s been great since Max still hasn’t picked up on the whole sleeping through the night thing.

I finally push myself up outta the chair, my joints protesting the clearly uncomfortable position I just spent the last six hours in while curled up. Making my way to the kitchen, I get a pot of coffee going before padding back across the apartment to the bedroom and bathroom. I shoot my brother a text, letting him know that I’ll still pick him and Max up from the airport. 

After my shower, and downing the entire pot of coffee, I put some music on as I start to plan how I want the apartment set up and start looking up furniture stores on my phone, even ordering a few things online to be delivered in a couple of days.. I get lost in my search, that it takes me several long minutes to notice someone’s knocking on my door. 

Clicking my phone off, I tuck it in my pocket and make way to the door, opening it to find my landlord.

 He and I talk for a few minutes until I suddenly realize the time.

“Oh shit! I gotta go!” 

Max, my landlord, raises a brow. “Hot date tonight?”

I smile. “You could say that. I gotta go pick the love of my life up from the airport.”

I watch as Max’s face falls and he gets a sad look in his eye. 

“I thought you were single?” He asks. 

Scrambling to put my boots on, I reply to him. “I am. But, I still gotta pick him up.”

“Oh. Well, alright then.”

I look at him as I grab my drawstring bag that I use instead of a purse and put it on my back. 

“I’ll be back soon. If you wanna come over, I’d love to introduce you. You’ll see him ‘round a lot.” I say, grabbing my key.

“Um. Maybe. I know I’ll be busy with the renovations in the other apartments. I just thought I’d stop by and check on you, see how you settling in.”

I smile and gently place my hand on his shoulder, trying my best to ignore the rush of excitement that courses through my body at the touch. My landlord is not only smoking hot, but he’s also well built and I can feel his muscles under my hand.

“Thank you, Max. I greatly appreciate it.” I say.

He just nods and stares at my hand for a moment. 

“Oh...sorry.” I apologize, dropping my hand, quickly remembering how shy he is. “I’ll...uh...see you later, maybe? I’d really love for you to meet him. He’s a sweetheart.”

He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “We’ll see how the renovations go.”

“Sounds good! Don’t work too hard!”

“I am working too hard!”

I giggle, playfully smacking his shoulder. 

“Don’t do it.” I giggle.

I quickly leave after locking my door and hurry downstairs, hailing a cab and head to the airport. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be too much traffic, which surprises me since the first I noticed when I got to the city was all the traffic. When I get there, I realize I’m still a few minutes early, so I make my way over to the gates to wait. 

Nearly half an hour later, I spot my brother, holding my son, carrying only the diaper bag and a small book bag, and rush over. As soon as I reach them, I happily take my little boy in my arms, peppering his chubby little cheeks with kisses, which has him squealing happily and patting my head. I giggle and tilt my head back to look at him, despite the happy tears rolling down my cheeks.

Tapping my finger against his belly twice like I’ve done since the moment I first held him and the moment the docs told me he was deaf, I let my son know I love him. He giggles and curls his fingers ‘round mine, holding it tight. I lift my shoulder, turning my head in an attempt to wipe my tears away. Once I’ve done that, I look up at my 6’2” tall brother, grinning from ear to ear.

He just smiles and pulls me in for a hug. I lean against him since my arms are full from where I’m holding Max. Laying my head against Chris’ chest, I smile. He just hugs me a little tighter, but not too much ‘cause of Max.

“Missed you, sis.” He says.

“I fuckin’ missed you too, bro.” I reply. 

He laughs and lets go of me, looking at me. “You look happy.”

“I am now! I’ve got my little boy in my arms, and you’re here. But, I’m sure you’re hungry?”

“Always am!”

I laugh. “C’mon. Let’s go get some food and head to my place. You’re really gonna love it!”

He chuckles and follows as I carry a giggling and snuggly Max outta the airport. I look up Chris. 

“You’re taller. Hail a cab.” I say.

He raises a brow. “How?”

I giggle and tell him since it’s the time he’s ever had to do it. Growing up in our small town, we didn’t have taxis, and then when he moved to San Diego during my senior year of college, he already had his own car, so he didn’t have to worry ‘bout taxis out there. It doesn’t take long before one comes to a stop in front of us.

Piling in, I give the driver my new address, and we set off towards home. Well, my home. Chris and I spend the time talking while I just hold Max close, patting his butt. Right as the driver makes it to the apartment building, the air suddenly smells shitty. I know Max has pooped himself, and I soothe him before he can start crying and apologizing to the driver, giving him a decent tip.

Ushering Chris out the cab, so I can get out with Max, I shift my son in my arms. 

“Don’t worry, baby boy. Mama’s gonna get you upstairs, and get you all cleaned up!” I coo, softly, my lips near his ear so that he can feel the vibrations of my voice as I talk.

Max settles down a little as he sniffles, clinging to my shirt. I kiss his head and led the way inside and up to my apartment. Shifting him once more, I dig my key out, unlock the door, and step in with Chris right behind me. 

“Let me get him changed. Feel free to look around. There’s not much, but we’ll fix that tomorrow.” I say.

Chris nods and drapes the strap of the diaper bag over my shoulder. I carry Max into the bathroom and set him on the tiled floor. I keep him distracted while I change his diaper, and tap his tummy twice after buttoning his onesie and slipping his little shorts back on. He lets out a giggle, holding his hands up.

