#I remember getting folded by a ten year old girl when I was fifteen and about three years into learning taekwondo

[the-millennium-curse]

Top 978 most liked comments on a youtube clip of a woman being badass in a movie: "WOw this is incredible, this is how you write badass women, notice how she never matches the men in physical strength or skill or knowledge and how she Knows Her Limits and how the writers Know Her Limits and how her Limits are objectively more limiting than all of the men's. This is how you do REAL strong female characters. Nothing like that slop all those other writers put out to pander to the overwhelmingly huge demographic of people who love watching women win against men."

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fifteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Sixteen on Ao3

or read Chapter Sixteen below the cut

Astarion probably should not let Shadowheart linger unattended for so long. He’d spent much of the last two days hiding from Isolde, either taking a sentinel position beside Aurelia as she slept, or else also hiding from Aurelia while she was awake. His security let him know Shadowheart had arrived and was lingering on the edges of the estate, but he took a few extra moments before he went out to meet her, and in that time, she’d found a mark. Of course.

Not that he should concern himself. Isolde, for all her fragility, and for all the ways in which she’d so often been the distressed damsel in need of galant rescue—ultimately, he couldn't continue to take responsibility for her. He needed to let her go get herself into trouble that he wouldn’t save her from, eventually. 

Still, the idea of finding her wandering the streets of Baldur’s Gate in a few weeks, time, emotionless, and unable to recall who he was—unacceptable. He’d make sure that Shadowheart undid whatever she had worked on the poor girl before she left. He led the Mother Superior to his office in silence, a little bit weighed down himself. Shadowheart was potent today. Her very presence made him feel… strange.

They’d had no appointment, but he could assume that her visit probably had something to do with what had happened the other day. He fell into one chair without a word, regarding her with what he hoped was confident, skewering expectation.

Far too familiar with the vampire lord to be intimidated, Shadowheart turned away in a gesture that he strongly suspected was meant to hide her rolling eyes, and merely paced the room before him, pretending to be interested in the paintings and kneading at the old wound in her hand absently. Strange. He’d thought that well healed.

He was grateful for the distance, he decided after a few seconds. If she got much closer to him, the whisper of Shar might start to buzz a little louder in his ears than the whispers of the night.

“She’s sweet,” Shadowheart finally observed.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you went in for sweet.”

“I’m not that picky, and she’s not that sweet.”

“You are picky,” Shadowheart laughed at him, but it was warmer than he’d heard from her in some time. “Predictable.”

“Uncalled for,” Astarion flashed his teeth at her.

“Reliable then,” Shadowheart shrugged, “means the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“Need something, do you?” Astarion wondered.

Shadowheart eyed the chair in front of his desk, empty. She swanned into it gracefully, folding her legs and clasping her hands together. “Let’s talk,” she suggested. These words came and left such quiet in their wake. No whisper of Shar, no voices of the night. The presence of the Chosen of Shar was especially dark today.

Irked all over again, Astarion remembered what he’d overheard in Jahiera and Minthara’s thoughts at the Eltans’ the other day. Their idle speculations that Shadowheart didn’t associate with those she cared about when they were already tipping towards darkness. Did she have some reason to believe his mood had changed, or had she decided she didn’t care about him anymore? Or, perhaps it was the goddess herself who wanted something with Astarion? Or, was it all a load of bollocks anyway?

When Astarion neither protested, nor began to spill all his secrets at her, Shadowheart let out a slow breath and took in the middle-distance before she began, “so, you’ve grown bored of your paramore, and she’s quite hurt, and that’s the end of it, am I correct?”

“Astounding insight. Bravo.”

“You shouldn’t second guess yourself,” Shadowheart ignored his sarcasm and seemed to take his words at face value, forcing him to do the same. Gods, that was one trick he’d never quite managed to pull off. He hated to admit it, but she was just better at this kind of thing than he was. Probably came very naturally with the territory of being a Chosen of Shar. “Your instincts are correct. You should let her go.”

“That is the plan,” Astarion narrowed his gaze at Shadowheart, unsettled by the uncertainty of what she was trying to get at.

“You’re so good at those,” it was her turn to be sarcastic and she risked the smallest wrinkle to her eyes, as she continued to search him. “But truly. I do mean to commend you. There are few people I know, who have not yet embraced my mistress, with such an innate understanding of the rewards one can expect from consummate loss. From letting the past die.”

That iced him over and set his jaw. Shadowheart knew better than to preach to him. He’d only had to tell her off the one time and she learned her lesson about trying to convert him. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the gods, especially not that vindictive bitch, Shar. What was she driving at? They regarded each other in total silence for a few tense moments while he considered how to respond. A tantrum wouldn’t suit—wouldn’t even feel good. Pushing back felt redundant. He could tell by the way she looked at him that the problem wasn’t her own memory. She knew full well that she was irritating him. She was doing it on purpose. Trying to provoke him? To what ignominious end? “Such dark wisdom,” he hissed, “whatever could I have done to earn the loving ministrations of a Chosen of a Goddess?” he asked through clenched fangs.

“The Lady of Loss accepts all who accept loss. Her shade embrace is a void. All will come to her, eventually.” And through her delivery, he saw, finally, conviction. She really did believe that.

But, he still didn’t think that sincere belief was the motivation to speak to him now. She knew how he felt. He’d lost quite enough. There was acceptance, and then there was fixation. What she described was the latter.

“We all get there. Certain souls have quite the talent for getting there more quickly through your own misguided attempts to find something that will fill you in such a way that my dark lady could not simply hollow you out again. On your way to oblivion, if you take up and leave behind little pebbles as you go, so be it. So long as the destination is utter absence. ”

“Is that how you see your beloved gith? A pebble to pick up and discard?” If Astarion wounded her with that little jab, she didn’t show it.

Shadowheart’s demeanor was still that of a patient teacher with a very dull student. “You could sculpt more heartbreak, for both of you. If it was your pleasure to do so. You could stop her leaving, say whatever you need to in order to convince her, lie to her, about how different it might be. With more time. With her sweetness.” He reassessed his previous impression that he hadn’t hurt her feelings, bringing up Lae’zel like that. There was vitriol in her words now. “I don’t think it would take much pressure at all. But what would come of it? You would only delay the loss of her. You should let me have her now. While it’s the plan.”

There was absolutely no way in all the fucking hells he was going to let that happen—and then, before he could open his mouth to say so, he saw her massage at her hand again and faltered.

Oh, gods.

She was managing him. And herself. He felt a slight twinge of embarrassment that he hadn’t picked up on the full extent of her manipulation sooner.

Whether or not Jahiera and Minthara were right about what Shadowheart’s personal rules might be—the fact was, she did have rules. Her short tether to her dark lady affected everything she said and did. She was powerful, but that power came with obligations. She could never say what she wanted to say. She had to say what Shar wanted her to say.

“You can have whomever you like, whenever you like,” Astarion let his tone fall into relaxed flippancy again. “I certainly won’t stand between you and a promising, uh…” he’d almost said victim, “congregant.”

“Well,” Shadowheart brightened ever so slightly, “I’ll admit, I was intending for this to purely be a short social call. I don’t afford myself to take many of those these days, but I can see now that my mistress guided me to do her bidding after all. And you helped prepare the way. Many thanks.”

She didn't need to twist the knife, but Astarion acknowledged it was so very like Shadowheart to do so. “Was there anything else?” Astarion tried not to sound too suspicious, but wasn’t there more? She’d never before stopped by just to look in.

Shadowheart shrugged, “I merely meant to meet the woman I failed to help you with, and see how you fared.”

“Solicitous of you,” he still didn’t believe her.

“We’re neighbors, after all,” Shadowheart arose from her seat, rolling her closed parasol in her hands. It was a disguised channeling rod, he was sure of it. He hadn’t known her to use one of those in the past. “I can see myself out.”

“Hmm. Tah tah.”

#

No sooner had Shadowheart quit the room than she sped up. She wasn’t sure why she felt such a drive to get out, to get far away from this place, but the feeling had been building for several minutes. Almost since the instant she was alone with Astarion.

It was the discomfort in her hand. It had been mild at first, so she barely picked up on it, could have easily dismissed it, if it hadn’t been so persistent. The thing had started to heal after she embraced Lady Shar completely, five years earlier. There had even been a time where she thought the damn thing was finally gone forever.

But the old pain, that punitive anger from her lady, never really went away, because her spirit was still so weak. Sharrans valued obedience above all else, so it often humbled Shadowheart to remember that it was her greatest flaw in her devotion. For every time she did exactly what Shar asked, no matter what it was, there were always dozens of small rebellions that were still counted against her. Rubbing at it helped a little, and she slowed her pace again, caught her breath, as she neared the exit of the palace. Her hand tingled, and stopped keening.

That hadn’t been so bad, she decided, with a slow exhale. Credit where it was due, she hadn’t said anything to Astarion that went against the dogma. The problem wasn’t the words themselves, it was the receptacle, and Shadowheart’s sure knowledge that saying those things to Astarion was guaranteed to have a specific effect on him, and one that was not entirely in keeping with Shar’s wishes.

It was fine. The girl was no specific target. It wasn’t as though Shar had sent her to collect Isolde—she was nobody, just a convenient wandering, despondent waif. Easy to collect. Shadowheart had been nearly instinctive about the whole thing. It was only when she saw Astarion that she reconsidered what she’d just done to Isolde. To the pair of them, really.

Astarion was not doing well, even for him. For all his faults, Shadowheart had to admit that she had always enjoyed their conversations. He had a way of being present and attentive that she appreciated. It helped that he was so easy for her to read, even—perhaps especially—when he was lying. Today though, she had seen him losing focus, guarding something. Successfully. She was impressed.

And Shadowheart hoped it was just the girl. He liked her more than he thought he should, and he didn't know what to do with that. Cute.

If that was all it was.

She didn't want to consider what else it could be.

Nothing good.

It was shaded and blue outside, dark enough that lamplighters were out. She could see them like fireflies in the vast view of the lower city below the balcony.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a small bodied person shift beside the same trellis she'd been lurking under when she met Isolde. A child? She started, but her eyes barely fell over the little golden-skinned gith when her hand suddenly spasmed, anticipating a bolt of pain before she felt it, almost warning her to brace herself. The pain was so intense that it blinded her, stopped her breath. She felt her knees come loose beneath her. She didn't realize she was falling until her body connected with the ground.

She was prone there until she managed to catch a breath that became a whimper that she had to stifle. She sat up, afraid to look at her hand. It was as bad as she had ever seen it, no longer faded to pale scar tissue, but angry and inflamed once more. 

Left in silence, she did not need to hear her mistress' voice to know how she felt. Shadowheart’s passive efforts to give Astarion a little motivation to mend things with his paramour had been noticed. She should have known better than to try and do anything clandestine that Shar wouldn't approve of. The clandestine was part of Shar’s domain.

“Forgive me,” she murmured.

There was nothing to see beside the trellis any longer. Shadowheart was certain she hadn't imagined the child.

#

After the office door clicked closed, Astarion wondered if he really ought to just let Shadowheart go, but only for the few seconds it took him to decide that trying to make her stay was too dangerous an idea to entertain. He probably could force her to undo what she’s done to Isolde, but he could just as easily do it himself, without risking the wrath of Shar. Besides, there was a very good chance that Shadowheart had already done everything that she safely could do for them; she’d changed her course after battering Isolde and then let him know, in her own way, that he had put Isolde at risk with his pointed neglect, and that Shadowheart (and by extension Shar) had taken advantage of that risk by digging into the pain she was experiencing.

The emptiness lingered in the air, making it just a little bit harder than it had ever been to get up from his desk and leave the office. That effect of being in Shadowheart’s presence wasn’t always so bad. She had been a normal half-elf maiden when they first met, but as her power grew, so did the mantle of Shar. He thought she probably had some ability to temper the effect, but if so, she hadn’t done so. Not tonight.

Astarion felt heavy, numb, and wholly ill equipped to try and bring Isolde back from the edge of despair. But, there was nothing else to it. Probably the easiest thing to do would be to initiate physical intimacy.

Yes. Easy. Direct. But, perhaps, not effective.

The only way to combat the thick miasma of Shar’s emptiness was to live, to feel, to be fulfilled. Sex could do that, but it could also be utterly empty, something he was sure Shar took advantage of whenever possible. He had centuries of experience to know that.

As he walked down the hallway to Isolde’s room, listening for some sign that she’d gone back there. If he focused he could sense her heartbeat and flowing pulse just out of sight and through a layer of stone. He paused, considering his options. If he just strode in there right now, with no idea what to say or do, he would default to old habits, something he was sure Shar could use.

Alternatively, anger was something. Anger was a feeling, just as reviled by Shar as any other feeling that existed where she thought there should be nothing at all. If they fought, that might drive away the supernatural oppression that they were both experiencing.

But, a fight might just as easily play into Shar’s game. He couldn’t practically believe that he would keep Isolde out of the House of Grief by fighting with her. 

He didn’t want to actually hold her captive either.

That really only left one option and it cowed him to a standstill, to have a staring contest with her door.

He had to talk to her. Really speak with her, and get her to acknowledge and work through all the feelings that he’d so intentionally cultivated in her over the last few, silent days.

And he wasn’t sure he was up to it.

It had been so easy to wound her, when he himself felt so wounded. Between the revelation about her heritage, his unknowing contribution to her isolation and insecurity, and trying desperately to avoid thinking about the real reason why he’d instinctively brought Aurelia back, he wasn’t emotionally ready to talk.

Especially not to Isolde.

If he didn’t, he’d probably lose her. Really lose her. Not just in the sense that he wouldn’t see her again—that was ultimately acceptable. But in the sense that she’d be actually lost. He might remember their time together fondly, alone, and even that small comfort would always be tainted by the knowledge that he’d destroyed her. Shar would take everything, because he let it happen. That was what Shadowheart had been telling him, in her own jarring, “dark lady bless me” kind of way.

He shut his eyes at her door, and tried to quietly rehearse what to say. Maybe he should just tell her outright that Shadowheart was a Sharran—but, that had its own risks, maybe the strange little morbid raggamuffin would be more intrigued. Maybe, he’d upset her enough that she wouldn’t be able to hear his entreaty. It might be wiser to just talk about what had passed between them and to try and repair the damage he’d done. Wiser, and, if he was honest, less cowardly.

But, gods, it wouldn’t be fun. It would likely hurt, and humiliate him. Maybe her too.

He turned away from the door. He’d come back after a warmup.

He couldn’t just jump into this unprepared.

At the far end of the hallway, a fuzzy Alice froze, someone else—smaller, slipping behind her. One of his groomsmen? He seemed to remember one of them being lamentably short without the excuse of being a member of a small bodied race. “Alice—do you know if Aurelia is awake?”

“Ought to be,” Alice angled herself strangely, so he didn’t see the other person clearly as he simply turned down the next hallway.

He’d talk to his sister first. That conversation was going to be rough as well, but at least only one of them would be smothered under the heavy cloak of Shar’s ‘embrace.’

[luna-writes-stuff]

Day 22: Willow, Eddie Munson

Song link

Fanfic, fem! sinclair! reader

Fluff, idiots in love

Word count: 3222

Tw: Use of Y/N, DnD, that’s it???? Not proofread

Summary: You had known Eddie through class years ago. But after seeing him when bringing your brother to his DnD club, something changed. And Eddie has been laying his eyes on you the second you set a foot through that door. Now, his next step is to actually ask you out. Something easier said than done.

“I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife.”

“Hurry up, Lucas!” You yelled from the bottom of the stairs, car keys dangling in your hand. “Erica’s movie is starting in ten minutes and she is not taking chances!”

“We can leave without you!” Said girl shouted from beside you, grabbing the keys from your hands. “Shotgun.”

Rolling your eyes, you closed your jacket, checking your watch impatiently. The parents were out for a night, so you were to taxi Erica to the cinema and Lucas to his D&D night. Him and his friends had managed to convince the gym teacher to gather in the sporting hall, but there was a time limit on it. And within four hours that limit would be over.

“And if it was an open-shut case I never would've known from that look on your face Lost in your current like a priceless wine.”

“Coming!” Came the reply finally, followed by things falling over, and the groan of your brother.

And then, at last, he ran out of his room, papers stocked under his shoulder as his vest was falling off his shoulders.

“Erica called shotgun.”

“That’s not fair! I am older than her!” He protested, shoving the documents in your hands as he adjusted his jacket.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me about it.”

“It’s your car!”

“Mom’s car,” you corrected, already walking outside. “I only get to borrow it for the night.”

A mumble along the lines of ‘whatever’ escaped the boy’s throat as he followed you begrudgingly, closing the door behind him.

“The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow.”

“If I am going to miss my movie because of your nerd night, I will drop glitter all over your pillows.”

“Erica!” Lucas complained, sliding into the backseat.

“Just saying.”

“Will you two quit it?” You intervened, starting the car after grabbing them back from Erica. “I could have spent the entire night on the couch watching MTV, but now I’m stuck driving around town for the two of you. If anyone gets to complain, it’s me.”

“Yes, I apologise for having a social life.” The youngest uttered, a taunting look on her face.

You opened your mouth to speak up, but decided against it. Instead, you dropped in your favourite record, turning the volume on louder.

“Oh, come on!”

“Change it!”

“Driver gets to pick the music!” You shouted over your arguing siblings, smiling to yourself. “Don’t worry. The sooner you’ll get out of the car, the sooner you’ll get rid of me.”

“I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man.”

“Drive faster!”

Whoever’s clever idea it was to place the school and cinema on the complete opposite sides of Hawkins was going to receive a good word from you. It was only a five minute drive to the cinema. But from there, it took another fifteen minutes to get to school.

You would have let Lucas take the bus; he was old enough for it. But your parents would never let you hear the end of it if they found out. And they would.

Thus, you parked the car in the empty parking lot, stepping out in the freezing autumn air. There were no lights on, save for the lanterns outside.

“You sure it was here?” You questioned, folding your arms as you put the keys in your pockets.

“Eddie said he’d be there.”

“Outside? Or in the halls?”

Lucas only shrugged, leading the way to the sports building. You followed him doubtingly, scanning your surroundings for any of his friends. Mike and Dustin you knew, and you remembered Eddie vaguely from your history classes two years ago. The other members of the party were complete strangers to you. The least you could do was make sure he would be around familiar faces.

“Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in As if you were a mythical thing.”

The door to the gym had been open, much to your surprise. You slowly became convinced they were playing a joke on Lucas, but they seemed sincere as mumbling was heard bouncing off the walls.

Turning the lights on, you looked at Lucas, silently questioning him if the voices seemed familiar. He nodded at you, following the noises as you continued to turn on the lights you passed.

Loud laughter echoed through the otherwise empty halls, and you raised your eyebrows at the sound. It wasn’t until you heard Dustin’s trusted cackle, that you started following Lucas more intently.

Rounding the last corner, you came face to face with a huge table, covered in maps, character sheets, dice and miniatures. And one big carton wall blocking off view from the other places.

“Sinclair!” One of the boys called, grinning widely. “We were thinking you forgot us.”

“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly, taking the empty seat beside Mike. “Erica had to be dropped off for a movie.”

“Hey Y/N!” Dustin waved, flashing his braces at you. You smiled in return, offering him a wave as well.

“Like you were a trophy or a champion ring And there was one prize I'd cheat to win.”

“Sinclair, I told you we were full for the night.”

Judging from his hair and voice, you recognised Eddie, locking your eyes on his.

“Oh no,” Lucas dismissed quickly. “She’s my sister. She was here to drop me off.”

“Didn’t know you had a sister,” Eddie acknowledged, walking up to you and holding his hand out for you to shake.

“Eddie Munson,” he introduced.

“Y/N Sinclair,” you returned, shaking his hand briefly. “You’d know if you ever paid attention in history class.”

“‘85?” He asked, grimacing uncomfortably.

“‘84,” you corrected. “But I didn’t take it personally.”

“Good,” he nodded. “You shouldn’t.”

“Still in the run for that diploma?” Even though you already knew the answer, you settled for the small talk.

“Oh yeah,” he answered. “But this is gonna be my year. I can feel it.”

You snickered at him, looking at Lucas.

“Twelve, correct?”

He smiled at you widely. His parents would never allow him to be out after ten, but he knew you’d make exceptions. He liked you a whole lot more than Erica, who he was sure was going to tell.

You’d have to bribe her somehow.

“The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow.”

“Leaving already, Sinclair 2?” Eddie frowned, sitting down on the bigger chair.

“I have a tv waiting on me.”

Loud groans erupted from the crowd, Lucas running his hands over his face.

“Boring,” Eddie dismissed. “Why watch tv, when you have a live-show right here?”

“Miniatures and dice? I know better ways to spend my Friday night.”

“A tv.” Eddie repeated.

“You can sit with me! I could explain it to you.” Dustin offered, pointing towards the empty chair in the corner.

“Thank you, Dustin,” you nodded, smiling at his offer. “But I’d best leave you. Lucas would sink in his shoes in shame.”

“Tough luck,” Eddie shrugged. “I am the dungeon master, and I demand you stay. For at least half an hour. Besides,” Then, he reached down in a big bag, before pulling out a bag of popcorn. “We have snacks.”

“I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man.”

You knew better than to let them convince you to stay. But the group seemed pretty adamant, even those you did not even know.

You were aware of how the game worked; Lucas had tried to explain it to you countless times. Hell, even Erica played it now, but with a different group. And you were not to speak of it. She’d know. And she’d do hellish things.

“You’re kidding!” Mike objected loudly as the D20 rolled on four. “My investigation is -1.”

From beside you, Dustin laughed loudly. “Who puts their investigation so low?”

“You look around, but find nothing. Except for some gravel underneath your feet, with occasional grass sticking from it.” Eddie narrated, ignoring Mike’s audible protests.

“That’s great, Mike. Dustin rolls terrible investigation.”

“Hey!”

“You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man.”

Dustin was up next, and the party seemed desperate to know more about the woods. But no one seemed to roll quite right. And you had seen Dustin’s dice. He wasn’t exactly doing well.

“Can I?” You tried, holding your hand up for his dice.

“Yes, sure.” He mumbled defeatedly, placing the object in the palm of your hand. “We have +2, so please don’t roll anything under 8.”

Rolling your eyes at his warnings, you grabbed the d20, toying with it in your hand before ultimately releasing it. All eyes were focused on the dice as it kept rolling, bouncing off of sheets and books. Until it finally landed on a 20.

“Nat 20!” Dustin cheered, holding his hand up for you to high-five him.

“Our bard has an angel on his side,” Eddie began, shooting a wink towards you, which caused your eyes to fall back on the table directly, avoiding eye contact. Eddie noticed it, but remained quiet about it, a slight grin appearing on his face, even though he tried to fight it. “As he seems to be the only one in your company who spots the footsteps in the mud only two feet away from him.”

“Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind They count me out time and time again Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind But I come back stronger than a 90's trend.”

This went on for another hour. Eddie would shoot you compliments hidden within his narrations, Dustin would count them as compliments to him, but you caught them. And you seemed to be the only one.

You had found it flattering at first, and had grown flustered at it the first ten minutes, but the longer he kept talking, the more you decided to simply settle for it. Eddie wasn’t a bad guy; you’ve had worse people flirt with you.

But after all his tales, you finally stood up, shooting Dustin a final tip.

“Are we boring you, Sinclair 2?” Eddie teased, raising his eyebrows at you in humour.

“Erica,” you started, waving your goodbye to your younger brother. “Her movie will be done in ten minutes. Gotta pick her up or I’ll have my parents on my ass for another month.”

“Troublemaker much?”

“Not at all,” Lucas interrupted. “They just love Erica.”

You laughed at him, shaking your head as you reached for the car keys. Holding them up, you silently told them goodbye.

“You should join us next week!” Eddie called after you. “You’re a great Jiminy Cricket for our bard!”

“Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark Show me the places where the others gave you scars.”

After that night, you began to spend more time around your brother, growing more interested in the game with each thing he had explained to you. To him, most of it was repetition, but unlike last time he tried to talk with you about DnD, you actually seemed to pay more attention now.

You got involved in their weekly meetings as often as you could. You figured it was the enthusiasm of the group that lured you in, but deep down you knew that wasn’t the fact.

Deep down you knew it was because of that very particular person sitting at the head of the table, his face hidden behind his board for most of the game.

“Now this is an open-shut case Guess I should've known from the look on your face Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

“Hello there, gorgeous.” That all-too familiar voice spoke up as you got out of your car.

“Have you been waiting for me here?” You asked, slamming the door behind you.

Eddie’s lips formed into a thin line, his weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. “Maybe…” he mused.

“Maybe,” you repeated, copying his tone.

“Lucas said you’d be here today.”

“You wanted to see me?” Surprise took over your features. Sure, you had been dropping Eddie hints all over, and he had been returning them, but you never figured something would actually happen. Even more when he said Lucas sent him here. You figured he’d try to stop this whole debacle, but clearly not.

“Needed,” The boy corrected, tailing you as you walked to the grocery store.

“The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow.”

“You see, I have this bet with my band,”

“You have a band?” You interrupted, smiling at the revelation.

At your smile, Eddie’s face seemed to light up, as he stopped walking momentarily. When he saw you were still walking, he ran up to you, grinning gleefully.

“Corroded Coffin,” he introduced. “I play the guitar.”

“Awesome.”

“Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically. “I’m….” Words seemed to give up on him as he tried to recall his words. Why was he standing there again?

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “You made me forget my words.”

Your face seemed to heat up at those words, but you kept walking, trying to maintain your composure as you entered the store.

“I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man.”

“I was, um….” He tucked his lips together twice, trying so desperately to remember his words.

“You had a bet with your band?” You tried to help.

“Yes!” He clapped his hands together. “Yes; they told me, we’d never sell 50 tickets to our first, paid, gig.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s tonight,” he explained. “And we sold 49 tickets.”

His hands reached into his jeans pockets as he seemed to look for something.

“I have,” he trailed off, still fighting with the denim. “One ticket,” finally, his hand came back out, carrying a double folded piece of paper in his hand. “Right here.”

“Technically, I’m not selling it to you,” he ranted on, trying to overcome his anxieties by mere rambling. “I’m giving it to you. But 50 tickets is 50 tickets.”

“You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man.”

You took the paper from his hand, inspecting it carefully.

“9 o’clock?” You asked.

“Yes,” he breathed. “But if you want to come over earlier to have a sneak peak at the band at work, you can always do that.”

“A meet and greet with the band?”

“I heard the guitarist really likes you.”

You laughed at that, tucking the paper into your coat. “Does he now?”

Leaning over the fruit aisle, the boy stared at you, his face dangerously close to yours.

“Rumours, you know.”

“The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow.”

You froze at the realisation, swallowing thickly. As always, you tried to play along. As if his interactions hadn’t left you incredibly flustered and speechless.

“I’ll have to return the favour then, I believe.” You remarked. “What do you want for a free ticket?”

“Your presence is all I could ask,” he winked, before standing up straight again, grabbing the cart from you, letting you lead the way.

“And maybe, one night to change your mind.”

“About?”

“Me.”

His eyes were almost pleading, and you would find yourself insane to say no to these. But you could have a little fun with it. It had been a while since anyone asked you out. Even though he was more suggesting you’d ask him. The effort altogether was much appreciated.

“Begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man.”

“Well maybe,” you began. “I am free tonight. And maybe, I heard there is this great film playing midnight. Unless you’re scared of horrors.”

His eyes lit up at your words, his mouth running dry. Unbeknownst to you, he had trouble maintaining his posture as well. As he was falling in more deeply with every word you said to him. Every look you granted him.

“You wish, princess.”

“If it gets really scary, I might even let you hold my hand.”

“I might actually take you up on that.”

“You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow Begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man Hey, that's my man.”

After groceries, he had insisted on walking back to your car with you, carrying the bags as you were left with a mere can of milk.

“Just place it in the backseat.” You mentioned, opening the door for him as he followed your request.

When he stood back up and closed the door, his arms leaned against the top of the car, staring at you with an absent minded look. Somewhere between admiration and anxiety.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for that ticket?”

“It’s only five bucks,” he waved off. “I won’t miss it.”

You grinned at him, your hand wandering to the piece of paper tucked in your coat pocket. Something about his eyes on you seemed so relaxing. Without a single care in the world, as cheesy as that might sound. It was absolutely soothing. You hadn’t even realised you had frozen on the parking lot, and Eddie had begun to doubt himself even more.

“That's my man Yeah, that's my man Every bait and switch was a work of art.

“So, I will see you tonight?” He tried, his hands finding each other behind his back.

“Definitely,” you answered quickly. “You will, yes.”

“And afterwards?”

“For the movie, yes.” You rambled, taking your hand out of your pockets. “I’ll make sure we can get in.”

“‘Right then,” he smiled, a wave of relief washing over him. He’d be teased for this at Hellfire night later, he could already smell it. But for once, he found himself unbothered by it.

“See you tonight, princess.”

An awkward wave was thrown your direction as he hesitantly began to walk away. You didn’t miss the slight skip in his step when he turned around.

“Bye, Munson.”

“That's my man Hey, that's my man I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans.”

Had Lucas known this would start a string of terrible DnD nights and countless accounts of Eddie wandering around in his house with an extra key - gifted by you -, he might have never told his friend you were out getting dinner for that night.

Had he known his sister would drive him to school every single day after that just to see her boyfriend , his close friend, instead of being nice for her brother, he never would have said a word.

Yet, he still seemed to enjoy the two of you getting along nicely. Even as if screwed with his initial perception of the two of you. He took pleasure in teasing you for it.

And you took pleasure in accepting it.

“That's my man.”

[onetokill]

“ i just need to sit down for a minute. ” @ghirle​

     finnick hates being a mentor.  the entire institution is as sick as the games themselves,  but like the games,  and so much else he’s already done for the capitol’s entertainment,  being a mentor isn’t optional for past victors.  victors.  there’s the best part.  ladies and gentlemen,  the winners of the hunger games!  congratulations!  you survived the massacre,  now you get to live with it.

     ava is fifteen.  the male tribute from four is eighteen,  utterly disinterested in receiving any help — particularly from someone younger than he is — and as arrogant as any of the careers from one and two.  he’ll probably die from exposure.  infection.  dehydration.  things he can’t combat with a blade and hasn’t bothered to learn,  like so many of the others.  finnick’s presence is perfunctory,  but disengaged — at least where the boy is concerned.  he knows ava.  he remembers a dark haired,  bright eyed girl at a shoreline,  knee - deep in the tide;  he remembers her tying fishhooks with mags and boasting to the other kids about how many fish she’d caught.  on reaping day for the 65th games,  she’d found him by the water and told him,  with a solemnity that shouldn’t have come to her so easily,  that she would watch after mags if his name was pulled and hers wasn’t.  until you get back,  she’d said.  confident,  in a way that finnick’s fourteen-year-old self certainly hadn’t been,  that he would win.

     district four’s other female victors are all dead;  by process of elimination,  ava should be in mags’ charge.

     should be,  except for one detail.  ava had asked for finnick.

     no,  not  ‘ asked ’ — nothing phrased as dictum is a request.  it’s atypical,  completely against tradition,  and the capitol isn’t lenient.  but theirs is still,  technically,  a career district.  and the capitol does love its careers.

     besides,  the male tribute wants nothing to do with him.

     that’s why he stands in front of the female tribute,  the girl from the shoreline who isn’t a little girl anymore but remains,  in so many ways,  just a child.  (  you’re only a year older than she is,  so what does that make you?  )  she’d exerted herself to prove a point and drops now onto the edge of one of the mats,  pushing dampened strands of hair from her forehead.  finnick’s arms fold,  his expression unreadable.

     “   get up.   ”

     she looks at him,  defensive and incredulous.  he leans toward her,  gestures with his eyes — a visual sweep of the training room floor and some of the glances they’ve collected in the last ten seconds.

     “   when do you think the games actually start?   ”   he asks her,  voice low.   “   in the arena?   no.  we’ve been playing since before our names were drawn.  do you remember what you told me,  on the day of my reaping?   ”

     standing to mimic his crossed arms,  petulant,  she shrugs.   “   that you’d win.   ”

     something distant and disconnected passes over him;  for a moment,  he isn’t there at all.  then it's gone.   “   no,  that i’d come back.  no one  wins.  you kill,  and,  if you’re lucky — or unlucky,  depending on how you look at it — you don’t die.   ”

     trying to be unaffected,  her brows go up as if to say  so?  what’s your point?

     “   you know your audience.  all they want is a good show.  so give it to them.  don’t try to show off in  here,   ”   he jerks his head at the room at large,   “   like  these  are the people you wanna impress.  everyone else in this room wants you dead either way,  it’s just a matter of when.  and  when  that happens,  it’s the sponsors that are gonna save you,  not your pride.   ”

     there’s a purpose behind the speech,  registering in a flicker of understanding.  it passes behind features that are fighting desperately hard to stay aloof.  the real meaning is this:  he wants her to survive.  the last two tributes he’d mentored hadn’t.  she’s different from them because he knows her.  because he remembers her.  because he can look at her and imagine her making it through this.

     they stare at each other for a minute,  and she nods.

     and,  still,  all he can hear is the reverberating sound of her cannon,  her picture projected into the blackened arena sky.

[leajoyrambles]

It started as a joke. The attic was haunted, we said. It was cursed. We didn’t go there, didn’t sort through the boxes and boxes of photos and books. Not since she died. We would dare each other to go up there, then squeal and giggle like the piglets in the pen as we chickened out.

It started as a joke, but I don’t remember how the joke started.

I guess it started with our uncle, in a way. He didn’t go into the attic, not even with Auntie. Us girls, her little brave ones, we did. But only with her. She said we weren’t allowed to go up there without her until after she died. And then she did.

And we still didn’t go, because our uncle went up there, trembling, telling us to stay put, to get the buttons Auntie wanted to be laid to rest with — keepsakes from her childhood — and after the funeral, he wrote an illegible letter in the middle of the night, in the midst of the heart attack that took him away, too. And no one came for us, for any of us, because we never knew Uncle’s family, and all of Auntie’s was gone.

There were ten of us girls, nine of Uncle’s nieces and me, Auntie’s. The oldest was Cecile, fifteen years old two weeks after the funeral, and the youngest was Loria, twelve and a half. The years passed, all of us living out our lives on the farm, no one else for miles, with only a few of us ever leaving at a time, to trade the flax and wool and wheat we didn’t need for the smoked meat and ivory sewing needles that we did. I was never one of them — I think I was the only one who never left the farm — but I never wanted to be. This was Auntie’s home, the only thing I ever knew of my mother or grandparents or other aunts and uncles by blood. I didn’t even know their names.

Until now.

It’s been ten years. Cecile is married to the whittler, pregnant with her fourth child, all boys so far. Ila is living with a maid, raising two orphan girls. Meda has made a career as a seamstress and never once expressed an interest in romance. Dia and Loria both died of rot fever when it swept through three years ago, and I was the only one who didn’t catch ill.

