#I went from being amused because its absurd to just being fucking tired of it

[that-starry-freak]

Yknow its almost kind of funny (an absurd in hindsight kind of funny) when someone says i must have [insert mental disorder here] because i have a few of the symptoms and i have to explain "no, i do not. Not that there is anything wrong with having it, but I dont. That isn't what it is"

"You have ocd"? (Something I've heard from my family a lot) I may get bothered by things being even or not lining up, and be a bit of a perfectionist sometimes, but that is not ocd- i don't think it not being perfect is going to do anything bad, it just bothers me, like how certain sounds bother me. From what I've heard that is literally a normal human thing, so yeah no I don't have ocd (I did used to have extreme anxeity with routines, but I think that was just my anxeity as that doesn't happen anymore!)

"You're autistic"? Oh my god I hear this from literally everyone I know, eccpecially my brothers and friends. Im not autistic- as far as I know at least. Many of the required traits for being diagnosed with autism i don't think I have (idk i haven't really looked to far into it because idc that much) and i just don't really think im autistic sorry chat but God I am tired of hearing this

From ocd to autism to adhd I've heard it fucking all (though to be fair the adhd one at least has more backing as a therapist told me I may have adhd once, but the test it took literally came back inconclusive and I dont feel like I have a lot of the symptoms, so as far as I know im neurotypical)

Like its genuinely just absurd how much I hear things like this??? A few years ago my mom wouldn't listen to me when I said I was depressed, but yes, you're going to say I have ocd because you are shit at decorating. Like??? Augh

This is the same woman I was trying to talk about how sociopathy (aspd) was real misunderstood, and they (from what I've seen) can be really fucking awsome. And she started talking about Ted Bundy and I genuinely walked away because I- I cant even

#this is why I want to go into psychology because its interesting and I want to know more so I can teach the people around me and, yknow, destigmatize a lot of disorders

[hercleverboy]

the waiting room

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary ↠ the three times Y/N waited for spencer, and the one time he waited for her. (based off of this blurb)

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ mentions of death as a result of potential illness, spencer’s headaches, mri scans, swearing,  indefinite ending. 

word count ↠ 2.9k

dedicating this one to two of the literal loves of my life, @voidsfilm + @ellesgreenaway ♡

“What is stronger than the human heart, which shatters over and over and still lives.” — Rupi Kaur

Spencer had always hated hospitals.

He found it so conflicting, how a place could hold so much hope for life and promise for the future, and yet also hold so much heartbreak and despair and agony.

The strong disinfectant smell wasn’t his favourite thing, either. He hated how the bright lights always irritated his eyes, and how the hallways all just looked the same, so bleak and lifeless.

Most of all, he hated the waiting room. 

The navy-blue carpet that lined the floors, wooden chairs that were always, without fail, extremely uncomfortable to sit in. The way that nurses and doctors would walk past the room, eyes full of pity and sorrow. With his job, he’d seen more waiting rooms than he would’ve liked. He spent more time than he wanted to in hospitals, talking to victims’ families, and even sometimes having to witness them receive such heartbreaking news. On one or two occasions, he’d even had to be the bearer of bad news himself, the one who had to tell expectant family that their loved one was gone. It only added to the list of reasons why he despised hospitals.

Then there was the other side of the coin. He took frequent trips to the hospital, but unfortunately more oftenly as a patient than an FBI agent. He wouldn’t say he was reckless, but he didn’t exactly put much value on his life. Or at least, he never used to. He figured it was because he was the only one on the team without a family to come home to, without people who were dependent on him. And so, if it came down to it, he would willing take off his Kevlar vest and put down his weapon while talking down a gun-wielding unsub. Of course, he’d get the third degree from Hotch later, but he could live with that. And then he met Y/N, and he realised that now he had someone counting on him, someone waiting for him to come back home to them, he couldn’t afford to be so careless in the field.

Though sometimes, despite Spencer’s best attempts, things still went wrong. Y/N had seen the inside of the hospital waiting room more than most, often because she’d get called by one of his team mates to alert her that he’d been injured in the field. And without him ever asking, she’d drop everything to be there for him, even if it was his own stupidity that had landed him in those situations. 

The first time was after he’d been shot in the knee. Y/N had been midway through her workday when she’d received a call from JJ telling her that Spencer had been injured. She knew that it was only a leg wound, that he would be absolutely fine, but that didn’t stop her from being worried. She’d been sat in the waiting room, waiting anxiously for a nurse to come by and update her. 

As soon as she got the all clear to see him, she’d breathed out a sigh of relief and made her way to his room,  catching his attention as soon as she entered.

He gave her a tight-lipped smile, grimacing slightly at the pain shooting through his leg. “Hi.” 

She chuckled at that, moving to stand at his bedside. “Hi baby, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m ok.” He smiled, reaching up to tightly grasp one of her hands in his. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here, you know.” 

“Oh, stop.” She mumbled with a smile. “You know how much I worry about you.” 

He grinned at that, the warm feeling that he always got when he was with her spreading through him. He used the grip he had on her hand to pull her down to him, so his lips could meet hers in a sweet kiss. “Hotch has demanded I take some time off to rest, or whatever.” He murmured against her lips. “So, I’m all yours.” 

“Hmm, and what you mean by that is that you need someone to take care of you at home for a few days?” 

“Well, I did get shot in the leg, you know. Taking down the bad guy...” He gestured to his bandaged-up knee, a pout on his pretty pink lips. 

She let out a laugh at that, amused. “Alright, Superman. Let’s get you home, shall we?” 

The next time Y/N found herself in the hospital waiting room was a year later, when Spencer had been suffering from painful, unexplainable headaches. 

Initially, Spencer hadn’t wanted her to attend his MRI scan appointment, but it didn’t take much convincing for her to assure him that she wanted to be there for him. He’d held her hand in a vice-like grip on the drive to the hospital, only letting go when the nurse called his name to tell him they were ready for him. She’d kissed the back of his hand before he’d left, a whispered promise leaving her lips before he went, “I’ll be right here waiting.”

She looked around the empty waiting room, took note of its greying walls and stained carpet, and how awfully uncomfortable the chairs were. She thought of anything and everything that could distract her from the way she was feeling at that moment- knowing how scared her boyfriend was that there was something was wrong with him. 

Spencer came back to the waiting room an hour later, both relieved to see that his girl was indeed still waiting for him but frustrated with what little the doctor had told him. 

“Hey!” Y/N sat up straighter, putting on a smile for the sake of her boyfriend. “How’d it go?” 

Spencer just shook his head. “He says there’s nothing physically wrong with me. He suggested I should consider that it’s something more mental, but he’s wrong- he’s wrong, Y/N.” He sat down in the chair next to her, seeking comfort in her arms as he whimpered into the crook of her neck. “I’m not- I’m not crazy, am I?” 

And the truth was, she didn’t know. She was so afraid for him, worried that he was sick, dying, perhaps of something that the doctors hadn’t detected yet. It terrified her. Her hands ran up and down the expanse of his back, attempting to soothe his weeps the best that she could. Spencer grabbed fistfuls of the back of her shirt and breathed in the scent of her hair as deeply as he could to try and ground himself.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” 

That broke her heart to hear, but all she could do was nod in understanding, hoping her words would offer him some form of comfort. “I know, I know. We’ll figure this out, ok? Everything is going to be alright.” 

The next time Y/N inside of a waiting room was on what she could only refer to as the worst night of her life.

There were no words that could encompass the plethora of emotions she went through when she’d received a phone call from JJ, “Spencer has been shot. It’s- It’s pretty bad, Y/N. You need to come quickly.” 

When she got to the waiting room, she saw JJ and Alex sat opposite one another, a worry that made Y/N’s stomach sink on both their faces. She hurried towards them, tears blurring her vision. “Have you had any updates? Is he ok?” 

JJ looked up, shaking her head sadly. 

“What happened?” Y/N asked, her voice wavering. 

“He got shot in the neck. He pushed me out of the way.” Alex sighed, as though she was still in disbelief that he’d done that to save her. 

Y/N stared ahead in shock, dropping down into the seat beside Alex. Of course, of course, Spencer would risk his life to protect Alex. Y/N knew how fond he was of his colleague, how he idolised her, saw her as a sort of mother figure, even. 

Eventually JJ got called back to work, with Alex insisting that she’d stay with Y/N and wait for Spencer to wake. 

Y/N was so sick and fucking tired of the waiting room. Before, she hadn’t minded it, it had even bought a sense of comfort to her- because she was in a hospital, where they saved lives. But now? The familiar walls and dull navy-blue carpet made her feel nauseous. Not knowing whether her boyfriend was going to live or die was incomparable to any other time she’d found herself waiting in the same four walls. She was feeling everything and nothing all at once, she wanted to cry and scream, curse the universe for once again hurting a man that had done nothing in his life but protect others. Hell, part of her even wanted to laugh- laugh at the absurdity of the situation. If he died, - god, if he died - the world would’ve robbed him of a lifetime with her, the chance to live the life that he deserved.

She barely registered that Alex had left her side to bring her a coffee until she sat back down beside her. Y/N looked over at her, giving her a small smile as she gratefully accepted the coffee. 

Y/N brought the cup to her lips, relishing in how the hot liquid brought her a sense of warmth, and she wondered if she’d ever feel Spencer’s warmth again. She sucked in a shaky breath, speaking the first words she’d said in all the hours they’d been waiting. “You know he wants kids?” 

Alex looked over at her, sad smile tugging at her lips. “I do.” 

Y/N nodded, sniffing. “He’d be a phenomenal father.” 

“He would.” 

Y/N let out a small cry, trying desperately to hold herself together. “What if I never get the chance to give him that, Alex?” She cried, body finally giving in to the painful ache that consumed her entire being. 

Alex placed an arm around her, allowing the younger woman to lean on her shoulder for support. “You’ll get the chance. Spencer is strong, he’ll pull through.”

And sure enough, Alex had been right. When Y/N had been told he was awake, she couldn’t describe the relief that flooded her. After meeting Penelope in the hallway and being given a much-needed hug, she took a few deep breaths before walking into Spencer’s room. When her eyes landed on him, she felt the tears start to well again. She had to remind herself that despite the bandage on his neck and the numerous machines hooked up to him, he was there, and he was alive. 

She came towards him with the best smile she could muster, and he looked up at her with a drowsy smile.

“Hi.” She whispered, standing beside his bed. 

He grinned up at her, reaching out for her hand just like he always did. “Hi.” 

She squeezed his hand gently, reminding herself again that he was ok, though she couldn’t prevent the tears that began to tremble down her cheeks. 

Spencer’s heart throbbed at the sight, and he allowed himself to imagine the pain she must’ve been through, having to wait for hours to see if he was alive. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not the woman he loved more than anything else. “It’s alright, sweet girl. I’m alright.” He promised, wishing more than anything that he could pull her into his arms and soothe her, though the pain in his neck prevented him from doing so. 

“I could’ve lost you.” She whimpered, her other hand coming out to delicately trace the side of his face. 

“I’m right here.” He gave her hand three squeezes just to emphasise his point. 

She leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “You can’t ever scare me like that again.” 

Spencer chuckled lowly, nodding. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Promise me?” 

And though it was a promise they both knew he couldn’t keep, he granted her the reassurance that she craved. 

“I promise.” 

Y/N knew that wasn’t the last time she’d be sat in the waiting room, scared and anxious and hoping that the love of her life was ok. She knew there would always be a ‘next time’, no matter how many self-serving promises she asked Spencer to make. What she didn’t plan for, was that the next time she saw the inside of a hospital, it would be her fighting for her life. 

It had been a slow day at work for Spencer, with him managing to complete a majority of his withstanding paperwork. He sat at his desk, focused on how he twirled his pen between his fingertips, willing the clock to move faster so he could go back home when his phone rang, Y/N’s name flashing across the screen. 

He answered eagerly, though all eagerness was wiped away when it wasn’t her voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hi there, I’m looking for a Dr Spencer Reid?” 

Spencer’s mind raced, and he swallowed thickly before squeaking out an answer. “That’s me.” 

“I’m calling on behalf of Y/N Y/L/N, you’re registered as her emergency contact.” 

“Is she ok?” He croaked out, begging and pleading internally that all the worst-case scenario’s running through his head wouldn’t come to fruition. 

“She was involved in a severe road collision. You’re going to want to come down here-”

Everything past that was drowned out by the sound of Spencer’s heart beating quicker, so loudly he could hear it. He hung up, gathering his things together as quickly as he could and rushing toward the doors of the bullpen- running directly into one Derek Morgan. 

“Woah, easy there, kid. You got somewhere to be?” He joked at first, but erased all hints of a smile from his face when he saw the tears filling the younger man’s eyes. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” 

Spencer couldn’t form a sentence, only managing to splutter out a few barely strung together words. “It’s Y/N, she’s- she’s been in an a-accident and I need, I have to get to her.” 

Morgan’s eyes widened, nodding in understanding. “Alright, ok. You’re in no condition to be driving, let me take you.” 

Spencer wasn’t about to argue, already making his way toward the elevator. 

*

Spencer had always hated hospitals. 

But he’d also decided that he really fucking hated the waiting room. 

The doctors didn’t have any updates for him, no matter how many times he asked. So, he’d been forced to sit in that damned room and wait. 

He thought of how cruel the concept of the waiting room was. Waiting for either good or bad news, waiting to hear the words that would either fill him with relief or dread, signify the start of his life or the end. How cruel was it that people had to sit and wait, with the weight of the world on their shoulders and just hope their loved one was ok? 

With the first hour brought Spencer’s upset, tears trembling down rosy cheeks and whimpered words of disbelief that he could lose the woman he loved. He’d sat in the uncomfortable blue chair with his head in his hands as sobs wrecked through his body, with Morgan sat next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

The second hour brought with it a slither of hope, as a doctor came out to update them. Though it wasn’t good nor bad news, just that Y/N was still in surgery and was expected to be so for the next few hours. Spencer had again buried his head in his hands, his thoughts racing. The rest of the team arrived, joining the sombre atmosphere of the waiting room. 

The third hour saw Spencer grow agitated, angry with himself for not being with her, for not protecting her, despite how many times the team attempted to reassure him that there was nothing he could’ve done differently. They brought him cups of coffee with gentle reassurances, empty promises that Y/N would be fine, that she would pull through, but how could they possibly know that? 

In the fourth hour, Spencer sat staring blankly at the wall. He reminded himself of the future he’d dreamt of time and time again, and how he couldn’t imagine himself having that life with anyone else but her. He recalled the location of the velvet purple box he’d bought just a few months prior, hidden amongst pairs of his mismatched socks in the second drawer of his nightstand. What if he never got the chance to propose? To give her the life that he’d promised her time and time again when it was 3am and he was holding the love his life as close to his chest as he could get her. After all he’d done, the years of his life he’d given to helping to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, this was the thanks he got? What a sick twist of fate that was. 

By the fifth hour, he was exhausted. His eyes drooped but he fought to keep them open, choosing to ignore the pitiful looks JJ shot him when she saw him fighting sleep. He would wait for her, just like all the times she had waited for him. He recognised how the way that he felt must’ve been how Y/N had felt after he’d been shot the year before, and the thought almost made him sick. He ran over all the possible outcomes in his head, allowing his eyes to close for a single moment as he mentally calculated the statistical probabilities of each outcome. He despised how helpless he felt. For a man whose job was to help others in need, he’d never been a position before where he didn’t have the answer, where he couldn’t come up with a solution. His heart ached as the realisation that he could very well lose her settled over him, the statistic he’d calculated of her survival being a number that was way too low for Spencer’s liking. 

For the moment, he had no choice but to wait. 

It was all he could do. 

*

permanent taglist: @beyonces-breastmilk​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @thelovelyrose​ @averyhotchner​ @cynbx​ @calm-and-doctor​ @reidyoulikeabook​ @katexrichardson​ @jemimah-b99​ @muffin-cup​ @shadyladyperfection​ @rigatonireid​ @amoeebaa​ @mggsprettygirl​  @alltooreid​ @s1utformgg @awritingtree

spencer reid taglist: @reidtome

[thankskenpenders]

And so that’s it... nearly 200 issues deep, we’re done with the contributions of original writer Michael Gallagher. I’ve been asked in the past about the possibility of writing an article going over Gallagher’s run, like what I did with Penders. And I might still do that. But for now, here’s a shorter postmortem summarizing my feelings on the work of the original writer for history’s longest-running video game comic

I think it’s easy to look back on Gallagher’s silly old stories with a lot of nostalgia, especially after seeing what the series would become in its Dark Age. I can’t blame anyone who feels this way. I feel that way sometimes, too. It was a simpler time, with short, self-contained stories and a ton of puns, and it was a lot more easily digestible than a lot of the teen melodrama and half-baked sci-fi that followed. But the thing is... that doesn’t mean that Gallagher’s writing was good

Gallagher was always an odd fit for Sonic. I can’t really blame the man for introducing lame concepts like Cal and Al that didn’t fit in with Sonic early on because it’s not like he had much to work with in the early days. The guy was expected to write a monthly comic series based on a couple 16-bit platformers with very little story and some snippets from a cartoon that wasn’t out yet. He also had no way of knowing that his work here would lay the foundation for the longest video game comic ever made. I don’t envy his job. Of course he’d do a goofball story where Sonic travels back to caveman times. It’s not like he had much else to do

But as the series progressed and the cartoons and games gave the comic writers more material to work with, Gallagher didn’t really play along. He gave us a few solid, fun stories like Mecha Madness, but for the most part he was off in his own world, trying to sell us on shoehorned characters like the Forty Fathom Freedom Fighters or the Downunda Freedom Fighters who existed almost exclusively to deliver new flavors of lame pun. One time he even worked with Jim Valentino to make a naval-gazing parody of classic Guardians of the Galaxy so they could make lame puns about a comic they used to write (that very few children in 2001 reading Archie Sonic would be familiar with)

People generally pinpoint Penders as the guy who became obsessed with his own pet characters over the main cast as time went on, but really, Gallagher was just as guilty. And honestly, sometimes Gallagher doing it bugged me more. At least Penders had some prominent characters people actually liked, like Elias, Lara-Su, and Julie-Su, as well as some semblance of an overarching plot to work with. Meanwhile Gallagher was over here trying desperately to get people to care about a group of characters he had created exclusively as a vehicle for trite Australia jokes

Gallagher did introduce a few characters who stuck around, but he doesn’t really deserve much of the credit for that. Most notable would probably be Fiona Fox, who would become a major recurring character under later writers... except Gallagher only really invented her robotic doppelganger that Robotnik tricked Tails into falling in love with that one time. He created Knuckles’ grandfather Athair, the one comic character to somehow make it into a cartoon, but Penders helped out with that lore and did more with the character, meaning most people just assume he’s another Penders echidna. He created Tails’ parents, but Karl and Ian were the ones who actually did stuff with them. And he created the Ancient Walkers, who were kind of neat at first but quickly devolved into a tired plot device, only to be killed off by Ian almost immediately to cut down on the deus ex machinas. If you look at the list of characters Gallagher created, it’s mostly just randos he created for the sake of puns

And that’s really what most of it comes down to. Lame puns. I’m totally down for Sonic stories that go for a silly tone. I love Sonic Boom as much as the next fan, and I’ve been having a blast with the extremely goofy Sonic X comics. I’m not a cartoon snob who won’t watch a show that doesn’t have action and drama and lore, I’m out here watching shows like Apple & Onion. But while Gallagher could write good jokes sometimes, he mostly relied on groanworthy newspaper strip-level puns. (I guess it’s fitting, considering he’s related to both the guy who created Heathcliff AND his successor who makes those comics about the Garbage Ape.) I love me a good pun from time to time, and a lot of Gallagher’s are funnier when shared out of context, but when a story is just wall to wall puns it becomes agonizing. Puns should be a spice, not a main ingredient. And when Gallagher got a chance to follow an ACTUAL newspaper comic strip format in the Off Panel, he fared even worse. It was so rare for the Off Panels he wrote to actually be any funny

He WAS genuinely funny at times, though. I’ll give him credit for that. I don’t want it to seem like I hated ALL of his stories. (He did impress me with at least one political joke that’s sadly still relevant today, and in hindsight there’s something really funny on a meta level about the dark and gritty return of Cal and Al.) I think his best work came when he was paired with better artists. Scott Shaw’s more energetic Sonics really helped sell the cartoony comedy in the original miniseries, and obviously Spaziante’s work on Mecha Madness made that story legendary. When he was stuck with the less exciting Manak or Mawhinney, though, not so much

Beyond the puns, there was also this undercurrent of nastiness, meanness, and general grossness in his stories that I don’t see as many fans pick up on. This was mainly evident in the many odd decisions he made with the female cast

We had his take on Sally, who was treated as little more than Sonic’s annoying, moody, bossy girlfriend who bickered with him, sat on a big throne, and occasionally got to be a damsel in distress. He added Bunnie to the cast early on, but it felt like he didn’t have many ideas for what to do with her except make her the butt of jokes about her being a southern belle, including literally making her say “the South shall rise again!” We had Barby Koala’s extremely creepy flirting with Tails, who was half her age. We had that tone deaf Off-Panel joke about turning the special dedicated to the female readers into a swimsuit special (which isn’t far off from what everyone else actually did). And we also had that baffling story where Dulcy killed her mother. I have NO idea what the fuck he thought he was going for with that one.

