#I thought I might finish it this week but I stupidly forgot about the Thing

[muldersfingers]

Ooof that moment when you realise you MAY be coming to the end of your WIP

[the-saltiest-saltine]

Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

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You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe. 

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest. 

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy. 

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That���ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself. 

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today. 

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with. 

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred. 

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps? 

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well. 

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly. 

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche. 

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo. 

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

0.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close. 

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept. 

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold. 

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips. 

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep. 

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away. 

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning. 

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you- 

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible. 

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within. 

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in. 

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon. 

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.

[lichenes]

UNISEX-KLO

!!obviously spoilers for nerdy prudes must die!! (ikkimel reference) basically.... no cuz I kinda blacked out while writing this so.... don't. question. my. deeds. ENJOY :D CW: fem!reader, reader sucks max off and later ghost-max eats her out in the locker room lol. oogh., implied vouyerism, reader is kind of an idiot i hate her. wc: 776 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You were staring at your phone while the teacher blubbered on in the background. When you turned your eyes away from the screen suddenly the device buzzed. ‘wya?’ proclaimed the message on your screen. The contact name said “Jagermeister” exactly the same thing he saved it as, when he oh so graciously gave you his number. 

You were interested in him, intrigued even when he first approached you the day you moved to Hatchetfield. Try as you might you couldn’t let go of his stupidly broad shoulders and the below-average intellect. Each time Max began a conversation with you, somehow, it always went into dangerously sexual territory. 

You were quite sure he had enough ‘dates’ as it was - not everyone could date the quarterback of the Nighthawks - most could fuck him though, if only they presented him with the opportunity (unless they were a fucking nerd). Most people in Hatchetfield High could (not so much) pride themselves with having had sex with the prized pupil and soon you were to join the ranks.

Through the grapevine you heard that he was good, really good. With experience comes skill you presumed and experienced, he was. ‘class’ you responded back trying to keep your nonchalance. You weren’t expecting Max to text this early, usually his escapades with you were pursued after dark. 

‘got any plans for tonight?’ you caught yourself smirking at the screen. Quickly your expression returned to a stoic one. Before you could respond he sent another message: ‘come over later?’

‘sure’

Here you were, on your knees, resting your hands on his thighs. 

“Awh, you can’t breathe?” He feigned worry for you. Your palms went to stroke his girth but he caught them both in a tight grasp. “Dirty, dirty girl, you need to be able to keep your hands to yourself.” You whined, not being able to speak. "I guess you can touch me just this once.” Max loved to play these games with you. He let go of your hands after revelling in the power trip and you began stroking him. “Juuuust like that.” He groaned.

It took a moment more of your vicious assault for him to grab your hair and moan out “‘m close…” Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head when he finished inside your mouth. “Goooood girl, take it all, uh-huh uh-huh…”  

…

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S DEAD!?” 

…

"You can't touch him. But he can touch you."

As the water girl you would occasionally linger in the locker room after games or practice, chatting with Richie who seemed to be in high spirits these past two weeks. This time when you entered the room you saw his lifeless body lying limp on the floor. The shock you felt at this moment immediately was overshadowed by the hand that materialised in front of you and grabbed your chin.

“Hey.” Said someone behind you. You recognised the voice immediately. “M-max?” You whimpered out, your knees almost buckling. “I thought you were-!” At the speed of light he moved his ‘body’ in front of you. “Well, I’m back and-” he got closer to your face, his hand still on your chin, opening your mouth slightly. “I’m ready to return the favour.” 

He dove in for a kiss that soon turned heated. You almost forgot about the dead body next to you when he laid you down on the benches and slid you to the edge of it. “Look at you, so, so good for me, right?” You felt hazy, your mind was clouded with thoughts of lust, yet you couldn’t quite wrap your mind around the whole, you know, afterlife thing. He gave your thigh a quick slap. “That. Was. A. Question.” You squeaked out a yes. 

He was on his knees, his face buried in your heat as he ate like a man starved. The grapevine wasn’t lying, he was good. “Mhm, mhm good- so, so good.” He babbled, truly going pussy drunk. Your eyes were trained on the door that stood closed, Max noticed. He always did. He detached his lips with a pop. 

“Ohh you’re afraid of being embarrassed, girl?” Your eyes went wide. “Let’s get you more scared, huh?” The door shot open and as you got mortifiedly distracted he put his hand on your back and lifted you both. While suspended in the air he wrapped one of your legs around his hip. 

You could feel his hard-on through his grimey jeans. You instinctively started moving your hips, grinding into him. He laughed. “Someone’s eager.” He pushed his hips into yours. “Let’s fulfill this one shall we?” 

And well… he did deliver. 

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　 masterlist

[kashimos-hajime]

dear... whoever | b.b.

summary: a mandated series of long and short diary entries from the new head of R&D for Stark Industries. 

WARNINGS: swearing, LOTS of fluff, mentions of drinking and sex and hospitals and guns, general fun and witty attitude, small angst, big jealousy, obviously au after civil war. everything after does not exist. pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 9.5k

a/n: written for @softbiker​ and 100% inspired by @sunmoonandbucky​ with the format. my prompt was let me love you by rita ora and i wrote it from the perspective the singer is singing it to rather than the actual singer. this was super fun to write. enjoy!

July 31/20

Dear…

Whoever is going to read this. So… me, in the future probably. So, it should be dear WHOMever, I think, but it sounds wrong.

Is it too cliché to say dear diary? I don’t know. After all, I don’t WANT to be writing this but unfortunately I am because it’s mandated. Apparently, the psychiatrist that works for Stark Industries thinks it’s necessary that I write down my feelings and show that I’ve adjusted to working part-time superhero, full-time head of Tony’s stupid R&D department.

Something about how that much stress can cause psychotic fractures in the worst case scenario.

Cute.

Anyway, I don’t know what to write. Currently, it’s 4:23AM. The only reason I’m awake is because I have trouble sleeping on the best night. I heard Barnes messing about and because I am the Hermit of the Rec Room Couch (catchy, I know), I can hear him just walking about.

What the hell is he even doing?

To be honest, I’ve never talked to Barnes besides the occasional greetings because he’s the sort to keep to himself, I guess, and, valid. I’m not saying it’s not, considering his history, but you know.

I think I’m a friendly person, and I’m bored. He’s eventually going to hear me writing noisily because of super-soldier hearing or whatever, so I might just get up and introduce myself.

Not that I’ve been working here for years, but whatever.

I’m really bored and hungry, honestly, so a trip to the kitchen would be considered normal (and warranted) in such circumstances.

Fuck it.

Time to make a new friend or die trying. If you never hear from me again, you’ll know why.

.

Aug. 1/20

Dear Jane,

I finally got the time to write in here and you may be wondering why I have named you. Well, after the conversation at roughly 4:30 AM, here are things that’ve changed in a disorganized list. None is more important than the other. I'm just writing what comes to my head.

One: Barnes said he doesn’t really let anyone call him James. I called him James once because I forgot. Profuse apologies followed. He said it was okay and didn’t mind me calling him that. Now, in my mind, I think he’s just saying this to be polite and really just wants me to call him Bucky but he seemed sincere. We’ll see how it goes.

Two: Barnes was awake because his cat woke him up. I didn’t even know he had a cat but it’s a gorgeous white cat named Alpine that Barnes carries around in his half-zipped up hoodies sometimes. It’s adorable. He’s super soft and friendly and I love him already. He showed me all the tricks Alpine could do. Amazing.

Three: Barnes’ favourite movie is the Godfather. Totally surprising there. Please tell me you understand sarcasm.

Four: He said he liked the name Jane when I told him what I was doing up and also in the rec room (couldn’t sleep, writing in my diary) and that I didn’t want to say “Dear diary”

“Why don’t you just give it a name?” he eloquently suggested and Jane was his answer to my question of “Which name?”

Five: Barnes, or James, I guess he is now, is my friend.

Six: We said we’d meet up at 4:30AM or earlier again because I told him I wanted to show him my s’mores dip recipe.

Seven: Wish me luck. Hope I don’t get murdered.

Eight: I think I might be in love with him.

Bye.

.

Aug. 5/20

Dear Jane,

In an effort to summarize what has happened in the past four days, I will open with the fact that James Buchana Barnes is the cutest motherfucker on the planet. He’s super old fashioned, but that’s a given. He opens the doors for me, offers to take my bags up, and in the past four days, we’ve met up at around midnight to just eat and chat. Then he walks me back to my room with a glass of water and I’m left fanning myself because it’s so sweet and he’s so sweet and OH, MY GOD, I am a child.

This feels like a crush. Like, butterflies in my stomach, self-conscious every time he looks at me, can’t stop staring, and wanting to impress him at every turn sort of crush.

AKA, a middle-school crush and I feel completely ridiculous but that is besides the point because he’s just the loveliest person.

Someone should tell him chivalry is dead. Steve thinks he’s just being sweet on me, and Sam says I should flash some ass just to get a rise out of him which would be funny. He’d look absolutely adorable blushing his head off.

We’ll see. I am considering it.

What else happened? I’m drawing a huge blank.

As explained in a previous entry, I was to show Barnes my s’mores dip recipe. Huge success. Crowd loved it. That’s how I learned he has a huge sweet tooth like me. Got an email from Pep about a board meeting which I ignored. If it’s really important, she’ll see me in person. Went swimming with Sam. We started planning Tony’s big Christmas party even though that’s MONTHS away.

But, you know. We’re so busy all the time, it might be worth it planning ahead.

As head of R&D, it’s vital to me that this goes well because they’re fun when they do go well, and a chaotic disaster when they don’t. Also, I have to find a date but details will follow.

I think that’s it.

If there’s more to follow, then I’ll just come back but there really isn’t.

Oh, Alpine found my room. He’s in here right now and he snores. It’s cute, just like his owner.

Okay, goodnight.

.

Aug. 7/20

Dear Jane,

Sam, James, and I went swimming.

Pro of the day: James is ripped and that man was GLISTENING.

Con of the day: I AM STUPID in front of hot ripped men.

Pro of the day: We got ice cream together. Strawberry for me, mango for James because he wants to try new flavours, and Sam ordered some monstrosity with vanilla ice cream, chocolate and raspberry syrups, and a bunch of banana slices. A swirl of whipped cream to finish it off. It looked like diabetes in a cup and that’s coming from me.

Con of the day: James used his thumb to wipe the ice cream off my lip and my brain short-circuited. Sam teased us about it, but James very stubbornly and convincingly said we’re just friends.

Con of the day x2: We are just friends and that is NOT going to change. I cannot explain how much my heart literally fell out of my body in disappointment.

God, and James and I are meeting up at 2AM tonight so he can show me this new stupid stuffed celerey recipe he learned.

It’s not stupid.

It’s really, REALLY cute he researched it.

This sucks.

.

Aug. 11/20

The worst day ever. I don’t want to talk about it but might as well make a note on it. More on it later, I guess.

.

Aug. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry, I’m dramatic. Must get it from working with Tony for so many years.

Let’s just review what occurred on August 11, 2020, at approximately 3:23 in the afternoon.

I learned that James went out on a date. A DATE. From SAM. When James had ample opportunity to tell me at our regular meeting at witching hour over celery sticks.

EXCUSE ME? WHO IS THIS WOMAN?

I’m not even mad. I’m just angry that the man I became friends with only 2 weeks ago and caught feelings immediately for is seeing other people.

I sound like a raging bitch. I promise you, Jane, that I am not. I’m just the insanely jealous type.

No, I’m not.

God, what is happening to me and why does it have to be James.

I never get crushes and the instant I do, it’s for the most emotionally and physically unavailable person ON EARTH.

Also, work was work. I was distracted, drank soup from the canteen, and generally accomplished nothing. Alpine came for some snuggles while James was out. That’s the only good thing.

Thanks, universe.

.

Aug. 16/20

Dear Jane,

So, I brought up this mystery lady over homemade sundaes.

James seems pretty serious about her because he a) apologized for not telling because he wanted to keep it private and asked me not to tell anyone and b) has a second date with her later today.

Oh, GOD. There is no point to this.

.

Aug. 19/20

Dear Jane,

What’s the point of asking someone intimate, personal questions if not because you guys are best friends?

James called me his best friend today. He says he knows me, but if he did, he’d know I feel like throwing up whenever he’s around and that his stare burns through every layer of clothing until I feel like he just knows my secret.

I told him we’ve known each other less than a month, but he said something stupidly charming about “intuition” and feeling and that this feels right and how he knows he can tell me anything and that I was an easy person to talk to.

I should’ve been a shrink.

At least, my trip to Wakanda is going to give me distance. A solid two months of no one else but me, tech, and new faces. Going there to collaborate with Shuri is definitely exciting and taking up more space in my brain than James these days.

Maybe I’ll fall in love with some soldier over there because apparently, I’m catching feelings willy-nilly these days.

See you on the plane, Jane.

.

Aug. 23/20

Dear Jane,

On the quinjet, it’s fairly quiet. It’s one of the things I love about it. The silent yet soft engines that can lull me to sleep. We should be arriving in a few hours so I thought I’d write. I’m getting the hang of this, I think.

There's a press conference later, too, in the trip with the UN and it’s not that I can’t handle it, but that I could’ve done this in my sleep and wished Tony sent someone else. I hate the press, not gonna lie.

Anyway, this gives me time to be introspective.

Is it just me or James always Okay, is it just my imagination that whenever I try to get close to James, he just kinda pulls away? Not in a romantic way. I’m not stealing anyone’s man because girl code, but he won’t even let me just stand near him anymore. It’s like I have an infectious disease only transmitted through physical contact and it’s just weird.

I don’t know.

Before I left, he said he’d miss me and that we should keep in touch through calls (Obviously, I would) and that he hopes I won’t forget him.

So, you say those things but you won’t even let me even hug you?

You’re a manipulative asshole, Barnes.

.

Oct. 20/20

Dear Jane,

I am so sorry that it has taken so long for us to reunite.

In hindsight, I’m a fucking idiot.

I left you on the quinjet which went back to New York and a different quinjet came to pick me up. I came back like two days ago so these past few days have been spent searching for you.

James offered to help, and he seems normal again.

Weird. Guess he was just in a mood with the new girlfriend and adjusting to having me as a friend, too. Guys go through that, I guess.

In Wakanda, I did not, in fact, fall in love with a soldier or anything. I curse every day that I didn’t, trust me. I’m just as disappointed as you are because I just want to get over this stupid crush. For the two months I was gone, it was like I didn’t like James at all like that. Even during calls, I could pretend we were just two teammates keeping each other in the loop. He talked about his girlfriend, I listened, I explained science because he’s a nerd, and he asked questions like he was interested.

It was FINE.

Then, he was waiting for me when I came back to NYC and it slammed into me like Bruce in Hulk-mode.

James asked if I wanted to meet his girlfriend because she’d be coming around for the Halloween party anyway, and he thinks we’ll get along swimmingly.

He really said swimmingly. He is stuck in the wrong era, but we all knew that.

I said yes, to be polite.

Here’s to hoping she’s a vindictive bitch and I am justified in hating her entire being.

.

Oct. 22/20

Dear Jane,

I met her. She’s small and pretty and mature and normal.

If I wasn’t stupidly in my feelings about James, I’d love her, too. 

She’d treat him right, give him a good home to come back to.

Best not to notice the people fighting beside you in that way, I guess.

.

Oct. 25/20

Dear Jane,

God is dead and NO ONE has eyes on the road.

Jesus isn’t even taking the wheel on this one.

It’s a fucking disaster.

I do not want to describe in every little detail the intricacies of dreaming about James Buchanan Barnes fucking my brains out, so I won’t, but this is for the record that it happened and how the fuck am I supposed to come back and see him in his probably gorgeous attempt at his recreation of Brendan Fraser from the Mummy AKA my favourite movie (which HE KNOWS THAT IT IS?? GOD, the audacity.)

Girlfriend (his girlfriend. “Girlfriend” is the name which she shall be henceforth known as in these entries because petty wins are all I have right now) is dressing as Rachel Weisz. Because “couples goals” or whatever.

I wouldn’t know. Sam and I are dressed up as sexy salt and pepper shakers (his idea, not mine) and he made me take the salt stick because I think he knows. Steve’s not dressing up because he’s more focused on handing out candy as Captain America.

Tony is… Tony. Iron Man and all that.

Anyway, I’m out of town in DC for a meeting with the Secretary of State for a few days, but I’ll be back in New York on the 30th so I’ll have a few hours to adjust to being around James again before he dons on that outfit that I know will be totally hot.

He called me his best friend again in his latest email.

Made me smile like an idiot, but I digress.

.

Nov. 1/20

Dear Jane,

Halloween was killer. Sam and I won best duo for costumes because we’re that good. Ate a lot of candy and it seems to be looking up.

I dunno. I didn’t mind James and Girlfriend on the couch that much in the after-party. Mostly stuck by Nat and Sharon and Tony. An ood trio, but a fun one nonetheless.

It was fun, but I still have to go to work no matter how many jello shots and vodka gummy bears consumed.

Wish me luck, not that I need it.

Why do you think Tony hired me?

.

Nov. 4/20

Dear Jane.

Natasha said I smile at James in a way that utterly betrays every emotion I want to hide in my chest.

Note to self: Don’t smile at James, or at his jokes, or at anything he ever does again. Avoid him. Put a stopper on this friendship.

Note to note to self: I can’t. He just makes me smile whenever he’s around and he’s always around. There’s no simpler way to put it.

I’m gonna try this hiatus thing, though. Distance myself a bit. We’ll see how it goes.

.

Nov. 13/20

Dear Jane,

Day nine of this hiatus business and it sucks. I miss my best friend.

We’re scheduled for a mission together, and we’re leaving tomorrow so I was going to have to talk to him during the briefing and the op either way.

Well, glad to know this didn’t work.

.

Nov. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Guess who just got fucking shot!

ME!

Guess even scumbags can’t take a holiday because some stupid arms dealer got a cheap shot on me while I was downloading their whole computer system and other tech mumbo-jumbo I am too high to write about.

James left a few hours ago with the rest of the team, but not before he got me a bunch of ice chips and said he was worried and that he hopes I get better soon. He even promised to get me some flowers to spruce up the room and to say my HEART went CRAZY is an understatement.

He came to my rescue, essentially, as soon as he heard I got pinned. He carried me to the quinjet the instant he cleared the area and stayed by my side the whole time even though the bleeding stopped and I was in good hands. He was just so protective, barking at doctors and nurses. It was embarrassing but also really, really sweet.

Is it weird of me to say that I want him to stay by my side forever? 

I’ve never fallen in love before.

Is it always this fast and this hard? I feel like I’m crashing instead of gently and wonderfully falling. Everything is dumb and awful.

Is this what love is like? Because it hurts worse than getting shot because I think I’m going to vomit flowers or butterflies or something.

God, he’d never love me. We’re just friends and even though we have a lot in common, he’d never. It’s just too much of the past in the present or whatever.

Also, he has a girlfriend but it seems very surface-level. God, that makes me sound like a “one of the boys” type of girl who’s a bitch to one of the boy’s new girlfriends, but I don’t know. James told me they don’t really talk about the deep stuff like we do. But she makes him happy, I think.

In hindsight, one may ask what the deep stuff is.

More on that later. I’m tired.

God, why him?

I HATE THIS.

goodnight.

.

Nov. 16/20

Dear Jane,

James visited again today. He sat beside me and we talked until the nurses had to kick him out. He also brought the flowers.

I asked about Girlfriend casually. I said I liked her.

He said he did, too.

I don’t know why I think he’s lying. No, I do.

It’s because jealousy is the green-eyed bitch from highschool who still shows up in my life because she thinks she’s relevant to society.

That was mean. Unrequited love makes you mean. Side effect noted.

P.S. The deep stuff includes his past, his arm, his memory, his favourite colour. I dunno why that matters. It just does.

.

Nov. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Got out of the hospital today because of advanced technology and all that. Nothing’s left but a scar and residual soreness. James helped me to my room and said to call him if I had a problem.

I joked that he has a girlfriend and for some reason, he got really weird about it. It’s hard to describe. I dunno. Nat dropped by for popcorn and movies.

It’s 2:32AM. I’m wondering if he’s in the kitchen but I’m confined to bed rest so I don’t know. Also, Nat is asleep beside me and I don’t want to bother her.

Hopefully I can get up and move in a few days. Life is boring.

.

Nov. 24/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry we haven’t caught up in a moment. Work’s been hectic and I’ve been working overtime trying to make ends meet. Most days I’m in the office or lab, just trying to get enough things done so I can take time off come Christmas.

James stopped by tonight with Chinese takeout and some sweet buns.

He broke up with his girlfriend, too.

Guess that’s why he was being weird about it.

I tried being as casual as I could asking why, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so I asked why he came by. Couldn’t be for the company because when I’m in work mode, I just don’t talk and he knows that.

He said something about his arm feeling funny so I gave it a quick diagnostics check.

I think both of us knew his arm was feeling fine.

Everything is stupid, life is meaningless, and James’ lips are the prettiest shade of pink in the ugly lights of the lab.

I would very much like to have kissed him, but I didn’t.

Girl code.

It’ll probably be a while before I get another chance to actually have time and energy to write another diary entry. Christmas season’s coming close and Pepper is gonna need help with the party.

Yay, me.

.

Dec. 4/20

Dear Jane,

Morgan asked me in less eloquent words if I had a boyfriend (it was more like “You boyfriend?” But whatever. Who even taught her that word?) and I swear to GOD Nat could not make it anymore obvious looking at James.

Remind me to absolutely throttle her. I don’t care if she’s the infamous Black Widow. She has clearly never seen me hopped up on nothing but a negative amount of sleep and rage/embarrassment/spite/all of the above.

On another note, Pep asked if I was bringing a plus one for the party. I said I’d think about it. Normally I’d just take Sam but he has his eyes on someone at the VA and I like my friends getting laid so no go there.

Might just go alone. I don’t know.

Pep said I should take James, but I don’t really think she knows the truth about that situation. Luckily, Tony instantly rejected the idea and said he’d find me a date if I couldn’t.

Thank the universe for at least placing me in the close circle of the most well-known and richest man in the world because he also gave me his card and said go wild.

He knows me so well. I’m thinking about Christmas shopping when I have another free day, and I’ll pay for that with my own money, of course, but clothes shopping is a free market.

I cannot wait.

.

Dec. 12/20

Dear Jane,

I wish I could show you my haul, but I got so much stuff Happy had to drive to help me. Besides obvious gifts, I also managed to snag a gorgeous dress for the party.

Thoughts on black and gold?

I think it’s beautiful. Hopefully Nat and Sharon think so. We’re having a girls night tonight and showing off outfits, so that’s exciting.

James asked if we could meet up tonight.

I told him I had plans and he looked so downcast.

I dunno. Everything feels weird between us. Like we’re fine, we’re best friends still, but something’s changed when no one was looking. He’s single now. I guess that energy is different because I had gotten used to his energy with ex-Girlfriend.

I don’t exactly mind but it’s not ideal either. I miss summer. It’s much less complicated than winter. Winter, one has to worry about wind and chills and snows blocking roads, black ice, dry skin, freezing fingers.

Summer: there’s just a lot of sun, wind, bugs, and the vaguest notion of being bored.

Look, I love winter. It’s my favourite season. It’s quiet and gorgeous and dreamy, even though it gets dreary in New York. The snow falls slowly sometimes, Christmas is gorgeous here, and I’d rather be cold than sweating buckets, and there are no bugs to bother me. Also, it gives me a good reason to stay in the labs or in my room where it’s warm and toasty.

I just miss the relative simplicity when James and I were just strangers on the edge of being friends, which is, in retrospect, a selfish reason to like one season and hate another.

Well, some philosopher somewhere probably said something about humanity being selfish.

.

Dec. 16/20

Dear Jane,

T-minus nine days until the party.

No date in sight.

Maybe I’ll ask Anderson from HR. We had coffee together a few times and he’s nice. Good catch: smart, not too bad looking, and really nice. I’ll head down tomorrow and ask.

Alpine had purred when I told him my plan and headbutted my hand, so I guess I got the Alpine-Seal-of-Approval.

.

Dec. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Operation: Ask Anderson from HR to Tony’s Christmas Party failed. Granted, it could’ve been because that was a god awful title and that that name, in itself, prophesied catastrophic failure, but also because I was accosted by my best friend.

I wish I meant Sam.

Nope. James caught me in the elevator and we made small talk. Sounds fine, right? Then we turned the topic to the party. Talked about clothes and prospective celebrity appearances and drinks and food. Just about everything, so might as well turn to talks about dates, which meant I had to explain why I was in the elevator in the first place.

Going down to ask Anderson ended in James revealing that he didn’t have a date either.

He doesn’t know who Anderson is, which I thought would be the case, and he popped the question before the doors opened.

Notice how I said “didn't” have a date.

Guess who’s going to the party with James, clearly stated as friends, platonic soulmates, etc.?

Me.

Yippee.

.

Dec. 18/20

Dear Jane,

It’s 3:42AM and I’m in the rec room as usual. I was gonna not write here today but it normally helps me sleep to just write a bit, get what little thoughts are in my head out. Yeah.

I hear James in the kitchen talking to Alpine and it’s making me smile like an idiot.

Oh, shit, he knows I’m in here. He’s making milkshakes.

I am morally obligated by best friend duties to join him.

Goodnight, Jane.

.

Dec. 24/20

Dear Jane,

I’m not sleeping with James Buchanan Barnes tomorrow night.

This is a resolute promise. An early New Year’s resolution.

.

Dec. 25/20

Dear Jane,

Merry Christmas! 

In between jovial festivities, I’ve finally found a little nook that’s quiet enough to write in. We opened presents, had a big family breakfast, went skating and just lounged around, and frankly, I’m exhausted. Need to recharge the old social battery.

Among the assortment of gifts is one that stands out to me. James got me a gift that said “Open When Alone” and I did before I started this entry and it was a fucking necklace. Like, a gorgeous one. It’s gold and thin and it feels wonderful. There’s a little cat paw charm on it and it’s so pretty because he has a matching bracelet for himself and I have still not yet recovered.

It’s just so sweet and it reminds me why I love him.

Yes, love has made me unbelievably sappy. I just heaved the biggest sigh in history.

Unfortunately, I have to go earlier tonight. To the party, as written in previous entries. I remember my oath of one-night celibacy and I intend on keeping it, despite how fucking endearing this gift was, because he said it best: we’re just friends. I’m not about to coerce my best friend into sleeping with me out of a piteous, unrequited love. That’s just gross.

You will either see me hungover tomorrow, or very drunk later tonight. It’s all very depending on how this night turns out.

.

Dec. 26/20

Dear Jane,

Fuck.

P.S. He REALLY does not mind me calling him James. Take that as dirtily or as clandestinely as you wish.

.

Dec. 27/20

Dear Jane,

I spent the entire day in bed with very pleasurable company.

I am SO GLAD we haven’t gotten called in because James doesn’t leave unless to go to sleep in his own bed or to eat, and I do NOT want to explain to the team that James fucked my brains out for two days straight because my heart is bursting.

He’s a good kisser. His lips are soft.

Intimate knowledge of that is now burned into my memory for future reference.

God, this is a dream come true. He doesn’t even question it, he just

It’s like I’m a goddess to him. He treats me like one, at least, and it’s like he’ll do anything I ask. And we act like it’s normal, too. Midnight trips to the kitchen included.

Best Christmas ever.

.

Dec. 28/20

Dear Jane,

I feel like I’m ignoring you but I’m also having the best sex of my life. He’s just… so fucking good and it’s a holiday and holy shit my mind is blown.

Love at first meeting isn’t real.

Well, maybe this one time, it was destiny.

.

Dec. 29/20

Dear Jane,

It isn’t just the sex, you know? It’s the pillowtalk, too. He just makes me laugh so much and everything is so easy between us and it feels real. Popcorn and chips in bed, some mojitos, just each other’s presence. It’s enough like that, you know?

Some quote about how the one you love should be both your lover and your best friend is in my head but I’m too lazy to look it up. James’ head is in my lap and he’s just reading while I’m writing and everything seems perfect.

He doesn’t ask what I’m writing because he knows it’s private and I trust him.

This is perfect.

I think I really am IN love with him.

.

Jan. 1/21

You know that cliché/tradition of New Year’s kisses?

WELL THEN.

Best (and worst) New Year’s ever. I’ll explain more later. I’m too tired and too angry and also sore and bruised.

See you when I’m not hungover.

.

Jan. 5/21

Dear Jane,

I’m finally stable enough to write.

In a crazy turn of events, Barnes and I got into a fight because of what happened after New Year’s Day’s events: I caught him leaving before I woke up and at first, curious questions ensued, and it wasn’t a fight but then it became one and I don’t even know how it happened. I wasn’t even mad. He just started being weird and I got annoyed and we tried and failed to keep our voices down. Luckily, my room is pretty soundproof.

Things just got out of hand and I feel like tearing my hair out. I wanna storm up to him and just yell some more.

Tony came into my room and didn’t say shit about my hickies and the fact that James is avoiding me like the plague. He gave me a really good hug, though and then gave me a few weeks off extra. I don’t know how he knows, but then again, it’s Tony.

He just said love’s tough sometimes.

Yeah, tell me about it.

I’m thinking about just taking a long vacation and disappearing. It seems like a good route to take at this point.

.

Jan. 6/21

Dear Jane,

James is looking at me right now as I write this. I wonder if I should look back or if he’s going to come up to me. We’ll see.

I’m only writing this so it seems like I’m busy. I’m running out of things to say, honestly. Can he just go? What’s the point in staring like that? What’s the point?

I could ask myself the same question. What’s the point in loving someone who’ll never love you? Yeah, he’s sleeping with me but he pulls away every time I try to do something more. Outside the bubble of my room and the small time frame of post-11PM to around 4:45AM, he acts like he’s allergic to intimacy.

It was never like that with ex-Girlfriend.

Maybe it’s something to do with me.

I don’t know, but he keeps looking and I want to get up and leave, but I won’t. I’m not gonna let him win.

.

Jan. 6/21

He didn’t. He just went out. Sam and Steve asked if I was okay because as soon as he left, I got up for the bathroom and screamed into a towel.

I don’t think either of them knows what’s going on, but they have a notion.

.

Jan. 9/21

Dear Jane,

He apologized. Still no explanation as to why, but it feels weird.

I told him I’m going on a vacation to Switzerland. Go skiing or something and asked if he wanted to come.

It was stupid to ask, but he said yes.

Shit.

.

Jan. 14/21

Dear Jane,

Switzerland is lovely.