Giggling myself, I scoop him back up in my arms, tossing the dirty diaper in the small trash can as I walk out. 

***

Over the next couple of weeks, Chris helps me move furniture in, get the apartment set up, takes turns with caring for Max, and even teaching me some of the new recipes he’s picked up. He’s come along way, considering that the kid used to burn cereal when he tried to make himself some when we were kids.

We take a few days, once the apartment’s set up, to explore the city. I haven’t done much sight-seeing myself since I arrived. It was mainly ‘cause I was too busy trying to find a place and everything. A few times, I spot my landlord while we’re out and about, and I try to wave him over so he can meet my son and my brother.

Especially since he never showed up the night Chris arrived. I’d been really excited to introduce them. I couldn’t explain why, other than the fact that I wanted Max to meet my son and my brother. Yet, Max never comes over. He always pulls his phone out when our eyes meet and presumably takes a call, walking in the opposite direction.

Two and a half weeks after Chris arrives in New York, Max and I take him to the airport to catch his flight back to San Diego. We stay with him till it’s time for his plane to be boarded. As he hands his ticket over, he assures him he’ll text me when he lands in California and when he gets home. I give him one last hug and lift Max’s hand in a wave.

***

After Chris leaves, Max and I settled into our normal routine. I wake up shortly after he does, get him changed and dressed for the day, and then lay him down on the living room floor for tummy time while I get to work. The position I have at the museum allows me to work from home, occasionally going in once or twice a week, with Max, to take care of some things there.

When I’m not working for the museum, I’m attempting to work on my novel. After I get done with work, I feed Max and me, before we settle on the couch with a Disney movie or one of the three Despicable Me movies playing for naptime. Even if Max can’t hear, he still loves watching the screen, giggling. 

He absolutely loves the minions and squeals every time he sees them on the screen. After naptime, he and I lay on the floor for more tummy time while I try to teach him the sign language I’ve been learning. My baby brother, Eli, was also born with hearing issues, so thankfully I knew some when he was growing up, but I’ve also been teaching myself more since I found out Max was deaf.

At the end of the day, and getting some more work done, along with dinner, I give Max his bath. He’s always loved bath time, except for the few times water lands in his ears. Since it’s his favorite, I give him one every day, which doesn’t put too much strain on the water bill ‘cause Max’s baby bath is small and doesn’t take a lot of water.

When bedtime rolls ‘round, I curl up on my new bed with Max cuddled to my chest with my shirt tightly gripped in one hand and his shark blankie in the other. I rub his back and hum softly so he can feel the vibrations from it as he drifts off to sleep. We keep the routine up for the next month a half. During this time, I never talk to my landlord, not even when I go to give him the rent.

I mean, yeah, I’ll see him occasionally ‘round the building, but he doesn’t say a word. He just looks at me for a moment, before dropping his head and walking away. It breaks my heart ‘cause I want to talk to him. We had so much fun talking and goofing off the night he helped me move in. But, since that day I had to rush off to the airport, we haven’t spoken.

I just resigned myself to knowing that he obviously thinks we’re nothing more than landlord and tenant. Which, honestly, make me sad ‘cause I thought we’d have become friends. He was the first person that was actually nice to me after I moved to the city. I also tuck down the feelings of the crush on him I have.

He reminds me a lot of Papa Winchester from my favorite tv show, Supernatural, and I’ve always had the hots for the oldest Winchester. Even my ex-fiancé knew that, and she agreed. See, we’re both bisexual, but I’d always thought she was the one. Until I caught her in bed, our bed, with a man, and she’d told me what she did.

The six months after we broke up were the hardest, ‘cause I’d been ready to marry her. But it didn’t work out. And after I’d moved to New York, met my landlord Max, and realized I’d had a crush on him, I was starting to come to terms with maybe moving on. Getting back out there. I mean, I knew there’d probably be nothing more than a friendship with my landlord, but I was ok with that.

But, I don’t even have that anymore. I sigh to myself, urging my thoughts to go down a different road, as I pull the clothes out the dryer. Just as I finish pulling the last few clothes outta the dryer, I hear whimpering. I listen for a moment to try and figure out where the sound’s coming from so I can go get my son.

After a moment, and the realization that the sound of whimpers is coming from the falls, I try to tone down the feeling of panic that’s quickly spreading through my body. Max started crawling shortly after we moved here, and I know he’s been exploring the apartment. I just hope he hasn’t gotten himself stuck somewhere. 

I quickly leave the clothes on the dryer and walk further into the apartment, closer to the sound of the whimpers.

“Max? Honey? Don’t worry, ok? Mama’s coming to get you.”

I call out, without thinking ‘bout the fact that my son’s deaf. I call the words out based on instinct and the need to assure my son that he’s gonna be ok. I follow the noise, getting closer to the kitchen and my eyes widen. Did I forget to put the baby gate up so he couldn’t get in there? When I reach the kitchen and realize that I did indeed forget to put the baby gate, my heart drops to my stomach.

“Fuck!”

I step into the pantry where the sounds of the whimpers are louder and look ‘round. I don’t see my son anywhere. Then I hear the whimpers again and realize that they’re coming from the other side of the wall. I gently push against the right wall, to give myself leverage, as I keep looking, thinking there’s no way that the whimpers are coming from the walls.

My eyes widen as the wall shifts a little with my touch, and they nearly pop outta their sockets when I realize the wall isn’t just a wall. It’s a door that’s already slightly open. My heart starts beating faster as I realize that there’s a slight chance that Max could’ve crawled in here, and through the small opening.