It wasn’t just the girls, though--Antoine was somehow even more of a punching bag in Gallagher’s early stories than he was on SatAM. At least in the cartoon Sonic was responding to Antoine’s’ massive ego when he poked fun at him. In the early comics, Sonic would constantly rag on Antoine at any opportunity he got. It was VERY distracting in the early issues, and it made his Sonic come off as way more of a jerk

Later writers would often talk about needing to fix certain characters. Penders, for all his countless insufferable faults, used his early stories to steer Sally towards the version of the character fans knew from SatAM. (He then ruined Sally in his own special way, but, you know.) Just about every writer who touched him spent years and years trying to fix Antoine and make readers stop hating him. The unspoken part here is that the original incarnations of these characters that everyone had to work so hard to fix... were Gallagher’s

Again, Gallagher didn’t have an easy job as the first writer on this series, and most of his stories were... fine. Nothing I’d recommend to non-fans, but they had their moments. They make for an amusing read for their sheer absurdity. But a lot of it ranged from not very good to outright bad. We’ll always cut him some slack for having so little to work off of when he started and for writing stories that were, in hindsight, better (or at least less grating) than a lot of the melodramatic schlock that came later. I’ll always have some nostalgia for those simpler times. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that Gallagher’s stuff was ever all that good

But I can’t hate the guy too much, because he gave me the greatest Sonic character of all time

[soulwillower]

heather • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

[based off the song heather by conan gray]

requested:   OMG I HAVE AN IDEA IDK IF ITS GOOD AND IDK WHY IM TYPING IN ALL CAPS BUT CAN U DO A FIC WHERE LIKE ITS BASED OF YHE SONG HEATHER BY CONAN GRAY WHERE THE READER AND RICH HAVE BEEN BEST FRIENDS FOR SO MANY YEARS AND HAVE FEELINGS FOR EACHOTHER BUT THERE BOTH SO OBLIVIOUS- SO WHEN RICHIE LIKE GETS A GF ONE DAY THE READER JUST WHSKWHDIWHWIW IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT LIKE AT THE END THEY REALIZE THEYRE IN LOVE. SORRY IF ITS TOK SPECIFIC. LOVE U. IM RUNNING OUTTA CHARACTERS 

warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, themes of cheating but no actual cheating, angst, fluff at the end, unedited.

thank u guys so much for being so patient with this fic <3 love u all so much!

[losers + reader are  18+ in this.]

4.4k words

(also, this fic starts with a flashback and idk if i like this style, but lmk if it works) 

♡

the persistent beat thudding in your ears seems to do nothing more than dim your already low mood as you sip on lemonade by yourself in someone's basement bar, sitting on an uncomfortable metal barstool and leaning your head heavy against your chin.

these days, it seemed as though the world was painted in gray.

you look around almost lazily; bev and ben went outside in the snow a couple minutes ago, stan just took a girl upstairs - you're left alone now, because mike and eddie had to study for their exam and bill was feeling under the weather. and richie, as usual, was late.

there's almost twenty other people in the room right now, but you have no desire to speak to any of them. you've been trying to have fun tonight, but you're just having a hard time, feeling distracted and unable to stop thinking about wire framed glasses and a certain bright smile.

your wandering eyes halt your thoughts as a girl in your class - heather perez -  catches your eye from across the room, her hair falling in natural curls that makes you sigh in envy. she smiles and waves at you warmly, gesturing for you to come and sit with her. you swallow and look down into your cup of dreary, graying lemonade as you try not to think about how you look in comparison. she's so fucking pretty. you look back up and shake your head with a friendly smile, faker than a plastic flower, and nod to the bathroom. she shrugs and smiles, turning back around.

she was too sweet, it hurt.

her naturally dark hair, long and wavy, her smooth dark skin, her laugh.... but suddenly, your head snaps back up after recognizing a familiar sight on heather's figure.

-is that richie's sweater?

your heart thumps and churns in the most unsavory way as all the breath leaves your lungs in one swift exhale. you feel sick to your stomach and your hand falls to hit the counter to stabilize yourself, the lemonade sloshing out of the cup slightly. but you pay no mind. heather's wearing richie's sweater...

you know that sweater really well. it's definitely his, and for some reason that makes you want to cry.

you blink and force yourself to suck air into your lungs as you look around quickly, anywhere but at heather perez wearing richie tozier's sweater, with all the stripes and patterns and the rough polyester material. you're not sure why you're so caught off-guard, you knew that heather perez was maybe-kinda-sorta seeing your trashmouth. he'd mentioned it in passing a few times and you've not been able to keep it off your mind as bev and bill whisper to richie about it in the halls or during hangouts when you were laying in stan's lap pretending not to hear it.

it hurts, though. holy hell, does it hurt when richie turns the corner and the typical, 'hey, richie!' choruses through most of the people in the basement - and yet his eyes are just set on her.

it hurts even worse when you make eye contact with him and he smiles at you, nodding in greeting and calling a "hey there, toots!" over the thumping of the noise before turning back towards heather.

your heart thumps erradically as you eye him sliding an arm around her shoulders easily, pulling her into his tall lanky frame,  crushing your chest and deflating your trembling heart. heather's head falls onto richie's shoulder and you shiver, feeling colder than you've felt in so long. the lemonade you force to your lips tasting like stale water as the sight of richie pinching heather's shoulder and thumbing his own sweater on her frame make you feel empty.

even now, weeks later, you remember how it felt. you sip on the boiling tea and immediately burn your tongue, making you swear as you stare out your window, the snow falling around your house in the dark making you feel an odd, empty kind of peace. that fucking sweater.

you haven't talked to richie in almost a week and a half - he got in trouble the night after the party and his parents took his phone away - at eighteen years old, his parents took his phone - so that he could 'spend time with family' (a task that made you chuckle to yourself when bill had explained it to you about twelve days ago).

it's winter break, though, and you've been missing the last piece of your eight-person puzzle the last few times you've hung out with your friends. it feels empty without richie's boisterous shenanigans, snarky looks and goofy comebacks... you feel really embarrassed for missing him so deeply.

tears well up in your eyes as you think again about his damn sweater, the one that heather was wearing, the same one he'd given you not even three weeks prior.

"well look at you." richie says with amusement trickling through his voice like melting icewater through a calm creek.  you spin towards him with a grin eclipsing your face as you shrug around his sweater, pretending not to smell his strong scent and pretending not to feel the immediate comfort it gives you.

"you know, for as dumb as it looks, i kind of like it." you tease, brushing some hair back from your eyes as the sweater sleeves fall back down past your hands. he laughs, eyes not leaving you for a second.

"shit, doll. keep it." he says, sounding serious. it makes you pull a face at him, starting to lift it slightly over your head to return it to its rightful owner.

but he shakes his head, hands gently gripping your arms and halting your motions, subsequently setting your heart on fire. his lips are set in a gentle grin as he shakes his head again. "it looks so much better on you."

it's spoken simply, in such honestly that it makes you blush nearly immediately. in fact, you're so flustered that all you can do is shove him a bit, stuttering out a quiet, "shut up, richie, you- i - okay, whatever."

it makes him chuckle as he takes the soft blow of your hands against his shoulders, deftly running his hands through his curly locks as he shakes his head. "you're adorable, kid."

you're lucky he'd turned around to gripe around on his messy bed for his laptop, because the stupid grin you're sure is painting your face is enough to make you dig your own grave and then hand him the shovel. if only he knew how much you liked him.

you didn't keep the sweater after that night, though. at the time, you'd told him it was because it was putrid; that the colors and patterns were a sin to man and that you'd never be caught dead wearing it out. he laughed the whole time because you had literally worn it to the store with him it with him that same day. but now, you'd give anything for richie to give you that sweater again, to feel that polyester inseam fall against your stomach and your arms and chest, like a huge richie hug (without all the bones and the cologne and the caffeine-pulsing heartbeat - so not a real richie hug, but as close as you could get to the real thing without actually just having it).

god, you like him too much. you rub your face with your palm, the moisture from the tears that had accidentally escaped your eyes smudging against your face. you're tired, almost - it's like an empty, heartbroken exhaustion that sags your shoulders and chokes your throat and makes you zone out for minutes at a time. one thought overwhelms you right now, so as you see a car's headlights shine out your window through the falling snow, you don't even notice it.

you just wish you were heather.

you've tried to hate her. really, you have - you figured maybe, just maybe, if you were able to rant to bev or eddie about how much of a bitch heather is, how she's terrible to richie and how boring she was, maybe you could justify the heartbreak in your chest.

but god, she's so perfect. heather, with her shiny hair, bright smile, her flawless mind and caring heart. she's, as far as you're concerned, an angel. of course richie would choose heather, who wouldn't?

the other day at that party, you'd tried your hardest to ignore your intrusive thoughts, but you can't help feeling like it would all be better if heather didn't exist. and even that thought alone hurts your heart, because you remember the smile on richie's face when he looked at her, swathed in his sweater and floating around the room like a beacon of light.

and you could never, ever in good conscience take that from richie.

you almost laugh at how absurd it is - now you're talking to yourself while you stare out the window, half asleep, dreaming of freckles placed just like constellations and crooked noses, of jawlines that jut out and long, lanky fingers; of loud, chipping laughter and beat up high-tops with cuffed corduroy pants.

"y/n?" a voice behind your door makes you jump a bit, unsettling your already disconcerted bones. you’re imagining him, now? you laugh into your scalding mug for a second, but after a double-take at the doorway you find the angel himself to be standing there with a perplexed look.

"richie, what're you doing here?" you ask, rubbing your eye to make sure no tears are left. he looks troubled. "i knocked, but nobody answered. so..." he says with a shrug, and you ned, tucking a leg under yourself and nodding.

"what are you doing, toots?" he asks, backlit by the hallway light. and then you finally can see what he's wearing, and you almost laugh at your own misery.

but you don’t laugh, your brain short-circuiting as you feel the knife twist further into your abdomen. the stupid fucking sweater.

“-um, nothing. y- did you get that back from heather?” you try to deliver the line as smoothly as possible, but by the look on his face, you did a real shit job at that.

“what?” he asks in an exhale as he shakes snowflakes from his hair and shoulders, closing your door as he walks towards you and falls to sit next to you on your windowsill seat.

“i thought you gave her that sweater.” you say and he raises a brow, “yeah, like two weeks ago.” he says slowly, eyeing you. he adds, “she obviously didn’t need it after that.”

you frown, “did she need it then?” you didnt try to sound bitter at all, but your voice comes with more of a sting than you’d anticipated.

as always, richie meets fire with fire. “it was twenty fuckin’ degrees out, she was wearing a tank top.”

you don’t know what to say so you just stare out the window with a quick huff, crossing your arms. "why does it matter? it's a sweatshirt." he mutters. "i was just being nice to her."

you nod, pain twisting around in your stomach. he's right, it's just a sweater. but he gave it to her, because he likes heather better.

“what’s up with you, kid?” he asks, gentler this time.

“don’t call me kid, richie.” you say sharply, not meeting his eyes. “and there’s nothing up with me.” you know you’re being difficult, but you really don't have the energy to argue with him right now.

it’s quiet again, and the silence is even more awkward. you take another scalding sip of your tea. 

“um, y/n... is this because of heather?” he says after a bit. you feel the tension that the acknowledgment brings as it hits you in the thick, cold air. richie’s tapping a rhythm on his thigh, so you can tell he feels it too.

"richie." you say weakly, your voice coming out too quiet, too obviously broken and exhausted. "i cannot do this. please don't do this right now"

he blinks at you, eyebrows furrowed. "sugar, i'm so lost right now."

you decide to change the subject. "-why'd you come over?" you ask, actually looking at him then immediately regretting it. he looks hurt and confused, like a lost puppy.

"oh. um, i just need to tell you something.it's about heather, too." he sounds anxious, and you roll your eyes, looking down at the tree outside your room as wind blows powdery white mounds off its branches.

“can this just wait until tomorrow?” you whisper. doesn't he get it?

it's quiet and for a moment you believe that he's going to leave it, to not bring up the obvious jealousy brewing in your chest. but he breaks the silence too soon.

"i tried to kiss her." he says and you immediately look towards the door, the most immediate escape possible. 

your breathing gets heavy; if you have to hear this, you know you'll admit your feeling to richie, and you don't want to do that to him. but you have a suspicion that he already knows.

"richie, i'm so, so glad to see you. and that you like heather. really, i am. but- it's not a good time. i'm not- i'm not okay." you say, voice thick as tears well behind your eyes.

richie’s eyes widen almost comically as you make eye contact and his hands immediately find purchase on your arms, his thumbs rubbing in the way that he has done ever since that one foggy summer you spent in the sewers. "y/n/n, what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks, watching sadly as a tear slips from your cheek. it breaks your heart when he calls you sweetheart, and you shake your head.

you can't tell him the truth - that you love him, so instead, you mumble, "i've missed you. there's a lot going on, and i just really need you."

he looks guilty as he pulls you into a warm hug, one that takes you off guard but that you return gratefully. "you've been too busy spending time with heather and with your parents, and i understand that, i just - you know, i miss you." you say, voice muffled as your cheek is squished into his shoulder. he sighs shakily, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “i know i’ve been with her a lot, i’m sorry sugar.” he mutters. 

it feels like you’re both holding something back from the other. 

"i wish i were heather." you say against his shoulder, knowing richie’s completely unaware of the depth of your statement. but he pulls back and stares at you, an unknown look on his face. you open your mouth to say something, but you're cut off before you can get anything out.

and his lips fall against yours lightly, almost as if they’re ghosts against yours. his presence feels fleeting. 

you barely close your eyes and press closer to him before you snap out of it, jerking backwards with wide eyes.

richie’s eyes fall open too as he looks at you questioningly. your heart is thumping heavy as you shake your head, more shocked than you thought ever possible. “what?” he asks, as if he’s surprised you’re not kissing back.

you give him a sad, broken look. you think you’ll cry as you mutter, "why would you ever kiss me? i'm not - i'm not nearly as pretty as her, i'm just-"richie suddenly looks like he might get sick, his face paler than usual as the steam from your tea dwindles idly between you. he cuts you off. "-why are you - why are you saying all these things y/n/n-”

“heather. you like heather.” you say frantically, trying to remind him so you dont have to live through this fresh faced heartbreak twice as painful if he kisses you again. 

but richie shakes his head, and your confusion skyrockets just as much as your heartbeat."no. a-amy asked her out." he says breathlessly. "-she said yes."

you blink, pulling even further away as it dawns on you. "wait. so... so you only want to see me after the girl you wanted finds someone else?" you ask, watching as the smile gets smacked off of richie's face so quickly you think it may give him whiplash. "wait, no-" he starts, but you shake your head.

“richie, do you understand how hurtful that is?” you say, voice heavy as you try not to let tears fall.

he shakes his head, eyes glossing with tears as he gapes at you, “n-no, y/n-“

“fuck, richie. i know you know about my feelings for you. how could you do this? i’m not heather, i’m reminded that every time i’m in the same room as the two of you. she’s had you completely mesmerized for the last month, you can’t just use me to distract yourself.” you say, your tea completely forgotten as a tear escapes your eye.

he shakes his head, looking at you with an emotion you don’t have the energy to decipher. “leave, richie.” your voice is broken and it shakes as you look away from him.

you’re not sure what you were expecting, but when richie stands up silently you dont even look away from the window. you see him wipe his cheek in your peripheral before he sighs quietly and walks out of your room, shutting the door quietly.

you cry openly as you hear your door shut downstairs, your hands shaking as you cover your face, your shoulders shaking with sobs. you make it under your covers just as you hear a car engine sputter outside, your heart empty and lips still tingling as the feeling of richie’s lips linger on yours. you groan into your pillow and let out another sob, your eyes squeezing in agony as your heart feels like it’s ripping in two.

because even if they’re not together, richie still likes her.

why couldn’t you be heather?

you cry until you’re asleep, your now cold mug of tea resting on the windowsill as your phone charges next to you and snow swirls in the dark sky.

when you wake up the next morning, your headache is nearly blinding. you feel like crying more as you remember last night. you roll over and rub your eyes, unlocking your phone groggily.  

but you check your notifications and your heart immediately stops as you see a missed call from richie at 3:49 in the morning last night, and a voicemail left a minute later.

well, you guess he got his phone back.

your fingers tremble as they hover above the play button, feeling like you may vomit from anxiety - the message he left is two minutes long.

closing your eyes, ready for even more heartbreak, you press play and hold the speaker to your ear.

“um, y/n.” the voicemail starts off, and you’re already tearing up because richie’s voice is full to the brim with anxiety and he’s not using his usual nicknames for you. 

“uh... okay, i- i know it’s four in the morning, and you’re probably asleep - god, i hope you are, and that you’re not ignoring me. not that i dont deserve it, but i just want you to get good rest. uh, a-anyways. fuck,” there’s an awkward pause and you’re holding your breath.

“you know i’m not good with phone calls or voicemails-“ his rambling just adds to your anxious feeling, but you think if you don’t listen to this, your anxiety would eat you alive.

“- fuck, i don’t know how to say this. kind of ironic, i guess, since i’ve been thinking about saying it like every day for probably more than a year- okay, i’m... god, spit it out, trashmouth.” his voice gets thicker and you can hear the emotion as he takes a shallow breath.

“y/n/n, you make my hands shake. i swear, my heart feels like it’s going to backfire and explode when we touch... and it scares me so fucking bad.” you feel your heart halt in your chest, the air leaving your lungs.

you keep the phone pressed tightly to your ear as richie’s recorded voice goes on.

“-fuck, y/n. i’m terrified. sometimes i think.... like, whoever created me... they designed me just to be yours. and... it’s not in the same way i feel about bev, or bill, or eddie-“ his voice breaks as he sniffs on the other end and it dawns on you that he’s crying. “-you’re you. you’re y/n. i tried to like heather as more than just a friend. but...” it’s silent for a second.

“i just kept comparing her to you. i do that with everybody. i think i’m broken. i love you so much that it hurts.” he’s crying enough by now that it’s leaking into his speech; he’s hiccuping, stuttering slightly, his inflection changing as you can almost picture the tears rolling off his thick eyelashes and onto his rosy cheeks.

“-and i can’t sleep right now knowing that i hurt you like this. i can’t believe that i let you think of yourself as lesser than heather in any way-“ he sobs quietly in the recording and takes a stuttering breath. "i can’t believe i put myself before you. i’m such a shitty friend. i should’ve been giving you my stupid fucking sweaters the whole time.” 

tears are pouring out of your eyes as you sit up, ripping the comforter off your legs. you’re pulling on socks and your shoes as you continue to listen to richie’s voicemail.

“i’m sorry that i kissed you, and i’m sorry that i dragged you into this m-mess, that i used heather as an excuse to ignore my feelings for you. i-i love you so fucking much, and i’m just so scared of hurting you. i’m so sorry that i hurt you, y/n.”

you have to see him.

“-and, um, i’m sorry i left this voice message. this is probably the worst way to find this out but i figured that it would be easier for us to ignore if it wasn’t in person- y’know, because you don’t have to respond. just- now you know. that i’m sorry, and that i don’t expect you to forgive me or want to speak to me for a while. i just- i need you to know that you’re so loved, y/n. and that you deserve so much better than me.

“so, um, okay. i’ll let you sleep now. b-bye.” he whispers the end and then the line cuts dead.

you’re left with shaking breath and tears in your eyes as his voice rings in your head. you try to take in what he’s just said, but you think you’re about to pass out.

how can richie love you back?

you brush your teeth almost aggressively as your heart beats erratically in your chest and then you’re suddenly flying down the snowy road towards the tozier’s house.

you realize too late that you look completely awry, hair unbrushed, eyes puffy and swollen, shoes untied as you knock on the front door of richie's house.

went opens the door, richie’s younger sister sat on his hip as he smiles at you, "y/n! long time no see. richie's upstairs in his room."

you smile at him in thanks, too rushed to say anything to him or munch. then you’re all but sprinting up the stairs, only feeling the anxiety as you throw open the door to his bedroom. 

you're relieved that he's laying in his bed, surrounded by pillows and fluffy comforters as he jumps from the noise of your arrival.

when he sits up, neither of you say anything. his eyes are red and rimmed with tears, a heartbreaking sight as his lower lip trembles slightly. you're sure you look the same as you take a step towards his bed, your eyes not leaving each other's for a second.

he looks incredible, still. 