No work is relaxing. Awkwardness between me and the other traveller on this vacation. Weather’s supposed to be nice when we get there. Sunny snow days, pretty mountains, other Swiss things.

No other comment.

.

Jan. 21/21

Dear Jane,

I lasted all of a week.

Yep, I slept with him again, and yes, he was back in his hotel bed come sunrise.

I dunno. I’m over it. We don’t apologize and hope everything gets back to normal because neither of us want to say anything to ruin it any further and we both have a major fear of the complicated. To be fair, he said he didn’t want to sleep with me if I was completely against it.

Also, I tried calling him Bucky at dinner like ex-Girlfriend (and everyone else) does and he made the most disgusted face.

He said, and I quote, “Bucky? When did I stop being James?”

I told him I was trying something out and he said it failed. Snarky bastard.

I guess if he’s still James, that must mean I’m still special.

That’s the Tony-inherited ego talking.

But it does make me exceptionally happy to play with the idea that I’m special to him. Best friend with convoluted benefits. Sounds like the title of a very long-winded self-help book that doesn’t really help much but that does sound like the story of my life so I can’t complain too much.

We’re going home in a few days.

I’ll probably sleep with him again. Bet Steve’s shield that I do.

.

Jan. 24/21

Dear Jane,

I get three Steve’s shields because I was right every single fucking day.

He’s like a habit I can’t quite kick and don’t really want to.

We snuggled afterwards last night. His arm was around my shoulders, we were naked, I was resting my head on his chest. For a moment, it felt like something couples do and then I fell asleep and woke up alone.

Quantum physics is easier to understand than this but I think we’re being mutually exclusive right now, so it’s almost dating.

I dunno. I don’t mind it anymore. It’s better than nothing.

.

Feb. 2/21

Dear Jane,

I’m absolutely miserable.

I’m still getting laid, but that’s not related. Correlation and causation or something.

Why is New York so dreary and when can everything just stop?

I don’t know. Winter is ending and now it’s in that awful transition phase between seasons and it’s mucky and rainy and disgusting. Tony got these limited edition ice cream flavours though so I’m gonna ask James if we can make milkshakes out of them or something.

He doesn’t like the muck either. That’s not really relevant, I guess.

.

Feb. 14/21

Dear Jane,

I got flowers and chocolate from the department because I think they can sense I’ve been in a bad mood since forever. Then, there was an anonymous delivery and inside was this gorgeous chain bracelet that matches the necklace sort of. I lied and told the department it was from Pepper.

What a wretched holiday.

Yours truly.

.

Feb. 18/21

Dear Jane,

Normally, when boys get their haircut, they look ugly for a day or two after.

Not James.

He got his hair cut shorter and he looks really good. Like unbelievably good. Short hair fits him just as much as long hair does.

No other observations.

.

Feb. 25/21

Dear Jane,

It was Morgan’s birthday party today. James came in one of those brown jackets with the sheepskin wool inside and he looked so good. We mainly stayed apart to prevent any dalliance because one does not disappear from the Madame Secretary’s birthday party and the team doesn’t really know what’s happening behind the scenes except for Nat and Tony, really.

I really wanted to kiss him in front of our friends. I caught him staring a few times, and every time, the smile seemed to vanish off his face.

I’m lying in bed and it feels pretty empty.

It occurs to me that I’ve been in love for a pretty long time and I’m not even in a relationship with the guy.

Energy could’ve been devoted to so many other things and I’d hate being in love if it weren’t for the fact that it’s James.

Again, love making me sappy and all that.

.

Feb. 28/21

Dear Jane,

Jane is such a common name. Some would call it plain yet it means gift from God.

I wonder if James knew that.

.

Mar. 10/21

Dear Jane,

It’s James’ birthday. Birthday sex is a requirement and a desire. I also got him a gift which is a pair of new black Timbs. I hope he likes them. I’m excited for cake, I guess. Morgan did my makeup but I’m gonna have to wipe it off for the small little party tonight.

I think, ordinarily, I’d be in knots because it’s James’ birthday and I love him and he’s my best friend, but I just don’t know. March is fairly boring and contemplative and rainy. Work is work. Helen Cho did a presentation on her Cradle technology. Very cool.

.

Mar. 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s raining and doesn’t feel like spring. Alpine vomited on my bed a few days ago because he’s not feeling well. James and I took him to the vet and he’s on antibiotics. Poor boy. He’s sleeping in the corner of my room right now while James is away on a mission. I think I’ll just work from my room for a bit until he’s feeling better.

Nothing much to report, which is why I didn’t write anything. The month passed by too quickly. James should be back by the end of the month. I miss him and not because of the sex. No one else who doesn’t work for me or pays me listens to me ramble on their own free will. Talking to screens just isn’t the same.

.

April 1/21

James got back really early this morning and I, by tradition, was awake. I sort of wish I wasn’t though. In true April Fool’s tradition, I made fun of him for being a day late to which he genuinely apologized. I told him to shower and get to sleep but he was in that mood where you’re so exhausted you’re wide awake.

James suggested we make really strong cocktails for each other as a celebration for an extraction mission completed successfully.

Who am I to say no to celebrating?

He really likes grapefruit juice so I made a REALLY strong Grapefruit Paloma. He made this really interesting drink that was purple and tasted like oranges and cranberries. A lot of blue curacao was in it so it was pretty bitter but it hit like a fucking truck which is probably why I didn’t understand anything he said at first.

He told me he loved me.

I think, somehow, he managed to get drunk after the Grapefruit Paloma and two more bottles of vodka. Don’t ask me how because Steve NEVER gets drunk. Maybe HYDRA-brand serum is faulty? I don’t know.

I asked if he knew what date it was. He laughed really loudly, said no, realized, stuttered apologies and then said it again.

It was the most perfect sound in the world and it was the best moment in recent history.

Or, the sickest practical joke.

Consensus not yet reached.

.

April 2/21

Dear Jane,

I asked if he remembered what happened yesterday morning.

He did not.

Sickest practical joke confirmed.

.

April 9/21

Dear Jane,

I’ve been avoiding writing because I’ve felt a whole lot of nothing. Everything is abysmal and James’ confession is all I can think about. Tony’s on my ass about slipping and he has half the mind to put me on paid leave until I get my shit together, both as the head of the department and as an agent.

Drunk words are sober thoughts, all that garbage.

I wish I could live my whole life drunk and honest. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this situation where I’m stuck in eternal limbo with my best friend whom I’m in love with. Minus the drunk part.

Duty demands I return to this weathered journal until it’s finished so we’ll see. I might be back this month. Maybe not.

.

May 1/21

Dear Jane,

It rained a lot in April so now the flowers are blooming early. April showers bring May flowers. Guess it has some merit to it.

Limbo sucks. Its inescapable nature, its terrible facade of everything seeming fine when it really isn’t.

Of course, James still makes me smile, but nothing seems really okay when I let myself stop for a second.

I’m going out with Steve to a charity thing tomorrow. Should be a few hours worth of not thinking and free booze. Oh, and James and I made out in one of the quinjets after dinner today.

Felt weird considering we aren’t a couple, but it happened spontaneously as that is the nature of our relationship, it appears.

The cause also happens to be the cure of melancholy. Weird.

.

May 6/21

Dear Jane,

For context, it’s 5:23AM.

Went for a walk in Madison Square and then Central Park with James yesterday, although in my head it’s still today. We met up with Nat for some training at the gym. Got a bit mobbed by fans and the paps who asked if we were dating like we’re the tabloid’s biggest scoop.

We weren’t even holding hands, but I guess it’s just another reason why we shouldn’t be TOGETHER together in public.

We had another deep stuff talk again in bed after the usual business. I wanted to ask what this is between us and if he’s pursuing other options, because I’m not and I wanted to know if I should, but I also didn’t want to ruin the vibe.

He was in a good mood today, and seeing as sometimes he has nightmares, I thought it was best I don’t ruin it. He thinks I don’t notice but how do I not notice? He’s my best friend.

I kissed his cheek when he got up to leave and he kissed me goodbye on the lips.

I guess that means something.

.

May 17/21

Dear Jane,

In a moment of complete boredom, I listened to Imagine Dragons’ new album. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest, but Sharon thought it could’ve been better. Whatever.

.

May 22/21

Dear Jane,

Ran into ex-Girlfriend today. She still has that whole sunshine thing going on still. We had coffee and she asked if I got together with James yet.

I choked on my coffee and nearly died on the spot.

That’s how I learned that James apparently broke it off softly and ex-Girlfriend had, very wisely and knowingly, said that he should chase the apple of his eye before I (the apple) rotted alone and forgotten at the trunk of the tree. Or, as any sane person would say (and ex-Girlfriend DID say), get picked from the tree by another hand.

She said it was quite obvious that I was in love with James even months ago. She also thanked me for being so nice, anyway, and that it must’ve been difficult. What a fucking SAINT.

I set her up with a date with Steve because they have the same energy, honestly, and that’s going down on the 26th barring any emergencies.

Call me Cupid, but I think I just constructed the perfect match made in heaven.

Mentioned this meeting to James minus the apple detail. He asked if she was doing okay, which she was, and seemed glad for that. Between kisses and his sneaking hand beneath the covers, he also asked if there was anything else. Not really much to say on that front.

.

June 3/21

Dear Jane,

It’s starting to dry up consistently, now. It’s getting warmer, too. Sam brought me flowers and told me to at least turn the air-con on if I was gonna be stuck in the lab all day. Oh, the simplicities of summer are hopefully returning. Got out early and hung out with Morgan at the park in the evening.

It’s nice to hang out with someone so blissfully unaware with the stupidity of love. All Morgan cares about is grass and buttercups she grabs from the ground. She doesn’t have to worry about how to tell the guy she’s in love with that she loves him.

Oh, didn’t you hear? Nat said I should just buck the fuck up and tell him.

And Nat is scary when not listened to.

Much to brainstorm about.

.

June 14/21

Dear Jane,

Just here to brainstorm some ideas for future Stark Industries projects and thought I’d preface it with a small diary entry. Nothing really happened. Work’s catching up for some reason and bad guys are acting up. I’ve pulled a few all nighters, not gonna lie.

Really tired, but in a good, productive way. Haven’t thought much on the James front. Gonna have to focus on that after everything calms down.

.

June 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s officially summer and yet today was awful with only subtle hints of being okay.

So much for simplicity.

In the evening, I read on the hammock on the balcony. No one really bothered me except James, but he’s never a bother.

Steve and ex-Girlfriend (who will now be reidentified as Girlfriend) are pretty cute, and she meshes well with the group. There’s nothing really awkward between her, James, or me, so I guess two people’s summers are going well. Bully for them.

Didn’t really eat. Was too busy working. James got me dinner. Didn’t feel right and just kept working. This whole agreement between us has been very flexible but we really need to fit in a session soon.

I’ll make it work somehow.

.

June 22/21

Dear Jane,

I got my wish and didn’t at the same time. We spent the whole day in the sheets (very blissfully relaxing) and I, stupidly and with very little sleep, let it slip.

In less elegant terms, I told him I loved him. It felt very real and genuine and very-out-of-a-movie, but his reaction was less so.

What did I say? Allergic to intimacy.

He tried to play it off as best friends and even that was uncomfortable, but I, very seriously and very foolishly, corrected him that “no, James Buchanan Barnes, I am IN LOVE with you.”

He left a few minutes ago, saying something about heading down to the gym, but I know he’s just trying to avoid me.

God, how am I so stupid?

.

June 25/21

Dear Jane,

I haven’t seen James in a few days. I thought he was avoiding me but turns out he’s out of the country. Something about protection for whatever dignitary is travelling at the end of the month. I don’t know.

I wasn’t assigned to that op so the details weren’t shared liberally. Sam just said it’d be a while during the ambassador’s entire stay. High threat level which is why the Avengers were contracted.

I just hope he stays safe. I know he probably took off to take his mind off things, but I don’t know how he’s focusing when all I can think of is those three little words.

I love you.

Seems so fake the more I hear it in my head, but his reaction was so real that I think I might’ve just irreversibly messed things up.

.

July 12/21

Dear Jane,

It’s been a hectic couple of weeks. If future me finds this with blotted words, it’s because I am indeed crying while writing this.

James was medically evac’ed last night and transferred back to New York. Helen Cho was flown in from her medical conference in Minnesota where she was showcasing the newest version of the Cradle.

There was an assasination attempt and James is fucked up bad.

Holy shit, I’m so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life. It’s like an invisible demon has my heart in his claw-like hands and he’s squeezing with all his might. I think my heart might explode.

I just want to hold his hand but he’s so high risk no one’s allowed to see him right now.

The waiting room is too quiet. Steve’s holding on to Girlfriend’s hand so hard I think her bones are broken but she’s taking it like a champ. Nat’s pacing, slowly patting a sleeping Morgan who she’s carrying. Sam and Tony are talking about stuff.

It’s too quiet.

I’m so scared.

.

July 13/21

They got him into the Cradle. Thank God. I think I might cry some more out of relief, but he was conscious for a few minutes earlier and he’s stable now.

It’s really late at night but they extended privileges to me to stay with him so I’m just sitting here, writing. Listening to the Cradle do its thing and the monitors do theirs.

When he was conscious, I was with him. He said some stuff under his breath but the one thing I could make out was “I’m an idiot.”

Granted, he’s right. It was supposed to be Steve or Tony on that mission. You know, people with more defense op experience, but he had to go out and volunteer himself.

I feel sort of guilty.

It’s partially my fault, isn’t it?

I think I’ll try to tuck in for tonight. I wanna be awake when he wakes up, too.

.

July 14/21

Dear Jane,

James woke up today. He’s still in the Cradle (lots of internal damage spread throughout the body) but he’s conscious. He saw me and immediately tried to sit up which was sweet, but when he couldn’t, he just told me to come closer and then told me that he loved me.

I called him an idiot for running away. I told him he really scared me. I told him that I loved him so fucking much. I told him that I feel so guilty and he just held my face and said that it will never be my fault.

He’s so fucking romantic, even when he’s lying down with a wound being stitched closed live in front of my eyes.

Oh, and he kissed me. I don’t think I noticed how much I actually missed him until that moment.

I don’t know how to describe the feeling in my chest. It’s a mixture between super happy and super scared and super, super warm inside. Summer might be looking up.

.

July 18/21

Dear Jane,

We got home today. James is staying in my room. The team doesn’t say anything about it. We’re best friends, after all, but I think they’ve known for a long time that there’s something more. Some of them are just too polite to say so.

I won’t have much time to write over the next couple of days. James has to be kept on a strict, extremely healthy diet and medicine regime.

I don’t care. I’m just glad he’s home.

He’s kissing me a lot more, now. Alpine likes the fact that his two humans are now in the same room. He purrs so loudly, I can hear him from where he’s dozing, curled up underneath James’ chin. He (James) is resting after his second round of antibiotics for the day while I work from my room, and sometimes I catch myself looking back just to make sure he’s okay.

I’m going to go kiss him now.

Be right back.

.

July 21/21

Dear Jane,

It’s almost Nat’s birthday (the 26th). Super exciting. James is back on solids and I’m helping him around with walking. Even with the Cradle and the healing factor, he’s still super banged up, so it’s better safe than sorry.

We had a really long talk about love and stuff. It’s good to finally have it out in the open. It was mostly me talking about my side of things and he just nodded a lot. I know he was listening though.

We also kissed a lot, like seventeen year old couples who are heavy on the PDA, but within the privacy of my room. I dunno. I like the heat of his arms and the way he kisses the shell of my ear when he’s bored or it’s a commercial break.

It feels very natural.

I am very much in love with him.

I tell him that and he always looks skeptical, but whatever. He doesn’t have to say it back (I tell him that there’s no pressure) and he’ll get it through his thick skull eventually that he’s now stuck with me.

.

July 25/21

Dear Jane,

We made cookies in the early AM as tradition for the party tomorrow and I told him that I love him (again, but this time he didn’t run, nor has he the past few times. Fantastic).

While the cookies were baking, he explained everything on his side of the story: how he was scared to be vulnerable, how opening up to me is just different and new and scary and I get it. I really do. I know how it feels to think you don’t deserve good things and sabotage feels like the only way to save everyone from hurt.

He smiled a lot more after that. I guess he’s just glad I get it.

One day, I’ll successfully convince James that he deserves everything good this world has to offer.

Until then, I’ll just keep trying.

P.S. He said, with less hesitation than the first time, that he loves me, too. Best. Day. Ever.

P.P.S. The cookies are so good and I want to devour them all. I could barely stop James from eating all of them. Again: Best. Day. Ever.

.

July 26/21

Dear Jane,

In summary of today:

Happy birthday, Natasha.

James has been given the clear bill of health which is exciting. Also, I asked him about the Jane and gift of God thing.

He knew. “Intuition” and all that. He also said I looked “like a royal dame” in my swimsuit. Smug idiot just trying to be charming.

I love him and that’s the only reason it works.

Back to the festivities.

.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

Good morning to you and to James who’s still in my bed at a ripe 6:23AM, fast asleep.

Progress. Now, back to sleep.

.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

It’s now 9:49AM and James greeted me with orange juice and waffles. He said I was cute when I slept. Creep.

He also said he tried so many times to stay in my bed after, before we were like we are now, but he never could, and now he’s upset that he missed out on my cute sleeping/waking up for the day face every time he did so.

He is exceptionally cute when he’s pouting.

I think we’re officially boyfriend-girlfriend, but we’ll work out the semantics on that later. For now, it’s another summer day together. He suggested Chinese takeout for dinner because I have to go dip back into the lab later today to check on some samples.

I agreed and he kissed me in promise like it was our “thing.” I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

Massive progress.

.

July 28/21

Dear Jane,

He told me I was the only one for him.

Also, he kissed me in front of our friends for the first time. Natasha yelled “FINALLY” and pushed us into the pool. Sam laughed and then I grabbed him and threw him into the pool. Ensuing: a water fight for the ages.

For a day: 10/10

.

July 31/21

Hey Jane,

I think I’m happy.

I’m sorry I ever doubted the effects of writing down my feelings.

James has a romantic trip to uptown planned for our first date and he said it’ll take the whole day so I thought I’d get this entry in the morning. I dunno. It’s really early and the happy thought was the first thing that came to my head.

Weird, but it’s a good weird.

See you in a bit.

[join-the-joywrite]

and I don't want to (but I love you)

@jatp-week Day 6: favourite trope

Not me doing a self-indulgent and stupidly long enemies to lovers au :>

Julie Molina didn't have enemies in her life. She had competitors, sure. Everyone did. But Sunset Curve took the whole cake. She didn't have enemies but Luke Patterson came dangerously close.

Luke Patterson, on the other hand, fully considered Julie Molina his number one enemy. He had zero qualms about saying that to her face and behind her back. He knew his band was the best but Julie had a real knack for knocking his ego down a bit and he hated her for it. Maybe he wouldn't get so riled up if she was nice about it or if not nice, she was less nasty and more stern. Honestly, it seemed like she took pleasure in criticizing Sunset Curve.

The rivalry between them extended to their bands and friend circles. Well, for the most part, anyway. Julie and Luke let Willie and Alex get away with their little forbidden lovers thing because they both thought the pair was cute together. It was pretty much the only thing they agreed on. Ever.

Willie only ever talked about Alex, not the band and Alex made sure to steer clear of mentioning Julie whenever he talked about Willie. The arrangement worked for all sides.

Julie and Luke's rivalry extended far beyond their music. It crept into their classes and had them fighting for the top spot. The teachers were thrilled. It meant Luke put in as much effort as he possibly could into every assignment or test. Even if it was out of pure spite, it was working.

And then, oh dear, and then there was a group project. Obviously, they split to opposite ends of the room with their friends to choose pairs (except Willie and Alex, who were shoved together and assured it was perfect) but apparently, it was important to learn how to work with people you dislike because in the workplace you might be forced to work with people you dislike -- or something like that.

Julie and Luke had never let their rivalry coerce them into doing stupid things -- except the one time where Carrie was convinced Luke could hold his breath longer and Julie almost drowned in the school pool to prove Carrie wrong -- but the moment they were paired up, Julie and Luke both wanted nothing more than to break several school rules, vandalism being the top one and starting violent fights being the second. It was unclear if they wanted to fight each other or their teacher.

Matters were made worse when their friends got to pair off together on their own terms while they were stuck with each other. The only thing keeping them from completely refusing to do any work was that they both were still competing for the highest scores.

Their friends had never been more entertained and the two opposing groups bonded over watching the two most stubborn people they knew suffer out a school project together. The clear awkwardness between them was hilarious and it was a pleasant thing to see them sitting at the same table and not trying to verbally murder each other. Bobby turned out to be the funniest person in the whole group. He had a meme-y caption for every moment they caught of Julie and Luke sitting near enough to have a normal conversation and the others loved it. He also seemed to be able to relate all the memes to the pair and was strangely good at photoshop, which earned him the Groupchat King title. (Julie and Luke were completely unaware of this groupchat excluding only them -- which, for the others' safety, was for the best.) Flynn's favourite was a photo of Julie with a feral look on her face, miming strangling a smug Luke. Me & 2020 was Bobby's winning caption. She wasn't sure which was which and that made it even better, in her opinion.

As the weeks passed, Julie and Luke's rivalry mellowed. As far as they said, it was still going strong but their actions told another story. There were playful nudges in the hallway, now. Teasing death glares across a classroom. Locked gazes and stifled giggles at inside jokes -- the fact that they even had those was surprising enough. They willingly shared a lunch table for the sole purpose of interrupting a mini date between Willie and Alex but most of it was spent in their own world anyway. Their mockery of each other had become gentler and more harmless teasing than anything.

And then one Tuesday, Luke didn't show up at school.

Of course, Luke's band knew exactly what was up, but they -- with support from Julie's friends -- decided it would be fun to play dumb and send Julie to Luke's house, just to check up on him, you know, despite the fact that the group project was long over and she really had no need to meddle further into Luke's life. The mere fact that Julie forgot she still had class and was seriously ready to leave immediately said a lot.

"I can promise you that it's really not as bad as it looks," Luke said from under several pillows, a puffy duvet and maybe three stuffed animals, "but there's no band practice today and I'm not coming to school tomorrow either so can one of you flick Julie's forehead for me? It's tradition."

"Band practice, huh?" Julie said, dropping her bag on the floor with a soft thud. "And here I thought you just had nothing more interesting going on in your life than disrupting mine."

Luke sat up fast enough that his head spun, his vision swam and two pillows fell off the bed. "Who told you where I live?"

"You did, dork. Here, I brought your homework and my dad's trying something out in the kitchen. He misread balf the recipe so it's the blandest thing I've ever tasted but if you're sick, it'll be good for you."

Luke responded to the bit that made sense. "I don't want bland food," he said, scrunching up his nose as Julie set a small stack of papers on the desk in the corner and walked up to him with a covered bowl.

"As if you'd know the difference. Your mom said you can't taste anything anyway."

"You talked to my mom?" Luke asked, looking mortified.

"Yeah, duh. What, did you think I climbed through your bedroom window? I don't care that much for you."

"Aww, I knew you cared for me."

Julie didn't respond to it. "So this is supposed to be a vegetable stew," she said, tapping the plastic wrap over the bowl, "but like I said, mistakes were made."

"Well, what is it then?" Luke asked, leaning over to peer at the bowl.

"I'd call it . . . semi-flavoured water with surprise veggies."

"Joy."

"I know, right? Anyway, I'll leave you to your . . . pillow fort? Cute stuffies. I have the same penguin."

Luke glanced at the penguin that was still secured in his arm. "Don't you dare tell your friends. Especially not Flynn. She's ruthless."

"She is not. But fine, only because you're sick. I'll be back for my bowl tomorrow and it better be empty."

Luke watched Julie leave with a look of amazement. As soon as he heard his front door close, footsteps pattered through the hallway, leading up to his mother sticking her head in his room. "I like her."

"I'm going back to sleep," Luke said, diving back into the safety of all his pillows, wondering if it was the fever or Julie that set his cheeks blazing.

Probably the fever.

"Good afternoon, dork. Reggie says you said you liked the semi-flavoured water and my dad felt very appreciated by that so he's made some actual stew for you to try. It's beef stew this time so please don't get surprised. Did you do yesterday's homework? You should, because I brought today's. How do you feel?"

Luke, who had been staring at Julie with his mouth slightly open in a perfect picture of surprise, blinked when he realised she'd stopped speaking. "Don't you knock?!"

"Your mom said you were asleep and I could just leave everything here for you but you were awake so. . ." Julie trailed off, shrugging.

"You . . . you are so strange."

Julie shrugged as she set the homework down on the desk and walked up to the nightstand to put the covered bowl down in Luke's reach. "You need to come back to school. I feel bad bullying your friends."

"I'm sure they'll be glad to hear that," Luke said sarcastically. He paused for a second. "Yeah, I did the homework. Most of it. My mom said it'll help to get out of bed and do something. I tried to play the guitar but she was adamant I didn't do that something."

Julie nodded and walked back to Luke's desk. She rifled through the mess and picked up all the homework. "I'll finish this essay for you," she said almost absently, searching among the pages. "Please tell me you did your science homework. I got a lot of that wrong and no one wants to give me the answers because apparently, I should learn my work."

"Uh . . . yeah. Um, yeah, I did the science. Wh-- what do you mean 'do the essay' for me?"

Julie looked up as she gathered everything into a pile of messy and uneven papers. "It's on the African American civil rights movement. It's factual and ninety percent of the class will have the same essay anyway so--"

"No. No, I mean . . . why?"

"Oh. Uh . . . why not?"

Luke didn't have a response, so he fell silent.

"Well, that's all of yesterday's homework. Get some rest and then make sure you eat. I can't have my favourite punching bag get too weak to take a hit."

As Julie turned and left his room, Luke felt the sudden urge to scream, so instead, he slammed his burning face into his favourite penguin. Yes, she had called him a punching bag, but she'd also called him her favourite.

"Music class just isn't the same without booing you. Also, Alex said you managed to keep the beef stew down yesterday so my dad thought you could try something a little heavier. This is an experimental chicken and fried rice . . . thing. I do not reccomend eating unless you're sure you're okay enough for a full meal. That said, I brought more beef stew in case you're not up for the chicken and rice."

"You can't just walk in unannounced!" Luke cried as Julie set down the two bowls on the nightstand.

"I can, actually," Julie said, flashing a set of keys at Luke.

Luke's jaw dropped when he recognized the keychains. "Hey, those are mine!"

"Wow, so observant. Your mom gave it to me before I left yesterday because your dad is at work and she needed to go out today and with you holed up in here, there wouldn't be anyone to open for me."

Luke frowned. "Oh, yeah, she said something like that but I was half-asleep."

Julie was pleasantly surprised to find Luke's homework neatly gathered at the corner of the desk. It didn't escape her how Luke seemed to glow with pride when she commented on it. She had to fight a smile as she dropped Luke's homework into her bag.

"Get some rest, dork. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call someone from Sunset Swerve. I'll be busy."

"It's Sunset CURVE and you know it."

"Really? I never noticed."

Luke pouted. "Tuxedo Sam says you're being very mean right now. I'm sick and I deserve care."

"Well, you can tell your stupid penguin that Skipper will beat his ass."

"You named your penguin after the penguins from Madagascar?"

"You call yours Tuxedo Sam."

"Yeah, okay, that's fair."

Julie rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "Take a nap, Moody McSleeveless."

Luke glanced at the penguin laying nearby as he heard Julie lock up the house again. "Don't look at me like that, she's mean all the time."

"I BROUGHT CAKE!"

Luke scrambled up, launching Tuxedo Sam off the bed. "Who died?"

"No one died," Julie said, picking up the penguin as she walked up to Luke's bed. "It's Friday and since you're doing a little better, I thought you could do with a small treat. Tuxedo Sam agrees."

"Give me back my penguin," Luke said, reaching both arms out to Julie.

"Did you do yesterday's homework?"

"Yes."

"Did you really eat both bowls of food yesterday?"

"Yes."

"And keep it down?"

"Yes, ma'am, now can I please have my penguin back?"

Julie passed Luke the stuffed animal. "You're adorable," she blurted, turning away immediately to hide her own stunned look. She cleared her throat as she headed to the desk to grab Luke's homework. "So, that group project? We got a ninety-five."

That distracted Luke easily enough. "What happened to the other five?!"

"We're very bad at teamwork," Julie said, glancing back at Luke over her shoulder to see him relax against the pillows.

"Ah. That . . . makes sense."

Julie nodded. "Mhm."

The silence that blanketed the room wasn't as awkward as it should have been.

"I have to go. Most of the teachers said it would be okay to get your homework on Monday, but Mr Hughes is on my tail about your chemistry paper. My dad is making cupcakes tonight for some reason and I told Willie he could have some, so I'll send extra with him to give to Alex to give to you, but enjoy that crappy store cake for now. I left proper lunch with your mom for when you feel like it."

It didn't register that the only reason Mr Hughes would be harassing Julie about Luke's homework was if Julie herself had taken responsibility for Luke. Well, it did register, but by then, Julie was long gone and the only response Luke could muster was a muffled scream into poor Tuxedo Sam.

"Oh, ew, gross. Luke, it smells like the middle school locker room in here. What were you doing?"

Luke had never looked more sheepish in his life as he pointed to the canister on his nightstand -- right next to his alarm clock. "My phone went off about an hour ago and I thought it was the alarm so I did the smart thing and slammed it down but I missed. Obviously."

Holding her nose, Julie dropped everything she was carrying on Luke's table and tore the curtains open, pushing the windows as far as they could go. She stood there for a moment, relishing in the fresh air. "I'll come back inside when I can breathe," Julie said, halfway out the window.

Luke wanted to melt into his pillows. A week later and he was only feeling slightly better. The pros of it was that Julie visited every day with something tasty and a level of snark that only amused him. The cons of it was that Julie visited every day and left him flustered and red in the face.

He firmly believed that Julie only came by every day because she had homework to drop off, but today was Saturday. There was no more homework to drop off.

And she could have just backtracked right out the door again but instead, she headed for the windows on the other side of his room. Why?

Because she's taking care of you, dork.

Luke couldn't help but think that the logical voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Julie.

"Hey, my parents have some stupid couple's yoga thing on Saturdays. Did you break in?"

Julie pulled the windows halfway closed and stepped back into the room. "No, I still have your keys. Your dad tried to give me the spare key to the front door but your mom said it'll be fine if I kept yours until you're back on your feet."

"Wow. She really trusts you, huh?"

Julie shrugged. "I'm a very trustworthy person."

"No, you're not. I saw you lose a pen that you stuck behind your ear and then you proceeded to lose three more by tucking them behind your other ear and in your pockets. You then tried to steal mine."

"I was fourteen," Julie said defensively.