I take in a shaky breath as I push the door open enough for my small frame to fit through. Once I’m through, I notice two things from the get-go. One, the whimpers get louder. Two, the door leads to what looks like an old set of maintenance hallways. I know older buildings used to have them, so it makes sense that this building would have ‘em too.

I just never really put the thought into asking or caring if the building had them. I make my way deeper into the hidden hallways, being careful not to trip or hit my head on anything. Keeping my eyes peeled for my son, I get closer to the sound of the whimpers until I finally reach the source. My eyes widen when I see who’s making the sounds.

“Max?” I ask, softly, getting closer.

My landlord doesn’t even look up as he flinches at the sound of my voice. He just whimpers and bites harder into his wrist. 

My heart breaks and I crouch down next to him, gently taking his hand and pulling his wrist from the tight grip his teeth have on it.

“Max? Honey, it’s ok. You’re safe.” I murmur.

He whimpers a little more and hides his face. I immediately realize what’s going on. He’s having a panic attack, and it looks to be a bad one. Rubbing my thumb across his knuckles, I lean closer to him, gently wrapping my arms ‘round the slightly older man, and pull him close to me. I reach a hand up and run my fingers through his hair, softly and silently convincing him to lay his head on my chest.

I soothe him, calm him, and help him relax ‘nough that he slowly eases outta the panic attack. Not stopping my fingers as they continue to run through his hair, I start humming softly. I know panic attacks are one of the worst things to go through. Especially all alone. It takes several minutes, but I eventually feel Max relax, sagging against me as the panic attack leaves him.

Even though he’s outta it, I continue to run my fingers through his dark curls. 

“Better?” I ask softly.

He nods, just a quick, subtle little jerk of his head against my chest, but it’s still a nod. 

“Will you come back to my apartment with me? I wanna take a look at your arm. You bit down on it pretty hard.” I explain after he looks at me with uncertainty swirling in his muddy water brown eyes.

He takes a deep breath but nods again. I smile.

“That’s a good boy. C’mon. We’ll get you all fixed up.” I say, not sounding patronizing, but rather motherly.

I smile to myself as a light blush covers his cheeks at my words. I gently pat his shoulder before we stand up. As I lead him back through the maintenance hallways to the door that leads into my pantry, I notice other little holes in the wall, discreetly checking them out. When I realize they show off different points of my apartment, I raise a brow but don’t say a word.

After peeking through one of the holes, I see Max, my son, sleeping peacefully in his little playpen and let out a soft breath of relief, remembering that I’d laid him in there when I went to do laundry. I hold my landlord’s hand the entire time we walk through the hallways if nothing more than to keep him calm.

When Max and I get to the door leading to the pantry, he suddenly stops, jerking me to a stop too since I wasn’t expecting it and had been leading him by the hand. I turn ‘round and look at him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused.

“The love of your life? Where’s he at?” He asks after, nervously, after a moment.

I smile. “He’s sleeping, in the other room. It’s ok.”

I watch as more hesitation and uncertainty fill Max’s eyes. I give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey. It’s ok. He won’t mind you being in there. He gets a bit protective over me, but I just know he’s gonna love you.” I assure him.

“I...I don’t think so...guys typically don’t like me. Neither do girls. I’m a loner.” He mumbles, looking at his feet while flicking his thumb against his finger on his other hand.

“Max?”

He lifts his head, looking at me. “Hmm?”

“Trust me. He’s gonna love you.”

He shrugs. “Nah. He won’t. ‘Specially not since he has you.”

“Hey. Stop doubting yourself, ok? He’s gonna love you ‘cause I like you.”

“You...you like me?”

I smile and nod. “I do. And you’d know that if you hadn’t been avoiding me since I had to leave so quickly to get to the airport.”

A small smile tugs on his lips. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you, Max. Now, c’mon. Let’s get your wrist all cleaned up, then you meet the person who stole my heart with just one look. And, he’s gonna steal yours too.”

I giggle and gently squeeze his hand as he looks nervous. I lead him into my apartment from the pantry, and into the living room. 

“Have a seat on the couch, ok? I’m just gonna go grab the first aid kit. Don’t try and leave. I’ll follow you and kick your door down if you do.” I playfully threaten. “I don’t mess around with first aid.”

Thankfully, it gets a chuckle outta him and he takes a seat on the couch, holding his hands up in surrender. I grin and head to my bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Walking back through my bathroom, I stop by the playpen, lean down and kiss my son’s head, covering him up more with his shark blankie.

Watching him for a moment, I smile to myself and head back to the living room. Max is still in the same spot he was when I left him a moment ago, but this time, he has his hands on his lap as he picks at the bite mark on his wrist. I gently slap his hand away. 

“Stop that, mister. You’ll do more damage than what you’ve already done.” I say, kneeling on the floor in front of him, between his knees. 

He raises a brow and mutters a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Good boy. Now hold your hand out so I can look at it.”

He blushes a little but does as I ask. Gently taking his arm in my grasp, I inspect the self-inflicted bite mark on his wrist. After cleaning it with some alcohol wipes and putting Neosporin on it, I gently wrap some gauze ‘round his wrist and tape it so it stays in place. Without thinking ‘bout it, I place a gentle kiss on over the wrapped wound.