"y/n..." he whispers finally, his eyes wide. "did you get my message?" he says, lips tilting in a stupid, forced smile. his voice holds no humor in it's sad thickness, though, and you sigh as you look down to the carpet.

you shake your head, "can you not joke for a minute, rich?"

he laughs wetly, standing up fully and although he towers at 6'0, he looks so small. "i can try, doll, but then i'll start to cry a lot, and that's just not what anybody wants-"

"richie." you say, effectively ceasing his rambling. it's cold in his room, bright white from the snow outside, and silent. he looks at you with huge eyes and a red nose.

but you don't know what to say. you’ve spent so long wanting to be heather, but now you've found out that richie's loved you this whole time. it hurts, but you can't wait another second being away from richie. 

you launch yourself towards him, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to your mouth.

this time, the kiss is warm, unexpected again but much more loving. it's a kiss that tastes like tears and love and trust, and all you can feel is richie as his hands find purchase on your cheek and back, pulling you so close to him that you can feel is rapid heartbeat.

he pulls back to mumble against your lips, "i'm so sorry." you shake your head, pressing another kiss to his and loving the feeling of richie against you finally. "i love you." you say, feeling his grin against your mouth.

"i love you so much." he says, pulling you lightly to fall onto his bed with him and tickling your sides.

you laugh lightly, swatting at his prodding fingers. "please stop crying." he whispers, laying above you with a small smile. you roll your eyes, "you stop crying rich." you retort, and he shakes his head, one of his tears falling onto your cheek. you jump from the feeling and wipe it away, sniffling a gasp and pulling him into a tight hug, his legs tangling with yours.

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles. you cup his cheeks so his lips pucker out and you smile at him, whispering, “i forgive you, rich. i love you.” and then you place a soft kiss to his lips and he kisses you back enthusiastically.  he pulls back and hugs you again, burrowing himself in your neck. 

"i didn't think i'd ever get you." he says, muffled by his face in your shoulder. "thank you for trusting me. i love you so much." he kisses your collarbone lightly and your fingers play through his curls lightly as you smile, eyes closing. you're so tired.

"i love you more, richie."

you fall asleep with richie curled up beside you, his breath light on your chest and arms clutching you against him. you fall asleep with richie’s lips on your neck, his legs entangled with yours. 

you fall asleep contently, knowing that you no longer have to wish you were heather.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @stenbrozier​ @simplesammyx​   @brxken-heartsclub​ @clownsloveyou​ @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11  @trashedfortozier​ @oceandog13​ @finnskindofwoman  @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters  <33

[mermaid-nebula]

Kiss From a Rose

Chapter 1: Kiss From a Rose

Summary: I loved writing the last story so much that I had to tell it from Wilford's perspective!

Word Count: 2,404

Wilford runs around his recording room with great excitement. He had a project in mind that he was really proud of, and he couldn't wait to start on it. He fiddles with the wires that connect to his cameras and recording set up. He hears a soft, yet annoyed sigh from behind him.

“Wil, can we make this quick? I’m pretty busy today.” A deep voice resonates from behind him. He smiles to himself. Ah Dark, the ever impatient one out of this dynamic duo that they are.

“Awwww Darky you’re always in your office nowadays. You need to get out and spend some time with us!”

Dark looks at him, “Us? You give my relationship with the others too much credit. I am not friends with them.” he says, scoffing a bit.

“You’re friends with me.” Wilford replies softly, as if it's a secret they share between themselves.

“That’s different. Just...let’s get this over with.” The other man huffs and begins to massage his temples. Wilford's noticed he's been doing that lately, even more so than usual. He looks at him worriedly, wondering if he's the source of his pain this time rather than his aching body. Dark catches him staring and exhales a bit, "What?"

“You’ve just been acting a bit odd lately, old friend. Almost as if you’re trying to avoid me.” Wilford pauses and takes in how absurd that idea sounded out loud. He laughs at the thought before continuing, "But that’s silly! I haven’t done anything wrong to cause your lack of company. Have I?" He looks at him, a bit concerned.

“No Wil, you haven’t done anything to upset me. If you had, I would have discussed the problem with you by now like an adult.” he responds. “But enough of the heart to heart right now, I’ve got a splitting headache so we’ll have to wrap whatever my part in this project up very soon.”

He tilts his head and goes over to him. He doesn't know why, but he brings his hands to Dark's head and begins massaging him before he can stop himself. He giggles to himself when Dark tenses up, obviously surprised by what was happening. He moves his hands slowly, through his hair. More like playing with it now, but it was soft! What was he supposed to do, NOT play with his hair as soon as his fingers touch his scalp? And he made sure Dark could get out of his grip if he wanted too. He watches Dark's face closely; he seemed a bit confused by this turn of events. They were very close to each other, and he uses his healing powers to try and ease the pain lingering in Dark's skull.

The other man slowly relaxes into it, and Wilford stares at him, taking in his details. Being this close to him was a rarity, so he savors the closeness and enjoys the relaxed look that was only seen on a blue moon. He enjoys being the one that can bring his guard down. He looks pretty when he's smiling a bit, his lips curving up slightly or being caught between his teeth in hesitation. They look really soft. He shakes his head slightly, snapping out of his traitorous thoughts, and pulling his hands away from him. He goes back to fiddling with his cameras, giggling slightly to try and keep the creeping guilt at bay.

He had a boyfriend. A very good boyfriend. He shouldn't think of his friend in such a...lustful way.

“Feel a little better? If it starts hurting again you should go see Doc”

“Awww is dear little Darky not feeling good?”

Speaking of said boyfriend. Wilford turns to see Anti in the doorway, both him and Dark glaring at each other like they're ready to fight.

“Doll! You’re here!” he beams, trying to hide the guilt that claws its way up his throat. It's not that he isn't excited to see him, he loves him, but it's just been getting harder to love him and while Wilford was famous for breaking unfaithful relationships apart, he desperately wanted to be a good partner.

When Anti smirks and saunters over to him, he'll definitely be the first to admit that it was hot as fuck. And when he begins to pull away from a kiss they share, it's Wilford who pulls him back into another, rougher, kiss as if to show him that he's promising to be better at this relationship. That what he feels for the glitch isn't fake, even though his heart feels like he's cheating and his brain thinks about his bestfriend who was currently exiting the room.

"I could do this all day, but you seem distracted Candy Man." Anti points out when they pull away. Wilford sighs and tries to think about what he's gonna say, right before hearing Dark scream from the hallway.

He runs out so see the man sprawled out on the floor in agony, clutching his head. He crawls over next to him and tries to calm him down.

"Dark? Darky what's wrong?!" He asks. Dark doesn't reply. Instead he shakes violently, aura glitching and saliva dripping from his mouth. It was horrifying to see him like this, but he tries keeping calm. He's seen plenty of seizures or seizure-like symptoms before in his time in the army, so he takes a deep breath. He lays Dark on his side, facing him, and places his head on his thigh to keep him from hitting it against the floor.

Dark then passes out not long after, and he screams for Edward with tears in his eyes.

*********************************

Wilford hated infirmaries. Too many unpleasant memories from his time at war always come flooding back whenever he's in one.

He remembers more about his past than what he lets on.

Even now, sitting in a chair next to his sleeping friend whom he's horribly smitten with, flashes of the beaten and broken soldiers from his troop haunts his mind. The screaming and crying never really leave his mind, but he does his best to shake it off while he listens to Edward.

"There's literally nothing wrong with him."

"Obviously there is! He collapsed a week ago now, h-he's not okay!!!" He was practically yelling in panic. It didn't make any sense, and he normally loves when things don't make sense, but his friend is unwell right now. Edward rubs his back to calm him down, but he just tells the doctor to leave him alone.

He sighs and lays his head down on the side of the hospital bed Dark laid upon and he rests his hand on top of the others. Just as he has for the past 7 days. He yawns, too loud in his ears for the small, quiet room. He jumps a bit when he feels a hand on his back.

"Why don't you come to bed? You haven't slept well all week" Anti's voice cuts through the stillness. He shakes his head.

"I'm not tired." He lies. He was exhausted.

It never took this long for anyone to wake up, but Dark would, wouldn't he? He did last time, in the manor all those years ago. Anti frowns at his answer.

"I mean, you don't have to fucking lie to me if you wanted to me to leave you alone."

Wilford sighs. That sentence hits him in more ways than one. He stands up slowly and takes his boyfriend's hands in his, pressing a kiss to his cheek before forcing a smile.

"Hey, more room in my bed for you tonight then Mr. Wiggly." He chuckles out. Anti frowns, clearly not amused.

"Something's gonna have to give soon Candy Man. 6 months together, either we cut our losses now or we try harder. I think I already know your answer though."

"I'm sorry. I know I've been lacking. And I know you don't like him, but he's my best friend. I'll be up in an hour okay? I will try harder. I promise."

"Fine." Anti huffs out, before leaving Wilford alone again.

********************************

He made good on his promise to come to bed an hour later, though Anti didn't have any plans on letting him sleep, keeping him busy for at least another hour after Wilford came back, tackling him to his own bed.

But now that things have gone quiet and Anti's breathing turned into soft snoring, Wilford can't even feel tired anymore. He studies the demon next to him, sleeping soundly. He was unfairly pretty, but his personality was what won Wilford over. Yes, he can be brash, but he was witty and humorous, with a firecracker personality to match. He can definitely see why Dark hates him so much, they were complete opposites from each other. Yet, he and Wilford were the perfect fit. They loved knives. They loved murder. They're an unstoppable force to be reckoned with when they're together. All the possible mischief they have and could get into.

Wilford smiles to himself and wraps his arms around the other man, forgetting about Dark for once and just existing with his awesome boyfriend, nuzzling his face into his unruly died hair. The shorter man grunts, annoyed from being stirred awake. Wilford presses a kiss to his head.

"Fuckin sap" is all he can hear before Anti falls back to sleep.

Wilford smiles and cuddles him until he drifts off to sleep.

He promised to try, and so he will.

*********************************

It's crazy how much shit can go down in so little time, but then again Wilford's never grasped the concept. The past two weeks that Dark's been in his mysterious coma felt like he's lived in another lifetime for a thousand years.

The manor was empty now. Well, near empty. Bing and the Doc were still here, but the others had left earlier in the day. And to say that it's because of him was a huge understatement.

After his and Anti's "rendezvous", Wilford had woken up to a note on Anti's pillow.

I'm leaving you.

I know you said you'd try, but that's another fucking lie. I know when someone's gone soft and weak for somebody, and I know that it ain't for me. How could you just waste my time like that? Doesn't matter, glad I figured it out about two months into this trainwreck. To tell you the truth, you were only for fun. You never actually meant anything to me, and I never want you to be. Have fun being a lonely old man and a waste of good air.

-A

He stares at the piece of paper in his hand then crumples it in anger. He had promised he's try and Anti didn't even give him a chance to! He just left him when he needed him the most. Now he's alone. Alone and angry. He ate breakfast angry, went to meetings angry, and went to bed angry all week long. Up until the point where the others were considering having another ego take Dark's place until he woke up, and Google just so happened to be nominated.

And well, that didn't end good.

It wasn't Wilford's fault! The idea of being a head of the egos had gone to the robot's head.

It was annoying, and Wilford just...had enough of it.

He didn't mean to break him, just punch him. Yet he forgot that Google prides himself in not having anything human related. That includes pain receptors or embarrassment. Which made him cocky and even more unbearable.

"Gotta try harder than that Candy Man " He says, smirking.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back, and when he came back to his right mind, Google was in pieces and the others cowered from him.

Nowadays, he's usually sitting with Dark in the basement. His hand always holding the other's tightly, so he won't slip away.

"Out of everyone, I need you right now. Just to talk to. Even if you're gonna be disappointed in what I've done now, just knowing you're okay would help. I...fuck -Damien please come back to me." He brings his friend's cold hand to his face, nuzzling it.

"I can't do this without you. Or, I can but...I don't want to. I just...I feel-I don't know!"

He huffs, agitated.

Dark groans in his sleep and Wilford looks at him. His face was twisted in a familiar way that he recognized as him having a nightmare. He wonders how many he's been having since he collapsed.

Wilford's never been one for singing, it just wasn't his favorite thing to do, but he would sing to Damien sometimes when they were kids and Mark would invite them all over for sleepovers. The poor boy almost always had nightmares when sleeping in an unfamiliar place, and William only could think of singing to him at the time. He wonders if it still would work. He clears his throat a bit and hums a melody to warm up a bit.

There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea You became the light on the dark side of me Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill But did you know that when it snows My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen?

He holds his hand and gently brushes a stray lock of hair out of Dark's face, which was slowly starting to relax.

Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah And now that your rose is in bloom A light hits the gloom on the grey

He sighs softly, and presses a feather light kiss to the other man's knuckles. The next lyrics almost seem to personal in a painfully accurate way.

There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain

He shakes his head, and chuckles to himself at how silly this feels, but it was actually comforting him to sing to the sleeping man next to him. He stares at him, heart aching.

Now that your rose is in bloom A light hits the gloom on the grey

And thus, begins the night of many, where a sad man sings his heart out to an unresponsive audience.

[stennnn06]

A Simple Favor

Lena's office is still decorated the same way Sam remembers it -- still stark white and coldly modern -- but the L-Corp logo has been replaced by one much more tragic. Sam chances a glance around, absorbing the small changes around her and sighs. The flowers on Lena’s desk are dyed a deep, dark purple, and they stand out in the way that they simply don’t belong. A stain on a perfect white shirt, glaring and piercing and wrong. Her old desk always had a vase of beautiful white flowers, and for some reason, their absence seems the most tragic of all. 

Sam wonders if she would have noticed right away. Like if she walked into the office just as an unsuspecting guest on business, if she would see the way Lena’s legacy has been cast aside. She knows that’s absurd, because how would she even know to think about it that way? But something deep down inside grabs hold of her, this fantastic idea that maybe she just knows Lena better than anyone else.  

But in reality, this “new Earth”, because that’s a thing now, started off mostly the same, until Lena called her and informed her that everything is in fact, different. And it’s all wrong. 

Of course it is.

She felt it, sort of. She felt odd, like when a laptop insists it needs an update only to restart and seem to work a little bit worse. It felt weird to sing Lex’s praises, but she chalked it up to being stressed and tired and altogether not that interested. But when Lena looked her in the eye and showed her the truth -- the real truth, and not some version that apparently everyone believes now -- well, that certainly explained something. It’s awful, too, in all the ways Lena comes out of this scenario a little more broken, a little more hopeless. Sam remembers the way she started from ashes and worked and clawed her way to something resembling respect in a mere four years. How she took her family name and resurrected it with hope and goodness, and how none of that even matters anymore. 

L-Corp is gone, because it never existed, and Lena is back in the shadows, because in this version of events, she never left. 

So yeah, everything is different, but not the fundamental stuff. Not the stuff that Sam wouldn't mind being different. Like her hopeless feelings for Lena, and the fact that even in this timeline, they aren't together. Or how her heart flies out of her chest anytime Lena looks at her a certain way, and how they still have this connection that seems to only get stronger and more poignant despite the distance. Sam thought for sure it would fade at least a little once she went back to Metropolis -- or, you know, when the Earth literally ended --  but all that's happened is everything has managed to get a little bit worse. 

She still can’t get over the idea that apparently there used to be a multiverse, and now it's all been consolidated into one. But more than that, she marvels at the fact that regardless of worlds ending and colliding, she’s still in the same place, and hopelessly in love with Lena Luthor.

Nothing could ever just be simple, could it? 

So now she’s back in National City, because somehow, Lena's charm and soft, emotional pleading got Sam on a plane to fly across the country and meet with her in person in order to figure "all of this" out, whatever that might mean. What she doesn't say is it wouldn't have taken even that much for her to fly across the country for Lena. Just a simple text -- a simple request that says "I need you", and Sam would have been there with bells on. 

She hates that after all this time, it's still the truth, but she doesn't say it out loud. She's sure Lena's at least somewhat aware of it, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought herself to call. So that’s the good part. As long as she doesn't have to admit too much, maybe there's still hope.

At least she's got that.

"Got a hot date?" Sam asks pointedly, nodding in Lena's direction after what must have been the tenth time in so many minutes that her friend has checked her watch. Correction, her boss, which is still weird, and will always be weird, in some way or another.

"Hm?" Lena mumbles, absentmindedly, as she brings herself back to the conversation. She's distracted, and she knows it, but she can't really let Sam know the source of her discomfort because everything is about to get so much worse. She’s really done it now. There’s no way this idea of hers isn’t going to backfire, but Sam’s here, and she’s willing, and oh, what a complicated day this is going to be. She frowns as Sam's words settle. 

"Relax, I'm kidding," Sam chuckles, shaking her head. "I know you don't date."

Lena's frown deepens further, but before she can respond, a knock on the door causes her to actually jump.

"Easy there, killer," Sam replies, frowning slightly as she turns around to face the door. "Are you expecting an assassination attempt today or--"

"Come in!" Lena calls out calmly, flashing Sam a stern look that immediately gets her to swallow her words. She points in her direction. "You. Be good."

"I'm always--" Sam starts to say, but when a brunette with wide blue eyes and a pout that can be seen for miles comes strolling into the office, her jokes cease to be amusing. "Good," she finishes quietly, as her brain still tries to process what the actual fuck is going on here.

"Drea," Lena croons, walking around her desk with open arms. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Drea? We're back to "Drea"?, Sam thinks, avoiding the overly cozy introduction in front of her and focusing instead on the impressive thread count of the blanket draped over Lena's couch. Hand stitched, she thinks, and probably more than her entire mortgage. Classic Lena. At least some things haven’t changed. 

"Lena," Andrea breathes, just as expressive, just as relieved, and it's enough to set Sam on fire. 

This Earth sucks, Sam almost says, but instead she plasters on a smile and sucks the air through her teeth.

After an hour of staring into each other's eyes with longing, Lena clears her throat and Sam stands up, offering a tragically unarmed hand. 

"Andrea," she says. Short, to the point, and definitely not a nickname. 

"Samantha," Andrea glances at Lena like she's unsure, before a cold, professional smile takes over her face. "What a surprise."

"Isn't it?" Sam replies, shaking Andrea's limp hand with far more force than necessary. She focuses her stare on Lena, pouring every single ounce of ‘what the fuck’ energy that she can summon, but Lena only stands passive. 

Samantha. No one calls her Samantha. Only… no, literally no one calls her Samantha. Unless they're being a total asshat. So, in context, it makes sense. 

"Been a long time," Andrea offers, taking her hand back and flexing her fingers. She avoids Sam's eyes when she talks, because staring too long into those deep, dark eyes, and she knows what will happen. The jealousy will flare, the unnecessary anger will start to simmer. Sam Arias has always been the one that got in the way, the one that Andrea has convinced herself ruined everything, even though its only partially true. And here she is, as infuriating as ever, standing there with a smug smile like she knows something Andrea doesn't. 

"Sort of feels like just yesterday," Sam counters, simply to argue. Lena's eyes narrow, a very clear "play nice" expression on her face, but Sam pretends she doesn't notice. She'll pay for it later, but that's fine. She can't lose the high ground. Andrea is one of those people that forces that out of her-- that competitiveness, that contrary, argumentative side. It's like she has to disagree with her just for the sake of disagreement. She could walk in the room eating crackers and Sam would swear off crackers for the rest of her life simply because of the way Andrea chewed them. They're that level of petty.

There’s a whole laundry list of reasons why, depending on who you ask, but it all boils down to one thing: Sam just really, really can’t stand Andrea Rojas.

Sure, there’s also the fact that Andrea has always been a little in love with Lena, but that’s just fucking unnecessary.

Andrea looks at Lena again, almost pleading, but she’s met with a vacant expression. It doesn’t surprise her, not really. It wouldn't be Lena if she gave up her hand all in one play. Andrea sighs. 

"I'm really glad you both could be here," Lena interrupts, dragging her narrowed eyes from Sam to Andrea. "Before we get started, I'm assuming we'll all want some wine."

“Understatement,” Sam mumbles, and Lena pretends to ignore her.

"Red, if you have it," Andrea says, nodding in approval, as she takes a seat across the office on Lena's couch. She certainly doesn’t hesitate to make herself at home, Sam notes. She eyes the blanket -- the one with the expensive hand stitching--before moving it to the side. She smoothes the creases in her overly expensive suit pants and sits down gingerly, like the couch is going to do permanent damage. Sam rolls her eyes.

"Sam?"