We grew up. And I’m alone.

So I finally went into the attic, and this was what I found:

Leather-bound books full of cramped, insensible writing, twenty of them written by the same tremulous hand and three written by three others. Three diaries in a language I do not know. There are three wooden crates, two containing a piece of pottery each, broken beyond recognition, and one with an intact clay crown bowl — very ceremonial, and very valuable when made from any material that didn’t decay. It was named not for its shape, which was shallow and wide and perfectly round, but for the intricate design of birds flying in circles around the sides, always done in multiple colors, in order to resemble diamonds catching the light.

A crown bowl is made by those in mourning, filled with things that meant something to the dead, and buried with them. Auntie told us stories about when the queen died and was buried with a crown bowl made of stained glass, which made the light dance as it was carried to her casket, filled with flowers and folded pages from her diary and love letters from her husband.

When Auntie was dying, she asked that I be the one to make her crown bowl, and I did. Every day by her bedside, watching her life force slowly wither away, I made it. It was wooden, carved painstakingly from a river tree, painted with sparrows in red and yellow and white, filled with buttons and blue roses and, by her request, she was cremated and her ashes put into the crown bowl. It took a week for her bones to turn to ash in the low-burning fire on the riverbank, and we placed the crown bowl on the river, to be carried away. How it floated, I still don’t know.

Clay crown bowls are a bad omen, said to entomb the soul within the body. Why anyone would keep one around, I have no idea.

I go through stacks of age-yellowed photos, photos of Auntie’s wedding and all of our birthdays, until I come across an envelope pressed between two sheets of glass. It’s the most expensive preservation method a farmer can afford, and my hands shake as I move the glass and read the inscription — it’s to me, written in that same cramped handwriting as the twenty books, and I realize with a start that it’s Auntie’s handwriting.

The contents of the envelope are, somehow, both unassuming and terrifying. There is a letter, written in that language I do not know, and there is a photograph.

A clean, glossy photograph, black and white and gray, taken here on the farm. A photograph of three girls, identical, not yet ten, standing in a row, holding crown bowls full of a dark liquid. The bowls are clay, I realize, startled. Three identical clay crown bowls that I recognize because they look just like the intact one in that crate.

I’m not exactly superstitious. The crows in flight in the background, thirteen of them, is not something I take to heart. The fact that the girls are identical, which is said to be the mark of demons, does not frighten me. The clay crown bowls are only baffling. Their frightened expressions are all eerily similar, all focused on the camera so that it seems they are staring at me. None of this frightens me, strange as it all is. <p>

No, what frightens me is that I recognize these girls — or, perhaps, one of them. It is younger, perhaps, but it is recognizable nonetheless, that face. <p>

It is the face I see in the mirror.

I remember writing one of those diaries, in a language I once knew. We are learning pottery and weaving turned into we are learning magic and then Mother is acting strange and then, the last passage, and I remember my hand shaking as I wrote: Mother is mad.

It is a strange realization, that in a decade and a half, I have not recalled a memory from before my ninth birthday. But I remember now. I remember standing, tremulous, holding a clay crown bowl, uncertain of my fate. I remember wondering at its contents, thinking, surely, it was ashes mixed with blood, or ink made from half-lung berries, or demon guts. I remember a voice that once murmured lullabies chanting a funeral song over the living.

But Auntie came. Auntie stopped her — killed her — but she was too late.

Too late to stop the pitch-black liquid from seeping over Anora’s skin, turning her to stone. Too late to stop the inky fluid from turning red in Telona’s hands as blood seeped from her pores in a horrible torrent.

And too late, I recall, to save my soul from being severed from my body and flowing into the liquid, which rose up and took a form identical to my living one.

It was a corpse, I realize now, but not a human one.

And now I understand why I never left the farm. Why I could never stand to be amongst humans in any place that was not natural, that was not wild. I understand why Auntie would hide these secrets up here, in a dark and enclosed space, which humans may fear but which a thing like me would merely abhor.

It is a cruel irony, this reversal of roles, that a human should be immortalized in the body of such a creature. I am uncertain, even now, whether the deaths of Anora and Telona were the accidents, or if my half-survival was the mistake. My life force, I know, is anchored to that crown bowl — the only one of three still intact — and that means that my body can never stray far.

An undead changeling, after all, is exactly the kind of abomination that would be bound to its own grave.

“May I have your name?” I whisper, and the words taste sweet, as though they were always meant to be there, just as air is meant for my lungs and blood for my veins.

But is it? When did my lungs last ache? Have I ever checked to see if my heart was beating? Do I even have a heart or lungs at all? This body is an imitation of humanity, and yet I cannot imagine taking another form. Was it the magic that bound the changeling corpse to this form, or was it my human mind? My hands remain as they are, calloused and stained with pale scars, as I pick up the crown bowl.

I can feel my humanity slipping further away. The birds have fallen silent in the trees. A spider scuttles through a crack in the wood, suddenly terrified.

I may be an abomination, but I refuse to be a monster.

I raise the crown bowl high above my head. My arms tremble, but I’ll not have to hold it for long.

The attic was haunted, we said.

Text: I find the photos in an envelope, mono-color, clearly taken here on the farm. Three identical girls stand side by side, looking terrified, each holding a bowl of black water. 

[janesaridoll]

Falling for him; part 2

Pairing || stripper!woc!reader x mob!Ari levinson

Summary || is willingly being in his life a trap? Is accepting him is wrong?

Genera || angst, fluff

Warnings || mention of strip club, Sexual-assault- mention of guns - cheating(not on reader). Somehow dark?

Word count || 2,802

Part 1

“Whatever it takes”

Staring at the piece of paper in your hands, flipping it over and over, leaving it on the table then picking it up again, folding it between your books then then pulling it out to stare at it again. Putting it in weird places only for you to find it the next day without remembering putting it there in the first place.

You're feeling the effects of how much money you have in your control. It is so heavy that you can't imagine how wealthy people manage it.

Saying ‘yes’ to him having you, ‘yes’ to him loving you, taking care of you, and treating you properly the way you deserve to be treated will earn you five million dollars.

It's now been two weeks, and you need to decide—a decision that will completely alter the course of your life.

You feel shame for even thinking about accepting his offer. Sure, you work at a strip club but stripping was never a choice, in your situation it was a need, a necessity for you to live.

At first, you were scared to think about stripping off and dancing for old, scary drunk men who might actually hurt you. But thankfully, you overcame it all on your own and you have lived.

When you first met Ari, he was a regular with one of the girls, he would meet her every two weeks. until one day you arrived at work to learn that his girl had run off with someone, he then was assigned to you and became your problem.

You've never seen him before at the club; all you know about him is who he is and what he does for a living. He was a generous man and surprisingly kind to you as a result of your caution with him, compliance with his requests, and total lack of argument or upsetting him in any manner.

Months later, you started to sense a heavy, profound attraction to him that you were unable to pinpoint the beginning of. Coming into work was more than simply for earning money, you would look forward to the day he would show up for you. You knew that you love him no matter what. Soon enough you started to met outside of the club, he took you to his casino, introducing you to his most loyal men and his business partner.

You've at last discovered someone who doesn't care what you do for a living and accepts you for who you are. After your mother passed away, he was the first person you confided in.

You once lived in the finest neighborhood, attended the best school, and had a large social circle. Your mother was a stay-at-home mother, while your father worked as a real estate agent.

You were that spoiled girl who her cousins were envious of; your mother was your best friend; and you were your daddy's sweet princess.

That lasted until your dad had an affair with one of your mother's friends. He came clean with your mother, not to seek for forgiveness but to want a divorce because he wanted to wed his lover; his exact words were "I love Hannah and I want to build a new family with Her."

It was difficult for a ten-year-old to hear that, and it was heartbreaking to learn that your dad had so simply replaced both you and your mother with another woman.

Soon after, you moved in with your mother in a tiny apartment. She was heartbroken about being replaced after fifteen years of marriage and after having a child together, and you can't even remember how many times you saw her crying in her bed.

But it didn't take her long to get back on her feet and support her family; after a few weeks of looking for work, your mom began working for an elderly woman who runs a tailor shop. Ms. Julian gave your mom flexible shifts and helped a lot with you; you spent a lot of time at her shop because your mom couldn't afford a babysitter.

Your mother earned enough money to maintain you both while your father continued to pay for your education and send a child support payment each month.

You continued to see him, and at first everything was normal. He took you out to lunch with him and bought you toys before bringing you back to your house. However, years later, after he and his wife had a total of three children, he stopped paying attention to you.

Being around him was more than flesh and blood can stand; it hurt you beyond repair. By the time you were old enough to recognize your father's favoritism, you stopped going to him and blocked his number. In some cases, he even forgot to pick you up from school when it was his turn to do so. One of your teachers ended up taking you home.

When you turned nineteen, your mom was diagnosed with stage three leukemia، you were just beginning college, so you left to be with her and support her. It was heartbreaking to see her in such pain and be helpless to stop it. At the time, you wanted someone to be with you because you felt alone and helpless.

A year after her treatment she collapsed due to the new treatment not working out because of her weak body. She died quietly in your arms a month later.

That was the second breaking point for you; you recalled spending days sleeping in her room while telling yourself that you need to gain a sense of her presence before all traces of her disappears.

You were unable to return to school because you had to spend all of your savings on your mother's medical expenses. Yet, half of the amount were unpaid.

You used the money you saved by stripping to pay for necessities like your rent, water and electricity, transportation, food, and drinks. You couldn't save enough money to pay for your mom's medical expenses or to put yourself through college

You could have benefited from having a cheque for $5 million in more ways than you can imagine, including, your mother's medical bills, paying for college tuition, getting into the school of your choice, and becoming the lawyer you've always wanted to be.

The harassment you experience on public transportation could be avoided if you spent the money on a car. You could afford a lovely apartment and spend your days with the person you love enjoying the life you've always desired.

A deep voice in the back of your head telling you to be selfish; you deserve it. You can't live your entire life as a stripper.

Standing in front of his casino, you came to this place before, very frequently. When Ari made a bad deal and needed to vent his rage on someone, sex was usually the best option.

You were dressed in the nice black dress he had bought you, paired with matching black heels, and wearing your beige coat to keep your warm.

The large, tall man who stood in front of the door saw you and opened it for you. You were met by the strong aroma of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke. As you looked around, you noticed that everyone in the room was a politician or a business owner, celebrities you only see on TV.

You recall how to get to his office. You moved up the stairs. As you reached the top, a woman's loud laughter caught your attention.You turned to see a few of Ari's friends seated around the table.

One of Ari's guards called out, "Ms. y/l/n," and you glanced at him and said, "Yes”

“Follow me please," he led you to Ari's office, opening the door for you. When you entered, you looked back at the guard "He will be here in a minute," and you merely nodded. He left you after closing the office door.

Every thought is competing with one another, and the only sound you can hear is the loud pounding of your heart. You just wanted to scream to turn off your brain, and you wanted your heart and mind to agree on what you should do next. Your anxiety is increasing every minute.

After waiting for ten minutes, the door finally opened to reveal an eager man behind it. His face was as red as the couch behind you, his hair was messy, and he had no gun on him. His white dress shirt was stained with blood, and his bruised knuckles were proof that he had been punching someone. Was this the sweetest man you had ever met?

“have a set, angel eyes” you didn’t even notice you didn’t sit down since you came to his office, you sat on the couch, your hand clutching to your purse for dear life, looking down at your feet.

He waited for you to begin as he sat in front of you. He is ready for whatever you say.

“This money” you took a deep breath “a—god— I don’t know what to say”

“You want more?” He simply asked, like you just asked him for more food in your plate.

“NO!” You quickly told him, you sighed again “this money would save my life right now” a tear fall down your cheeks, admitting it out loud is not like thinking it.

When you finally met his eyes, you said, "I could pay my mom's bill, I could finally go to college and pursue my ambitions”

Until today, you had no idea how someone might fall in love or how his eyes could reveal it, but you can already see it in his eyes. He showed you a different kind of love than you had ever felt.

"I can't accept it if I know it will ruin someone's life; I can't ruin your wife's life, or your daughter's life, as much as I want this money, or at least a fourth of it."

He sighed loudly and stood up from his chair to sit beside you on the couch, He rotated his body to face you so that you had his full focus. He asked your permission before placing his hand on your thighs, you didn’t react which gave him the okay to do so.

“I divorced her” he told you simply in such a quiet way like it’s nothing,

You got quite for a second, did you actually do it? Did you ruin the innocent girl’s life? Did you ruin her mother’s life? Like what happened to yours?

“W-why?” The longer he grew quiet, the more you feared his response.

He said, "She asked for it," hoping you would just accept him.

“I didn't hesitate though” he said as he stared down at his bare finger on your thigh.

You touched his hand on your thigh, where he was looking for a minute now, wanting to get his attention “don’t lie to me, Ari”

"I'm not" Once his eyes caught yours once again, all you wanted to do now is kiss him. You wished you had met Him under different circumstances “she’s pregnant with someone else’s child”

“Did you hurt her?” You worriedly questioned, if he did hurt the mother of his daughter, god knows what he will do to you. His answer to this question will determine everything.

“No, never” getting closer and closer to you “I didn't expect her to stay faithful to me; her father forced her to marry me. she didn’t have a choice we weren’t meant to be” he explained “i just let her go,” he continued “So for fuck sake, just accept this money and come with me”

“What about your daughter?” The heat of his body are radiating into yours, making you feeling warmer. You long for the sensation of his body pressing up against yours.

Your lips were almost in contact with his as he said, "She's my top priority, then you, nothing else in between”

“i don’t want to be hurt again”

“You won’t” he assured.

“Do you really want me?”

“Oh angel eyes, you have no idea what would i do to make you mine” His hands brushed over your cheeks as he wiped away your tears, his thumb touched your bottom lip, and your eyes never left his.

Finally, he launched himself at you while holding you even closer with his hands wrapped around your torso. Heat erupted in your chest at the sensation of his lips pressing against yours. The next time you breathed, you felt the brokenness inside of you disperse and you lost awareness of your surroundings.

His perfume's distinctive, pricey fragrance. was unsettling. Your stomach bursts in flames with butterflies. His white shirt's collar is tightly gripped by your hands, drawing him nearer to you.

He only broke the kiss when you both needed to breathe. He leans forward, pressing your forehead to his while you both breathed simultaneously.

He sighed “i’m going to take every tear you dropped and turn them into laughs for the rest of your life”

Your palm caressed his cheeks as you opened your eyes to discover his blue eyes smiling back at you. You smiled lightly as tears continued to fall.

“you promise?”

"Reach to my right pocket," he said while grinning at you.

your hand is resting on the fabric of his suit, You gave him an odd look. You reached inside his pocket and pulled out a velvet black box, you knew exactly what was waiting you inside.

With your lips as wide as the letter ‘O’ ,you stared stunningly at him but refrained from peering inside.

"I really want you, Crystal, and the money is merely there to save you. But this ring—this ring is for you to be mine forever and I'll be yours,” he said, gesturing to the box in between your hands.

You looked at him again “if I agreed to this, what will change?

He declared without any hesitation "You're going to be my wife, and you'll have my last name; you'll be Mrs. Levinson.”

God, Mrs. Levinson, you really love the sound of it.

He continued “you said you wanted to go to law school? You’re are going to do that baby, you’re going to be the best lawyer”

He remembered! you find it hard to believe. He recalled asking you in one of his first private sessions about your dreams, and you remembered telling him about all of them

“I don’t want you to regret anything, Ari” your voice is a little bit shaking.

His hand is still around you, caressing your hips while his finger presses against your skin, "I've never been more sure of anything more than this in my life, Angel eyes."

You opened the box, looking inside at the most stunning ring you have ever seen, It must be more expensive than the cheque he gave you.

You spent a long time examining the ring in front of you, It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. If you said yes, it is yours.

"It must be expensive." You remarked, “no it’s not” He answered right instantly, dispelling any concerns you could have had about him spoiling you excessively. It's just getting started, sweetheart.

You took the ring out of the box and carefully examined it before turning to face Ari and said, "We need to take things slow, for your daughter."

“Obviously, she needs time to adjust to this new situation, as much as I want you to meet her”

You nodded your head repeatedly agreeing with him, “we will do things my way.” you looked at him sternly “you won’t disrespect me ever, Ari, I’ll use what i need from the money and i’ll return back what I don’t use”

“You don’t have t-“ he replied.

“I need to, please” you interpreted him, he sighed but nodded anyway, he just had you; there's no way he's ruining that for himself

You gave him the ring after giving him a nod. He put it on your finger while grinning broadly. He kissed your hands, and you massaged his cheeks one more before giving him a sweet and adoring kiss.

“People like me had warned me about falling in love. It dangerous, it only will bring us weaker. Yet, we all did it, and i have never been happier, i love you ya ruhi” he whispered to you

“It been long time since i have been this happy, i love you Ari”

He kissed you again, and as the night went on you realised Ari is nothing like your dad, he won’t hurt you, he won’t leave.

Turns out, falling for the dangerous man is not as bad as you think, he’s the monster who will die to protect you and you know it by heart.

————————————————————————

Translation:

Ya ruhi = My soul

Taglist:

@maylaysia109

[writingsbychlo]

mistletoe magic | stiles stilinski

word count; 10,490

summary; stiles learns that his cute neighbour might be a witch after accidentally getting her spellbooks delivered to him instead.

notes; I know a witch!au isn’t a huge au for stiles, because he’s had evident races of magic throughout the series anyway, but just enjoy it!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex, use of magic

It had been a pretty regular Monday morning for Stiles.

At six sharp, he’d been up and awake, barely functional but stumbling through his apartment and clicking on the coffee machine, before hopping into the shower for a quick wash. When he’d emerged, the machine had just finished grinding, as always, his routine functioning like a well-oiled machine now, and he’d moved it all across into a to-go cup and left it on the counter before going to get dressed.

He’d stumbled around to find his school books and shove them into a bag, eaten two cinnamon pop tarts that had burned the tips of his fingers when he’d grabbed them straight from the toaster, and had still been chewing as he shoved his keys in his pocket and sipped at his coffee, straight into the elevator at twenty to seven.

It was a fifteen-minute walk across campus to his early morning lecture on a Monday, leaving him with a few minutes to spare, in case he saw the sweet older lady from two floors down and wanted to say ‘hi’, or the cute neighbour who lived across the hall that always made him fall over his own feet, or maybe even the kid who delivers newspapers and is always falling off of his bike. He made it on time, took some great notes, and was feeling a little more alive and welcome into his day.

At exactly ten past one, he’d been home, having gone to the library to get some study in and find his new books, and get lunch at the diner he always ate at after classes, a cheeseburger and curly fries, and grabbed his letters and a parcel from the mail slot with his housing number printed on, tucking the package under his arm and heading upstairs and back to his flat, ready to flick through his bills.

All according to plan. One year and four months away at university and he knew every day like he’d been doing it for a decade, so he was only half-way to the kitchen when he remembered the package he was clutching under his arm, coming to a complete halt, throwing the usual assortment of envelopes away to the counter, and producing the neatly wrapped bundle.

He didn’t question it, not even bothering to look at the front, figuring it was just an early delivery on the textbooks that he wasn’t expecting to get here for another three weeks, finger slipping under the folds of the brown paper and tearing it away, fingers dancing over the covers of the books, before his brows were furrowing once again.

These were definitely not his ‘intro to psychological profiling’ textbooks.

Beautiful swirls in gold, carved into dark leather across the front, Latin words he didn’t understand before he was opening the cover, brushing off a layer of dust and letting one brow arch up. The text inside was English - though, no modern - and paper that he was cautious to take care of, simply from what appeared to be the age of it, stained and worn, finger marks clear on the corner from being passed down through generations. It was handwritten, drawings in old ink that had leaked onto the paper a little, rough and coarse, and labelled doodles with names he had never heard of before.

At a glance, he would assume it to be some kind of witchcraft.

He felt on edge, suddenly. He’d left Beacon Hills to come to somewhere that no supernatural would follow, where things like werewolves were still a myth, something to be laughed at, and he swallowed thickly, looking around his apartment as though someone was going to jump out. He loved his friends, he really did, and he didn’t so much mind the supernatural when he was with them all because they protected him, but alone out here, he and his bat didn’t stand a chance.

Now, it was Christmas, he knew this from the poor excuse of a tree up in his living room, and the snow outside, and the fact that for the last six weeks, his usual mochas had been a gingerbread-spiced mocha, on the insistence of the barista who served him whenever he ventured into the little coffee shop joint, and he was growing find of it. So, he tried to be optimistic, in the spirit of festivities and all that, and texted the group chat, waiting to see if any of them had sent him the books as a present, maybe even his father or Melissa. He even texted Parrish.

Except, they all said no, and now, he was stumped. Then, as he was being extra nosey and flicking through the book, he came across a page marked with a small slip of card, the item falling out, and he cursed, having no idea which page it came from, but as he picked up the piece of paper, one of the questions in his puzzle finally gained another piece towards the jigsaw.

‘(Y/N), the spell you’re looking for is here, but be careful, it’s a strong one.’

So, the books are for his hot neighbour, the next number up from his, and it now made sense as to why he had these books - they were a mistake. It opened a new question, however, as to why you would be getting them.

He had absolutely no patience, barley remembering to flick the catch on his door so that he’d be able to get back inside, before he was striding across the hall in one, two steps, and knocking on the wood. He could hear you shuffling around inside, the soft and muffled notes of the classic rock music you’d been listening to getting turned right down to low. It only took you a further few seconds until you were opening the door, but it felt like years to him with his impatience, fingers tapping against the books agitatedly, biting the nail of the other thumb, and his foot was tapping against the floor.

When you opened the door, though, he felt like it was too soon, like he wasn’t prepared for what to say, his breath hitching in his throat as his heart leapt in his chest, eyes sweeping down along your body and widening at your bare legs, only a t-shirt hanging on your frame, rising up to reveal the edge of a pair of white lace panties as you opened the door, and he forced his eyes back up to yours, wincing as he bit down a little too harshly on his nail, and pulled it from his mouth, shaking it as his dropped to his side.

“Hey, neighbour.”

“H-Hi. Hello. Yes, hi.” He already wanted to die a little bit, he hadn't stuttered this much in front of a pretty girl since junior year in high school, even Lydia had lost this effect on him, and college really had been a growing experience for him. He’d had a fair few hook-ups, and experimented, and he wasn’t shy about flirting when he wanted to, but you always through hi right back through loops, like he was still that kid with a buzzcut.

“What can I do for you, four-A?”

“Stiles. My name is Stiles.” He waited for the usual reaction, the cringe, the eyebrows shooting up, the scowl, something to indicate that you had actually heard the pronunciation, but you only smiled a little wider.

“I know. After I introduced myself and you fell over and didn’t give me your name, I checked the mail in your post-slot. I was curious. There was a lot addressed to Mieczysłav, but then one with a handwritten address to Stiles.” You shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, and crossing your arms, and while you might seem casual, at least his degree was coming in useful for something, as your body language read an entirely different reaction, insecurity and worry rolling off of you in invisible waves of tells.

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, laughing slightly. “That sounds like something I would do.”

Silence fell between you both for a second, and he couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail of your face, the way your lower lip was a little reddened, and he figured you must have been nibbling on it while working, and your hair was messy, an attempt to pin it back that seemed to have come loose and entirely ineffective, presumably from dancing, because you looked a little flushed. When you raised your brows at him a little, he realised you were waiting for him to explain himself, why he was on your doorstep, and he flushed with embarrassment shaking his head clear.

“I got your spellbooks by mistake.” He held them out, eyes widening even more, before his jaw was dropping open. “Book. Regular books. Not spell books, because that would imply magic, right? And, that’s dumb. Just regular books. I didn’t look at them, at all, not even a little bit, I promise.”

“You don’t believe in magic, then?” You took them from him, a coy smile on your lips, and you placed them down on the counter beside the door, pushing a bowl of potpourri getting pushed aside, along with your car keys and what looked like an incense burner.

“Do you?”

He was testing the water, seeing where your mind was at, and as a whistling came from your kitchen, you glanced back over to the kettle on the hob, and he thought this conversation might be about to come to an end. “Well, I think there’s always a little magic in life, even if people don’t notice it. You have to believe in magic to be able to see it. It’s like the supernatural that way.”

“And, you believe in the supernatural, huh?” He felt bad for the way he said it, because it was mocking, but he had to be sure that you weren’t messing with him, or spying on him, he had to try and find out who you were, but you only looked away as the whistling got louder, opening the door a little more and waving him inside as you walked away, and he stumbled after you and closed the door before his mind had even caught up with the movement of his feet.

Your apartment was littered with plants. The windowsills were lined with them, all brought green and blooming, even though he was sure it wasn’t the right season, and there was even a set of cactuses along a shelf near the corridor. There was a homey feel to your place, almost earthy, neutral tones and soft accents, a smell that was so calming he felt his own muscles begin to relax, and the music had changed from classic rock to some country song he was sure he’d heard in a movie somewhere but couldn't quite place it, and he followed you to the kitchen.

Rows of cookbooks and recipe folders stacked up on top of a lower cupboard, and he swallowed thickly, averting his gaze from the way your lace panties hugged your ass deliciously as you reached up for a mug, bringing back two, and pouring them both full of the herbal concoction you’d been making. On a mismatching saucer, you offered it to him, and he sniffed it carefully, but remembered his manners, mumbling a ‘thank you’, because his mother raised his right, even if he was a little suspicious of you.

“Relax, Stiles, if I was going to poison you, I wouldn’t be giving you tea made of Valerian and Lemon Balm. Do you want any honey, honey?” You grinned a little at your joke, but he shook his head, watching as you stirred a spoonful of the sticky sweetener into your own, and taking a tentative sip after blowing on the surface. It wasn’t all that bad, he had to admit, and he found his tensions slipping away a little. “It’s for relaxing, and helping with sleep.”

“It’s good.” You smiled, blowing lightly on your own, and he decided that he could busy himself by checking out your posters. An interesting arrangement, one was a band poster, the other was a chart with the phases of the moon, a third with diagrams of plants and little facts underneath, and the fourth, with symbols and drawing he didn’t quite understand. “So, you’re really embracing that whole witch thing, then?”

“Well, seeing as I am a witch, I would think it’s only appropriate.” He tried to hide his grin behind his mug, shaking his head a little, not believing that they really existed, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes, clearly, because there was a playful kind of offence flashing across your face. “You can’t tell me you think I’m insane, not when there’s so much of the supernatural all over you, Stiles.”

“The supernatural? Really?”

“So, you’re not the emissary to a pack of werewolves?” You challenged, his jaw dropping at the accuracy of it, and it was your turn to laugh at him. “It’s literally stitched into your aura, I sensed another supernatural the second you walked into the building.”

“I just associate with a lot of ‘em, but I’m not supernatural myself.”

“You sure about that?” He stilled, memories flashing behind his eyes of a time when he once was, and you seemed to pick up on the slightly sour mood he’d taken on, then again, he wasn’t really sure where your abilities lay, being that Scott or Derek would have simply sniffed it out on him. Your hand on his arm snapped him back to the moment, fingers squeezing lightly at his bicep. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“There was a possibility, once, but it’s gone. There’s a dark chapter in my past, and the spark I was told I once had disappeared when I got through it.”

It went quiet again after that, your fingers slipping down from his arm to take his, and you placed your cup down, the steaming brew barely touched, but he followed suit, letting himself be pulled along as you directed him back to the living room. You were distracting him, it was an obvious ploy, but he was excited to learn, and he let the sadness of remembering his possession fade away as the thrill of new knowledge took over. “I can tell you have a lot of questions, so, what do you want to know first?”

He rubbed at his chin, settling down onto the couch at the edge of the room, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and you were busying yourself around him, a little water jug in your hand as you nurtured the abundance of houseplants you owned. “How did you know about my pack? And how much do you know about them?”

“It’s in your aura, I suppose. I can just pick up hints of different things when you’re around. The wolves are obvious, I’ve been around a lot of wolves. I also get death, and I've never met a banshee, but I assume that’s what it is. I knew you were the emissary because you’re the only magic in there, I would sense other traces on you, and there’s something else I can’t quite place.” Your face screwed up a little bit as you thought about it, nose wrinkling adorably before shrugging. “Like a werewolf, but not quite. I can’t get it.”

“She’s a werecoyote.”

You paused your pouring, turning to look at him, eyes flicking lightly around his being, before smiling slightly to yourself, and going back to your task. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Have you been a witch your whole life?”

“Since the day I was born, but I didn’t know or start practising until I was older. It just kinda’ happens, comes out of nowhere at a certain age, you start to realise you have abilities.” You had moved onto using a dropper to give little drips of water to cacti and succulents, standing on a small step stool as you did.

“Do you have to go to a school, like Harry Potter? Do you have a wand?”

You laughed at that, a genuine and hearty laugh, and you finished up your tasks, legs folding underneath yourself and you smirked a little at him as you sat down and got comfortable. “You wish, Stilinski. It’s not like that, it's more of an earthly connection than magic. It’s why my plants are so healthy. I can brew stuff, make little potions-” You motioned a hand over the jars lining the shelves on the walls, his eyes scanning over each one, picking out the neatly written titles across the fronts. “-I can cast very light spells, but it’s not the sort of thing where you can curse people, or teleport.”

“So, you can’t curse people to turn into frogs?”

“No, unfortunately not.” He was sure your giggle was the sweetest he’d ever heard, and he dared to twist himself around a little more, inching slightly closer to you across the couch. “I can do some stuff, like make your skin break out or give you a rash that won’t go away until I let it, and I can even give you headaches and such, but I don’t like to dabble in that sort of stuff. I much prefer protection charms.”

“Protection charms?” His heart skipped a little beat at the way your face lit up as you nodded, and he was intrigued, interest piqued. “I could use one of those, y’know, I’m incredibly clumsy and often get into supernatural trouble when I’m home. Hasn’t been so bad since I got here. Will you make me one?”

Your eyes left him, bottom lip nibbled between your teeth, and for a second he had worried he’d messed up, unsure on how witch spellcasting etiquette worked, but then you were moving across the room, opening up the cabinet on the other side of the room, and inside the doors and wooden frame hung what must be close to a thirty different decorative charms. Some were dreamcatchers or garlands hanging on the inside of the door, others were handcrafted little ornaments sitting on the shelves and filling them up, and your fingers were flittering over them all.

When you found what you were looking for, you lifted it out, a dream catcher that was bright and colourful and a little odd-looking, before bringing it back over to him, and presenting him with it cautiously. “You already made me one?”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t let the cute guy from across the hall get any more injuries. I watched you fall over five times in your first week living here. You’re really clumsy.”

He felt heat rush to his cheeks, and yet he couldn't help the goofy grin that travelled across his features, not mentioning the fact that he noticed you sitting considerably closer to home when you took your seat once again. He was embarrassed for two reasons, the first being that you had noticed his innate penchant for ridiculous injuries, but more overwhelmingly, the second being that you still thought he was cute. College might have helped him bloom a little, but when he had a crush, he was still a bumbling mess, and he didn’t know quite how to respond.

He busied himself with taking in the details of the dreamcatcher. Somehow, despite this being the first real conversation that the two of you had ever had, passing and fleeting chats in the halls and elevator not counting, you had managed to capture his entire essence, he could already tell. The strings were made of wool, chunky and all different colours, a mix of yellows and blues, woven in together and tangled in strange patterns, but beautiful nonetheless, and the little accents were what made it complete.

A button that had fallen off of one of his flannels, he recognised the distinctive wooden piece, and it was woven into the design, along with a blue ribbon in the same colour of the jeep that was tied in a bow, and a wooden twig tangled in it. Dangling on more pieces of wool from the bottom was a keyring he was sure he’d lost after leaving it downstairs overnight, the Yoda on it looking cleaner than he remembered, and you must've cleaned it. There was also a black feather, and a sprig of some kind of dried herb that he didn't recognise, but enjoyed the smell anyway.

It was intricate and personal, and he felt chuffed just to know that you’d made one for him, a little security and peace washing over him to know that someone was out here looking after him, completely unmaliciously, simply because you wanted to.

“This is incredible.” You let out a breath of relief, he recognised it in the way your body slumped a little, and he placed it down carefully on the coffee table beside you both, reaching out to take your hand in his, and daring to lace your fingers together and squeeze in gratitude, and you held onto him yourself, gaze dropping down to your connected hands. In a bold move of your own, you lifted your other hand, holding onto his with both of yours, and his thumb lifted out to brush lightly over your skin. “You’re the reason I don’t get papercuts and splinters anymore.”

“And you are very welcome for that.” You teased him back, and an easy kind of harmony fell between you both, your presence being more comfortable simply having only just really begun to meet you than he ever had been with someone new. It was strange, to feel so relaxed and at home with you, the way you put his fears at ease and soothed every worry without even trying, making him feel welcome and accepted, like he’d known you for years, not just shy of an hour. “Will you tell me about your pack?”

“You really want to know?” He couldn’t mask his surprise, and you nodded, excitement gleaming in your eyes, and he felt a surge of pride swell up in his system at the idea of getting to boast about his friends completely honestly for the first time in his life. There was no threat, he wasn’t showing off their skills as a way to try and ward off a threat or intimidate someone, but he simply wanted everyone else to be as awed by them as he was, and he didn’t have to hide any supernatural secrets from you. “Shall I start at the beginning?”

“Is it a long story?”

“Very long.” He confirmed, a shy laugh leaving you, before you were shifting again.

“How about I go and make us some fresh tea, then?” You were on your feet, wandering away to the kitchen as soon as he’d offered his affirmations of the idea, and he decided to follow after you, already beginning to blather about Peter Hale.

Hours seemed to pass by, as he spoke to you, two more pots of tea being made, and you’d broken out your snack-store for him, before the two of you had ordered pizza. He’d made himself at home, too, keys and phone sitting abandoned on the table, shoes kicked off on the floor, and feet stretched out along the couch. You were sitting at the opposite end, your legs stretched out in his direction, and one of his hands was sitting on your ankle, fingers drawing patterns on the soft skin there absentmindedly as his other hand was used to gesture wildly around himself.

He told you it all, confessing right from the beginning as he encountered Derek Hale, who liked to lurk in the woods, which had made you crack up as he told you about how the man was basically now the alpha, even if Scott was officially the alpha, and he’d told you about Jackson’s kanima phase, which had made you crack up even more as you claimed he deserved it.

You’d been shocked by his homicidal English teacher, and comforted him when he spilled his heart to you over the nogitsune incident he hated to think about, accepting your hush happily, and revelling in the smell of your hair when you’d pressed in close to him, before retreating to your seat.

He told you all about the benefactor and the dread doctors, and about Allison’s death, which he still blamed himself for when he was on a low day, and you’d used your thumb to clear away the tear that had fallen from his cheek, leaving him blushing and breathless for a second when you’d pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone just after.

You had scooted closer to him and stayed there near the end of his tales, tucked under his arm, playing with his fingers over your shoulders as he rambled about how alone he’d felt while taken by the Wild Hunt, thoughts that he’d always kept locked up in his own mind, never having shared with another person before.