It’s outta habit that I do it since I do it whenever my son gets a boo-boo. I hear Max suck in a deep breath and my eyes jerk up to meet his. His bottom lip is captured between his impossibly white teeth and his cheeks are a shade pinker than they were before.

“I...I’m sorry. It’s outta habit that I do that.” I mutter, trying to explain as quickly as I can.

“I...it’s fine. I’ve just never had anyone do that before.” He mumbles.

I raise a brow. “Your mama never kissed your boo-boos?”

His eyes get that sad, lost look in his eyes. He pulls his arm outta my grasp and, not answering, he walks over to the window. I sit back on my ankles, packing the first aid kid up. 

“Max...I’m sorry. I didn’t...you don’t have to talk ‘bout it.” I say quietly.

He just sighs and stares out the window, not saying a word. 

“My…” He starts, still staring out the window. “My parents died when I was 10. My grandfather, August, he’s the one who raised me.”

I stand and gently pad over to him. “I’m so sorry, Max. I didn’t know. I didn’t think before I asked that.”

He glances at me then looks back out the window. Without thinking, and just doing it, I wrap my arms ‘round his waist and lay my head against his chest. He tenses up immediately at my touch.

“What...what are you doing?” He asks.

I tilt my head back to look up at him. “It’s called a hug. It’s supposed to be comforting. I can stop if it makes you too uncomfortable.”

I watch as his facial expression changes with several different emotions before a smile finally settles on his lips.

“Nah. It’s not too uncomfortable. I’m just not used to this.” He says after a few moments. 

“This?” I ask.

He nods. “Hugs. I can’t even remember the last time I had one.”

I tighten my arms ‘round him and lay my head back on his chest. I feel his arms slowly make their way ‘round me, loosely holding me close, and I smile. 

“Whenever you want one, just come to me and I’ll happily give you one.” I say. “I’m not really much of a hugger, but with you, it just feels right, so you can have a hug whenever.”

“Really?” He asks.

I nod against his chest. “Mmhhmm.”

“Thanks...but...what ‘bout...the love of your life? Is he ok with you giving random men hugs?”

I giggle and look up at him. “You’re not a random man, but yes. He’d be ok with me giving you hugs. He loves them, so he’ll probably try and give you one too.”

“Um…” He hesitates, slowly dropping his arms. “I dunno how I feel ‘bout your man giving me hugs.”

I giggle. “You’ll change your mind when you meet him.”

“I dunno.”

“I do! Stay here. I’ll bring him out to you.”

“Ummm…”

I giggle and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Just wait here.”

He swallows deeply, making his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Ok.”

“Good boy.”

I giggle and leave him in the living as I walk into the other room where I know my son is. Reaching into the playpen, I scoop him up, making him giggle. I heard him cooing to himself a few moments ago, so that’s how I knew he was awake. I kiss his cheeks and gently tap his tummy twice. He makes a happy noise and snuggles to me.

I smile and hold him close as I walk back out to the living room. Max is looking out the window again, this time, though, he’s got his arms wrapped ‘round his torso, almost like he’s giving himself a hug. I giggle softly and make my way over to him.

“Max?”

He lifts his head and turns his gaze from the river to me. His eyes widen as he sees my son in my arms. Shock, confusion, and another emotion flash across his face. 

“Who? Who’s that?” He asks.

“Max, this is the love of my life. My son.” I say, grinning from ear to ear.

“Your son? Love of your life?”

I giggle and nod. “Mmhhmm. I adopted him when he was born. I can’t have kids myself, and my ex-fiancé and I had talked ‘bout adopting. So, we decided to do it. Found out that this little guy’s mama was putting him up for adoption before he was even born. Then, just before he was born, my ex-fiancé and I split. I still adopted this little monkey and it’s just been he and I against the world since.”

“But...that man...who was here...was that your former fiancé?”

I giggle and shake my head. “No! That was my oldest younger brother, Chris. He’d been watching Max for me while I got settled in the city. After I moved in here, I called him, and he brought my son out here and helped me get furniture and whatnot. I really wanted you to meet him while he was here...but you kept getting phone calls…”

“Your brother?” 

I smile and nod. “He’s the oldest of my two brothers, and I’m the oldest of all the kids.”

“Oh…”

I giggle. “Yea.”

“Those phone calls...they weren’t actually phone calls.”

I raise a brow. “You mean to tell me you faked ‘em just so you wouldn’t have to come over?”

He looks down, nodding. “You just seemed so happy with him. I thought y’all were together and that the kid was y’all’s. It…” He shakes his head, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

“Max, I wasn’t lying when I told you I was single the first night I spent here. But I also didn’t tell you that there is a guy I like.”

“Oh...well...I don’t wanna meet him…”

I giggle. “Too late. You already have.”

He frowns. “I have?”

Nodding, I grin and take his hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you who he is.”

“I don’t wanna…”

“Tooooo bad, mister.” 

I giggle and lead him to the bathroom, standing him in front of the mirror as I stand next to him, holding my son.

“I thought you were showing me someone I don’t wanna see.” He says, his voice quiet.

“I am. Tell me who you see.” I say, grinning.

“Me. I see me, you, and your son.” 

“Exactly. So, you see the guy I have a crush on.”

“Isn’t that a little weird to have a crush on your son?”

I giggle. “Yea. So, it’s a good thing he’s not who I have crush on.”

His brows furrow in confusion and I giggle and gently turn him to face me.