"Whatever you're having," Sam mutters without pulling her eyes from Andrea and her annoying, smug face. The way she pinches her lips together, like a cranky librarian, but one who’s had lip injections, makes Sam want to just shake Lena and say “Her? Really?”

She has half a mind to ask Lena for an entirely different bottle of wine, just to be difficult-- maybe a white to really stick it to Andrea, but she knows Lena will call her out. Besides, everyone knows red is superior, so white wine will just make her look pathetic. She isn't a Chardonnay girl, never has been, despite the mom label. Lena's expression softens at the fact that she’s being agreeable and she nods as she pours the contents of the bottle into three waiting glasses.

Everything Lena does is overly elegant, and Sam is immediately transfixed just watching her do something as simple as pour a glass of wine. The small bracelet on her wrist clinks delicately against the glass, kissing the side, and her jaw clenches slightly as she eyes the level of the liquid. She's precise and calculated in all her movements, deliberately graceful in ways Sam can't really articulate. It’s an even pour, no more no less, and it comes from hours in a lab pouring liquids with exact measurements. Lena doesn’t even have to try anymore, everything is just easily balanced and perfect. It’s impressive and a bit unnerving. 

Before Sam can think of a witty comment, a perfect glass of red wine is being placed in her hand. She shakes herself out of it and offers a sheepish smile.

"Thanks," she grins, and Lena's smile is soft and grateful. 

And just like that, it’s only the two of them in the room, and this is a normal evening, and Sam allows herself to be pulled under Lena’s spell. She doesn’t know why she’s here, not entirely, but she knows Lena needs something, and Sam is going to help her get it. It doesn’t matter what it is. She already knows her answer is yes.

“Lena, what year is this label?” Andrea drawls, swirling the liquid around her glass like some kind of connoisseur. 

Oh right, Andrea. Suddenly, Sam’s pulled back to reality, where she’s very much in the middle of a very awkward meeting, and her mind immediately goes to try to figure out how Andrea factors into all of this.

“2001,” Lena replies with a smug smile. Andrea smirks, and Sam has to resist rolling her eyes. 

“How is everything at CatCo?” Lena starts, placing her glass delicately on a coaster and crossing her legs, leaning toward Andrea in a cozy, gossipy way. “I hope they aren’t giving you a hard time.”

"Yes, I heard you've taken over the reigns there," Sam interjects, a casual attempt at remaining in the conversation. One that says "I know what you've been up to" and less "I'm impressed", but she allows it to fall however Andrea wants to receive it. 

"I have," Andrea nods, taking a long sip of her wine. "Thanks to Lena, I've been kept busy."

"I'm just grateful to have it in such good hands," Lena praises, and Sam feels the wine get stuck in her throat. “I’ve been pulled in so many directions since selling it, I don’t know how I would have managed. So, truly, thank you.”

Andrea's cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity, and Lena's eyes do that thing where they flutter and dip as she brings her glass to her lips. Suddenly it's a thousand degrees and Sam wants to pour the rest of her glass over Andrea's head. But she doesn’t. She’s classy, after all. 

"I took a quiz on their website the other day," Sam says instead, talking more to Lena than Andrea. "About what type of plant I am. It was riveting."

"And what did you get, Venus fly trap?" Lena quips, grinning. It should hit harsher than it does, but it's the playful version of Lena that Sam misses the most, and she can't find it in her to be mad.

"I happen to be a delicious hibiscus, thank you very much," Sam chuckles. "Anyway, I see CatCo headlines plastered all over the internet these days. ‘You’ll never guess what this man did on top of a skyscraper!’” she quotes, dramatically. “Traffic must be at an all time high.”

“That’s our goal.” Andrea’s eyebrows raise in an annoyed way, like this should be obvious, which thrills Sam. She couldn’t care less about CatCo and their absurd online quizzes, but the fact that Andrea is turning the publication into a distraction instead of a destination is delicious.

“So what type of plant are you, Andrea?” Sam asks, fiddling with the lapel of her blazer.

“I must have missed that one,” Andrea says with an air of boredom that only Andrea could perfect. 

“Well, anyway, hard hitting journalism is overrated,” Sam concludes, raising her glass in salute. “Click bait is the new target. Congratulations on all that."

"Mm," Andrea twists her lips and sizes Sam up as she takes a long sip from her glass. 

Sam is relaxed and handsome, in a carefree annoying way that no one has any business being if they’re going to be in business. She’s charming and irritating all at once, and Andrea knows Lena has a soft spot a mile long reserved especially for her. Not that it’s any of Andrea’s concern anymore. But it used to be, once, and it probably could be again, if Sam didn’t insist on being around constantly. Andrea knows she’s probably perfectly fine out of context, but she’ll never be able to get past the fact that Lena chose Sam over her. Even if her actions were justified.

Andrea studies the edge of her glass as she stews in her feelings. 

What kind of bad luck must it be to be one-upped by Sam in one universe, only to have her come back for round two in another?

“Anyway, I know you’re wondering why I asked you here,” Lena interrupts, and all the attention in the room focuses on her. “And now that you both know the truth about what happened, and this Earth, I think you’ll agree that we have to do something. I don’t care what the media says, my brother cannot be trusted. He’s no more the man of tomorrow than he was before Crisis, and I intend to find out what his endgame really is.”

“You could have said that over the phone,” Sam remarks, and Lena dismisses her with a soft chuckle.

“But then I wouldn’t be me, now would I?” She grins, and Sam shrugs. “Anyway, that being said, I’ve agreed to partner with him.”

“You what?” Andrea and Sam both react, looking at each other with horrified expressions. More at the fact that their responses were perfectly choreographed and a little less at what Lena actually just said, but horror nonetheless. 

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Andrea says, and Sam points at her and nods. 

“I have no choice. I have to be on his side, at least in the short term. I need to stay on his good side, as long as he will allow it, so I can buy time and figure out what to do next. Which is where--” she points at the two of them, “you two come in.”

“But he knows you can’t possibly trust him,” Sam argues. “So how do you know he’s going to really let you in?”

“That’s the thing with Lex,” Lena says with a long sigh. She shakes her head with a disappointed smile, the one she always gets when talking about her family. Sam’s heart sinks at the fact that Lena was cursed to get a supposed second chance with them, only to have all her old memories remain in tact. It seems particularly cruel as she looks in her eyes. “He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t trust him, and when this partnership is no longer beneficial, he will turn on me. Or, I will turn on him. Whoever gets to it first. There’s no emotional attachment, no need to worry about getting my heart broken. He’s already done that beyond repair. This is strictly a business deal so I can get what I want. All the while, we find ways to expose him.”

“This sounds very Charlie’s Angels, Lena,” Andrea smiles through heavy eyelashes. “I love it.”

"It's going to feel a bit like that, especially at first," Lena finishes, placing her glass down and studying her two oldest friends. It’s a gamble, she knows. She can’t really trust anyone, even the ones she’s known the longest, but she’s running out of options. Despite the chaos of crisis, and the fact that apparently a multiverse exists, somehow, she’s still here, and somehow, her two oldest friends are by her side. That’s more than she can say for a lot of people, and so if she has to work with Lex, she’d like to fall back on an alliance that doesn’t double as a minefield.

Even if she knows this one is far more dangerous.

"You can't be serious--" Sam interrupts. "And in this scenario, Lex is Charlie?"

"For now," Lena agrees, her face turning devious, almost sinister. It’s the face she gets when her mind is churning, when she’s ten years ahead of everyone else in the room. Sam’s chest seizes. “It won’t always be like that, though.”

“You realize what you’re asking us for, right?” Sam can’t help but push back, at least a little bit, even though she knows there’s no way she’s going to refuse. “To help you by helping Lex?”

“I do,” Lena replies, nodding once. “And you don’t have to say yes. But there’s more to it than that, and at the end of the day, it’s really all of us that you’ll be helping. So I know it isn’t the most attractive thing but--” Lena focuses her eyes intensely, like she’s looking deep into Sam’s soul. “It’s what I’m offering. I needed you both to know the truth before I move forward.”

“And we all--” Andrea turns to Sam with a disappointed scowl before returning to Lena. “Have to be on the same page if this is going to work, correct?”

“You two have to work together, yes,” Lena agrees, looking between them. “Will that be a problem?”

“If it’s not for her, then it won’t be for me,” Andrea counters, her eyes narrowing. 

Oh, great, so this is all on her now, Sam thinks. Well, far be it for her to spoil a party. 

“I won’t have any problems,” Sam finishes, shrugging. If Andrea thinks she’s going to cozy up to Lena by herself, she’s got another thing coming. “I’m in.”

“You jump, I jump,” Andrea tops her with that infuriating and overly dramatic Titanic quote, and Sam almost takes back her acceptance. Titanic. Are they kidding?

“You don’t know what this means to me,” Lena breathes in relief, like she’s been holding her breath since they all sat down. Her eyes glimmer with anticipation, like she’s just starting a brand new project, and Sam loses all feelings of hesitation. Just like that.

Sam shakes her head as she polishes off her glass. She places it down on the table and forcefully taps her knees. “So when do we start?”

[devourer--of--books]

if you’re not the bride (deluxe version)

So you may be wondering why is it you're seeing this. Hello, it is I again. If you're here, maybe you're familiar with the original "if you're not the bride', which I posted about three years ago. In case you're not, then, hello, welcome, when I was 15 I wrote a story under this same title. Then forgot all about it. But every so often someone would come across this story and I was reminded of its existence. Then, back in september 2019, I decided to read it again, correct some grammar and call it a day, you know, just so I could rest assured I hadn't written something horrible. Turns out, it got a bit out of hand and I decided to rewrite the whole thing. However, due to the fact that college is the worst, I never finished it and, well, forgot about it, again. Now, as quarantine came around, I found my rewrite from 6 months ago and since I got the time why not, right? This is now more than double the size of the original and has a lot more of backstory than intended. You can still find the original with some corrections here on AO3 and , and the cursed unedited version somewhere on tumblr for the sake of nostalgia. Warnings: There's cursing, some drinking and good old make outs. July 2020 edit: here I am, re-edting this thing again. This all said, welcome folks, to the deluxe version:

"You're going to what?!" Agatha raised her voice, tightly holding her phone to her ear. Surely, she must have heard Sophie wrong. Her friend did have a reputation for being over the top, but this was beyond absurd.

When people said that being friends with Sophie was…an exotic experience, they weren't completely wrong, per say. Being friends with Sophie could be a lot like being friends with a hungry animal. She was ruthless, dangerous and not trustworthy about 60% of the time. Sophie would do most anything to get whatever she wanted and absolutely would step over you in the process (sometimes for no reason other than because it amused her to do so). It wasn't personal, mostly. It was simply her nature.

For her, there were two kinds of people: her friends and her enemies. It was very easy to go from one category to another and anything in between simply couldn't be processed by her brain.

Sophie was a difficult person.

Agatha could tell you in more detail, she would know. Being Sophie's best friend wasn't exactly a dream come true. It had its perks of course, and when all was said and done, Sophie was an okay-ish person and a mostly good friend, but you gotta give it up to Agatha; it was no task for the weak-hearted.

They had been friends since kindergarten and were as different from one another as it gets. Had they met later in life, Agatha is certain they would've never become friends at all. Sophie was a loud, gorgeous (and kinda mean) blonde bombshell and Agatha was a grumpy, average-looking mostly nice girl (she wouldn't call herself kind, really, her niceness was more of a subproduct of her aloofness than anything else). The two of them disagreed in most anything and had not that much in common. Yet, it somehow worked. They argued a lot, as in, a lot, but it was always fixed within a weeks' time, in a coffee shop, over a good old vanilla latte and some black tea.

An odd pair, to say the least.

Which was fine by them. Sophie… was a work in progress. She was trying.

Nevertheless, every once in a while, something like this would happen. Because Sophie was still Sophie and her head worked in mysterious ways.

"I'm getting married, Aggie," Agatha could practically hear the blonde rolling her eyes on the other side of the device, "people do that all the time. It's, like, a thing."

"Sophie, you're not even done with college yet! Getting married with what money? As far as I know, your modeling barely pays your rent and don't even get me started on your student loan and credit card debt! And getting married to whom? Last time I checked, you weren't even going out with anyone!" She tried to cool her head, catching her breath while trying to recall any possible groom Sophie could have taken. "Unless… Are you marring Hort?"

A disgusted groan was heard.

"Ew, no. Not Hort, for God's sake. What do you think I am? Desperate?"

A bit, but Agatha didn't dare say it out loud.

Hort was a guy who lived at the apartment just below Sophie's, in a tiny complex downtown. They've known each other for quite a long time now. It was practically common knowledge that Hort acquired the biggest crush on her the moment he first laid eyes on her. It was all the old ladies from 1A and 2C ever talked about.

Over the years, he became quite easy on the eyes, even Sophie had to admit it. No longer the scrawny awkward kid that helped Agatha drag Sophie's couch upstairs (while Sophie flirted with the trucker, trying to get free shipping for her mattress, which, by the way, she got), but a fully formed man, completely jacked, and with a growing bank account to match, due to his fitness-program-thingy taking off. Agatha didn't really know the details of that, but she knew it was going well, mostly because Sophie told her so.

Anyway, he claimed to not want anything to do with her friend nowdays.

Yeah, right.

Agatha felt bad for him, she really did.

Loving Sophie was like loving a hurricane. Violent, brutal and downright painful.

She had initially assumed it would go away with time, that he would eventually see that they weren't compatible and let it go.

However, it was a bit more complicated than that, as most things in life tend to be.

She knew he and Sophie had hooked up, in fact, she knew that they did so often. Sophie hadn't told her, but she didn't need to. Agatha knew. The aftermath was never good, and for the sake of keeping things short and lighthearted, Agatha shall spare you the angst and just say that, as mentioned above, Sophie was fantastic at getting whatever she wanted and disregarding other people's feelings.

Honestly, Hort could say he wasn't into Sophie all he liked. At the end of the day, he was still living at that shitty apartment (even though he could probably have moved somewhere better a long time ago), hadn't seriously dated anyone since meeting her and was responsible for at least half of Sophie's modeling gigs, which were her friend's main source of income. Agatha had warned him, several times, mind you, but all you can do is all you can do. The heart wants what it wants, she presumes.

"If not Hort, who then?"

"Oh, you don't know him yet," She could practically see Sophie twirling a golden lock on her fingers, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"Clearly," Agatha rolled her eyes and put her phone on speaker to be able to look around for her keys more comfortably. Reaper, her cat, had a bad habit of hiding them in the weirdest places. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone last time we went out for coffee?"

"Because I wasn't seeing anyone at the time," the blonde-haired woman sounded a bit annoyed, seemingly not understanding why Agatha was having such a hard time believing her ludicrous story.

"Sophie."

"Yes, Aggie?"

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"It's true love, Agatha. I can feel it. This is my real-life fairytale. I found the perfect guy for me. He's so different from anyone I've ever met…" Agatha tuned her out, finally realizing what was going on.

For Sophie, everyone she dates is her one true love. She was intense like that. There were lots of "perfect guys" on the list, too many, and eventually Agatha grew tired of counting them. Neither did she remember their names. Why bother, when Sophie would grow tired of them soon enough?

Her friend's drug of choice just so happened to be was serial dating with lots of love-bombing on the side.

Parents got divorced? Look at this cute basketball player that will probably cheat on me.

Bad day at a shoot? Oh, that barista is so sexy, bet he'll hook up with me anyway.

I have no idea where my career is going and hate my major? Why not call Hort up, right?

But getting actually married? That's new.

Agatha sighed, picking up her keys from the pot of her balcony plant. Time to be the be the grown-up. Again.

"Sophie, are you 100% sure you want to get married to this guy? Can't you wait a few months at least? How about you guys move in with each other first?" If Sophie doesn't tire of him, that would terrify the poor thing into ending this madness. Again, Agatha would know. She had to stay at Sophie's for a few weeks once, back when she had split with a partner whom she had been living with; it was hell on earth.

"Weren't you hearing, Aggie? We. Are. Soulmates. He is very serious about me. He's so in love with me, he would never hurt me, and I need to tie him down before he runs away. Isn't this what people always say?" Her friend's voice was getting snappy. Oh, no, not good.

"Sophie, I just think you should be more careful and reasonable…" Agatha tried to pacify, tiredly.

Did she not own any clean jeans? Damn. Why does she keep forgetting to do her laundry? The blue skirt she wore to work would have to do.

"It's always reason, with you, Agatha! You never listen to your heart! I thought you would be happy for me! You're always telling me just how much potential I have! He brings out the best in me! What do you even know about relationships anyway, you always end up ru-"

"SOPHIE!" She interrupted, before her friend could say something she'd regret and crush whatever good mood was left in Agatha's body. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Tell me about this guy…?"

Fuck it, she decided. Agatha was in currently in a hurry and this could be solved later. She wasn't going to be able to win Sophie over the phone. Maybe she could sit her down on sunday, have one long talk about red flags in relationships, again. Convince her to stay engaged for a bit longer, just enough for her to get bored and then call it all off as soon as the new whats-his-face walks through the door.

Now was not the moment to be arguing, especially if she wanted to be on time.

"…And he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, it's like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking... but it's natural, he swears. And his skin is so soft, you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

Agatha tried to listen. She really did. However, all she could hear was "bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome". Lord, not this again. Did it get worse every time...?

The brunette stuffed her wallet in a handbag, grappling to close it (it had been a present from Sophie, and as such, probably hardwired to annoy her and look good at the same time), and gave herself a look over in the mirror, before frowning. Oh, time for her limited make-up skills to be of use.

Damn, she looked rough. She left in hurry that morning, so her bare face stared back at her in its full sleepless-racoon glory.

It has been a long week of nothing but late nights trying to get her workload done. She couldn't believe she was saying this, but she missed college. At least back then she didn't have to worry about rent. Oh, to be young, broke, dead-inside and living on a dorm. The wonders, truly.

Concealer, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. Done.

Kinda?

"… So, are you up to it?"

What.

"… Hm, sure?" She responded, still trying to evaluate if her liner was acceptably symmetrical. It wasn't. It never was, but it wasn't always this bad. Really, not her best work. Maybe she could fix it, somehow?

"That's amazing, you'll look so pretty, the dress I picked is perfect for your undertone, you'll be the best maid-of-honor ever!"

Oh, god, no. No way. What has she done?

Should she do that red-flag-talk now?

"How… nice of you to say that," Agatha replied, barely contained horror coming across in her tone. Not that Sophie paid her any attention.

"I set the date for the engagement brunch-party for tomorrow around 10am. At the terrace. And speaking of dates, I must introduce you to someone, he's great, Aggie, and I think you guys could…"

No. No. No. Agatha is drawing the line here.

"Oh really, cool, hey I have to go, callyoulaterbye-"

Agatha throws her phone on the bed, groaning loudly. Reaper stirs in her pillow, but is otherwise unbothered by the conversation, unlike his owner.

Of all things… getting married. Agatha was now her bridesmaid. Engagement brunch…?

Sophie, why. Why?

Agatha was now an accomplice of this crime against good judgement, wasn't she? Should she call Sophie again…?

Ugh, you know what? She'll sort this out this later. Sophie could wait a few hours, Agatha earned this night out.

…This totally is going to come back to bite her, isn't it?

Well, too late, Agatha's leaving. Because, unlike Sophie, who clearly had too much free time in her hands, Agatha had things to do and couldn't just waste her precious friday nights on this kind of bullshit.

.

.

.

"You're late," is the first thing Hester says to Agatha, not even lifting her gaze from her phone as she approaches their table.

It was the usual one, right by the wall, perfectly placed so it was far enough from the dance floor but close enough to the bar, so it was still socially acceptable to be seated but not too "loser-zoned", in Hester's own words.

Hester herself looked the same as always. Dressed head-to-toe in black and showing off an impressive number of tattoos per square inch of skin, she made quite the intimidating sight. The only tip to her actual day job was the discarded white blazer and sleek suitcase lying on a chair beside her. Back in school, Agatha used to find it hard to picture Hester being anything but a witchy-biker or a badass-tattoo-artist, but she supposed scary-lawyer suited her friend just fine.

"Nice to see you too, Hester. I've been well, thanks for asking," Agatha sits down, annoyed. She knows she's late. She missed the "early-comers, free entrance" time, and damn if the isn't pissed that she's now 15 bucks broker then she already was. "Anadil, Dot, it's great to see you guys too"

Both women acknowledge her presence quietly: Anadil nods,before getting up from her spot and leaving to god-wishes-he-knew-where and Dot hugs her briefly, headed to the bar.

Hester rolls her eyes and repeats herself.

"You're late."

"Shut up, I'm here, aren't I?!" Agatha snaps, before she bit her lip and propped her elbows onto the table, head in her hands.