“You really got the short end of the ‘supernatural encounters’ stick then, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart, that is the understatement of the century.” You lifted your head from his shoulder, your feet nudging together on the coffee table, the reindeer themed fluffy socks on your feet playing with the patchy and worn door knitted socks he’d had for years, worn to keep warm during the winter, even though your apartment was nice and toasty, the heaters running and the radiators on, and it was much cosier than his place had ever been.

The Christmas lights on a timer had come on, flickering around the place once the light had started fading, hours flashing by in the blink of an eye, a hazy glow cast over the apartment and creating a whole new range of shadows. “Do you want me to make charms for your friends?”

He watched you for a moment longer, trying to discern whether you were serious, and when he caught no gesture of ill-will, or hesitation, or hidden-motives, he smiled. “You’d do that?”

“Seems like you all need it.”

He shrugged a little, smiling when you rested your forehead against his, fingers playing together still, but feet stilling in their game of footsie. “I can’t believe I waited this long to get to know you. You’re, like, the coolest chick I’ve ever met.”

His eyes fluttered closed, he couldn't’ help it, noses bumping together as you both simply drowned in the moment, in what the moment was leading up to, where you both knew this was going but were revelling in the simple but exhilarating tension that was crackling with electricity in the millimetres of space between your lips and his. You were so close to him that he could feel it more than hear it when you whispered some words he didn’t quite understand, your breath fanning over his face in a dreamy sigh, and it took his hazed brain a second to catch up, before he was pulling back just enough to catch your eyes, one hand coming up to rest over your cheek as he turned to face you fully.

“Oh, my God. Did you just cast a spell?”

“Look up.” He was hesitant to pull back much further, but did so anyway, and he chuckled slightly as he spotted the little green plant beginning to sprout from the ceiling. Vines were still strengthening along the beam, and the leaves were beginning to form right before his eyes, white berries hanging between the green stems, and Stiles shook his head, in complete awe as he looked at it.

You were staring up to, eyes focused on the plant as it bloomed and he assumed you were concentrating on its development, but he couldn't hold back anymore, two hands on your cheeks, pulling your face back to his, and your lips barely parted to speak before his mouth was colliding with your own. A squeak left you, and he wanted to grin at being able illicit such a sound from you, but the temptation to kiss was just enough for him to contain himself. When your mind finally caught up, you were kissing him back just as eagerly, a soft sigh leaving you. “You are fucking adorable.”

The words were whispered into your mouth, he felt you shake with a soft laugh under his hold, before you were holding onto him just as tightly in return. One of your hands wrapped around his wrists, the other sliding over his bicep to his shoulder, before slipping down underneath, and smoothing over the front of his chest. He puffed out a little under your touch, pulling away for a quick breath, groaning slightly at the way your nails dug into his skin as he did, and then, he was diving right back into you.

Your hand slipped down to rest over his heart, the organ thudding under your hand, and he felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest, but as he pressed a little further into you, a shock like an electrocution was racing right through his body, a kind of jolt that was thoroughly exhilarating, and he pulled away, eyes wide as he stared at you.

You looked just as shocked as he expected he did too, his hands dropped down as he watched sparks and electricity crackle between your fingers and his, your brows raising at him. “Thought you said you had no magic left after.. y’know..”

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from it, your fingers weaving with his, a loud snapping sounding as a particularly bright flare went off, and he flinched a little, jaw dropping and a whine slipping from him as you contained it all the sight disappeared before his eyes. “So, there really are sparks flying between us, huh?”

He regretted the words the moment he’d said them, expecting to see on your face the same kind he’d always gotten from Malia or Lydia when he made those kinds of cheesy puns that only he enjoyed, even Scott daring to fix him with a bored or blank look, and Derek would simply glare, but much to his surprise, you laughed. It was fond, with a roll of your eyes and a huff to preempt it, but you laughed nonetheless, and he felt himself somehow manage to brighten even further. “That was cheesy.”

“I know.” He beamed, shifting a little, hands sinking down to your hips to pull you closer to himself as he settled back into the couch, and your hand pressed to the cushions beside his head, the other one coming up to weave into his hair lightly.

“I loved it. I am quite a fan of puns.”

“That’s good, because I usually have a lot of them.” He leaned up, daring himself to be bold enough to close that gap once again, and he could feel your lashes tickling his cheeks as you nuzzled into him a little more. “If I kiss you again, will those sparks happen this time, too?”

“If I stop controlling it, they will.”

“Stop controlling it, sweetheart.” He felt you move to nod your affirmations, but dipped his head in time, proud of his own reflexes as he caught your lips, feeling the hand in his hair tighten, and he was so glad he’d decided to grow it out all those years ago, because right now, he was losing all sense of himself in the way your nails would scratch across his scalp, or the delicious burning that flared over his skin for a split second when you pulled on his hair, before you were rubbing it softly, fingers working in tandem timing with your lips, teasing over his own.

That same feeling took up, a sparking that felt like fireworks, like energy surging through him, escaping at his fingertips in every place that he touched you, one palm smoothing along your back to somewhere that was definitely too lose to be respectable, as the other held onto your cheek still. You were taking control, your tongue darting out to trace over his lower lip, bribing him to part them but he needed no convincing, letting your tongue meet his own only a second after you’d made the request, equally breathy and needy noises escaping you both at the slow and wet drag of the muscles over one another.

His lungs were burning, lips beginning to sting as his assault on your mouth continued, his neck straining to hold this angle, and yet the more you kissed him, the more that the hazy feeling of getting to be with you like this raced through his body was the more he became addicted to needing more, chasing a high that he didn’t even know he wanted until now, like an addict finding his next hit.

You seemed to pick up on it all, as though you’d read all of his thoughts, because the second he’d had the lingering thoughts, you were settling yourself across his lap, a leg on either side of his own as you seated yourself down, and he couldn't help the way his hips bucked up a little to meet you, or the way his hand slid down fully to rest on your ass.

After all, as much as he’d gone through the make him grow up emotionally, physically he was still a horny-teen college boy, and you were one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, sitting half-naked in his lap and sucking on his lower lap while doing something with your tongue that was making him feel like he couldn't even breathe properly for how aroused he was.

Maybe you could feel the growing erection underneath of you, maybe you couldn't, but he’d stopped caring about being embarrassed around you about three hours ago when he’d had to tell you all about the time he’d once dropped a condom in Coach’s class in front of the entire classroom, and you’d laughed so much your face had gone red and you’d hidden it form him by pressing into his shoulder.

You were something he felt like he was dreaming up, like any moment now he’d wake up in a small puddle of his own drool with his face pressed into the desk of his lecture hall, the lights turned out and another note left by his kind professor to get more sleep at home, and to lock up when he left, before you were giggling a little at him, pulling away and stealing a few more pecks as you did, and he wondered if you really could read his mind, heat flushing his cheeks.

“Are you reading my mind or something?”

He felt stupid even as he mumbled te words, especially when it only seemed to heighten your entertainment, but you shook your head. “I can’t read your mind, I can just kinda’ sense your mood, I guess. It’s the connection, you were clearly thinking something funny, and I don’t know what it was, but I got a sudden rush of amusement.”

“That’s pretty fucking incredible.” He whispered, letting you peck his mouth a few more times, simply sitting there with puckered lips as he tried not to smile too much, before he was tucking hair away behind your ears and finally you were opening your eyes, and at this point, he really should learn to stop being surprised by new developments with you. “Holy shit, your eyes are glowing!”

“So are yours.” You winked, the bright purple being a shade that was so captivating and beautiful on you that he couldn’t look away, even when you leaned away from him to grab his phone, raising it up to snap a picture for him, and forcing his gaze down to it. Much like you’d said, his eyes were beginning to hint in with a faint purple, the neon shading beginning to drip into his irises and take over from the usual golden-brown that resided there. “You never made out with another witch before?”

He pinched at your ass for your cheeky comment, taking his phone and throwing it away to the side, grinning when you yelped at his painless attack. “I didn’t even know witches really existed before today. Besides, what makes you think I'm one? I had a spark once, but as I said, that died out. Nothing truly magical.”

“I don’t know, you’re having a pretty strong connection with me right now, aren’t you?” Your arms looped around his neck, snuggling in a little closer to him, and he bit back a groan as you shuffled in his lap. “I think you’re underestimating yourself, you just don’t know how to tap into your magic, you have to believe in it to see it.”

“You really think so?”

He was vulnerable and he knew it showed, he’d gone his entire life being unsure as to where all his energy and twitching came from, as to why he’d always felt a draw to the earth; the preserve and the woods, and justice and balance, and why he’d somehow fit into a supernatural world with far more elegance and ease than he ever had the normal one, and maybe this was the explanation. “I really do, Stiles.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I would love to.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then to the spot below your ear, before flicking his tongue out a little to drag over the sensitive patch that lay there, before moving down your neck. He didn’t want to mark you without your consent, he wasn’t sure what was going to come of all of this and where it would go, but he was more than happy to lick and bite lightly at your skin, finding the sweet spot that made your hips roll down into his own and a sound of need and desperation to leave you that was like music to his ears, before his hips were bucking up to meet you once again.

“Y’know when you said that you could feel what I was feeling?”

“Uh-huh?” You were distracted, your reply seeming somewhat faded and distant, and he chuckled lightly, before making his way back up to your mouth now that you’d both had a chance to catch your breaths once again.

“Does that mean everything?”

“Are you asking if I know just how much you want to fuck me right now? Because yes, I do know.” He choked a little on his breath, your hand in his hair pulling his head back so that you could meet his gaze, your lower lip held between you teeth, flesh going a darker pink, and he longed to be the one biting that lip for you. “Trust me, the sentiment is returned.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah.” He wasn’t used to women being so confident with wanting him, being so unashamed of it, or of even wanting him at all. Most of his hook-ups had been slightly drunk make-outs and sloppy grinding, or booty calls and meetings in closets at parties. He got more action than he ever did in high school, he’d finally grown into his limbs and his looks, but that didn’t take away the surprise that still happened every time someone as pretty as you even offered him the time of day.

“Like, right here? Right now?”

“Been thinking about how much I want to ride you on my couch for like an hour and a half, now.” Stiles couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up in his throat, lips parting as you ran a finger over his swollen lips, a cheeky glint flashing over purple eyes as you looked at him.

“You might just be perfect for me.”

“I like the sound of that.”

A toothy smile was offered to you, before he was pulling you back in towards him, hands slipping down to lay resting on your thighs as soon as your lips had found his once again. The heat seemed to have passed, and while the kiss was still completely intoxicating, there was something a little more tender about it, too. It wasn’t nearly as rushed and frantic, the sloppy kisses you’d shared as you learned one another’s ticks had passed, and as your lips worked slowly with his own, Stiles found that he much preferred this kind of kiss.

This was the kind of kiss that he could picture himself sharing with you in many settings. A sleepy, early morning kiss, when you were still between the land of consciousness and the realm of unconsciousness. Or, late nights, when he’d fall asleep while studying, and he would let you drag him to his feet and to bed. Or, simply when he would finish a lecture, or get you coffee, or meet you for dinner. The point was, Stiles already knew he wanted to kiss you at all times of the day, and to hold onto you, and to watch you brew little spells at the stove while holding onto you from behind.

Your lips were wet when you pulled away, eyes sparkling as you looked at him, a bright shade of royal purple, like silk and rich violet on flower petals, and you looked utterly ethereal. “Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?”

“You’re sweet-talking me.” You teased, bumping the tip of your nose against his, and he shook his head.

“No, I’m not, I’m just being honest with you. I’ve been into you for a long time, even if I didn’t quite have my mind in the right place to actually say it.” You huffed out a little laugh, your eyes averting from his own so that you could try and hide your bashful little expression, but he didn’t miss it.

“Well, I’ve been admiring you a little, too. I should’ve had my deliveries sent to you sooner, if I knew it was going to end like this.” As if to punctuate your words, you rolled your hips down into his, reminding him of the solid erection pressing into his jeans, his fingers digging a little firmer into your skin, and he pushed your shirt up higher, the soft cotton of your panties revealed to him.

“These are just fucking sinful. Do you normally wander around your house in underwear and band-tees?” He tugged at it a little, before daring to tuck his hand underneath the fabric, trailing up, and a poorly-concealed groan left him as he found no further obstructions, fingers closing over one of your breasts, squeezing lightly as he palmed at your chest. “Well, clearly not all of your underwear.”

“I tend to, I keep it warm in here, for all the plants.” Your back arched up into his hand, one of your own closing over his outside of your shirt, as your other held onto his shoulder, fingers leaving crescent-moon shaped marks he was sure, and the rocking of your hips into his own only seemed to increase.

“I’d love to see you in one of my flannels sometime, just like this.”

“Give me your shirt and you’ll see it sooner than you think.” You teased, his brows raising, before he was pulling his hands back just long enough to lean into you, stripping the garment off as best as he could, leaving him in a thin black t-shirt as you took the item from him. He wanted to whine out as you stood up, choosing instead to replace the pressure of your core over his with his hand instead, palming at his cock through the thick denim, and you grinned as you watched him, yet he didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

You stood before him, draping his shirt across his spread knees as he slumped further into the cushions, getting himself comfortable and popping the button on his jeans, swollen lower lip being nibbled as you played with the hem of your shirt. Your hips were swinging to the beat of the song, and then, you raised the garment up and over your head, letting it drop away to the carpet, his jaw dropping as he looked at you.

You picked up his flannel, pulling it up your arms, and leaving it open at the front, just barely covering your tits. You were an angel and also the devil, tempting him to do so many wrong things. Stretching his hands out toward you, he beckoned you back into his lap, an act you were more than happy to take as you bounded over to him, a pep on your few short steps, before you were settling back into his lap.

“Perfect.”

He let his hands find the flaps of the flannel, pulling it open wide enough to be able to admire your tits fully, letting you push your hair back away from your shoulders for his unobstructed view. Sealing one hand around your waist, he dragged you up closer, until you were almost pressed to him fully, before dipping his head down. His tongue dragged over a hardened nipple, taking the taut peak into his mouth and sucking harshly, as your hand wound into his hair. You tugged, roughly, a groan that vibrated along your entire body leaving him and making you shiver, and you made the prettiest little noises above him.

He switches sides, making sure to give the other half of your chest that same kind of attention, leaving wet marks and stinging watches along your skin that would become bright purple marks in the morning to match the colour of your eyes, and he just hoped you kept him around long enough to see them when they did become beautiful and prominent. He wanted to see his good work, he wanted to see the way he got to mark you up and leave his touch all over your body.

“Stiles..”

“I do love how you sound moaning my name, princess, but I’m not sure how much longer I can last when you're making noises like that and grinding yourself all over my cock like this.” You grinned, letting him kiss his way back up your chest and throat until he was taking your lips with his own. Your hands were moving down, tugging at his zipper as far as it would go, hid hips bucking up into his hand as he felt you drag a nail along his covered erection, breathy sounds between you both when you pulled away.

He only had to lift himself up for a moment, before you were tugging at his jeans, helping him to get them just far enough down his thighs for his boxers to be able to follow. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard and desperate for you, leaking precum along his skin, and he gave himself some form of relief. You were watching him, eyes wide as he pumped his length in one hand, the other dipping under your skirt rubbing over your core, and you bundled up your shirt for him.

“Y’know, all those times I thought about us, a quick fuck on your couch wasn’t how I had wanted our first time to be, but then again, I didn’t expect the cute chick across the hall to be a witch, wither, so..”

He used his thumb to drag your panties to the side, your sodden folds revealed to him, and he slipped two fingers into your dripping core with ease. “I’ll let you take it slow next time, I swear, but right now, I’d really like it if you’d fuck me.”

He could only nod, heart skipping a beat at the promise of another time. Your legs shifted, muscles clenching as he forced himself to take his touch away from your core and bringing his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your sweet essence from the thin digits. As you leaned over him, he was sure to line himself up, and then, you were sinking down onto him, your forehead flailing to his as your mouth fell open, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispered the words, a little breathless and hanging on the edge of his orgasm already, and you seemed just as close, because as you finally sank all the way down and settled into his lap again, he could feel every pulse within your walls as you hugged around him.

It took him a moment, staving off his climax so that he didn’t come just from getting to feel you like this, and you looped your arms around his neck gently to find your purchase. Your nails were scratching lightly at the hairs at the base of his neck, his flannel once again flapping around you, panties pushed to the side to let him have access to your centre, and it was deliciously filthy.

Once you were settled, you circled your hips, a test movement, pleasure spiking in both of your systems and it felt like the temperature in the room was shooting upwards. Stiles could already feel sweat beginning to bead along his skin in a thin layer, and you pressed yourself in closer to him. Each time you shifted your hips you were moving a little more, every rock of your body into his, you were pulling yourself up just a little higher to be able to drop yourself back down onto his cock, stretching and squeezing around him.

You felt like velvet, slick and warm as you sheathed around him. You were precise and deliberate, and he couldn't help the wonton sounds that were leaving you with every drop down onto his cock, before you were taking him up to see stars every time, leaving the both of you resting in the clouds. Panted breaths, a scream in the back of your throat that tried to break out each time as you gave him broken moans of his name, picking up your pace further and further each time.

Once you were stable above him, you were moving with purpose, fast and quick as you rode him, gaining more confidence each time, and he was gripping you so tightly that there would be fingerprints all over your hips in the morning. He helped you go, lifting you up each time, only to pull you back down into his lap, thrusting up with a weak effort to meet you, but feeling you go wild each time. That same energy was back, crackling with more force, surging through him like nothing he had ever felt.

Stiles was in college, he was away from home and the weight of being the Sheriff’s kid for the first time, and he had experimented. He’d gotten drunk, and high, and hungover, but this was a whole new kind of thrill; it was like lighting up with fireworks and adrenaline all at once, like creating a bond with another person, and a tingling spread throughout his entire body as your magic bonded with his own. He hadn't felt this kind of singing in his blood since the day he’d managed to finish the circle with the mountain ash back when he was only sixteen, or breaking through the wild hunt barrier at almost eighteen.

These kind of thrills were rare for him, but they’d never been this strong, and as the two of you moved as one in the most intimate way that two people could, your mouth coming up to claim his as you silenced yourself and him, growing louder and more desperate as you went, he felt that final high beginning to build.

“‘M so close, honey.” His voice had taken on that same kind of scratchy rasp that he had in the mornings before he even broke into his day, “Oh, God, keep goin’.”

He knew his words were beginning to grow slurred, and he could barely buck his hips up into you. As everything within his body began to light up, he felt like all of his muscles were going lifeless, his body going boneless, because the heat was consuming him. He couldn't hold it back, he’d been waiting for so long to feel you this way, and his lips could barely even move back against your own as he went slack-jawed, exploding within your tight heat.

The send that he was shooting over the edge, you were following right after him, crying out his name into his mouth as you kept going against him, until you couldn't clumping down into his body as you trembled, and Stiles felt as though you’d milked absolutely everything from him that he had to offer. There was a crackling along his skin from everywhere that your fingertips smoothed over, sliding down from his shoulders so that you could press your cheek to the spot instead, fanning breaths rushing over his neck as you tried to catch your breath, racing heart just like his was.

You didn’t even bother to move from him, letting him throb within your walls with each flutter you made and each shift, and if you kept it up, he was sure he’d be ready for a second round, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he had that in him. Resting his head back against the edge of the couch, he let you lift yourself up and off of him finally, your legs shaking as you stood, offering him a weak smile as he took in your through fucked out state, before taking wobbly steps away from him, and disappearing down the hall.

He heard a door close, assuming you’d gone to the bathroom, and he leaned over to the coffee table to snatch up a few tissues, to clean himself up with, before sorting himself out too. He did the bare minimum, not even bothering to do up his jeans once he had them pulled back up, but he stretched out along the length of the couch to lay down, an arm popped under his head, and a little laugh on his lips as he did.

He took a moment to glance around, not missing the way that the plants all seemed to be blooming particularly beautifully, seeming more alive than ever. As he lifted up a hand before his face, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together, a spark travelled between the tips, and he felt a little in awe just at the sight of it.

“It's pretty incredible, right?”

He startled, jumping a little, before turning to look at you and propping himself up on his elbows as you lingered in the doorway. You had changed, your hair pulled back and out of your face, missing a few odd strands and you’d buttoned up his flannel along your body, mismatched and hanging unevenly, but still adorable. You took slower steps over to him, waiting for a second as you stood beside him, before he was lifting his arms and making it clear to you that you could lay with him, a smile gracing both of your faces as you flattened yourself along him, cheek pressed over his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You like feeling your magic, then?”

He lifted his palm, holding it to yours and admiring the final dying flares he saw, as the energy began to dissipate and absorb into his body and yours fully. “I’m not used to feeling special myself. I’ve always been a behind the scenes, research, kinda’ guy. I’m not used to being one of the main players.”

“Oh, hush. You told me your story, you were most definitely a key player, Stiles.” He shrugged under you, letting you cross your arms over his chest and prop your chin on them.

“Yeah, but I never really felt that way, and now I feel like I have something to offer.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips over his jaw with a sweet kiss, and he felt like he could most definitely get used to this feeling. Can I meet them?”

“My pack?”

You nodded, seeming a little shy now, and joy raced through him at the fact that you saw enough of a future with him to want to meet his friends an get to know them, and to once again be able to be completely open and honest with everyone, never having to hide anything from anyone, and being able to let you fully and wholly into his life. It was a surprise, because the more he’d thought about his future late at night when lying alone in his bed, he was so sure he’d never be able to really settle down, because he could never let someone in on his life in every single way, but with you, that wasn’t a problem.

“I would absolutely love that.”

“Really?” You were studying him carefully, trying to ensure that he was telling the truth, and he gave you the most honey look that he possibly could, before lifting his head to meet your lips as he leaned in.

Soft and delicate, like a kiss that was shared between deep romance and longtime lovers, and he rested a hand on your cheek, holding you to him, and rolling you to the side, to sandwich you between the couch and his body Your thigh came up to rest over his legs, his palm slipping from your face to rest on your leg, drawing patterns on the skin until you pulled away to breathe, lips detaching from his as you whined a little. You stayed close, though, a soft look etched onto your features;

“I just want to meet a few more supernatural people, and get to know others who I don’t have to hide from.”

“Well, you definitely don’t have to hide from them, and you’ll love them, just as much as they’ll love you. We’re a pretty odd group, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re right about that ‘odd bunch’ thing. I’ve never met a banshee, or a - what did you call it? - werecoyote.” That was an undeniable truth, your head coming back down to rest on his chest as he shrugged, unable to deny that you were right. “Your wolves sound nice, too. All the other wolves I’ve met have been overly territorial and closed off.”

“Well, Derek used to be like that, but we’ve pulled him around a little. He is still broody, though.” You laughed at his joke, a sound that made his heart burst open slightly and bleed with affection, all for you, as you continued to take more and more pieces of his heart with every act, and he was falling in love with you faster than he’d ever known was possible. “Don’t take notice of any of his lurking, by the way, it’s his twisted way of showing concern and care.”

“I’ll remember that, and if I ever catch him hiding behind a tree, I’ll know that it’s real friendship.”

“He does that, I’m serious, don’t underestimate him. I think my dad arrested him for stalking, once.”

“I think your dad would be who I am most scared to meet.” A fond tone in your voice, before he was pressing a kiss to your forehead, humming under his breath.

“He’ll love you the most, don’t worry.”

Silence fell between you both then, and he busied himself with tracing illegible drawings into your skin, simply enjoying feeling so close to you. It was irrationally domestic, and you were the final piece in his college life and college experience that was missing. Despite not being a  wolf, he was unequivocally part of a wolf pack, and being surrounded so closely by such a tight-knit group of friends for those years had made him dependent on company and reliability, and he had been feeling so alone since leaving for college.

Scott had Malia, Lydia had rekindled things with Jordan, and even Derek had been (begrudgingly, to begin) hooked up with a deputy by his father, and they’d been on a few dates.

The last time he’d been home, he’d felt like a fifth, seventh, or was it ninth wheel, when Liam and Hayden were taken into account? He had been feeling awfully lonely lately, and he was glad to finally find someone that fit him perfectly, matching him like a glove.

“When I do introduce you to my friends, my pack, y’know, and my dad..”

You lifted your head, a little crease across your cheek from the fold in his shirt, and he rubbed the spot with his thumb gently, an attempt to remove the mark. “Yeah?”

“What should I introduce you as?”

“A witch.” You deadpanned, and he knew immediately that you’d clearly know exactly what he meant, but were playing with him, and he pouted, fixing you with a mock glare, before you were laughing to yourself over your joke, something so undeniably cute that he couldn't even pretend to be mad about it. “What do you want to introduce me as?”

Nudging your jaw a little with his, he puckered his lips, tempting you down to kiss him, and you were more than happy to press a series of sweet and short kisses to his lips. “I’d really like to formally claim you to be my girlfriend?”

He mumbled the words into your mouth, feeling your lips flick up at the edges in a smile as you gave him a kiss that was a little more firm, a little more loving and powerful, before whispering your reply; “Then we’re on the same page, because I’d like to introduce you to my coven back home as my boyfriend.”

“You have a coven?” He pulled back, a gasp of shock, and you giggled at him.

“That I do. Maybe I should tell you about them?”

“You absolutely should.” He insisted, his craving for knowledge taking over, and he couldn't have been more glad to whatever deity was watching over benevolently that he’d taken the choice to stay the first time knowledge had been offered, because it had led him to where he was now.

“It might take all night, maybe you should go and get a change of clothes. Get comfortable.”

“Is that an invitation to stay the night?” You only nodded, letting him roll you back over onto your back as he kissed at your neck. “I’ll buy you take out if you cuddle me later?”

“Cuddling and dinner? Glad I get to call you my boyfriend, now.”

“Not nearly as glad as I am to call you my girlfriend. My little witch.” His lips sealed over yours, silencing your laughs against his mouth as you teased him for the nickname, and he pinched a little at your sides. The mistletoe overhead grew a little more, a few of the berries dropping away and bouncing off of his back as the plant became bolder, just like the rest, that energy beginning to grow once again, as you got lost in each other’s touch.

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[fruitcoops]

Hi, Eve

Rose here from yesterday, thank you very much for the Birthday message, I wasn't expecting you to read it let alone reply but I was looking for Coops kids Birthday fluff specifically. It doesn't matter if you don't have time however as I don't want to be a bother.

Hello Rose, and happy (belated) 20th birthday! Sorry for the wait--I really wanted to get this one right to celebrate such an important number. I hope your day was absolutely fantastic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Stella is an OC

Combined with asks for Sirius lightly making fun of Remus' accent and Remus yelling at a game show (@nazar4114)

“Medusa!” Stella shouted with all the force in her thirteen-year-old lungs. Remus leaned forward on the couch. “Medusa!”

The front door opened with a creak. “I’m h—”

“Yes!” they cheered in unison as Nicole answered correctly. Remus turned and gave Stella a double high-five, feeling his heart squeeze at the vivid joy on her round face. “Good guess.”

“I knew she was gonna get it,” Stella said with a pump of her fist as she turned back to the show and folded her legs underneath her.

“Gonna,” a familiar deep voice mimicked from the doorway. Paper bags rustled before footsteps stopped behind the couch; Remus tilted his chin up without sparing a glance, and Sirius pressed a laugh-laced kiss to his cheek before dropping one on Stella’s head as well. “You sound too much like your dad.”

“Love you, too,” Remus said wryly.

“I’ll take ‘Myths and Moths’ for 400, please.” Nicole’s voice snapped his attention back to the screen, and Stella narrowed her eyes.

“Daily Double!” the automated voice announced. Stella gasped; Remus bit his lower lip. “This mythical shield was wielded by Athena, and is sometimes said to be made of goat skin.”

“Aegis,” Stella whispered, then raised her voice. “It’s the Aegis, Nicole. You know this.”

“We know you do,” Remus said, scooting forward. “You just guessed whose head is on it.”

Nicole’s buzzer went off with two seconds to spare. “What is the Aegis?”

“Hell yeah!” Stella whooped.

Remus turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you two going to do this the whole afternoon?” Sirius asked from the kitchen, obviously amused. “We might need to get the neighbors some noise-cancelling headphones.”

Stella blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes as she flopped her head back. “It’s almost final Jeopardy, papa. We have, like, ten minutes.”

Sirius blinked at her, then shook his head. “I swear you two share genes.”

“Ope, you caught me,” Remus said over the noise of the commercial break. “When I was 20 and had literally never left Wisconsin, I went and had a secret kid in Maine who looks terribly like you just so that someone would watch Jeopardy reruns with me thirteen years later. Oops.”

“It’s the truth,” Stella said with great gravity. “I remember.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile down. He had never been able to hide around Stella, not once in the three years since they had adopted her. It was one of the things Remus loved most about him. “By the way, nobody under the age of fourteen is allowed in the kitchen for the next…hour. Ish.”

Stella squirmed around until she could rest her arms on the back of the couch. “What if I get thirsty?”

“I’m sure you can invoke birthday privileges and ask your dad to get something for you.”

“Birthday privileges?” Remus scoffed. “Nobody in this house has a birthday today. Yours was last month, and mine’s in March.”

“It’s my birthday,” Stella said.

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Your birthday is in June.”

“It’s today.”

“Or maybe July?”

“It’s today, in December, when there’s snow,” she insisted, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Come on, dad, that’s not funny anymore.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Is somebody too old to find their poor old dad amusing now? Can you go back to being twelve so somebody will laugh at my jokes again? I know, I know, we're super lame compared to all your friends’ parents—”

“So lame,” Sirius agreed from the kitchen.

“—but I like to think we get one more year of pre-teen cuteness before the teen angst takes over.”

Stella sat up again with a groan. Looking at her, Remus saw a mix of himself and Sirius that had always baffled him, considering they had adopted her comparatively late in her life; beneath it was something uniquely Stella. Maybe it was her double-jointed elbows, or the board-straightness of her hair next to their curls, but there was no mistaking that she was her own person through and through. He loved that about her. “I’m not going to be a terrible teenager.”

Sirius poked his head around the edge of the kitchen—his nose was adorned with a smudge of flour. “Can I record that for future use?”

“Non.”

“Ooo, using the French,” Remus hissed. “That transformation is already beginning.”

“It’s not like you were bad teenagers, right?” She settled upside-down on the couch with her flamingo-patterned socks high in the air.

“I almost convinced Grandma to let me dye my hair blue, but otherwise I was pretty good.”

“I was terrible,” Sirius laughed. “I didn’t talk to anybody for a solid three years.”

Stella frowned. “How? I think I’d die if I did that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Remus stage-whispered.

“I heard that.”

Stella suppressed her laughter as best she could, but she was about as good at hiding her emotions around them as Sirius was. She didn’t really giggle—the amount her voice had deepened over the past three years always gave Remus whiplash—but her laugh had the same cadence as it did the first day they heard it. While Stella had been quiet at first, it only took love and time to bring her out of her shell. Within a year she settled into their lives like she was always meant to be there.

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “This is my last year before high school.”

“Does it feel different?”

“Not really.” She paused, then shrugged. “And a little. I don’t feel older. It just feels like there’s stuff I won’t get to do anymore.”

“And a lot more you will get to do.” Sirius left his dishtowel on the counter before joining them on Stella’s other side. “You can drive soon, you’ll get a longer curfew, you get more freedom…”

“I guess.”

“What are you going to miss?” Remus asked as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. It was a basic Lions FAN jersey; he was fairly sure she bought it to be ironic. That, and she only wore one of theirs if she was upset with the other, or if one needed a boost at a game.

“I dunno.” A few beats of silence passed. “My classmates. My team. It feels like everything’s going to turn upside down.”

“You can still keep in touch with your friends, and I bet your team won’t be too different,” Sirius said quietly. “Even if it does, that doesn’t mean you have to give all of them up. People change in different ways. They come and go on their own time.”

“There’s going to be a lot of upside-downs over the next couple years, kid.” Remus offered her a smile. “But you’re going to be just fine.”

“You two sound like such dads right now.”

“This might shock you, but that’s because we are.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up and she lolled her head to the side to look at Sirius. “Is the cake done?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Will you watch final Jeopardy with us?”

“What’s the category?”

“US Presidents.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, but nodded. She grinned and turned herself upright to snuggle against his arm. “You just enjoy watching me lose.”

---------------------------

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Sirius called from the kitchen.

“On three,” Remus said, raising his phone camera. “One, two, three!”

“Happy birthday to you,” over a dozen voices sang. They were off-tempo and so out of key the composer was probably spinning in his grave, but Stella’s clear joy didn’t waver for a millisecond even as her cheeks reddened. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Stella, happy birthday to you!”

Finn, of course, dragged out the last note. So did Leo, Logan, Kasey, James, Lily, and Talker in varying degrees of awful harmony attempts. It was terrible, and beautiful. “Make a wish,” Sirius said softly as he set the cake down and stepped back. His eyes were the brightest quicksilver Remus had seen in many moons.

Stella closed her eyes, took a breath, and blew as hard as she could—the entire room erupted into cheers when all the candles went out. She was laughing and blushing at the same time when Remus turned the lights back on, though the humor won out in the end and she helped pass plates of cake to her many aunts and uncles. Like every year prior, Regulus managed to smear a bit of frosting on her chin, only to immediately deny it with great offense when she noticed. It was becoming a bit of a tradition—one that Remus never grew tired of.

I know what I would wish for, Remus thought as he looked around the table at their patchwork family. Celeste, Dumo, and his own parents had no doubt spoiled their first grandchild with ‘cusp of adulthood’ gifts, and Natalie and Lily would certainly steal her away after cake for some girl time. Finn and Logan would remain the fun uncles while Leo and Regulus kept their thrones as the cool uncles; Stella would interrogate Jules on the intricacies of high school for at least an hour before they destroyed everyone in a snowball fight. The world they built together had a place for everyone.

I would wish for this. This, for us, forever. It wasn’t a bad eternity to imagine.

[jimlingss]

Maybe Baby Retreat

➜ Words: 12.7k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut

➜ Summary: In an attempt to conceive, Taehyung discovers a five day retreat dedicated to help with the impregnation process but you're fairly certain that the entire thing is a scam.