“You’re adorable.” I say.

“How?” He asks, confused even more. 

“You’re just not getting it, are you?”

He shakes his head. “No?”

“Max, you’re the guy I like.”

“Me?”

Nodding, I smile. “You.”

I watch as he gets the cutest, dimpled smile on his face, making me giggle more. He blushes and ducks his head down for a moment before looking at me.

“You really like me?” He asks, softly.

“Mmhhmm. I do. I just thought you didn’t like me since you kept ignoring me.” I say.

“I was just trying to distance myself...I thought you were with that guy, who’s actually your brother...I thought he was your ex-fiancé that you’d mentioned that first night...that you’d taken him back.”

I giggle. “Oh, Max. My ex-fiancé was a woman. Who cheated on me with a man. In our own bed.”

His eyes widen. “You were with a girl? But...you like me?”

“I’m what you’d call bisexual. I play for both teams. I like guys and girls.”

“Oh!” He lets out a soft chuckle. “So...what’s this mean? For us?”

I giggle. “It means, that I’d like to date you. If you want that.”

He grins, making his dimples show more. “I’d...I’d like that.”

“Me too! We just have to get someone’s permission first.”

“Permission? From?”

I smile and turn my son ‘round to face him. “Max here has to approve first. I have to think of him now, especially when it comes to relationships.”

Max nods and looks at my son, then back at me. “Wait. His name’s Max?”

I smile. “Maxwell Dean Sullivan. Sometimes, though, I’ll call him Deaf.” (Deef.)

“Why?”

“Oh. He’s deaf.”

“Oh!”

I smile and nod then look down at my son as he wiggles in my arms, reaching out for Max. I giggle and gently hold him out, waiting for him to take him. Max gently, and somewhat nervously, takes my little boy, and cradles him.

“Awww! You’re like a pro!” I grin.

“I’m not gonna lie. I’m scared shitless. He’s so small.” He whispers.

I giggle. “You’re also really big. Max and I are both small compared to you. And you help me close and gently.”

This gets a soft chuckle from my landlord and he visibly relaxes, shifting Max so he’s a little more comfortable. My son giggles and reaches up, patting Max’s cheeks, squealing at the feeling of the short beard tickling his tiny palms. I smile and lean against the mirror, watching them. 

“I think Deaf likes you.” I say.

“Yea? You really think so?” Max looks up and he visibly tenses as he soon as he sees me leaning against the mirror. “Don’t lean against that. Please.”

I raise a brow, but step away from the mirror. “Why not?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t, Max. It seems like a sturdy mirror. Plus, the wall behind it keeps it up.”

He lowers his gaze and hands my son back to me, much to my son’s protests and my own confusion. 

“I...I should go...just please don’t lean against the mirror.” Max says quietly and turns to leave.

I reach a hand out and curl my fingers ‘round his upper arm. 

“Hey. Stop. You don’t have to go.” I say.

He nods. “I do. There’s stuff you don’t know ‘bout me...I’m not a good man…”

I raise a brow. “Max. Aside from ignoring me for the last several weeks, we’ve still been good to me. You are a good man. I know you are.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but can’t help.”

A thought hits me and I look up at him. “You mean the holes in the walls? That allows someone to peep through into my apartment?”

His face pales and I get my answer. I reach up and cup his cheek. 

“Max. It’s ok. I saw him when I was leading you back to my place to fix your wrist. The walls...they’re your safe place, aren’t they?” I ask, softly.

“It’s quiet in there. I like the silence.” He mumbles, closing his eyes. “I can watch...and it calms me.”

“Have you watched me?”

He swallows deeply. “I tried not to...but I…”

“Shhh. It’s ok, Max. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m not. Some might think it’s creepy, but in a way, it’s like you’re watching over, protecting me. Me and Deaf.”

“I...I didn’t think of that.”

I smile and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. “It helps you stay calm, watching me?”

He nods. “I can’t hear the voices…”

“What voices?”

“The ones telling me…” He shudders.

“Breathe, Max. It’s ok. What do they tell you?”

“That I’m a coward. A pervert. A creep.” 

His reply is so quiet I almost don’t hear it. But I do. I place my palm back against his cheek.

“Is that why you bit your wrist earlier?” I ask softly.

He nods. “To make them shut up.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it alone anymore, ok? I’ll tell those voices to shut up too.”

He opens his eyes and looks at me, unsure. 

“I will.” I assure him.

“But...why?” His child-like voice breaks my heart.

“Because, they’re lying to you, Max. The things they tell you, they’re not true. You’re not a creep. Not a pervert. And you are definitely not a coward.”

“But...I am.”

“No, Max. You’re not. You’re not any of those. You’re just a man who needs someone to show him what it’s like to be loved. You didn’t have a good childhood. Losing your parents, and having your grandfather raise you. But you survived. You grew up. You coped with everything thrown your way in the ways that you knew how. You’re a survivor, Max. And, that alone makes you the furthest thing from being a creep and a coward. As for being a pervert, I don’t think you’re that either.”

He doesn’t say a word, but he leans into my touch more.

“How do you know?” He asks after a few minutes.

“I know, because I can tell you’re not. Believe me, I grew up ‘round ‘nough perverts to know that’s not you. You’re nothing like them. That’s how I know.” I whisper.

“You still like me?” He lifts his eyes to meet mine.