"It happened last week!"

"I felt fourteen."

Luke gave Julie a deadpan look.

"Cute pyjamas."

"I know, right? Bobby got us matching ones when we were like fifteen for band bonding. I mean, I grew out of the pants but the shirt still fits."

Julie scoffed as she stared at the dark haired cartoon smiling at her from the pink shirt. "Looks really good on you, Skip."

"Hey, I like being Skipper. She's Barbie's most intelligent sister."

"Oh, yeah?" Luke didn't even notice that Julie had made herself comfortable at the foot of his bed. "And if you're Skipper, who are the others?"

"Bobby is Chelsea, 'cause he's the youngest of us, Alex is Barbie, 'cause his summer jobs have been everywhere, and Reg is Stacie, 'cause she's Bobby's favourite and Bobby's favourite bandmate is Reg."

Julie's head tilted slightly. "You sound drunk."

"The bottle said one teaspoon of cough syrup but I didn't read and I took two tablespoons. It's okay, though. Mom panicked and called the doctor and he says the cough syrup he gave me is for kids and I'm just really, really, really intolerant. Which you should remember for me because I plan to be super famous with the band and there are gonna be a lot of after parties and I don't wanna get drunk five minutes in. I think the cough syrup is kicking in."

"Luke Patterson, you are unbelievable."

"I know, right?" He attempted a winning smile, but it came off as plain childlike.

Julie chastised herself for finding him adorable. They were mortal enemies and she had to remember that. Then what are you doing in his room on a Saturday, after explicitly telling the rest of his band to stay away?

Julie found it unnerving how much the voice in her head sounded like a teasing Luke.

"You're like, really annoying."

Julie frowned. "I -- I'm sorry?"

"You should be." Luke was sitting cross-legged now, fiddling with the ears of a stuffed bunny. "It's really messing with my head."

Julie decided she liked tipsy Luke -- even if it was just cough syrup. "How so?"

"No, it's nothing."

"You can tell me, Luke. I promised not to tell anyone about your stuffed animals and I kept it, right?"

"Yeah, but this time the secret about you. You're not allowed to know."

Curiosity more than anything made Julie lean forward slightly. "It'll be our secret."

"Okay, but you have to promise not to talk about it."

Julie nodded quickly. Luke tugged at the bunny's ears for a moment.

"You're like . . . really pretty."

Julie couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled out of her. Adorable, she thought.

"Like, a lot of pretty. You're pretty on the inside, too."

"On the inside?"

"Yeah. On the inside. You know, your heart."

"M-my heart?"

Luke nodded at his stuffed rabbit. "Yeah. You have a really pretty heart. It beats like a drum. Making music. Like you."

Julie's mouth hung open, surprise silencing her.

"You have the prettiest music in you. I can hear it like -- like a song that gets stuck in my head all day. It's really annoying but it's so pretty. It smells like flowers and it looks like butterflies."

At this point, Julie didn't think she'd be able to speak, even if she knew what to say. Luke was talking to the stuffed animal, frowning as he struggled to voice his thoughts understandably.

"Sometimes it's just so loud and I wanna cover my ears and run away but it just gets louder and louder and then you come over and you're saying something mean but the music is there and it's not so loud anymore but I still can't hear anything else. Your heart sounds like a ballad."

Julie was frozen to her seat at the edge of the bed. Part of her wondered if it was Luke talking or the fever. Part of her desperately hoped it was Luke.

"Julie, you are music."

It was a simple sentence. Anyone could have said it. It could mean a lot or it could mean nothing at all. If anyone else had said it to her, she would have taken it as the highest form of a compliment. But that wasn't what Luke was saying.

Everyone knew that Luke spoke best through lyrics and chords. His books and desks were covered in etched notes and scribbled words. Luke lived and breathed music. It was everything to him. Without it, Luke didn't know who he was.

And he compared it to Julie.

Julie stared at the text on her phone. She bit her lower lip, unsure of what to say in response.

Mom said you visited yesterday. I was dazed for most of it. I didn't say anything stupid or incriminating, right? Not that anything could be more incriminating than the three stuffed animals on my bed.

Ten minutes after that, another had come through. Jules, are you ignoring me? Did I do something?

Then another five minutes later. This is still Julie Molina's number, right?

Julie quickly typed out something before she chickened out again and tossed her phone to the foot of her bed once it was sent.

Hey. Got busy in the kitchen with dad. No, you're good. See you at school tomorrow?

Julie scrambled for her phone to send one last word.

A few streets away, Luke stared at the word 'dork'. He was sure he had said something. He vaguely remembered yapping on about music to Julie -- duh, what else did they share? -- and then suddenly, she wasn't there anymore. He wondered if he'd fallen asleep talking and Julie had left then or if he really had said something to make her leave.

Yeah, he wrote back, see you at school.

Luke cornered Julie as soon as he caught sight of her in the school hallway. "You've been ignoring me and I don't like that."

Julie squeaked. "I most definitely am not ignoring you."

"Julie, you're pretty much the only person in this school that doesn't keep their phone on mute or vibrate. I know you heard my texts yesterday."

"So what if I am?" Julie asked, folding her arms. "We're not friends, so why should you care if I reply to your texts or not? In fact, why were you even messaging me in the first place?"

While Luke fumbled for a response, Julie slipped past him and continued on her way to class.

"Oh, that is just rude!" Luke yelled after Julie.

She ignored him all through any classes they shared and when lunch rolled around, she made sure to sit with Carrie and Flynn at a small table. Luke had never looked more offended in his life as he joined Reggie in sitting with Alex and Willie.

"What did you do on Saturday?" Alex asked, leaning forward to whisper. "Julie was fine when she told us we don't need to come by at all."

"Julie told you not to come over?" Luke asked, ripping his gaze from Julie to Alex and then Reggie, who shook his head.

"Bro, she actually called Alex and told him that we don't need to come see you because she was going to."

"Yeah, I remember her being there but I was drugged up on cough syrup."

"Weak," Alex whispered loudly, grinning when he made Willie laugh.

"Maybe you said something?" Willie suggested.

"Yeah, probably! But she's not talking to me. She's not even insulting me, which I would very much prefer over this apathy."

"You know where she lives," Reggie said dismissively. "Maybe you should pay her a visit."

Luke glanced across the cafeteria to see Julie quickly whip her head down to stare at her fold. "Yeah. Maybe."

Julie was tired and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Her plans were thrown way off the rails when she walked into her room and found Luke petering around the shelves beside her bed.

"What are you doing here?"

Luke drew his hand back sharply. "Cute box. What's in it?"

"None of your business," Julie snapped, hurriedly closing her bedroom door. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you but you were ignoring me and--"

"You could've just yelled at me from outside," Julie hissed. "I would have come down to shut you up! You can't be in here. Get out of my room."

"No. Not until you tell me why you've been avoiding me since Saturday. Jules, what--"

"Fine! Go and wait for me in the garage. I'll come talk to you in there."

Luke hesitated, unsure if Julie was serious.

When she heard footsteps getting closer, Julie grabbed Luke by the neckline of his shirt and dragged him to the window. "Get out," she whispered hurriedly, "I'll come down to the garage, I promise."

Thankfully, by the time her father arrived, Luke was gone.

"Who were you talking to, mija?"

"Luke," Julie said with a smile. She pointed at the phone. "He liked the cupcakes I sent with Willie."

"Oh, that's great. You didn't take something yesterday and today? Is he feeling better?"

"Much," Julie said, nodding, "in fact, we have some talking to do, so I'm gonna meet him in the garage in a few minutes."

"So late?"

Julie absolutely could not lie to her dad. But she could do half truths. "It's a long overdue discussion."

"School work?"

Julie shrugged. "Music."

"Ah. The garage makes sense. Well, do you wanna take some food down? Midnight snack?"

"Thanks, dad," Julie said with a smile, "you're the best."

"Oh, your dad is the best!" Luke cried as soon as he saw Julie walk in with a plate of cookies.

"These are experimental, too. They're some kind of oatmeal and choc mint blend. They taste good, in my opinion."

"Everything your dad makes tastes good," Luke said, grabbing three cookies. "My mom's starting to get jealous of how much I love your dad's cooking."

Juli smiled and set the plate down on the coffee table. Was there any point beating around the bush? Sugarcoating things?

"You told me I was music."

Luke paused, one and a half cookies gone. "What?"

Julie kept her gaze trained on the tassels of the carpet. "You told me I'm annoying . . . because I'm pretty. Because I have a pretty heart. You said it beats like a drum and I have the prettiest music in me that gets stuck in your head. It --"

"Smells like spring and looks like butterflies. . ." Luke looked positively mortified.

Julie, refusing to look up, did not notice. "You said . . . you said my heart sounds like a ballad and then -- and then you told me I am music."

Had he really said all that aloud? Well, no wonder Julie was avoiding him like the plague.

Julie tensed up when she could see Luke's feet step in front of her. Almost every part of her screamed that this was wrong. They shouldn't be so close without bickering and fighting. But deeper within, beyond the confines of logic and sense, Luke's voice told her that this was the furthest thing from wrong.

"I said all that? Aloud?"

Julie nodded.

"You know what music is to me."

Julie nodded again.

"Jules," Luke said gently. "Julie, look at me."

Julie refused to, so Luke gingerly tucked his finger under her chin and lifted her head, waiting until her gaze fell on him before speaking.

"You know what music is to me," he said again, prompting another nod from Julie. "Then you know what you mean to me."

Julie blinked a few times and shook her head. "No. No, that's just the fever talking. You -- you didn't really mean all of that."

"If you really believe that, why are you avoiding me?"

"I . . . I don't know."

Luke dropped his hand to take hold of Julie's. He glanced at her, waiting for her to pull away. When she didn't, he interlocked his fingers with hers. "I meant every word. Okay, maybe not literally, but you know what I mean."

Julie shook her head. "We're not even friends, Luke."

"Hm, well, who said I wanted to be your friend?"

Julie wanted to hate Luke. She wanted to loathe the sight of him. She didn't want to like him, let alone love him.

And yet, she did.

So before the overthinker in her could stop her, Julie leaned up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. Luke beamed at her like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Not the response I was expecting, but definitely one I'm enjoying."

"Don't make me regret it."

"Yes, ma'am. Now, what are my chances of getting two more? And one for the road? Within the next five seconds becaus my mom doesn't know I snuck out and she think I'm still sick."

"Dork," Julie said fondly, shaking her head.

"I'm serious!"

"You can have two."

"Three."

"Two."

"Four."

"One."

"Two will do," Luke said, letting go of Julie's hands to wrap his arms around her. He gave her a small squeeze. "Plus a hug."

"Dork," Julie said again. But he was her dork and he was her favourite.

Before anyone comes for me about the cough syrup thing, I'm drawing from experience. I mean I never confessed my undying love for anyone but I did blurt out some weird shit. Also, THAT WAS LONG AND IF YOU SURVIVED THE ENTIRE THING, CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU

Mara's masterlist

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 27: Intrulogical (TW)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 27 - Your eyes match your soulmate’s hair color. If they dye their hair, your eyes change colors.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!! Attempted rape (by unnamed OC), drugging, implied underage drinking (though none is actually seen), emetophobia/vomiting, Halloween, alcohol, characters being tipsy/drunk, parties. Happy/satisfying ending.

Word count: 4.7k

Logan lived his life based on routine. In a world of constant change, it felt comforting to always know what his next step was. His mornings always started the same; wake up at seven o’clock sharp, sneak to the dorm bathroom in an attempt to not wake his essentially nocturnal roommate, and brush his teeth. Wet the toothbrush, pea sized amount of toothpaste, wet the brush again, and start on the left side of his mouth. Brush for exactly two minutes, wash face, and then attempt to calm down the bedhead. He’d sneak back into the room, change silently, and then make his way to the shared kitchen to make cereal for breakfast. The only variable in his routine was which fruit he’d eat along with his Cheerios. Then he’d triple check that all of his homework was packed properly, and head off to his morning class.

Except today.

For someone who rarely got distracted from his normal routine, he was surprisingly still as he glared, shocked, into his reflection. Water still dripped off his face and all over the counter, but he couldn’t tear his attention from it. Because his normally dark brown eyes were now neon green.

“Are you kidding me?!” He yelled before he could stop himself, storming back into their room and dropping back onto his bed.

“What’s’it?” Virgil mumbled, lifting his exhausted face from where they’d been smooshed into the pillows. Logan spun his face up towards the top bunk, jaw clenched, and gestured towards his eyes.

“I have a presentation today!” Logan continued, looking away from Virgil’s failed attempt to cover a smile, “And I look ridiculous! No one will take me seriously!”

“Just in time for Halloween, I guess. They just look like contacts.”

“Hallow-” Logan sprung to his desk to look at his calendar accusingly, groaning when he realized it was in fact the thirty first. “Ugh, I have a paper due tomorrow!”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of the party now, Lo. I already promised people I’d go, and I’m not going alone.”

“I won’t back out of the party,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms. Virgil gave a satisfied hum, flopping back into his comforter. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled.

“Out of all people, I’m surprised you forgot.”

“So sue me, if a frivolous game of promiscuous dress up comes after passing my classes in the list of importance.” 

The emo snorted. “What’s your costume gonna be?”

“I am not wearing a costume!” Logan’s voice was almost offended.

“You already look like a traffic light. Might as well complete the look.” 

Logan grumbled angrily, marching back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready. “I’m not wearing a costume. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Aw, c’mon, Lo. For me?”

That stopped Logan in his tracks. He spun around and took a careful breath, glaring down his overly pleased roommate. “Fine. Just for you.” 

Virgil gave another satisfied hum, before squinting his eyes at Logan scrutinizingly. “I wonder if your eyes glow in the dark. Can you imagine if the prof turns the lights off for a presentation and-”

“UUUGGHHH!” Logan yowled as he slammed the bathroom door shut, shaking his head at Virgil’s snickers. 

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

They were meeting up at the party at the end of classes (right about when Virgil tended to wake up), so Logan headed there directly after his final class, just as the evening sun was fading behind the horizon. It was already packed with people already picking the snack and drinks table bare, a lopsided sign that said ‘21+ only’ forgotten near an empty beer box. If Logan were to assume correctly, the sign was only there to assuage the conscience of whoever was hosting tonight, and not actually to stop the underage drinking. Even if he was above legal drinking age, he still didn’t experience many of the positives of drinking, so he grabbed a can of iced tea and stood next to a wall to wait for Virgil.

It hadn’t been a full five minutes before a man sidled up to him, sipping from a half empty beer bottle and watching Logan with a careful eye. He didn’t spare so much as a glance in return, barely acknowledging the newcomer’s presence.

“What’s a wallflower like you doing at a rager like this?” He drawled with an almost audible impish smile.

“If this is considered a rager, I’d hate to see what a calm party looks like.”

“Aw, we just haven’t gotten started yet! We’re fueling up for when the moon comes out. And you haven’t answered my question, flower.”

“I’m simply waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, and does this friend have a name?” He purred. 

Frustrated, Logan turned to the man, and promptly froze. Looking down at him with pitch black eyes was a person in a costume he couldn’t recognize; a black and white striped suit that looked like he’d raked it through dust, and a mold green tie. The stubble on his face could have been his own five o’clock shadow or makeup, but it only functioned to make him look far hotter than what was fair. What was most shocking though, and Logan was baffled that he’d missed it in the initial approach, was the mop of electric-shock-straight neon green hair on his head. 

“He- I don’t-”

“Didn’t take you for the type to get flustered,” The man snorted, taking another sip. “What do you have? Aw, iced tea? And not even spiked? A crime.”

How did he not see Logan’s eyes? The hair was the exact same color; Logan would know. He’d spend the whole day watching his reflection, hoping that his soulmate would have some mercy and dye their hair back to its original color. Neon green was not exactly the most subtle color, and he had not missed the snickers or silent glances from his classmates and professors all day. So the question remained, why wasn’t this guy saying anything?

“I don’t drink. I tend to just become lethargic when I do.” He answered instead, gripping his can a little tighter. It took far too much effort to keep his voice from straining. 

“Fair enough. I’m not pressuring you to drink, no worries. At least we’ll have one sober mind at this party tonight.” The taller man winked at him, flashing him that stupidly stunning smile again. 

But then it occurred to Logan as he kept searching the man’s dark eyes desperately. His eyes were too dark, almost pitch black, while Logan’s hair was several shades lighter. So... there was no way they were soulmates. Just as quickly as the hope had exploded in his stomach, it dissipated, leaving him feeling more exhausted than usual. Stupid feelings.

“Logan, there you are!” An unusually loud voice called through his stupor and he spun around to see Virgil’s fanged smile. In the back of his mind, he remembered watching Virgil putting together his elaborate vampire costume over the last few weeks, but he’d never seen the full thing put together until now. “Ah, and Remus found you. Scram, Beetlejuice.”

Remus, apparently, didn’t seem at all offended by the jab. Instead, he seemed to smile wider. “Nice to see you too, emo. Is that any way to treat the host of the party?”

To Logan’s surprise, Virgil smiled too. “Oh, shut up. You’re going to give Logan a heart attack.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Dracula. Why don’t you go get a drink, and I’ll keep him company?”

“Nuh uh. No way. Not leaving him with you any longer than I have already.” With that, Virgil hooked his arm through Logan’s and led him back to the drink table. 

“Remember, Virgil, drinks are only for the big kids!”

“I’m older than you are!” He flipped the bird over Logan’s shoulder to the host, earning a barked laugh in response. “He never lets me forget I’m a whole three inches shorter than him.”

“You know the host of the party?”

Virgil hummed in response, pouring himself a cup of punch that reeked of alcohol. “How else would I get invited? We were in English together in third year, and I haven’t been able to shake him since. He’s like a leech.”

“You seem friendly with him.”

The elder froze, solo cup barely touching his lips as he looked over Logan slowly. “Everything okay? You’re not usually this… quiet.” They could both tell it wasn’t the word he’d wanted to use.

For a brief moment, Logan considered telling Virgil about his brief flair of hope, about how for a single second he’d felt nothing but relief and desire and elation, and how it had been ripped away from him just as quickly. But then he realized that, no, Virgil didn’t need that to bring down the mood of the first party he’d attended in a year, since his anxiety had flared. If it still bothered him after the party, he’d bring it up. That was unlikely, though. Logan was especially gifted in the art of repression.

“I’m just a tad out of my element. Nothing to worry about,” he responded with a smile. Virgil didn’t fall for it, if the way he watched Logan as he sipped his drink was anything to go off of, but he did them both the favor of not pushing it. For now. 

“I thought I told you to wear a costume,” Virgil gasped as he drained the cup, immediately refilling it from the same bowl.  

“I did.” Logan gestured towards the single piece of paper taped to his white shirt. It took Virgil a moment to squint through the darkening light to make-out the black sharpie, reading allowed.

“‘Error 404, Costume Not Found.’ That does not count, Logan!” He laughed nonetheless, just as a deep bass filled the house. Apparently, the party had begun. He didn’t have a good argument for Virgil’s accusation, since he technically thought it very much did count, but arguing with the other was a waste of time. The two men were equally matched in the stubbornness department.  

The lights disappeared for a good few seconds before the house was illuminated in strobe lights, and the music’s volume exploded. Virgil laughed giddily; apparently his plan to get buzzed before the party could give him anxiety was intentional.

“They do, ya know.” 

Logan looked at him in confusion, and shouted over the roaring music. “What?”

“Your eyes! They do glow in the dark!”

“Shut up!” 

“You look like a glowstick!” He began to giggle wildly, leaning on Logan for support. 

“No more drinks for a good half hour, Virge,” Logan chided gently, replacing his solo cup with a water bottle from the table. Virgil whined but plucked out his vampire fangs so he could drink from the small spout easier. 

“Let’s dance,” Virgil said, grabbing Logan’s arm and leading him into the crowd.

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

Logan guessed it was well past midnight when Virgil tugged on his arm for the third time, leaning close to his ear and shouting that he had to go to the bathroom.

“Again?!” Logan called back at the vampire’s back. There was no malice in his words, not when he knew Virgil had been anxious to go to this party and he tended to drink more water when he was anxious. It was just all coming back for revenge now. 

To Logan’s delight, the excitement of the party had started to push out the event from earlier. His mood was no longer dampened by the let down of what he thought was meeting his soulmate, and he could finally enjoy the one event he allowed himself to go to this semester. School was important, but he allowed this for Virgil. He hadn’t expected himself to have a good time as well. 

It wasn’t even a minute after Virgil had left that there was a loud shout and Logan was jostled harshly to the side, the front of his shirt immediately soaking red from the cup of punch spilled on him. His own drink clattered to the floor.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry!” A man Logan didn’t recognize started to pat at his chest with a handful of tissues, an action that for some reason caused the smaller man to cringe.

“No worries. It was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps a white shirt wasn’t my smartest idea,” He responded sharply, taking the tissues from the other and dabbing himself off to the best of his abilities. Slightly relieved that he now had a valid reason, he ripped off his poor attempt at a costume and crumpled up the soaking wet paper in the hand not trying in vain to dry himself. Despite Logan obviously being uninterested, the taller man stayed where he was, watching Logan’s actions with fierce intensity. His lip curled as his eyes trailed down the now nearly see-through shirt.

“If you wanted, I could get that shirt off of you. Fool around, give it some time to dry?”

“I’m so flattered,” Logan deadpanned, “But no thanks.”

“Aw, too bad,” The man cooed, shrugging. His demeanor did a full one-eighty, his predatory gaze replaced with innocence, “Was worth a try. Let me at least get you a new drink, since I ruined your other one.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“I insist.” He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder, causing a tingling cold to spread through his whole body. The smaller man barely contained a shudder as the man gave him another wolf like grin before disappearing into the crowd towards the drinks table.

Logan was hoping he’d forgotten, and just wouldn’t come back, but the man reappeared in moments, popping open a pink lemonade and handing it to him.

“Saw your other drink was non-alcoholic, so I got the only other one left.”

“Uhm…” Logan looked critically at the can, his alarm bells flaring. But… he’d seen the man open it, right? So it’s not as if he could have done something to it. Perhaps this guy really did have the right intentions, just an iffy way of showing them. “Thank you.” 

He took a sip as the man smiled with too much teeth. “So, are you here alone?”

“No,” Logan responded a little less coolly, “I’m here with a friend. He just went to the bathroom.” Another sip.

“Oh, that’s fun! Are you guys in the same year?”

“Yes. We are both fourth years.” The man was acting kinder, and Logan was starting to consider that perhaps their initial meeting had been a misunderstanding on his part. Maybe he had just wanted to help out, but Logan, being cynical as always, had assumed the worst. Wasn’t that just like him, though? Always so quick to conclusions, ruining good things before they have a chance to happen. Trying to chase away his annoyance with himself and the bitter taste it had left on his tongue, he took a longer swig of the can.

“Hey, me too! I’m an English major, what about you?”

“Business with an astronomy minor.”

“That sounds difficult. How many semester hours are you clocking at right now?”

“I… uhm…” And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. It was a high number, he knew for sure. He shook his head. “Fifteen, sixteen? Maybe seventeen?”

The man whistled. “Damn, impressive. Remind me of your name, again?”

Had he told him in the first place? “Logan.”

“And what brings a studious man such as yourself to a party like this?”

“My- My friend.” Logan couldn’t help shake his head again, hoping the fog in his mind would scatter. That’s what he got, staying out this late when his sleep schedule was usually so precise. “He doesn’t like… parties. So he asked…” He blinked hard a couple times, finding himself swaying on his feet. “He asked me…”

“Hey, are you okay?” The man placed his hand on his arm in an ironclad grip, holding him steady, “Logan, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I… Dizzy,” He murmured, reaching up blearily and grabbing onto him. 

“Are you dehydrated? Maybe you should drink some more.”

What were the symptoms of dehydration again? Dizziness, check. Fatigue, check. Confusion, check. Thirst? Yeah, he could drink something, but he’d been drinking all night, so why…

The can dropped from his hand, the second one tonight, and he tried weakly to pull away. Instead of letting him go, the man pulled him closer, wrapping an arm bruisingly tight around his waist. 

“You… you drugged-”

“You don’t look so good, Logan. Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down, yeah?”

“No, I don’t…” He was unable to escape, barely able to keep his feet under him, as the man started dragging him to the stairs. Where the hell is Virgil? Logan could feel tears pricking his eyes as his breathing hitched, and for the first time in years, he felt real panic. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t-

“Let him the fuck go!”

A voice distinctly not Virgil’s shouted over the music, and Logan didn’t even dare hope it’s directed at the man still clutching him. His luck would never be that good. But through his blurry vision, a pin striped blob with a mess of green hair breaks through the crowd, marching distinctly up to them. 

“He came here with me.” Logan could just make out the stronger man’s words through his dizzied state. “He just had a bit too much to drink. I’m going to let him lay down.”

“Like hell you are. Give him to me.” 

“How dare you-”

“Logan. Doesn’t. Drink. And I know who he came here with.” Remus snarled, edging towards the duo threateningly, “Now let go of him before I break your fucking jaw.”

With almost as much physical relief as emotional, the man finally released his painful hold on Logan and shoved his way through the crowd, the distant shouts of inconvenienced partygoers near the door the only signal that he’d completely left. 

For all his effort, Logan couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed. At first the feeling of strong arms picking him up bridal style caused him to panic and he lashed out, feebly hitting the chest of whoever was holding him. Realizing they were now walking up the stairs, the same place the other man had been pulling him, caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Woah there, Lo. You’re okay. It’s just me, it’s Remus, okay? Take a deep breath, just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

For some reason that Logan couldn’t fathom, the words calmed him down. Somewhere, Logan acknowledged that even though Virgil had known Remus for a while, Logan had only talked to him for a total of five minutes, and he probably shouldn’t trust an essential stranger when he’s like this. He’s just too tired to fight though, no matter how his adrenaline is pumping. 

“V’rg’l,” Logan whimpered, clutching Remus' shirt with all the strength of a wet leaf, “W’nt h’m.”

“I’ll get Virgil as soon as you’re safe, okay? Don’t worry,” Remus’ soothing voice rumbled through Logan from where he was pressed to the taller’s chest, making his eyelids flutter. His arms felt like over boiled pasta and his stomach was doing flips, but Remus’ voice broke through the fog he was in and settled him in a way he hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the drugs.

“We’re at the top of the stairs now, okay? I’ll take you to my room, since it’s the only one with a lock. So we know there won’t be any horny college kids in there, making a mess of my sheets. Gotta unlock it without dropping you, hold on, and… A HAH! Got it. You want the light on or off?”

Logan couldn’t compute the question, much less make a choice. He made a sound that was slightly reminiscent of a stalled car engine, letting his head loll towards the lump that he assumed was a bed.

“Let’s compromise.” With all the care in the world, Logan was placed onto the sheets and gently rolled onto his side, a heavy comforter pulled up to his shoulders. Remus shifted away and a dim light flashed through his eyelids, enough to notice but definitely not enough to hurt his throbbing head. A table lamp, probably.

“No falling asleep on me, okay? You need to stay awake. I don’t know what that fucker gave you. I’m texting Virgil now, he’ll be here soon. Just keep your eyes open.”

Logan opened his eyes despite his overwhelming urge to sleep, and was immediately assaulted by a swirl of colors as the world tilted. An explosion of nausea tilted him forward and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

“‘m g’nna-” He didn’t have to finish his sentence before there was a plastic garbage can under his cheek and he heaved, throwing up the remnants of dinner and all he drank that evening. He didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed as he flopped back down onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Oh, Logan,” Remus whispered. 

There was a pounding on the door and Logan didn’t even have the energy to flinch from the violent sound. Remus stood quickly and unlocked it, barely opening it before someone barreled into the room, the newcomer gasping for breath.

“What the fuck happened?!” Virgil screamed, dropping on his knees next to the bed, hand reaching up to lay on Logan’s cheek.

“He got roofied by some motherfucker I haven’t seen before. I caught him in the stairwell before anything happened.” Remus was still standing by the open door. The music was flowing in louder now, and Virgil’s raged shouting wasn’t helping his headache at all.

“I’m going to fucking kill whoever did this. I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Virgil, you’re real hot when you’re pissed, but calm the hell down. Yelling won’t help Logan.”

“You’re… shit, you’re right. Okay. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Watch him. Keep him on his side, bin’s to your left if he has to hurl again. I’m cutting this shit show.”

Logan finally cracked his eyes open as the door shut, Virgil leaning backwards to lock it. When he turned back and saw his friend’s eyes open, he almost wept.

“I’m so sorry Lo, I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“‘s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. I got distracted talking to someone, but I should have come back sooner. You could’ve… You could’ve been…”

“Not y’r fa’lt,” Logan mumbled, reaching over blindly to try and find Virgil’s hand. The other must have sensed his intentions and gripped onto the flailing limb, interlocking their fingers. 

“You better not be blaming yourself.”

Technically, he was. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken a drink from a stranger, should have noticed something was off the moment his mind started to fade. Never in his life would he say that this kind of situation was the victim’s fault but… he couldn’t help it when it came to himself. He’d always been self critical that way. Bringing this up to Virgil would be a death wish, though, and an argument he certainly did not have the energy for right now. 

The music cut off downstairs and Logan sighed in relief, nearly smiling at Remus’ shout for everyone to get out of his house. For someone he’d met once, he was protective, that was for sure. 

Virgil didn’t force him to talk. They both just enjoyed the silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional shout from downstairs and Virgil’s sniffles. Logan couldn’t exactly blame him; he’d cry too if he had the brainpower. He didn’t though, which was the problem, so he allowed his hand to be held and allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of a thumb brushing over his knuckles.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Virgil reached over to unlock it, allowing Remus to walk back in. “Sorry that took so long. Wanted to double check that anyone using someone else as a crutch was black out drunk, not drugged. Here, sit him up.”

Virgil shifted so he was behind Logan and pulled him up against him, holding him steady as Remus lifted a glass of water to his lips. “You have to be thirsty. Do your best to keep this down, Lo.” Suddenly realizing how thirsty he actually was, Logan downed half the glass before Remus pulled it away. “Not so much, you’ll get sick.” There was a clink as the glass was placed on the bed side table. “We need to take him to the hospital. I don’t know how much whatever the fucker gave him.”

“I’m too drunk to drive,” Virgil said, gently lowering Logan back onto his side.

“I didn’t drink that much, but I’m not safe either. You got a friend who can take us?”

“Yeah,” The shorter mumbled as he shakily typed in his phone password, “I’m going to call Patton, just a second.” He moved to the furthest corner of the small room and the conversation faded into the background. At least Virgil was talking… that meant Patton picked up, right? 