[Day One]   Taehyung should be fucking you.   It’s a bit crass to be grumbling that he’s not sticking his sperm in you, but your fertile window begins today and if he really wants a kid as much as he says he does, you wouldn’t be on a godforsaken bus.    The yellow school bus jumps and jolts as it goes down the jagged, unpaved road. Every bump is felt in the back by ten folds as you’re rocked from side to side on the seat and not on your husband’s dick. Said man is too busy singing along with the guide that’s living it up with a mic in hand and his voice on the intercom. He’s trying to bring up the morale, but you’re not having it.   Instead, you turn to the window and stare out at the empty countryside that stretches across the horizon. There’s not a car in sight and if you swear to god if you’re being shipped to a serial killer’s farmhouse, you’re dragging Taehyung down to hell with you.   “You’re frowning, sweetheart,” he says while leaning over to you, flashing a blazing grin much to your chagrin. “You know stress isn’t good for the baby.”   “It’s not like it matters. There is no baby.”   “Not yet.” Taehyung throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him as you scoff. You’re aware being a Debbie Downer isn’t going to help anyone but it’s hard to loosen up when you’re so on guard and skeptical about this whole thing. When you’re surrounded by noisy strangers who are all too overfamiliar.   You suppose it was your fault to begin with.   All those nights of staying up to read about tricks and tips of conceiving led Taehyung to discover the Baby Retreat. A five day sanctuary that ensures people will be able to conceive.    The moment you saw it, you were certain that the whole thing was a scam, but your sweet summer child husband was wholly convinced and no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change his mind.   “Who knows, it might actually work, right?! And if it doesn’t, then it looks fun anyway! When was the last time we had a vacation together?”   It’s also your fault for being so soft. You couldn’t shut Taehyung down when he was so enthusiastic, so here you are. You took off a week off work and on your fertile day, you’re shipped onto a school bus out into the middle of nowhere.   “Oh! Looks like we’re here, folks!” The vehicle slows as it turns into the gravel parking lot and the guide smiles as he peers out the windshield. “Welcome to the Baby Retreat! I hope you leave with a few buns in the oven! And if not, then don’t worry, you can still eat for two here!”   There’s a few snickers and once the bus parks, everyone gets up, slowly shuffling out and stretching their legs.   The air is sweltering hot and the sun beams down onto the back of your neck, making it uncomfortable to breathe. You’re panting with sweat built on your hairline as you drag your luggage through the grass. But no one seems bothered by it. Maybe because they’re excited that they’re here, they have the energy to fill the field with their chatter.    Even Taehyung is grinning and he’s a certified whiner when it comes to hot weather. The guy blasts the air conditioner during summer until it feels like it’s winter. Though you have an inkling it’s just a tactic so you can cuddle up to him for warmth before bed.   “Come on, slowpoke!” Taehyung breaks through your train of thought and then abandons you by running ahead like a hyperactive five year old.    “I’d be faster if you helped me!” Taehyung doesn’t hear you. You wonder if you married a child — but you suppose that’s why you called him the light of your life during your vows. Like Yoongi once said at the dinner reception, Taehyung’s excessive energy is indeed a double-edged sword.   You follow the stream of people to the center building, a modern wooden structure in the middle of the fifteen yurts that form a circle. It surprisingly looks alike to the advertisements, each with a porch and steps up to the door. The grass is verdant and pliant beneath your feet, the numerous trimmed trees around providing some nice shade and the flower beds give bright splashes of colour to the place. If this retreat wasn’t oddly centered around impregnation, you would’ve been convinced that it was a fancy camping resort.   “Welcome everyone! Welcome to the Baby Retreat! I hope the trip here wasn’t too bad!”   You finally join Taehyung’s side and look towards the stage in front of the main building. There’s a man with a half-moon smile and chubby cheeks in a loose tunic and taupe pants. He stands next to a woman in a baggy poncho holding a ukulele for reasons beyond you.   “I see some familiar faces here! To all those already familiar with the Baby Retreat, welcome home. I’ll try to keep this short and simple, so you’re not too bored.” He claps his hands together with a bright smile. You look around at the crowd to see elated expressions. “My name is Park Jimin and this is my girlfriend, Song Hyunjin. A little about us, we’ve been together for over ten years and yes, we have an open relationship with each other, but that does not mean we aren’t in love with each other.”   He draws her in, nuzzling into her without shame and she giggles. “To our new faces, trust me, you’ll find out soon enough.”   Jimin pulls away with an enormous grin. “We haven’t had any children ourselves, but don’t worry. We’re reproductive endocrinologists with proper training and medical degrees. But we started this retreat four years ago to take a more unconventional approach to reproduction. And for the next five days, we have the honour of hopefully helping you ladies conceive and you males impregnate your partner!”   There’s some exchanged smiles and Taehyung looks at you with hopeful eyes. It feels better to hear these people aren’t uneducated and talking out of their ass, but you’re still unsure how to feel.   Hyunjin laughs. “Not only that, our goal is to help you relax and truly deepen your relationship with your partner. While we can’t promise a hundred percent success rate, hopefully you’ll leave this place feeling more refreshed than you did before. With that being said, please feel free to come up and ask us any questions. We’re very open people who are more than happy to help you in your process of expanding your wonderful families. There is nothing more beautiful than pregnancy and birth.”   She jumps off the stage and grabs a wooden crate. With a smile, she begins passing out packs.   Jimin continues, “For the next five days, we’ll be helping everyone improve their diets and exercise habits while getting plenty of vitamin D. What my lovely Hyunjin is handing out now are your survival kits!”    “For men, fenugreek supplements are given to improve your sperm counts and for the ladies, there are prenatal vitamins and folic acid. There’s also a guide to the activities provided around here and a map, some sunscreen and other knick-knacks to remember your time here. Don’t worry, we won’t bombard you with any pregnancy pamphlets or information. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about that.”   It’s a bit refreshing to hear. You’ve been neck deep in research about conception that it’s been hard lately — another reason that you agreed to Taehyung’s whims.   “Are you the Kim family?” Hyunjin asks and when you confirm it, she hands both you and Taehyung cute pouches. You reluctantly take it, but when you thank her, she happily smiles. “Welcome to the Baby Retreat.”   The introduction drags on for a bit more before Hyunjin admits that it’s hot and that everyone’s probably tired, so the meeting ends and you open your pouch and find information on your yurt.   “Not too bad, right?”    Taehyung can tell by the look on your face as you gaze up at your white-tented yurt.   “We’ll see,” you mumble and he takes the luggage, following behind you. “I thought we were going to spend five days in an orange tent, so I guess this is better by default.”   “An orange tent?” He laughs. “But I showed you the commercial! Did you not pay attention?”   “People lie on advertisements all the time, Tae.”   But to your surprise, the interior of the yurt is even better than expected. It looks like a cozy cabin, wooden panel walls that separate the full kitchen from the full bathroom and provides some privacy to where the queen sized bed is. Light comes in from the top, filling the space with luminescence. There’s a mini-fridge filled with goods, plush towels set on the table with a personalized welcome card, down duvets that are soft to the touch.    And it’s wrecked the moment Taehyung jumps on the bed with his arms and legs wide open like a starfish. He rolls over and props his head up with his hand — in the position where he often asks you in a breathy voice to paint him like one of your french girls. And he uses the same voice on you now while wiggling his brows, “Wanna ruin the sheets with me?”   You burst out laughing, but it sounds all too tempting. He could probably dump a load in you within five minutes, though you’re not sure if anyone could hear you from the outside. “Didn’t they say there’s planned activities in an hour? What if we don’t show up.”   “It’s fine. People come here for one reason anyway.” There’s a pause. “To fuck.”   You roll your eyes, setting your suitcase next to the bed and you look at the nightstand to notice mineral oil lubricants. You’re mildly impressed at the details. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”   “They won’t miss us.” Taehyung’s own attention is taken to a wooden basket on a shelf of the irregular shaped bookshelf and he comes over, only to grin when he sees what’s inside. “Honey. I think we should have some fun tonight.”   You turn around, wondering what he’s up to now. But any snarky remarks die on your tongue when you find a leather whip in his left hand and a ten inch, neon pink dildo in his other hand.   “Is that...even sanitary?!”    You can’t imagine how many people have used it.   “We can find out.” Taehyung fiddles around with it, pushes a button and the dildo begins to rotate, making the both of you laugh. “Honey, we gotta give them five stars on Yelp! They have a communal sex toy bin for us to use! We can’t get this anywhere else.”   “Oh god. I’d rather not share my sex toys with anyone.” The two of you are interrupted by muffled folk music that begins to leak inside and it persuades you to go out. “C’mon, we should go check out what they have. If we have to spend five days here, we might as well meet some other people too and be social or whatever.”   Taehyung grins, tossing the dildo back into the basket and joining your side. “You’re liking this place, aren’t you?”   “No. I just think the yurt’s half-decent.”   Taehyung can see right through you, but it’s a bit too early for the ‘told you so’ spiel so he holds back and the both of you step outside of the yurt. There’s a few people hanging around and the weather is more bearable as the sun slowly begins moving and setting over the horizon. You meet friendly newlyweds who are surprisingly having their honeymoon here.   “We just can’t wait to have kids,” Rose, the young twenty three year old, says as she embraces her husband, Hoseok. They’re no strangers to publish displays of affection, openly kissing up on each other. It would make you a bit uncomfortable if not for how touchy Taehyung is as well.   When you first got together all those years ago, your friends teased you about it but it’s been years since. No one’s a stranger to how you plop yourself down on Taehyung’s lap or how he might kiss you and then steal your food right off of your own plate.   “When we saw that the retreat offered a honeymoon package, we just couldn’t resist,” Hoseok says, but you’re not sure if he’s talking to you and Taehyung or his wife with how much he gazes at her. It’s a sweet sight though. You remember that honeymoon period.   “Remember when we were that young?” you ask as you leave to the other side, giving the couple some much needed privacy. It was obvious they weren’t up for more conversation with the way they’re shifting and staring at one another.   “When you were still hot? Yeah. I do—” Taehyung bursts out laughing when you jab him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! You’re still hot, okay? The hottest chick here and you’d make the hottest MILF too.”   “Damn straight.”   The pair of you also run into another couple that’s older and appears a lot more comfortable with the place. “Oh, this is actually our second time here! The first time gave us the four year old troublemaker running amok back at home.”   You blink in surprise, suddenly more interested in the conversation. “This place...worked for you?”   “It sure did.” The woman, Dahyun, smiles. “Some people didn’t have as much luck as we did, but we had so much fun last time that we knew we just had to come back. We were actually staying in your yurt last time.”   She points and you swivel your head over, intrigued. “Huh.” Taehyung raises a brow, noticing how engaged you are and the corner of his mouth tugs.   Her husband, Seokjin, chuckles heartily. “We thought it was time to give our son a younger brother, so here we are! Tonight’s the welcome party and just a word of advice, I really recommend getting some of that grilled salmon. It’s absolutely delicious.”   “Just let them eat whatever they want, Jin,” his wife sighs in exasperation.   “I’m just saying! I would’ve liked to know last time — I would’ve gotten two plates before they ran out.”   “This is why the doctor told you to eat less of everything. You ate more than I did when I was pregnant with Youngjae.”   “I can’t help that I’m eating for three! For your information, I’m carrying the entire family on these broad, broad shoulders of mine. Soon, I’ll have to start eating for four.”   Dahyun turns to you and Taehyung who are amused at their bickering. “I’m sorry. Please ignore him.”   It’s not a bad place, at least not so far. You weren’t sure what you were anticipating, but on the entire way here, you were worried that it was a scam your poor husband fell for. Luckily though, it seemed like the accommodation is good and the people around are friendly and welcoming, coming from different kinds of backgrounds and walks of life. It makes you feel better about not having internet connection or being murdered in the middle of the night.   The welcoming party turns out to be fairly nice too, and like Seokjin said, the food is delicious.   It’s a buffet style with tables set out, full of what Jimin declares is antioxidant-rich foods. He and Hyunjin go on a tangent about the benefits, how soy and estrogen foods have been limited, how there’s an emphasis on fruits, vegetables, carbohydrates, proteins and folic acid, and you’re sorely impressed at the attention to detail they provide.   “Oh my god. The salmon is amazing and have you tried these beans, Tae?!”   Taehyung laughs as he watches you eat, eyes lifted to look at you across the rounded table. “I thought you hated beans.”   “I do. But try it.” You lift your fork and he happily leans over, taking a bite. He swallows it down and smiles at how you stuff your cheeks.   After dinner, the pair of you gather with the rest to watch a few performances held on the main stage. Jimin introduces other staff members who sing, dance and Hyunjin even does a number with her ukulele, belting out some indie songs while standing bare feet.   It’s bizarre and a bit surreal to be sitting back in a lawn chair and watching some chick with flowers in her hair jump around and try to entertain you, but it’s not completely unwelcome. If anything, you were sort of having fun. The sun had set, making the weather milder. The breeze was warm against your cheeks and the fairy lights strung above were twinkling.   The whole atmosphere lulled you and with your head leaning on Taehyung’s shoulder, every blink became heavier and heavier. “This is nice,” you mutter and he catches it.   Your husband turns his head with a tiny smile. “Yeah?”   “Mhmh...”    You feel a wet kiss being planted at the top of your head and you decide to indulge, closing your eyes for just a moment. But the next time they open, you realize that the crowd has thinned, they’ve put on music on the stereo and Taehyung’s windbreaker is draped on top of you as a makeshift blanket.   “Hey there, sleepy head.” He grins at you when he notices your lashes fluttering. “Want me to carry you back to the yurt?”   “I’m fine.” It takes a second to get up and you stretch your arms out before the both of you make your way back to the yurt. There were a few younger couples lingering around and still taking in the scenery, but the years were catching up to you quickly and all you wanted was to dive into the sheets and satiate the rest of your sleepiness. “How long was I out for?”   “About half an hour?”   Taehyung fishes for the key and opens the door. “I didn’t even realize I was so tired.” You manage to kick off your shoes and beeline to the bathroom to brush your teeth.   “Of course, you were tired. You didn’t even sleep on the bus and for the past few days you’ve been up late doing research.”   You mumble incoherently, not having enough energy to argue with Taehyung and he grins, nudging you aside so he can grab his own toothbrush.    In the next ten minutes, it’s lights out. You’re rolled onto the bed, tucked into the warm sheets like a burrito, and Taehyung’s settled in as well. You hear his exhale and you allow your muscles to relax in the comfortable darkness. The exhaustion that’s been built from the entire day washes over you. But before you can drift off, in the quietness of the room, you remember.   And you reach out, arm stretched, feeling for your husband.   Taehyung hums when you tap his shoulder. You feel him shift and mumble, “What’s wrong?”   “I’m fertile,” you mutter with your eyes closed. “You need to stick your dick in me.”   He bursts out laughing and his arm slings over your abdomen. “It’s okay if we don’t have sex tonight, you know.”   You sigh, too fatigued to get up and do the job yourself. “We’re gonna miss our opportunity, Tae.”   A soft kiss is pressed to your temple, and you feel yourself losing the fight to keep your consciousness. “We’ll have other chances. Relax.”   “Relaxing….isn't gonna give us a baby.”   “No, but it will keep my current baby sane.”   After being together for so many years, Taehyung knows how to make his words sound sweet and enticing. And before you can even damn him for always catering to you and babying you, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

[Day Two]   Breakfast is as incredible as dinner was. There’s a full fruit platter that’s apparently all organic and a number of carbohydrates to fill yourself all the way to lunch. But you begin to regret eating so much with the scheduled activity that follows.   “Couples yoga is a way to build intimacy and trust with your partner.” Hyunjin and Jimin smile brilliantly and you wonder if they’re happy go lucky all the time. It must be fucking exhausting.   “Taehyung.” You nudge the man beside you who’s intently listening and he turns his head. “You know I’m not flexible at all.”   “Don’t worry.” He flashes a blazing grin. It’s way too early for this. “This is just for fun and I’ll catch you if anything.”   “No. Last time I tried doing yoga, I pulled a muscle in my thigh—”   “Oh look. They’re doing the first pose!” Your husband excitedly lugs you down and you’re forced to comply, crossing your legs and facing him.    It’s simple at first. There are basic poses with him leaning against you. Although it is hard to find a good balance considering how tall Taehyung is and even for being lanky, he’s quite a bit stronger than you are. But when Hyunjin and Jimin begin to twist themselves around and Jimin holds her up by the feet with a single hand, you know it’s impossible.   Unlike Taehyung, you never did cheerleading or any acrobatics.   “You’re going to drop me or I’m going to snap your spine, Tae!”   “Don’t you trust me?”   You look at your half-monkey, half-clown of a husband. “Do you really want to know the truth?”   The both of you collapse into a heaping mess before he can confirm or deny. He laughs and starts tickling you for not being able to listen until you’re begging him to stop before you look more like an idiot than you already do.   There’s a few couples who do a good job and you giggle when Taehyung mutters passive aggressive comments on how they’re teacher’s pets or that their form is awful. But there’s the fair share of other pairs who do as bad as you, namely Seokjin and Dahyun, the old couple from last night, bickering at being unable to do any poses.   You can’t say that couple’s yoga is particularly relaxing, but it’s silly and you find yourself having fun.   Hyunjin leads the cool down exercise and Taehyung nearly whacks you in the head with how he stretches. Your glare gains his exaggerated pout then cheesy smile. “Now as the very last cool down exercise, we’re going to take our partners by the hand.”   You mimic her and clasp Taehyung’s hands, awaiting further instructions.    “And we’re going to gaze into their eyes.” What? “Focus into the colour of their irises, how brown or blue or green they might be, or even the pattern of them. Sometimes we don’t truly look at one another like we should.”   “What are they even saying?” you mutter and the corner of Taehyung’s mouth twitches. In spite of how bizarre it is, you follow and stare into Taehyung’s rounded eyes. They’re brown. Like they’ve always been.   But you must admit, when the morning sunlight catches his irises at particular angles, the colour is a lighter shade than usual. They’re quite bright too.   “They say if we gaze into the eyes of someone we love, our heartbeat synchronizes together.”   What? Your brows furrow skeptically and you’re about to turn away, but suddenly Taehyung grabs a hold of your chin. “Don’t look away,” he commands with an authoritative voice and you swallow hard.   “Okay.” You focus your eyes to enlarge and focus. “I’m looking.”   You wonder if this is a staring contest, but even with his wolfish smile and being married for so long, Taehyung’s intent stare starts to make you feel vulnerable. You wonder if he’s always looked at you so affectionately. More importantly, you realize that even with all his dumb antics — like deciding to paint the fence green and then stopping halfway or ripping out the cabinets in the kitchen and never replacing them like he intended — you still love this sweet and kind dummy.   “Alright. Everyone can relax now,” Jimin announces softly as he claps and you finally blink a few times, eyes stinging from how you forced them open. “That’s the end of this session. Thank you for joining everyone.”   Yet, Taehyung holds your gaze a moment longer. And before you can pipe up and tell him it’s over, the man leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. He smiles when he pulls away. “As much as sweat is a good look on you, I think it’s time to shower, Mrs. Kim.”   You scoff and he holds your hand with an enormous grin, dragging you back to the yurt.   The two of you hop into the shower together, a habit that Taehyung insists is to save water for the good of the environment, but you swear half the time, you end up wasting more than if either of you do it separately. You’re sure that right now is one of those times.   “Hey.” You turn around as he’s lathering up his shampoo.   “Hey, yourself.” He smiles and shifts towards the stream of water before screaming at how hot it is. Taehyung quickly adjusts it, dissipating the fog on the glass. “Why do you like bathing in molten lava, woman?”   “You always make it too cold.” You scoff, but don’t dwell on the argument as you lean into his backside. “Listen, should we get a quickie in?”   Taehyung frees himself of the soap and looks at you. “If we do, we’ll miss lunch and then the hike.”   “We’re going on a hike?!”   “Yep, so hurry up cause if we don’t get lunch, we’re not gonna make it!” He gets out of the shower, leaving you to be bludgeoned by the ice, cold water. You sigh in exasperation.   The purpose of coming here is to conceive, not go on a hike. But with how enthused he is, you begrudgingly join.   Afternoons are the worst out here. The sun is sweltering and there isn’t an ounce of a breeze or a wind. As a result, the heat stifles and lingers without dissipating, causing sweat to dampen your clothing and stick to the back of your neck. The weather exhausts you and you feel your creamy lunch pasta up your throat again as you lug your legs up the steep, rocky incline.    No matter how much you try to keep up, you fall behind from the group.   Taehyung twirls around with a big grin, mouth perfectly symmetrically. “Are you okay?”   “W-What does it look like?” you pant. It’s unfair that Taehyung works out once a year and treats his body like a candy trashcan but is still more fit than you are.    “I can carry you if you want.”   “You’re going to snap in half carrying me.” You pass him as he laughs.    You hear him catch up, feet skipping along like he’s playing hopscotch. Then suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted off the ground and you shriek, arms looping around Taehyung’s neck. You’re scooped up in his arms like he’s about to kick down the door into the bedroom, but instead, he starts sprinting up the path like a maniac.   “Taehyung!” you squeal and he laughs again.   “Isn’t this better?”   “Aren’t you tired?”   “If I say yes, you’re gonna think I’m trying to tell you to lose weight, but for the record, I like how soft you are.”   You roll your eyes, embarrassed as you pass a few couples, but none of them seem to find it bizarre and they even smile warmly at you and Taehyung. Yet, he starts to slow down tremendously after a few minutes, panting and sweating profusely. You ask him if he’s going to put you down yet, but you underestimate just how stubborn your dear husband is. Taehyung refuses until you’re up at the top of the trail, making it to where Jimin and Hyunjin are by the waterfall.    There, you’re finally on set on your feet again.   You pass him your water bottle. “Drink it before I’m the one dragging you down.”   He grins and downs it.   Up here, it’s much more refreshing and easier to breathe. There’s a tiny waterfall coming from the higher mountains and there are trees around to provide shade. When you squint, you can see the campsite at a distance with all the yurts.   “We should take some pictures!” Taehyung declares when he steadies his breath and pulls out his selfie stick from the hideous fanny pack that you still won’t admit is pretty convenient.   “Your mom is gonna want a copy so don’t pull any ugly faces, Tae.”   “My face is never ugly.” He tugs you beside him and snaps a few shots before reviewing them carefully. Taehyung always had an eye for these kinds of things. “We didn’t get a good angle of the water.”   “I can take it for you.”   “What’s the point if we’re not together?” His thick brows are furrowed, lips lopsided, sighing.   A matronly and friendly voice pipes up next to you, “Do you need any help?”   Dahyun is smiling with Seokjin beside her and Taehyung appears relieved. “Yes, please.”   She takes his phone as he folds back his selfie stick and she stands off to the side, capturing you and Taehyung smiling with his arm around you. “One. Two. Three. I’ll take another one.”   Dahyun changes the angle a bit and Taehyung leans over to pull on your cheek while you feign a glare at him. The second picture is taken while the woman and her husband laugh, endeared. “There we go. You can check them to see if they’re good.”   The phone is handed back and by Taehyung’s expression, it seems acceptable. “You two are too cute. When did you get married?”   “Oh, I think three years ago? Yeah. Three.”    It’s much longer than it actually feels. It seemed like it was a week ago when you first met in class and thought he was annoying. Like yesterday, he was supposed to propose at a fancy restaurant but failed when you found the ring box the night before — how he screamed at you to stop, but it was too late and he ended up going with it. They’ve all become memories that you cherish.   “We met back in school and dated a while before getting married.”   Dahyun smiles. “Have you decided how many kids you want yet?”   You hitch a thumb to Taehyung. “He wants four, but I’m fine with two.”   “The bigger the family, the better, right?” he says, looking up from the screen of his phone.   “Wait until you have kids, you’ll end up wanting more,” Seokjin chuckles, “That or you’ll want to give them all away, but personally, I could raise a whole football team if she’d let me.”   His wife jabs him in the ribs. “Yeah, because you’re not the one who has to give birth to them.”   “And that’s why you’re the boss of the house.” He pouts at her while the corners of his mouth tickle up into a smile, and she relents.   “Let’s be honest, the real boss of the house is our little troublemaker. I swear he took after all your bad traits.”   Seokjin gasps. “Excuse me, Youngjae is my most masterful creation...even if he painted all over our leather seats and popped our car tire with his batman toy.”   She shakes her head with a light sigh, but it’s hard to hide her beaming expression. “I should’ve known he would give me trouble when he went past the due date for two weeks.”   “T-two weeks?” you sputter.   Dahyun nods, finally having the sympathy she was trying to fish out of her husband. “My stomach was as big as a watermelon and I was in labour for fourteen hours before I ended up getting an emergency c-section and he came out a whopping ten pounds.”   Your head is swirling as you try to imagine a ten pound baby in this petite woman.   It almost seems like a horror story that’s waiting to be picked up by Hollywood.   “But honestly, the hardest part wasn’t the whole pregnancy or birthing process. It was afterwards.” Her exhale is long and fatigued. “Suddenly there’s another human being you’re responsible for and you have to take care of them while you’re still in recovery. I remember when Youngjae couldn’t stop crying in the middle of the night. I always had an idea that having kids was a lot of work, but you really don’t have time for yourself once they’re born, and not to mention my bladder was completely done for after the whole thing.”   “Alright, alright.” Her husband pulls her close. “I already know you’re a woman warrior. I saw it with my own eyes.”   Dahyun smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes and she turns to him, deadpanning, “No, you didn’t. You passed out half-way.”   “I was there in spirit,” Seokjin insists humorously.   Dahyun scoffs while Taehyung grins at their back and forth that’s reminiscent of his own dynamic with you. “But were they worth it?”   “Oh, a thousand percent,” Dahyun responds without needing a second to consider, expression softening. “Enough that I would want to do it all over again.”   She doesn’t get a chance to say much else when Jimin’s voice pierces through the chatter and everyone gathers together with the last stragglers who have finally made it up. “Thank you, everyone, for coming all the way up here. This is Serenity Falls that was actually…”   But his voice drowns out.   You linger on what Dahyun said, about child rearing and birthing, and there’s nothing that can be done to the uneasy emotion swelling inside of you.   The walk back down is silent. Done without a single complaint from you about the hot weather or how your feet ache. Taehyung notices, glancing at you several times. He doesn’t say anything until you’re back at the yurt.    “What’s wrong?”   You look at him from across the room. “Nothing, why?”   “You’ve just been quiet.”   “I just….” You inhale and decide to divulge him. “I was just thinking about what Dahyun and Seokjin were saying. Do you think we’re cut out for this, Taehyung?”   His head quirks to one side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”   “You and I can barely take care of ourselves.”   “That’s not true.”   “We forget to buy food all the time.”   “That makes midnight snack runs fun.” He grins.   You exhale an unsteady breath and Taehyung approaches you. He doesn’t mind how sweaty you are and wraps his arms around your waist. “We’ll figure it out. You said it yourself, right? One step at a time.”   “But what if it’s too much and you decide you don’t want to do it anymore? Or that...you don’t want to be with me?” He opens his mouth, but you keep going before he can jump in. It’s not just about you being self-conscious or needing reassurance. You’re simply trying to imagine the worst case scenario as realistically as you can. “Like when I’m still bloated like a whale and in a bad mood and the baby’s crying and no one knows what to do.”   “I’ll still love you no matter the changes,” Taehyung murmurs earnestly, searching your expression. “Even if you’re bloated like a whale and in a bad mood and the baby’s crying and no one knows what to do. I’ll use google to figure it out and get the baby to calm down and I’ll get you some chocolate and I’ll rub your feet.”   You scoff lightly. “You make it sound so easy.”   “Maybe because it won’t be as hard as you think. I’m great with kids and we got killer teamwork, you know, plus this baby’ll be the best project we’ve ever done together.”   “A project that’s gonna last us eighteen years.” You smile.   Taehyung laughs, the sound mellifluous in the room. “Which isn’t that long considering how fast time moves.”   You hum and encircle your arms around his neck. Taehyung gets the hint and leans in to seal your lips against his, slotting them together to kiss you the way he knows you like it.   It’s slow, comforting, an opportunity to revel in the softness of his lips. Taehyung gives you courage — he always has and when you break apart, smiling against each other, you feel worlds better than before. “I’m gonna start a bubble bath. You can join me if you want.”   It’s less of a suggestion and more of a demand, one Taehyung fully recognizes and makes him smile in amusement as you saunter away. Taking advantage of the tub in the bathroom, you lower the stopper of the drain and dump in the soap they offer. The water gets filled three quarters way with a layer of bubbles and you strip. You sigh as you get comfortable in the tub.   “Is it warm?”   Your husband leans against the doorway, arms crossed and the corner of his mouth curled.   “Uh-huh.” You loll your head on the edge of the tub and lift up your foot, watching the way the water cascades off your skin. “Are you not going to get in?”   “Maybe later,” Taehyung surprisingly replies. He rarely rejects any chance at jumping your bones when you’re being this forward about it. There’s no hike or lunch to catch that’s preventing him from having fun with you either. But as your husband walks out, you catch him unceremoniously stealing the clothes you have prepared and the stack of towels by the sink.   “What are you doing?”   “There’s no point in covering yourself up if I’m gonna strip you anyway.” He flashes a mischievous grin and you sigh, relenting in his antics. You simply lay back to enjoy the water, muscles relaxing and your brain that’s constantly in overdrive empties.   After ten minutes, your skin begins to wrinkle, so you drain the water and get out. But the moment you stand up, the cool air conditioning slams into you and your body starts to shiver.   “Taehyung!” you shout and hear silence. “At least give me a towel!”   Fortunately for you, there’s a smaller one on the rack he missed so you swipe at it and wrap your shoulders to protect yourself. But you’re still dripping wet and in need of your clothes, so you stomp out to find your ridiculous partner who’s apparently five years old and—   “HA!” Said man you’re searching for bursts out of the closet and you scream, startled half to death, nearly falling to the ground. Taehyung starts to laugh like a maniac.   “Are you serious?!” You gawk at him. “How long did you even wait there for?”   “Like five minutes ago.” The bastard wolfishly grins. “Worth it though.”   You cock a brow at him, sighing. “So that’s why you didn’t join me in the bath?”   “No. I didn’t join you, so I could do this.” He yanks the towel where your breasts meet, leaving you nude. Goosebumps rise all over your skin and your nipples harden in the frigid air.   You screech, arms trying to cover yourself. “Taehyung, it’s cold!” “I can warm you up,” he says but then runs away when he reads the glare on your face, giggling boyishly. It’s completely childish. If anyone was watching, you’d be mortified, but it’s been a long time since there was any shame in your marriage, so you stomp after him while nude.    You hunt the man down while he tries to evade by rounding the coffee table. It’s no longer about grabbing clothes or covering yourself up, it’s time for revenge.   Luckily, the yurt isn’t big enough to have a game of tag. You manage to reach him and you steal the opportunity to yank his pants down. Taehyung, mid-laugh, trips on his feet and stumbles on the carpet. You burst out giggles, looking at his ass in the air and he giggles too from the infectious sound bubbling up your throat.   “Oh, you’re gonna get it now,” He mutters in a low voice with half-lidded eyes and you scramble away with another shriek.   “You started it!” You jump onto the bed and Taehyung kicks off his pants. You don’t ask why he’s skipped out on wearing boxers, but you notice he’s already half-hard and that only makes you laugh louder.   He chases after you as you duck and steal his own tactic of rounding the coffee table. But unfortunately for you, Taehyung has always been destined to win with his longer legs. He catches you within two strides and snatches you as you scream. You’re thrown over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes and he smirks. “Caught you.”   “Taehyung! People are gonna hear!” You laugh in spite of being the one who’s making most of the noise and he tosses you onto the bed. Usually, you hate to be manhandled, but your husband’s the only exception to the rule.   “Let them hear.”   He hovers over you and the laughter dies down. Taehyung stares earnestly into your eyes and your breathing becomes shallow. But you don’t like to lose and as his wife of three years, you know his one, true weakness.    Your fingers lift to Taehyung’s armpits and he seizes when you start tickling him. You laugh when he does and once he doubles over, there’s an opening to the left, a perfect escape route. You steal the opportunity while you still have it and start to climb off the bed, but he regains his breath and grabs your ankle, tugging you back to him in one swift motion without even needing to try.    Taehyung grins. “God, you’re such a brat sometimes.”    “Yeah, and I know you like it.”   He grabs your wrists before you can make another tickle attack and pins it above your head. You can tell that there’s no more time for jokes or any more playing around, not when you can feel his hard cock against your stomach.   “You smell good,” he sighs into your neck, inhaling deeply. “Cherry blossom? Peony?”   “Strawberries,” you answer. “You smell like sweat.”   “You’re gonna end up like me anyway.” Taehyung smiles and leans in to kiss you. It isn’t shy or chaste. His tongue licks into your mouth and you exhale, a strangled moan muffled against his lips as you melt against him. He finally has you where he wants and you let him take control.   The pair of you swap spit for a few minutes until he releases your hands, allowing you to curl your fingers into his shoulders as he caresses your waist.    Taehyung eventually breaks away with a playful glint in his eyes. “You wanna try the toys?”   You both look at the basket half across the room and he rolls off of you. You get to your feet to inspect it for yourself and discover an array of colourful gadgets, some that you’ve tried before and others that you’re sure needs to have an instruction manual with it.    “I’m not putting any of these dildos in me, Tae. I don’t know where they’ve been.”   “I know.” He lays with his head propped up by his hand and you eye something at the bottom of the basket. You pull out a leather whip and look at him. “Ooh, a classic pick there, sweetheart.”   A whip seems more sanitary considering it doesn’t have to go in anyone’s orifices.   “Is it?” You approach with a tiny smile, staring down the innocent man. “Roll over.”   “What?”   “I’ll whip you.” You grin and he blinks at you. More often than not, you’re the more submissive one in bed, but the idea of having Taehyung crying out and the idea of you cackling at his pain has him immediately rolling face down in intrigue and you stepping up on the bed.   He turns his face to the side. “Do you know how to do it?”   “How hard can it be?” There’s a pause. “But tell me if it hurts.”   “The point is to make it hurt, Y/N.”   “Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt you-hurt you.”   “I can handle it.” Taehyung smirks and you scoff.    Even in this position, he’s trying to maintain his dominance.   You grip it tightly and don’t count. Simply, with a flick your wrist, you slam the whip across his backside. It makes a loud cracking sound and you hear Taehyung sharply inhale. His teeth grit and you freeze, watching his expression carefully.   “How was it?”   “Is my back split open?” he asks, trying to look over his shoulder.   “No.”   “I think I might have to go to the ER.” He sits up completely, overdramatic in the way he fumbles around and his tone filled with some mischief. “I think there’s internal bleeding. Or my spine is broken. I wouldn’t be surprised.”   “It’s fine, Tae.” you laugh. So much for telling you to go for it. But you already had an inkling Taehyung wasn’t one for receiving pain. After all, he’s still your whiny baby who only eats vanilla yogurt. “Not your thing?”   “Not my thing.” He takes the whip from your hand and tosses it across the room. “I have a better toy in mind.”   You’re about to remind him you’re not gonna put any of those communal toys inside of you, but he instead walks over to his suitcase and starts tearing some clear packaging open with something pink inside. You read the label — it’s a remote control vibrating egg.   Your brows furrow. “When did you get that?”   “Two days before we left. Amazon prime, babe.”   “So that’s what you were looking at when you told me you were doing some online shopping?”   “Precisely.” Taehyung grins and you’re not sure if you should be pleasantly surprised or in dismay since the two of you have already made a pact not to buy anything else online. The treadmill bought on an impulse is still taking up half the space of the living room.   Before you can think too much, Taehyung gets it open and comes over. He nudges your thighs to open and you lay back, leaning against the headboard. You’re not that wet yet, if at all, but it doesn’t stay that way when his long fingers rub against your clit in circles.    With his other hand, he strokes against your slit and then sinks his index finger in knuckle deep. You throw back your head, moaning his name at the intrusion while he remains silent, intently watching your pink cunt squeeze. Taehyung curls his finger and swallows hard. The sloppy sounds of your cunt fill the room and he hums in satisfaction.   “Okay. Ready?”   “Uh-huh.”   The head of the cold egg meets your folds and it slowly enters. While the toy might not be big or long, the girth stretches against your warm walls and you keen. Taehyung makes a low noise, encouraging you to take it. When it’s in, he smiles brilliantly. “Good job, sweetheart. You did it.”   “Now what?”   “This, of course.” Taehyung dangles the remote in front of you and then like a psycho, he ramps it up to the highest possible setting. Intense vibrations are felt through your body instantaneously and you cry, head knocked back against the headboard as your velvet walls squeeze and tremble.   “T-Taehyung!”   “Good?”   “I-It’s too much!” You’re completely at his mercy and he takes advantage of it, drinking you in with a wolfish smile. You’re unable to muster a glare at him, reduced to a complete mess while your center leaks and drips onto the sheet. Still, you try to reach over to the remote.   He dodges when you lunge at him. “Nu-uh.”   Luckily, you get a hold of your husband and climb over to him. His arm is extended straight up, laughing as you try to snatch it from him. He waves it inches away to mock you while enjoying the sight of you quivering on top of him. “T-Tae!”   “Okay, okay.” He laughs and transfers it into his other hand, about to turn the setting down a notch. But right at the moment you’re about to snag it for yourself, the remote flies out of his hand. It falls through the gap between the wall and the headboard.   It clatters to the ground.   “Oh shit.”   “Taehyung!”   “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rolls off the mattress and looks underneath the bed before abruptly standing. “I’m going to need a long stick or something.”   He starts to look around the room, searching for a tool to grab the remote that’s out of reach, and you don’t know if you should suffocate him with a pillow or facepalm yourself hard enough to get knocked out into a coma.   You can pull out the egg yourself, but the violent vibrations were beginning to thrum pleasure through you, so as your useless husband goes fishing for the remote, you finish the job. Your fingers play with your clit, rubbing the bud as your slick drips down your thighs and you come hard on the toy.   The same moment light flashes beneath your eyelids and your toes curl, Taehyung grabs the remote with the help of a rolled brochure and shuts it off. The both of you are winded for different reasons.   “You know, I'd say that was pretty hot if not for how stressful that actually was.”   “You’re an idiot.” You tug the toy out of you and bat him over lazily, feeling spent on how hard you came. “Now dump some sperm in me, idiot.”   Taehyung has a cheesy grin and climbs over you. Despite the struggles of grabbing the toy’s remote, he’s fully hard from the noises you were making. “I’d tell you to ask more nicely, but I’ll let it go.”   He aligns the head of his weeping cock to your swollen cunt and leans his weight into you. He starts to push in and you whine, gripping his forearms. As wet as you are, Taehyung is still well-endowed — less girthy than the toy, but there’s a considerable length to him.    When he bottoms out, you can feel him all the way to your throat.   He tucks sweaty strands of hair behind your ear and kisses you. “Sorry about earlier.”   “’t’s okay. It was fun,” you admit and he smiles, starting to work up a good rhythm. You feel hot in your face with the pressure of his body on top of yours, hardened nipples brushing against his chest. Your cunt pulses and squeezes around his length. It draws Taehyung’s groans into your neck.   “F-Fuck. You’re so tight.”   It feels good and you know he’s reveling in the pleasure too. His eyes are shut tight, the scrunch made between his brows and it entices you to reach up and kiss him to which he sweetly indulges you. Your tongues twine as you pant against each other and Taehyung starts to lose his pacing.   He bends your knee, hitting you at a deeper angle as his strokes become increasingly frantic and quick. You egg him on and he groans once more before he thrusts himself as deep as he can go and cums. Ropes of white paint your walls, the head of his cock against your cervix and filling your cunt and womb up. You can feel some of it dribbling out, seeping past your folds and when Taehyung’s about to withdraw, you quickly grab his forearm.   “Wait. Just stay put for a second. I have to keep it in.”   He nods and kisses your lips. “Okay.”   Taehyung nestles into you, nuzzling into your neck and you hope this is the one.