“I do, Max. And, I’m gonna show you what it’s like to be loved. We’ll get there. And Deaf here, this little boy in my arms, he’ll show you too. I told you he’d love you when he met you.”

“He does?”

I smile and nod. “He doesn’t reach out to just anyone. It took him months just to go to my brother. But it took him maybe 5 minutes to go to you. And, kids are usually really good judges of character. Just like dogs. So, I can assure you he doesn’t think you’re anything like what the voices tell you.”

He nods slowly and looks down at the little boy in my arms. 

“He is cute.” He mumbles.

I giggle. “Damn right he is! He’s my son.”

Max chuckles softly. “That’s true. But...you’re not cute.”

I raise a brow and look at him. “That’s not exactly the best thing to say to your new girlfriend.”

He grins. “Girlfriend? I like the sound of that...but you’re not cute. You’re beautiful.”

I blush. “So are you. Ain’t you can’t argue with me. The girlfriend’s always right.”

He laughs softly. “Is that so?”

“Mmhhmm! Now. I believe there’s a little boy who wants to be held by you.”

He smiles and kisses my palm before standing up straight and gently taking Max from my arms, holding him close. 

“As for the mirror, Max. We’ll just board up the other side.” I say, getting the picture, from his reaction, that it’s one of those mirrors like police station interrogation rooms have. “And, you won’t have to go back into the tunnels anymore. You have me and Max now. We’ll be here for you.”

He swallows deeply and nods. “Promise?”

“I promise promise, Max. But, know that if you ever cheat on me, I’ll cut your dick and balls off.”

His eyes widen as he nods. “I...I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

I smile. “Good. And I wouldn’t do it to you either.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “So...does this mean...that I have a family?”

I smile. “Yes, Max. It does. We’re your family now, and you’re our family.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Drabble 2020 - “To Tree or Not to Tree” (Rated NC17)

Summary: When Blaine tells Kurt that they're going out to "get a tree", Kurt never imagined they'd be trekking up a freezing cold mountainside to chop one down. (2820 words)

Notes: A re-vamp for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'farm'.

Read on AO3.

“Oh. My. God!” Kurt groans, hopping out of his SUV and sinking up to his ankles in snow. “I thought you were kidding about this!”

“Nope.” Blaine rounds to the hatch of Kurt’s Navigator and pops it. He unzips a duffel he brought with, one Kurt had hoped was filled with fun surprises like a picnic lunch that they could enjoy in the vehicle with the heater blasting before they braved the weather to get their Christmas tree from a quaint but upscale tree farm, the kind that smells strongly of cinnamon pine cones and which offers customers plastic flutes filled with sparkling cider as they pass over the threshold into an idyllic Winter Wonderland lit by twinkling white fairy lights beneath the cover of a gigantic canopy. 

He’d dressed entirely in brands that Vogue recently featured in their center spread and had planned on snapping a few shots for the website - kill two birds with one stone. He’d even lent Blaine a few pieces he’d squirreled from The Vault. He could see the whole layout in his head. Behind his eyelids, the slideshow of images he had planned was fabulous.

But no. 

Disturbingly, Blaine pulls out a wood-handled ax, along with a pair of safety goggles; thick, brown gloves; and some rope. He holds them up for Kurt to see. “Totally not kidding."

“Do we really have to cut down a tree?” Kurt asks, watching Blaine gear up, a one-man wrecking crew, leading Kurt to the conclusion that he should stay at the SUV and let Blaine go on this ridiculous errand alone. 

“Yes, we do.” Rope looped over his arm and dangling across his chest, Blaine hoists his ax over one shoulder and begins the journey, carving a neat path up the slowly rising incline as Kurt follows behind, contemplating his options. He has the keys. He could definitely implement the stay behind and keep the heater company fantasy. But there is the small matter of he loves Blaine. He would be miserable and lonely waiting hours in the SUV without him. Besides, considering how well Blaine fills out those North Face pants and Carhartt jacket, Kurt sees how he can make this work in his favor. The new outdoorsman, who can go from big city to big country in the blink of an eye (courtesy of the right separates).

He’s not married to that headline, but he can hash it out as he goes.

“You do know there’s a Christmas tree farm right there,” Kurt points out, raising his voice to be heard over the howling wind. When Blaine peeks over his shoulder, Kurt throws out an arm in the direction that they came. Past the snow-covered asphalt lot, where Kurt’s SUV is currently one of five cars parked, stretch miles of evergreens, cut down and mounted onto wooden stands, waiting to be plucked, flocked, and paid for.

“Cutting down a tree has been a tradition in my family since before I was born,” Blaine says. 

Kurt looks at him sideways. “I ... didn’t know that.”

“Yup."

"How did I not know that? We've been married for three years!"

Blaine turns a full circle as he walks and gives Kurt a wink. "I guess I'm just full of surprises."

"You're full of something," Kurt mumbles under his breath.

"It's a tradition," Blaine continues, unaware of his husband's grousing. "One I want to hand down to our children someday.”

“Can’t we get them a pony instead?”

“I recommend not stomping up this incline,” Blaine advises, changing the subject, “or you’re going to exhaust yourself. I’m not sure I can carry you and a tree back down this mountain.”

"Hmph. Not with that attitude, you can't."

It’s a crisp December day, almost too cold to bear. The difference in temperature between the city and where they ended up is so drastic, it’s hard to believe they’re still in the same state. A perfect day to sit by the fire while binge-watching Netflix, with a cup of hot cocoa beside a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. Kurt had everything he needed to make that happen, too, except the tree. 