The gesture makes Hester lift her eyes from the phone, finally.

"Well, someone's had a bad day."

"Look, I'm sorry. It's been one looong horrid day. Have you ordered any drinks? Or are we going for beer tonight?" Agatha asks, going over the familiar menu, even though she has every beverage price there already memorized.

"Okay, slow down," Hester yanks the menu out of her hands. "Have you eaten? I'm not going to take care of you if you didn't."

Yes, she would, but that's not relevant.

"Yes, mom," Agatha rolled her eyes. "I'm tired, tomorrow is gonna suck, let's drink."

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow's saturday, loser, sleep to your hearts content," Hester reminds her, but at seeing Agatha stare back at her in misery it occurred to her what, or rather, who, this was about.

"Blondie has been texting me non-stop about brunch. At 10. What's up with that?" She lifts a brow, her judging eyes scanning Agatha's expression. Agatha in turn, lets her elbows drop and bangs her head onto the table, harder than originally planned, a whimper leaving her lips.

Hester sighs. She loves Agatha to the death, but when it comes to Sophie, she has always been way too forgiving. Agatha was not Sophie's mother, she shouldn't have to look out for her and bend over backyards to help her. Personally, Hester and Sophie didn't get along very well.

Which lead to: Sophie never invited Hester anywhere, unless she wanted to rub something in Hester's face.

"...Apparently, she's getting married in, like, two weeks?" Hester's brows lift in surprise. "...To some guy I don't know?" Higher. "...And I'm a bridesmaid?" Almost disappearing into her hairline by now.

Awkward pause.

"Okay," Hester breathes in and out, "what the actual hell?"

"My words exactly."

"She'll be over it in a week," the tattooed woman deadpans.

"No doubt," the other replies.

Three more seconds go by, and it's far too long for Agatha, whose leg starts to twitch under the table.

"You're doing it again," she states.

"Doing what?" Hester asks, crossing her arms, lying back at her chair.

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"You know," Agatha vaguely gestures at Hester's face, "that thing your eyebrows do when you're being judgy."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"I so need a drink right now," she tells her before leaving the table.

.

.

.

At the bar counter, Agatha sits down on a stool and waits for the bartender, Chaddick, to show up, ignoring Hester's glare on her back.

Now for some unnecessary backstory, in case you're interested: Agatha and Chaddick had a bit of history (read, beef) long before this club, The Woods, opened and even before Agatha and Hester started to have their monthly night-out there.

Chaddick was a jock whom Agatha went to school with, all the way from sixth grade to senior year of high school. To be brief, he was the worst ™. He made fun of her, tormented her days, spread rumors about her (including one that she was witch, which lasted for years) and even stole her stuff once. In senior year, he had even developed this habit of showing up with his friends at the tea place her mother owned, where she had worked a few shifts from time to time, ordering not a single drop of fucking tea, being loud and annoying for hours and only leaving when closing hour neared.

Agatha was sure that if you googled 'jackass', his picture would turn up. He'd been so full of himself, all because he had some cash, was athletic and was "cute", you know, in that white-upper-middle-class-way that most school-aged popular boys tended to be. But then, flash-forward: Chaddick now worked wednesday to saturday as a bartender at Agatha's favorite club. Apparently, his parents went bankrupt or something during college. Agatha felt kinda bad for him, but not really? She supposed he wasn't as terrible of a human being nowadays, but she was not about to go ahead and call him her friend, no matter how many times she had to make small talk with him for the sake of bar etiquette.

"So what's it gonna be today?" The bartender asked, not quite politely, but she lets it slide, for she could tell he was as thrilled about this conversation as her.

Chaddick, too, looks the same, to no one's surprise. He looked more tired, but still douchey enough that Agatha didn't feel too horrible of a person for not feeling as sorry for him as she probably should.

"Surprise me. I've had a very bad day."

"Is Sophie actually up to something then?" He asks while grabbing some bottles, "I hear there's going to be a brunch-party tomorrow…?"

"Who told you? Reena?" Chaddick dismisses the name casually with his hand. "Gisele?" 'no', he denies with his head. "Beatrix then?" he nods, uncharacteristically shy, and Agatha nearly felt pleased, before she remembered what they were talking about before. "Bingo. But yes, there's a brunch-party tomorrow. An engagement brunch-party."

He hands her a cup, wide-eyed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Engagement? Do I even wanna know w-"

"You don't. Trust me on this," Agatha cuts him off, taking a sip of the beverage. She doesn't recognize its taste, which makes her wary. She knows her alchool. "What did you even put here?"

"It's a secret, tonight's special," he winked mockingly, before hurrying on to the next client.

Agatha briefly wonders if she should drink the rest of it, eyeing the cup curiously. It didn't smell bad and she kind of liked the taste. Should she trust Chaddick? Probably not. Then again, Agatha needed a drink tonight.

It would be fine. She is no lightweight, Hester is here, tomorrow's saturday. Right?

Another thing that would probably bite her later. So, she braces herself and downs the cup in a few large sips, heading back to her table.

Bring it on.

.

.

.

Two other cups of who-knows-what and an hour later, Agatha was back at the bar, now sitting in different stool, as far from Chaddick as she possibly could be, when a body drops on the sit next to her.

It's Dot, giggling loudly like a high school girl on heavy drugs.

The giggling persists for quite some time.

... It's kinda creeping Agatha out.

"Penny for your thoughts…?" She tries, taking a sip of her drink.

No response.

Giggle.

More silence.

"Hm, Dot?"

She continues to stare at her joyfully, still smiling like a madwoman.

Agatha found Dot adorable and friendly, which was a surprise since she was one of Hester's best friends. The two of them weren't really that close themselves, but she did enjoy her company. Being friends with Dot was as easy as it was harmless.

"Don't look, but there's a really hot guy right by the pool table who hasn't been able to take his eyes off you for the last fifteen minutes."

Agatha's eyebrows shot up in Hester-like fashion and she fights the instinct to turn around and check if Dot isn't messing with her.

She knows she is not the most attractive female in the room. Agatha tends to think of herself as more of an acquired taste, truly. Yet, every blue moon someone would come over to try their luck with her. Sometimes they're cute, sometimes they're funny and sometimes they're just desperate. So far, "hot guys" haven't really been her target demographic.

"So what? What's the big deal?" She tries to keep her nerves out of her voice, mostly succeeding, but Dot's smile only grew more and more mischievous, as if seeing right through her.

"Turn around. I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago, at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

…Okay, so Agatha might be a bit of a bad friend. She didn't listen to 90% of Sophie's rants about guys or modeling events, so most likely she had told her about him as Agatha did something else. Something important, really.

…Like playing games on her tablet.

She worked a lot, okay? Can't have people hogging all her free time. Even if it was Sophie. Her best friend.

Shit.

Agatha's face must have betrayed her because Dot laughed even louder than before.

"You seriously don't?" she managed to ask between giggles, as Agatha blushed, frowning.

"I should?"

"Most likely yes. Sometimes you're way too funny, you know?" Her smile was dangerous. Stop smiling at Agatha like that, woman.

It was at times like this she could see why Hester and Dot were such good friends.

"Thanks, I think?" Agatha eyes her companion carefully "How hot is this guy any…"

"Hot enough for you to talk to me, I hope," a male voice announced behind her, seemingly amused.

Not her day. Definitely not her day.

"He's right behind me?!"

Dot giggled loudly a final time before walking away to Hester's table. Very helpful. Forget what Agatha said about liking Dot. She didn't. Dot was a horrible person.

Agatha turned on her heels, facing the stranger with a sheepish smile. She was not ready for what was about to bite her.

Oh damn, please do.

…Figuratively, fuck. She meant in a figurative way.

Before we go on, Agatha would like to clarify that she blames any less than pure thoughts on Chaddick, because who knows what he put into her drink.

(Yeah, it's totally Chaddick's fault)

Amen, praise Jesus, okay?

Embarrassingly, her first instinct is to say that yes, he was totally hot enough to talk to her. Or come home with her. Or marry her (too soon for this joke, scratch that). That's not what she did, however. Oh, no, she stood there, in silence, and stared for quite a while before her brain rebooted and she finally gained control of her own body again.

Agatha is the first in line to advocate on why you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but she had eyes.

He was tall. As tall, if not taller than her, and Agatha was a tall woman. His jeans looked expensive and his light blue social shirt was tight on his chest, almost as if it were a size too small, the top buttons open, defined muscles visible to even the most casual observer. The shirt was paired with a grey-ish tie that hanged loosely around his neck, a bit too effortless-looking to be unintentional. His features were sharp, sculpted even, a certain California-sunny-surfer meets Adonis-next-door quality to them. Soft blond locks had an unnatural shine under the club's lights, as if they were made of gold.

And his eyes, my god, they were so blue Agatha felt like sinking and drowning in his arms right then and there. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Because you see, she is a grown woman and had a little thing called dignity.

Not that she didn't want to though.

Focus.

He did look kind of familiar. Had they met before? Agatha doesn't think so. This man looked like he just walked out of a Calvin Klein ad, and she sure as hell didn't know many people who look like that. One of Sophie's model friends? If so, she certainly hadn't introduced the two.

Yet, the way he was looking at her right now indicated the reality that she should probably know who he is. Maybe he was from her old gym, back when she let Sophie talk her into going for a few months? No, there were no hot guys there, just old ladies and teenagers.

Okay, so, plan B, say something smart.

"Hm…"

Say something.

"…So…"

Anything!

He doesn't look very impressed by her articulate conversation skills, but Agatha can't place where she had seen him before. Maybe they had been neighbors at some point? She moved quite a few times in these last years and keeping track of all of them was impossible. But that didn't seem quite right. A friend of one of her exes then? Did they meet at pride or something?

Seriously, who was this guy! Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is! He's good looking enough to be memorable sure, but clearly not memorable enough.

Hell, did she sleep with him? He must have been the worst one night stand ever for Agatha to somehow forget him. Maybe he was so bad that she forgot about him completely...?

"I give up, I can't remember you."

He looked a bit offended. Maybe he was indeed a Calvin Klein model.

"The name's Tedros…?"

Tedros, Tedros… Tedros?

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell," she concludes, "but, I'm, hm, Agatha?"

"I know," he responds, curt and firm, nearly glaring at her.

"Neat."

"Nice."

"Good."

"Great."

"Awesome."

"Amazing."

"Extraordinary."

"Now, that's a big word," he mocks. Agatha suspects he just didn't know any bigger ones to keep up. Part of her wishes to strangle him with his own tie and part of her wants to call him out on his shit. He approached her, okay? She is under no obligation to recognize him.

Her eyes narrow and she sips on her fourth cup again.

"Do you need for me to tell you what it means?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

The passive-aggressive-ness of this conversation is starting to exhaust her and kill any buzz she had, but she can't just let Mr. everyone-knows-who-I-am-and-I-look-like-walking-sex win. He needed to go down (on her). What.

"Hm, Tedros, you're going to order something or what?"

Chaddick cuts the stare contest between brown and blue and Agatha makes a note to leave him a nicer tip tonight.

"What's the special of the day?" Tedros' tone is amused, as if he and Chaddick are old friends. Ugh, of course he would. He sounded douchey enough. Maybe he went to school with her? That sounded about right, she could picture it. Pretty-boy-Tedros, walking down the hall wearing a football jacket with a cheerleader or two on his arm.

"Nice little things I've put together," Chaddick wiggled his eyebrows. "Want some?"

"Is it safe?" Tedros asks him, cautiously.

"Well, Agatha here is still fine at four, I would say so."

Soon enough Tedros is downing his second cup, sitting on the stool next to hers.

.

.

.

Agatha wasn't sure how or why, but things went from point A to point B very, very quickly.

Point A being sitting beside Tedros at the bar and point B being heavily making out with him in a corner.

Agatha wishes she was joking. She wasn't. It just…somehow…happened?

Fuck.

It all started when Tedros eventually caught up to her and from there on they held a little amicable drinking competition.

("I bet you can't do more shots than me." "Oh, you're so on!" "You drink like a fourteen-year old, dude." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah.")

Then, they paid for their drinks. Well, Tedros did.

("Did you just... pay for me?" "It's called having manners." "Excuse you?")

After that, Chaddick kicked them out to the dance floor, something about the two of them 'grossing him out'. Agatha is not much of a dancer, so she tried to go back her table but Tedros said something (she can't quite remember what it was) that made her realize that she kind of didn't want to. Leave, she means.

They danced for a bit before she stepped on Tedros's foot, or maybe he stepped on hers first?

("Ouch." "Get out of my way!" "Make me.")

From there on it was incomprehensible screaming over loud music for a while and they somehow ended up being way too up in each other's personal space. Agatha eventually just lost it, and grabbed him by his collar, bringing him down to place a forceful peck on his lips, before backing away, partly horrified, partly proud.

It took two mortifyingly long seconds of silence and pure embarrassment for Tedros to grab her by the waist and kiss her roughly.

They stumbled to a more secluded corner, until Agatha's back hit a wall, but she was distracted from the pain of the impact by Tedros licking her bottom lip, seeking her tongue, a small sound escaping her once he found it. What the hell is she even doing, this should not be happening. And yet, she cannot bring herself to care.

This is a wild, passionate kiss and not at all Agatha's expertise. She always considered herself more of a slow-vanilla-soft kind of girl. But out the window with that, Tedros was nowhere near close enough, no matter that they were already flush against each other. Maybe this is why Sophie thinks every guy she meets is her soulmate. As cheesy as it sounds, she feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something.

Ha, as if.

Any thoughts, of soulmates or otherwise, are forgotten when Tedros' hands start to wander, one goes from her waist to her hip and the other moves to explore her tight, squeezing it deliciously. Agatha retaliates by pulling on his hair, not as lightly as she probably should've, but is rewarded with a husky groan and a bite on her bottom lip.

(She does it again because that might be her new favorite sound.)

What. Is. Going. On.

Her last braincells are on fire. She was on fire.

Okay, young lady, de-attach yourself from the handsome male slo…

Oh God.

She's pretty much breathless when he decides to break the kiss, her lips chasing after his for the slightest second as he pulls away. Her heartbeat has never been this loud and she has no time to overthink, as, suddenly, his lips are on her neck. Agatha lets out a quiet, but embarrassingly needy, whine (as quietly as she could, but it didn't really matter, he heard her anyway) when he nips on her ear and then trails down to suck at her pulse point. Her hands snake their way from his hair to under his shirt's collar and Tedros shivers once she drags her short nails lightly on his upper back and shoulders, but she can still feel his very attractive smug smirk against her skin.

She felt drunk. She doesn't feel like that often.

Not the completely-trashed-I-just-had-countless-drinks kind of drunk and certainly not this don't-care-keep-going-my-blood-is-on-fire kind of drunk either. Like she wanted to keep touching Tedros for the rest of her life (the idea doesn't sound half bad), as fireworks danced around them and… God, if Sophie knows this guy how she could not marry him on the spot, because fuck…

He's leaving quite a few love bites along her collarbone, teasing, attempting (and succeeding) at drawing tiny sounds from her and Agatha can't take it anymore. She drags him back up to her mouth and somehow pulls him even closer. She did not like feeling weak, but to her surprise, Tedros seemed to possess the superpower of turning her completely boneless in the best kind of way.

Wait.

Agatha is making out with Tedros.

Tedros is making out with her.

Agatha's eyes open in late realization and the two of them stare at each other for a few seconds.

So, this happened, huh?

"I… hm… have to go. Out of here. Home. Alone. Yeah, that," Agatha makes way around paralyzed Tedros, whom looks very confused and disoriented. His lips are tainted with coral lipstick, he's panting for air, his bright eyes dark with desire, clothes looking disrelished, pants looking a bit too tight, and he just looks throughfully kissed.

No, Agatha does not feel even a little tiny bit of pride by seeing him look like that because of her, what are you talking about, not sexy, not sexy at all.

… Maybe he could come along?

No. No, no, no.

She doesn't run away from him exactly, but she sure as hell wasn't walking. As she passes Hester and Anadil, the two of them raise eyebrows judgingly, but Agatha does her best to school her expression into neutrality.

If she waited a bit longer, she might have heard Tedros saying:

"Until tomorrow then."

.

.

.

Agatha regrets every single life choice that led her to this point.

She's sitting on a ridiculously shaped chair at Sophie's apartment building's terrace, brooding silently in the corner, with a big headache, while eating some diet cake that tasted like foam, listening to violin versions of bad pop songs, probably dying of heatstroke, and if that doesn't kill her soon enough, can someone please end her misery…

Hester and Anadil are not here after all. Agatha doesn't blame them. It might be for the best, because Agatha doesn't need to deal with Hester's judgy eyebrows right now. Dot is down in Sophie's apartment, at the kitchen, most likely trying to steal some wine and she is pretty much the only person here Agatha can stand.

She partly wonders if Hort will show up but decides she does not care. She's running on aspirin, her head feels like it was smashed against a wall multiple times, and it's too hot here, okay?

It's a hot sunny day and the limited shade would not be enough to cool Agatha down even if she wasn't wearing a scarf. Agatha hates this scarf. It was another one of Sophie's gifts, and Agatha hates it because it's an evil scarf that pinches her every five seconds. However it's the lightest scarf she owns, and she can't it take off.

Otherwise, someone might notice the dark mark on her neck, which her shirt could not hide, as was the case for the other ones, lower, in her collarbones.

Tedros freaking marked her. The nerve.

She's not nearly as pissed as she should be, because honestly she's kinda into it.

Taking off the scarf would lead to too much teasing and questions, she had no turtlenecks available (damn you, past-Agatha, for not doing your laundry) and if only she had the skills to cover it up with makeup. Not only was the scarf evil by itself, it made it impossible for her to not think of yesterday, therefore, making her even more irritable.

She is not the kind of person who kisses people at the club. She sure as hell wouldn't bring a guy she's just met, at the club of all places, home. What if he'd been a psycho? She doesn't know him. He'd know where she lived. She wouldn't go to his place either, that sounded even more irresponsible. But she wishes she had at least gotten his number, you know, instead of freaking out and running away. Well, he knew Chaddick, so maybe she could ask him?

No, that would be humiliating, and Agatha is trying to hang on to whatever dignity she had left.

Also, it had been almost an hour at this damned terrace party and she hasn't seen a single trace of Sophie's fiancé, but the blonde assured her he would be there soon. He's the late-type, hm.

Okay, so Agatha hates him already.

She has been to this terrace quite a few times, it was the one pro of Sophie's building, aside from cheap rent. But she was running out of both will and things to point out in small talk with all these models and small influencers. If she hears "Sophie has such a lovely terrace" one more time…

Suddenly, there was clank, signaling that someone pushed the terrace door open. As Sophie lit up and moved to greet the newcomer, Agatha felt the cake climb up her throat.

Holy hell, is that Tedros?

What is her life, really.

Agatha gets up from her chair quietly, observing the scene from behind a plant, trying not to be too obvious, just, ya know, casually chilling in the middle of the scorching sun. Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking in Agatha's general direction, pulling the handsome man behind her.

Hm, no.

Agatha resists the urge to pace in circles as she tries to gather her thoughts. It might be the hangover or the diet cake but seeing the two of them together made her wanna barf. Not because they didn't look good together. They did. In fact, maybe too good. Sophie's long soft hair was a shade or two lighter than Tedros', but other than that, they might as well have been made in the same Instagram-model-facility. Like a set, Barbie and Ken.

What is this feeling?

Oh no, she can see them approaching. Abort mission, leave, get out, hit the road…

"Aggie, darling!"

Agatha forces herself to fake a confident smile, as if she could always be found casually hanging out behind plants on saturday mornings. It turned out to be more of sheepish grin, especially when compared to her friend, whose pretty smile is almost too big for her too pretty face.

Sophie looked particularly gorgeous in her pastel green summer dress and peep-toe heels. Her tanned skin glows under the sun, the light catching in her green eyes on that special way that made photographers all around the industry want to work with her despite her inexperience, the grace within her movements creating an allure Agatha doesn't think she'd be able to recreate even if she were to be born again.

This is not good. Leave, abort mission, repeat, abort miss…

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday," she winked. "Teddy, this is my bestie, Agatha, you remember her, right?" Sophie nudges him lightly using her elbow.

Tedros looks even better now that she can see him in natural daylight. Which should be illegal, truly. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his hair made of pure gold looked just messy enough to not look too try-hard, yet something about him looked weirdly… staged? Agatha couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I surely do," Tedros lets go of Sophie's hand, shoulders tensing, and Agatha thinks he might be blushing. Is he nervous? "We-"

"Nice to meet you," Agatha interrupts him, grasping his hand on a firm handshake and letting go just as fast, as if touching his skin would burn her. "Sophie told me a lot about you."