[Day Three]   There were lots of activities and amenities offered and advertised by Jimin during the introduction of the retreat, but you realize you might’ve missed over the most important one of all.   “How does that feel?” the massage therapist asks as she works a knot out of your shoulders and smooths your skin with the oil.   “Amazing,” you murmur from the corner of your mouth, melted against the table.    Couples massages were something you always scoffed at, but holy shit, it’s absolutely paradise. With the breeze blowing through the pitched tent and the glowing humidifier releasing a fresh scent, you’ve never been more relaxed as all the stiffness is worked out of you.   You open your eyes to see Taehyung enjoying it as well — though not as much as you are since he’s quite ticklish. Sometimes, he squirms a bit too much and his massage therapist is at a loss of what to do.   But when it’s all done, you feel like you’re in a new body. “Oh my god. I think I’m more flexible than before. Look, Tae!”   You stretch your leg and he giggles at how happy your mood is. “If I knew you liked it this much, I would’ve signed us up for one at the spy near the gym.”   Your eyes are wide, catching the sunlight. “Do you think they’re as good as this place?”   Taehyung grins. “Probably.”   “We should go when we get back then. Oh, do you wanna check out the library?”   “Sure.”   You grab his hand, lacing your fingers together and he smiles to himself.    It’s a free day without many planned activities, giving you both an opportunity to look around the retreat for yourselves and take it easy. And the pair of you take full advantage of the opportunity. Since morning, you were lazing around the yurt and after breakfast and the massages, you decide to lay in one of the hammocks by the trees while Taehyung naps with you.    Said man hasn't seen you this stress free in a while, so he happily indulges you in all your wishes. Even when night falls and you step away from the stage where Hyunjin is performing again to stargaze. It’s an odd activity for you since mosquitoes love to especially swarm around you when given the chance and on numerous occasions, you’ve been a moth landing spot.   But tonight, the breeze is soft and gentle, and you don't feel any tickles on your skin that isn’t Taehyung’s hand grazing against yours. The grass is pliant beneath your feet and the fairy lights twinkle far away enough that its luminescence doesn’t obstruct. You knock your heads back to view the horizon, allowing the darkness to engulf you and the stars to emerge.   “Remember Bali?”   “When you lost your passport?”   “When we went stargazing with the tour group,” Taehyung corrects. “It still wasn’t as beautiful as this.”   “You think everything in front of you is the most beautiful thing you’ve seen. You said that about the Eiffel and then Tokyo Tower.”   He laughs. “Hey, my mind doesn’t change that often. You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.”   You scoff, looking away from the sky towards him with a pout. He always knows how to lay on the sappiness without needing to blink. Your dear husband has always been shameless in that aspect and you adore him for it. “So I’m a thing to you now?”   “You know that’s not what I mean.” He wraps his arms around your waist. The both of you stare up at the sky. “Is that the big dipper?”   You look at where he’s pointing to the large clusters of stars. “I can’t see it. Maybe that’s scorpio.”   “Nah, I don’t think so.” Taehyung tries guessing, “It might be taurus or gemini. Or libra.”   “Aren’t you just naming astrological signs now?”   “Maybe.” He grins. “I’m a capricorn.”   “Yes, I know.” You two of you clearly don’t know anything about constellations or how to find them, but it doesn’t make the moment any less enjoyable. Yet when your necks start to ache, he takes your hand and strolls down the path through the trees. “Taehyung. What if we get lost?”   None of you have your phones or any flashlights. There’s only the crescent moon giving off its light. “Don’t worry. I have a great sense of direction.”   “You and I both know that’s not true.”   “You have a great sense of direction, so we won’t get lost,” he says and you sigh without putting much of an argument up. Not when you knew he was headed to the lake you had peeked at earlier in the afternoon, and now it was shimmering with the moonlight, reflecting the starry horizon in its water.   There’s a certain kind of peacefulness, a serenity that you would never get back in the city or even the suburbs. Certainly not without light pollution or the occasional car whizzing past. Here, there is none of those noises, none of those distractions, just you and Taehyung savouring the view⁠—   “Hey.” But of course, your mischievous husband has to have ulterior motives for coming all the way here. And you know there are ulterior motives by that glint in his eye and the sly smile he has.   “What?”    “Wanna take a dip?”   Your brows shoot to your hairline. “Are you crazy? It’s probably freezing! What if we get hypothermia and die?”   “For the record, you’d make one beautiful angel. But I’ll warm you up before it gets to that point.” Taehyung grins and starts stripping, tugging his shirt right off his head. It’s always been like this — him proposing something out of your norm, you try to voice your concerns, and then you’re the one who’s diving head first into it without hesitation and end up having more fun than he does.   “God, it’s so cold!”    The moment the water touches your toes, you recoil. But you brace yourself and continue onward with your entire body shivering. It’s your first time skinny dipping ⁠— something normally reserved for rebellious teenagers and most certainly not for late twenty-some year olds. Yet neither of you have qualms, even if you’re shrieking and Taehyung is laughing and following behind you.   “It’s freezing, Taehyung!”   “Come here.” He pulls you to him so your backside is pressed to his front and you wonder how Taehyung can be so warm all the time. The pair of you get waist deep into it and you turn around to grip him. Your husband smiles and holds onto you, eventually going far enough that the water reaches your shoulders. “See? Isn’t this nice?”   You hum, gazing up at the stars and the moon, the sight reflected on the water and how you’re pressed to Taehyung. “Seems like the beginning of a horror movie.” He laughs and your feet try to reach down to find stability, but you realize you can’t touch the ground anymore and your grip on him tightens. “Walk back a bit, Tae.”   “Why?”   “You know I can’t swim.”   His mouth curls. “But I like how you’re holding onto me. I won’t let go,” he adds after a long pause, “if you beg me not to.”   Your arms immediately come to loop around his neck and your legs wrap around his waist, latching onto him in a vice grip like a koala does to a branch. “Taehyung! I’m not kidding.”   “Oh...oh!” The bastard pretends that he’s gonna let go of you and actually does for a split-second. He laughs at your panicked expression. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”   You feign a pointed glare that turns out to be more of a pout. “You’re lucky I like you.”   “You only like me?”   “Yeah and if you keep going, I’m going to demote you from husband to friend.”   Taehyung makes a pained, sharp sound. “Can’t let that happen then.” He suddenly hoists you up higher, grip secure on your thighs and smiles brilliantly while you scoff.   You savour the view and the warmth of his body heat, but you’re slightly distracted. “Do you think anyone’s gonna steal our clothes, Tae?” You squint at the small pile near the shore.   “Who would?”   “I don’t know. What if a bear comes from the bushes and takes them? We’ll have to walk back naked.”   “I’m pretty sure there aren’t bears here, Y/N. Stop overthinking it.” Taehyung suddenly grabs a hold of your chin and turns your head for you to look only at him. Then, he kisses you in a soft and gentle way before the tip of his tongue meets the seam of your lips. You happily oblige, parting them and allowing him access to your tongue and giving him a taste of you.   The man hums in satisfaction as soft smacking noises fill the surroundings. You lean into his firm frame while Taehyung’s large hands slinks from your thigh to the curve of your ass. You feel his thumb probe against your folds.   “T-Taehyung.” His hard length is beneath you and you grind down on him, feeling empty. It draws a groan from his throat.   After a moment, you get his cock inside of you. The stretch soothes the itch you had, filling your cunt deliciously. But unlike the movies, it’s not enough for you. The water washes away the lubricant, each stroke rough and the glide slower than you’d like. So you beg him and the both of you are dragged up onto the shore again.   You turn on all fours. The pebbles uncomfortably dig into your knees, but it’s a distraction that blurs into the background when Taehyung pounds into you. You feel all of him, his body heat against yours, each thrusting movement flicking off the droplets of water from your skin. And when Taehyung turns your head to kiss you while rubbing at your clit, you cum around his cock.   He finishes as you beg for it and Taehyung’s sticky fluids leak down your thighs on the trek back.

[Day Four]   Taehyung blinks blearily, slowly coming to consciousness. He scratches his bed head and groans at how his muscles ache. But when he turns his head, the other side of the bed is cold and empty. His eyes widen in confusion and he feels more awake than before.   He checks the time and realizes he slept in, a total of ten hours, which isn’t a surprise considering how last night’s rendezvous continued and was more intense than usual. What is unusually, however, is that you’re gone.   But he soon finds you outside. Bathing in the sun. Laying in a hammock. Napping with a book next to you.   Your eyes flutter open as his shadow covers your figure. The corner of his mouth pulls.   “Morning.”   You sheepishly grin. “Morning.”    “What time did you get up?”   “Like an hour ago. The breeze was nice so I thought I’d do some reading, but I guess I accidentally fell asleep.”   “Looks like you’ve gotten comfortable.” Taehyung’s enormous smile aches his cheeks. You’ve fallen in love with this place more than he has, but he doesn’t mind whatsoever. He loves watching you have fun.   The two of you have breakfast, inhaling in the food, and then head to a meditation class on the grass led by Hyunjin. Typically, Taehyung has to convince you to take part in such a session and you’d usually wave it off as a waste of time. But there are no qualms or an ounce of hesitation in your expression when you head over.   “Now breathe in, and out, a steady stream of breath. Think about all that you are grateful for. Everything that has made your life amazing, and let that positive energy surround you as the negative energy releases.”   But while you’re eager, Taehyung, on the other hand, finds out that meditation is not cut out for him. He’s bored out of his mind from the lack of stimulation. Time feels like it’s dragging on slower, each second a minute and a minute is an hour. Somehow, meditating makes him feel even more exhausted than before and his mind ends up wandering.   Taehyung thinks about how he’s really craving some fatty burgers instead of the organic oatmeal and yogurt he had — how hot the weather is — how it’s hard to breathe — how sweat sticks to his skin.   “Hold your breath for three seconds and release for three seconds.”   He sighs and peels back an eye to see you with your hands pressed together, concentrated in following instructions. The corner of his mouth tickles into a smile.   As bored as he is, it’s worth seeing you happy.   //   The more excited you are about something, the more you run around from place to place and Taehyung’s resorted to looking for you. Luckily, the resort is small, so he finds you in front of the main building, chatting to a certain brunette with a half-moon smile and chubby cheeks.   “—heard that doggy actually works for some people, but for me, it doesn’t feel right...like…”   “The head of the cock isn’t right up against the cervix?” Jimin hums thoughtfully. “Have you tried angling your leg better? Sometimes you need to bend a bit and he needs to be leaning towards the side rather than just hovering straight on top.”   What.   Taehyung’s brows lift and he quickly approaches. Your face lights up when you see him. “Oh, hey.”   “I was looking for you.” Taehyung throws his arm over your shoulder and subtly tugs you into his chest. He looks at the other man, eyes narrowed in on him which he doesn’t seem to notice.   “Sorry, I was just caught up with Jimin.”   “What were you talking about?”   “What position is best for conception.” You blink innocently like it’s not a big deal you’re exploiting the details about your sex lives to another guy, and while he’s not embarrassed whatsoever, it was a bit too much information being shared for Taehyung’s liking. “Turns out elevating the hips might not help as much as we thought it does.”   “Huh.” Taehyung deadpans, “That’s interesting.”   “I know, right?” Your expression is bright, oblivious to his turmoil. At the same time, Hyunjin exits from the building in yet another flower crown and flowy skirt. She smiles at the both of you and joins Jimin’s side, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek and holding his hand.   “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”   You smile at her. “No, it’s okay.”   The woman nods and looks to her partner while her voice drops into a more private tone. “Just wanted to let you know that Taehoon and I are done.”   As if to validate her words, a timid yet tall man exits the building and they wave goodbye to one another before he walks off towards the parking lot. Jimin smiles. “Did you have fun?”   “Yeah. It was nice.”   Both you and Taehyung exchange expressions. He wonders if you’re thinking what he is or if he’s understanding the insinuations correctly.    As if they catch the inquisitive looks on your faces, they smile in a relaxed way. There’s no need to explain anything to either of you when you’re strangers, but they’re open enough and Hyunjin says, “Taehoon’s my second partner.”   “Second...partner?”    “Hyunjin and I are in an open relationship,” Jimin clarifies in a friendly manner. “It’s not really traditional, but it works well for us.”   “Oh.” Taehyung and you wordlessly bob your heads. He’s pretty sure they mentioned it during their introduction but it slipped his mind. They must get asked a lot of questions too since Hyunjin answers what he’s thinking, telling the both of you there’s not a lot of jealousy involved since they trust each other wholeheartedly and communicate a lot. And rather than finding it bizarre, you’re left intrigued. Taehyung notices as you walk away.   “Do you want an open relationship too?”   “You know it would never work for us.” You lean over, hugging his arm. “I’m too possessive for that.”   He laughs. “Then what about talking to Jimin about our sex positions?”   “He’s a professional.” You shrug. “I thought I could get helpful advice. Why?”   “Nothing, it’s just kind of weird.”    Jimin doesn’t look like a professional. He looks like just some dude in khaki shorts and a white shirt, obnoxiously bulging biceps, probably has rock hard abs, and he’s in an open relationship and clearly doesn’t mind chatting up you, aka Taehyung’s wife.   “Are you jealous?”   “What? No.” Taehyung scoffs, suddenly defensive and you give him that look like you know him better than that. “I just don’t think we don’t need to ask for help yet, and at least not about our positions. We’re gonna have a baby one way or another, Y/N. We just have to be patient.”   “Tell that to my dying eggs.” You walk off and Taehyung grins.   “My sperm’s strong enough that it’ll rescue your dying eggs.”   //   Evening eventually comes and you try to revel in the surrounding sights, the atmosphere of the entire place and the very cozy yurt you’ve grown to adore. It’s sad knowing that tomorrow you’ll have to depart from the resort. You regret not coming here with a more open mind. That way, you could’ve enjoyed and embraced this place much sooner.   “Actually, I’m kind of glad. I’m getting sick of them serving the same food.”   You’re shocked at your husband’s apathy. “But it’s antioxidant-rich—”   “I just want some fried chicken or a burger.”   You scoff. “That’s why the doctor told you to lower your blood sugar and you’re not even over forty yet.” But still, you’re taken aback that he’s not in love with the resort. “Out of everyone, I thought this would’ve been your haven. I was expecting you to beg me to build a cabin here or something to stay.”   Taehyung hums, leaning back into the chair. “I’m not saying the resort is bad. As long as I get to spend time with you, I like it. And I like that you like it.”   “Psh.” He always knows how to say the right thing, especially when he’s doing it absentmindedly and not trying to get something out of you. You lean over, hand lifting to squeeze his cheeks together and you turn his head to kiss him. Taehyung smiles at the soft and affectionate gesture. But you look at him with half-lidded eyes that mean more. “Wanna ditch?”   It’s the final celebration that Jimin and Hyunjin are happily hosting, but you don’t mind leaving for some more quality time with Taehyung, and he happily agrees.   The both of you sneak out of the crowd, stumbling back into the yurt, giggly and giddy like you’re still teenagers trying to be stealthy at midnight. Taehyung kisses you silly and soon, your back is hitting the mattress. He almost rips your dress with how hastily he tries to tear it off your head and you’re stuck for a moment until you manage to get it off.   But in spite of how childish your antics are or how Taehyung blows raspberries on your tummy, each one of his touches is intimate and loving. He holds your hips down and eats you out until you cum twice. Then you’re flipped onto your stomach with him on top of you — his cock is dug into your pussy, every draw and thrust delicious. Your walls pulse along his length and you moan his name and clutch the sheets with tight fists.   You relish in the pressure of his body pressed on top of yours as he pounds into you. It only takes a few minutes before he’s releasing into your womb, cumming hard enough that you feel it too.   He rolls off of you, spent, but you gather your energy and hold him down for a second round.   You’re a woman on a mission and you’re going to make sure you leave this resort with Kim Taehyung’s baby inside of you.

[Day Five]   The final day of the resort has arrived much to your dismay, and you feel sad enough to cry.   “Thank you so much for all you’ve done.”   “It’s our pleasure.” Hyunjin grins, her arms wrapped around Jimin’s. “We just hope you had a great time at our resort.”   “Yes, I really loved it.”   “Our doors are always open,” Jimin affirms. “If nothing’s stuck, you can always come back or if you’re ever looking for more siblings for the little one, you can come again too. We’re happy to welcome anyone that’s family back.”   You’re moved by their words and much to Taehyung’s dismay, you give a brief embrace to each of them. You also manage to see the newlywed couple, Hoseok and Rose, who are still smiling and somehow look even more in-love than when they arrived. Dahyun and Seokjin, as well, wish you luck on your adventures.    “We might be coming back real soon.” The woman sighs, hitching her thumb over her shoulder. “That husband of mine is planning to book another trip next month.”   “So soon?”   Dahyun nods with a long exhale. “I think he’s hoping I’m not pregnant so we can come here again.” Your laugh spurs on her own and you’re able to resonate with the hopelessness of husbands.   Everyone is boarding the same bus, but this is the last opportunity to gather when people are getting dropped off from different places. So you make sure to savour the moment, get your last goodbyes in, and Taehyung pulls out his phone to snap several pictures of you for keepsakes.   Then, the two of you board the bus with your luggage and settle in your seats.   “You know,” you pipe up and Taehyung turns to you. “Even if we didn’t conceive, it was still fun.”   He smiles while taking his hand. “Yeah? I’m glad.” Taehyung laces his fingers with yours and you lean your head on his shoulder as he, too, leans his head on top of yours.   The bus pulls out of the lot and onto the road. Jimin and Hyunjin wave with brilliant grins, and together, you and Taehyung watch the little resort become a particle in the distance.

[Epilogue]   This is terrible. Unexpected and spontaneous.   “I have bad news.” You’re leaning against the door frame of Taehyung’s office and at your tone of voice, your husband looks away from the computer screen with wide eyes.   “Are you divorcing me?”   “No.”   “Did you lose your job?”   “No.”   His entire body deflates in a sigh of relief and he leans back, hands grasping the armrests of his swivel chair. “Thank god because I just bought those new shake weights that were shown on TV.”   “Yea— wait. What?”   Taehyung’s bubbling laughter comes from his chest. “What is it?”   He doesn’t notice the stick in your hand, so you throw it at him. Luckily, Taehyung’s reflexes are still in good shape and he claps his hands together, catching the stick before it hits his head. But then his brows furrow in confusion.   “You’re probably going to need to wash your hands after that. I peed on it.”   He doesn’t answer. Your oblivious husband instead takes a long second to inspect the stick and his pupils dilate. He finally realizes what it is and looks carefully. In the meanwhile, you hitch your breath, feeling unsettled. But then the most enormous smile stretches into his cheeks.    It almost looks like his smile is about to break his face.   “You’re pregnant,” Taehyung murmurs.   “I sure am.”   He looks at you. And then the stick. Then he looks at you again. Taehyung searches your expression in alarm as your words echo back to him. “Why is this bad news? D-did you change your mind? Do you not want kids?”   You shake your head. “No. This is fantastic news. I just wanted an excuse to go to the retreat again.”   He laughs and exhales a long breath. Taehyung scoots his chair over using the heels of his feet and comes to you. He throws his arms around your torso in a secure embrace while his ear is pressed gently to the flat plane of your stomach that’ll soon swell in the coming months. “God, you’re going to be the death of me, woman.”   Taehyung’s brown eyes are lit with mirth and you ease into his hug as your fingers comb through his dark locks. Finally, you’re going to be parents. After waiting and hoping for so long, it was now on the horizon. There’s a sense of fear in you both, but you’re overwhelmed with euphoria and excitement.   “We can always go back for the next kid.”   “I haven’t even had this one yet and you’re already thinking of another.”   “I can’t help it.” Taehyung grins, looking up at you and you lean down to kiss his smile.   You have a feeling this baby’s going to be loved beyond belief.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Misread Details: Robert

CW: Dehumanizing language, BBU blanket warning, serial killer/death talk, descriptions of death/abduction/murder, blood, whumper death, some real vague implied noncon references, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Dark Discovery in Robert Weber’s Basement: Box Boy Killer, Part 3

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

3 days ago

After Part One, where we learned about the mysterious, but possibly entirely natural, death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, and Part Two, where we saw Henry “Brute” Hanlon’s double life lead to his untimely gruesome murder, you see the single thread that connects these two men who otherwise never met, interacted, or even shared a single person in common… a nameless Box Boy, present at the death of Nanda even if he isn’t responsible for it, and the proven killer of Brute.

It’s my theory that this Box Boy may have accidentally killed his legal owner, Nanda, and then picked up a taste for the act and moved on to taking shelter with those he turns into his victims.

With Brute, he simply didn’t know the man had a wife and children and entire other life, and may have assumed no one would come looking for him or recognize his death. With our third individual, Robert Weber, it seems like our Box Boy Serial Killer got in over his head.

I give you… the Accidental Vigilante death of Robert Weber.

You decide if our unknown killer is simply the unluckiest guy in the world or a killer who even now may be somewhere living with - and earning the trust of - his next victim.

-

One bright and sunny day in the quaint, old-fashioned California town of Rancher’s Rest, Robert Weber was late for work.

Weber worked in a vehicle repair business owned by lifelong “RR” resident Randy Niles, who had known Weber since his childhood and had been his boss since Weber was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school.

Niles, who is now nearly seventy-five and still spends his days in the shop with an Australian Shepherd named Cody and a blind pit bull named Sue keeping him company everywhere he goes, stated that Weber had no living family he knew of beyond his sister in Vermont, and he was just about the closest thing Weber had to a relative just from having known him so long.

“He didn’t have too much to do with his sister,” Randy said in an interview with Unsolved Mysteries. (You can see the interview on the new Netflix reboot of the show! It’s a really good episode, definitely recommend. It’s how I got into this case in the first place.) “Or nobody, really. Just us at work, the guys at the bar, that kinda thing. He was quiet, kept to himself really. You’d never just strike up a chat around town or anything. But he got on just fine with the boys here in the shop. He was a bit of an egghead, too, always going on about this thing or that he’d seen on the news. Little… odd. Little bit off, you might say. But really, who isn’t? In any case, you know, I’d known him since he was a little boy, so he was just Bobby Weber to me.”

Then, of course, one day Robert Weber didn’t show up to work. Randy Niles immediately felt that something was very wrong.

“When nine, nine-thirty came and went and he wasn��t there,” Niles said, “I knew someone needed to go check on him. Bobby showed up for work right on time or ten minutes early, rain or shine, for twenty years. My first thought was maybe he’d had an accident at home, or some kind of, you know, health thing. Almost never called in sick, took one vacation a year, that kinda thing. So I drove right on over there. This would’ve been, oh, probably ten or ten-fifteen when I got to the house. Had my dogs with me, and they never did like Bobby much, but as soon as I opened my door and got out of my truck they just lost their damn minds. Barking, growling, Cody’s hackles were up like you wouldn’t believe. I know it sounds damn crazy, but I’m sure those dogs could smell that evil had been done in that house.”

On camera, Niles goes quiet, here, his gaze slipping away from the interviewer as he scratches at the side of his nose. When he looks back, the hint of good humor that seems to be an eternal part of his expression is gone.

“I didn’t know what Bobby had been up to all this time. None of us knew. I’ve known Bobby Weber his whole life, and I… I had no idea.”

Randy Niles was unable to convince his two dogs to exit the truck, and eventually rolled down the windows to give them some air and a way out if they chose (he is insistent on this point in the Unsolved Mysteries episode - “don’t you dare say I left my dogs locked up in a truck on a sunny day, I sure didn’t - Cody even knows how to pull a door handle if it’s the right kind”) and got out to knock on Robert Weber’s front door.

No one answered.

Niles knocked again. Still no response.

The front door was locked, but Niles was able to locate an unlocked back door into the garage, where he found Weber’s car neatly parked and nothing out of place. However, once he used an interior door in the garage to enter Weber’s home, what he found was so shocking he still struggles to describe it today.

“The, uh. The first thing I saw,” Niles says in the Unsolved Mysteries episode, wiping at his mouth with a handkerchief, “was a cage. Big old cage in the living room. Like a kennel for a big dog, Great Dane or something, except… except, you know, kennels’re usually mostly wire, not that heavy. You can fold ‘em up, put ‘em away. This was… geez. This was pure metal. Bunch of blankets all piled at the bottom, too. Here’s the-... you know, my mind just didn’t want to even make the thought, but I just, I looked at it and-”

In the episode, Niles has to take another moment, here. His eyes grow wet, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “People cage. Bobby had a damn man-sized cage in his living room. That’s when my stomach just fell out. Even then, though, I couldn’t-... I just thought, oh, well, what people get up to in their own homes is their business. But still, I just. I just decided, find Bobby, figure the rest out later. So I kept walking around looking for him.”

Randy Niles continued to call out, hoping to hear Weber’s response, but received none… at first. The radio in the kitchen was playing a local public radio station (“Bobby always hated the country western and classic rock we played at work, he was a big news man, big into classical, jazz, you know.”)

Niles noticed, he says, that the cage next to the couch had a wooden top, as though it were meant to act as a side table, and on that table was a small woven basket. Inside the basket appeared to be several State IDs and Driver’s licenses. Niles took note of this but his first assumption was maybe that Robert Weber had stolen some IDs or something.

Which was technically true, just… not quite the way he thought.

The kitchen, hallway, and all three bedrooms were equally empty of life. Every room was clean, everything neatly in place. Empty bottles of Jameson whiskey, Weber’s favorite brand, were lined up like décor along the mantel, and one half-full bottle was next to two clean, empty glasses on the kitchen table.

Even the beds were perfectly made.

The only thing missing was any sign of Robert Weber himself.

The question of Weber’s whereabouts was answered when Randy Niles heard a sound coming from the open door to Weber’s unfinished dirt basement.

“Like a ghost,” Niles said in his interview. “Just this low moaning sound. Hardly even thought of it as human, you know. But I just-... I called out, ‘Bobby? That you?’ and the moaning got a little louder, like whoever it was was tryin’ to answer. I could still hear my girls in the truck just going nuts, probably worried about me knowing what they maybe could smell even out there. I figured… I figured I’d best call the cops and get them out here. Seemed like a plan. So I picked up my phone and dialed, and then I headed down those basement steps.”

What Randy Niles discovered in Robert Weber’s basement was a dying man, battered and stabbed eight times, lying in a half-dug grave.

Robert Weber had been beaten with the very shovel that had done the digging. The shovel lay off to the side, caked in dirt and blood. Police would find some of Robert Weber’s hair on it, too. Then, the individual who had beaten him had gone back upstairs - blood smears were found on the railing to the stairs - and taken a kitchen knife out of the knife block on the countertop. A bloody fingerprint was found on the side of the knife block. They had then returned to the basement where Weber was stabbed, almost entirely through the stomach and chest, twenty-six times, until the cheap knife simply broke from the force.

Randy Niles admitted in his interview that he became very ill at this time. “From the shock,” He elaborated. “I haven’t been able to smell much since I was in a car wreck when I was young, so I didn’t smell what-... what my girls prob’ly smelled from outside, and what the cops smelled. To me, it was just… just a little off, is all. It was the sight of it that got to me, not the smell. The sight of the-... the hand.”

Behind Robert Weber’s body, the hand of another person was sticking up out of the loose dirt, as though someone was trying to dig their way out.

“I remember… I remember her nail polish was pink. That’s when I got sick, actually, was when I saw that hand with the painted nails. That’s when it just hit me all at once what Bobby had done.”

Randy Niles went back up the stairs and waited for the cops to arrive. Rancher’s Rest is a small town where everybody knows just about everybody else, and Niles was on a first-name basis with every single police officer he spoke to that day and in the days after. He would learn alongside the investigation that Robert Weber was not simply the quiet, intellectual car mechanic he had always seemed.

Instead, Robert Weber was a serial killer whose potential final victim had managed a miraculous, deadly escape.

Robert Weber never answered a single question about his own murder - he never fully regained consciousness and died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. His injuries were simply too severe. His autopsy showed that the cause of death was a stab wound that went deep into his chest and that he was first stabbed only after the beating with the shovel had taken place. Like Brute, most of his stab wounds were applied post-mortem in a rage rather than as part of the killing itself.

Medical examiners also found scratches on Weber’s face and arms, indicating that he had attempted to defend himself - or someone else had attempted to defend themself from him.

So why was Robert Weber killed, and why was there already a body in his basement? Investigators would piece together the story over the following days and weeks from a crime scene that only seemed to become darker and more baffling as time went on.

Excavating the basement was originally thought to be something that would be brief, but after the first body was removed, another one was found beneath it. Then another off to the side of that. And another, although this was simply bones.

Every time the forensics team thought they’d found the last human bone, they dug a little deeper or in a new spot and found more.

Eventually, the remains of twenty-two individuals would be removed from the basement of Robert Weber’s home, not including Weber himself. The oldest located victim was identified as Melinda Traxson, an Iowa woman reported missing by her family after she ran away in March of 1996… more than two decades before Robert Weber didn’t come to work one day.

Investigators are still working to match up every body with a missing persons’ case. For nearly all of them, the cause of death could not be easily ascertained due to the deterioration of the remains, but some showed signs of skull fractures. Identified individuals so far include:

Melinda Traxson, 19, from Iowa, ran away from home in 1996.

Billie Mortimer, 21, disappeared from a day out with friends at Lake Tahoe one year later in the summer of 1997. Her friends went to get lunch from the car after a swim and when they returned, she was gone.

Matthew Ranger, 22, went missing during a road trip to Yellowstone National Park in 1997 (only five months after Billie). His car was found abandoned by the side of the road with a flat tire.

Karl Janssen, 24, a tourist from the Netherlands who was also visiting Yellowstone, disappeared a month after Matthew. Last seen by an employee of the park who witnessed him speaking with another young man and getting into the man’s car. The employee said that the two seemed to be friendly with one another and did not seem like strangers.

Hannah Pointer, 26. She was reported missing in 1999 by her mother after failing to return home from work in Reno, Nevada. This disappearance occurred more than a year after Karl Janssen’s. Investigators would later discover that during this time period, Robert Weber dated a young woman from his hometown and he may not have wanted to risk her finding out what he was doing.

Isaac Jackson, 26, a Rancher’s Rest resident who disappeared after going out to a local bar to see his friend’s band play in 2000. His car was found submerged in a small pond two years later. This is the first time Weber apparently killed anyone close to home. He was actually briefly suspected in Jackson’s death, as he was the last person noted to see Jackson alive, but was cleared of suspicion at the time.