Kurt and Blaine had yet to have a day off together to pick one out. 

So when Blaine came home, tossed Kurt a coat, and said, “Grab your keys! We’re getting a tree!” Kurt had been ecstatic! Until he discovered that Blaine’s idea of “getting a tree” wasn’t a simple matter of driving to a tree farm and picking out a decent six-foot Scotch Pine. 

No. 

Blaine had Kurt drive over an hour away from civilization to a place where there are no Starbucks, spotty WiFi, and no doors on the bathroom stalls.

The snow on the ground at this altitude is deep, becoming deeper as the slope of the mountain rises. And as breathtaking as the world looks from this elevation, Kurt hates everything about this. He hates the snow getting into his boots, soaking his three pairs of socks. He hates the wind that seems to purposefully sweep down the mountain straight into his face. Blaine walking ahead, right in front of him, does nothing to provide a barrier from the wind.

That’s because Blaine is loving this. And as a reward, the wind must be going right through him.

Blaine leads them deeper into woods that climb higher and higher. Even though the man who greeted them at the entrance, dressed in head-to-toe red flannel and brown corduroy, directed them up the mountain, saying this was the place locals preferred to get their trees, Blaine and Kurt don’t see anyone else past the tree line. The air gets thinner. The sunlight off the snow is brighter, blindingly bright, but it doesn’t offer Kurt or his rapidly chapping cheeks any warmth. He folds his arms over his chest and shoves his gloved hands underneath his armpits, but it doesn’t help thaw the tips of his fingers, which he can’t feel anymore.

“There are trees everywhere up here!” Kurt complains.

“Yeah! Isn’t it great!”

“Pick one! What are you doing?” Kurt gripes when they pass a swath of gorgeous trees and yet keep walking.

“I'm searching.”

“For what?”

“I’m looking for the perfect tree.”

“And what constitutes the perfect tree, in your opinion? Because from what I can see, we passed over two dozen perfect trees getting here!”

“When you see the perfect tree, you’ll know the perfect tree.”

Kurt has no idea what the heck that means but decides not to ask for clarification in an effort to get them off this frickin’ mountain and home quicker. Home equals warmth, comfort, and not succumbing to hypothermia. “Well, what about this one?” Kurt asks, pointing to a tree on his right.

“Ooo! That’s a good one!” Blaine says.

“Really?” Kurt asks, surprised that he got it right on the first try. Maybe he has a knack for this, like his knack for fashion. He does have an eye for aesthetics. “So this is the perfect tree?”

“Nope.”

Kurt stumbles. "Oh." He did not expect that answer. Eager to prevail, he points out another one. “This one?”

“No.”

“O-kay, what about this one?”

“Not quite, but good try.”

Kurt would throw his hands up in frustration, but his arms are locked in place, hugging his chest. 

“How did you become the tree authority?”

“Years of practice.”

“If you’re the one with the tree picking knowledge, what am I doing here that I couldn’t do at home where we have eggnog and cable?”

“You get to marvel in awe at my magnificent strength and skill.”

“I can’t help but remind you that I could be marveling at your strength and skill at home while you hold me up against the wall in our bedroom and make love to me.”

“True. But seeing as we did that all of last night and Mr. Mulroney has the night shift tonight, I thought it would be nice if we let the poor man sleep.”

“The walls in our apartment are thin, aren’t they?”

“They really are.”

They pass through a tight cluster of trees and enter a small clearing, coming upon a scene right out of a Hallmark Channel movie. God rays shine through the foliage overhead, lighting a single tree in the center. In the quiet of this enclosed glade, Kurt can’t hear the whistling wind, and he immediately begins to feel warmer. All they need now are cartoon animals bringing them presents and an angelic choir singing carols and they’ll be starring in their own Christmas special. 

It would be ideal, Kurt thinks, considering he’s a motherless child and he’s standing beside an elf. He puts a pin in it, with a plan to write up a treatment as soon as they get back to their apartment.

Provided he doesn’t lose any of his fingers before then.

Blaine tosses the rope aside. He walks reverently up to the center tree and stops in front of it. He opens his arms wide, ax clutched in his right fist. “Here,” he declares. “Here it is.”

Kurt looks at the tree in front of them, then at all the identical trees surrounding it. “Here what is?”

“Our perfect tree.”

“And what makes this tree any different from the sixty or more trees we passed hiking up here?”

“This one’s fuller, more symmetrical, with an almost pyramid top.” When Kurt doesn’t immediately agree, Blaine motions to the tree more vehemently, trying to get his point across. “It’s just more … more tree than those other trees. More Christmas …” Blaine turns to his husband standing off to the side behind him, arms crossed, head tilted. Blaine sighs. “You obviously don’t know your Christmas trees. If you can’t see why this one’s superior, I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Sorry.” 

“You’ll see the difference when it’s up in our apartment.” Blaine grips his ax with both hands and gets into position. “Okay! Stand back!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice. I love you, Blaine, but I have no intention of getting anywhere near you and that instrument of death.” 

Kurt takes a step back, then three more as Blaine hoists the ax behind him. Kurt fishes his iPhone out of his pocket, preparing to document what is either going to be the sexiest thing Blaine has ever done, or evidence for the investigators who might try to pin Blaine's grisly death on him. Either way, watching Blaine attempt to chop down a tree might actually be worth wet socks and a nightmare case of the flu.