“Shitty way to end a pretty spectacular holiday,” Remus stated as he sat back on his spot, letting a hand rest on Logan’s leg.

“‘m s’rry.” 

“Ah, shit, that’s not what I meant. I’m mad for you, not at you. Ya know,” As he spoke, he reached up and did something to his eyes, almost picking at them, “Halloween’s the only valid holiday in my book. Christmas is too overrated, Easter is senseless, Thanksgiving? No thanks, I don’t glorify genocide. But Halloween? I get to dress slutty or spooky or fucking ridiculous, and no one can give me two shits about it. I get to throw ragers and stab gourds into faces and buy discount candy until I’m fifty percent chocolate. I mean, I dyed my hair green for it, paid extra for the glow in the dark shit, and all I got were compliments.”

His hands had returned to his lap and he was fiddling with something. Logan tried to make out what it was, but it just looked like black plastic. Tiny, flexible pieces of black plastic. That Remus had pulled from his eyes.

They were colored contacts.

“I guess I do kind of blame Roman for getting me into Beetlejuice, but it is one of his least favorite musicals, so it’s also a bit of a ‘fuck you’ to him-”

“R’mus,” He breathed, and even that faint call was enough to snap Remus back to him. The taller man turned to him immediately, and Logan forgot how to breathe. 

Because his eyes were brown, and in the dim light of the single lamp, they absolutely shone. 

His eyes were the same brown as Logan’s hair, and Logan’s eyes became that offensive green around the same time as Remus dyed his for the costume, and that’s all the confirmation Logan needed to push himself up onto the hands and lunge forward to kiss him. The effort is strenuous and the lurch almost makes him heave again, but oh Lord, he just found his soulmate and it’s actually him and-

“Woah, woah woah woah. Hold on there, cowboy.” Remus gently pushes him back down before their lips can meet, “You are very drugged right now. I am not kissing you drugged. Sober, hell yes. But not like this.”

“Y’re my-”

“Soulmate. I know. I kind of figured when I saw your eyes. But I figured… I might as well get you to like me before I dropped that kind of bombshell. Although… I was hoping that would be accomplished by basic flirting, but then the party started getting out of hand, so I was always busy with-”

“Patton’s on his way,” Virgil spoke up, joining the two on the bed. “You okay, Lo?”

“He figured it out,” Remus said softly, letting a hand card through Logan’s hair. 

“I was wondering how long that would take.”

Logan gave a weak smile, his own fear and adrenaline starting wear off slightly. He was safe here, and he felt like he wasn’t going to be let out of sight for a while. 

“Drink some more water, wallflower,” Remus whispered, helping him sit up, “We’ll take care of you.” 

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

Words: 4,022

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Damage Control.

Harry didn't ask how on earth was she capable of doing what she'd done the previous night, but she would often catch him staring. 

He was used to the harmless version of her, for years she'd threatened others and claimed to be ready to hurt anyone who would dare touch her friends, but he always knew those threats were empty, Mel couldn't hurt a fly, not before, at least. 

"Dumbledore will be back before long," said Ernie Macmillan. "They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to this time. The Fat Friar told me that Umbridge tried to get back into his office last night after they'd searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her. Apparently, she had a right little tantrum..." 

"Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office," said Hermione as they started to climb up the entrance stairs. "Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old —"

"Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?" Malfoy walked up to them followed by Crabbe and Goyle. "Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff..." 

"It's only teachers that can dock points from Houses, Malfoy," Ernie made a face.

"Yeah, we're prefects too, remember?" Ron raised a brow.

"I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King. But members of the Inquisitorial Squad —"

"The what?" said Hermione.

"The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger," Malfoy showed them a tiny silver badge that was proudly pinned under his Prefect one. "A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points... So, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new headmistress... Macmillan, five for contradicting me... Five because I don't like you, Potter... Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that... Dumbledore, five because your presence is enough to lower the school's quality — Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that..."

"Don't!" Hermione stopped Ron from attacking Malfoy.

"Wise move, Granger. New Head, new times... Be good now, Potty... Weasel King..."

"You know, Malfoy, if you keep calling Ron your king you might as well bow and lick his shoes," Mel scowled. 

"Why don't you shut your mouth for once, Nutty? Or I'll tell Flint to break your other wrist as well. Did I mention he's the Head of the Inquisitorial Squad? That's right," Malfoy smirked. "You're done for, Dumbledore..."

He walked away, laughing along with Crabbe and Goyle.

"He was bluffing," said Ernie. "He can't be allowed to dock points... that would be ridiculous... It would completely undermine the prefect system..." 

"They can," Mel made a face, "Flint took points from me the other day, though I can't say I didn't deserve it..."

"But he's your friend!" Ernie exclaimed. 

"Yeah, but he has to pretend he's not," Mel sighed.

"Noticed, have you?" said Fred, walking down the staircase with his brother.

"Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points," said Harry, trembling with anger.

"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," said George. 

"What do you mean, 'tried'?" Ron asked.

"He never managed to get all the words out," said Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."

"But you'll get into terrible trouble!" Hermione gasped.

"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," said Fred. "Anyway... we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."

"Have you ever?" 

"'Course we have," said George. "Never been expelled, have we?" 

"We've always known where to draw the line," said Fred.

"We might have put a toe across it occasionally," said George. 

"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem."

"But now?" said Ron.

"Well, now —"

"— what with Dumbledore gone —"

"— we reckon a bit of mayhem —"

"— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," said Fred.

"I'm in," said Mel, but Fred shook his head.

"I'm sorry lady, but it's better if you stay out of it this time."

"What?" She frowned. "No! My uncle's gone, I don't have to keep a low profile now."

"Yes, you do. Our friends still need you here, and you could put Erick on a tough spot, we ran into him a few minutes ago and he told us he's the Head of Umbridge's group, apparently breaking your wrist gave him extra points with the toad. He's doing his best to keep most of the squad from doing really nasty things, but he can't ignore you now."

"You mustn't do it either!" Hermione insisted. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"

"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?"

"We don't care about staying anymore. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Lady Dumbledore and her uncle first. So anyway," Fred checked his watch, "phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it."

"Anything to do with what?" said Hermione anxiously. 

"You'll see," said George. "Run along, now."

Fred pulled her apart from the group for a second, his eyes scanning her face.

"Really Mel, you should lay low for a while," He told her. "At least until your wrist heals properly."

"Why are you so worried all of a sudden?" 

"Don't you remember what Sirius said? You have a target on your back, I can't let you do it, out there you're in more danger than in here with that old cow."

Mel hated to admit it, but he was right. She couldn't risk it. 

"I don't want you to get expelled, though," She sulked. 

"I know," Fred smiled. "But you don't need me around anymore, do you?"

"Don't say that!" Mel exclaimed, knowing what he meant.

"We'll talk about it later. Now go."

The twins left quickly, Ernie did so as well, leaving the three of them alone.

"I think we should get out of here, you know," said Hermione. "Just in case..."

"Yeah, all right," said Ron.

"Have you seen Erick?" Harry asked her.

"Not really," Mel said worryingly. "He must be under a lot of pressure, I know it sounds weird, but I'm glad he broke my wrist, thanks to that Umbridge trusts him. He'll try his best to keep things under control, but Malfoy is an animal, he'll find a way..."

"I'm not so happy about him breaking your wrist," Harry frowned. "But having him on our side is helpful..."

"I want to talk to Daphne and the others, see if anyone suspects them..."

"If you talk to them they will, it's better to keep your distance..."

Harry stopped and looked to her left, Mel let out a surprised yelp when she noticed Filch was standing right beside them.

"The headmistress would like to see you, Potter," The man said. "And you too, Dumbledore."

"I didn't do it," said Harry stupidly.

Mel nudged his side, scowling at him.

"Guilty conscience, eh?" Filch chuckled darkly. "Follow me..."

They threw one last worried look over their shoulders to Hermione and Ron before following Filch. 

"Things are changing around here..." Filch commented happily once they got to the first floor.

"We've noticed," said Harry.

"Yerse... I've been telling Dumbledore for years and years he's too soft with you all. You filthy little beasts would never have dropped Stinkpellets if you'd known I had it in my power to whip you raw, would you, now? Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could've strung you up by the ankles in my office, would they? But when Educational Decree Twenty-nine comes in, Potter, I'll be allowed to do them things... And she's asked the Minister to sign an order for the expulsion of Peeves... Oh, things are going to be very different around here with her in charge..."

Mel had a few things to say about it, but Fred's worry had done its job and she found her voice losing all conviction before she'd even started to speak.

"Here we are," Filch said as they reached Umbridge's office. He opened the door a bit. "The Potter boy to see you, ma'am. I got the Dumbledore girl as well."

"Thank you, Argus," She heard the woman say. "Tell Miss Dumbledore to please wait outside while I talk to Potter."

"Not at all, ma'am, not at all," said Filch, pulling Mel back as he closed the door. "You stay here."

It didn't take long before Harry finally walked out of the office, Mel did a quick examination and noticed he was perfectly fine, just a bit grumpy. Harry looked at her and opened his mouth to speak, but Umbridge talked over him.

"Miss Dumbledore, please come in."

Harry tried to warn her silently, but Mel didn't understand what he was trying to say. She walked in and closed the door behind her. She froze at the sight of Erick, standing right behind Umbridge's desk. She felt torn between relief and worry, he was there and he would be able to hear everything, but at the same time, he couldn't help her.

"Sit down, sit down! What would you like to drink?"

"Hmm?" Mel said, sitting clumsily.

"Pumpkin juice? Tea? Coffee?"

"I— er... coffee," The girl replied.

"Very well," She turned her back to her and prepared the drink.

Erick stared down at the bandages around her wrist without saying anything, brows furrowed.

"There you are," Umbridge placed the cup in front of her, smiling. "Drink up!"

Mel looked at the cup for a couple of seconds, then at the woman.

"Why am I here?"

"I wanted to have a word with you," Umbridge smiled. "Drink up, dear!"

"I prefer my coffee cold, thank you," Mel replied shortly. "What do you want to talk about?" 

"Silly little things that you might want to tell me, now that your dear uncle is no longer in charge," Umbridge laughed in that childish way of hers. "It must be hard, being the only heir, and with all those rumours around you! It's okay, girl, you don't have to keep enduring nonsense, you can do as you please."

What Mel wanted to do was to throw the coffee at her face, but she was intrigued by her attitude, so she remained silent. Umbridge touched her cup with her wand and pushed it forward.

"There, your coffee's cold now."

Mel reached to hold the cup. The drink was obviously tampered with, but she didn't know what else to do, not until she looked at Erick. He lifted three fingers without Umbridge noticing, then he put one down. She then lowered the cup.

"You know, you won't last long as Headmistress," She said casually.

Umbridge laughed. "I don't think you have the power to decide that, dear."

Erick put down a second finger. Mel grabbed a hold of her wand with her free hand.

"Well, no... but I'm not sure you've got what it takes to control the students." 

Erick put down the third finger. Almost immediately he sneezed and stumbled back, crashing against a few of Umbridge's decorative plates. As the lot fell down and smashed into pieces, Umbridge looked back at the mess, startled by it. Mel vanished the contents of her cup and hid her wand up her sleeve. Erick also waved his wand around, fixing the plates in an instant.

"Sorry, Professor," He said.

"That's quite all right, boy," Umbridge replied, though she looked annoyed. "I should clean the shelf more often... the dust tends to gather around quickly..."

"Okay then, let's finish this up," Mel tilted the cup and pretended to drink its whole content in one long sip. She licked her lips and put it down. "What do you want from me?"

Umbridge's eyes shone with hunger. "Where is your uncle?"

Mel straightened in her chair, she figured it wouldn't hurt to have a bit of fun. 

"Which uncle? I have two, you know. One of them isn't really my uncle but feels like it, I love him dearly. I guess he's looking for a job—"

"I meant Dumbledore," Umbridge said. "Where is he?"

"Oh," Mel blinked. "Out."

"Where?"

"Dunno."

Umbridge blinked, staring at the empty cup.

"I'm sure you must know, hasn't he been teaching you his nasty little secrets for years? Haven't you been planning to attack the Ministry since you started school?"

"Oh yeah, every Wednesday we sit in his office with tea and biscuits, talking about how much we hate Fudge and his stupid hat," Mel snorted.

"Watch your words, child," Umbridge's voice trembled. "Very well, you don't know where he is then, I guess he was wise enough not to trust kids... but you certainly know where Black is hiding, don't you?"

"Under his mother's skirts!" Mel replied brightly. Erick had to turn his snort into a second sneeze.

Sirius would often refer to the Black mansion in the very same way, and Mel thought it funny to use his reference at the moment.

"I caught Sirius in the Gryffindor fire in October, Miss Dumbledore! And he was talking to you and Mr Potter!"

"The only thing you caught that day was cinder."

"Enough of your foolishness, girl!" Umbridge spat. "You will tell me the truth now!"

"The truth?" Mel shrugged. "Alright... I struggle to tell Fred and George apart, especially if they have their backs turned to me. I dislike the taste of treacle tarts but they're Harry's favourite so I don't have the heart to tell him his taste sucks, and I'm actually scared of owls so I always try to find a way to make someone else attach my letters — What else..? Oh! Every time I see your face it makes me think of Neville's pet —"

"ENOUGH!" The woman stood up. "Mr Flint, please leave us alone.

"Erick's eyes widened. "Professor?"

"Make sure no one comes to interrupt, dear."

"But—"

"Do as I say!"

Erick hesitated, then he walked out of the room avoiding any kind of eye contact with her.

"You insolent child," Umbridge said quietly. "You've been under Dumbledore's protection for too long, it's given you a false sense of confidence. That's over. You respond to me."

"You think so?" Mel leaned further on the table. "Would you like to try and see if I listen?"

Umbridge smiled. 

"I know the Dumbledores well enough to know they value their well-being too little. However, I also know that the only way to get through you it's through those you care about. Tell me, how long will it take to break you once I start punishing your friends for your impertinence? I believe some of the members in my Inquisitorial squad are quite eager to start..."

"You wouldn't," She said shortly.

Umbridge giggled, leaning closer. 

"I will break every single thing you care about until you decide to speak."

BOOM!

An explosion rose from the first floor, cutting short their discussion.

"What was — ?"

The explosion spread around, the floor trembled. Umbridge walked up to the door and pushed aside Erick and Harry, who'd been waiting outside.

"What's happening?" Mel asked.

They followed the noise, and soon found the source of it. The twins had ignited a bunch of colourful and magical firecrackers. 

Filch and Umbridge were standing, apparently transfixed with horror, halfway down the stairs. As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to maneuver; it whirled toward Umbridge and Filch with a sinister wheeeeeeeeee. 

Both adults yelled with fright and ducked and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape toward the second floor.

"Hurry, Filch, hurry!" shrieked Umbridge. "They'll be all over the school unless we do something — Stupefy!"

A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow — she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the painting next door, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.

"Don't Stun them, Filch!" shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his suggestion.

"Right you are, Headmistress!" wheezed Filch, who was a Squib and could no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a broom, and began swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the broom was ablaze.

"C'mon," Harry laughed, "We should go before they decide to punish us for this."

Erick and Mel followed, they walked into a fake tapestry and there they found Fred and George.

"Impressive," Harry said brightly. "Very impressive... You'll put Dr Filibuster out of business, no problem..."

"Cheers," George laughed. "Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next... They multiply by ten every time you try..."

"Shouldn't you be trying to help Umbridge?" Fred asked Erick with a smirk.

"I suppose," Erick let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Let's see..."

He peered through the tapestry and yelled 'Evanesco!' and soon enough the firecrackers multiplied. 

"I'm sorry, Professor! I'll go get help!" 

He came back and laughed along with the group of Gryffindors.

"Thank you for helping me back in the office," Mel said, gently nudging his arm. 

Erick made a face. "It's the least I could do after breaking your wrist... I can't do much..."

"You can," Harry replied. "Sabotage Umbridge from the inside. Daphne and the rest of  the Slytherins still have her trust..."

"I can't believe they turned out to be more decent than a Ravenclaw girl," Fred shook his head in disappointment. 

"We're not monsters, you know?" Erick raised a brow. "We just happen to have the common sense you Gryffindors lack."

"Yeah, yeah," Mel rolled her eyes, standing on her tiptoes to surround the boy's shoulders with her arm. "Gryffindor dumb, Slytherin smart— You still have to admit you've had more fun with us than all those years stuck with the snakes..."

"You didn't hear it from me, though," Erick smirked.

"Dear, dear," said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. "Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?"

Umbridge's threats now felt empty as Mel watched her running around, trying to get rid of the firecrackers and failing miserably. The teachers were having a lovely time pretending to not know how to get rid of them. You could feel the solidarity around the school, and it was all directed against Umbridge and her Inquisitorial squad.

Fred and George were treated as war heroes that night. Even students from other houses were there, celebrating their doings. 

"They were wonderful fireworks," Hermione admitted.

"Thanks," said George, surprised and pleased about her reaction. "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock, we're going to have to start again from scratch now..."

"It was worth it, though," said Fred, who was writing down the new orders from his classmates. "If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe..."

"I will admit," Mel sniggered, "I find you really attractive this evening, Fred."

The twin laughed, and to her surprise, a blush crept up his neck. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, a few students whistled and Mel laughed, walking away and following Hermione back to their table.

"Oh, why don't we have a night off?" said Hermione, looking at the way Ron and Harry were pouting at their bags. "After all, the Easter holidays start on Friday, we'll have plenty of time then..."

"Are you feeling all right?" Ron smiled a bit in amusement.

"Now you mention it, d'you know... I think I'm feeling a bit... rebellious."

"Talking about rebellious," Mel started. "Umbridge threatened me — She'll try to convince me to speak by punishing you, so I'd appreciate it if you do your mischief carefully. I'd like to keep my mouth shut for a while."

"That's new," Ron snorted. 

"Shut it," Mel grinned, throwing him a cushion.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked. "I heard the way she was yelling at you..."

"I've had worse," She shrugged. "I mean, little can beat that one time Quirrel broke my skull, or when Lockhart called me dumb... or when an actual death eater kidnapped me — If Umbridge wants to scare me, she'll have to try harder."

"I've been looking everywhere for you!" Mel exclaimed in the middle of a busy hallway. "We need to talk..."

"Are we breaking up?" Fred asked. 

Several students turned their heads in their direction, sudden interest adorning their faces. Mel scowled at them and dragged him away from the crowd. 

"You should learn to be quiet..."

"Never been good at it," He smirked. "I like the attention too much if you haven't noticed..."

"We can talk about that another day..."

"Right," He nodded, adopting a serious expression. "We're here to get a divorce."

"How do you know I'm breaking things up?" Mel scoffed. "What if I'm trying to ask you on a real date?"

"Lady, I've seen the way you look at me — like I'm a pup you can't bring yourself to give away. It's flattering, I didn't know I had that power," He grinned stupidly. "But you're right, it's about time we end things."

"I wish I didn't have to," Mel pouted. "I'm having fun!"

"But we don't like each other like that," Fred reminded her. 

Mel lowered her gaze before quietly replying, "No, we don't."

"And you don't hate Harry now."

"I never did," Mel sighed.

"And I saw him arguing with Cho last night," Fred raised a brow. "So maybe you'll get a second chance after all."

"No," Mel disapproved. "You know is not like that anymore, the whole point of this was to help me get over Harry."

"Yeah," Fred tilted his head, staring at her with a funny little smile. "Sorry, that's true. It's strange... I always thought it'd be you and Harry, now... I have no idea."

The news about her breakup spread around the school in less than an hour. Everyone approached with words of comfort as if she had gone through the death of a loved one, she was starting to regret her decision when Harry sat next to her with such a grim look she knew she wouldn't be able to accept his condolences without spilling the truth.

"Listen," She stated bluntly. "Yes, it's really sad that Fred and I broke up, but—"

"What?" Harry looked at her in disbelief. "You broke up?"

"...You didn't know?"

"When did that happen?" He questioned in confusion.

"A few hours ago," She said, pushing aside the subject. "What were you going to tell me?"

Harry looked around the hall and pointed towards the empty classroom near them. She got up from the bench and followed him inside.

"What's the matter?"

"Snape banned me from his office." 

"What! Why?" She exclaimed. "He has to teach you!"

"That's not the point," He said, "I saw a memory — He made me promised I wouldn't say but... I need to talk about it with you."

"Why?"

"I saw my father..." Harry paused before adding. "Emily as well." 

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @just-here-to-escape-from-reality​ @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Moonlit Forever After Pt 1

Finale and Part 15 of the Moonlit Masquerade Series

Luz woke slowly, bright sunlight shining on her face from the opened, stained glass window. She grumbled to herself, scrunching her face before turning over to snuggle into Amity. She frowned to herself when she found no warm fiancée and reached out, hand sliding across the sheets, searching, but found them empty and cold, she frowned before peeling an eye open to find the other side of the bed empty, devoid of Amity.

“Oh, right…,” she mumbled groggily and frowning. Amity had stayed with Willow last night so they wouldn’t see each other till tonight at the wedding. She grumbled and let her eye slide back closed, almost falling back asleep.

Her eyes popped open, grogginess falling away as she sat up in bed.

The Wedding!

Today is her wedding day!

She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. Once she’s finished she stops and looks around at what has been her bedroom for the last three years, then her and Amity’s for three more. The room is barren save for the bed, her things for the ceremony, and some boxes sitting on the floor, they have already packed up all their things over the last week and moved most of it into the new house sitting just a short walk away. They decided to wait until after the wedding to move in, even though the house has been finished for over a month. Neither could bear to leave the owl house yet, knowing the time would come soon enough, and now it was here. She looks around at the bare walls a little sadly. It feels so final, even though she knows she will be back in this house many, many times from this day forward, even if it won’t be her house anymore, the Owl House will always be home. She carefully makes the bed for the last time before taking a deep breath and smiles as she walks out, passing the clothes hung up on the closet door in their garment bag, she wouldn’t get dressed in those till the last minute before leaving the house. She took the stairs two at a time before sliding into the kitchen.

“Buenos dia, mi familia!” Luz grinned brightly at Eda, Lilith, and King, sitting at the kitchen table. “Today is the day!” she declared as the Clawthorne sisters smiled back at her.

“Excited?” Lilith asked with a grin.

“Terrified actually, but also excited, yes.” she grinned, grabbing some apple blood out of the fridge before sitting down with them.

“Last chance to back out and run away to the knee and start life as a hermit,” Eda said with a grin that spoke of her teasing.

“Not on your life.” Luz grinned making Eda chuckle.

“Just checking.” Eda smiled at her fondly from across the table and Luz smiled back, looking around at them and knowing that there will be many more days like this again, but they will never be quite the same as this one. It’s sad even as it’s exciting, starting a whole new chapter of her life, with Amity as her wife.

“I’m kinda nervous just thinking about it, this time tomorrow I’ll be Luz… well, still Luz Noceda, but you know,” Luz chuckled.

“You’ll be Mrs. Luz Noceda, married to Mrs. Amity Noceda,” Lilith supplied, nodding and Luz’s stomach erupted in butterflies at that, the same way it did every time someone said it.

Amity Noceda

She grins stupidly to herself at the thought and Lilith and Eda share an amused look.

King sniffles, looking up at her from his breakfast.

“Do you have to go?” he blinks up at her with wide eyes and Luz smiled at him, picking him up and squeezing him gently, he lets her, squeezing back, burying his face in her chest.

“Yes, King, I do, but it’s okay. You can always come over to our house, and I’ll still be here all the time, me and Amity,” she assured the little demon, squeezing.

“It’s quite sad in a way.” Lilith smiled at her forlornly. “The end of an era, it won’t be us sitting here having meals as a family anymore.”

“It won’t be exactly the same,” Luz agrees. “But Amity and I will come over often, you can bet on it.” She set the demon down in his chair and he sniffles but nods. “You’re still gonna be my ring bearer tonight, right, boo-boo buddy?” Luz asks him and he jumps back up, nodding.

“No one will bear those rings better than the King of Demons!” he declares, clawed fist raised in the air, and luz smiles at him.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You and Amity might be the Noceda’s after tonight, but you’ll both always be Clawthorne’s” Eda declared and Lilith nodded in agreement. Luz smiled at them, truly touched by that.

“I could probably convince Amity to let us be the Noceda-Clawthorne’s.” She grinned.

“Aw, that’s too much of a mouthful, Kid, but I appreciate it.” Eda smiled at her.

They eat breakfast in comfortable silence, pancakes, and enjoy this last breakfast that is not the last, but it’s the last one that will ever be like this again.

Luz pulls out her scroll and taps Amity’s contact and types out a quick message.

‘Good morning, my soon to be wife! Can’t wait to see you, mi amor. <3’

She slipped it back into her pocket and looked up at everyone.

“Welp, the caterers, and stuff are in charge of getting everything set up tonight for the reception at the school, and the rest of the wedding party promised to get the chairs and stuff put up at the tree, so I guess I have a while to kill before I have to go pick up Mami. You guys wanna do something? One last unmarried, family hoorah?” she looked around the table.

Eda and Lilith looked at each other curiously before a grin broke out across both their faces.

Luz blinked.

~ ~ Amity yawned as she slowly rolled over in bed, immediately reaching for the warm body she’s so used to and is disappointed when she finds only cold sheets. Her eyes slide open and she’s met with an unfamiliar room and remembers she’s at Willow’s place, while Luz had stayed at home to spend a final day as a resident of the owl house with the others before tonight. She frowns, sitting up, it was strange, sleeping alone after almost never doing so for the last three years. Even during the war when they were out in the field they would curl up together in a tent or even on the ground to rest. Not waking up with Luz’s gentle breath in her ear or her arm wrapped around her; she doesn’t like it. Though she knows that after today it won’t happen again.

She slid out of bed and got dressed, passing her dress bag hanging on the wall as she walked out into the living room, checking her scroll, and seeing Luz's message. She smiled to herself and tapped out one back.

'I can't wait to see you either, querida. Xoxo'

Willow, Viney, and her sister were standing around the kitchen when she walked in.

"There's one of the brides to be!" Emira grinned.

“Hey!” Willow looked up from the stove, smiling.

“Mornin’.” Viney nodded with a smile.

“Good morning.” She smiled at them as she sat at the table.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Viney asked.

“Yes ...and no,” she sighed, running her hands through her loose auburn hair. “I’m nervous, but excited too…,” she mumbled and Viney chuckled as Willow and Emira set plates on the table and they all sat to eat.

“Nervous? You're marrying the biggest dork in the Boiling Isles,” Emira snorted. “Granted, an incredibly brave, sweet, and powerful dork, but a dork nonetheless.”

“Maybe, but I love that, sweet, brave dork.” Amity smiled to herself as the others grinned. “I want tonight to be… and I hate this word; perfect,” Amity hummed, playing with her eggs.

“I’m sure that no matter what happens it will be perfect.” Willow smiled at her.

“Even if something blows up, it’ll still be perfect for you two, cause at the end of the night, come hell or high water, you’re gonna be married,” Viney agreed.

“And let’s be real, it’s Luz, so the chances of an explosion are not as low as we might hope,” Emira laughed.

“Don’t say that…,” Amity moaned as they laughed.

“Did you ever finish writing your vows?” Willow asks as they eat.

“Ah, yes!” She jumped up and hurried into Willow’s guest room before coming back with a stack of paper. She set it and her pen on the table and the other three looked at it questioningly. Emira set her fork down and reached over to pick up the hefty stack of papers and flipped through it, eyebrows drawn between her eyes as she read some, flipping through the many pages covered in her sisters neat, sloping penmanship before she finally looked up at Amity, who was flushed. She knows what’s coming. She went overboard, she knows.

“These are your vows?” Emira blinked holding up the literal sheath of paper.

“Yes…” her cheeks darkened.

Emira, Viney, and Willow share a look.

“It’s an essay…” Viney cocks a brow.

“This is a book…,” Willow says, failing to hide her amusement.

“Mittens… you’ve written a manifesto of your love for Luz…,” she says, flipping through the pages with a laugh.

“I got going and then found I had a lot to say…,” Amity mumbled, face hot.

“Obviously,” Viney barked a laugh.

“I’m sure everything in here is super sweet and cute, sis, but we don’t have all night for you to harangue about why Luz is the most thoughtful and wonderful person who ever lived in any realm.” Emira grinned knowingly at her making Viney laugh harder and Willow coughed, unconvincingly into her hand.

“I know…,” Amity whined, resting her head in her hands. “I can’t figure out how to cut it down…,” she mumbled.

“Let’s try this…” Emira took a blank piece of paper from the bottom and ripped it in half and slid it across to Amity. “Only what you can fit on this,” she said.

“That’s not nearly enough space…” Amity frowned looking down at the half sheet of paper.

“It is, only the really important things, the things you really want to tell her tonight. It should fit on this slip of paper perfectly,” Willow agrees.

“Yeah, you have the rest of your life to wax poetic to her about why she’s the best thing since sliced bramble wheat bread.” Emira nodded. “And if you actually want to be married before tomorrow morning, you need to cut it down.” she smirked as Amity scowled at her.

“I have thirty snails that say Luz forgot to write vows,” Viney piped up over her toast.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Willow smirked, if there’s anyone who knows Luz nearly as well as Amity, it’s Willow.

“I will, my dear sister-in-law can be just as sappy as Mittens.” Emira grinned and Amity frowned at the couple as they shook hands.

Luz would never..., that's what she wants to say, but Amity knows Luz, knows she can be as unpredictable as the ocean. Whether or not she remembered to write her vows is a toss-up, yet Amity can't find it in herself to be annoyed by this, it was all part of Luz's charm. She wrote as much on page five of her own vows.

"So!" Emira starts, pushing the slip of paper and pen toward her. "What do you really, really want to tell Luz tonight when you promise to be her partner in love, insanity, and anarchy for the rest of your lives?" Her sister asks with a grin and Amity chewed her bottom lip and picks up the pen, but she doesn't hesitate, the words come easy, and before she knows it the paper is filled. She reads it over a few times before sliding it back across the table to the other three.

Emira picks it up and the other two look over her shoulders as they read. Emira bites her lip as her eyes glaze over. Viney's mouth hangs open and Willow just smiles and they all look up at her.

"Well damn…," Emira says thickly at last.

~ ~

“Faster, faster!” King squealed from Luz’s shoulders as they sped through the air on her staff.

“Whoo!” Luz whooped as she dived past Eda and Lilith on their own staves. “I know you two are faster than that or are you that old now?” she goads as she and King fly past the sisters. “So much for the ‘Mighty Clawthorne sisters’,” she laughed and King cackled.

“Oh, those are fightin’ words!” Eda shook a fist as she took off with a wicked grin, gaining on Luz. Lilith hot on her heels, scowling as they zipped between the bones of the Isles.