Dustin Swill, 21, who was driving from Colorado to California to visit his sister who had moved to Berras to work for WRU in 2001. He was last seen in a gas station near Yellowstone, where employees noted he spoke to a man who was smoking outside, who gave him a cigarette. When Swill left, employees saw the man put out his cigarette and leave shortly after. They did not find this unusual or noteworthy at the time.

Maria Vargas, 25, a Rancher’s Rest resident who was reported missing in 2002. Her family is intensely private and have shared few details about her, but it is known that her boyfriend at the time suspected Weber, who had attempted to convince her to leave the boyfriend for him and had apparently threatened her. He remained a suspect but there was never enough evidence to charge him.

Jennifer Striker, 28, from who never arrived for an appointment with a realtor in 2011. The long pause between Maria Vargas’s murder and Jennifer’s appeared to be due to Weber keeping a man named Finn Schneider within his home for more than a year after abducting him, as well as Weber serving five years in prison for a violent assault on a man he believed had sold him a defective vehicle. (Schneider was no longer in the home before the assault and prison time.)

Riley Nievelt, 25, was staying at the Big Meadow Campground with six friends during a weeklong vacation in 2012. She vanished while on a trip to purchase supplies. Her cell phone was found on the ground in the parking lot of the Food Lion in Rancher’s Rest, a short and easy drive away. At this time, with multiple individuals vanishing after being seen in Rancher’s Rest or being residents of the town, police begin to suspect and start hunting for a possible serial killer.

Alexander Peterson, 29, was a long-haul driver who vanished while working. He was last seen at a rest stop in 2014 on the California/Nevada state line, and would likely have passed right through Rancher’s Rest on his journey. He was reported missing by his ex-wife in South Dakota when he did not return as scheduled for a custodial visit.

The most recent victim, and owner of the hand that Randy Niles saw sticking up out of the dirt, was Yolanda Pierce, 26. She was a Rancher’s Rest resident with a troubled relationship with her husband, who had stormed out after an argument and was never seen again. She is believed to have died the same day as Robert Weber.

More remains exist but have not yet been identified. If you or anyone you know has a friend or family member who went missing during this time period in or near Rancher’s Rest, Yellowstone National Park, or Death Valley, it may be worth looking into, as those appear to be Robert Weber’s “hunting grounds”.

Disappearances in Yellowstone and Death Valley almost always matched up with Robert taking one of his rare weeklong vacations from work.

When investigators located three large diaries hidden inside a locked box in Weber’s closet, the first two fully filled up and the third nearly two-thirds finished, they found an exhaustively detailed record of Robert Weber’s crimes.

In these records, they discovered Weber’s first three victims were killed within 24 hours of abduction, with the rest being kept alive for longer and longer time periods. It is believed all of them met their end in Robert Weber’s basement.

Diary entries included records of two victims who were not a part of the bodies buried in Weber’s basement, both of whom may still be alive:

Finn Schneider, 19, a German tourist who disappeared in 2003 during a visit to Death Valley. Until Weber’s journals were found, it was believed he had perished in the park and had simply never been found. Robert Weber also visited Death Valley during this time. No one linked the two together. Evidence found in Weber’s home after his death, including the aforementioned diary entries and photographs, shows that Schneider was alive in Weber’s home for nearly sixteen months. It is believed Weber purchased the “human cage” that Randy Niles noticed around this time. The last diary entry that mentions Schneider states that he was “traded” on June 16th, 2005, to an individual only referred to as “Mouse.” What Weber received in exchange is unclear, but he was seen driving a new, custom-painted truck around this time, which he said he bought “from a personal ad” when asked by Niles about it. Schneider has never been found. However, his mother did receive a phone call in 2013 from an individual she believes to be her son, telling her that “Finn” was okay and to stop looking for him.

Our Box Boy, 334235, purchased by Nathaniel Benson years prior, whose whereabouts had been unknown since he murdered Brute Hanlon. Weber believed the Box Boy to be in his early twenties, according to his diary entries, and mentioned that he had picked the Boxie up hitchhiking and had intended to kill him before seeing the barcode on the inside of his left wrist and changing his mind. His diary suggests the Box Boy remained in his possession for roughly a fourteen months prior to Weber’s murder. Police have not released the details of what the Boxie was subjected to during this time, stating only that it is not the public’s interest for this information to be known, and they would like to locate the missing Boxie and interview him about certain details.

Four murders occurred during the time the Boxie was kept by Robert Weber. Weber noted that “the dog helped” with either murder or burial, suggesting that he may have worked as Weber’s accomplice in his terrible crimes.

Is it possible that they bonded over a shared urge to kill? Did the Boxie start a captive and become a companion?

Weber’s diary contained other disturbing facts, as well:

Weber also noted three failed abduction attempts in detail, in 1998, 2004, and 2017. In each he described with incredible precision of memory the appearances and descriptions of each person he failed to capture. He also appeared to do intensive research using their license plates and other information to find out where they lived and who they were. The names of these individuals have been kept quiet for privacy reasons.

Other failed abductions were noted, about one per year, without much detail. Or at least not enough for police officers to know who they were. Nearly all these failures were in one of three locations: Yellowstone National Park, Stanislaus National Forest and nearby campgrounds, and in or near Death Valley.

The last entry in Robert Weber’s diary was penned the day of his death.

NOTE: Weber referred to the Boxie as “the dog” in nearly all his journal entries. His last entry went:

May 6th, 20XX: The dog is pissed about something again. He’s always pissed about something. I think the thing in the basement probably kept him up all night with her caterwauling. He never gets used to the noises they make. God knows I can’t sleep either, at least not well. I’ll handle her tonight, have a drink with the dog after, see if that shuts up his nonsense for a while. Note: missed NPR interview with Senator Carlotta Grant on new leg. about the bb prohibition act. Find that on website later.

Found in Weber’s home, in boxes under his bed, were a series of restraints made of leather, high-quality items that appear to be custom-ordered to specific measurements. These included “gloves” intended to keep someone from being able to claw or scratch in their own defense, five sets of cuffs, a body harness, a leather half-face-mask that police referred to as a “muzzle”, several gags, some of which were deemed to be “designed to cause injury to the inside of the mouth”, and “other assorted items for use in torture and torment”.

You can find some leaked police docs online that go into more detail, but suffice to say they pretty much match the kinds of “toys” found in Nathaniel Benson and Brute Hanlon’s homes, too. And apparently, if you really know where to look, you can find some blurry low-quality photos Weber took, too.

While the items are a bit salacious, they aren’t entirely uncommon in consensual relationships, too, so it’s really not clear if they’re evidence of the Boxie being held against his will or not.

The investigation of the crime scene suggests that at some point after writing his final diary entry, Robert Weber made himself a pizza, which he ate half of and put the rest away in the fridge. His shaving cream and razor were found out on his sink, and Weber’s body was clean-shaven, suggesting he shaved shortly before his death.

He then watched three episodes of Law & Order: SVU. We know this because he texted during this time with his only living relative, the sister in Vermont. Little is known about Weber’s family and childhood, beyond his sister’s recounting of a quiet, strained home life with an overbearing mother and her mention that Robert endured several head injuries as a child and adolescent, including one that hospitalized him for days.

After he finished watching TV, Weber entered the basement and murdered Yolanda Pierce. It is believed he took the Box Boy downstairs with him, either as accomplice or witness. At some point while he was disposing of Yolanda Pierce’s remains, the Boxie became enraged for one reason or another, beat him with a shovel, got the kitchen knife from upstairs and stabbed him to death, and then left the house.

A neighbor remembers hearing odd noises around 3:30 AM and looking out their window to see a shadowy figure walking quickly down the road, but they weren’t able to see well enough to say whether or not the individual matches the description and WRU-provided photos of the Boxie. It does seem reasonable, though, to assume that the neighbor witnessed the Boxie fleeing the scene of the crime.

The Box Boy has never been seen again.

Police are pretty mum about the active investigation into the Box Boy’s whereabouts. I was able to get ahold of one source closely related to a member of the investigative team who said that there’s just not a lot of urgency. “Weber killed nearly two dozen people, just that we know of,” The source said. “The cops are a little bit ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ about the situation. Unless the Boxie comes back to RR, they’re just inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.”

The sense of “let it be someone else’s problem” would be understandable… if this Box Boy weren’t responsible for one other direct murder, possibly two.

Police believe the Boxie has not left California, and is likely to be continuing to survive by engaging in prostitution or perhaps panhandling or some other hidden way of making money. Unconfirmed sightings have been located in three cities in central California, but all of these are unverified and should be taken with a grain of salt.

It’s also possible he hooked up with a pet liberation movement group, in which case he may be hiding out in a safehouse, protected from the consequences of his actions by the pet lib movement’s understandable insistence on total secrecy and anonymity for the Boxies they take in.

If he’s an innocent victim of circumstance, that’s fair.

If he’s a burgeoning serial killer with three victims under his belt and a taste for inflicting terrible violence on those who take him in… well… anyone who gives him shelter may be next.

Is our Boxie a purposeful killer or just supremely, almost incomprehensibly unlucky? Will he kill again? Was he Robert Weber’s accomplice or his victim?

Will he strike again?

Should there be an audit of WRU’s psychological testing on potential sign-ups to see if, perhaps, a Box Boy-wannabe with an urge to kill slipped through the cracks?

What do you think?

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary

[pasiveagressive]

Pen Pal // h.s.

Warning: light language, there is a mention of self harm, and some verbal abuse. 

Highschool AU This is really long for me 9.4k words and it’s not really done I am thinking a part 2 and maybe even a 3. Let me know what you think!

When she was five she was given a project from her teacher saying that she had to write to a pen pal. She had no idea what a pen pal was and how she got one, but she had told the class that a pen pal was someone who lived far away and we wrote a letter to them. Their letters were going to England to another class and they had to write them and they had to write back. This sounded fun. Teacher had a hat in her hands and when she passed it around we had to pick out a piece of paper that contained a name and an address. She took her's out and saw the name, it was a boy, she didn't like boys, well that wasn't true, the only boy's she liked were her brother, her best friend and her daddy. The teacher told the class they had to write to their pen pals for the whole school year.

#####

When she was ten, she still wrote to her pen pal, she didn't understand why she had been writing him for the last five years, but she had been. He was funny and easy to talk too, she thought that perhaps this boy was going to be her first crush, something she thought one of her brother's friends would be, but she was pretty sure this boy was. He helped her through a lot, like when Mommy and Daddy argued and doors slammed or when Mommy packed up her suitcases and left or when Daddy didn't come down from his room and her brother had to take care of her or when Daddy changed. He helped her a lot, and she helped him too, they sometimes even helped each other with their homework. She had found a true friend in him, and she hoped he felt the same about her.

#####

When she was twelve her Daddy let her have an E-Mail and she told the boy, he too had an E-mail and they talked on MSN all the time, but they still wrote letters to each other, personally hand written pieces of paper seemed much nicer than typed words on a screen. Her brother was about to be in high school now and she would be starting middle school next year. The boy had started middle school this year and it was the first time, she realized, that she knew how old he was. They would talk about homework; friends and she asked him questions about boys. The boy didn't answer a lot of them but she didn't mind, the only boy she cared about noticing her was him, but then something dawned on her. They may never meet.

When she was fifteen she started High School and the boy was a year ahead of her. Her mother had returned to the city, remarried, and she wanted to see her children, but she refused to go, as far as she was concerned her mother had abandoned her and her brother and her Father had taken care of them, but he had changed even more. Her brother would soon be off to college and she would still be here, her father wasn't so bad, only when he disapproved of something did he get angry, he never struck her, her brother would never allow it, he was protective over his baby sister especially now that boy's had started to notice her. She still wrote to the boy and told him all about her problems, it had been ten years and she could still confide in him and he confided in her and she liked it that way. It meant that somewhere she had someone who cared, someone who listened. Someone who knew her better than anyone.

###

She was sixteen when her world began to change, she still wrote to the boy and now she had a boyfriend, one of her brother's friends, she was a cheerleader and he was a soccer player and was on the swim team. Then she got a letter, it said that he had received a scholarship to her school and he was coming to New York, she was ecstatic and began to write him back when the pen suddenly fell from her hands as she realized something she had been denying. She had feelings for the boy with the elegant handwriting and who always wrote in blue pen. He couldn't come here, not when she had a boyfriend, but who was she kidding, they didn't know what each other looked like, so maybe she could hide who she was from him, the only thing he knew about he was her name and there was more than one Y/N in her school, but he never called her by her real name, when he was ten he gave her a nickname and nobody knew it except for him. She realized how ridiculous she was being, this boy had no romantic interest in her and if he did, what did it matter? She has a boyfriend now.

What she didn't know was when he came to New York her whole life would change and he would be a part of that change.

She had feelings for the boy with the elegant script and blue pen, and they were not going to go away.

"Ugh, how can you eat so much?"

Y/N Y/L/N looked at a friend with thinly veiled disgust, she had no idea where Maya put it all and considering she was eating cafeteria food, it made it just that much worse. Especially because today's menu was all seafood.

"Excuse me for being one of the few girls in the world that acknowledges a love for food." She said and then took a bite out of a fish stick and grinned.

"Hey, I like food just not too much." Y/N said, eyeing what could only be Maya's twentieth piece of fried fish.

"That's because you, my friend, are a cheerleader and must stay in impeccable shape." Maya winked and then went back to eating.

Y/N sighed, it was true, part of the reason as to why she didn't eat a lot was cheerleading, she needed to stay small so she could tumble and be thrown in the air. Maya seemed to resent her for the fact that she was a cheerleader, but Y/N could not help it if Maya did not have great hand eye coordination. She knew Maya didn't really like her, but she put up with having her around because Will and Joel liked her. She didn't know why Maya hated her, she thought it was partly because she was part of the in crowd and Maya thought that they were all snobs.

Y/N was no snob.

Someone patted her head and she turned to look and was looking into the kind eyes of her best friend.

Will Davis.

His brown hair was in his eyes, covering the chocolate orbs. He sat down, his skinny frame folding easily on the chair. He had to push his glasses from the end of his nose back up to where they were supposed to be. Y/N couldn't help but grin at him, he was so normal, that was why she opted to sit with him at lunch and not the—as Maya bluntly puts it—the popular hoes.

Y/N looked over at her other friends, they were crowded around their table near the window, laughing and joking, she saw her best friend Isabella and her brother Jack, they looked annoyingly happy. She was well aware that Jack liked Isabella but his feelings were not reciprocated, but Jack was a star at school, everyone wanted to be with him, especially Kayla.

Y/N hated Kayla.

"Well, I'm done; I'm going to go prepare for class." She smiled at the group and dumped the contents of her tray into the garbage and left her tray on top, leaving the cafeteria, she straightened out her uniform and remembered something.

She had had practice this morning and all of her bag was still in her locker, crammed into the small space. She had gotten a lift with her brother today so she had to put all of her stuff in his car. Huffing, she spun back around and walked over to her brother's table, feeling the eyes of her other friends on her, as if she was betraying them.

She knew that they thought sooner or later she would stop sitting with them and sit with the 'popular' crowd, but she sat with them because they were superficial, they were fun to be around and she liked them, even Maya on her good days.

"Jacky," she said, arriving at the table and stopping in front of her brother. He seemed to be in an overly animated conversation with Liam, her more or less boyfriend.

"Yes?" He looked up at her, sounding bored.

"I need your keys so I can put my stuff in your car." She held her hand out expectantly but Jack made no move to hand over the keys. She was aware that the group was staring and acutely aware that Kayla was practically drooling over her brother, she didn't see the big deal. She could admit that he was nice looking but hot? No way, then again he was her brother it would be weird if she thought he was a god like the rest of the school.

Jack was nearly eighteen and this was his senior year, along with Liam, Kayla and a few others. He received a lot of female attention and people were always asking if they were really related, Y/N could see why, they looked nothing alike.

Jack had silvery blonde hair and dark eyes, he was tall and had a soccer player's build, where Y/N had Y/C/H and Y/C/E, and had a frame that was slightly toned from nearly four years of cheerleading.

Y/N never understood why she was a cheerleader, she wasn't a girly girl and she didn't dress up a lot, she was more into art, but then cheerleading provided her with confidence and made her feel alive like nothing had before, she loved the feeling of being tossed into the air and soaring like a bird. It was freeing.

"How do I know that you aren't going to joy ride and leave me stranded here?" Y/N scoffed at this.

"Honestly, even if I was going to do that, you would never be stranded, I'm sure there are a million people who would give you a ride." She batted her lashes innocently at him.

He could never deny giving his sister anything, he loved her, he had taken care of her when Father had been unfit, he watched over her, he protected her.

"Fine, here, but give them straight back." He said firmly and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah yeah." She said turning back and going to her locker. Maybe she should joyride, just to teach him a lesson, then again, that would be one time that Jack didn't protect her.

Y/N walked to her locker, putting in the combination and opening it; grabbing her bag she hauled it over her shoulder and was about to head out to the student parking lot when a hand gently grabbed her waist pulling her back. She raised her eyes to see Liam, smiling down at her.

Liam was her boyfriend, she supposed, they had been together for over a month now and Y/N was very happy. He was very good looking with brown hair that had a messy on purpose look, brown eyes, like melting chocolate, a tall stature and the build of a soccer player mixed in with the grace of a swimmer.

"Hey," he said as he moved, causing her to walk back and feel the cool metal of the locker's behind her.

"Hey," she said smiling. Liam's hand snaked out to play with a strand of her hair. He always played with her hair, Y/N didn't understand the fascination, it was a big frizz ball as far as she was concerned.

"Any plans tonight?" He asked while still fiddling with her hair.

"Sure, with the most wonderful man." Liam looked confused and let her hair fall back. "You should meet him, ever heard of Edgar Allen Poe?" She smirked as he shook his head.

"You are a devil woman." He moved so that Y/N could do what she had originally planned and put her bag in her brother's car.

"Walk with me?" She asked and he nodded, taking her bag and holding her hand.

She knew a lot of girls didn't understand why Liam was dating her; she didn't understand it herself, he was popular, the whole female population of Anchor Academy wanted him and threw dagger looks at her in the halls, but she revelled in it, for once she was envied, for once people wanted to be her.

Y/N deposited her bag in the boot of her brother's truck and turned to the back seat where she knew she had left her pencil box, she slid them into her brown leather backpack and locked the car—after closing the door—and spun to Liam. He had his hands on her hips and was staring down at her with a burning intensity.

"Do you want to do something tonight?" He asked in a shaky voice. They had never been this close before, they hadn't even done more than pecks, she didn't know what was stopping her but she knew she was grateful that he was patient, she wondered how long that would last.

"I can't, I'm sorry, but I have to finish this assignment." The bell rang then and Y/N now understood the meaning of the phrase saved by the bell. "I need to go, but I'll see you tomorrow?" She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, waving as she headed to class.

Y/N wasn't exactly lying to Liam, she did need to finish this assignment, but it wasn't due for another two weeks. Y/N knew why she didn't go out a lot on school days, but that was her secret.

#####

Y/N sat at her computer desk, researching for this English paper when her chat window came up.

Hello Y/N

Y/N smiled and typed back. They had been friends for eleven years now, he knew her inside and out as she knew him, except for the fact that they had no idea what the other looked like, she thought and he agreed that it would be better to keep their faces hidden, like real pen pals.

Y/N remembered the day she had been told she had to write to him and the day he walked into her life, never walking out.

Y/N sat at her seat next to her new friend Will. He was funny looking; he had really big glasses and funny hair. They were friends because Y/N saw him reading and she wanted to read too. 

"Okay guy, we are doing a fun new assignment called Pen Pals! This means, each of you will select a name from this hat," She held the hat out for show. "And you will write that person a letter and then they will write you one and you will keep replying until the end of the year. Does that sound like fun?" The teacher was overexcited, Y/N didn't see the big deal, she was writing to a stranger. Her mom always told her never to talk to strangers. 

The hat was passed around and Y/N dipped her hand in and pulled out a piece of paper, handing the hat to Will. She opened the paper and saw the name of her 'Pen Pal'.

Harry Styles

Under his name was what she thought was an address. She pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil and began to write her first letter.

Dear Harry...

You're distracting me from homework, Y/N replied to Harry. When she had started that assignment she had no idea she was going to make a lifelong friend, a best friend and she had, in Harry, he had been her first crush, even if she hadn't officially met him, Y/N had wanted him to be her first kiss too, but that was impossible in case she was able to get a plane to England and the little savings she had in her piggy bank, Father gave her money but she always used that on the weekends, going to movies or restaurants or clubs.

Really, what are you doing? 

She was about to respond when he wrote something else and she giggled.

More importantly, what are you wearing? ;)

Y/N shook her head; Harry was always a cocky smartass.

Edgar Allan Poe

You're wearing Edgar Allan Poe? Lucky guy

Oh haha! I am studying Edgar Allan Poe and wearing nothing

Harry didn't reply, which was uncommon for him, not much rendered him speechless, in the time they had spoken, be it through letter or internet, she had learnt a lot about Harry and his life, what he was like and what he was hiding, she felt as if she was one of the only people who knew the real Harry and somehow that made her feel lucky.

What poem?

He ignored the naked comment. Smooth.

Instead of typing the title, which he would then Google, Y/N wrote the poem to him, perhaps he could shed some light on it for she was having no luck.

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,

With drowsy head and folded wing,

Among the green leaves as they shake

Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet

Hath been- a most familiar bird-

Taught me my alphabet to say-

To lisp my very earliest word

While in the wild wood I did lie,

A child- with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor years

So shake the very Heaven on high

With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky.

And when an hour with calmer wings

Its down upon my spirit flings-

That little time with lyre and rhyme

To while away- forbidden things!

My heart would feel to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the strings.

Y/N awaited his response as she read over the lines of the poem herself. The poem was called Romance and Y/N really hoped Harry didn't read something onto the title.

Well Y/N, it seems you have a pickle in your hands here.

Ever the asshole, Harry didn't help her at all. She sighed, deciding he was too distracting for her to actually get work done.

I'm signing off, you really are no help. Talk to you soon. 

Y/N logged off before he could respond. For another hour she pondered what the poem could mean and then gave up and decided to concentrate on her art assignment. She was supposed to draw something that meant a lot to her but she couldn't think of anything except for Harry and she couldn't very well draw him, she had no idea what he looked like.

Then an idea no, more like an image, came to fruition within her thoughts and she began sketching, not knowing where this idea had come from, but she was going with it, it was all the help she was going to get.

Y/N awoke the next morning and sauntered into the kitchen, pouring herself some cereal she went to get milk when she saw the envelope sitting there, with her name written on the front in elegant script and written in blue biro. She knew who it was from immediately and sitting at the table, her breakfast forgotten, she opened the letter and started reading.

She was glad she didn't eat, because she probably would have just thrown it all up with the nausea she felt.

Harry was coming to New York, not only that he was coming to her school.

That was bad, he would see her, who she really was, who her friends were, what her friends were like, her brother and he would see what she looked like. Y/N suddenly felt extremely self conscious and opted not to wear her original outfit and instead wear baggy jeans, a tank top, a giant hoodie and ugly sneakers.

She didn't want Harry to see her because she knew, she knew that he would be beautiful and she was not, he would laugh at her and never speak to her again.

Y/N didn't think she could handle losing her friend, her best friend, her soul mate.

Y/N had never changed outfits so many times in her life.

She had gone from baggy, to slutty, to loose fitting, to tight, to exposing, to completely covered, and finally she decided to go for a mix and ended up in something she would normally wear. Looking at herself in the mirror she realised that being friends with Isabella had influenced her style way too much.

And even scarier, she had never put in this much effort to look nice for Liam.

Y/N was wearing a loose grey shirt with a leather belt that emphasised her small waist, a pair of black skinny jeans covered her legs and her feet were enclosed in ballet flats. Her hair was pinned on one side and her makeup was light, she wore no jewellery and she had her bag slung around her shoulders.

Y/N descended the stairs and grabbed a berry yogurt from the fridge for breakfast and waited for her brother.

Jack came down the stairs a few minutes later and nodded at her, picking up his backpack and an apple, grabbing his keys they were about to leave when their father came out from the study.

He was always in the study.

"Where are you going dressed like that?" He asked Y/N, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. Y/N looked down at her attire, not seeing anything wrong with it.

"What's wrong with it?" She asked cautiously, standing closer to Jack.

When her father drank, he drank until he couldn't see anymore and he always asked or commented on Y/N's looks and she knew why. She looked exactly like her mother. Jack always came to her rescue when he started on a tirade, she was grateful to have such a loving brother.

"It looks like you are trying to impress a man. I want to know who?" Y/N cringed back at the look her father gave her. She hated it when he was like this.

Ever since their mother had abandoned them, Y/N's father had indulged in Alcohol and, as a result, had lost his job. They had nearly lost their home until, one day; their father had snapped out of it and got himself together. He got another job and was earning good money, Jack got a part time job for extra money and Y/N also got a summer job to pay for art classes.

He still drank and when he did, Y/N would rather avoid him.

"No one sir, I was just trying out a new style."

"What's it called? Whore?"

"Father." Jack stepped in, standing between Y/N and their father. "Enough. You're drunk."

"Just like your mother, she abandoned you kids, I stayed and this is how you repay me? By looking like something out of a x-rated movie?"

Y/N bit her lip and kept her tears at bay.

He wasn't her daddy right now. He was the thing that their mother had made.

"Y/N," Jack whispered. "Go to the car." Y/N did and waited for Jack.

When he appeared she was fidgeting with her outfit.

"Y/N, you look beautiful. Don't listen to him."

She smiled as he unlocked the car. She put her stuff on the back seat and sat, buckling her seat belt and fiddling with the music as he took off towards school.

"But out of pure curiosity, who are you trying to impress?"

My pen pal from kindergarten who just moved to this school.

"No one, just trying something new."

#####

Harry rolled his eyes, walking along behind the chick giving him the tour of the school.

Isabella? That was her name he thought. She seemed to like to talk and look at herself and look at Harry. Typical Barbie teenager, he could have her in minutes if he wanted, but he was far too anxious about where he was and who he knew was here. He felt oddly nervous, but he didn't know why. He knew that he was good looking—okay, that was an understatement—he could get any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, but it was different now.

He knew everything about Y/N—except for what she looked like, which was a big thing for Harry. He could admit that he was shallow, he always went for the easy girls as opposed to any other girl, but he doubted that Y/N was easy.

The fact that she had a boyfriend said so.

Harry clenched his jaw at that thought, it was ridiculous to get annoyed over one word, but Y/N having a boyfriend was not the way he had pictured their first meeting to go. He expected her to fall into his arms or his bed, depending on the location.

He had to stop thinking of Y/N like that. They were friends, best friends, and had been since she was five and he was six, he loved her like a friend and cared about her. He lived for the days they would talk for hours. He loved being able to open up to her.

He loved having a girl as his friend that cared about him even though she had no idea what he looked like.

"And this is the cafeteria. You can sit with me, you said you played soccer right?" Harry nodded at Isabella's question. "Good, I sit with some soccer players." They walked into the room; it was white and blue with long tables and benches. There was a lineup for the food but Harry wrinkled his nose.

He never ate cafeteria food; he always brought his own lunch.

He had told his Grandmother this and she had packed him a lunch. His stomach growled thinking about it.

"Did you want some food?" She asked.

"I have some with me." He responded, giving her his signature smirk. She smiled back at him and batted her eyelashes as she trotted off to a table in the back with a group of boys and girls. Isabella sat and gestured to a spare seat next to her in which Harry took.

"Everyone," She announced, gesturing to the group as a whole. "This is Harry Styles, he's new. He moved here from England and he too plays soccer."

"Interested in trying out? We need a new player." A boy with light silver-white hair asked.

"Sure," Harry responded nonchalantly, when really the prospect of playing the game he loved so much gave him a kick of adrenaline.

"Excellent. Come to practice this afternoon." He reached over offering his hand. "I'm Jack, captain, goalie." Harry shook his hand, recognising the name.

My older brother, Jack, is starting second grade next year.

Jack starts high school soon.

My brother got into the soccer team.

Jack was made captain!

So, this was Y/N's brother. He studied the boy, trying to imagine his features on a girl. An image rose. Dark eyes, contrasting with a pale complexion, tall and stringy, like a beanstalk, with a bit of athleticism due to cheerleading and long silvery hair.

Harry wasn't entirely put off by the image.

"That's Isabella, as you know." Jack continued, pointing to the girl next to him. "Cherr captain. Laney and Kayla are also cheerleaders. Liam, Jared are also on the team. The others are around somewhere, but we all prefer each other's company."

Harry acknowledged everyone with a nod, noting that Liam was a boy with dark hair and eyes and was also, he suspected, Y/N's boyfriend.

This guy, one of my brothers' friends, asked me out so I won't be able to talk tonight.

Liam, the guy I went on a date with, asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. 

Harry knew he was much better looking.

Harry looked around the cafeteria, trying to see if he could spot her.

"Ah," Jack said and here comes the most important member of our group.

Harry looked to where Jack was pointing and saw a girl walking towards them, tray in hand. Her eyes met Harry's and everything seemed to go silent. She was beautiful, not a generic beauty, but someone who didn't know how beautiful they were. Hair in a braid at her side, big luminous eyes widened as they looked at Harry. A small frame, with some muscle.

"Who?" Harry asked, not able to tear his eyes from her. His study happened in a split second; no one noticed that they had shared a moment.

A moment he would never forget.

"My sister."

The moment he first saw his Y/N.

#####

"Come on Y/N, you don't want to miss him, he is so hot." Stella, her partner in science, pushed Y/N out of the class.

She was trying to get Y/N to the cafeteria to see the new boy, she had heard about him all day and received an excited message from Isabella saying she was escorting him. She had heard he was hot but she knew something about him that no one else did.

The new boy was Harry Styles, her pen pal for over ten years.

Y/N was nervous as her and Stella approached the cafeteria, Stella scanned the room and her shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"He isn't here yet. Let's line up, by the time we get our food, he should be here."

Y/N waited in line, noting that her brother and boyfriend came through and immediately sat down. They never ate school food. Y/N was envious. She hated the oily, bland food they made. She made a note to go car shopping sooner so that she could leave during lunch and buy something.

Y/N got her tray and on it placed an apple juice, a salad, a chocolate muffin and a small bowl of Mac 'n' Cheese.

Y/N decided to sit at her Brother's table today—well Isabella had decided for her—and as she made her way over, she stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes met with him.

His eyes were bright, emerald green and his hair was shaggy and brunette, falling under his chin and just above his eyes. His skin was sun kissed and he had an athlete's build. He was the most handsome boy Y/N had ever seen. Then it registered.

She had never seen this boy before, he was sitting with her brother, her boyfriend and Isabella and he, too, was staring at her.

She felt a lump build in her throat and she didn't need Stella's input.

"That's him, the new boy."

Y/N gulped and suddenly felt the urge to run and hide.

The new boy.

Her boy.

Her best friend.

Harry Styles, her Harry.

Y/N was able to move from her spot once Stella broke the trance she had been in.

She didn't look at him when she got to the table, taking a seat next to Liam and realising with annoyance that Harry was across from her. She couldn't look at him, then they would all know. They would know she knew Harry, she cared for Harry and she couldn't let that happen.

"Hey baby," Liam said as she settled in her seat. Leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. Y/N's eyes inadvertently went to Harry as his lips made contact. His eyes blazed and his jaw tightened as Liam kissed her, but Y/N didn't understand why.

"Ow," Liam said as he pulled away, glaring at Jack. "Who just throws bread at someone?"

"That's my sister," Jack said. "Next time, it won't be bread."

"Jack, you are so overprotective. I am not a baby anymore" Y/N said, looking at her brother. It was the first words she had spoken since seeing Harry. She didn't look at him or tried not to anyway.

"Y/N!" Isabella said excitedly, drawing her attention. "This is Harry Styles; new guy from England, your brother is letting him try out for the team!"

Isabella, I know more about him than you, shut up and stop looking at him like that!

Y/N let her gaze go to Harry.

"Really? You must be something special to get that stubborn JACKass to let you try out." She smiled innocently at Jack.

"Oh you have no idea." Harry replied, his voice like heaven.

"We'll see about that." Liam said, slinging his arm around Y/N. "Are you coming to see his tryout babe?"

Y/N looked over at Harry who smirked at her quickly before glancing down at his untouched lunch. He seemed to have packed lunch, Y/N found that cute.

"Wouldn't miss it."

###

Y/N changed into some workout clothes.

"Alright," Isabella said as they stretched on the field. "We are going to practice the cheers for next weeks game, because frankly you suck at it. Let's go!"

Isabella was nothing if not direct.

She looked out at the field and saw Liam; he smiled and waved to her. Jack saw this and whacked him over the head.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at that.

Then she noticed Harry and all laughter died as they looked at one another from across the field. He was shirtless, and boy did he look good, and he made it no secret to check her out. Y/N turned from him before Liam or Jack saw the look Harry was giving her.

She was distracted all through practice, but luckily, she wasn't the worse one here. A lot of the other girls were distracted by Harry too. Y/N tried not to dwell on that.

As the cheerleaders were packing, Y/N noticed Jack and Harry shaking hands and smiling.

He must have made the team

She saw Liam then and he began to walk over to her, she smiled and walked over to him, after having packed up what she was supposed to, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on top of hers.

"So, Harry is a pretty good player isn't he?" Y/N said as she pulled away from Liam, taking his hand and walking to where she would change.

"Yeah, I guess so, hopefully he will be enough to get us out of this slump."

"I'm sure he will be." They had reached the entrance to the girl's locker room and Y/N looked up at Liam, his brown eyes smiling at her.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

Y/N was about to say no, that Jack gave her a lift to school and would take her home but then she thought about how little time she spent with Liam and nodded, hurrying to get changed and coming back out in record time.

"That was fast." He commented, smirking at her as he took her school bag.

"Well, I wanted to spend time with you." Y/N crinkled her nose. The girl's locker room always smelled like perfume, too much perfume and all of different scents. It got quite difficult to breathe in there.

"Cutie."Liam bent down and brushed his lips over Y/N's. 

Liam pulled back grinned, Y/N stood and stared up at him, unable to form words.

The kiss was small, short and...Nice.

"Why Miss Y/L/N I do believe my kissing has stunned you into silence. I am quite good."

Y/N shook her head and shoved his arm playfully, about to say something smartass back to him when something caught her eyes. A flash, retreating into the boys' locker room.

Harry?

She turned back to Liam and they continued walking, they were nearly at his car when she remembered something. Slapping a hand to her forehead. Liam looked down at her in concern.

"Shoot, I forgot my homework in my locker. I'll be right back." She began to run towards the school.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'll meet you at the car in a couple of minutes." She called back to him, dashing into the doors and running to her locker.

She put in the combination and got the book she needed, shutting her locker door she turned to go and jumped, seeing something she hadn't noticed before.

"Well, alone at last."

Y/N looked up at the person before her, feeling her insides melt.

"Harry," She breathed, unable to say anything but his name.

"Well Y/N, we meet at last."