Kurt holds up his phone with the camera app accessed, ready to film as Blaine takes his first swing, which, surprisingly, buries the blade a respectable depth into the wood. But it’s the pullback that gets Kurt, the way Blaine locks his feet in the snow, bends at the knees, and dislodges the ax. Kurt can’t see Blaine’s back through his coat, but he imagines the play of his muscles, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the cut of his delts showing through as they strain with effort. Kurt has seen Blaine naked over a hundred times, has watched the man make love to him in videos they’ve made. He envisions everything going on beneath Blaine’s clothes as he swings that ax … and the frigid air around him doesn't feel quite as cold anymore.

“Mmmm …” Kurt hits record and focuses his camera on his husband’s assets. After a minute of chopping, Blaine realizes Kurt has stopped commenting. He lowers his ax and takes a breather, catching the tail end of his husband's complimentary hum.

“Mmmm what?” Blaine turns, curious to see what Kurt has been doing that’s kept him quiet this whole time. He raises an eyebrow when he sees the phone in Kurt’s hands. “Are you ... recording me?”

“Maybe,” Kurt says, biting his lower lip. “You know, now that I get a good look at it, you did find the best tree on the mountain. And watching you cut it down is becoming a massive turn on. You being all lumberjack-ish is kind of hot.”

Blaine grins, leveling the ax over his shoulder. “Only kind of?”

“Well, yeah.” Kurt switches off his camera app and puts his phone back in his pocket, seeing a make-out break forthcoming. “The walk up the mountain took a lot out of me.”

Blaine leans his ax against the trunk of a tree and saunters up to his husband. “Well then … perhaps I can put something in you.”

Kurt snorts. “Okay, that’s cheesy as hell ... but I wish you would."

With a suggestive smile on his frosty lips, Blaine wraps one arm around Kurt’s waist and pulls him closer, his other hand reaching between them to fondle the bulge growing in the front of Kurt’s jeans. He tugs at the buttons of Kurt’s fly, and Kurt knows Blaine has more on his mind than kissing. He shoots an anxious look around their private nook. “What? Here?”

“Why not? We’re alone. There’s no one else around. No one will see us or hear us. You can scream all you want.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds like we're in a horror movie!"

"Is that your only objection?"

"No. I'm objecting because it’s freezing!”

“Come on …” Blaine takes off his gloves and begins unbuttoning Kurt’s wet coat, starting at the middle and working down. “I’m not going to strip us naked or anything. Besides, you’ll warm up in no time. You know what they say about body heat …”

“This reminds me of one of those bad amateur porn videos on the Internet. The ones that try to have a storyline, but the acting is so awful it turns into a comedy?”

“As a professional actor, I think I take offense to that.” Blaine nuzzles past Kurt’s icy jaw and into the warm skin of his neck. “What videos are you watching anyway?”

“I can show you. Maybe we can … you know … watch one or two … when we get home …” Kurt stutters, shivering when Blaine’s cold lips connect with his flesh, then melting beneath the heat of his husband’s tongue. Blaine walks Kurt backward, away from their half-chopped pine to the shelter of a different tree, moving them a safe distance on the off chance the poor thing decides to finish itself off without their help.

“Oh, God! Kurt!” Blaine moans, warming his hands by wedging them between the soft skin of Kurt’s groin and his growing erection.

“Blaine,” Kurt murmurs as his husband sucks a mark into the sensitive skin of his collarbone, “I just … I just want you to know that … if we freeze to death … or get eaten by a bear … I’m blaming you entirely.”

Blaine grabs Kurt’s trembling hands and brings them to the zipper of his pants. “Fair enough.”

***

“Welp. That was less than memorable,” Kurt grumbles, trying to re-button his jeans with numb fingers. “I hope that doesn’t become part of the tradition.”

“For the ninth time, I slipped!” an embarrassed Blaine says, teeth chattering, rushing to help Kurt do up his now useless coat. “I didn’t mean for us to take a nose dive into the snow!”

“Who would have thunk that fucking on ice would be dangerous!?" Kurt says sarcastically. "Christ! I must look like a wet French poodle!"

"That's ... oddly specific."

In an attempt to salvage the look he had going, Kurt tries combing his fingers through his hair but hits resistance. “Ugh! I think I’ve got sap in my hair.” He tugs and tugs, abandoning his attempts with a huff after he manages to get his fingers free … along with a sizeable chunk of hair. 

“Fucking on ice,” Blaine repeats with a chuckle. “That sounds like an X-rated skating show.”

Kurt glares at his husband, unamused. “Yeah. Hilarious. Can we go back to getting our perfect tree now, Grizzly Adams?”

“I don’t know …” Blaine looks at the tree they’d been fucking against before his enthusiastic thrusting caused them to slip and take a header into the snow. “I think I like this one now.” He pats the trunk, shaking loose a minor avalanche from the branches that contains more needles than snow.

Kurt steps back, making a face as he judges the less than spectacular tree. “Why?”

“We had sex on it. That makes it ours.”

“This isn’t a department store, Blaine. I don’t think you break it, you buy it applies here.”

“I think this falls more under the guidelines of I licked it, now it’s mine.”

“I understand the sentiment, but this one’s got a dent in it.” Kurt snickers. “A dent shaped like your ass.”

“That’s a good thing,” Blaine says, walking off to retrieve his ax. “We’ll know which side to face toward the wall.”