Luz laughed as she flew through the air, barrel rowling and flipping as Eda and Lilith chased her, their laughter echoing through the air as they chased each other through the sky.

Eda and Lilith pulled to a stop next to each other, hanging in the air and laughing as they watched Luz shoot straight up into the sky.

“There she goes.” Eda grinned, pulling out her scroll and tapping the record button, as she held it up.

“What are you doing?” Lilith cocked a brow at her sister.

“Nothing…,” Eda said far too innocently.

Luz pulled her staff straight up, rising higher and higher and higher into the sky, wind whipping at her face and hair., the Isles growing smaller and smaller as she climbed into the open blue sky.

“Ready, Buddy?” Luz grinned as the air thinned around them.

“I’m the King of Demons, I was born ready!” King screeched, hunkering his body against her back, claws dug into her shirt.

Luz allowed the magic of her staff to fade and she slowed as gravity’s grip took hold and pulled her back toward the ground. She let herself go limp, save her grip on her staff, and started to fall, she let it drag her for a second before flinging herself into a few spins and flips

King’s exhilarated scream is swallowed up by the howling winds as she righted herself and held her arms out, whizzing toward the ground nose first and closed her eyes, feeling the cold wind whip at her face and clothes.

At this moment, as she plummeted back toward the earth, she can only think about how incredibly lucky she is that she chased Owlbert through the portal door six years ago.

There were moments that weren't so magical, naturally.

Sometimes she and Amity fought, argued over stupid things and frustrated each other, or she’d have bitter disagreements with members of the covens about the politics of the Isles and how things should be under the new order, and sometimes, even though she tried to avoid it, and though not often, she would still get anti-human rhetoric from some witches and demons.

There had also been the truly dark days of course.

She’d hurt her mother, she knows and feels guilty about it, because as much as she wishes she hadn’t, and that she wanted to take that pain away, she knows that she wouldn’t change the past, and that eats at her some nights, the whispering of selfishness in the back of her mind, but she’s seen and lived through enough things to know that there's no point living a life of regret; it changes nothing.

Lilith had kidnapped her, tried to kill her, and captured Eda, making her lose her magic and she’d destroyed the portal trying to right her wrong and save her mentor.

Eda and Lilith lost their magic, which took them a long time to come to grips with. Sometimes they had been bitter and angry about it, and Luz tried her best to help them adjust in those first few years, showing them how to do things the non-magic way, or the human way as she called it, to make it seem a little less dreary; having their staffs helped.

Then the war had come and they had killed and struggled to survive for two years, feeling like the fighting would never end. Blood and fire had drowned the Isles in so much red Luz still saw it in her nightmares. At times she could still feel the dried, flaking liquid under her fingernails and smell the metallic tinge in the air mixed with smoke and ash that choked her on the days her PTSD reared its ugly head.

As dark as those days had been, they are shadows in her memories, drowned out by the bright light of the last six years spent on the Isles and they are the farthest thing from her mind today.

She met Eda and King, started learning magic, then she met two incredible, lifelong friends, she knew would always be by her side in the form of Willow and Gus, among the others she knew she could call on anytime, day or night and they would come running.

She’d fought a war and changed The Boiling Isles forever, for better or for worse.

She’d met her best friend and fallen head over heels in love with her. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for Amity, and she knows she is loved back just as fiercely, even when they argue, they always make up quickly, they learned long ago to just talk it out.

After fourteen years of feeling like she was an outsider looking in, a character in the wrong play, trying desperately to blend into the scenery; she had finally found the place where she belonged.

She feels weightless.

“Luz!” King shrieks in her ear.

She smiled, opening her eyes as the ground was rushing up to meet them.

She twirled her staff beneath her, feet planted on it and with one hand she jerked upward, pulling them out of their free fall, arcing out of the dive a scant fifteen feet from the ground and Mochuelo’s wings flap as they soar back into the sky toward Eda and Lilith with loud whoops of joy.

“I’ve never felt so alive!” King is squeaking, breathless.

“Nice, Luz,” Eda laughed, tapping a few buttons on her scroll before slipping it back into her hair.

“Quite the graceful maneuvering.” Lilith smiled and Luz only grinned, planting herself back down on the staff.

They hang around, drifting lazily through the air and enjoying the scene of the Isles sprawled out beneath them in all its glory. The bones of the Titan laying still and quiet in eternal slumber, belying the constant hustle and bustle far below. The sun has moved to the western side of the sky and Luz knows that she needs to go pick up her mother. More than half the day has slipped through their fingers, having felt more like only a couple of hours then the closer to six or seven it’s been.

“I need to get Mami,” she finally announces and they know it’s time to go home.

“Right, we gotta get ready too, especially Lily since she officiating the whole shebang.”

Lilith nods and they fly back toward the owl house.

~

Amity and the other girls spend the day primping to the extreme at Emira's insistence.

She would be fine just sitting at Willow's house and hanging out as they prepped but she gives in quickly when Emira offers to pay for all of them, her wedding gift to her sister, who can’t refuse her gift.

The Boiling Isles version of a spa is very similar to the ones in the human world according to Luz, though she admits she’d only ever seen them in shows, she’d only been fourteen when she’d come to the Isles so she’d never actually been to one, but she said the ones in the Isles were pretty similar to what she’d seen, with a few key differences. Such as massages being given by multi-tentacled demons, which was where Emira and Viney had gone, but she digressed.

“This was really nice of your sister,” Willow hummed, sinking further down into the warmth of the hot tub.

“It really was, even if it was unnecessary…,” she agreed.

“Speak for yourself.” Willow looked at her and Amity laughed.

“Has helping with the wedding been that taxing?” Amity cocked her head and grinning.

“No, not that, recently I’ve been getting a visitor to my shop…,” Willow mumbled.

Amity looked at her questioningly.

“Boscha,” Willow grumbled out a name that had caused her nothing but dread during their Hexside years.

"Boscha!?” Amity jerked up. “I haven’t thought about her in a long time… she’s been to your shop?” Willow nodded. “She hasn't been bothering you or anything has she?” Amity frowned and Willow barks a laugh.

“As if she could,” Willow smirked and it’s well deserved. Amity had watched her childhood friend take out scores of loyalists over the two years the war had raged. Last she had heard Boscha’s family had sequestered her away from all the fighting, choosing neutrality. Cowardice, Amity called it, but the result was the same, Boscha was a gnat on the wall compared to Willow.

“So what does she want?”

Willow sighed.

“She comes in twice a week, tries to make small talk with me, buys some flowers or plants and leaves,” she said. “… she apologized, for all the things she did to me when we were kids, and wants to make amends for our school years.”

Amity doesn't know what to say to that.

“She seems different… but I don’t know, after all the things she did to all of us, it’s hard to brush that aside even if she really is different. Hell, she almost destroyed you and Luz.”

“It did end up working out for the best in the end, Luz and I would never have had the courage to be public with our relationship if we hadn’t been forced into the light like that; we were too afraid.”

“You’re condoning what she did?” Willow asks incredulously.

“Absolutely not, I’m just saying that it happened and it ended up working out in our favor, nothing more.” Amity shook her head.

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” Willow hummed.

“How’s the water, girls?” they looked up as Emira and Viney walked over.

“Great, how was your massage?” Amity asked.

“Great, I don't know what Luz is talking about, you just can’t give a good massage if you only have two arms.” Emira shook her head as they slipped in beside the other two.

They sat chatting a while before Willow’s scroll dinged and she sat up out of the water and drew a spell circle, the device popping into existence.

“Oh, Eda sent me something…” she tapped the video and watched, the only sound coming from the scroll was the sound of static and wind but a grin was breaking out across Willow’s face.

“What, what did she send you?” Amity asked.

“I don’t know if I can show you, you’re not supposed to see Luz until tonight.” Willow hummed, her grin was teasing, and to say Amity’s interest was piqued was an understatement.

“I think that only counts for in person, I mean, her scroll background is a picture of the two of them together after all,” Emira hummed.

“Checks out,” Viney nodded in agreement.

Willow turned the scroll around to show them the video from Eda of Luz on her staff, climbing higher and higher into the sky, King on her back.

“Oh, we’ve done this before!” Viney said.

“What is she doing?” Emira asks.

“It’s called free falling, watch.”

Finally, Luz reaches the apex of her climb, and then she’s falling and Amity’s chest lurches automatically but relaxes as she watches her fiancee's bright grin as she spins and flips through the air before just letting herself bolt rapidly toward the ground, past the camera, looking serene and at peace.

‘Is she going to splatter?’ Eda’s voice comes out over the speaker and they hear Lilith grumble in reply.

‘Amity would kill us both…’

That makes them laugh.

Finally, just before she meets the ground, Luz pulls her feet atop the staff and pulls up in a graceful arch, flying back toward Eda as she and King whoop with excitement, and then the video ends.

“She is a riot…” Emira smirked.

“Luz in a nutshell,” Willow laughs and Viney nods.

Amity just smiles to herself.

Titan, does she love that crazy woman.

When they get back to Willow’s they start getting dressed

Amity tried hard to follow Luz’s advice and not be so controlling about the things that didn’t matter and let her three bridesmaids pick their own outfits for the evening, though she is secretly glad that the three seem to have at least coordinated with each other and are wearing the same burgundy colored dress, much darker than her own, but in the same family, so she’s happy. She wonders, not for the first time that day, what Luz and the boys picked out.

“Have any of you seen what Luz and the boys are wearing? I don’t want to know what, I'm just curious.” They all looked at each other and shook their heads.

“I doubt they coordinated with each other.” Willow planted a hand on her hip and sighed.

“Well, this could be interesting…” Viney grinned, combing out her hair.

“So long as my future wife is not dressed as a werewolf, it’s fine,” Amity hummed to herself as she curled her hair into loose ringlets, making the others laugh.

“I’m surprised you got Bump to let you have the reception at Hexside,” Emira says.

“Really?” Willow looks at the older woman amused. “Amity and Luz were both top of their tracks, and became the two most famous witches of the war, especially after they killed Belos, they’re legendary Hexside Alumni, it’s great press for the school, being able to say they got married there.”

“We're not getting married there, we’re just having the after-party there,” Amity reminded. “And he offered it to us when we invited him.”

“Wha- really?” Emira laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised really, you were always a teacher’s pet,” Emira teased and Amity huffed.

“I’d also remind you that Hieronymus Bump was a member of the rebellion and Luz and I fought side by side with him on many occasions, he even saved Luz’s life once. We wanted to invite him, he was our headmaster as kids, but he’s our friend now.”

“Sometimes forgot how powerful old Bump really is,” Viney added her two cents. “Still, nice of him to let you use the school courtyard, especially since it’s so close to the grom tree.”

They chatted about their old headmaster and school as they went about getting ready.

[bouncyirwin]

Peep peep, personal post ahead you’ve been warned!

I forgot how to do that whole read more button thing, I’m gonna try but in case it doesn’t work, cue ‘read more’ tag here.

[[MORE]]

This is not like a sad post or anything (at least I’ll try not to make it so—much). Just a ‘sorry’ sort of post. In the recent months I’ve kind of withdrawn from all my social circles, pretty much abandoned tumblr for a few months and stopped talking to all my friends.

It was not intentional of course gods no, I love those peeps to death. At first it was just work pressure! 10-12 hour shifts really do leave you with little to no energy. I know it’s not a good excuse, that one could theoretically spare a few moments to send a text but it just ... felt like an empty gesture? The ‘hi, how are you, i’m fine thank you’ few paragraphs conversation just felt so superficial. Like sending your boss an email or something. It felt like my friends would just grow tired of these. So I guess it was easier to just check in every couple of weeks. But I felt absolutely shit about it anyway.

In a way, when I was working, I accepted that I as a human had a limited capacity for giving and that burn out was a real thing. So I could I suppose forgive myself for not always being there. I still felt bad (still feel incredibly bad) about it, but it is what it is.

And then I finished my project ... and things got extremely bad. So I don’t know about you, but do you know when your body finally has time to relax and it all crashes down on you? Sort of like your body was trying incredibly hard to keep it together for as long as it had to and then it suddenly realised it didn’t anymore and sorta collapsed on you?

So that happened. I got really sick. I’ve been bedridden for a while. And then things got even worse. Because I lost family members. And my mother became ill too because of an injury. And my sister’s mental health dramatically detoriated and this place I was resting in became a bit of a warzone.

Long story short! This is not a self-pity post. But I realise in my quest to stay afloat, and by being burnt out I’ve neglected a lot of people ... who literally don’t know what I’m going through because I don’t even have the energy to let them know.

I have amazing friends. If you know me, if we talk, you’re likely one of those wonderful people I hold very close to my heart. And many of those people check up on me, send me texts and they’re so precious and wonderful and I adore them to pieces. But I realise that perhaps those short, superficial like texts that life has forced me to resort to might have given some people the wrong impression.

I’m not trying to push anyone away. I enjoy the company of those people a lot. When they text it makes my day. My week. My month. Because believe it or not, outside of my online circle of friends I’m really not close to many people. In my real life I’m so isolated from my family and colleagues you would not believe bouncy and that person could ever be the same person. But it is what it is. I’m not complaining. I’m apologising.

I’m so sorry if I have unintentionally, stupidly, idiotically, made you for a second believe that you matter an iota less than the absolute wonderful perfection you are to me. I’m deeply deeply sorry if for a second you believed I was pushing you away or just didn’t care as much anymore.

It is not true. Life likes to kick my ass sometimes. I don’t always cope like a normal human being, I withdraw, I isolate myself, I forget how to reach out, and I lose all my energy. I’m sure it happens to some other people too. I’m hoping you’ll understand. And I want you to know that you can reach out to me and let me know if I’ve made you feel that way and we can talk about it. Because you don’t deserve to feel like crap because of me. And I never ever want that to be the case. Yes this is literally aimed at all my friends, if you’re thinking ‘nah probably not me’ yeah, you.

I also want you to know that I do understand if you’ve decided you would rather distance yourself from me. And that I don’t take offence. I realise that lately I’m receiving more than giving. That people are constantly reaching out and I’m not. And that’s not fair. And I am sorry. It’s just the circumstance.

So, I guess in this personal word vomit I’m trying to say I love you, you matter to me, I miss you, you are on my mind, but I’m burned out, and texting seems insurmountable, and my anxiety won’t let me reach out half the time. I’m sorry if you felt under appreciated or abandoned, it was not, and it will never be, my intention.

Sending you loads of love.

Hoping to hear from you guys soon! Take care, stay safe ❤️

- friendly neighborhood not so bouncy irwie

[[EDIT]]: I want to add that I feel strongly about this because when you guys reach out it’s like the only ray of sunlight in my life. It keeps me from falling down too deep, it blocks out the negative thoughts in head, and it’s constantly saving my life. I don’t want to lose anyone. You’re all too precious. ❤️

[memoriashell]

hey i really like you ( can we go out? )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru, techincally some background Ishimaru / Oowada, Makoto gets a few lines, and Syo’s present for a bit in the begining.

crossposted on ao3

Notes: hello here's your late day five of @tokomaruweek​ week!! valentine's day prompt!!

the format for the texting section might look a little funky on tumblr since there’s no easy way of aligning right side / left side text but hopefully it’s obvious enough who’s texting what.

heads up i'll be skipping day 6 for now probably! i’ll come back to it when i’ve finished the rest of the week, i just might get stuck on it for a hot minute and i’d like to get the rest of the week out of the way first since i'm already behind.

anyways it's probably also noteworthy to mention that this drabble works on the basis you have a basic understanding of the cultural differences in how japan celebrates valentine's day. i was originally going to try and incorporate white day into this drabble instead of just mentioning it but i wasn’t super happy with how this one was turning out anyways and figured it was best to just get this out as it is!!

i also feel like i should clarify bc that i realize the way i characterize toko in everything this week has made it seems like she hates kiyotaka’s guts but honestly i think they’d be real close!! i really like them as two outsider kids who can relate to each other. they are two sides of the same narrative coin and in this essay i will /j anyways please understand she rags on him from a place of ( platonic ) LOVE. and also bc they r both my cc’s i could never be that mean to either of them. well. no meaner than canon is to them.

edit: forgot tws. nothing super huge bc it's mostly fluff, but it does refrence bullying ( although would you consider faked love confessions / etc as bullying? it's just cruel :( anyways. )

Summary:  valentine's day has never been good for ugly girls ( and hopeless romantics ) like her. 

Valentine's Day. Every girl’s least favorite day.

Or, well, at the very least, her least favorite. Uh, one of her least favorite holidays? Then again, it’s not like Touko really has a ‘favorite’ in the first place, so maybe her point is moot— but she’s getting side tracked here.

One would presume that a romantic like her, an author who writes romance for a living, would live for a holiday that's practically centered around love and romance, but they would be wrong. It’s a miserable reminder of a day for her who has practically been scorned by the idea of relationships. It is a bitter reminder of failed loves and societal norms that she’s never been able to meet.

( Ugly. Rude. Awkward. Unsociable. So what if they’re right? Who is she to tell them they’re wrong? )

If it is not for the fact that she is pretty sure Ishimaru will be at her door if she doesn’t show up, she would probably skip class today. Oh, to be a confident gay man on Valentine's Day and not a closeted lesbian who feels the need to meet heteronormative societal norms. It’s unfair because not only is he ( mostly ) unaffected by this kind of holiday, he’s probably one of the people who care the least about the delicate social intricacies ( and romanticism ) of a holiday like this one. If nothing else, so she can’t say she envies the position this puts Oowada in, because Ishimaru would probably just see this as a learning moment. Anyways before she sounds too envious of her peers for getting their shit together, she just wants it to be unknown that she thinks it’s really unfair that he would get to judge her reasons for wanting to skip school.

( Actually, if she fessed up the deep-seated issues related to why she’d rather not have to be present on a day like today, the last thing he’d do it judge but that’s not really something she wants to acknowledge right now )

Moving on.

Despite the fact that, internally, she is making a fuss about a holiday, she suspects that most of her class probably doesn’t really care about these things. That doesn't mean she feels any less pressured to conform. It’s not like any of them would want chocolates from someone like her anyways, so it’s not like she really needs to be worried...

It’s not the end of the world, stop being such a debbie downer! Syo butts in, ever so helpful. By which she means is very, very unwanted and unhelpful. All the same, they ( unfortunately ) have a point and if she has to put up with this shitty day then at the very least she’d like to have breakfast before someone sees fit to break down her door.

You technically don’t have to do anything. Syo sounds almost too enthusiastic to help with the ‘issue’ at hand.

Using you to escape my problems isn’t always a viable strategy. Touko rebukes. Nor is it a choice, usually.

Only because you try and make yourself as miserable as possible by making things worse for you.

She has nothing to say to that, and instead focuses on braiding her hair to be passably presentable.

“Fukawa-san?” Oh, what she wouldn’t give to not have to hear her name today. Granted, Touko doesn’t think hearing her name being called on any given day is usually a good sign, but it still feels too early in the day to willingly put up with anything and shoots a glare at Naegi, standing in front of her desk. It probably doesn’t help that he sounds nervous for some godforsaken reason, but that’s technically not out of the ordinary, and she’s pretty sure Syo has something to do with that. “Sorry, uh...I was going to try and catch you at your locker this morning, but I guess I must’ve missed you, huh?”

She gives him the most deadpan, withering stare she can muster at the moment as if to say obviously. She’d even turned up to class early because she figured that dealing with whoever else would be in class would be more manageable than having to deal with anything going on in the halls ( because Hope’s Peak is not a normal school and god knows if something can go wrong, it will, and she is not having any of it today ). She assumed that if she looked busy, anyone with any common sense would leave her alone, but Makoto is not the brightest, clearly.

It still kind of throws her for a loop, however, that he chooses to approach her today, of all days. If she were anyone else, or if this exchange happened in any other context, she is sure that him acting like this on Valentine's Day would seem like it was setting up for a love confession. If it weren’t for the fact that Naegi already had a partner so, that’s probably not an issue— not that that would be a theoretical issue, because hey it’s not like Naegi was likely to be the kind of person cruel enough to fake a love confession. That’s definitely not something that’s happened to Touko before and gotten her hopes up only to be horribly crushed and definitely not the reason she’s been particularly defensive today. Nope.

( Yeah, okay, she’s not fooling anyone, but thankfully the only one aware of this is herself. And Syo, but both of these things are clear givens )

It occurs to her that Naegi hasn’t said anything, waiting for her to say something to him, and she grits her teeth irritably. “Wh-What? Spit it out already.”

“Err...are you...” He starts to say something and then seems to think better of it, sheepishly ducking his head for a moment before holding a bag out to her. “Sorry. Komaru asked me to bring these to you. Kirigiri-san had to convince her to not try and sneak into the main building just to bring these to you herself.”

It takes a long minute for her to process what he says before snatching the bag from his grip and holding it close to herself. Friendship chocolates...? That’s probably what’s in the bag. Which is a pretty nice thought in itself— Touko doesn’t usually get gifts like this. It almost makes her not want to touch the bag and ruin the illusion, refrain from eat whatever’s in the bag: but honestly if she doesn’t, Syo will probably make sure to savor it, so she won’t even pretend like that’s an option.

( There’s a part of her that feels a little guilty too, that she hadn’t even considered that Komaru might do something like this and have something prepared for her in return, but if she’d made something and not gotten anything then she’d look like a fool, and it’s not like she would’ve been able to get it to her easily anyways, so she really shouldn’t feel guilty about accepting it, but— )

“I’m glad you like it. She was kind of worried about how you’d take it.” Naegi speaking breaks through her current train of thought and is he still standing here? Had she been stupidly smiling to herself? How embarrassing!

“It’s n-n-not like that...and what kind of person do, do you take me for, anyways...!” Well, if she had been showing any sort of positive emotion on her face, she isn’t anymore. Touko takes this as an opportunity to shove the bag into her book bag, before anyone can notice. For some reason, he looks vaguely disappointed. “I was...ugh, I was just th-thinking that it was surprising she’d trust you with it given the, the track record with how your l-luck turns out!”

Makoto opens his mouth to refute this but thank god someone calls his name from the doorway, and she takes that opportunity goes back to her books before he can try and say anything further to her.

touko-chan!!!!

makoto said he gave you my gift successfully so i know u got it

i think

i didn’t expect u to thank me or anything but it’d be nice

pls tell me u got it right

did u at least read the note i left in there for u

Does Komaru not have homework, or what? She could at least give her a few minutes to try and get a word in. It’s not her fault math is a bitch and Touko is too stubborn to maybe talk to one of her peers into explaining the subject to her.

                                                     Yes, by some miracle I did manage to get it.

                                                                                                             Thanks.

                                                                                        You’re a good friend.

                                                                                                               Sorry.

                                                                                         Is that all? I’m busy.

That is not all, apparently, because Komaru forgoes texting to call her directly. If it were anyone else, she’d ignore it; but since it’s her she figures she can probably talk and do math at the same time.

“So you didn’t check the bag at all?” Komaru speaks before she can even consider greeting her, and Touko rolls her eyes despite the fact that she cannot see it.

“Hello to y-you too. Uh…honestly, I shoved it in my bag earlier and...and haven’t checked on it since. I assumed it was j-j-just candy, and it’s probably safer hid from Syo there.”

“Ugh! I told Makoto to mention to you that I put something else in there. And there’s a box for Syo in there too!” She can practically hear her pouting through the phone line. “Well, uh— I guess that’s fine since you’re busy...? Just check it when you get the chance, okay? Please? I promise it’ll make sense.”

“I got it, I got it. I’ll take a break once I finish this up and check it out. Good enough for you?”

“Mhm! Thank you Touko-chan! I’ll let you go now, so you can focus. Bye!” If Touko wasn’t mistaken ( but probably is ), she sounded almost nervous, the way her words come out in one rushed breath.

Admittedly, now she’s too intrigued by whatever had Komaru pressed enough to make sure she was aware of it, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to focus now, so...opening the bag it is. She grumbles and groans to herself for a moment, stretching as she gets up from her desk to grab her bag.

She hadn’t really noticed at the time, but now that she thinks about it, there’s some definite weight to this thing, more than she’d expect from some candies ( even now knowing that apparently Komaru had accounted for Syo as well ). Not much though, and she probably would’ve just passed it off for the box the sweet is stored in if she were to really think about it, but now she figures that’s probably not the case. Touko peeks inside the bag a little hesitantly— curiosity wins out over anxiety in the end, and spots what appears to be a small booklet along with a box of chocolates.

Oh god.

She braces herself because, this is probably some kind of manga if she knows Komaru and ( unfortunately ) not a mini-novella but otherwise has no idea what to expect. And once she opens it, she has to thank whatever higher being made sure Makoto didn’t say a thing to her about it because there’s absolutely no way she would have been able to keep a straight face if she’d looked at this in class.

One, she forgot how generally talented Komaru was at this type of stuff. Obviously, still room for improvement, but not nearly as bad as Touko would have thought. Two, this is not really a manga, but a fucking thinly veiled love confession, complete with the most casual ‘Hey I really like you, can we go out?’ Third, she’s extremely glad Komaru did not insist on being on the phone while she checked this out because she does not think she can coherently answer that right now.

In fact, it takes Touko a good half hour to calm herself down enough before she can even consider texting her a response. There’s no way she’s embarrassing herself any further by calling her about it, even if that might have been a more meaningful exchange, but like Komaru just confessed to her through manga so clearly they’re already past that point.

                                                                                                     You’re a dork.

                                           I hate that you’re using your talents for this though.

:)

thats not a no?

                                                                                                          Not a yes.

                         Very tempted to make it a no for making me suffer through this.

touko-chan;;;;;

be gentle to my poor heart if ur gonna reject me :(

                                                                                              Ugh. I was kidding.

                                                                                                      Yes you idiot.

                                                    Just don’t use manga for this stuff next time?

ok!!!!! :)

actually i promise nothing

lol sorry ♡

                                                                                                  You’re the worst.

hehehehehe >:)

i love you too!!

are you busy this week??

let’s meet up!!!

                                             Some of us care about our grades. As should you.

                                                            But Thursday and Friday are lighter days.

                                                                      Yeah yeah. I like you or something.

thank uuuuu ♡♡♡

She chews on her lip as she rereads the message and mulls over it as she tries to ignore the flip-flop of her stomach. It’ll be fine. She’ll just aim to have something planned out for White Day in return.

[bird-in-a-cage]

#42 from the prompt list... I mean I'm sorry but... I NEED TO SEE THAT.

Wow, am I sorry this took so long! This was a tough prompt but, thanks to @cockasinthebird for being a wonderful human being, we got through it. So I hope this was worth the wait!

Prompt list is here if anyone wants to throw a prompt at me!

#42: “I didn’t say “sex party” as in orgy.  I said “hex party” as in witches.”

So far, college had been okay. It was as hard and challenging as Steve had expected, but he was getting on almost well. He had to spend a lot of time studying in the library, reading and re-reading source materials, typing, editing, deleting and starting all over again with essays and assignments sure. But it was different from high school, on a deep level he wanted to be here, amongst the old stone buildings that either held no heat at all or far too much depending on the weather outside, surrounded by people who also shared a passion for learning. It was different to focus on what he wanted to learn instead of just having to cram a little bit of everything into his brain everyday.

Turns out, if he was just allowed to go a little slower and take his time, he wasn’t as dumb as everyone back home at thought.

He’d gotten into college by the skin of his teeth, pulling far too many all nighters and living off five hour energy to drag his grades up when it was almost too late, pulling in every favour he had to retake anything below a C with nothing but a prayer and a pleading smile, somehow managing to not go completely insane in the process. Getting a 3 point grade average at graduation had been nothing short of a miracle. He wanted to say his parents had nothing to do with his acceptance into quite a nice school, but in reality Steve knew they probably greased a palm or two. Maybe helped pay for the new set of band uniforms that were recently unveiled.

The college itself was beautiful. Steve had fallen for it on his first visit. Old stone buildings, a large green campus area, a good surrounding community, regular activities and groups to go meet up with and try different things with now he was getting out of small town Hawkins and away from being stuck in what he knew. 

There was something a bit…odd about the college though. Steve would be sat in the library, for example, finishing up a comparison piece when he would hear the telltale low battery beep from his headphones. He always forgot to bring a charger. He knew it was on his nightstand back in the dorm room, wrapped around the drawer handle so he wouldn’t forget to lift it this time, so it was pointless checking his bag for it. He would go to pack his things away, open up his slouchy backpack and there it would be, his exact one because he’d wrapped a piece of green tape around it when his roommate kept stealing it and swearing blind he hadn’t, laying curled around his water bottle..

That wasn’t the only example though. Things would just appear when he was looking for them. Books he needed from a completely different section would just happen to be on the shelf he was currently looking at. If a flavour of soda was sold out at a vending machine, he would pick another, but the one he originally wanted would tumble out, ice cold and somehow impossibly refreshing. None of them were a major inconvenience by far, but it was just odd. 

The only small downside to the college of his dreams is that he forgot to investigate anything about the fraternities and sororities. Steve didn’t really have any desire to be in any frat even if offered, they were just houses for boys to pretend not to be at least a little bicurious as they bumped into each other all sweaty playing sports, using basketball as an excuse to touch each other’s muscles. Flat out no homo-ing each other. Steve was out and proud at college, didn’t need an excuse anymore other than “you’re hot, you wanna?”. The days of bi-panic and needing a thinly veiled excuse such as helping someone he thought was cute off the ground in the middle of a match were long gone.  Steve had been to a couple of frat parties, naturally, everyone did. They were kinda fun if you hung around outside away from the thick, choking air of sexual tension that was threatening to bubble over at any minute.

Everyone knew frat houses were just potential orgy dens, right?

There was one frat house though, just off campus and to the right a little, that gave off a weird vibe. The Omega House. It didn’t look that special, had dark grey panelling on the outside, windows trimmed in white, the omega symbol on the outer wall above the door painted in silver that reflected the sunlight and looked almost like real silver. Like the college itself, it was just odd. As far as Steve could tell it didn’t have many members, only four, as far as he’d counted, would walk around in blazing orange letterman jackets with that emblem stitched into the back and a smaller one on the front right breast. He didn’t know what majors they took, probably all on sports scholarships with how stacked a couple of them looked, and one liked to hang around the library. Always in sunglasses even indoors, tight jeans to combat the slightly too big jacket. Blonde hair shaved at the sides but longer on top, not wildly long but just enough for natural loose curls to develop.

Not that Steve had been looking at how handsome he was at all.