Play along, please. I beg you.

"Oh, hm, it's very nice to meet you too?" Tedros responds, confused, but not calling her out. "Nice scarf," he adds, his lips curling upwards, so very slightly she might have missed if she wasn't micro-analyzing his every movement. Smug bastard. She is all too aware of his gaze lingering on her neck, a hint of pride showing in his bright eyes, the teasing in his voice making her want to pull him down by the collar, whether to choke him or to kiss him she couldn't tell.

"Oh, isn't it cute? See, Aggie, I told you that color looked great on you!" Sophie cuts in, reaching to touch said scarf. Agatha steps back self-consciously, making an effort to not scratch the back of her neck as not to call more attention to it.

"Quite the bold fashion statement for the summer, may I add," Tedros continues as he casually leaned one elbow on Sophie's shoulder. Subtle enough that Sophie wouldn't read too much into it, but Agatha could see right through his shit. "But I like it. You look very pretty, Agatha"

How dare he, truly. No sham-

Wait.

"So, I need to get going, work emergency you see, but I'll make it up to you, Sophie," Agatha excuses herself, quickly. She tells herself it's just the heat that it's bothering her, but her brain is going 300 miles per hours and she needs to leave. Now.

"Aggie, tomorrow we'll be having lunch at the country club, don't be late!"

"Yeah, be there, alright."

Agatha sprints down the complex's stairs as discreetly as she can, which is not much. By the time she's at her car, the weight of her realization hits her full force.

.

.

.

"I'm getting married, Aggie"

"Not Hort"

"You don't know him yet"

.

.

.

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday."

.

.

.

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

.

.

.

"…Oh he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, its like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking, but it's natural, he swears, and his skin is so soft you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

"bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome"

.

.

.

"He's so different from anyone I've ever met…"

"She feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something."

.

.

.

"Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is!"

"He looked a bit offended."

"The name's Tedros?"

.

.

.

"God, if Sophie knows this guy how could she not marry him on the spot…"

"Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking, pulling the handsome man behind her."

.

.

.

Agatha is a very bad friend, isn't she?

She bangs her head on the wheel.

Then, she regrets doing so, opening the car's door, so she could vomit some diet cake and last night's alcohol on the parking lot's floor before driving away.

.

.

.

By a miracle, Agatha survives the drive home and makes it back home in one piece.

As she walks into her own apartment, she does not feel half as guilty as she thought she would be. But she was very, very angry. Furious, actually.

At herself for being both a dumbass and a bad friend, at Tedros for being a player, at Chaddick for being a dick in general, at Sophie for being Sophie, at Dot for not warning her and even at Hester for not being at the party today so Agatha could at least not freak out by herself.

She can't do anything for the rest of the day, because trying to work, read or sleep is useless, since she can't focus with all the internal screeching her mind is doing. Her existence now doesn't make any sense and Agatha is about to tear her hair out, lying down in her bed, staring at the celling.

(There's a long crack on there and for whatever reason, it reminded her of a river. Probably because it didn't look like anything else.)

She contemplates calling Hester and telling her everything but ultimately decides against it. She can't bring herself to explain this out loud, least of all hear any possible lecture Hester might give her. Is this how Sophie feels when she decides hide things from her-

Oh my God, Sophie.

Tedros was engaged. To Sophie. He was Sophie's fiancé.

Agatha is not freaking out at all.

.

.

.

At last, ten long hours of sulking later, Agatha is feeling a lot guiltier, still very much pissed and just confused as a whole.

She made out with Sophie's fiancé. Should she tell her? Yes. Would she? To be decided.

Maybe they wouldn't even get married. Come on, a few weeks? There's no way Sophie will keep up this insanity. Telling her about the club incident would only hurt their life-long friendship over a guy who wasn't even gonna last two months. Years of companionship out the window. She had no intention of doing it again so, did it really matter? What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right?

She hadn't even known he was Sophie's fiancé!

But then again, Sophie had told her all about him. She didn't listen because she was a bad friend! Was she really gonna play the "I didn't know" card...?

It was the truth!

But no one would believe her. Fuck, if Agatha were Sophie, she wouldn't believe herself. Agatha was a smart grown woman, godamn it. What kind of dumb bitch even-

This wedding wasn't happening. No need to worry, right?

For now, Agatha has two long weeks of supposedly weeding-related bonding moments with Sophie to survive, without accidentally letting slip that, oh, talked, drank, danced and made out with Tedros.

Well, shit.

.

.

.

Even if one ignored the fact that the guilt was starting to eat Agatha alive from inside out, the next day would still have been a long, tortured journey of nothing but cringe and regrets. Yet she bore it, because she, even if accidentally, brought this on herself.

Agatha got up early on a sunday (name a bigger crime) to try and get something done, since she would probably have little time to work in the following weeks. Then, she went to have lunch with Sophie at a fancy country club (that Sophie couldn't afford by the way, which earned her a lecture on credit cards and personal finances) hoping to have that "red-flag" talk.

It did not go well.

Sophie had invited him along. Of course, she would. Apparently, since she was getting married soon, Agatha should be used to have him around. And, of course, Sophie would have decided to tell her he was coming the moment he walked in, headed to their table.

This is Sophie's fiancé. Do. Not. Stare.

What kind of cosmic karma is this? He isn't even her type.

WHY-

"Afternoon, ladies."

Sophie greeted the blonde with a smile and a hug, as Agatha merely nodded his way, scanning the room for the closest exit.

"Hi Teddy!"

"Tedros."

Lunch is awkward as hell and at this point Agatha is just waiting for a waiter to come and stab her. It ends up being both not so terrible and the worst lunch ever because she does talk quite a lot with Tedros, against her better judgment.

She learns that Tedros did go to her school, for three years. Sophie asks him if he remembers Agatha, and from Tedros' silence, Agatha assumes he doesn't want to admit to having been part of Chaddick's... shenanigans.

Her friend then talks astrology, and Agatha learns that he is a leo (because of course he would), is kinda proud of it but says he doesn't believe in astrology, prompting Sophie to start a discussion on why he wouldn't believe in astrology if he believed in tarot. The way he blushes and stammers is cute and makes Agatha feel horrible for thinking so, but she asks him about tarot anyway. She's just being polite, okay?

He mentions he'd turned 26 a while ago and recently moved back to the city, as he moved away to go to college in Avalon. She tells him she almost went there, but her scholarship did not include a dormroom and she knew no one there to share an apartment with. His answer is a blunt "I know", which both confuses and pisses her off.

Tedros offers her no further info on it, but they engage in conversation again after he mentions he is working at Camelot International.

("As one of the main executives on the board," Sophie adds, "it's one of the most powerful companies in the country.")

They quickly bond over their massive workloads (Agatha may not be a main executive of a huge corporate empire, but damn if being head finance director for SGE Enterprises didn't keep her busy enough), until Sophie slips that he must be very lucky to be the sole heir to the Pendragon Group.

Oh.

Tedros Pendragon. Are you kidding? Agatha remembers seeing his family's name being all over the news back in school and she feels dumb for not remembering that Tedros and 'that Pendragon boy' were the same person. Hadn't his parents had a huge cheating-divorce-scandal that caused the stock for the company to plummet a few years ago?

Tedros frowns at Sophie before saying that, "Yes, indeed, he's very lucky."

The blonde doesn't seem to notice the way his hands grip the fork tightly as he pronounces the last word, but Agatha does.

It adds on to the list of things that keep her awake later, after she does her damn laundry and stress-cleans her entire apartment. She curses as she turns and tosses on her bed, because it's 2 AM, work starts in a few hours and she needs to sleep.

.

.

.

The next four days are not much different, the routine is pretty much the same, except they have dinner plans instead of lunch. Work, eat, work, do bridesmaid shit with Sophie and Tedros somewhere, avoid his gaze, talk for a bit over something like choosing the best flower arrangements, and then hightail out of there, only to come home and be restless.

She was still very confused, because honestly, Tedros didn't seem bad at all. The more she talked to him, the least she wanted to stop talking to him. He definitely had some family issues and was doing some overcompensating, but nothing that made him, like, a total trash human.

And yet, he was still the guy who hit on her (fucking made out with her), knowing exactly who she was, while being engaged to her best friend.

She always thought herself a good judge of character.

Anyway, she did her best to act aloofly polite and if he ever seemed to hint at the night at The Woods, Agatha cut him off before he could. It was a good plan. Wait it out. And it really was working just fine.

Until the dress store.

For some reason she cannot wrap her head around, Tedros is there too.

(Isn't there a tradition against seeing the dress of your bride before the wedding or something?)

At some point, Sophie struggles to get into a particularly complicated dress at the dressing room, yelling at the poor employees like a harpy on a rampage and Agatha is about to intervene when he manages to pull her aside, his grip firm but with a certain gentleness that made her skin burn.

He semi-drags her across the store through a sea of sparkly white dresses and into this small nook between sections. Agatha does not want to admit that the main reason why he is able to do that is because she allows him to.

Things only go downhill from there.

He has her cornered, her back nearly merging with the wall as he stands close to her, his posture tense, moving slowly, like one would in presence of a startled animal. He doesn't look like he is trying to purposely intimidate her, and she doesn't feel particularly unsafe. No words are spoken between them and the silence allows Agatha's senses to pick up on a deliciously rich smell. Is that Tedros' cologne-

Agatha forces down the rash that is creeping up her neck and tries to focus on doing what she does best, aka, running away from her problems. She looks anywhere but his face, but he is not making ignoring him an easy job.

"I don't get you."

What.

"Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Agatha scoffs, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"I truly don't."

Her response seems to annoy him, which she counts as a win, but Agatha might have declared victory just a bit too soon. Tedros, who was a couple of feet away has managed to get way too close (yet again). His hand raises her chin and forces her to look into his eyes. Her resolution to run away falters and she's scared he might hear her heartbeat speed up.

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Agatha. One second you don't like me, then you do like me, then you don't again… I don't understand the game you're playing here… So, I'll make this simple, you won, congratulations, now stop playing games, now you know I'm interested."

Agatha blinks. This is… not the conversation she thought she was going to have.

Of course, during her nightly overthinking sessions she thought about what she'd say if he confronted her about the previous friday, even if she didn't think he'd have the balls to actually do it. But she seems to have been reduced to this dumpster fire nonsense. Tedros never did what she thought he was going to do and it was short-circuiting her braincells.

She's way too aware of the hold he has on her, the compromising situation they're in. One of his hands cages Agatha in, placed on the wall behind her head, while the other keeps her from adverting her gaze from his. Tedros is too close, he smells too good and his mouth looks too inviting.

She hears him, but she doesn't really hear him, his presence fogging up her senses.

Agatha briefly entertains the idea of giving into temptation and kissing him. How nice it would be to grab his collar, invert their positions, slam him against the wall and kiss him senseless, so he could feel just how helpless she felt having him corner her like this. Kiss him and just leave him there, wanting, begging, and…

What. Wow, fuck. Stop.

A new thought hits her like a ton bricks.

This guy is an asshole.

Tedros looks irritated and Agatha wants to punch him.

So she does.

She's strong enough to give him a black eye, but she (unintentionally, Agatha swears) holds backs and aims for his chest. However, she can tell it hurt a lot by the way his eyes water and he backs away several steps. She hears Sophie yelling their names across the store and giving Tedros one last glare, she turns around and walks away.

The nerve.

Why would anyone marry him?

Sophie needed a wakeup call. And fast. Because while Sophie could be a nightmare, she did not deserve to be played like that.

.

.

.

Agatha was not a superstitious person.

If she forgot her umbrella at home and it started raining when she left the dress shop (Tedros and Sophie both offered her a ride but she would rather choke, honestly, and said no, forgetting that she rode here with Sophie in the first place), it's not fate, it's bad luck. If she gets sick and loses her voice (and therefore can't go do neither her work or her bridesmaid duty), it's not conspiracy, it's simply a coincidence.

Well, call it fate, call it bad luck, call it conspiracy, call it coincidence. The case is that Agatha has lost her voice and has both a running nose and a fever. She considers texting the whole story to Sophie but changes her mind when she imagines the blonde woman's reaction.

Agatha, you're such a slut.

She is going to tell Sophie about this… this… this individual. Yeah, she was going to come clean and expose Tedros. No wedding.

Why was Tedros marrying Sophie anyway? She could understand why Sophie would go for Tedros. He did seem like her type. Young, rich, successful and handsome.

(Not really what she herself looked for. Agatha tended to go for witty, responsible people and who did not mind her blunt nature. Never in the history of ever, had Sophie and Agatha been interested on the same person.)

Anyway, he would give her lots of exposure, would look great on her Instagram feed, would be able to save her from her terrible apartment, student loan and infinite credit card debt, and would open up the world of fancy designer shoes and pretty gowns Sophie always dreamed of.

But why would he do that?

Tedros was, again, young, rich, successful and handsome. He hardly expressed any special affection towards Sophie or had the usual lovesick look most of Sophie's victims sported when they found themselves bewitched by her. They didn't really agree on much, from what Agatha gathered on their conversations, had no shared interests, lived completely different lifestyles, had different moral values and overall didn't seem to have the grandiose connection Sophie spoke of at all. Maybe he was with her because she was pretty? But again, why. There werw thousands of pretty girls willing to date young rich men, why Sophie in particular?

Something about this seemed off. She needs to talk to Sophie.

…When she recovered.

.

.

.

Alright, maybe it was conspiracy. The wedding was in two days.

Two days.

She supposes time does go by quickly when you're procrastinating something you really, really don't want to do. Nearly two weeks gone by in a flash. And, as she should, Agatha finally gets herself together. She is going to tell Sophie.

Well, she was going to tell Sophie. The blonde and a few of her friends were at The Woods for a last girl's night out. Meaning:

Sophie was currently drunk.

But maybe she wasn't?

She probably was though. Sophie was the most lightweight person Agatha knew, likely because she was so skinny. Girl could not hold her alcohol and drunk-Sophie was messy-Sophie. Unwilling, untamable and unimaginably difficult to have a coherent conversation with.

But, maybe she wasn't drunk? Agatha was not going to risk it.

She forces herself to hurry. She doesn't change out of her work outfit (merely discarding the suit's jacket), stopping by her house to feed Reaper and leave some important documents. Agatha even nearly forgets to lock her front door, calling a car to the club, hoping it might not be too late to come clean. But she was late anyway, as proven not only by the 15 bucks that left her wallet (for the second time this month) but by-

"Aggieeeee! You're better! Have you taaaasted this? It's amaziiiing!"

Agatha glares at Chaddick, who has the decency to look away. He knew the amount of alcohol Sophie was capable of processing, namely: none.

"Yeah, I have…"

"You should have seen, Sophie; the other night Agatha was so wasted she ma…"

"Chaddick, don't you have somewhere to be? As in, not here?"

The ex-jock walks away with a smirk, knowing he had some nice blackmailing material on her. Could this get any more horrible?

Now what? Should she just take Sophie home? Sober her up, tell her everything then beg for forgiveness? She couldn't. Then what to do, what to do…

"Sophie, I have to tell you something, it's really important, you see…"

"Oh Aggie, I'm sure you can tell me laaaaaatteerrrr! I've been so stressed lately! Time to let it goooo! Come on, I'll even pay your first drinkkkk!"

Her friend lifted a glass of what looked and smelled like a vodka and gin disaster waiting to happen.

"Sophie, what is even that?"

"Not sure…but Chaddick told me it was good."

Agatha sighs. She should tell the truth, right here, right now, shouldn't she?

"… Alright."

And she would have if she were a better person. But to her shame, she downs five more after the first and suddenly she can't remember why she came here on the first place. Something about a guy?

(Lies, Agatha knows exactly what she is doing, but for a few more hours she gives herself the benefit of the doubt.)

Whatever, she'll just deal with it later. She hasn't said anything for the past few days, surely it can wait some more, right?

.

.

.

Said and done, five hours later Agatha concludes she is a horrible human being. She should just quit. Leave the job of human being for people who will not mess up. Like Hester. Hester never messes up shit. Yeah, great plan.

Sophie is knocked out cold, sleeping with her face in a table, drooling, besides said Hester, who has her usual judgy face on, glaring at the blonde woman, like she was some kind of disgusting creature.

Agatha doesn't think she could feel worse.

She should have just told Sophie the truth right away. The moment she found out Tedros was, well, Tedros. Instead she had gone along with a wedding that was sure to be a fiasco, because not only was the groom a liar and a player, but Agatha was therefore his accomplice, and her silence was probably the greatest betrayal of their entire friendship.

She picks up her phone to call a car, so she could at the very least wallow in misery at home, but before the app even loads someone snatches her phone.

Turns out she can indeed feel worse.

"We need to talk."

His voice sounds as it always does whenever she's around, half-annoyed and half-something else Agatha doesn't dare name. As usual, he looks nice. His tight shirt and tie are still in perfect place, unlike the last time she saw him here, signaling he too probably came straight from work.

"This is girl's night; you're not allowed here."

"Oh, I'm not?" Tedros mocks her, but she can tell his heart isn't truly in it. "Then please do tell me the circumstances in which I can talk to you, because you sure don't make it easy."

She is so tired. Trying to avoid him is hard enough, trying to avoid him knowing that she doesn't really want to is impossible. She has always read people so well, and he always seems so genuine. It makes her wanna believe he is not the bad person she knows he is.

"…I've been… avoiding you. It's not that I don't want to talk to you. Is just… that I shouldn't," she hesitates but ends up answering honestly.

Tedros' expression softens at her candor, peering at her with concern.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. Maybe."

He sighs, then digs his car keys from his pocket, still holding her phone hostage on his other hand.

"Look, I'll give you a ride home. I really just wanna talk. We have…unfinished business."

Agatha considers. All this wedding-baloney made her poor, Tedros is so pretty, he looks so wholesome and honest, and she just wants to sulk at home for the next few hours. Maybe he could stay for a day or two. That shirt of his would look great on her floor…

No, bad idea.

"I don't wanna get into a stranger's car," she blurts out the first excuse her mind can manage. In retrospect, that was some obvious bullshit, seeing as they had talked for hours last week and he had already given her a ride before. Granted, it had been Sophie's car and Sophie had been there, but still, that didn't make much sense.

"Oh truly?" he holds up her phone, the ride app now open, "You're gonna pull that one on me?"

It's Agatha's turn to sigh.

"Okay don't go using logic on me, mister. For all I know, you could be planning on kidnapping me and selling my organs on the black market," or worse, actually talking to her.

"Can never be too careful, can we?" he looks partly amused and partly annoyed. "Look, I'm serious here, okay? I'm not going to do anything to you, we can talk to Hester on our way out, I'm sure she'll hunt me and string me up upside down at her soundproofed basement in case I even dream of harming you. Alright?" Tedros's eyes never leave her face in the twenty seconds she takes to decide, and it's really distracting, but she manages to answer:

"Okay, fine."

They talk to Hester, rather, Tedros talks to Hester while Agatha avoids her gaze shamefully. Why does Tedros know Hester? Did they ever talk during school?

Agatha doesn't know and she doesn't ask. Her gaze lingers on Sophie's drooling face and she feels her chest tighten.

The two of them walk into the parking lot awkwardly, in mortifying silence, and enter a silver Porsche. Agatha notes that it looks very out of place, since most cars belonged to employees and looked rather humble next to the silver beauty. Why was Tedros here? He came in his car, so he was not here to drink. Did Sophie tell him to pick her up? Or was he here to see Agatha?

Her heart skips at beat at the thought and she doesn't ask him any of this either.

"Nice ride," she offers instead.

"Thanks."

Tedros drives in silence, with Agatha occasionally telling him to turn on certain streets. She keeps her gaze on the empty roads, but she does catch quite a stunning sight of his profile when she forgets she's not supposed to look at him at all.

To avoid getting too in her head, she decides to turn on the radio. The song that starts playing is familiar and she guesses the radio must be on CD mode. The letters in bold red on the visor tell her she is correct, and this is indeed the song she thinks it is.

"You're into this kind of stuff?"

Tedros grips the wheel, almost defensively.

"They're really good, okay? I've been listening to them for a few years and so far, they're my favorite band. I know their sound isn't for everyone and-"

"I know."

"…It's not what most mainstream artists are doi- you what?"

Agatha blushes when she feels his incredulous gaze on her face, and it occurs her that this is the first time he looks directly at her since they got into his car. She hopes he'll attribute the redness on her cheeks to the red light they're currently stuck at and hesitates before answering, in a quiet voice, meeting his stare:

"They're my favorite band too."

"Oh."

The rest of the drive is less awkward, one would even say comfortable if not for the leftover tension. They sing along quietly to the vocalist and Agatha is sure Tedros stopped himself from doing the guitar once. Not cute, not cute, not cute.