Y/N looked up at Harry. She wasn't ready for this, no matter how many times she told herself she was, she wasn't and she realised she never would be ready to meet Harry. He was someone that she could turn to when she needed a shoulder to cry on. He was someone she could tell everything to—she had told everything to him and he was her best friend, someone who knew her better than anyone and now that he was here, she regretted telling him all those things. She regretted letting Harry in.

"I should go," she mumbled and started to walk away. Harry grabbed her arm and she spun, nearly head butting his chest. For a moment she stood frozen and, annoyingly, a song started playing through her head, one that she should not be thinking about when she had a boyfriend.

At last, my love has come along, my lonely days are over.

"Y/N" Harry whispered and she saw how close their faces were, his lips mere centimetres from hers. If she leaned forward, just a little, they would kiss and she had thought about kissing Harry plenty. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing. His eyes travelled down to her lips and then back to her eyes. He was about to say something. Y/N wanted to hear it, she wanted to hear what he had to say to her, but the trance they were in was broken when Harry smirked down at her and spoke.

"I always imagined our meeting to go a little...differently."

Y/N didn't like his tone and managed to step out of his grip on her arm.

"You've imagined our meeting?" She asked, her voice coming out a little breathlessly.

"All the time, Y/N," she tried not to think of how her nickname—the name only he called her—sounded like a caress. "I mean, we've known each other for years and we have never met. I've always wondered what it would be like." He grinned wickedly at her and Y/N felt herself respond with a small, teasing, smile. One Isabella had taught her.

Damn her flirting classes to the pits of hell!

"Well, it's great to, you know, finally meet you. We should definitely hang out some—" Harry placed a hand over her mouth and moved his eyes in the direction of an empty room. Y/N felt her brow furrowed in confusion and then she registered the sound of footsteps. She didn't have time to respond before Harry was walking towards the room, with her in tow, locking the door and pulling the blind down.

"Harry," She hissed. "What are you—?"

"Y/N?"

The voice came from the hallway and Y/N widened her eyes as she recognised it. Harry put a finger to his lips in the international sign for silence.

"Y/N, baby?"

Liam was walking past the door and Y/N had to resist the urge to yell out his name, Harry saw this and leaned into her, whispering in her ear. His breath caused her to shiver.

"Y/N, I just want to talk to you alone."

"Harry, he's my ride home and my boyfriend," she said defensively.

"Text him and tell him you need to do something really quickly and you'll be out soon."

Y/N looked up at Harry, planning on defying him and then she thought about it. She would never be alone with Harry again and she had wanted to meet him—talk to him in person—for years. Perhaps she should listen.

She took her phone out and sent a quick text to Liam.

Hey babe. Running late, meet you out the front in a few? Sorry for taking so long xox

Harry gave her an approving look as they heard Liam's phone go off and he headed back down the hallway, leaving the school.

"Okay, you have five minutes, what?" She asked Harry.

The Harry in her head looked like the Harry before her except for the attitude. Her Harry was sweet, funny and romantic. Harry, though funny, didn't seem to have anything sweet in him.

"Cute," Harry said and she looked up seeing one corner of his mouth was turned up in a smile.

"What is?" She asked.

"You," he grinned and Y/N grinned back. Then her smiled faded as he kept looking her up and down. Y/N squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny. He was looking at her like...like a piece of meat, ogling her. This was not how she imagined Harry would look at her; she imagined kindness to shine from his eyes and a feeling of safety to wrap around her.

Right now, all she felt was...uncomfortable.

"Look Harry," Y/N said, raising her eyes to his. "I really need to go," she said firmly, trying to get him to shake off the look of a stranger checking out the best piece of ass. He didn't.

"Oh Y/N, I have been waiting to meet you for over ten years and you're just going to walk away from me?" He shook his head. "I thought we were friends, best friends."

"We were—are—but Harry, I really need to go. I'll—I'll talk to you later, tonight, okay?" He gave her a curious look.

"No girl," he said slowly, "has ever walked away from me. It is unfamiliar and quite disconcerting. I don't like it very much but it seems to make you far more endearing. I enjoy a good chase, Y/N," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "But be warned, I am quite good at catching what I want."

Y/N looked at him with disgust and shoved past him.

So this was who her best friend really was, an asshat that liked to use girls. Well, she wasn't going to be one of them.

"If I had known this is what you were really like," she said, hand on the door knob, turning to face him, "I never would have kept writing to you."

Harry drummed his fingers in time with the music on the steering wheel of his car.

He was driving to a local corner store, a mini mart of sorts, to get some things for his grandmother. He didn't mind helping her. She was letting him live with her, rent free and even gave him money for doing her favours. Harry didn't want to take it, but she was pushy and would put it in his wallet while he was asleep.

He smiled at the thought.

"I never would have kept writing to you."

His smile fell as that unpleasant thought worked its way into his mind and he slammed his hand, hard, on the steering wheel, berating himself. He couldn't believe how bad his meeting with Y/N went. He was such an ass. He knew he was, he could proudly admit it and also admit to the fact that there was no hidden reason behind his being an ass, no woman who scorned him, no abusive relationship with his parents and no reason at all.

Except that he was an ass and he enjoyed being an ass.

Mostly.

His arrogance only got him so far in life. Sometimes he would have to reel it in and suck up his pride and stop being an ass. Perhaps he should have done that with Y/N.

She had always been there for him, since he was six years old and first received her letter. When he found out she was a girl he was instantly annoyed, girls had cooties, but he wrote back anyway. That stupid egg headed boyfriend of hers had  called her baby and Harry had to suppress a laugh at that, he had had so many babies in his short life and knew that more would come. But there is only one Y/N

It had been a week since Y/N had spoken to him and if she did look at him, she glared. It bothered Harry, more than he was willing to admit, that this girl he had known for so long—and had finally met—may hate him. He had no one but himself to blame, it was easy to act differently when typing on a computer or writing a letter.

Harry only acted that way with family and very close friends. Never had he acted the way he had with Y/N with any other girl. He had never given them special nicknames or blown off parties to 'hang out'. He never stayed up all night talking or anxiously awaiting a reply.

He had never wanted someone like he wanted Y/N.

Not in a physical way, although she was remarkably good looking. He wanted Y/N on an emotional level too. He wanted to kiss her if he wanted and do things to her he had done before with other girls, but he also wanted to be able to talk to her, to tell her how he felt and have her listen and in turn, listen to her.

Was this love he was feeling? Had he fallen in love with the girl who never wrote in cursive and never stuck to one pen colour?

Harry thought about it and a startling revelation came to him.

He was most definitely in love with Y/N.

There was no other way to explain his feelings and even—dear god!—the silly grin that was now on his face as he thought about it. He pulled up to a red light and groaned, hitting the steering wheel.

I'm in love with my best friend and treated her like crap.

God he was stupid.

Y/N had been a constant in his life. He had always been able to turn to her for comfort and she had turned to him. He knew more about her than anyone probably did. He knew that when her mother left, Y/N had cut one line along her wrist and then looked at herself in disgust for doing it because her mother didn't deserve her blood. He knew that she hadn't spoken to her mother—Val—since she walked out, and he knew what her father would call her when he was drunk.

He knew her favourite colours, movies, T.V. shows, books and what she wanted to do. He knew her fears and her dreams. He knew that she loved carrots and detested broccoli. He knew that she would only ever dot her I's with hearts if hell froze over, and she liked to draw smiley faces on the toes of her converse.

He smiled thinking about it all and then he saw her in his memory, the way she had looked when he had first laid eyes on her and his heart sped up.

I am in love, aren't I?

He didn't understand how he was in love. He always thought he would fall in love when he was older. He knew Y/N, inside and out and he realised that he had been falling in love with her, slowly, since that first letter and had been in love with her long before he saw her.

Harry jolted with surprise at that, as the light turned green and he continued to drive, he was shallow. He knew it. He only ever paid attention to a girl if she was good looking and flaunted it; tight tops, pants, short skirts, the lot. If you didn't have any of that, he wasn't interested.

With Y/N it was different, he had never seen her before and yet he always wanted to spend his time with her. Re-reading her letters, seeing if she was online, anything really. He made excuses to stay in and talk to her. He would rush home if he knew he would receive a letter from her and butterflies would go crazy in his stomach as he saw the envelope.

She always wrote on nice stationery and sprayed the letter with perfume.

He loved going on her words, tracing them with his fingers.

God, Harry thought as he pulled into the car park for the store and got out, locking his silver Audi and moving to the entrance of the store.

He froze for a moment, the last thought in his mind, whirring around as he looked at the one person behind the counter and his heart soared. They didn't see him and he ducked into an aisle as he calmed his heart and that thought that was still nagging at him.

God, I'm in love with Y/N.

#####

"Isabella, I only have a short break, what do you want?"

Y/N held the phone against her ear and shoulder as she listened to Isabella babble about the upcoming school dance. She rolled her eyes, her school had too many dances. This one was a welcoming back dance, although it wasn't scheduled for another month or so, but Isabella always had to start preparing early.

"I'm thinking blue, maybe. I think I look good in blue and gold for you. Maybe not blue, that would clash with the gold. I know, red! I'll wear red and gold and you can wear gold and red!" She chirped excitedly.

"What's the difference?" Y/N asked, opening her chocolate bar.

"Red is my feature colour, so it will be the colour of my dress and nails and lip stick and I will have gold shoes and accessories. Gold will be your feature colour and red you sub colour. Duh Y/N, have I taught you nothing?"

She rolled her eyes, thankful that Izzy couldn't see her.

"Alright, but red and gold remind me of curtains."

"Curtains?"

"Yeah, like older mansions always had red curtains and gold ropes and poles," she shrugged. "Reminds me of curtains, plus, red doesn't go with skin tone.”

"So what colour would you suggest for yourself?"

"Black."

There was a pause and then Isabella yelled into the phone.

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N! You are not going to another dance in a black dress! For the love of God! Wear some colour!"

"But black is—"

"Black is a colour you wear once in a while. Not. At. Every. Social. Function," Isabella ground out and Y/N winced. "That's it! I managed to get you to dress like a girl everyday now I have to get you to dress in colours when we go out. I am scheduling a shopping trip...Two weeks before the dance. For now, we will browse online."

"Isabella—"

"What are you wearing right now?"

"A skirt and top."

"Elaborate, Y/N. Shape, colour, design?"

She sighed but continued, knowing Isabella wouldn't stop until she had an answer.

"A green skirt that is longer at the back and zips up the front and a white tank top tucked into the waist band of the skirt. My shoes are white enclosed with a wedge heel design and I am wearing gold bracelets and a silver necklace with a heart on it."

"Good girl, see? If it weren't for me, you'd be dressed like Will." Y/N didn't try to deny it.

"Isabella, I really think—"

"No excuses. It's written. It's done. Get your fabulously dressed butt back to work and call me later."

Isabella hung up and Y/N stared at the phone for a moment before sighing and putting it back in her bra—girl's gotta do what a girl's got to do—and headed back out to the register, where Mr. Stark had been managing the register.

Mr. Stark owned the small convenience store that Y/N worked at and had been good friends with her father—still was apparently, and she got the job with no problems. The pay was good and the hours flexible.

Smiling at the old man, she took her seat behind the register and waited, flipping through a magazine as she did. She heard the bell above the door chime but didn't look up, until she felt a tingle go through her and when she looked, no one was there. She frowned and then shrugged. They probably went down an aisle.

Returning to her magazine, Y/N thought through Isabella's words.

Did she need to wear more colours? Did Isabella have a point in helping her change her wardrobe from drabby to, as she says, fabby?

Looking down at herself, her style had definitely changed and Y/N liked it, maybe she should stop wearing black dresses to every dance.

Y/N saw in her peripheral a customer approach and stowed her magazine away, scanner in hand. Looking up she saw, to her dismay, who it was that was placing the items down. Locking her jaw, she decided not to acknowledge him and started scanning and placing in the paper bags that Mr. Stark used, insisting it was better than plastic. When she finished scanning, she was annoyed to find that she had to acknowledge his presence.

"Will that be all?" She asked, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. The green seemed to blaze into her.

"I think so, Y/N." The name was like a caress and Y/N had to suppress a shiver of delight. "Actually," Harry amended and Y/N looked up from typing in the total. "One more thing, when do you get off?"

"Do you use that line on every girl?" She asked, typing in the total as Harry fished bills from his wallet and handed them to her.

"Only girls I like." Y/N didn't pause in counting his change, but his words caused a thrill to go through her. "So, when do you get off?"

"Why?" She asked, handing him back his change.

"Because I want to talk, don't friends usually talk?"

"Friends yes, I wasn't aware we were friends Harry," she responded, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Y/N," He sighed. "What I said, it was completely out of line. I—I'm sorry. I was so nervous meeting you. I mean, you imagine something for so long you want it to go perfectly and then you lose all sense and start blabbering." He ran a hand through his hair and Y/N finally met his gaze.

She could see that he was sorry, in the depths of green there was regret.

"I get off at 4," she said, which was an hour away.

"Would you mind—would you mind if I took you home?"

Y/N looked up at him and saw that he was nervous. Harry had always seemed so confident in his letters and typing that she hadn't thought he could get nervous and with his looks, she thought there was no need. Although what he had said to her still hurt, she had known Harry was a player, he had told her as much, but she had never thought—never imagined—that he would treat her like one of those countless other girls, and that hurt more than words could describe.

Her decision was made as she quickly mulled that over and she told him her answer.

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

Lessons to Build - ii: you can’t outrun what is in you

Summary: Two years ago, you break off your 5-year long engagement with Min Yoongi of the Min family and ran off to New York. However, for people like you, running away has never been a lasting solution.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader / Taehyung x reader

Warnings: None for this chapter. Y/N comes home, we meet Yoongi but not MEET-MEET. Might make you root for Taehyung. Notes: Short chapters for quicker updates is my jam. This took a while because i wasn’t sure how I wanted to present Yoongi yet. But here it is. He may be “kind” but there are other things at play that affected (and will affect) his decisions. Same with Y/N. Also Tumblr won’t let me tag some users. :(( I hope you guys find this update! And thank you for the people finding this fic!  Word Count: 1.6k Prologue  Lesson I 

Home.

Home shouldn’t be something you have to run away from. And yet, the moment you booked your flight, fingers tapping away on your phone - your passport details, credit card, seat number - an undeniable weight has began to made its home on your shoulders. As encompassing as a blanket but as imprisoning as heavy sand.

“What do you mean you’re flying to Seoul? Now??”

Isn’t it funny how things change in less than 24 hours? In a blink of an eye?

Taehyung’s voice is shrill in the background as you toss clothes upon clothes over your shoulder, hopping they’d get at least near the perimeter of your open suitcase.

Around you is your life in disarray. At the back of your mind, you find it slightly disturbing how easily it could fit in several boxes. No roots.

“Yes—“

“Why?”

You pause from grabbing your toiletries. There are things to do here in LA - there’s the campaign, the meetings with investors, your contracts, your would-be dog - your life.

Your mother told you that your father doesn’t want you to make the flight. That he’s fine, and it’s just exhaustion but the waver in your mother’s voice had your heart dropping straight to your stomach. And so despite her half-hearted protests, you’ve turned over your works over email and sent the rest for your assistants to manage.

Seoul may as well be just another place in the map. No, you’re not coming for Seoul, you’re coming for family.

You grab your phone off your bed side table and press it against your ear. “My dad had a heart attack.”

On the other line, you can feel Taehyung consider his words. “I’m coming with you.”

Your hands pause from folding your clothes and you look at your phone and as if seeing your questioning gaze, Taehyung plows on. “Yeontan and I are coming with you.” “Why?”

There are two ways for Taehyung to answer. One easy way is to tell you the truth. That he knows you need a friend, a tether to your life here, someone who will solidify what you’ve built. Someone, something tangible, someone to prove to you that your life here is as real as the life you left.

Going back always runs the risk of regressing, falling back to old patterns, he learned.

After all, he knows the feeling of being forced back to square one.

Or, he could tell you this, “My brother’s been bugging me to visit. And I hate flying alone.”

You don’t mention that he’s flown across the globe more than you could count - even flew to France once because he wanted authentic mille-feuilles - and just nod. “Okay, I’ll send you the flight details.”

“Okay, Lady, I’ll be there.”

The collapse of the CEO of the biggest chain of hotels and one of the upcoming land developers in an annual gala event can never be kept a secret.

You’ve seen it happen only once before, to Mr. Min. As a young girl, you remember how the media feasted around him like flies, and how shareholders of his company stalked around like wolves under sheep’s clothing.

It was as if everyone was waiting with a baited breath for the old man to die. A final shift of power from the old ways to the new. It was sensational, romanticized by the public - not sparing a thought or two to the families except when they needed something.

That was years ago, and it’s an unfortunate fact that hasn’t changed a bit.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t expect this - at least we look good.” Taehyung mutters, decidedly ignoring the occasional flash of camera in his periphery. They were still trying to be subtle, maybe not sure of the “scoop”? Scared of your supposed hidden bodyguards? Who knows?

“You always look good, Tae.” You whisper lightheartedly, forcing calmness in your words.

Around you, people continue to buzz around, grabbing their suitcases from the conveyor, talking on the phone, glancing at their watches. But they too have noticed, and glances towards your way multiply as the minutes pass by.

Taehyung hums in agreement, looking as if he hadn’t just flown across the world. “Yes, it requires effort, but don’t go telling them that.”

A loud shutter sound draws you away from your conversation and you boldly meet the lenses of a masked photographer eye-to-eye. Every bit of the Oh heiress they’ve built up in their mind.

Last time you checked, you were the high society’s prodigal princess. Ran away from home, off to play Cinderella in the United States. Keeping busy with shallow causes, burning through your daddy’s money.

You wonder how they come up with their headlines. You’ve long since given up in appealing towards their journalist’s ethics, but with how creative they come up with stories, you’re a bit disappointed with the headline you last read. The least they could do was make it more fun - a hidden lover? Pregnant? A twist, or something.

You scoff. Although you may have been away for two years, you still are your parents’ daughter. This is child’s play.

Dressed in a black luxury pantsuit, heels lifting you up from the ground and make-up on point, you provide no weak points. Eyes half-lidded you stare straight to the cameras who’ve come out of their hiding, propriety be damned and all.

Oh Y/N is back.

(And if it feels like shrugging on a second skin, you pay it no mind)

“Tae… Tae… Tae!”

Taehyung jostles awake beside you, the hand you were shaking him with falls on your lap. “Wha— What?”

Yeontan’s yip echoes his owner’s confusion. The sound sounding as exhausted as he probably is. Flying has and will probably always be stressful for pets, but Taehyung refused to have someone dog sit Yeontan for this trip saying that he needs to meet his cousins, RJ or something.

Your eyes soften at your friend’s sleepy eyes. Outside the sky is bright, but you too can feel the time difference and jet lag creeping up.

“Sleep this off at the hotel, Tae. I’ll have the driver drop you off.” You’re already reaching out to press the button for the partition when Taehyung shakes his head.

“‘M not sleepy.”

“You’re dead on your feet, Tae.” Fondness laced in your words, you watch Taehyung straighten in his seat beside you and card his fingers through his hair, making the mess look like a ~coordinated~ one.

“I’m not letting you go there alone.”

“I’m going to the hospital, Tae, not war.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. Taehyung spies the way you tuck your hands around yourself, almost curling inwards, almost shaking.

No.

“Could’ve fooled me, you’re dressed to kill.”

You look over expecting a teasing grin on his face but you falter, frozen, at the sight of his eyes. Dark chocolate eyes pin you to your spot, and heat blooms on your cheeks. Suddenly, you feel like your suit is too tight and even in its dark shade - too sheer.

Almost two years of friendship has not rendered you immune to Kim Taehyung.

Like the passing scenery, the moment is gone as quick as it came. Taehyung smiles and lifts Yeontan to his shoulder.

“He’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

There’s no question as to who he’s referring to. “He might be, my mom said he almost hasn’t left my dad’s side.”

Taehyung scoffs, “Like a vulture.”

You want to defend Yoongi but despite leaving the country because of him, you did keep updated. Partly because it’s ingrained to you to stay on top of news relating to your family business and its periphery but also… well, you don’t know what you hoped for.

In the span of less than two years, Min Yoongi dragged their struggling company and made it great again. Competitors lost out, assets were seized left and right, absorbed, repurposed in the gaping maw of a resurging giant.

He’s ruthless.

But you can be too.

Oh Jiyoung is not a young man anymore.

He doesn’t think he’s been young since his mother abandoned him and his father when he was ten. He wasn’t young when he left school at fifteen, or when he went back when he was eighteen.

He wasn’t young when he bussed tables, or worked in shucking oysters Yeosodo with swollen scarred hands. He wasn’t even young when he first met his wife, fell in love and learned what it was like to be loved back.

So, no, he isn’t surprised when he had a heart attack. A little off-put, and a bit terrified but not surprised. He’s lived more decades than he actually expected to already.

Looking down at his hands, he thinks that if he’d kicked the bucket right then and there the only true regret he’ll have is one that involves the young man across him.

Oh Jiyoung is old, but he hasn’t forgotten the mannerisms of a young man. His wife still makes him feel like one after all this years. So of course, he’s noticed the young man across him fiddle with his rings, his feet tapping to a rhythm only he knows.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

Yoongi looks up from his seat to the teasing face of his would’ve been father-in-law. His thumb pauses from rubbing against the ring in his forefinger, he doesn’t answer. He feels the stare of your father bore down on him and he almost shifts like a boy caught in a lie.

Your flight has landed just less than two hours ago, he doubts you’ll give yourself time to rest first before heading to the hospital. Which means, any time now, those doors will open and you’ll be here.

How odd.

As if summoned, the doors open and —

— there you are.

Yoongi’s eyes don’t stay on you too long, not with a tall man hovering behind you, dark eyes trained on him. Your ease at this man’s close proximity sets fire at the back of his neck, and even if he wanted to say hello, this, instead comes out.

“The rumors are true then, huh?” 

Tag List: @moonlitmyg @shadowstark @kookiebunnii @loveyoongles @swegstuffsuckers @anpanman-sonyeondan @veronawrites @ariadne-06 @springjade @neverthefirstchoice @creatorspalace​ End Notes: Hearts are appreciated but comments are gold. Let me know what you think and if you want to be included in a tag list!

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Mall Santa (Boomer/Mike and Brick/Blossom)

Summary: To earn a little extra cash over the holidays, Brick, Mike, and Boomer agree to help out their buddy Todd at a Mall Santa gig. Shenanigans ensue.

This one is for @snailbutters, @genovah, and @hanaokm. Merry Christmas and happy holidays! Enjoy some Boomike, Blossick, and Capri Sus on me. 

[Cross-posted to AO3]

xxx

There were a lot of things Todd needed: a haircut, for one. His black hair was getting too long for gel and it was really pushing the boundary between greaser sexy and sad trash hobo. Money, for another. But like any other 21-year-old townie with a high school education and two restaurant jobs, he always needed money.

A new best friend, for yet another.

“I’m not your best friend,” Brick snapped as he tied a black tie around his neck. He needed to leave in ten minutes if he was going to be early for his dinner meeting with Oliver Morbucks.

Todd put a hand over his heart like it might fall out of the wound Brick’s words had stabbed there. “Dude, of course you are. I’m totally sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea.”

Brick grimaced so hard he was sure he’d end up constipated. “No, you idiot. I know you think I’m your best friend. You’ve never shut up about it, even after we graduated high school. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking Peninsula knows it the way you go around shouting it when you’re blasted.”

Todd looked like he’d just received news that his favorite nana wasn’t dying of cancer after all. “Oh, cool. For a second there I thought I really hurt your feelings. You know you’re kinda sensitive, right?”

Oh god.

“What do you want, Todd? I have a really important meeting and I’m not missing it for your bullshit.”

Brick checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror in his one-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville. It was a shitty hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but Brick was used to squalor. His break was coming, he could feel it. If tonight’s meeting went over well, he’d have a more steady revenue stream and, more importantly, the connections and clout the Morbucks name brought to open doors. All the long days at Red’s Auto Shop saving and scraping by would finally pay off, and just in time for Blossom to graduate from college. It was perfectly planned, meticulously manipulated, all down to this last pivotal dinner.

“Cool, no big deal! I just need to know if you’re free this weekend.”

“Free to do what?” Brick indulged him, because Todd was one of the few people on this planet who wasn’t 100% intimidated by his very presence.

“To help me with this Mall Santa gig I got. Harry Pitt was supposed to be my number two elf, but he ate some bad prawns and they had to, like, airlift him to Citiesville General.”

Brick stopped everything he was doing and glared at his second-to-best friend, which was a key fact because second was not the same as first. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I know, right?” Todd knew his way around Brick’s embarrassingly small bathroom, opened up the hair wax, and fixed Brick’s styling job. “Dude always had a weak stomach, you remember. But you don’t fuck with bad prawns. I mean, obviously.”

Brick swatted Todd’s hands away and checked his reflection. It was definitely an improvement. “Not that; the Mall Santa thing, obviously!”

“Oh, yeah. So you’ll help me out?”

“Fuck no.”

“Aw, Briiiiiiick,” Todd whined.

Brick grabbed his dinner jacket from the closet barely big enough to fit a small, starving child. Todd, who had latched onto Brick in the seventh grade like a goddamned barnacle and never let go no matter how hard Brick tried to push him away, followed. “Not if you paid me.”

“You’ll get paid! It’s $20 an hour!”

Brick hesitated over the threshold. “That’s higher than minimum wage.” It was higher than his hourly rate at the garage too.

“Seasonal gigs, man. That’s how you win.”

“It’s seriously fucking not.”

Todd, one of three people in the universe who actually cared about Brick on a personal level even though he wasn’t obligated by blood, made his blue eyes big and wide in a way that reminded Brick of Puss-n-Boots from Shrek, Todd’s favorite movie. “C’mon, bruh. Do your bestie a solid? Just this once? I really need the money and they won’t let me keep the gig without two elves to fill in. So please? Pleeeeeeease?”

And Brick, former scourge of Townsville, a Super with the power to literally raze the planet if it so much as tickled his fancy, and the dictionary definition of the boy every father dreads his perfect, pretty little girl falling for against her better judgment, cracked like an egg.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groused. “Just text me the time and place and get out of my face already.”

Todd punched the air with both fists. “Yes!! Oh, hell yes! I love you so much, dude.”

“Blow me.” Brick checked his watch. Shit, now he was merely on time.

“I’d consider it an honor,” Todd said, probably literally serious.

xxx

Boomer rolled glitter on his cheeks and around the edges of his dark blue eyes with the help of a compact as he huddled behind the North Pole set on the first floor of the Townsville Mall. When he was satisfied that he sparkled like the tinsel-festooned Christmas trees in Santa’s twelve-by-fifteen-foot “forest” themselves, he discreetly re-emerged just as the latest child slid off Santa’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, Dan!” bellowed a red and white-clad Todd behind an enormous, curly beard. “Remember to brush your teeth!”

The little boy ran back to his parents, who were having a word with the photographer about purchasing a picture of their son on Santa’s lap. Before Boomer could follow them, Brick was quick to cut him off.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. Sour as an un-sugared plum in his festive, candy-striped elf costume, Brick may have absolutely intimidated the seven-year-olds waiting in line with their parents for a turn on Santa’s lap, but Boomer only allowed him a bemused smile.

“Why, I was making toys for the good little boys and girls who came to visit us here at the North Pole,” Boomer said in a raised voice. He looped his arm through his brother’s and let his power surge with enough force to turn Brick around and face the crowd that was definitely within hearing range. “Isn’t that right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick pushed back with inhuman force, but Boomer held his ground with a smile as bright as the glitter on his cheeks as a little girl in overalls trotted forward.

She giggled. “I like your hat.”

“Thank you!” Boomer gushed, and he tipped his pom-pom-topped cap. “And what’s your name?”

The little girl giggled again. “My name’s Alynn.”

“Well, Alynn, why don’t you step right up and take a seat on Santa’s lap? I’m sure he has a great present for a cool girl like you. Right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick glared medieval torture at him, and he managed a smile that showed too many teeth to be anything other than life-threatening. “Of course, Elf Buller.”

Boomer’s smile tightened.

“Ho ho ho! Come on over, Santa doesn’t bite,” Todd said.

“What a psychotic reassurance,” Brick said soft enough for only the Super brothers to hear.

“Hey, Brick?” Boomer said, just as softly. “Cheer the fuck up.” He gave his brother a bone-crushing squeeze around the arm and broke from him. Brick could be a sourpuss when he wanted to be (all the time), but he wouldn’t mess up Todd’s Mall Santa gig when he’d bothered to show up and actually put in the effort at all. Complain as he might about Todd’s exuberance, Brick had always come through for his best friend since the seventh grade.

Boomer, on the other hand, had been very happy to accept Todd’s offer to work the two weeks leading up to Christmas. The hours were reasonable, the pay was good, and Boomer loved children. It was easy money in between local shows he and his garage band had booked over the holidays.

Plus, the photographer had a nice rack.

“Okay, Santa, Alynn. Look over here and say ‘jingle bells’!” A flash went off, and Mike Believe stood to his full height behind the tripod he’d set up for the day’s pictures. Even in reindeer antlers and a bright, red-painted nose, Mike filled out every fold of his brown Rudolph outfit almost to the point of popping a button. His broad chest puffed out when he put his strong hands on his hips and grinned brightly like he wouldn’t pick anywhere else to be right now.

Their eyes met, and Boomer flushed and smiled like a fool.

When Mike winked back at him coyly, his heart leaped into his throat. Mike had gotten home from college just two days ago, but the three weeks he had off for Winter Break would surely fly by like they did every year, and Boomer was determined to spend every moment together.

A tug on Boomer’s green tunic drew his attention. “Can I take a picture with you? Please?” the little girl asked.

Boomer beamed and scooped her up onto his hip. “Of course you can. Hey, Mike? Can you take one of us, please?”

“You bet! Get in close, now.” Mike readied his camera.

“Oh, wait a sec. Why don’t you take this too?” Boomer removed his festive hat and put it on Alynn’s head. It was big on her, but she laughed happily.

They posed for the picture, and Boomer hugged her cheek to cheek.

“Thanks!” The little girl tried to give him his hat back, but he pressed it to her chest.

“You keep it. Merry Christmas. Remember to be good, okay?”

Alynn’s father was waiting with a hand for her to take when she ran back to him, yammering about how she’d met Santa and his super cool elf friend, and Boomer watched them go.

“You know you’ll have to pay for that hat,” Brick said.

Boomer sighed and ran a hand through his cornflower hair. “You know I look better without it.”

Brick frowned deeply. “Uh-huh.”

“If you keep frowning, your face will stick like that.”

“Moron.”

He always had to have the last word. Brick went to stack the empty boxes wrapped in bright, shiny paper, which was probably more productive than blowing up the entire display. Boomer left him to it. It was time for their mid-morning break, anyway.

Todd got up to stretch. “Man, who knew sitting could be so tiring, huh? Whack.” His phone buzzed, and he grinned when he saw the caller ID.

Boomer, however, had eyes only for Mike as the latter turned off his camera and put a sheet over the tripod to protect it. “Working hard, I see.”

When Mike smiled, his dark eyes crinkled in the corners. He had a face made for smiling. “Oh, you know. Just helping out some friends.”

Like Brick, Todd had asked Mike to help out behind the camera for this gig. Mike didn’t exactly need the extra cash given his lacrosse scholarship that covered his college expenses, but the three of them had been as thick as thieves all through high school no matter what Brick said when he was annoyed. No way was Mike going to bail on the chance to help out a bro.

“This is cute,” Mike said, running a thumb over Boomer’s sparkly cheek.

“If only I could convince Brick to wear some,” Boomer said, lacing his fingers in Mike’s as they shuffled to the side of the exhibit behind a blinking Christmas tree for a bit of privacy.

Mike chuckled. “That’ll take a Christmas miracle. But anyway, I don’t want to talk about Brick right now.”

Their kiss was soft and mostly chaste, considering the venue, but Boomer didn’t mind at all. He rose up on his toes to lean into his boyfriend’s superior height and smiled into their kiss. Even in the middle of the Townsville Mall with shoppers mere yards away, for a few seconds Boomer got lost in the fantasy of the forest and the snow drifts, bright lights and magic that came around only once a year and had always touched his heart in a way nothing else quite could.

“Babe! You got here quick!” Todd’s excitement and a small commotion around Santa’s throne drew the lovers’ attention, and Boomer reluctantly broke the kiss. His Super hearing quickly picked up on what was going on.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

Boomer smiled wryly. “That Christmas miracle you wished for. Come on.” He took Mike’s larger hand in his and pulled him back toward the front of the display, where Todd had scooped up a very small, very fashionable Asian woman in his arms.

“Oh my god, don’t do shits in front of the innocent children, Toddy.” Hana patted her high bun and smoothed out her oversized black jacket once Todd released her.

“Hey, I just missed you is all,” Todd said with a genuine smile like he had really, truly missed his girlfriend since this morning when they had last seen each other.

“You guys are too cute,” said Bubbles with a giggle. As usual, she was adorable in blonde twin tails and a holiday-appropriate sweater dress. Shopping bags hung from both her arms, also as usual.

“Right?” Hana said, her deadpan façade melting completely as she beamed at her closest friend.

“No contest.” Bubbles set down her small nation of shopping bags. “Oh! Hi, Boomer!” She dashed to hug him in a flash of blue, and he caught her easily. “Oh my gosh, I love your glitter. You look like a supermodel!”

Boomer laughed and hugged her back. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. I really owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, but you definitely need some touching up. Here, let me just…”

Mike had wandered over to Todd and Hana. “Hey, Hana. Are you staying for the holiday?”

Hana shrugged. “Yeah, my art show isn’t until after New Year’s. You know, I’m always looking for more models.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Mike laughed. “I’m honored, but I’m really nothing special, honestly. You might try Butch.”

Todd guffawed. “Oh man, Butch is, like, one of her top models! She painted him for what, six weeks last summer, babe?”

“Seven,” Hana said, dead serious.

Mike smiled nervously. “That’s a lot of inspiration.”

“He is very inspiring,” Hana said, deader and more serious.

“That dude is goals,” Todd said, totally unironically.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Mike said.

“Aaaaand done.” Bubbles stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Honestly? You’re the most beautiful elf the North Pole ever employed.”

Boomer snickered. “Don’t tell Brick that.”

“Don’t tell me what, now?” Brick emerged from his useless empty box stacking task, glitter-less and severely lacking in Christmas cheer.

Bubbles gasped, right on cue. “Brick! Where is your glitter? Get over here.”

Brick made a weird face. “What are you talk—hey!”

Bubbles all but accosted him with the glitter pen. Hana cheered and applauded, and Todd joined in because he liked to cheer and applaud in general.

“What are you—get off!” Brick shoved Bubbles hard, but a flash of pink caught her before she could crash into anything.

Blossom peered around her totally unfazed sister, a tray of lattes in one hand and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. “Brick,” she said.

Brick swallowed. “Blossom.”