Thinking about it, he seemed to always be around when the odd things happened. When there would suddenly be a spare chair even though all the tables were packed with other students trying to do their work, a fresh stack of post it notes in Steve’s bag when he needed to write an annotation down quickly, a newly sharpened pencil just happening to be on the floor by his feet when he’d lost his before class. The rain suddenly starting as soon as Steve got into a building when he’d forgotten an umbrella like it was waiting for him to be safe and dry.

There was just something weird about the whole thing. Not enough for him to freak out and want to go home though, no way. He could deal with weird and slightly odd far better than being stuck in a town going nowhere, where his only future was getting a job in his father’s company and a wife he didn’t love, cranking out a couple kids after a year of so and slowly but surely morphing into a mirror image of the man he lowkey despised.

Even the thought of that was horrifying. It was bad enough that genetically they might look similar one day. Hopefully many, many years in the future. When plastic surgery was cheap.

The library was quiet when Steve entered. Of course it was, it was a Friday night. There were a number of parties and gatherings happening all over the place, but this week he’d promised himself to be good. Study now and party later. He’d been invited to a glow paint, totally-not-a-rave party happening just outside of town that he was pretty excited for. He’d been focusing hard on his studies so it was time to let off some steam. And maybe that steam had been building for quite some time cause ol’ Lefty wasn’t doing the trick anymore, mashing his face into a pillow in the dead of night, furiously jacking off under a blanket and praying his roommate didn’t wake up or come back soon. And, maybe sometimes, Steve thought about that cute blonde in the Omega House jacket and how good it would be to see those thick lips all slick and swollen wrapped around his cock. Really those thoughts were just between him and God, who he hoped wasn’t paying attention most of the time he was alone in his room.

Steve found the spot he liked, towards the back facing towards the window where he couldn’t be distracted by people walking in, and pulled his laptop and the well annotated copy of Dracula he was working from. His half finished essay sat on the screen, cursor blinking at him accusingly, demandingly even. He sighed at it and opened up to the page he was last working from when the chair next to him was pulled out. Not even one or two over, obeying the unspoken rule of the Personal Study Bubble. No, the very next chair. Steve could see orange reflected on his screen. He frowned slightly and turned to just give a passing glance, hoping for a the fuck? expression, when he saw staggeringly blue eyes staring back, nestled into tan freckled skin, natural curls just reaching down into the field of view. The regular sunglasses had been tucked up into the neck of a black tee. The back of Steve’s neck felt instantly hot as he looked away, hoping for a moment he hadn’t been seen, but that was impossible. He was right there.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before. Must be in the same class though.” His voice was deep and Steve felt his legs turn a little bit to jello. He chanced another glance and saw the guy was holding a copy of Dracula too. Steve wasn’t sure he’d been holding it before… 

“Well, I attend almost every lecture…”

“You must do if you’re in here by yourself on a Friday,” the guy smiled. It didn’t look cruel, neither did it sound like he was making fun. This was already confusing, and Steve wasn’t the greatest with people at the best of times, let alone he around guys he thought were kind of stupidly handsome from afar, and apparently just stunning close up.

Steve just nodded and shifted in his seat slightly since this guy clearly wasn’t going to go away any time soon. He didn’t have anything on the table in front of him, didn’t even look like he had a backpack for the potential of anything. The odd feeling was definitely strong and getting stronger. “Can I… can I help you with something?”

“That depends,” the book was quickly tossed aside and the guy nudged closer with his chair, Steve could smell his cologne. It didn’t smell like anything he’d tried before. It was floral but dark and spicy, but also fruity too. Slightly burnt lemon and vanilla loaf? His hand wrapped easily around Steve’s freer one. His skin was warm, a little rough maybe from weightlifting which he clearly did, applying a comforting amount of pressure. Steve couldn’t help the skin on his arm breaking out in goose pimples. He glanced at their hands together and his throat felt impossibly tight. “I’m Billy by the way.”

“Steve...”

“Great. So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things can be a little, strange around here-”

Steve glanced at their hands again, felt that blue steel bore into his eyes and further back. “Oh they’re strange alright…”

“You ever wondered why?” This guy, Billy, grinned something devilish and let Steve’s hand go only to put it on his knee, squeezing firm but not unpleasant. Steve was sure he was starting to sweat under the attention of all this. Yeah he had fooled around with a couple guys drunk at parties, stumbled into a dorm room or two he didn’t recognise to have some fun and wake up with carpet burns over his back and his knees, but this felt very direct. Especially when Billy’s hand started slowly drifting higher. Steve couldn’t even say he didn’t want it, he’d been staring at this guy from a distance for months now, but to have him suddenly be right in front and touching with obvious intent. It was something else.

“Uh, n-not really. Sometimes maybe?”

Billy’s eyes turned from cool to blazingly erotic in an instant, for just a moment, then back to cool again. He nudged even closer into Steve’s bubble, who was more helpless than a fish on dry land at this moment. 

“Would you like to know why?” The way Billy’s tongue licked over the L was something filthy. If Steve had been set jello before he was now quickly melting into a sweet pool of tangy cherry. “My friends and I can show you.”

Steve felt like he was drowning. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. But still BIlly’s firm hand crept ever higher until he was practically cupping Steve through his jeans, inching closer until their lips were connected in the middle of the library. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed. He was already boiling alive in his skin from all the attention and Billy’s lips weren’t helping. They were as plush as Steve had imagined. Maybe not in the right area just yet but with the way Billy was pushing his palm directly against Steve’s slowly awakening dick they just might be soon.

He was half hard when Billy pulled away, flushed bright red like he’d been sunburnt.

“Come by the house tomorrow night, you’ll see. We promise you’ll enjoy it.” 

With that, Billy winked, slipped his sunglasses back on and left. Steve blinked at nothing for a long time, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened to him.

Did… did he just get invited to an orgy?

He packed up quickly and went back to his dorm, there was no way any studying was going to happen now. It didn’t happen throughout all of Saturday either. Just the memory of the whole short incident rolling around and around in Steve’s mind, of Billy’s words dripping from those lips and the feel of his hand pressing just right.

He’d definitely gotten invited to an orgy.

He lay on his bed for a while just thinking, tapping his forefingers together as something for them to do. Steve was kind of flattered really, he knew he was nice looking, but there were far better looking guys on campus, and from the stories he’d heard they’d probably be up for it no questions asked. It also popped into his head that the guys he’d seen wearing the orange Omega jackets were a lot more jacked than he was, and Steve had seen enough porn to know what that probably meant. A part of him knew this was utterly insane. Shit like this didn’t happen without a bored camera crew and fourteen different close up angles.

But then maybe it did happen. He was from a small town after all. He was pretty sure his neighbours three doors down were swingers from all the cars that would suddenly appear once a month for just a night. Least that was the rumor that he may or may not have pushed a couple times. And, afterall, wasn’t this what college was about? Being out there and experimenting with crazy shit you wouldn’t do in the real world. He’d taken ecstasy in his first few weeks at a warehouse party, he had no desire to do that back home.

So, maybe he was warming up to the idea of being a bottom at an orgy party being held in the weird grey frat house. Who was anyone to judge? Steve just wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, that’s all.

He felt nervous standing on the front steps of the Omega House. All the blinds were drawn inside. He didn’t know what to bring, what was customary? It didn’t feel right to bring, like, snacks, so he’d just brought himself, already flushing and trying not to get hard by just the thought of Billy getting his hands on him again, how good he must look naked and sweating, finding out what those lips could really do.

The man himself answered the door after two sharp knocks. The grin he wore was sinful, eyes wild and excited, grip firm as he pulled Steve easily inside the dark room. Steve wasn’t sure what to expect, but low mood lighting, a coffee table in the middle of three couches covered in books and blank papers, and every other surface holding up thick lit candles dripping with wax wasn’t it. It also appeared to be just the two of them.

It wasn’t entirely what he had signed up for. But Steve wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Man, am I happy you actually came,” Billy started, pulling his letterman off and hanging it over the banister like a coat hook. His black tee had the sleeves ripped off, his arms were nothing short of statue worthy. He ruffled his hair a little, the curls bobbing just so. They looked delightfully soft. “The rest of the guys are at some sorority bullshit, but they’ll be here later.”

“Uh, o-okay, cool.” Steve tried to sound confident as he went to go take a seat on one of the couches. Billy sat next to him, up close and personal again and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was radiating body heat which Steve wanted to eat up greedily. He noticed some of the books on the table. A copy of Frankenstein, a very old looking copy of Dracula, maybe second edition, a copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and copies of both Malleus Maleficarum and A Guide to Modern Witchcraft. Those titles mixed with all the candles and the mood lighting and Billy’s staring and frankly demonic grin led Steve down the path that seemed the most obvious to him.

This was a sex cult house. And it was about to get all Rosemary’s Baby up in here.

Billy’s hand was back on his thigh again, heavy and pressing, taking Steve out of his deep barrel of thoughts. The grin was back on his tanned features. “You look nervous.” He gave Steve’s thigh a squeeze. Even though he had no idea what was going on it still made his cock jump alert in his jeans.

“Well, I’ve never exactly been to… one of these before…”

Billy’s eyebrows furrowed together a little, he still wore a smile though. It suited his face. “One of what?”

“You know...?” Steve rolled his hands as his face turned ever redder. He was sure it could almost be seen from space. He wasn’t a prude by any means, but growing up in quite a strict household meant he just struggled saying some things out loud. So he whispered it instead. “...an orgy?”

Billy stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter that wasn’t at all humiliating. He must have sensed Steve’s rapidly growing discomfort and indignity because the laughter quickly died and turned more into gentle questioning. “Did you think that was what this was gonna be?”

“Well I don’t know what else this would be!” Steve spat out in frustration. He hated not knowing the whole story and here he felt he barely even knew the first line of the novel. Billy smiled warm like a summer day and cupped his cheek. He felt instantly calmed, being swallowed up by those cool blues like a gentle river on an August afternoon.  “I said I’d explain about all the odd things that happen around campus. They’re from us in this house. We’re kind of, different.”

“Different how?”

Billy took his hand back and snapped his fingers loud and piercing. All the candles extinguished themselves at once. Not a breeze to be felt. It wasn’t scary, or spooky, but it was pretty cool. “Different different. You’re the only person who’s seemed to notice. And, by house law, that means you get initiated. You get to know that we’re all witches.”

The word hung in the air and seemed ridiculous. But, at the same time, it didn’t. It did certainly explain how chargers and post its and pencils would suddenly just appear whenever Steve needed them. He still wasn’t completely convinced though.

“Witches?” He repeated back carefully, just in case he’d heard that wrong too. Billy nodded and clapped his hands. Every candle reignited themselves, flickering back to life one by one in a circle around the room. A bottle of whiskey and cans of coke appeared on the table where there had been just papers before. The books remained. There was a proud look on his face. Short of being drugged at the door and this all being a crazy fever dream, this was definitely real. Steve didn’t really have any reason to not believe his eyes and what was happening around him. Billy didn’t look like David Copperfield that was for sure. “So, not an orgy?”

“No. Not an orgy.” Billy chuckled and repeated back. He must have seen Steve’s face go from confused to understanding to a little disappointed all within the space of a few seconds because his hand was high on Steve’s thigh again. Maybe the guy just didn’t understand personal space? That seemed growingly likely. “I don’t think I’d wanna share you anyway.”

Steve felt the flush on his face again, but he grinned through it this time. Weird, spooky, otherworldly shit could be saved for later if there was even a chance of getting what he’d been thinking alone in his bed. “But you’d wanna maybe...?”

He let the question stay floating between them as Billy smirked lewd and pressed himself up against Steve’s body. “Bet you’d love to find out what I can do with my fingers pretty boy…”

Oh, Steve really would.

[benkouji726]

Five times they behaved liked an old married couple and one time they really were

Written for MalexWeek 2020, Day 2. Fic Prompt: Trope Day.

Summary: They found their way back together.

The fic actually contains 2 tropes: 90% of “The Old Married Couple” and 10% of “Shipper on Deck” because I like cliches SO MUCH.

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

1. Bickering

They had been staring at each other across the booth in Crashdown for five minutes now.

Michael broke down first. “Looks like they all bail on us.”

Alex snorted. “Gee, what clued you in? Is it the fact that we’ve been sitting here for half an hour now and still no one showed up? Or the texts we JUST received from our so-called friends declaring they all have to ‘BAIL ON US’?” He even made the air quote gesture, the bastard.

So something crawled over someone’s ass and died today. “Really? Your are gonna be like this.”

Alex ignored him. Great.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asked, and pathetically hoped Alex would say no. Because even a snappy Alex was still better than no Alex at all.

Alex answered his question with a question. Of course he did. “Do YOU want to leave?”

Michael shook his head, and decided to throw in some moment of truth. “Honestly? I think they set us up, because in the past two weeks I may or may not have whined many times to them about how much I missed you.”

Alex seemed oddly angered by that. “Well, you sure have a funny way of showing that. Because last time I checked, my phone number is still the same, and I go to the same bar and the same diner on a daily basis, safe to say I’m not the hardest person to find.”

Michael muttered something under his breath.

“What is that? I crack code, I don’t read lips.”

“I said I didn’t want to see you dating someone else!” Shit. That was a mistake.

Alex froze for a moment, then he said, slowly. “You mean you don’t want to see me dating after you and my best friend ended your relationship which lasted almost ONE YEAR right in front of me?”

Michael deflated. “OK. That’s fair. But I really missed you. Can’t we just like, be friends? We’re still friends, right?” He might sound a little too desperate, but he honestly didn’t care anymore.

“I don’t know, Michael”, shit, why did he always have this chill when Alex called his first name? It’s like Pavlovian reaction at this point. “How do we do it? Say ‘what’s up, bro’ every time we see each other?”

So he really was gonna be like that. Well, takes two to tango.

“Or we could, you know, discuss our mutual dislike of the disgusting eating habit of dipping the fries in the milk shake thing”, he pretended to think for a moment, “oh, sorry I forgot. It’s only MY dislike.”

Alex smiled at that. He took a fry, dipped it into his milkshake, threw it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then said, still smiling sweetly, “Yet you screamed so loud that one time when I dipped your cock into the milkshake and licked it clean.”

Michael choked on his clean, fry-crumbs-free milkshake. “You are not playing fair.”

“And you’re surprised? I didn’t climb the military ladder so fast by being nice.” Alex smirked.

Michael smirked right back. “Yeah, you’re kind of a sore loser. You didn’t speak to me for two days when I beat you at Mario Kart”.

“That’s because you cheated!”

“How does one cheat at MARIO KART?”

“I don’t know! Maybe you used your Tele...” Alex stopped himself abruptly when their waitress appeared to ask them if they needed some refill.

They both declined and headed right back into their argument about who was the better gamer.

When Michael finally stood up to get their bills (they argued about who should pay the bills too, Michael won), it was already two hours later, and they both had a big smile on their faces.

Alex watched Michael go to the cashier, a little too intensely, so he didn’t notice the little old lady at first, she had to wave her hand in front of him to get his attention.

He turned to her, confused. “Uh, can I help you?”

She patted on his shoulder. “My husband and I were like this too”, she said, wistfully, “we used to bicker all the time, but our hearts were in the right place”, she looked at Michael’s direction and back to Alex, “you and your young man are gonna be just fine.” She patted him once more, and went away.

Huh.

——————————————

2. Finishing each other’s sentences

They were at the supermarket together when Alex said, “why...”

“Does Liz need so many eggs? Beats me. She said she needs them to do some kind of experiment, but I highly suspect it.”

“And why...”

“Did she send us to get these? According to her, we need the legwork and some fresh air because she said and I quote, you are talking in codes and I reek of oil at this point.”

“I’m...”

“Getting a little annoyed by me right now? You want me to stop finishing your sentences? Well, it’s not my fault you are this predictable.” He was asking for trouble, Michael knew. But he couldn’t help it. Alex and Forrest had broken up for a week now, and Alex still didn’t tell him, he had to be informed by Izzy, it was a little irritating.

Alex narrowed his eyes. “You think you know me so well.”

“Apparently I do.” He smiled innocently.

“You’re not that complex either, you know”, Alex stepped forward, right into his personal space, “I can read you like an open book.”

So it was game on.

For the next two weeks, they were trying their best to beat each other to the punch, finishing each other’s sentences, sometimes even saying things before the other could even open his mouth.

Kyle snapped at last.

“Would you PLEASE stop?” He groaned, “We get it. You’re dating now and you are stupidly in love and you know each other SO WELL. Just, get a room, OK? Other people are still trying to find their soulmates or something.”

“We are not...” They spoke at the same time.

“Great, you’re upgrading to saying things unanimously now?” Kyle threw his hand into the air. “I give up.”

They both blushed. Unanimously.

——————————————

3. Touching casually

They were both leaning onto the table to study some printed out files from another secret government agency that Alex found and hacked, Alex was writing out code patterns to determine which one fit the file, when Michael suddenly discovered something.

In a hurry to write down his thoughts, he didn’t try to get another pen. He reached out, grabbed Alex’s pen-holding hand, and wrote down a keyword. His head bowed beneath Alex’s chin, some of his curls brushed his face, so Alex used his free hand to brush it away, he lingered a moment there, as Michael finished writing the word but his hand stayed there, thumb gently rubbing Alex’s in a slow circle.

Then Alex pulled away, and they continued discussing the file.

Things escalated real fast after that.

At first it was just a hand on the back, a pat on the shoulder, that sort of things. But then they often stood near enough that their hips were touching, Michael sometimes threw his arm around Alex’s shoulder when they were laughing together, or Alex would play with Michael’s hair when they were sitting on the same side of the booth, listening to their friends or talking to them. It was nothing sexual, they were friends, friends stayed in each other’s personal space ALL THE TIME, right?

Then one day, they were having a group movie night. They decided to sit on the sofa, so naturally no one else wanted to sit on it. With that much room, they sat down, a foot or so between them.

Halfway through the movie though, Alex was rubbing his right knee. Michael took one glance at him, and immediately sat beside him. He lifted Alex’s right leg onto his left, and put his hand on Alex’s knee. Alex let out a moan.

The whole group was looking at them now. Alex blushed.

“I, his hand...” Alex took a breath and regained some control back, “you all know aliens run hot right? His hand is like a thermos, it’s good for my knee.”

“You know”, Liz began, “You don’t need to explain here. People do this all the time for their loved ones, it’s sweet.”

“But”, Isobel cut in, stopping whatever Alex was trying to say, “next time, don’t do it in front of us, maybe? If I hear my brother-in-law moan again when I die, it’ll still be too soon.”

“Guys, stop teasing them”, Max said, at which point Alex had already given up, “they’re not even dating”.

“Yeah”, Maria went in for the final blow, “because the old married couple don’t date anymore. You guys really should make more of an effort if you want to keep the sparks alive, you know?”

“You mean we should just ditch you all to enjoy our little world, just the two of us?” Alex crooked his head, playing along.

“Aww, honey, you’d do that for me, for us? I thought you said we should keep our friends company or they’d be too boring a bunch.” Michael added.

He never took his hand off Alex’s knee.

——————————————

4. Pet names

“Darlin’, I’m home!” Michael called out, as he entered their secret base.

Kyle looked up, confused. “Since when did you begin to use pet names for each other?”

Alex didn’t even spare Michael a glance. “I didn’t. He is just being a dick.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you wound me. And you’re such a pretty liar, considering you called me ‘Mikey’ just the other day.”

“Sarcastically, yes.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Now would you please cut the bullshit and come look at this?”

Michael fluttered his eyelashes: “For you, sweet cheeks? Of course.”

Kyle wanted to leave. He also wanted to die a little.

Then Alex turned his full attention to Michael, and said in an almost robotic voice. “Gee, you are so kind, my little teddy bear.”

Kyle was wrong. He didn’t want to die a little. He wanted to die A LOT.

Michael, on the other hand, smiled like a cat finally got the cream. “Don’t mention it, pumpkin.”

His eyes twinkling, his tone teasing. But there was also genuine softness and gentleness in his overall demeanor, like he was standing in front of the most precious person in his whole life, and he called his name.

Alex rolled his eyes again. But when he looked back down, there was a secret smile tugging at his lips.

——————————————

5. Couple’s therapy

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” How was this his life, Alex wanted to ask.

To his credit, Michael looked bashful for once. “I’ve been seeing this therapist for four months now. And she said we could use a couple’s therapy, so she gave me this Groupon. I thought it’d be great for us.”

Alex stared. “You do know we’re not actually a couple, right?”

Michael looked a bit hurt by that, but he recovered quickly, “We kinda are, though. We both haven’t seen any other people for about half a year now. We spend almost all of our free time together. We touch each other constantly. We talk about everything and anything. Everyone assumes we’re at least hooking up, some think we already eloped!”

“Friends also do that kind of things together. And other people’s opinions really don’t bother me”, Alex didn’t look at him while saying this, so there was still hope right?

At this point, any hope was worth fighting for.

“Yeah, except friends aren’t normally in love with each other.” He said, looking right into Alex’s eyes, daring him to deny it.

Alex hesitated, and resigned. “When is it?”

—————————————

Dr Brown already knew so much about him it was a little unsettling.

“Have you talked anything other than me during your sessions?” Alex couldn’t help to ask.

“Of course!” Michael sounded offended. Meanwhile Dr Brown said, calmly, “Very little.”

Michael threw a betrayed glare at her, but she just smiled.

“So, what do you want to know?” Alex was always direct, “fair warning though. I refuse to talk about my childhood, my parents, my family, my job, my gay struggles, or anything from my past, including my past with Michael.”

“That’s OK”, Dr Brown still smiled, not bothered at all. “I only have one question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“You walked in, already in combat mode, because you treat any foreign environment as a threat, not to mention this foreign environment might force you to open up which you only do when you are around a certain and small group of people. But then Michael walked in too, and your stance changed. You were still in combat mode, but you also put yourself in a protective position, slightly in front of him. Meanwhile, you relaxed noticeably as if you trusted him with all you’ve got. When you sat down, you leaned to him unconsciously, and every time he spoke or touched you, you were calmed and grounded.”

Alex’s voice was raw when he spoke. “That was not a question.”

“So my question is”, she continued, “why do you still deny it, when you’re clearly in love with each other and already in a steady relationship?”

Alex didn’t have an answer for that. He got up and left.

————————————

+1 “How is your headache”

He’d been avoiding Michael for three days now. He was miserable in all of the days.

He was debating whether he should quit being a coward and finally get what he wanted when there was a knock on his door.

He was not even a little surprised that it was Michael.

He was surprised by the flower though.

“What is this?”

Michael held out the flower, eyes pleading. “Wanna take you out for a date.”

“I haven’t slept well these past days, my head kinda hurts, going out is not something I want to do now,” Alex said, and rushed to say the next bit because Michael looked devastated, “But we could stay in, order some take out, and watch Star Wars together?”

Michael relaxed a fraction. “You mean rewatch Star Wars.”

“Yeah, well, I have this habit of falling in love with something and never managing to fall out of it, don’t I?”

Michael smiled, a little teary. “Guess we have that in common.”

—————���————————

They ate, they talked, they watched Star Wars.

Then Michael was crowding Alex into the back of the couch, and asked tentatively: “how is your headache, honey?”

To that, Alex replied with a kiss.

[moving-blogs-dm-for-new-one]

SO....fanfic. This is just the one I just wrote which is basically 100 headcanons wrapped in a trenchcoat, so....yeah

Reblogs >> Likes!!!

Edit: Forgot to mention this is loosely based on someone elses hc of Benrey loving metal music, but I cant remember who it was so if someone finds me the post I can pop credit in!!! ❤️

Benrey never understood feelings all too well. It loved the sweetvoice immensely; it was like a little code only it and its friends knew, and no one else could tell. It didn't like feeling vulnerable like that. It prefered it that way.

When they finally got out of Black Mesa following the Renosance Cascade, it took a massive special interest to human music. It started out slow; it would listen to music in it's spare time, flicking through artists and albums and more before it finally settled on a genre it felt it loved. Metal.

There was a special kind of power about metal, it thought. There were so many emotions in it, but it wasn't sappy. It wasn't vulnerable. It wasn't anything more or less than it needed to be. It just was. It was powerful without softness; it was feeling in all the right ways. Benrey listened to it almost constantly; nodding along to it's favourite bands whether at work or home or any place else. It didn't need to sleep much, if at all, so it would plug in its headphones over long nights and shut its eyes, and that was close enough, it thought.

Slowly, over time, it got more and more into it, "purchasing" (Tommy tells Gordon not to ask) instruments and getting super passionate about it. It starts making and recording its own music, but for the first while, it's only the instruments.

Gordon and Tommy come home one day and hear this heavy, thrumming guitar, and the most powerful soul music bursting out of Benrey's room. They crack open the door and Benrey is fucking BUSTING out its heart into this song, headphones on and head-banging and biting its lip as it plays the guitar with every bit of energy it has. It sounds amazing. Neither of them have ever seen Benrey look so....alive. Tommy cries.

Sometimes Tommy and Gordon like to tell it they're going out, just so they can hear it sing again.

Benrey writes more songs based on it's feelings. It names songs after colours; none of its fans know what they mean, and many theories swirl, but the science team understands. That's what's important to Benrey.

When it's upset, instead of pestering and causing problems now, it goes to its room and writes. It pounds on the drums, rocks the guitar, sometimes screams its feelings out into the mic until it feels better. It begins pushing its negative feelings into its music. It's like a special kind of therapy made just for Benrey.

At this point, it doesn't know any of its friends can hear it singing at home. One day it's rocking out to a song it wrote; it's not the first love song Gordon's heard it write, but it is the most emotional. Gordon finds parts of it rather familiar, in a way he can't place. This time, for reasons he doesn't know, he steps into the room.

Benrey finishes the song, somehow without noticing he's there, and manages to switch the mic off before sweetvoice bubbles out. Big, thick bubbles of pink and blue float into the air, and it's turned away from Gordon, hands clenched in it's shirt, shoulders hunched.

"What does that one mean...?" It's a soft question from him, but it makes it whip around, clearly mortified. Gordon swears he sees it blush, but it could be a trick of the light; Benrey's room had terrible lighting. More pink and blue bubbles out, seemingly without it's control, and it coughs, looking away. It doesn't say. It's not ready yet. Gordon watches it for a minute, quiet.

"Can I hear you sing more?" Benrey does it's absolute best to hold the explosion of pink bubbles and nods. Gordon doesn't pester on his other question. Not now. He understands. He finds he understands Benrey a lot better, lately. He smiles.

It starts becoming pretty popular, and eventually gets a decent following. The science team is delighted and proud, showing up to its small shows and helping pay for things when needed. They all cheer it on at shows so hard it has to fight back sweetvoice, and eventually it starts to laugh more at dinners, genuinely smile more when they're together. It seems happier. Music really is its therapy.

Gordon is talking to Tommy one day, absentmindedly. The two will sometimes just ramble to each other about whatever's on their minds; neither one minds, they both like to talk as much as listen. He mentions the pink and blue, an afterthought, but the way Tommy's head whips around tells him it's more important than he'd assumed. Tommy questions him further, and eventually smiles, obviously delighted.

"What?" Gordon questions, confused. "What is it, T? What's it mean?" They laugh, giving him a toothy grin and staring for a moment, seemingly deciding whether or not to tell. The pitiful look Gordon is giving them makes them laugh again, but they crack.

"I told you, Gordon, they're all rhymes!" Gordon sits for a moment, and Tommy tries their best not to laugh at him as he visibly tries to puzzle it out. Sunkist nudges them and they sigh, deciding to take pity on their friend.

"Pink to blue means I love you, Gordon." Gordon snaps up right, the gears visibly turning in his head. His face explodes in red, and he stutters, clearly disbelieving. Tommy shakes their head, sighing.

"You're both so oblivious. You know it writes those songs for you, right?" Gordon sits back on his haunches and thinks about that. And he thinks. And thinks.

He doesn't stop thinking about it for the next week, actually.

He lays up at night listening to Benrey quietly put lyrics together through his wall. He listens during the day to it play as he does his work; he hums along to tunes he knows in the shower, and he finds his fingers drumming in time with Benrey even when he's away. And he realizes it's not the music, so much, that hasn't stopped pervading his mind.

Gordon makes his decision.

Benrey has a show that coming weekend, the biggest one it's played so far. It's clearly nervous, hands constantly wringing in its shirt and semi trimmed claws picking at its fingers in a way that is both nauseating and adorable to Gordon. He finds his way backstage before the show, clears his throat to announce his arrival.

Benrey looks over, a small bubble of grey popping out of its mouth, and Gordon makes the split second decision to wrap it up in his arms. It stiffens, but relaxes much faster than either of them probably anticipated. They both idley note that this is their first hug whilst sober as Benrey tucks its face into his shoulder, breathing deeply. Gordon rubs its back gently with his prosthetic arm, taking a deep breath.

"You can do this, Ben." Benrey swallows thick and hard at the nickname, and Gordon continues.

"We believe in you." Gordon pulls back, and if he saw a shimmer over its eyes, he doesn't mention it. It nods, and gives Gordon the most stupidly dazzling grin, and Gordon has no idea how he didn't notice sooner. He leaves to join the crowd in a daze, whereas Benrey walks onto the stage with an heir of confidence it's friends have never seen. They've never been so proud.

The show is an absolute hit; the crowd is screaming, the pit is bursting, Benrey looks amazing in the spotlights, Gordon notes. It's head is thrown back, a grin on its face as it belts out its songs, and Gordon finds himself doing more staring than cheering this time. Tommy playfully nudges him in the ribs; he laughs and nudges them back. They give him a knowing smile, and he prays the shitty lighting in the crowd hides his blush.

The science team nearly pounce it after the show. Coomer is wearing at least three t-shirts from the small shop outside and chattering excitedly; Bubby feigns indifference, as usual, but they're smiling softly and they're wearing a shirt too. Tommy is stimming uncontrollably, hands flapping as they hop from foot to foot, and Darnold is delightedly laughing along with Coomer's chattering, complimenting Benrey on it's show. Even Forzen is there, a massive toothy grin on his face as he playfully digs his cousin in the ribs, obviously proud.

Despite the attention, Benrey's eyes drift up to Gordon's through their friends. Gordon smiles at him in a soft way, and Benrey feels like it might melt on the spot. It steps forwards past their gathered friends, who step aside, and Darnold, Tommy and Coomer waste no time very un-subtlely whispering to each other about it.

"Hey Ben," Gordon greets as it approaches, and they grin at each other.

"Sup, Gordos." Gordon laughs, rolling his eyes, but it's in more of a playful way than an annoyed way, now. He holds out his arms and Benrey wastes no time stepping into them, and they choose to ignore the noises coming from their friends. They look at each other for a moment before cracking into giddy laughter, foreheads bumping together. Gordon opens his eyes and finds Benrey already looking at him. They stare for a moment as Gordon builds his confidence, hands slightly shaking, and his still-flesh hand feels clammy and gross. He hopes Benrey doesn't notice.