Eventually, they get to her apartment building. She reaches over and turns off the radio, the deafening silence almost too much to bear.

Agatha tries reaching for the car door, but it's locked.

"I did tell you we needed to talk."

Usually, she'd be scared if a guy trapped her in his car in the middle of the night, but Agatha's frustration just comes back at full force and topples over anything else.

"What's to talk, you're clearly into someone else."

Tedros' eyes go big, and Agatha can't help but think he must be the world's greatest actor. Oscar nomination performance. The academy is shook-

"What? Did you, like, not hear anything I sa-"

"I'm not that kind of girl, Tedros," Agatha interrupts him firmly, "I don't hook up with anyone who's in a relationship, especially in a relationship with my best friend, no matter how stupidly short said relationship may be."

"I… Did Sophie tell you-"

"She didn't need to? You guys are engaged, and I am not going to get caught in between, okay? Please, please leave me alone. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't give me rides when I'm drunk."

Suddenly, Tedros' confused expression is gone and his eyes are gleaming with what looks like joy. He looks like he might kiss her and Agatha is not sure how well her defenses will hold in case he does.

"Agatha, I think you got this all wrong, I'm not-"

"What, you have amnesia? Or, let me guess, it's your twin brother who's engaged to her?"

Tedros burst out laughing and he sounds like an angel, throwing his head back, and Agatha forgets for a second that she's mad at him. But eventually reality brings her back and she pushes him, with just enough force to get his attention.

"Leave me the fuck alone, dude."

…Asshole.

This time when she reaches for the door, it's unlocked.

She glares at him from the sidewalk one more time, before entering the building.

.

.

.

Agatha doesn't hear a word from him after that.

It's for the best, she tells herself. Agatha spent so much time wishing he would just go away and take these weird feelings he gives her with him that she didn't even consider that once he did go away for real, new, stronger, and even more angsty feelings would appear. She only knew him for two weeks. He wasn't even hers. She has no grieving rights.

She goes out with Sophie one more time, and now it's just the two of them. It would be the perfect time to tell her. She has no excuses. No drinking, no sickness, no Tedros-

Agatha doesn't.

.

.

.

Today is the day.

It's a clear summer night, which is unfair with how angsty and conflicted Agatha feels. Hollywood lied to us all, hasn't it?

Agatha is dressed in a silky blue dress Sophie chose for her. It suits her and she thinks she looks quite pretty. Someone who actually knew what they were doing did her make-up, and for once she managed to tame her hair into submission, putting it into a fancy-looking up-do youtube taught her how to do. She's wearing her best shoes and her fanciest earrings. Agatha is looking and smelling like a daydream outside the main room of the church, but her hands are shaking and she's terrified.

She's not ready. Far from it really.

The rules were simple. If you're not the bride you don't wear white, you don't overdrink, and you never, ever, under any circumstances, fall in love with the groom.

No matter if they were hot, if they smelled good, if their eyes made you feel weak at the knees, if they shared common interests with you, if their taste was impossible to forget, if they went out of their way to get your attention or if they felt like they just might be the one.

You just didn't okay?

Shit, this was messed up. Still, Agatha brought herself to breathe deeply, trying to contain her anxiety.

The ceremonialist tells her it's her cue and she's soon walking down the aisle, clutching a small bouquet of pink carnations like a lifeline, looking around the church.

The place is crowded. Their entire social circle and their grandmother seem to be here. People from their childhood neighborhood, people from school, both of Sophie's parents, her stepmother and step siblings, quite a few models and influencers and a bunch of people she had never seen, probably Tedros' friends, family and co-workers.

The flowers and decorations look as amazing and beautiful as she would have expected from Sophie and she might have seen Hester, Anadil and Dot on a row somewhere, but that's not what made her almost freeze, nearly stumbling on the red carpet.

The groom.

He's wearing an expensive-looking white tuxedo, his hair is an unnatural platinum blonde and his eyes are disturbingly intense. He's tall, sharp and everything about him screams fancy. He's attractive in the way some snakes are attractive, beautiful and deadly, but the big deal is:

Agatha has never seen that man in her entire life.

She goes to her spot standing by the side, her brain running a marathon, tons of data just being tossed aimlessly on her mind as she tries to wrap her head around what the actual fuck is going on when her eyes meet someone else's.

Seating on the third row on the left, Tedros' blue eyes are shinning in complete and absolute amusement, his hand is over his mouth in a barely controlled laugh. The music seems to be on his side, because no one hears him. Agatha schools her expression into anything other than the overbearing wrath she feels, but she's not sure if she's doing a good job.

She's somewhat aware of the chaos that seems to be unfolding around her; the ceremonialist's screeching, the groom's rage, the crowd's confused mumbling and Sophie's absence. But it does not matter.

Agatha really wants to choke Tedros with his tie.

.

.

.

Turns out, Sophie's groom was named Rafal. Not that Agatha would remember his name a few days from now.

He is the current CEO of Two Brothers, a huge company, often associated with the mafia for fucks sake. Known playboy and womanizer, with a criminal record for drug dealing, as well as physical and sexual assault. Also, partially involved on the illegal leaks of information that caused the media scandal around Tedros' parents' divorce all those years ago, she later learns.

Great guy, Sophie. 10/10. Husband material right there.

At least she didn't follow through, Agatha argues to try and calm herself down. Oh yeah, Sophie ran away from her own wedding. No one was surprised honestly. Maybe Rafal. He looked very, very angry. Agatha didn't really blame him, after knowing that he was the one paying for the wedding, after party and honeymoon, no matter how horrible of a person he seems to be.

By now, Sophie should be in Paris, enjoying her honeymoon tickets and reservations. Through text, she tells Agatha how lonely and sad she is and how she'll tell her everything that happened in complete details on their next café meeting in a about month and a half. Agatha suspects she is not as lonely as she claims to be because Hort's Instagram stories tell her he is currently in Europe as well, if not in Paris. But then again, she will not concern herself over this matter. "No wedding" was good news enough to keep her in a great mood for any of Sophie's shenanigans for the next following weeks.

And since the reception was already paid for, everyone just decided to come enjoy it.

Yes, when she says everyone, she means everyone.

"Hey, you."

Oh, Lord, no.

Agatha doesn't lift her head to look at him, continuing to type a half-assed reply to Sophie's whiny texts. She won't give him the satisfaction. Instead she downs whatever is left of her whisky, because that's what one does when courage lacks.

She's sitting at the main table of the ballroom, by herself, mostly because it's where she's been assigned to sit, but also because she's not up for the questions the other guests will probably feel entitled to ask if she were to sit with them. Hester is nowhere in sight, but Agatha is sure she's making herself scarce on purpose. She saw Chaddick back at the church but they politely ignored each other and Dot had been missing for quite a while.

"Not speaking to me?"

"No."

"Come on, it was pretty funny."

"No, it wasn't," she finally looks up at him and he must have sensed true resentment in her perfectly lined brown eyes, because his smug, perfect façade crumbled, and he looked very awkward suddenly. Tedros pulls up the chair beside her and she notices it has his name on it. Sophie was not being subtle on her matchmaking at all, was she?

God, Agatha was so dumb.

"Well, it wasn't very funny to me either then, but I do laugh quite a bit now," he offers, sipping on champagne, trying to keep busy.

"I'm glad my pain amuses you," she's quiet for few seconds, considering what she's going to say. "Tedros?"

"Yeah?" he looks up from his flute of champagne, hopeful blue eyes shining in the half light of the candlelit ballroom and keeping her from saying what she was actually going to say, so instead she blurts:

"I'm not sorry for punching you."

"I didn't expect you to be," his smile is friendly and contagious. He downs the last of his champagne and extends a hand to her. "Okay, let's start again. I'm Tedros, I'm so single it hurts, and when we were in high school, I had a crush on you."

The way he says this so openly, his voice so even and clear nearly drowns out the vulnerable look on his face. Agatha herself can barely register his expression because she's pretty sure her brain has short-circuited. Again.

"No, you did not."

"But I did."

Tedros proceeds to tell her all sorts of things.

He tells her about how he first saw her as a rival because of her grades (she never really paid any attention to the scoreboard, she thought it was bullshit, but in retrospect she does remembers his name was always under hers), and about how sorry he was that he laughed and partook at Chaddick's antics during junior year, mostly because he the felt like 'the new guy with a big name and no friends' and felt she was a threat.

"That's some real introspection and self-awareness right there, hm"

"I'm just fortunate enough to have had a really good therapist," Tedros responds, "Merlin is like a psychology-wizard. He was the one who kinda sorted out that maybe part of my teen angst was repressed attraction to someone who fed the cats behind the library"

"Oh, then you've been my stalker for quite some time then."

Tedros blushes and Agatha is both flattered and embarrassed at the same time.

He then explains about how shit blew up on his face during his parents' divorce, how his grades dropped, how he got kicked out of the football team and how he started to spend a long ass time sulking at the library. Which just so happened to be Agatha's favorite hangout spot at the time. Tedros tells her how he thought she was cute, how she was one of the people who hadn't changed with him (even if unintentionally) and how he wanted to get to know her.

What.

"I just… wasn't sure how to approach you? I always dragged Chaddick to your tea shop when I didn't see you at the library but then chickened out and-"

"...I take neither of you were huge tea fans?"

"Yeah?"

"That does explain a lot," Agatha mumbles.

"I was going to talk to you about Avalon when I heard you were going there, but… Since you didn't tell me that, I kinda found out when Chaddick took your math notebook to be my 'wingman', I didn't think you would have…appreciated.

"Wait, that was Chaddick playing your wingman?" Agatha burst out laughing.

"The plan was that I was supposed to casually hand back to you something you forgot, but he kinda grew tired of waiting for you to actually forget something," Tedros chuckled. "If you thought Chaddick was bad then what big word is Miss-best-in-class going to use to describe Sophie's take on playing wingwoman?"

"Horrendous," Agatha deadpans and now it's Tedros turn to laugh.

Silence sits between the two. It's not uncomfortable and kinda welcome. Agatha digests the last forty minutes of enlighting conversation as they eat the main course of the night. A waiter comes to pick up both of their plates and she decides she still has some questions.

"Well, do you still do?"

"Do I still what?" Tedros questions, his head slightly inclined, like a confused puppy.

"Have a crush on me," Agatha mumbles, her cheeks burning.

Tedros' expression goes from 'confused' back to that mischievous look he had back at the church, leaning towards her ever so slightly.

"Maybe."

"Good," she offers her hand, as he had before, "I'm Agatha, I jump to conclusions, but I am very interested in getting to know you."

Tedros however, doesn't shake her hand as she had his. Instead, he takes it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, relishing in the shocked look on her face before she can school her expression back to unaffected aloofness.

"Are you free at six next friday?"

"Late meeting, but I'm good at seven. Pick me up?" she asks, an unspoken challenge laced in her words.

"As the lady wishes." Challenge accepted. "Any preferences?"

"Anywhere but 'The Woods'. But make sure to text me first if it's somewhere fancy," she smiles. "You know what? I still don't have your number."

Tedros confidently stands up, his hand yet to release hers.

"A number for a dance?"

Agatha told him that night at 'The Woods' that she isn't a very good dancer but again, he insists. It's fine, because they don't dance for long anyway. By the time Tedros gives up, fumbling with his phone to call a car, his hair is already a mess, Agatha's broke free from her up-do and there is lipstick everywhere.

I'm not sorry This was so much fun to revisit. I forgot how fun SGE was. I kinda fell out of touch with the series. I did read QFG, I just can't remember what happens in it? Idk. I felt the series should have concluded on TLEA. If possible before the whole Agatha and Sophie baloney stunt, because I never bought that. Please leave me comment and share your thoughts with me! Hope you are all safe during this quarantine, friends

[haikyuu-imagines-and-others]

Hi! Can I request a scenario of Akaashi/Kuroo/Iwa with the 7 minute in heaven thing? Thank youuu!!! I love your writing!

Hi hi!! Of course love!!! And thank you so much :D I always love hearing from you guys if you enjoy what’s being posted! Thanks for the request! - Admin Satori

Akaashi Keiji: 7 Minutes in Heaven

He looked so…. bored? Disinterested…. Well, that was generally his expression even in his most joyous of times, so you knew better than to automatically assume he wasn’t having a good time…

Akaashi was untouchable - you knew. Every girl, and guy, that tried to steal his heart ended up breaking their own. Not even by his own hand - They’d break their own heart after being silently rejected or even politely let down. Why didn’t he want anyone that tried?

If a legion of pretty girls, and cute guys, didn’t stand up to his scrutiny…. What hope did you have??

“He’d be lucky to have you.” Kenma voiced from beside you, sensing your thoughts being on the same guy they’d been on since you’d first seen him. “You’re freaking out too much.”

You’d been friends with Kenma in high school - met Akaashi through Bokuto and Kuroo’s friendship… It was love at first sight for you! You glanced over at Kenma, who hadn’t even lifted his eyes from his phone to actually talk to you, “It’s like we’re strangers, Kenma.”

He rolled his eyes without ceremony, “Then pine.”

Harsh. But accurate.

That’s why you joined the bottle game, to help forget your feelings for Akaashi for at least tonight - you wanted to have fun with your friends, and you were going to whether he was there and enjoying himself or not. Kenma decided he’d had enough social interaction for the evening, so he didn’t join the game with you - settling on the couch and curling into his mobile game. He’d even brought his charger if the battery got too close to dying.

“Name of the game is 7 Minutes in Heaven!” Terushima smirked from the ‘point’ of the group, having thought of the game when Mai had come in with some of her college friends. This party was lacking some excitement and what was better than spending time in a dark closet with a total stranger?

“Isn’t that just the groping version of spin the bottle?” Futakuchi voiced from the opposite side of the circle, glancing around at his possible options; His eyes met yours for a brief second before scanning the others.

Akaashi sat almost directly across from you, still looking generally disinterested as he watched Terushima start off the game. “Well, yeah, but this party needs a little more…. Life to it.”

“Please no getting your jollies off in the closet,” The tired groan in Ennoshita’s voice had you snickering quietly, watching as the bottle slowly pointed to one of Mai’s friends. “I’m serious, Yuuji, don’t you do it!”

But the pierced young man simply waved off the mother hen of the group, “It’s 7 minutes, man - it would take me at least 21 to do that.” He led the girl into the closet, but stopped as you voiced your question.

“Why specifically 21?”

Terushima smirked as he slowly closed the door of the closet, “The anticipation of getting landed on 2 more times? Being denied until then?” He winked at you, though he didn’t get to close the door before he was being pushed out of the way.

“If that’s what you’re looking for, spin again.” The girl called behind her as he headed towards the kitchen for a drink.

“Well damn…” Was all he could mutter as he took his seat at the group again. The laughter that responded from the immediate rejection was loud, Tanaka and Yamamoto being the loudest. “What an insane smack down, what the fuck…” Terushima poked at his own embarrassment with a red cheeked smile.

“God I hope I don’t get stuck with you.” You teased the freshly dyed blond, laughing when he gave you a sour look. “I’ll go next!” You bravely offered, reaching forward and spinning the bottle. “Not Yuuji, not Yuuji…”

Nishinoya chanted with you, deciding to poke fun at the eccentric young man, “Not Yuuji! Literally anyone else in the world than Yuuji!” Terushima whined unintelligibly before shoving his shoulder against Nishinoya’s, nearly sending the short guy flying across the room.

The bottle slowed to a snails pace, clicking against the wood floor as it came to a stop. You followed its point to the slowly unfolding legs of the very guy you’d been playing to forget.

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at you, nodding towards the closet, “I won’t be gross like Yuuji.” Was his simple promise, his lips quirking into a just barely recognizable smile.

“You guys are fucking rude!” Terushima almost wailed, but the smile on his face clearly showed the entertainment his own rejection was giving him.

“Swear on it?” You teased as you slowly stood, walking towards where Akaashi stood at the closet door, patiently waiting for you to enter first. He nodded silently, and your shaky hand took his offered cool one as you walked through the doorway. The door closed as he followed after you and internally you felt like the closet was closing in on the two of you - why did it feel so cramped in here?

Then there was silence. You stood beside him, facing the closed door, hand still in his … You thought you’d feel more awkward, you thought the general stranger-feel you had with each other would make this entire event kind of…. Weird.

But it felt… Natural? Almost. His fingers slowly laced with yours, not a trace of hesitance in their movement, “I’m glad it landed on me…” His voice was soft, calm, it blended with the muted light of the closet. You glanced over at his silhouette, seeing the lines of light from the closet door being projected onto his soft smile. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night..”

You frowned, holding his hand still as you turned to face him a bit better. He followed your movements, seeing your furrowed eyebrows in the limited projected light - did he upset you? Did you not want to be here with him? Before he could pull his hand from yours, you spoke, “Well?…. Why didn’t you?… “

Akaashi felt a blush heat his cheeks, it wasn’t something that happened all that often… he was generally a confident young man in everything he did because he knew what he was doing… But with you? It felt like he was floundering for any excuse to talk to you. He’d come to this party after finding out you’d be here… This spin was like a dream come true for him. “You were busy most of the night…”

Another frown, “No I wasn’t? I’ve been around here the whole time..”

His smile faltered a bit, “With Kenma, yes…. I didn’t want to interrupt your good time with him.”

Did he think you were dating your best friend? You smiled in amusement before letting your other hand take his, feeling how cold it felt compared to the one you currently held. “I’m never too busy for you, Keiji…” Confident in your movement, in your decision and understanding of his words…. Of what he really meant…. You leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Almost immediately you flushed with embarrassment, feeling as if you’d just made a complete fool of yourself.

What if he didn’t mean it like that? What if he’d been saying he just wanted to talk to you more? What if he just wanted to be a good friend of yours instead of an acquaintance?

But you didn’t have to continue to spin the drain of self-depreciation and doubt before Akaashi was leaning down and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, “I think you’re really cute… I’d like to spend more time with you, if you’d let me.”

The doors suddenly opened, light blinding the two of you - you dropped his hands to shield your eyes, “Times up~!”Atsumu chimed, “Fly’s up, get out.” You stumbled from the closet, looking behind you to see Akaashi send a quick glare to Atsumu, who only sent a sly wink his way. He seemed to linger, and while the two of you had been interrupted… That didn’t leave your heart any less erratic in your chest from his… proposal?

The choice of word sent your cheeks aflame, but you swallowed your anxiety before reaching for his hand and tugging him out of the closet, “I’d love to….” You realized how vague your acceptance sounded, and quickly went to finish what you’d meant to say, “Spend time…. With you…” You blushed deeply, your smile sheepish and sending a direct arrow through his heart as he caught sight of it.

Kuroo Tetsurou: 7 Minutes in Heaven

“So do you think you’ll end up getting him at some point tonight?”

“I don’t know… I really hope so…. Maybe you have some kind of trick up your sleeve?”

Bokuto held up his hands, showing they were empty before pulling on the hem of each of his sleeves, “Nope. I got nothing.” You sighed in rejection, disappointment playfully playing in your chest at how much he let you down, “B-but!” He quickly caught himself from failing you, “I could switch seats with him…. Maybe you can get him on the next round…”

Tilting your head, you pursed your lips and thought ‘deeply’ on the idea. It wasn’t a bad one, for sure - you’d ended up picking Bokuto for the 7 minutes in a closet challenge for the third time now… So maybe if he and Kuroo switched places…. Maybe you could finally get some time in with his best friend.

“And then if it still lands on me, I could say that I’m sitting in his spot spiritually so then he’ll have to go into the closet with you…” Bokuto offered, making you snort in amusement at how absurd his addition sounded.

You shook your head, “No, no, no.. If it lands on you again, I think that’s just the fates telling me I’ll always get second best.” The squawk to come out of him was a mix of insult and choking on air in surprise, but you could only laugh in response.

The closet doors opened, “Pull up your pants Kou, times up!” You rolled your eyes as you followed Bokuto out of the closet, sending Oikawa a sour look when he asked “Oh~ You’re a pro, ______-chan! You didn’t get your make up all smudged!”

“Pervert.”

Taking your seat beside Kiyoko, you felt a heat on your face…. Someone was staring. But when you looked up from where the bottle had been spun by Tendou, you found no one looking at you…. Had you been imagining it? When your eyes fell back on the bottle, you felt the burning once more…. Someone was definitely staring at you - but they were fast in their looking away….

You didn’t even have a chance to ask your question, sneakily, to Kiyoko before she was nodding, “Yes, he’s staring at you.” You gave her a surprised look to which she only waved you off, “He’s not subtle about it, you’re just slow.”

A pout formed on your lips at her playful zing, “I can’t believe I’m friends with such a bully.”

The game continued. You sat patiently, chatting with Kiyoko and Asahi - finding her sureness and his… anxiety? Proved to be entertaining enough for you. You asked Asahi a few times on why he was playing the game if he was so nervous, to which he responded with “I want to overcome this awkwardness… This is a baby step.” How honorable?