She looked nice in leggings and a sweater dress that matched Bubbles’ style, except where Bubbles’ was white, Blossom’s was a scarlet that rivaled the shade of Brick’s eyes.

“I brought you guys coffee,” Blossom said, her eyes trained on Brick even as she held out the tray.

Mike took the tray before it could become collateral damage in whatever was going on between the two of them.

“Here you go.” Mike offered one to Boomer, who gratefully accepted it.

“Thanks!”

“I thought you weren’t getting home until tomorrow,” Brick said, as if he and Blossom were the only two people there.

“Change of plans,” Blossom said. “Problem?”

Brick seemed to remember what he was wearing and snatched his elf hat from his head. He bunched it up between his hands like that would hide his imagined shame. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, clearly. But it wasn’t Boomer’s place to intrude. He would have been extremely happy for it to end there, but sadly Blossom, like his brother, had a flair for the dramatic and an affinity for the center of attention.

She sauntered up to him and smeared the bit of glitter Bubbles had managed to draw on his cheek before he’d shoved her off. “Good,” she said, half an invitation and half a challenge.

Brick didn’t bend easily. Boomer knew his brother as well as he knew himself, and he knew Brick didn’t relent, never gave in unless he was well and truly beaten, which was rare. But he slackened now, lips parting and eyes falling. Even though his arms stayed stubbornly at his sides and he didn’t do something as scandalous as hold his girlfriend’s hand in public, he melted under her touch and attention.

“All right! Bloss, you’re back early! This is massive, like, supernova massive,” Todd said. “Hey, I know! Let’s throw a party at mine tonight! Brick said you weren’t coming back for another couple of days, so this is like a cool early Christmas present to all of us.”

Bubbles gasped. “Oh my gosh, yes! Let’s all go to Todd’s tonight, just like we used to. I’m calling Robin right now.”

“We can make it a real Christmas party,” Blossom said. Somehow, she’d gotten ahold of Bubbles’ glitter pen and now smeared a generous amount on Brick’s cheeks until he gleamed without suffering a nuclear meltdown. A Christmas miracle, indeed.

“You’ll wear the Santa suit,” Hana said. Demanded.

“Ho ho ho! You got it, babe.”

“That thing’s a rental,” Brick said. “And it’s, like, 75 degrees outside.”

“If he gets too hot, I’ll hose him down,” Hana said.

Brick smartly decided not to press her on that one.

“I like your elf costume, Brick,” Blossom teased. Maybe.

“I’m burning it as soon as I get paid,” Brick said.

“I thought it was a rental like Todd’s?”

He hesitated, trapped by his own logic, and she laughed softly and kissed the side of his mouth. Brick froze and played it off like it didn’t affect him, but his eyes were drawn to Blossom’s lips for the next six whole minutes. Boomer really didn’t get why he had to make everything so damn complicated.

“Hey, hombres, our break is up and I see a super cute kid waiting to sit on the softest lap in Townsville,” Todd said, sinking back onto his candy cane throne and patting his lap.

Brick visibly cringed.

“It could be worse,” Mike whispered to Brick. “At least this time we get to keep our shirts on.”

Boomer smiled at the memory of Todd’s last seasonal gig he’d roped Brick and Mike into over the summer. The shirtless carwash had admittedly been one of his more rewarding part-time jobs, and Boomer had the photo evidence to cherish the memory extremely fondly.

Blossom and Hana retreated behind Mike while Bubbles finished up her phone call with Robin and Brick admitted the next child on set.

“Welcome to the North Pole,” he said with all the cheer of an old tire. Nonetheless, his cheeks dazzled. “What’s your name, kid?”

She looked up at him but didn’t say anything. Boomer noticed her shyness and decided he better intervene.

“Hey there,” he said, taking a knee so he could be on her eye-level. “Merry Christmas.”

That alarmed her even more, and she hugged Brick’s leg.

“What the—” Brick put his hands up like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Great.”

The girl’s parents were busy talking to Mike about the picture packages and didn’t seem to notice what was going on.

“Uh,” Boomer said, ready to flag them down before the little girl got scared or started to cry. They’d been lucky this morning with only one child throwing a temper tantrum out of the tens they’d seen.

“All right, kid. I hope you have a good grip.” Brick floated off the ground with the little girl clinging to his leg and flew over to Todd’s throne.

Boomer was so flabbergasted by his brother’s gross disregard for this child’s safety in front of her parents that he was momentarily stunned where he kneeled. It was over in about two and a half seconds, with her parents none the wiser and the little girl still in one piece, miraculously. Brick peeled her off him and dropped her on Todd’s lap.

“Name,” Brick demanded. And then, reluctantly: “…To check you off the Nice List.”

The little girl looked up at him with wide-eyed wonderment, or maybe fear. “Morana.”

“Morana. Super. Tell Todd—I mean, Santa—what you want. And smile for the camera.”

Todd didn’t miss a beat and wrapped his arms loosely around her to hold her safely in place. “Morana, that’s a pretty name. Wanna tell me what you want for Christmas?”

Morana pointed at Brick. “That one.”

Brick turned as red as his messy man bun. Todd wheezed.

“Oh, yeah? Well, that one’s taken, but I bet I can get you a picture together. How ‘bout it?” Todd asked.

Boomer was up and moving in a blue flash. “That can be arranged.” He shoved his brother with a healthy burst of Super strength, and Brick all but fell on his knee next to Todd’s throne. Boomer waved back at Mike for the picture.

“Big smile now!” Mike said cheerfully, and snapped the picture.

“What the hell is up with these kids?” Brick asked when Morana skipped back to her parents and started chattering at them in a language Boomer didn’t recognize but assumed must be all good things from the way she grinned from ear to ear. “They get bolder every year.”

“Or you’re just getting softer,” Boomer teased.

“Yeah, right.”

Blossom laughed at something Hana said on a nearby bench, drawing both their eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” Boomer said.

xxx

Todd’s party was a nostalgic and long-overdue affair later that evening. Unlike Boomer, who had to make do in a small studio apartment on the outskirts of Citiesville where the rent was more manageable and his commute didn’t matter when flying anywhere took only minutes, Todd lived in a big house he took care of for his often absent, globe-trotting parents. Blossom, Bubbles, and Robin had taken the initiative and strung up Christmas lights, while Boomer created and managed the playlist for the night. They had a good crowd with old friends from high school and new ones from work and college gathered for no excuse other than to have a good time.

Butch, Buttercup, Mike, and Todd had set up beer pong in the basement, where most of the festivities were taking place. As usual, the shit talking and macho bravado had soared to ludicrous heights.

“Come on, BC,” Todd goaded. “Money shot, right here.” He fluffed his Santa beard, the ends of which were damp with beer. Buttercup had one cup left to hit.

“I’m about to straight-up tea bag you with this ping pong ball, Todd, I swear to god.” Buttercup tried to focus on her aim after too many beers and the distraction of Todd’s stupid Santa beard.

“Do it, fucking do it,” Butch said, bobbing on the balls of his feet and slightly manic with the competition and holiday cheer, probably.

“I’m gonna fucking do it!”

“I don’t think you can fucking do it,” Mike said.

“Ohhhhh!” Butch hollered when Buttercup lost her temper and threw the ball too hard. It bounced off Todd’s beard and fell on the floor, leaving the last cup untouched.

“Mike, you cheater!” Buttercup shouted.

Mike burst out laughing.

“All riiiiight, the Toddster’s final shot. You filming, babe?” Todd asked.

Hana, across the table from Boomer, had her phone out and poised. “Kick their asses, Toddy.”

“Yeah, bring it on, Toddy,” Butch jeered.

“Oh, it’s about to be brought.”

“Oh god, please, you peaked in high school,” Buttercup said.

“Hey, he plateaued,” Mike said. “There’s a difference.”

“Just take the damn shot!”

Todd shot, hit the rim of the solo cup, and missed. Buttercup and Butch threw up their hands and whooped. They were still in the game, and the stakes were even higher now.

Boomer squeezed Mike’s arm in a silent excuse and went to change the music…only to find Brick and Blossom making out in the hallway like it was their last night on Earth.

The music was fine, he decided. No need to interrupt Brick and Blossom trying to fuse with the wall and face his brother’s cock blocked wrath. Discreetly, Boomer snapped a picture on his phone and texted it to Bubbles.

[Boomer: Shooketh]

Bubbles’ reply was lightning fast.

[Bubbles: More like shattered!!]

[Bubbles: Better get out of there before they catch you lol 💀]

After another hour (and Brick and Blossom’s reemergence from the wall in one piece with not a hair out of place because god forbid), Boomer and Mike decided to head out early. They went back to Boomer’s apartment, where a very excited Pomeranian welcomed them home.

“Hi, Pumpkin!” Mike brightened like the sun and scooped up his favorite girl, left in Boomer’s care while he was away at college. “Who’s ready for a walk?”

They walked Pumpkin and let her tire herself out running around the suburban neighborhood where it was too late at night for any cars to be out. A half hour later, they were curled up on the loveseat with Pumpkin snoozing in her fuzzy bed at their feet and an old black-and-white Christmas movie playing on low volume on the television.

“Hey,” Boomer said, lifting his head from Mike’s chest to look at him properly.

Mike set aside the hot chocolate he’d been drinking and pulled Boomer up by his waist. “Hey, you. What is it?”

Boomer smiled. It was silly, really. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” Mike returned his smile and leaned closer. He smelled like soap, a hint of chocolate, and something else that made Boomer want to bury his face in his neck.

“Just happy,” Boomer said.

“Really? I can’t tell.”

Boomer sat up a little higher. The neck of Mike’s old lacrosse jersey he wore dipped down his shoulder, too big on him and softer than a cloud. He pressed a chaste kiss to the underside of Mike’s jaw. “How about now?”

“Hm, nope, I don’t think I quite got that.”

Boomer threaded his fingers though Mike’s short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Feeling coquettish, he gave his ear a nip. “How about now?”

Mike shifted on the couch and pulled Boomer’s bent legs onto his lap. His voice was as warm as the hot chocolate he’d been drinking. “I think I’m starting to get a vague understanding.”

Boomer laughed and painted a trail of kisses along Mike’s jaw, up his chin. He pressed a strong hand to his chest and put a little power behind it. Centimeters apart, he could taste the lingering heat of the hot chocolate on Mike’s breath. “And now?”

Mike’s eyes drooped and darkened. His hands slipped around Boomer’s waist, under the jersey, a silent entreaty. “I think you can do a little better than that, Angel.”

The secret nickname broke Boomer’s resolve, and he kissed his boyfriend full on the mouth with all the confidence and shamelessness he couldn’t give him that morning at the mall surrounded by children and their parents. Mike’s shirt soon found its way to the floor along with Boomer’s borrowed jersey. The loveseat was too short to accommodate Mike’s height comfortably, and after a few moments Boomer held him close and flew them to the bed in a flash.

“I’ll never get over how hot that is,” Mike said, breathless.

Boomer blushed, unable to help it. He was careful with his strength around Mike, but sometimes the X bonded to his bones pushed him to the raw, carnal boundaries of humanity. Mike’s hand on his cheek drew him out of those spiraling thoughts.

“I mean it,” Mike said. “I love that part of you. And I trust you completely.”

Words did not come easily, nor did they seem appropriate in that moment. Boomer bent to kiss Mike again and pull him as close as he could get. Wrapped up in the warm sheets and each other, Boomer’s silly little thought that he had never been happier grew and swelled to heights he never could have imagined before Mike. They lay there together, lazy and sleepy, as the credits of their forgotten holiday movie played on the television.

“One more semester,” Mike said, “and then I graduate.”

“I can’t believe you’re almost a college graduate,” Boomer said. “It feels like you left ages ago.”

“Four years is a long time, but it’s not forever. And you should get ready.”

Boomer looked up at him. “Ready for what?”

“To move, of course.”

“Move?”

“Hey, I love how cozy your apartment is, but I’m pretty sure Pumpkin would appreciate her own room once we’re living together full time.”

Boomer sat up properly. “You… You want to move in together? With me?”

“Of course! The only question is, where do you want to go?”

Boomer covered his mouth. Of course he had thought about getting a place with Mike, but that always seemed like the distant future. What if they didn’t stay together? What if the long distance was too hard? What if Mike met someone else at college? Brick didn’t talk about it much, but after a few too many drinks one night the year Blossom and Mike both left for college, he’d confessed how afraid he was that he would lose her forever. How can the old be exciting and fun compared to the amazing, new adventures she would be having?

But from the way Boomer had caught them all but absorbing each other at Todd’s tonight, Blossom seemed perfectly happy to keep him. And Mike…

“You’re serious,” Boomer said.

“I’ve never been more serious.” Mike took his hand and kissed his knuckles carefully. “I can’t wait to start our lives together.”

Boomer could have cried. He almost did. Life was hard, even for a Super like him. With endless bills to pay and the occasional monster to dispose of, sometimes he felt like he was being pulled in too many directions without anyone there to help pick up the slack. But this… This was his.

“Me too,” Boomer said. “And I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s together.”

“Well, cool. In that case, if you’re not opposed to it, was thinking farther north, like Metroville. There are some great photography jobs there that I want to apply for, and the music scene is bigger than it is here—”

“Yes! A hundred percent yes, let’s do it. When do we leave?”

Mike laughed. “June 1st, as soon as they hand me my diploma.”

Six months. It had a date now. Unthinking, Boomer threw his arms around Mike’s broad shoulders and hugged him tight. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

“It’s a date.”

Incidentally, they did not get much sleep the rest of that night.

xxx

I told myself I wasn’t going to do a ton of fluff, but damnit all, Boomike is SUPER CUTE and I couldn’t help myself. Let them have the happy ending they deserve. Thanks for reading!

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch. 6 Creepypasta x fem!reader

Hey, guys hope you're liking the chapters, now I'm sorry I didn't post the chapter yesterday my computer was malfunctioning and I had to fix it. But now we're all good and I can be more consistent. I also turned my comments on so I hope that you'll tell me what you liked and disliked about the story. But without further ado enjoy<3.

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A week had passed since the girl started training, and she could feel herself improve as the days progressed. Jack, at first, was ruthless towards her, but he calmed down and at least waited for her when she was struggling to walk back to the cabin. She also had a strict workout regiment made by him. He acted as a personal trainer of sorts as she had to use heavy objects as weights and was made to sprint around the forest to build up stamina and muscle to improve her strength. But when the week had ended, so had Jacks' first shift to train her, and now it was Maskys turn.

The cold Monday air hit her face when she woke up. Feel her eyelids becoming heavy she wanted to go back to bed but stopped herself. Jack had warned her that Masky hated tardiness and that he expected her to be ready by 7:30 AM. So the girl had set the red alarm clock that laid on the small desk next to her bed to ring at 6:45 AM. Lazily getting out of bed, she neared the closet, getting a set of clean clothes( Her closet had been updated, with more essential clothes, like underwear and socks). Then headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Slackly scrubbing her body under the look worm pellets of shower water that quickly streamed down her bare body, she remembered her first few interactions with Masky, like when he attacked her that cursed night. She could recall his rude and disrespectful behaviour towards her, and if she was honest, she didn't regret stabbing him in the leg with her kitchen knife. An irate expression then fell upon her face as she cursed him and all the others under her breath. Because of them, she was in this hell hole, she hated it. She just wanted to be home. But she was also mad at herself for not taking more initiative and trying to make an actual escape plan.

' Do I have Stockholm syndrome or something?' She questioned herself as she started to feel her eyes water, but immediately pulled back those tears, not wanting her eye to puffen. She'd already been showering for over fifteen minutes without noticing. Not wanting to waste even more time she got out of the shower and dressed she quickly walked to her room to check the time. She had 15 minutes to eat before her training started.

Running downstairs, she instantly started making something to eat as she turned around and was about to head in the direction of the dining table. And in the heat of the moment, she had harshly bumped into something making her drop the large white plate of food she'd been carrying. A loud bang of porcelain contacting the hard wooden floor rung through her ears as she angrily looked up to see what the hell was in the way. Though her features instantly softened when she realised it was Masky towering over her. His white mask was even creepier up close. It looked old and worn out, it also had some red discolouration on the lower half of it with some minor erring at the sides. His demeanour seemed stiff as a deep growl escaped from his throat.

" Watch where you're going, goddamn it." He spoke as he pushed her aside to pass. " And clean that up right now. I mean Jesus Christ, your so much wasting time, you have less than ten minutes." The girl glared daggers as he spoke. Rage fueled her mind as she wanted to punch him square in the face, although she stopped herself, not wanting to cause any trouble. She just took in a sharp breath, closing her eyes she promptly cleaned up the mess. Hastily making herself some cereal she ate it as quickly as she could.

Masky watched her, however feeling disdain towards her as he did. His leg was still sour from where she had stabbed him, but he planned to get back at her by making the next week they had together a living hell. Staring at the clock, every minute or so he would check it to see what it said, and the moment the arrow hit exactly 7:30, he got up from where he was sitting. " Get the hell up we're going," He roughly grabbed the bowl in front of her and flushed the remaining bit of food down the drain. The girls just pursed her lips as her gaze turned bitter in the mere sight of him. She slowly got up and followed him outside. They were on the same path she took to get to the clearing she and Jack would fight in, but instead of turning left and following the path, he went in the opposite direction.

Confusion washed over her as she follower curiously, still not trusting him fully. " Where are we going?" She promptly asked as they were walking for a while. She could feel him roll his eyes, " Be quiet your voice irritates me." Not having anything else to do she just huffed loudly and followed the masked man she dislike so much with her arms folded over her chest. Her feet kept on hitting the many tree roots scattered around the path as she watched the leaves fall from the trees. Her mind wandered with them, she'd been so stressed this last week that she'd forgotten to enjoy her surroundings and she hand realised just how beautiful the forest truly was. That morning she felt a light breeze graze her soft skin as she looked up to the clear blue sky. The sound of rustling leaves filled her ears as she softly smiled at the beautiful sight of the trees being carried by the wind.

Without noticing that Masky had halted to a stop, she walked into him for the second time that day, he stood like a tree and the hard impact made the girl tumble a bit before regaining her stance. Though the man didn't even seem to notice, she softly grumbled under her breath before walking next to him. As she looked up and got a good look at her surrounding she was dumbfounded. In front of her was scattered some of the most beautiful looking flora in her life. The grass that covered the soil seemed lighter than the one she was standing on, different types of multicoloured flowers strewed in patches all around it and right in the middle, in front of them both, stood an old thick tree. It was remarkably tall, moss laid on its right side and it looked worn out over time. Its long brown branches twisted and turned as golden-green leaves spread all along with them. There was a thin stone pathway leading up to the tree and circling it to give room for someone to walk around.

" What is this place?" She softly spoke as her jaw had dropped from the sensory overload she was experiencing by the gorgeous scenery in front o her. Masky brought up his right hand closing her jaw, " This is going to be your first lesson, how to take care of this area of the forest. It's essentially the heart of it giving it its 'power' pet say, this tree is thousands of years old and you, as a middleman, have the task to not let it die." He said pointing at her as he walked through the stone path and stood in front of the tree, the girl soon following. " How do I take care of it? And what happens if I let it die?" She asked as she looked up at the tree then at him.

" Well, firstly, these flowers have to be watered every few days or they die out, and if they die out, the tree soon will follow after them. Also, the tree has to be checked and graded in 3 stages to make sure it's in the right order. Firstly, if the leaves change colour every season. When in the winter their silver and or blue, In Atom orange and or purple, spring red and or pink and then summer as you can see this type of greenish-gold colour or pure gold colour that has a whole meaning in its self. But ill explain the meaning of the colours later, when we get you a notebook you can write all of this down. But there is a deviation from this pattern the tree is most likely dying for some reason and you have to find out what the reason for that is. Second, if you notice that it starts to have some kind of sweet n=honey like odour then its sap is ready to be harvested and you'll have to harvest every last drop of it. Though this could happen any time there's no real regulation the when it can or can't, the sap is needed for magic. Lastly, You will also have to feed the tree a special oil-based serum that you will learn to make, you can do this around the time you water the plants, but f you see it rejecting it and not absorbing the oil then there's something wrong and you will have to inspect it and see if there's some kind of defect going on to fix. Now to answer your second question, if the tree were to die in your care then you will go through the most excruciating execution of your life." He spoke quickly almost as if he was dictating this to a whole class of people, though the way he announced the last sentence his tone got darker and it sent shivers up the girl's spine.

He put his hands behind his back and began to cercal the tree, the girl trailing close behind. " Now, I want to inform you that this is a type of safe space for you during the day as it prevents any magical creature from going through it. Only humans are allowed. Although, I do have to preface that there's a difference between creatures that descend from, magic and creatures that can do magic. A good example of this rule is Jack and I. He is a creature derived from magic and is not allowed to step through this in the day, and I being a human with the core and basic knowledge of magic, am allowed during the day." He spoke very fast and when he finished he took in a long breath and sighed. The girl listened thoroughly to every word he uttered but something seemed to be troubling her. " You keep on specifying that I can go here during the day. Why is that, does something happen at night?" Her tone was lased in confusion as she stopped to look around the small area.

" Well during the night this place becomes a breeding ground for death, many evil creatures come here to finish off their victims or to spend the night. This place doesn't look remotely similar at night. You'll be as good as done for if you were ever to be so unlucky as to be here untrained and unprepared past twelve. The biggest scum of this forest dwell in the night" The last few words he spoke dragged, his body seemed to tense up as he looked at her with his piercing brown eyes, which were the only thing she could see under his pale mask. "That's why unless it's something urgent do not go out in the forest at night if you're not well trained, do I make myself clear?" His tone was rough but she could tell that there was some level of concern tied within his statement, making her faintly smile.

" The first day ill be a little lenient, as to get you familiarized with the basic layout of the forest which you'll have to memorize." Clearing his throat he smirked as he slowly approached her. " I have the map to this place in my back pocket." He said stopping in front of her as he pulled out a big colourful map of the forest, the girl questioned how he was able to fit that in there. "That's why ill give you till tomorrow to learn it all." The girl's eyes went wide, she was sure he was smiling under his mask and she hated it. " What are you crazy how am I suppos-" She interjected but was soon cut off by the masked man chuckling in amusement, he got closer to her and put one of his gloved hands on her shoulder roughly pulling her towards him as he spoke.

" Well, I'm sorry to say this but there's no negotiation. Now, let's continue with our lesson. I kindly advise paying better attention to what I'm saying to make learning this by tomorrow easier. Because if you don't know let's just say things won't end well for you."

[charming-charlie]

One More Chance

Title // One More Chance

Pairing // Anthony Ramos x Fem!Reader

Warnings // Light swearing, fluff, mentions of loneliness.

Summary // It’s been years since you last saw Anthony, one of your high school friends. What happens when you finally see each other during his Hamilton run?

Word Count // 2,879

Prompt // “Be kinder to yourself, alright? For my sake. I can't stand watching you beat yourself up like this.”

You thought for sure Anthony wouldn’t remember you. He was a big, fancy Broadway star. You had to be one of the last things on his mind, if you were even on there. But he came through. After you direct messaged him your address, which was in New York since you never left, he sent tickets and backstage passes to the show that he was a part of. This was a dream come true for you. Not only would you get to see your long-lost friend again, but this was also the first Broadway show you’ll ever attend. Tickets were always out of your price range, and you didn’t make enough money to splurge on such an extravagant purchase.

It would be nice to see him again, but you knew it would probably be wishful thinking that he would remember you in person. It’s been a while since the two of you were in high school. You could go on and on about the memories in English class, but you wouldn’t dare bring those up. No, you are only going just to enjoy the show. That’s it.

Perhaps that was also wishful thinking because the Richard Rogers Theater, on this particular Friday night, was packed. You shouldn’t have been surprised. Hamilton received glowing reviews. People were raving about it. It made sense that it was such a sensation. You found your seat with the help of an usher and you were equally surprised that it was in the center off to the right, close to the stage. You would get a clear view of facial expressions and everything. Damn, Anthony was really taking care of you.

You purposefully left the backstage pass at home. You didn’t want to bother him, or the cast, when they had other fans and people to see. It’d be okay and it was no stress off your back. You just wanted to see the show and have a good time. That was enough for you.

It was curtain time, and everyone took their seats. The lights went dim and you sat there in awe, watching Leslie Odom Jr. take the stage and begin the first song. You didn’t get to be immersed in the musical for long, because there he was. Your long-lost friend, dawning a white coat, hair pulled back, taking the stage as he began talking about the ten-dollar founding father without a father. That was all it took.

You could not take your eyes off him for the entire first half and you swore he saw you too. Though you knew that was impossible, with the dark lights in the theater and everything. But for a few moments, it brought you comfort that perhaps he recognized you and all was well.

His character, John Laurens, engaged in a duel and you wouldn’t admit it but your heart almost stopped at the count of ten. You knew it was fake, but the tension sent you in a bit of a frenzy. Still, you couldn’t hide the fact that you were genuinely upset that John Laurens didn’t make it to the second act, but the playbill said Anthony was credited as two characters. Luckily, he wasn’t done yet. Good, you weren’t ready to see him disappear from your life again.

Intermission came so fast, it shocked you. The pace of the show was fast and upbeat, and you were so engrossed in Non-Stop, you didn’t realize that was the end. At least, for fifteen minutes. Letting out a sigh, you stood up and stretched your legs. You weren’t thirsty but a lot of people were rushing out to grab a drink or use the restroom. You were fine. You checked your phone and tried to occupy yourself until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss.”

You turn around and you saw a tall man wearing a security tag. Sudden panic rose inside you and he could tell. “Can you follow me, please?”

You nodded, saying nothing. The tall security man walked through a side door labeled Employees Only and you were quick against his heels. There was a lot of commotion backstage. People were rushing around, changing costumes, dancing in the stairwell, recording videos and taking pictures… it honestly looked like a good time.

The security man approached a dressing room and knocked on the door. It was Lin’s door. Wait, what? Your breath hitched in your throat. You read that this show was basically Lin’s baby. Were you somehow disrespecting it? Lin opened the door with a smile. He was in the middle of changing clothes, but he wasn’t rushing. “I brought the patron you requested,” the security guard said before turning and walking away.

Lin was adjusting the microphone in his hair and he opened the door to invite you in. There wasn’t much room in the tiny dressing room so you stayed out in the hallway, looking confused but feeling surreal that you were staring at Lin-Manuel Miranda. “Sorry if that scared you, but we’ve been waiting since My Shot to get you back here.” He held out a hand, offering it to you. “I’m Lin.”

You blinked and coughed out your name. “Y/N,” you said while shaking his hand.

He nodded, as if he already knew. “I’ve heard about you. You have some fans back here,” Lin said. He adjusted his shoes, putting on the final touches for whatever he needed for the second act. Fans? Surely he was confusing you with someone else.

He sensed your confusion, and he let out a soft laugh. “This must be a little weird, right? I mean, first Anthony asked for backstage passes for this girl, and then she doesn’t bother showing up with said passes. I’m assuming you forgot them. He thinks you don’t want to see him. Which one of us is right? We have a little bet going on back here.”

You felt like you should be offended but Lin was so polite about it. The way he was talking about it, it made it seem like it was a joke, all in good fun, his attempt at jest.

“I um… I mean, I didn’t think it was…” you were stumbling over your words, not sure how to put it into a coherent sentence. This was definitely off putting, and Lin was sensing your discomfort. His smile fell and he looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Come with me,” Lin said, and he nodded his head in the direction of a hallway. He began walking and you followed him. You passed several people, including some you recognize from the show. It was a bit frantic though. There was not a lot of time between the first and second act, but everyone looked as though they had a routine and it worked for them.

“Hey Anthony, I found your girl for you,” Lin said and he turned to you, “we’ll get you another backstage pass. No worries about forgetting it at home.” He winked at you and left you standing in the doorway of Anthony Ramos, your long-lost high school friend. He was out of the blue coat and was wearing something entirely different. This was probably his second character. You wouldn’t know since you ignored his section in the playbill completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to read about him, not after everything.

He turned to look at you, his eyes alight and a soft smile on his face. “Y/N,” he said, and damn did your name sound good on his lips, “you made it. Come in.”

He extended an arm and you walked into his dressing room. It was jam packed with all kinds of stuff. You sat on the couch and he turned back to the mirror, fixing whatever he needed to do in order to prepare for the next part of the show. He looked at you through the mirror, studying you a bit.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” you said suddenly. Your eyes shot off him, avoiding his gaze. You felt your face get hot. You were not expecting to suddenly just say whatever was on your mind.

Anthony’s smile turned into a slight frown and he turned around to face you. “Really? Tenth grade, Chemistry partners. You, Ms. Y/N, broke a slide under a microscope and I took the fall. Remember that?” he folded his arms across his chest, slightly tilting his head. His voice didn’t sound accusatory, it was more like he was trying to light up your memories that you hid in the deep corner of your brain. You honestly forgot about that situation.

Not wanting to be outdone, you stood up. “Freshman English, Shakespeare partners. We made fun of Romeo and Juliet for their stupid, short love story where like, eight people died in three days. I called it tragic, and you called it teenage drama. We got lunch detention.”

Your memory caused Anthony’s smile to come back and he moved in with his arms outstretched slowly. Since you were now positive that he remembered you, you wasted no time pushing yourself into his arms and hugging him. It felt really good. It felt like old times, like for a split second, a tiny moment, you had your friend back. He wasn’t just some big, hotshot Broadway star. He was your Anthony Ramos, the goofy kid in high school that made you laugh and made school so much more bearable.

“I’m glad you reached out to me,” Anthony said as the two of you let go of the embrace, “how have you been? What’s life been like since high school?”

That was a conversation you wanted to avoid completely. Instead, you turned the conversation back on him, ignoring his raised eyebrows at the sudden topic change. “I never thought I’d see you on Broadway. You look good. I mean… you look happy, not that you look good. I mean, you do look good but that’s… you know what, never mind.”

Damn you and your stupid word vomit. Anthony only laughed.

An announcement above said that there was ten minutes left until showtime and Anthony looked completely unfazed by the sudden voice. He was so used to it, he probably has the intermission down to the second.

“Shouldn’t you get ready?” you asked him, unaware of his overall routine.

To your surprise, he shook his head. “I just have one thing left to do, and I have time. I’m not in the first song when the show comes back.” He could tell you were sort of closed off, and he didn’t want to push, but you could see the curiosity in his eyes. “I had a crush on you in high school, you know.”

Your head snapped in his direction and you refused to believe it. “Stop, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

You folded your arms over your chest, taking on a defensive stance. He was trying to get you to talk, but you didn’t want to tell him. You didn’t want to tell him that you liked him too, and when the two of you stopped talking, you drifted into an unhealthy mental spiral. It was stupid how much you relied on him when you were younger, how much you needed him in your life, and he just left you in the dust. Not that you held that against him, it all worked out. For him, that is.

“Well, thank you,” you manage to say but that wasn’t enough for him. He leaned forward and grabbed you by the arm, but your arms were tightly linked together over your chest. He didn’t relinquish his grip though.

“That’s it? A thank you?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“Say what you always wanted to say.”

Of course, he didn’t mean that. That was some word vomit you wanted to keep in. This was the first time in how many years since you’ve seen him, and you didn’t want to say something you would regret. Yet would you regret it if you didn’t tell him what was running through your mind? Your eyes turned to look at him. He looked somewhat sad, a tiny frown twitching at the corners of his lips.

“You left without saying goodbye. Which is fine, you had some great opportunities, but you were honestly my best friend. I liked you too and it sucks because I didn’t think you would leave this giant hole in me. How stupid is that?” you asked, and you practically slammed your mouth shut. No more, you don’t need to say anything else.

Anthony genuinely looked like you slapped him. There was a look of pain that graced his freckled face and he let go of you.

“Here, fresh off the press. Or… the box. Whatever.” Lin laughs while swinging a backstage pass from his fingers. He sensed such tension that he stopped in his tracks, his face fell in surprise and he slowly looped the backstage pass over the doorknob of the dressing room. “Uh… there’s like five minutes until curtain, Ant. Don’t forget to fix your hair. Philip hair, remember? That’s not Philip hair.”

Lin disappeared shortly after that and that was your cue. “Thanks for the invite. I’m going back to my seat now.” You turned on your heels and made one step toward the door, but Anthony’s reach was fast. He grabbed you by the elbow and pulled you back. You stumbled just a bit and regained your balance thanks to Anthony’s grip. The moment you turned to look at him, he stared at you, a sort of boldness now making its way through his face. In the blink of an eye, it all changed.

He kissed you.

You don’t even recall him leaning in. One minute, you were about to tell him off, and then the next, he was kissing you. It was soft and sweet, a gentle touch that let you relax against him. Anthony, however, kept a grip on your arm, which was probably for the best. You liked the fact that he was trying to keep you in place.

His forehead rested against your own and he let space come between your lips and his as the kiss came to an end. He whispered softly, “Be kinder to yourself, alright? For my sake. I can't stand watching you beat yourself up like this.”

Letting you go, Anthony grabbed the backstage pass off the doorknob and looked at it. He turned it back and forth, like he never seen it before. “If I give this to you, are you going to use it this time?”

Your mind was still swirling from the precious kiss and you couldn’t manage to say anything. Instead, you just nodded. He smiled, approached you, and placed the pass around your neck. It weighed next to nothing. Anthony’s fingers traced the lanyard, down to the pass itself, but his hands continued moving. They finally stopped on the curves of your waist.

He was going to kiss you again. God, you hoped he would.

A voice on the speaker crackled through, warning the cast, crew, and ensemble that there was one minute left until curtain and then the second act would be in full swing.

“I need to finish getting ready,” he said, sounding a bit sad.

“What’s Philip hair?” you asked out of curiosity.

Anthony turned to the mirror, reached a hand up to his hair and pulled the tie out. His long hair fell out of place and he grabbed a brush, brushing it out. “Philip hair.”

You laughed which caused him to smile. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He turned back to face you, letting an arm slip over your shoulders as he pulled you in for a side hug and held you in place. His lips pressed themselves against your temple and in that moment, things felt right. He was patching the hole that he left you with. He was fixing you, even though he shouldn’t have to. He didn’t do anything wrong. Still, it felt nice. It was nice that he cared.

“You are free to go back to your seat and finish the show, but I want you back here when we bow out,” Anthony said. The demand was enough to send some butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach.

“I’ll be here. Good luck.”

What’d I Miss started playing in the background and he kissed you again. You had to break free and go back to your seat, you were already missing part of the show. It wasn’t difficult to find your way back, and you caught Lin’s eye as your sat back down. You sent him an apologetic look for disrupting the show, but he only smiled and nodded before doing his bit in the song.

This night was the first time in a long time where you smiled so much. It was going to be tough to sit through the rest of the show when all you wanted to do was go backstage and be with Anthony. Your long-lost friend wasn’t long-lost anymore. The hole in your heart was almost filled in. You couldn’t wait for the show to be over. Soon, you’ll be back in Anthony’s arms. He’ll be waiting for you. Finally.