"So…" Gordon starts, and Benrey snorts, but doesn't interupt. Gordon takes another deep breath.

"I know what pink to blue means now." Benrey's eyes widen, and it has the thought to turn and yell at it's friends, but the way Gordon laughs dazzles it out of the thought for a moment.

"And, y'know what Ben?" Benrey feels like it's swimming through the air, trying to keep focus on Gordon.

"What?" It asks, almost breathlessly. Gordon gives this nervous, shy kind of smile, and Benrey thinks it might explode.

"I love you too."

And that was the first time they kissed. The science team has never been more proud.

Benrey is glad it got into music.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Lover You Were Gone So Long || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Lover when you see that glare, think of it as my despair, think of it as my despair for you.

Morgan and Deirdre go for round two of hashing things out.

CONTAINS: codependent death girls

The first day Deirdre was home, Morgan kept them on the couch in the great room until Deirdre’s arms started to hurt and she had to help her to the downstairs bathroom for a shower and an extensive reapplication of bandages. Even with all the extras from their recent trips to the fae clinic, Morgan had to order more by delivery to make sure they had enough for next time. She caressed every pink patch of healing skin that looked safe enough to touch and murmured, I can see your freckles a little more than last night, that must be a good sign. And, your poor hands, be careful, you should be more careful. She kissed Deirdre’s shoulder when she finished and helped her into something clean and soft and carried her to where she wanted to be. Her eyes met Deirdre’s, and for a moment she could almost read her: a question, an assurance, something reaching into the most tormented part of her heart where her love had once thrived. Morgan pulled away and left the room. But she stopped in the doorway, a fresh ache throbbing in her chest. Deirdre’s eyes had followed her, hooked into that piece of her heart despite her best efforts, dragging it out of the dark.

“I love you,” Deirdre said.

“Not enough, apparently,” Morgan muttered. She left before Deirdre could reply.

That’s how things were now.

Today they were in the great room again (the ground floor was the easiest for Deirdre to get around on and being in their room without being them made Morgan’s chest fill with acid), watching TV, leaning against one another under the blanket. Niamh sprawled in the corner, chasing her ball between naps. It was time for lunch, and Deirdre’s hand was cupping Morgan’s body against her side, so gentle and secure at once she didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream. Her finger curled, so breathtakingly casual, and Morgan clenched all over. She threw off the blanket and fled to hide in the kitchen without a word. If she closed her eyes and memory wiped the last week or so, it would have been so perfect. Morgan would have guided her hand under her shirt, they would’ve started kissing, and lost the plot of the TV show by debating what kind of tree. It would have been so easy and perfect and worse, Morgan hurt with her want for it. Why couldn’t she just have that? (She knew why, but this knowledge didn’t feel like an answer, just another hole she didn’t know how to fill.) Morgan squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her hand. It was too early in the day to be crying already. Get a grip. That alter-world picture of them she ached for might mean everything to her, but it certainly hadn’t meant as much to Deirdre. How could it?

It was five minutes, maybe ten, before Morgan emerged, red eyed but mostly collected, now with a smoothie and a small plate of sandwiches done up the best way she knew how. “Sorry, that must’ve been kind of alarming,” she deadpanned, a cruel edge to her voice. “It sucks watching someone you depend on run away without a word. Gosh, just imagine how much worse it would feel if I’d done that when I came back from the dead!”

Deirdre didn't know how to act. Loving Morgan in this strange, half-space was worryingly difficult. She wanted to hold Morgan tight, kiss her hard, laugh easy—but such acts seemed to put Morgan on edge, or would cross some line. She was quiet, mostly, adopting a gentle quality of voice. Inviting, soothing; acts and words that she hoped spoke of how okay it would be if Morgan wanted to find the world they once occupied together, and fall into it again. She thought of herself like suggestion; firm, steady, secure and immortal. Always there to be held, considered, but not demanding—never asking. Only suggesting. She leaned against Morgan, and when she felt Morgan ease against her, she would move to hold her. And if she felt Morgan tense, she would go back to the leaning. She obeyed the flow of Morgan’s thought, the best she could interpret it in silence, finding familiar cues in the body she knew better than her own. She spared her girlfriend the volley of love and assurance her heart demanded to give, she sprinkled them softly instead. Like suggestion. Except, suggestion was a strange thing; too strong and too weak at once. It made her burn, unable to share the love that chewed up her insides. Unable to dare to soothe the pain she could see in Morgan. Suggestion was at the mercy of time, and time could be so painfully slow.

Keeping her eyes on the TV was one such way suggestion foiled her. The way they normally enjoyed it was curled into each other, so Deirdre might take Morgan and the TV in in equal measure. Being leaned up against her was a horrible idea. She couldn’t look at Morgan, and her body fluttered dangerously with static. Even the arm around her wasn’t much of anything at all. But like a respectable person, she kept her eyes straight and her hand chaste. She wasn’t watching the TV so much as she was staring at the pictures. Her free hand curled around the blanket shared between them. She burned. And then she was falling over.

“Morgan?” She asked; soft, sweet, concerned. Her girlfriend didn’t answer, and was out of the room by the time Deirdre righted herself. “Morgan?” She tried again, louder. “What’s wrong?” And again. She stared at the floor. She couldn’t walk. Her legs were swollen and sore and she’d made a promise not to hurt herself intentionally—walking was one such way to hurt herself. Her body was thankful for the rest, but her mind was not. Her eyes drifted to her cane leaned up against the table. As she tried to grab it, her fingers brushed the wood and it knocked over, startling Niamh, who was then intrigued by the new object. “Not a toy,” Deirdre hissed. She couldn’t reach it anymore. So, she’d crawl then. She rolled herself off the couch, falling to the floor with a dull thud. She strained to grab the cane, careful not to agitate her wounds and break a promise as well as a stitch. Niamh swatted at the cane as Deirdre wiggled it into her grasp. “I’ll play with you later!” She didn’t know how long it took her to grab the cane and stand up, only that by the time she did, Morgan was back. “Morga—“ And then she was speaking.

Deirdre’s expression shifted wildly, no suggestion in them. She went from shocked, to hurt, to confused, to something between hurt and confused. She blinked, and wondered if she’d heard right. And then realized she did, she had been. Now it made another cruel sentence gain sense. “Oh,” she chuckled dryly. “Is that what you want to do, Morgan?” She stepped forward, cane smacking against the ground. “Is that it now? Is this it?” Deirdre slumped, having made her way to Morgan, she reached out and plucked the plate from her hands and placed it down. Doing the same with the smoothie a moment later. “You’re right. It does suck. I know that already. And you’re right, imagine how terrible it would have been if you did the same. I can. I do. If you wish to punish me with cruel words, Morgan, don’t do it whilst holding lunch—which, thank you for, by the way.”  She paused, voice gentle despite itself. “Go ahead.”

Morgan flinched back with surprise.This Deirdre was usually so quiet, Morgan had forgotten that she could command with as much ease as she could soothe.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled stupidly. “What ‘this’?” She let go of the plate without a fight and lowered her gaze, feeling chastised. But Deirdre dared her, urged her, and the rest of Morgan’s excuses at the back of her throat--I’m not doing anything, Talk to me after you eat, you need to keep your strength up--died. Slowly, Morgan lifted her face, bracing herself with hands on her hips. “Do you?” She accused. She held Deirdre’s gaze and seeing all the versions of her she’d ever known, the one who’d been afraid, the one who belonged to the mushrooms, the one who’d sworn Morgan was her love, the one who’d vanished. She didn’t know which new side she was speaking to now, or what she was capable of. Calling her out hadn’t been on Morgan’s guess list, but her smouldering anger was relieved to have a chance to breathe.

“Do you know?” She asked. “Because I couldn’t even process whether or not you’d died before you were yelling at me to get in the car and drive! If we count your scream--which, thanks for not checking to see if my brain had melted--you’ve left me what, four times now? If you know, does that mean you actually thought about it and decided whatever happened was worth fuck all, or did I just stop mattering so much that you forgot I was there and it never crossed your mind?”

Deirdre stood straight and still and as steady as she could manage leaning on her cane. She wanted to hold Morgan, even now, especially now. She tried to ask if that was okay with her eyes, the way she always did, but wasn’t sure if Morgan was looking for it. It was fine, anyway, she didn’t want to stunt Morgan’s anger--it needed to be released, lest it come back in another cruel one-off sentence destined for repetition. “Four times…” Deirdre repeated, she could only remember three. She’d have to meditate harder on her muddied memories then, find the missing piece. “Your brains wouldn’t have been touched at all, I know how to control my screams. And--” Deirdre swallowed. She’d been trying to match Morgan’s anger in some respect, but she found it hard to feign. As much as she wanted to fuel the anger--let it release, let it spill, let Morgan have this, if she wanted it--she couldn’t summon the voice to match. She spoke measured, though gentle. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I thought it was more urgent than my physical state, though I regret that I didn’t properly consider your emotional state. I should’ve. You’re right. And I’m sorry.” Deirdre slumped, “you’ve never stopped mattering to me. I don’t know what I thought--I just wanted to get to Lydia. I thought if I did, I could make it okay. And I had to get to her quickly, the more time between--” She swallowed again, closing her eyes. “I didn’t want to be too late again. I didn’t want that.” Deirdre opened her eyes to the ground, meeting Morgan’s gaze slowly. “I’ve thought about it now, I can’t say how much I thought about what I was doing in the moment. I’m sorry for that.” She paused. “What else? I abandoned you, I didn’t love you enough….what else? Tell me what else.”  

“Yes, four times! Our home, our driveway, that bench, and running off to do your fucking death wish murder!” Morgan snapped. She locked her face into a grimace, stubbornly holding onto her anger. It was the only time her hurt didn’t threaten to break her, the only time her body wasn’t burning for the chance to connect again. “If you’d remembered I existed, I could have driven you! I did, in fact, try to drag you back home and drive you anyway, even while you were fighting me! We could have been together! I could’ve held your hand! But you weren’t interested in any of that.”

Deirdre had dared Morgan to ‘do this,’ whatever ‘this’ was supposed to be, but her voice held none of the stubborn fire she’d shown only a moment ago. She just agreed and took it. When she met Morgan’s eyes, she looked sad. Morgan looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. “No,” she mumbled. “You don’t get to say those things like they’re arbitrary. And you can’t seriously--” Her voice caught. She wasn’t that mad about that first time, just scared out of her mind in the moment. It shouldn't count. Not when Deirdre’s grief was so surreal and fresh. “Four times,” she repeated stiffly. “That doesn’t explain all of them. It can’t. Because I told you how I felt, that day we broke into the house. I begged you. I begged you or whoever the fuck you were back then not to leave me, not to give me your love if you were just going to take it away in five more minutes. And then you did. That is not ‘what else.’ That happened. I begged you and then you kept doing it. And I don’t understand how you could have even once.”

Four times. Deirdre nodded, logging that in her head. At night, she would keep herself awake replaying it until she could figure out how to repent. For now, she listened, as steady as she could be. “You’re right,” she said, “you’re right. We could’ve. And I didn’t let us, and I’m sorry and you’re right.” She didn’t know what else to say. She felt like there should have been more to offer than agreeing with Morgan and apologizing, but that was all she felt right to do. Morgan was right. And she was sorry. She didn’t want to explain or excuse herself, where did she deserve to? “It’s not arbitrary! No, I’m not--I don’t think it is. I just don’t want you to stop, so I thought it’d be better if I didn’t--” If she wasn’t crying, if she wasn’t spilling the depths of her own emotion so plainly. This was about Morgan, not her. But trying to do what she thought was right was her problem, and it was her problem now. She opened her mouth to explain again, but Morgan was off to the next point, and Deirdre didn’t have the heart to interrupt her.

“I’m sorry,” she said; meek, lame. She wanted to ask what else Morgan was mad about so she could take it on herself, carry it for her; so she could understand it too. But that hadn’t worked out, and so she tried to explain herself. “I don’t understand it either, not now. I can’t justify it. I screamed for Lydia, and then I knew I had to go. I promised her a good death no matter what, and that was exactly what I was doing. I can’t tell you what was promise-binding and what was my own thought. And then she released me, and I knew what was going to happen, and I knew we had to get to her quickly. And I’m sorry; I was wrong about how I treated you. But I had us stop, and go to the clinic and then when we were walking...all I wanted was to tell you it was okay. Because it was. I wasn’t mad at you, I didn’t hate you...I just wanted to find Lydia. That was all. And then I felt her and I had to go, I felt like I had to go. It wasn’t right, I’m not saying it was right. But that was it.” She paused. “And then I didn’t know what to do. I lost my sister, taken so unfairly….and I didn’t know what to do with all the pain. I should have talked to you, I should’ve. I didn’t know how; I thought you had enough to worry about; I knew what I thought I had to do for justice and I didn’t want you to hurt too. It was many things, none of them were correct. I’m sorry, but I want to make things right.” She swallowed. “Please, tell me everything. Not because it’s arbitrary--you never are--but because I want to know it all. I want to know if I can fix it. Please. I know you’re angry at me; be angry. Let it out. I’ll take it. I want to.”  

Morgan’s face began to crumple. She clenched her jaw harder, she thinned her lips, but Deirdre’s tearful voice and her flat, useless agreements picked apart everything Morgan had to shield herself with. She shook her head furiously, trying and failing to stay hard and cruel and disconnected enough to be safe no matter what. “No,” she croaked, grimacing when she heard how childish she sounded. “I don’t want you to take it. I want you to tell me why! Because everything you’re saying--I still don’t understand. Where does the part where you decided to do this after I begged you not to come in? I need to understand because I thought--” Her voice caught again, throaty and terrible. Morgan held herself tighter. “The person I thought you were would never have done this. She couldn’t have. Not with everything you said about how much you--” How much she loved her. Wanted her. Would never hurt her. “I know you aren’t perfect. You make mistakes. But you...you said you loved me so much, and I believed you. Enough that I thought you would never watch me fall apart in front of you, telling you what’s wrong and how badly I need you as fucked as it is, and say it’s going to be okay one minute and the next, push me away for days and then leave without even knowing if it was for good or not. You would never. But you did!” Morgan’s breath trembled through her teeth as she searched for some harsh thread to bolster herself on. She rubbed her hand across the corner of her eyes. “So I need you to explain how that makes sense. Make me understand why this was so much more important you couldn’t even bother to say! And don’t tell me you don’t know, I need you to know!”

“Well you can’t have it.” Deirdre sighed, “your anger. You shouldn’t have it--carry it. You’re angry at me, right? What else were you trying to do if it wasn’t to punish me? To put your anger somewhere else. I’m trying to tell you that’s okay.” It made sense in her head, but she figured, like several things that had once felt right in her head, it probably wasn’t. The only thing she knew was right, always, was her love for Morgan. She clung tightly to that fact, and used it to hold herself up. “I can’t explain it! I can’t--” But Morgan wanted her to. Deirdre winced. She searched her mind for the logic, but it was paper thin and flimsy. Her hand unfurled and curled up into a fist meekly in the air, trying to grasp a Morgan that wasn’t there. She wanted to hold her. All she wanted to do was hold her. “I wasn’t pushing you away. I just--I didn’t want you to see the--I didn’t know how to tell you about the--I didn’t know what to--” Morgan was asking her to explain, and she was trying to, but her voice was choppy and broken. Shaky, at best. Still, she persisted. “I didn’t mean to be gone. It was just Sunday, for some hours. It was supposed to be. But the--the place I was in takes away time; it skews it on the other end. And the pixies wanted me to get treated by a doctor before I left. And I wasn’t strong enough to argue. And I’m sorry, Morgan. It doesn’t make sense because it’s not right. And I can’t explain it because that’s it. Nothing was ever more important than you, but I’m sorry. I know that’s hard to believe now, and I’m sorry.” She sagged, wishing there was more she could offer. But this was the truth; terrible, hurtful, uneventful. “I thought I was doing what was right, I thought I was doing the only thing I could do. There was all this pain and I...can’t explain it. I can’t make it make sense because it doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense to do that to you.” Her hand curled and unfurled again. “I’m sorry.”  

“NO!” Morgan screamed, her voice echoing off the walls. “There has to be a reason! You can’t say I was that important and then tell me there was no reason! You said…” Her voice broke with a sob and she clenched her hands into fists, nails curling into her skin. “You said that I was your life, your good, that you would find a way to stay with me forever, you loved me that much. And you made me feel so safe I made you my anchor and I believed you! I believed you even though I wasn’t sure anyone ever could! Not that much. Not me. But I believed you and I trusted you. And if you loved me as much as you let me believe, you couldn’t have done this for no reason. So there has to be one. You can’t do this again in a year when some asshole hunter kills someone else you know, you can’t. There has to be a good reason. Because otherwise, I was right to think I could never be loved like that. And I can’t go back to some small, halfway decent life just because the one I thought I had turned out to be lie. It was real to me, and I can’t be here knowing there’s so much less and I’m just going to disappear to you the next time someone dies…” Morgan hid her face in her hand, trying to press her tears back into her eyes.

In any other circumstance, Deirdre would have been impressed with the calibre of scream. She would have found some measure of humour in it. In the moment, she only flinched. “There’s no reason for hurting you,” Deirdre shook her head, trying to elaborate. “Nothing that makes sense. I can’t justify that, I can’t--and won’t--make that make sense. You were hurt. I hurt you. That was wrong. There’s no good reason for that, there never will be.” She lifted her hands, dropping them swiftly. She couldn’t hold Morgan, she couldn’t wipe her tears away. She fought against her own body, the reflexes that burned to comfort her girlfriend. “I do love you so much. You are my life, you are everything that’s good, I still want to stay with you forever--I promise it. All of it.” Deirdre slumped further; she thought she might sink into the ground. “I suppose--you might say it’s fae culture. The revenge; I’ve been doing it all my life. All on my own. That’s the way it works. But I don’t understand--it’s still my fault. I didn’t intend to hurt you at all, in my mind, I thought I was protecting you. But I was wrong. I was wrong and I should have done better and I can’t offer you anything else. I’m sorry. I can’t make hurting you make sense. I can’t do that.” Her hands lifted again. She dropped them with a groan, flexing her fingers. “I won’t do this again. I could promise it to you. At this point I’d---Fates, if you wanted me to never kill someone ever again, I’d promise that away. If you wanted me to give up my duty, I’d do that too. If I can do anything to make this right for you, I will. I want to. I don’t care what it takes out of me, I just want you to feel safe again.” And despite all the great work she’d done keeping herself together, the tears contained inside her eyes and the quivering at a respectable minimum, she let it slip now. Fresh tears fell, and when her hands raised, she didn’t drop them away. “I don’t want you to disappear. Please, I--Can I hold you? Can I---I can make it right. I can.”  

Morgan opened her mouth to reply, but no words came, only a broken, whining cry as her lungs refused to open any further. The two pieces didn’t fit. If there wasn’t some hidden secret, something Deirdre didn’t remember or know how to say, then how could everything she believed about them be true? How was Deirdre able to tell her so many things about how much she was loved without getting sick if it was a lie? “So all of this...was an accident? You told me you would carry me and be with me and our world was the one you wanted to be in and--and--” She sputtered, choking on the sobs she was determined to swallow down. Morgan heaved for the breath to speak again. “Did you ever?” she croaked, forcing herself to look up. “Did you not love me as much as I thought you did? You made everything...it was so good, and so beautiful, even if I was wrong, I don’t know if I can go back.” Her body wanted nothing more than to be comforted again, than to be nested in the space where it belonged. Deirdre looked so heartbroken, like she needed her, and they always knew how to hold each other just right, or they had before Lydia died. “And I can’t promise tape you into being this person you were or who I thought you were. That’s not okay, that’s cruel, that’s--that--that---” She was stuck again and staggered forward to the couch, clenching it to try and steady herself.

“An accident…” Deirdre winced. She tried to think of a more accurate word, something that gave her more rightful blame. It was true she hadn’t meant to hurt Morgan, and in that way, saying it was an accident was apt. But Morgan’s pain was her own, and she couldn’t accept such a flippant label. “I don’t know what to call it…” She mumbled. She was thinking, she was trying to think. But between trying to make sure her cries didn’t interrupt Morgan, and her fingers didn’t grow overzealous, she couldn’t. “I do love you!” She asserted, stabbing her cane into the ground and shifting closer. “I do. I always have, I’ve never stopped, I’ve never loved you any less--not once. I promise it. If I have made mistakes, it was not for losing love--I can’t say what it was, but it wasn’t that. I promise it wasn’t. And I promise, Morgan, that I want to do whatever I can to make this right to you. To love you, to be better for you. I want that. I want to be with you. I’ve never stopped wanting that. I promise. I promise.” She slumped, throwing her cane aside. “Please let me hold you. Please tell me that’s okay right now and can you--that promise I made not to hurt myself...can you release me from that? I can make it again just...please let me help you, Morgan. I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

Morgan didn’t have anything left in her. She tried to get more questions out, but she only rasped sobs and whined tears. She reached out for Deirdre, her arm stiff and quivering, and pulled herself in so violently they knocked into the side of the couch. She clung to Deirdre’s robe and tried to shuffle them back to where they could sit, shaking her head as she tried to say, no, I can’t let you hurt yourself, please don’t hurt yourself, sit with me, lay with me, I don’t care just don’t do that anymore, but that sentiment only came as aspirated whimpers. But this much she hoped was obvious: Hold me, I don’t want to hurt anymore either, hold me, please.

Deirdre’s arms wrapped around Morgan and she sighed with relief, breathing her in. She wanted to hold her tight, close, the way she knew Morgan needed—but the best she managed was a stiff grip, wholly too weak. The back of her knocked into the couch, and lacking the power to shift their bodies, she let them crumple to the floor.  “Please,” she croaked, “the promise, Morgan. I can’t hold you right. My body is still sore, and it won’t let me hold you right. And I just want to—I just want to hold you.” There was still more to talk about, she didn’t feel good letting Morgan go off thinking that she wasn’t loved completely, that Deirdre hadn’t always loved her with everything she had. But trust wasn’t something she could force, no matter how many promises she offered. And Morgan was right, this sort of thing was exactly something she said she would never do. And Morgan begged her, and she still did it. It hadn’t been so intentional, but Deirdre never cared for intentions where it concerned herself. “I love you,” she said. “I love you so much.” And if Morgan was still angry, she’d wait and hear it all again. As many times as she had to. “The promise, if you can, please.”

Morgan clung tighter to Deirdre, crawling into her lap. It would be so good if she could stop, if she could let go and still be caught and held. Her body exhausted her and she wanted to rest so badly. She whined, trying to hold the two of them tighter together, trying to make the air come back into the pit of her lungs, trying to place why the part of her that protested releasing Deirdre was getting so quiet. Was this the pain she wanted, or the pain she could bear? Cutting into Deirdre with harsh words was too much to stomach honestly, but to make Deirdre take on more pain for her, to break with her--did that satisfy her arcane sense of justice? Was that the missing equivalent? Was that fair, or cruel? Morgan moaned pitifully, burrowing as deep into Deirdre as she could. She didn’t have it in her to be sure, but she wanted the rest, and Deirdre was begging her. “I--I--” she coughed, struggling, “release you. H-hurt for me. Hold me until it...til you…” Another cry took her and she let it. Her hands loosened, her body sagged. For once, Morgan didn’t try to do anything.

Deirdre breathed free. Morgan had released all of the promises like that, but it wasn’t so terrible of an issue—she’d just promise them all again. With great relief, she gripped Morgan as tight as she could. Her muscles protested, and pain flared back up in her abdomen and across her scarred arm. She didn’t mind it, and she certainly didn’t care about it. She shifted them to press Morgan against the couch for added pressure, pressing in until she was sure her girlfriend was safely bundled up between the two. And she held her, just as she wanted to. “Thank you,” she breathed, pressing her lips firm and hard against Morgan’s temple—hard enough for pain to bloom in her lips for just a moment, hard enough just because she could now. “You are safe,” she said, wondering if it would come off as an assurance or a mockery of one. But she’d meant it, she’d meant every word. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m here. It’s okay. I love you.” There was so much more she wanted to say, words about how sorry she was, how much she loved Morgan, how often she would promise it to her (for all of her life, if Morgan would have her). Always. She committed it like a spell, repeated as a rasp across her skin. “I love you. I love you. I love you…”

Morgan gasped with relief as Deirdre’s body closed in. It felt like so long since she had been pressed like this, cocooned in another body so intensely she started to lose track of where one started and another finished. In the days Deirdre had disappeared, Morgan had lain flat on their bed, too miserable to try and rig the pillows into her shape again. And the days before that, with Deirdre peeling her hands away every time Morgan tried to give her a squeeze, being held made her feel like an obligation to be managed, something to be embarrassed of. This feeling was so different it almost felt like new.

Morgan didn’t mind the words Deirdre gave her either. Noting burned or tore through her ears. This Deirdre sounded right, a lullaby modulated with desperate certainty, so clear Morgan sobbed harder just to hear it. She closed her eyes and let it all happen. She cried on the loop her body had set her on until her voice cracked ragged, the gray December day outside changed its tint toward evening, and the cloud of hurt around her mind cleared. Morgan nuzzled into the crook of her banshee’s neck and curled her fingers gently into the spots she remembered as having healed the most. It was like sleeping in their bed again, being held like this. “...How much do you hurt?” She asked.

“Internally or externally?” Deirdre asked, figuring that Morgan probably meant the outside, because no one ever asked about the inside like that. To her credit, she had been focused on clutching Morgan to her the tightest she could—as if she might drift away. “It’s not so bad…” she began. “It’s just muscle pain.” But that wasn’t entirely true, her arms screamed in pain, but it was her abdomen that really hated what she was doing. Something about the pressure, or the strength of her grip, awoke the sleeping stab wound. “It’s not so bad,” she repeated, wanting to be more accurate now. “The stab wound hurts a little, but I can manage. How are you? Do you want me to go tighter?”

Morgan shook her head. “No,” she murmured. She didn’t make any move to do anything in particular about the rest of what Deirdre said. If her sutures were breaking, they could take care of it later, and if they weren’t, then there wasn’t much to do besides let go and Morgan wasn’t ready for that. Some petulant part of her wanted to cry good, just for the sake of fairness. But the sentiment wasn’t strong enough to make it up her throat. Her head was clear and her anger had been largely exorcised, even if it hadn’t really come to much in the end.

She ran her fingers along Deirdre’s arms in little caresses, following the swell of her muscles. They didn’t tremble, they bore their pain so well. Morgan could close her eyes and find each spot Deirdre’s fingers pressed into her skin, solid and gentle at once. Was that who this Deirdre was? “You can tell me about your hurt internally, too,” she said. “I um...I want to know.”

Once Deirdre settled, the pain that spurred from the extra pressure did too—it came in dull throbs, completely ignored. Her hurt internally was a strange creature; something she still lacked the words for, and still feared giving a voice. More than that, she was better interested in Morgan’s hurt. But there was something she knew to say about that, and she smiled softly. “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine…” Deirdre said, adding, “...will you? I want to know yours too; the angry parts, the sad parts, the hopeless parts, the parts that feel too afraid to speak...If you ever want to share, I’d like to know. I’d like to hold them with you.” Her own hurt could be a beast of quiet and screaming; it was quiet now, largely. Soothed to be holding Morgan, hopeful that it could rid her of her pain in a tight enough embrace. Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s forehead and tried to explain it. “I want to hold you like this every night. I want to kiss you. I want to be with you, and the pain of not loving you fully—like I want to—is terrible. But I know it wouldn’t be so bad if this was what you wanted; if you broke your hand and wanted me to stop holding it, I could live with that. But it’s me. I did the breaking. And that pain is….indescribable. I feel useless. I couldn’t help Lydia, and the best I can do to help you is just...waiting. I’m useless and I miss you. And I just want to...make things right. Make them okay. Make them better and good again. And I still miss Lydia, and I don’t know what to do about that. Everything feels so…” She sighed, “...inadequate. But your pain is more important to me right now. I can—can you tell me about it at all? Do you feel alright to speak?”

Morgan listened in stillness. Before, she tended to work in small comforts with a whisper or a touch, keep going, I’m here. But the only time she stirred was to laugh sadly at the poem Deirdre quoted. “That’s where we are, huh?” ‘Wild Geese’ was what Morgan said when she needed to get her hands around the most stubborn pieces of Deirdre’s heart and make them accept being loved. You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. How strange, to have not even thought of the words in days and hear them now in a different voice. Stranger, to have thought so little of Deirdre’s verse before, and to shiver at them now.

Morgan’s eyes leaked again, but she brushed them away quickly. “I think the worst part right now...is that I’m starting to believe you. Enough that I can’t even be glad that what you’re describing sounds just like what your choices put me through these last two weeks and the times you were too afraid to love me back before then. I tried very hard not to show you how much it hurt. I didn’t want you to feel guilty and rush yourself or quit. Now you know.” She shrugged; it didn’t matter to her now, however tempting it was to add this to their personal injury calculus. “I believe you...but I can’t give myself to you yet. Not the way you want. I don’t even know how hard I could try before panicking.” Morgan sniffled and wiped her eyes again and went quiet, waiting for some follow up argument to present itself. If she ached so badly, if not even understanding that the Deirdre holding her really, desperately loved her was enough to make the pain stop, what would? “I feel like there’s more but—I don’t know. I think I’ve hurt you enough for today.” The way the words fell sounded strange to Morgan’s ears, like she was saying I’ve assigned you enough homework, be sure you turn it in on time. She grimaced and searched for a new place to hold her back. Maybe there really was no going back for them. Maybe they were different versions of themselves already.

Slowly, she reached for Deirdre’s wet cheek and stroked it dry. “What happened to Lydia wasn’t your fault. Maybe if she wasn’t so stubborn and proud she might have picked up on the second call and everything would be different, but if she’d done that, she wouldn’t have been Lydia. She wouldn’t want you to carry guilt. And I don’t think you should either. Not for that.”

“That’s okay,” Deirdre smiled. The cynical part of her remarked that of course that was easy for her to say. Her trust hadn’t been so shattered, her love wasn’t so tested. But what else was there? How else could she tell Morgan that her emotions, her trepidation, was all okay? “You can tell me just how badly something hurts you, Morgan. If I can’t see it myself, I think you should tell me. And, well especially when I am the cause of it. I want to be able to love you and take care of you the best that I can. If I can’t see it, I can’t do that. So if you can, if you will, please tell me.” But it wasn’t Morgan’s fault that she didn’t say anything, Deirdre didn’t imagine that any person would’ve in her place. To be with someone grieving that strongly, trying to explain one’s own pain must have felt too selfish. Still, if it could have been possible, Deirdre wished she knew. “And that’s okay too,” she sighed, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. She’d meant to kiss her, obviously, but had to stop short. “You don’t have to, I’m not expecting you to. However long you need...that’s okay. I’ll be here. I promise for today and tomorrow that I will not leave you as I did before….remember that? And I promise to never leave your side abruptly without telling you where or why I’m going. I’ll be here for you, whenever you’re ready.” She shifted, pulling back as the rest of Morgan’s words sank in. She tangled her fingers in her hair, tugging and pressing in just enough for Morgan to feel her. “Is that what happened before? Were you panicking? If holding you gets to be too much, you can tell me. If you can. What would you like me to do for you in that case?” Deirdre shook her head, laughing shakily. “Don’t worry about hurting me, not for this. Not when it comes to the way you feel. If you want to tell me more, I’d be happy to listen. And if you’re too tired for it, we can revisit this later.”

At the mention of Lydia, Deirdre grimaced and shifted again, still clutching Morgan tight to her. “It is my fault. All of it. Her death, her torture, her being ash, your pain, your broken trust...it’s all my fault. I know that. I called her a lot to tell her about dead animals I found, or just because I wanted to hear her voice…she probably didn’t think anything of it, I bet. And if I wasn’t so stubborn, maybe I would have realized that of course Ariana was planning on having her killed. She’d always been. And maybe if I was a better friend to her, I could have helped her fix her life instead of letting her take more humans. I could’ve done something. I could’ve done more. I know Lydia won’t agree, but she can be wrong, sometimes. And it is my fault. All of it.” She sagged into Morgan, curling against her. “I could’ve killed the warden that did this instead of a girl who did nothing. If only I wasn’t so stupid. It’s my fault, Morgan. That’s okay. I know it is.”

Morgan tilted her head back to watch Deirdre’s face as she replied, still drying her face as she did. “I was trying to put you first…” she explained lamely. She welcomed the press of their foreheads together, nuzzling down to her cheek. This much, this moment, fit right. The grooves in their wrinkled forehead and the down of their cheeks nested just enough to make Morgan exhale, unclench. The assurances and promises sounded naturally to her ears as ambient rain down the windows. She nodded along, moaning softly when Deirdre pulled on her hair just right. She wasn’t surprised by this complete, tender forgiveness, but it didn’t tack cleanly onto what she’d known before either. “You really are different, huh,” Morgan marveled.

She nodded in acknowledgement of the stupidity that had landed them on the floor again. “It wasn’t that you were holding me. It just felt so nice I wanted more. And like it could almost be easy, just reaching out and taking you. And that’s when I got really scared. Because I can’t do that right now, I can’t. And I think I needed to leave the room no matter what, but I was so angry that I could want to give in so easily, without you having to do a thing. That's when I decided I wanted you to hurt with me. I’m sorry, for that much at least.” She curled her body in a little tighter. “But you can still hold me. We can have that.”

And they could have this too: Morgan straining her head up to kiss Deirdre’s cheek, her lips lingering tenderly on her skin. “There’s a lot that could’ve been different, yeah. But it’s not all on you, even if thinking that is more comforting than saying some parts were out of your control. You can put some of it down now. If even I can see that from where I’m at, you have to know it’s true.” She kissed her cheek again. “I don’t have room for many mercies in my heart right now, but I do have this one. Be gentle with yourself, Deirdre. It isn’t only on you. Forgive yourself a little.”

“I know, I know…” She assured, voice like a breeze. Deirdre smiled, as much as she could given the circumstance. But as small and tender as her smile was, the love behind it wasn’t any less strong. “I know you were. I know that now. Thank you, my love. You can rest now, you can worry about yourself now. It’s okay.” At Morgan’s marvel, she resisted the urge to ask whatever she meant. She was the woman she’d always been, the one that loved Morgan. In her mind, at least, she hadn’t changed at all. But there was a week of grief that said different about her, and she figured Morgan meant that. Deirdre smiled a little wider, brows pulled together. “I suppose so.”

Deirdre’s smile fell, and her frown turned with understanding--and remorse. “I’m sorry,” she said, “is there anything I can do, for next time?” Though she didn’t mention it, she hoped it was clear that she’d wanted more too, that she was doing her best to keep them at the boundary Morgan wanted. It wasn’t much, and it clearly wasn’t enough, but she was trying. Once, Morgan would have said that counted for something. Deirdre held hope she still felt that way. “If it soothes you, I am hurting.” But she couldn’t--and wouldn’t--measure her pain to Morgan’s. And it wasn’t a comfort to her at all to know Morgan was hurting like she was, she’d rather neither of them were. She wanted their peace again, their world--the good one, away from everything that kept taking and taking from them. Deirdre sighed against Morgan, trying to lean into her kiss. She turned her head, nuzzling into her cheek. She couldn’t kiss her, and these acts to fill the space didn’t compare, but they helped. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she confessed in a small voice. “Not until things are right. Until then, it’s my fault. But thank you--thank you. I’ll think about what you’re saying.”

Morgan relented, asking her quiet body if there was anything else to unclench, anything else she could release to bring herself closer to rest. She moaned again, encouraging Deirdre with little nods and turns to keep going, holding her, talking to her, touching her face. At Deirdre’s smile, Morgan managed a weary one of her own. Her soul was so tired, and she could believe now that these gestures were as real as the hands that gave them, let it soothe her.

She tried to think about the moments that made up her stupid, clumsy escape from the room. Deirdre’s knuckles had brushed her side, digging into Morgan’s tattoo just enough to be distinct. But Morgan thought she would welcome that now, at least while her mood prevailed like this. “I think you already have,” Morgan murmured. “I believe you now. I think whatever Deirdre you are now, you want to be careful with me, love me, and you won’t do anything like this if you can help it. I um...I think I just need to use better words next time. Tell you that I need a minute, and trust that you’ll give it to me.” She sighed. “Maybe this morning knowing that probably would’ve made me feel better, but not right now.”

Deirdre frowned, she should have felt happy to know Morgan believed her now—and she was, just not as happy as she reckoned she should be. Part of her mind clouded with doubt; there should have been more. She should have had to do more to make it true. All she’d done was talk and hold her, nothing special by any standard she held herself to. She should have had to lose a finger, or a metaphorical finger. Vaguely, the idea bounced in her head that there was something wrong with her instinct to use suffering as the barometer for success. She didn’t know how that idea got there, but she shook it out. “Well, it’s okay if you can’t get any better words out. Whatever you need to do, that’s fine. I’m okay with that.”

Morgan knew better than to give too many kisses, however chaste. But the freshly melted piece of her heart craved closeness and she found herself cradling Deirdre’s face and combing her fingers gently through her long hair. “Ssh,” she whispered. “Not all at once, just a little. We can forgive a little at a time. We can try.” She pulled away so Deirdre could see her and understand through her look--still guarded, but softer and more sober than it had been in many days--that she meant the two of them could forgive each other that way too. If nothing else, they could try.

[oureuphoria]

Mocha Kinda Guy

Genre: fluff, comedy

Pairing: non-idol!jimin x cafeworker!reader

Word count: 3.1K

Warnings: Nothing this is just 3,163 words of pure fluff. 

Note: First of all I would like to apologise anon because this is kind of late. Thank you for requesting this because it made me smile internally and externally. I have busted out every cliche in the book for this oneshot because  Jimin is literally perfect how could I not. Enjoy!

“What do you mean I have to do closes now? I always do opens, that was our deal!” You angrily reasoned to your boss, also your best friend Hoseok. “Taehyung forgot to tell me he’s leaving the country for a goddamn month till the night before he left so I just need you to cover for him.” You stopped wiping the table and tried to throw the rag at him but the wind made it fall embarrassingly short. “Who’s going to do my opens then?” You smiled bitterly, he gave you a taunting glare before picking up the rag and throwing it right in your face. “I will.” You groaned before going back to wiping the tables, preparing them for what could be your last open. “You know I hate working nights, they’re scary, what if I get kidnapped and die? Besides, I walk home Hoseok and we close at 9pm on good nights!” He gave you a pitiful smile before putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I would do it but I have dance classes at night. You’ll be fine, your apartment is only 10 minutes away.” You gave up, nodding with an exasperated sigh. You had to accept your fate, this was your last open.

So far, your night shift had been disastrous. You ran to the cafe from college and then haphazardly put on your apron before rushing in to take over Hoseok who was now late for his class and angry at you. You couldn’t help it though, Hoseok wasn’t the only person with important classes. You weren’t the only worker at the cafe but Hoseok only trusted a handful of people to run the cafe while he wasn’t there and unfortunately, you were one of them. You had just closed and you were so glad to be closed you just sat there and stared into the void. The other two workers just clocked out after cleaning and now all you were left to do was count the registers, close all of the machines, lock everything up and hope you don’t die during the process.

You were still staring into nothing when a voice spoke up. “Rough night?” You jumped so quickly that you hit your foot on a table leg. “Sorry, we’re closed.” You let out through a wince while you held onto your foot, hopping around stupidly. The voice which you now recognise as a very attractive man had chuckled at your pain before running a hand through his hair. “You don’t usually work nights, where’s Taehyung?” Under the impression that he was just looking for his friend, you gave him a friendly smile before replying. “He took an exchange program, he’s in Japan for a month. He didn’t tell you?” The boy shook his head before stepping a little closer. “We’re not that close. I’m Hoseok’s friend from dance and I come here often at night so Taehyung and I became acquainted.” You nodded, unsure of how to tell this very handsome man to get the fuck out because you didn’t want to die while walking home. “Well, it was nice meeting you…” “Jimin.” “Jimin. But we are actually closed and I need to lock-up so…” You drifted off while he stepped even closer, staring into your eyes with a cunning smile on his face. “Taehyung always made me coffee after he closed, my practices run pretty late.” You liked to think you were immune to charming men but this Jimin guy was something else. You couldn’t even bring yourself to reject him so you begrudgingly moved to get behind the coffee machine.

“So, how do you like your coffee?” You really hoped he wasn’t a black-coffee kind of person, if he was you might have had to kick him out. “Mocha, iced please.” Oh, a man of taste. You nodded before moving to make the drink though you had to admit you were weirdly motivated to make sure it was perfect. After it was done, you held out the cup to him and he took it with a smile, leaving a $10 note on the bench. “Wait, let me get your change.” He waved you off with a smirk. “Keep it.” He winked and you just stood in shock, trying to suppress the blood rushing to your cheeks. You were sure he was just being friendly but he was super flirtatious about it and it left you flustered. You thought that would’ve been the end, he would walk out the door and you could finish closing in peace but he sat there, taking his phone out and scrolling through it as he sipped his drink.

“Um, Jimin-” He looked up at you and you weren’t exactly sure that you wanted him to leave, it wouldn’t hurt if he just stayed while you closed, right? He sure was a sight for sore eyes and boy were your eyes sore. “Yeah?” You just shook your head quickly while picking up the money tray from the register. “Never-mind.” You quickly walked to the office before you could somehow manage to embarrass yourself further.

After counting the register, turning off all the machines and cleaning whatever wasn’t clean yet, you were finally done with your close and it was 9:50. Not your proudest record. Throughout the entire process, you had developed a routine with Jimin. You stare at him, he looks at you, smiles and you foolishly try to pretend you weren’t staring in the first place; vice versa. He stayed there the entire time and you wondered why he did, he finished his drink in the first 20 minutes.

“Hey, I’m leaving now so you really need to go, sorry.” He nodded and you unlocked the door, opening it for him so he could leave while you locked it again the moment you got outside. “You’re not walking home, are you?” Jimin asked, looking back at you while he put his motorcycle helmet on. You wondered if you were just imagining this, he seemed like he was straight out of a movie and you were definitely finding it suspicious. Maybe he was just a figment of your imagination. “No, my roommate’s picking me up.” You lied. Your roommate is in fucking Japan while you’re stuck covering his shifts. You weren’t sure why you lied but the idea of having a stranger take you home just made you shiver, even if the stranger was insanely handsome. Part of you argued that you wouldn’t mind being murdered at the hands of this man but the rational part argued that you had a pet fish to feed.

He nodded before hopping on his motorcycle and driving away, you waited till he turned onto another street before you began walking home. The walk home wasn’t that bad except for your constant paranoia. You kept looking over your shoulder and walked extremely close to walls. Eventually, you made it and in one piece too. “Hey, Gary.” Yes, you named your fish Gary because he was pink like Gary from SpongeBob and you’re not that creative. You jumped onto your bed before looking at the time and hoping that Taehyung would be awake so you could FaceTime him. “Good morning!” You scrunched your face at his perky attitude, your time zones seemed to clash horribly. “Who’s Jimin?” Taehyung’s face morphed into a teasing one before he jumped onto his bed, hand under his chin with a suggestive smile on his face. “Why, does someone have a crush?” You glared and he laughed at your lack of amusement, you began to wonder why you called him in the first place. “No, but apparently now I have to serve him coffee after we close thanks to the legacy you left behind.” Taehyung chuckled at what you said but paid it no mind, adamant on telling you all about his first few days in Japan.

“And then she has the audacity, to tell me that I didn’t use soy milk? I was fuming it was just- Y/N are you even listening?” You broke out of your trance after Jin had given you a shake. “Pay attention to me!” It was time for you to take over Jin’s shift but Jin had stayed back to tell you about an annoying customer. Eventually, after Jin had ranted about everything he could possibly think of, he left and you were on your own with 3 other employees for the next 7 hours. Fun.

Once you had closed, you were on your own once again to finish things off and almost like clockwork, Jimin showed up. You closed at 10pm today, it was a Saturday and you were extremely busy. This also meant that closing the store took longer than you’d hoped. Jimin stayed the entire time though and your heart couldn’t help but jump at the idea that he was staying for you.

Once it was time to lock-up, Jimin went outside and leaned on his motorbike, not yet getting on it. “You’re not leaving?” You asked nervously. The last thing you needed was for him to figure out you were lying about being picked up. “I’ll wait for you to get picked up, it’s pretty late.” You nodded absentmindedly, trying to think of a way out of the awkward predicament you had stumbled into. You waited for about 20 minutes. You thought of calling an uber but paying $20 for what could just be a 10-minute walk seemed stupid. “Y/N, you’re not getting picked up, are you?” Jimin gave you a smirk, his head cocked to the side with an amused look on his face and you sighed, you were caught. You shook your head and he chuckled, opening the storage compartment of his motorbike and fishing out a spare helmet.

“You don’t have to take me home, it’s a really short walk!” You tried to reason but he was already making his way to you. He put the helmet on your head, clasping it shut under your chin. His hands felt smooth on your skin and you couldn’t help but yearn for the feeling once it was gone. “I’d be damned if I let you walk alone at this hour.” He got on, waiting for you to join him but all you did was gulp. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, he had been coming every night for a solid 2-weeks and you had gotten pretty friendly. It was simply because you were absolutely horrified of motorcycles. They were practically death machines. There was a reason you didn’t drive yourself everywhere. The idea of controlling an entire vehicle terrified you because frankly enough you had trouble navigating yourself as is. “You’re not scared of motorcycles, right?” He said it with a teasing smile and the tone of his voice didn’t sit well with you. “If you’re implying that I’m a pussy, Park, then no, I’m not.” You begrudgingly got onto the bike behind him.

“You look like you saw a ghost.” You had finally arrived at your apartment and you could have sworn it felt longer than 5 minutes. “Yeah, my own. How do you drive this thing? We nearly died like 11 times.” He chuckled but didn’t humour your fears. “You’re more likely to die walking home alone at night than on my bike, Y/N.” You scoffed, removing the helmet and (slowly) getting off the bike. “I’ll see you in the afterlife then.” You were about to walk up to your apartment before there was a halt in your step. You turned around to face Jimin and gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you.” He smiled back and waved. He got off the bike to put your helmet back and before you knew it he was gone.

“Taehyung, I hate you.” He grinned at the screen, undeterred by your negative behaviour. You had been mad at him ever since you found out he went to Disneyland in Tokyo without you. “iTs jUsT fOr ScHoOL I sWeAr.” You mocked him and this time he showed offence. “What about that time you snuck out and didn’t tell me?” You raked your mind for when you could have ever done that before gasping in shock. “You mean when I snuck out to the fucking dentist because you were sick and wouldn’t let me leave? How is that-” Your phone made a notification sound from its position on your bedside table. You reached over to grab it and your scowl quickly turned into a smile. “Damn, who’s the god who got mighty Y/N all smiley?” You looked at him through the camera screen and he could almost feel your glare burning holes into his soul. “Jimin. That’s right, I stole your coffee friend.” Taehyung cocked his eyebrow before leaning closer to the camera screen with a suggestive smile. “May I enquire for some more information, kind sir?” You put your phone down after replying, leaning down in the same position as Taehyung and giving him a polite smile. “I’m sorry, you cannot.”

After Taehyung had pointed out your smile, you had realised you might’ve gotten too giddy. You began combing through every interaction you had with Jimin over the past 2-weeks and you realised, by the end of it that you definitely had a huge undeniable crush on Jimin. Fuck. You were now inevitably screwed. You were sure he couldn’t possibly like you back. It was simply unrealistic. You tried to talk yourself out of it, write yourself out of it, hell, you even meditated for 20 minutes but to no avail. You fell for the annoyingly charming boy you swore you wouldn’t fall for.

You were looking outside the glass doors, searching for a certain blonde. It had been the fifth day in a row that Jimin hadn’t shown up to the coffee shop. He’d been really dry with his text messages too and you were getting worried. Did you do something stupid to scare him away? You were getting ready to leave, locking the doors when you heard a motorcycle drive up. When he took his helmet off, your eyes locking for an incredibly long 6 seconds, you realised he was no longer blonde. “Your hair is black!” He chuckled lightly, ruffling said hair cutely. “Hello to you too.” Your smile quickly fell when you remembered that he’d been low-key avoiding you and Jimin noticed. “I had a dance performance. It was in South Korea and it charged me like $2 for every text.” He smiled bashfully and you could almost feel your heart turn into liquid. “If you had an iPhone then this wouldn’t have been a problem.” You always shamelessly mocked him for his android and he genuinely missed it.

He got off his bike, only to take out the godforsaken helmet you grew to hate. “No. Absolutely not.” He gave you a longing look, holding it out to you. You cursed yourself and your inability to reject this godly man. “Please, I want to take you somewhere.” Your eyebrows cocked up in curiosity, you had to go now. You grabbed the helmet from his hands, putting it on unenthusiastically. Jimin held out his hand to help you get on the bike and once you did, you held onto him for dear life. “Y/N, we’re not even moving yet.” He let out through breathy laughs and you contemplated on what to say next. “I know, I just missed you.” You couldn’t see it but Jimin’s face broke out into a beaming smile, and if you looked really hard you could probably see him blush. “I missed you too. But mostly your coffee.” Before you could reply he had started the engine and you were scared into silence.

You had no idea where he was taking you, it seemed almost comical to think about how literally 3-weeks ago you suspected this man to be a cunning murderer and now you were on his motorcycle with an unknown destination. You reached a building somewhere in the city and you wondered if he was taking you to his apartment. “Are you going to murder me?” He paid you no mind, parking his bike and helping you get off. He held your hand to guide you in and you ended up walking at least 10 flights of stairs. “Jimin, if your plan was to exhaust me so you could kill me, you would’ve been good like 7 floors ago.” You heard him laugh but once you got to the very top floor, he opened a large exit door. “Welcome to my special place.” It was a rooftop and the view was extremely incredible. You didn’t say anything, just stared in hopes of burning this view into your memory forever. You ran to the very edge excitedly, leaning against it, Jimin walking behind you. “The view is so beautiful.” “Yeah, it is.” Perhaps if you had looked back, you would have noticed Jimin wasn’t staring at the view, he was staring right at you.

“Thanks for sharing this with me.” You said, still in awe at the view. You had been standing there for about 10 minutes when Jimin put his hand over yours, intertwining them casually. You turned to him but he wasn’t looking at you and you wondered if this was something he did with all his friends. Suddenly, you didn’t feel as happy as you initially did coming up here and evidently, you were not that good at hiding it. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” You shook your head quickly, waving him off and muttering a quiet ‘nothing’. He clearly wasn’t buying it though and forced you to turn around and face him. “Do you want me to take you home?” You shook your head again, scolding yourself for letting your feelings get this out of hand. “Nothing is wrong, I promise.” You were almost sure he wasn’t believing a thing that came out of your mouth and you were unsure how to dig yourself out of the hole you made.

“I like you, Jimin. And, I guess I was a little upset because you don’t like me back but it’s okay I-” He pulled you extremely close to him, hand snugly holding your cheek. You stopped talking immediately at the close proximity, a little too stunned to even think. “I think the coffee fried your brain, baby.” You looked a little taken aback, too focused on the insult to notice the pet name. Before you could think of a witty reply, his gorgeous lips were on yours and it felt euphoric. There were fireworks going off in your head and if this was a movie you were sure it would start heavily raining and some cheesy song would start playing. However, this wasn’t a movie. This extremely attractive, charming, sweet, extremely out-of-your-league man was kissing you and it was real(?) “I like you too, you moron.”

[likeshipsonthesea]

post script poetry

okay i’m going to preface this with a lot of rambling so buckle up my dudes

i started this i don’t know how long ago when i saw a post about how fun it would be if dex ended up being the one to wax poetic about nursey and i saw it and thought the only way that would happen would be by accident, like if he was complaining and started getting mushy

so i wrote this. like, half of this. and then tonight i found it and i liked it and finished it. so here you go. and yes, i did this instead of fulfilling the hozier prompts. sorry not sorry?

Hey Lardo,

I attached my schedule for the week of the 15th. Depending on how long you need me, I can also work this week. I know the sculpture doesn’t have to be done until the end of the month, but I also know how you get close to a deadline. Let me know if any of the free times work for you-- if not, we’ll figure something out.

Dex

P.S. I was going to text this, but since I’m typing I might as well tell you that there’s a horrifying new regular at the café. Every time he comes in he orders something so convoluted and complicated that he has to be fucking with me, and the drinks are so damn sweet he must need to see a dentist every weekend. He walks in with this stupid fucking smirk on his face too, like he derives joy from ruining a perfectly nice--okay well not nice but I’m perfectly civil to customers at least-- barista’s day.

He’s come in consistently for three weeks now. Pray for me.

P.P.S. Did I mention that he’s taken to sitting at a table with nothing but his stupid sweet drinks and a journal for hours on end? Sometimes he’ll buy a muffin and try to talk to me, like I’m not fucking working. Asshole.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

5 on Wednesday works for me. Should I bring anything aside from the regular tools?

Dex

P.S. It doesn’t matter if he’s attractive but since you asked, yes, but only in the way that statues are attractive. They’re carved and perfected and gorgeous, yeah, but when you look at them you’re admiring it, idolizing it-- your own inferiority is entangled in the attraction.

P.P.S. And no, I’m not telling you his name.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Sorry to hear about the issues with the sculpture. The earliest I can come for emergency repairs would be tomorrow after work. Hope it holds together until then.

Sorry,

Dex

P.S. This seems to be a theme in our emails, but I’m mentioning this only because it literally just happened. The horrible regular was just here in a sweater and jeans. A sweater and jeans. It’s fucking snowing. Below freezing, high teens, stupid kind of cold, and the guy left his jacket home for what? To show the world how pretty he looks in that sweater? The asshole probably looked in the mirror and thought that people noticing how the green in the sweater enhanced the fucking tree top, sea-glass shiny green of his own eyes was more important than not getting frost bite. And he looked so fucking proud of himself too, smiling all big and wide and stupid like his lips weren’t chattering! And then he stayed in the shop forever, obviously, because he can’t go out in the cold wearing nothing and he just sat there and wrote in his stupid journal and looked over at me with his fucking budding-leaves-at-the-beginning-of-spring eyes like he knew how infuriating he was. That kind of stupidity just pisses me off.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Was going through my messages and saw the last thread. How are the repairs holding up?

Dex

P.S. Shut up.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Glad the emergency repairs are holding. The piece looks great so far, I can’t wait to see the finished product at the end of term.

Dex

P.S. I’m not going to fuck an asshole just because he’s pretty.

P.P.S. Don’t bring up the LAX bro.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

My phone crapped out in the middle of a shift so I’ll be communicating via email for the next few days. I’ve got a bunch of leftover muffins from work. Want me to drop by the studio on the way home?

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

I’ll grab all the banana nut and any double chocolates that look good. See you soon.

Dex

P.S. Just because we’re on email doesn’t mean you have to ask about my horrible regular. But yes, to answer your question, he is still a regular and maybe a little less horrible, thank God.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Okay, I’ll get some blueberry ones for Shitty too.

Dex

P.S. Well, he’s less horrible because his orders-- while still stupidly complicated and overly fucking sweet-- have narrowed down to one of two options, so I know what they are now. When he lists off all of the stupid steps, I can just ignore him and stare at nothing, or how he gestures with his hands when he speaks and barely avoids knocking over the tip jar. I guess it’s nice that he talks with his hands, though, because sometimes when he’s sitting at a table and writing his hands start shaking and I much prefer the gesturing to that.

Also he seems to have decided to wear a coat for the foreseeable future, and even if it’s this deep green pea coat that probably cost more than what I make in a month, it looks good on him-- aesthetics and functionality, at least he’s compromising. It’s like cut or whatever, so you can still see the line of his waist, tight to his chest and everything. And he has a matching beanie that doesn’t seem that warm, but he tugs it down just over the tips of his ears and a few of his curls above his forehead poke out of it, all soft looking and stuff. He still needs gloves though.

But, I guess, overall he’s less horrible.

*~*~*

Lardo,

The sculpture looks great! And with the deadline still a week away you have a bunch of time to do all your last little nit-picky things.

Dex

P.S. Okay reading over that last post-script I do sound a little mushy, but in my defense I was coming off a double shift and I’d had a big deadline for CS the night before and I definitely wasn’t all there. This cannot be held against me.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Just because you put it in the P.S. doesn’t make it okay. I am not In Love with anyone, especially not the guy who writes poetry on the twenties he leaves in the tip jar.

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Why does that matter?

Dex

*~*~*

FINE some of it was other people’s stuff-- I googled it and some were Emily Dickinson I think? Some of the lines didn’t return anything, so I guess they were original? Anyway it doesn’t matter-- he’s defacing money.

Dex

*~*~*

Your idea of romantic is weird.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

I can’t get my phone fixed until Sunday, but I wanted to double check that your show is on Saturday at 7:00PM?

Thanks,

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Thanks for clarifying.

Dex

P.S. Actually yeah, I guess there was an update, or whatever.

So he came in with a book last night, late. Not a lot of people come by the cafe at night, obviously, so it was just me and him, and he was there for a while but then we were closing. I went over to tell him we were closing in a few minutes and he asked if I’d sit with him for a few minutes and, well, he’s a nice tipper, so whatever. I did.

And then-- I shit you not-- he started reading me poetry. Actually. Just started reading poetry to me out of nowhere. He’d gesture with his notebook as he did it, his eyes were all lit up like treetops at sunrise or something and his voice just filled up the whole shop, like it was bouncing off the walls and going through me and shit, like he was trying to make me listen in my soul or something. And, like, I’m shit at poetry and I didn’t really get what it was supposed to be, but you know when you hear a song and even without really hearing the lyrics it makes you feel some kind of way? That’s what it did.

Then he stopped reading and asked me what I thought and I couldn’t just say that it made me feel things so I said that the guy in the poem sounded kind of obsessed, and then the guy-- the regular-- laughed, like a full bodied laugh, his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook and he tucked the notebook against his chest, against his heart, and laughed in public, in front of a stranger, like it wasn’t weird. And you know when something good happens? Something unexpectedly good? Your favorite song comes on the radio or you find a random twenty in your pocket or you catch the sunset on your walk home and its pretty and warm and just makes you smile and think, huh, I’m glad I get to be here for that.

That’s what his laugh felt like. I know it’s fucking sappy but it’s the only way I can come up with to describe it.

Anyway. See you Saturday.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Yeah.

I’m fucked.

Dex

*~*~*

Hey, fuck, I’m so sorry about last night. My phone is still fucked up otherwise I’d call you but your friend-- the one in your painting, Nursey-- he’s my horrible regular.

Small campus, huh?

He was a little drunk-- he kept drinking the champagne for some reason, I think it was to stop his hands shaking, I don’t know-- but I didn’t want to just send him off alone so I helped him back to his dorm and as I was taking off his shoes he kept reciting poetry or whatever and he was drunk, yeah, but he said it so nicely and he kept looking at me with his ridiculous eyes and then he touched my cheek-- like actually fucking caressed my cheek-- and I kissed him.

And I know he was drunk, I tasted the champagne when I kissed him, and I felt horrible and I ran out of his dorm and-- then I fell asleep and woke up and wrote this email.

So, I probably fucked up beyond repair and if you need me I will be kicking myself for the next fifty years. Thanks, goodbye.

Dex

P.S. I forgot to say-- the show looked great. The sculpture, the art, everything. You’re amazing, dude.

*~*~*

Thanks for his number, but I can’t just call the guy out of the blue and say, “Hey, sorry for kissing you when you were all drunk, won’t happen again, please keep tipping me?”

Also, I still don’t have a working phone.

*~*~*

That’ss the problem with falling in love with a stranger, youknow? Like, I never mett the guy really, I just made his stupid sweet coffee drinks and listened to his poetry that one time and stared too much when he talked with his hands and at his stupid eyebrows-- how do eyebrows look soft?? It makes no sense

And he’s beautiful, you know, like can’t stare too long or you’ll go blind, and I felt like he was a good person youknow, an asshole but good, the kind you want. And I could feel it he would probably argue with me over everything but I think I could likee that, like arguing, at least with him, because I know it wouldn’t be out of anger or whatever, he would be coming from a place of understanding or shared values or whatever

and i fucking KNOW that I can’t know all this frm looking at him, but he had his stupidd fucking g journal that he scrippled in all the time and his hadsn were covered in ink with notes to himself and I want to be the person who egts to listen to his poetry at 2 in the morning and watch him ramble about things he loves and tell him how fucking good his writing is because it IS lardo it’s so good, he’s so good, i never spent any of those twenties witb his writing on it i hung them in my dorm isnt’ that fucking stupid god i love him, i love him and I don’t even know him

Love scuks.

P..S yeah, if you couldnt tell, i’m a little drunk. oops

*~*~*

Dear Lardo,

It’s very rude to forward drunken, rambling emails about someone to that someone without the consent of the drunken rambler.

Dex

P.S. Thank you.