Finally it was your turn… Bokuto had done what he’d said he’d do and switched seats with Kuroo when the later had gotten up for a drink. He’d even gone and played dumb when Kuroo asked why they’d switched seats. But the nerves still prickled at your skin as you reached forward and spun the bottle, watching with lip biting anticipation as it spun and spun around the group of people.

You glanced up as the bottle spun, meeting Bokuto’s wide golden eyes directly. He sent you a wink, a silent ‘i’ve got your back’, as the bottle came to a stop.

On him once more.

“For fucks sake!” Bokuto laughed at your frustration, “A fourth time? Really? Are you doing this on purpose, Kou? Did you pull that whole ‘metal and magnet’ trick?” You covered your face with your hands as you groaned.

He smiled widely, “Eh, I’ll pass this time… Hey, bro?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you do me a solid and hang out in the closet with _______ for seven minutes?”

Kuroo snorted, “Uh… Sure.. Since this would have been my turn anyway.” He smiled as he stood from his place, your heart hammering as you got to your feet. Was this really happening? Did it really just easily go like that? Why hadn’t the two of you done that earlier??

The disbelief was clearly evident on your face and was apparently hilarious to anyone watching you - and if you weren’t nervous about being in a tight space with your crush… Maybe you would have been more embarrassed about them laughing at you. But in this very moment, you felt like you were going to explode at the seams! Just the chance to be alone with Kuroo was a blessing, being alone with him in a dark and cramped space that he more or less volunteered to be in with you?? That in itself was unfathomable!

The darkness overcame the both of you as he closed the closet door behind him. Chests almost touching, you focused on not breathing all over him. You didn’t want this limited time with him to be tainted with your possibly bad breath or the horrible awkwardness of being a heavy breather. Not that you had either of those bad traits normally… But you were nervous now, anything could manifest itself.

“I think he is cheating..” Kuroo whispered, as if it were a secret, the sound of his voice sounding as if he were right beside your ear. You tilted your head up to look at him curiously, “I saw the bottle move past him once to point at me, but it went back to point at him like some kind of magic trick….” His eyes were squinted, but his tone was obviously playful.

Had he wanted to be in this closet with you?

You internally jumped for joy at the possibility, at the implication…”So this would have been our… what? Second time?” It felt incredibly hot in this tight space with him, or maybe it was just his proximity doing that to you…

Kuroo smirked, not looking directly at you in fear that his nerves would get the better of him and constrict his voice to a squeak. “Our fourth, really….” Your furrowed eyebrows had his smirk widening into a smile, “I think he’s been cheating this whole time.” He whispered once more, feeling you shiver in front of him. “Are you cold?” He asked curiously, wondering how you could be shivering when it literally felt like he was on fire.

Before you could answer, he was wrapping his arms around you, holding you close, resting his head on yours. A tight hug. A warm, tight, perfect hug… You blushed deeply and hid your face in his shoulder, “So you’re going to keep me warm with your body heat?” You smiled, and he felt it against him.

“Well, it was either this or I throw all the extra jackets in this closet on you in a horrible amalgamation of warmth and winter wear.”

You didn’t want to leave him hanging though. He jumped a bit in surprise when your arms wrapped around his middle, hands against his back and pulling him closer. “Mmm.. I like this better.” He heard you mumble into his shirt, his heart hammering in his chest at your quiet admission.

He smiled and leaned his head so he was pressing his lips against the crown of your head. “Me too…”

A gentle knock at the closet had you tilting your head a bit to be able to see who would be interrupting you this time… But they didn’t open. After a moments silence, Bokuto cracked the door enough so his voice could carry through clearly, “Pssst… Hey… Your time is up… But no one is really interested in the game anymore, so you’re in the clear.”

In the clear? To do what? Hug in a closet for the rest of the night? Not that Bokuto knew you two were hugging, but still. You snickered quietly, “Thanks, Kou - Tetsu owes ya.”

“Whoa, wait a sec-“

“Sweet, have fun guys.” Bokuto closed the closet door before Kuroo could take back the statement you so generously gave him. You laughed quietly, knowing exactly just how precious Kuroo’s I.O.U’s were.

He sighed as he stared at the closed door, shaking his head with a playful scowl on his face, “And he’s gone… Great… Now I’m going to be owing him for as long as he thinks he’s owed….”

Iwaizumi Hajime: 7 Minutes in Heaven

“I’m not playing.”

“Yes, you are~ You came to the party, you partake in the partying!”

Iwaizumi scowled at Oikawa, his eyebrows furrowed in irritation, “That’s not how any party works… At all.”

But his best friend wasn’t budging, and he crossed his arms with a proud smirk, “Well, that’s how my party is going to work. Take it or leave it, Iwa-chan!” Almost immediately Iwaizumi turned on his heel to head towards the door, “No, no, no - wait!” Oikawa rushed to grab him before he could leave completely.

Opening the door, about to stomp out into the cold in his decision to leave a party with mandatory activity, he stopped short.

“O-oh.. Hey Hajime…” You smiled, holding a box of liquor - you’d been in charge of the refreshments for the party. And you had definitely exceeded what Oikawa thought you’d come through with! “If you were going for more alcohol, don’t worry about it,” You lifted the box a bit, bringing his attention from your face to what you held, “I got it covered.”

“Let me get that for you.” Was his response. His hands found yours on either side of the box, bringing an immediate blush to your face, easily taking their place and holding the weight of the box for you. Then he was walking back into the apartment without any argument, you hot on his heels.

A smirk found its way onto Oikawa’s face, “Whaaat~? Weren’t you just about to leave, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi set the box down in the kitchen, sending a dirty look at Oikawa, one that silently told him to shut his mouth. “No, I just heard her coming up the stairs and wanted to help.” You smiled over at him before making your way to the living room where the other partygoers had already gathered to play the game Oikawa had announced. “Don’t you screw this up, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa laid a hand on his chest in faux insult, “Me? I would never mess anything up for you, best friend! I’m team Iwa-chan 24/7!” But his smile was sickly sweet and had Iwaizumi’s expression remaining unamused. “Well, come on then - let’s get you in a closet with _______.” He smiled triumphantly, proud to have you as something to leverage Iwaizumi into staying for the party games.

So the stage was finally set. You were here. You were having a great time with everyone, your smiles sending Iwaizumi’s heart erratically beating in his chest, your voice having his eyes gloss over with a dreamy look only Oikawa would recognize. And Iwaizumi was here. He was joking and enjoying his time, his almost reluctant smiles and chuckles making your heart swell happily, just his participating in the game having your fantasies running wild.

Only, this game was based on luck, truly - and you didn’t have a good track record with lady luck.

That’s how you ended up in the closet with Oikawa. Arms crossed, you stared up at him with a raised eyebrow - feeling as if he’d somehow made this happen. “Whaaat? I didn’t do anything, it was your bad spin.” You huffed, though the smile on you face reassured him you were just kidding around. “I know, I know, I’m not as good as Iwa-chan…. But hey, I’ve got an idea to get him to do something.”

You frowned, “I’m not trying to trick him into doing anything. I really want it to be as natural as possib-“

“Natural?” He snorted, “If you want natural, you’re going to be waiting for years and years and years before he even asks you out…” Confusion was painted clearly on your face, “Seriously, Iwa-chan is an actual bundle of nerves.. I know you think he’s this big macho man who takes what he wants… But really?” Oikawa shrugged helplessly, “He’s just as nervous as anyone else that’s not an asshole.”

You doubted it’d take that long… Iwaizumi was so confident in everything he did.. If he wanted you, he’d have you - simple as that.

Oikawa patted your head, humming pleasantly even as you sent him a quick glare for brushing off what you thought to be true, “I got this all covered, _____-chan.” He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up a bit before grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. “Almost,” Then he was grabbing fistfuls of your shirt, scrunching your hair in some places even as you smacked his hands away from you, “aaaaaalmost.” His thumb swiped against the lipgloss on your lips, a smirk on his face, “Oh? All gussied up? Ah, young love.”

The closet doors opened before you could bite back a reply, Oikawa stepping out easily into the room - showing off how… messy he now looked. Panic resting in your stomach, you quickly straightened your shirt as best you could, running your fingers through your hair to make it lie correctly before you were returning to the group.

“Ohoho~? A closet full of fun?” Kuroo’s smirk had your cheeks warming, hating that he had to be the one to bring attention to your attire.

But you couldn’t let them down… Or at least… You couldn’t let them get the wrong idea. You rubbed your lips clean of the lip gloss, making it seem like you were wiping at your nose, “Yeah, had to beat the hell outta him. He got a bit handsy.” You sniffled out.

Oikawa squawked, “Wha- Tha-that’s not what happened at all!” He held up his hands innocently, looking at Iwaizumi with wide eyes before glaring at you, his frown twitching - trying so hard not to laugh at your framing him.

“Ololo~? I wanna get beat up next~” But before Tendou could reach for the bottle, Iwaizumi grabbed it from the center.

“Well you’re going to have to wait because it’s my turn, ya damn lizard.”

Tendou pouted, giving Iwaizumi the best damn puppy dog eyes you’d seen, “Awwwww, Iwa-chan is so very mean to me.” You could swear it’s like someone cloned Oikawa, stretched him out and gave him a different color scheme. Same personality. Yui whined in frustration at the slow paced game an waved her hand for Iwaizumi to hurry up - she had her eyes set on Daichi sitting across from her.

Spinning the bottle, you snorted, “Jeez, Hajime - it almost took flight!” Even jabbing at his frustrated strength had his heart singing in his chest. How did you happen to be so cute in anything you did? You looked up from the bottle to see he was staring at you, a far away look in his eye preventing him from looking away in shame.

If he didn’t land on you…. He wouldn’t possibly take as long as Oikawa said he would… would he? Not that you would be asking him either… You didn’t want to make the first move and end up looking like a fool… So if neither of you stepped forward toward the other, would nothing happen at all?

“Awww, what? Why does _____ get to go in the closet twice in a row?” Bokuto whined from beside you, backing off his complaint when he got an odd look from Kuroo, “Uh-Uh, not that I’d want to go in the closet with Hajime, but still?”

“Wha-“ You looked down to see the bottle was, indeed, pointing at you. Looking back up, you met Iwaizumi’s intense green stare - he was just as surprised as you were. “Uh… Well… Let’s go.” You stood from your place, playfully pushing Bokuto’s head as you passed to join Iwaizumi by the closet.

He opened the door, waiting for you to enter first, but not before Oikawa leaned back enough to call to you two, “Ya know, ______-chan can pass if she wants~.”

“Why in the hell would I pass on this opportunity?”

It’d come out of your mouth before you could think to stop it. An admission? Of sorts? Not quite a confession. Yet Iwaizumi’s heart froze for a fraction of a second before it took off like a race horse once more. You wanted to spend time with him? Alone with him? Cramped in a dark closet… With him?

The blush that overcame you was ferocious, but you didn’t say another word before grabbing Iwaizumi’s wrist and entering the closet. Trying to escape the laughter that had overcome the group. Neither of you were very subtle in your crush, but watching the two of you flounder around was definitely a source of entertainment for them.

Now it was just the two of you. In a tight space. A dark space. You could barely see him and he was almost directly in your face. His exhales were your oxygen, and your heartbeat was his own mirrored. “So….” He started, looking for something to say, something to start off what he’d wanted with you; literally anything was what he wanted with you. “Opportunity, huh?”

Your blush didn’t pass. Now he was teasing you. “Don’t be a dick.” You mumbled with a reluctant smile, he chuckled quietly - the sound feeling like it was inside your head. You could feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing, his exhales sending goosebumps rising against your skin. “I could have passed on you.”

A pause. “Would you have?”

He was much closer to your face than you’d initially thought. He’d slowly leaned his head down so he was just hovering over your lips. You could just barely get a hint of what he tasted like, and the shiver through your body had his confidence rising. You wanted him. He wanted you. So what was the hold up?

“Never.” Your whisper tickled his lips, but he wasted no time in enjoying the feeling before he was kissing you. A bit shy at first, a little awkward…. But the moment you responded to his kiss, kissing him back, lips moving with his… His arms wrapped around you tenderly, as if he were afraid you were a dream, as if he was just imagining this and didn’t want to break the fantasy. But you cupped his face, cradled it with your thumbs stroking across his cheeks… and he found himself pulling you closer.

[moonm0chi]

Life Imitates Art

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut / Fluff / Angst (?)// Sub(ish)!Jungkook/ Art Student!Jungkook

Warnings:  graphic language/dirty talk, oral, cum play (if that’s what you’ll call it), masturbation, SLIGHT sub/dom dynamic

Word Count: 10.3K (bc I don’t know what pwp is)

Summary: A friendly favor for your crush develops into something truly sinful when you figure out his muse for his exhibition. 

a/n: only lightly edited b/c it’s 1:30 AM HAHA....this wasn’t supposed to be sub!(ish)JK but idk it just worked; still feel like I’m struggling w/ writing steamy dialogue but oh well. Enjoy! More work to hopefully come, slowly but surely. Please send feedback it’d be greatly appreciated!!! 

You grumbled all the way to the art gallery, adamant in your opposition to being dragged there by your roommate.

“Shut up, we’re already here. Are you going to brood the whole time?” Liz glared at you before pushing the glass doors open.

You’d pouted, clearly having lost the battle a long time ago. You settled on folding your arms defensively and letting out one last exasperated sigh. “Fine, but I still don’t know why you brought me here to begin with.”

Liz’s eyebrows shot up at the absurdity of the question, “You haven’t left the house for anything besides work and the occasional run. You’re starting to get boring, where’s fun Y/N?”

Her words only made you pout further because she was completely right-like most of the time despite your inability to admit it to her.

“Plus,” She continued, “this art show is actually showcasing some of the students pieces.”  

Now it was your turn to raise your eyebrows, “Liz...are you saying that you’re being showcased tonight?! Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked shocked your roommate and closest friend hadn’t told you the good news sooner.

“Well I had wanted it to be a surprise. But it’s only one of my pieces- you know that one of the piggy bank and cut up body pieces being put into it to sho-”

“Yea I know the one.” You’d quickly cut her off before she went on a rant about politics and the economy that you really couldn’t have cared less about.

She rolled her eyes and just dragged you further into the gallery. But somehow in between rooms you’d lost her to the other art students that flocked to congratulate her showcase- a small victory for any struggling art student.

Your rounds through the various rooms brought you to stand in front of one particularly plain portrait. It was a boy clearly standing in front of a mirror but everything that reflected back was dissimilar to what lay beyond the reflection. You scratched your head absentmindedly, racking your brain for what someone could possibly mean to convey with this.

“Alternate realities.” You mumbled, coming to an absurd conclusion. Your imagination ran too far with the image, ignoring the symbolism behind each brush stroke.

“You’d be surprised at how many people have actually said that.” A voice chirped behind you.

You jumped at the intrusion of another voice in the otherwise fairly empty room before turning around. What you’d describe as the typical art student was looking back at you, an amused look written on their face.

You cleared your throat, “So what does it actually mean?”

You folded your arms waiting for an answer. While he formulated a response you took the time to give him a once over. His brown mop of hair was tousled, with hints of pink highlights that had began to fade. He wore circular glasses, and simple white t-shirt with tight black jeans. You tried not to gawk in surprise at the muscularity of his thighs.

He pursed his lips before finally responding, “Life isn’t always as it seems.”

You looked on at him with a doubtful stare, “It took you that long to figure that out?”

He chuckled, “That’s the summarized version….in my opinion.”

You continued to stare in disbelief, “But doesn’t life imitate art?

“At first, art imitates life. Then, art becomes so beautiful life imitates it. But you’ll have to speak with the painter himself if you want any real answers.”  He smirked, his answer made your head spin.

You turned back to the painting and studied it harder believing that if you stared long enough it might reveal its secrets to you.

“The guy must be a cynic, always seeing the worst.” You mumbled while you squinted harder at the painting.

The loud laugh made you watch out of the corner of your eye as Pink Highlights stood next to you now, a wide smile on his face but it irked you, seeming insincere. You studied his side profile, his sharp jawline, long eyelashes, a scar on his cheek. You internally agreed that he was pretty cute for a snobby art student.

His laugh ended with a sigh, “Yea, I guess you’re right. 

And before you could ask further, Liz ran to your side pulling you from your debate. You turned to her, she was buzzing and a huge smile engulfed her face. 

“Y/N you won’t believe it...someone actually wants to buy my painting!”

She’s gripped your shoulders tightly and you smiled back at her good news, “Liz, oh my god..I- that’s so amazing! I’m so proud of you.”

You brought her in for a tight hug. You both giggled, bubbly with excitement.

“We’re going out to celebrate!” She exclaimed and for once you didn’t protest.

Pink Highlights is congratulating her too with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She smiled back warmly with a polite ‘thank you’ and he quickly exited the room.

“Who was that?” You asked.

“Who? Oh, Jungkook?” Liz replied, “He’s a student here...actually...that’s his self-portrait.” She pointed to the piece that’d you been standing in front of with said artist not too long ago.

Your insides buzzed with the new found information. “He didn’t tell me he painted this though.” You said furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

She smiled sheepishly, a sad tint washing over her face, “It might be because he hasn’t painted anything new for a several months. Apparently he’s so uninspired he’s just been re-painting old pieces.”

You nod, biting your lip feeling only slightly guilty for the way you argued with him about the meaning behind the painting. But you had little time to dwell on the thought of the cute and troubled artist before Liz dragged you out into the night air and to the nearest bar for celebratory drinks.

 You’re at the bar, 3 vodka sours deep having a grand old time watching Liz try and flirt with a grad student in her department when your eyes catch a flash of pink. They traveled to a baby pink bomber jacket. You scrunched your eyes in the dimly lit bar before an excited smile flashes across your face.

You jumped off the barstool and shuffled over to Pink Highlights.

“Hey Pinky.” You gently poked him to grab his attention.

He turned his head toward you and a look of amusement washed over his face.

“I highly doubt that you still don’t know my name. 

You rolled our eyes, “J-Jing...no...kook was somewhere in there.” You said making a last ditch effort to remember his name.

His amused face is replaced with a quirked eyebrow as he watched you decipher his name.

“Okay, please stop butchering my name.” He pleaded at your futile attempts.

“Can I call you Kookie?” You asked jokingly but he just shrugged his shoulders, indifferent to the nickname.

You settled into the chair next to him, “Not that you asked, by I’m Y/N.”

You had your head leaning on your palm while you studied his face. The three vodka sours making you a little more comfortable with passing your eyes indiscreetly over his features.

“You’re staring Y/N.” He stated, turning his head towards you again.

“You look nice in pink...but, that’s not why I’m over here despite what you might think.” You quipped.

He rolled his eyes but the smile tugging at the corners of his lips told a different story. He looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

“That painting...that painting was yours. Why didn’t you say anything? And what does it really mean?” You asked eagerly leaning towards him.

He furrowed his brow and his jaw tensed, “It’s a shitty painting, I don’t want people to know me for something like that.” The disgust was evident in his voice as he spoke about his work.

He paused, watching you watch him before he continued, “And the meaning I gave you back at the gallery still stands -  everything isn’t as it seems, it’s usually a lot more fucked up than you think.” He chuckled darkly reminiscing over memories that you didn’t have the luxury of knowing.

“Man...you’re so bitter. What did the world ever do to you, you’re only 21.” You proposed the rhetorical question, and wondered to yourself before you posed your next question, a glint of suspicion on your eye.

“Who did this to you?”

The look on his face, a flash of surprise, anger, and then melancholy told you that you had hit the nail right on the head. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and folded his arms defensively 

“M-my girlfriend...ex-girlfriend.” He started and the look you gave him told him you were expecting more details before you left the topic alone, “we were together for 3 years...and she- she uh- cheated on me for over a year we were together with my best friend.”

You softened when you saw his eyes dim with sadness. You hadn’t expected sadness, you thought he’d be angry at the world or someone not...heartbroken.

You shifted uncomfortably, “So you painted that?”

He nodded, still looking sadly down at the table, “About 6 months ago, the one in the gallery is a duplicate.”

You huffed, feeling angry that he wasn’t, “So why hasn’t your rage and hate fueled some more paintings...I don’t get it.”

He shot his eyes up to yours and looked at you, a mixture of frustration and confusion stared back at you, “Because…I can’t hate them...I loved them both..I just- I can’t hate them alright. And besides I don’t have to explain myself to you!” He defended himself.

Your curiosity peaked but his defensive stature told you that he wasn’t going to be so loose with his personal life with you. You were tired, physically, mentally, and of this conversation that you clearly saw wasn’t going to go anywhere 

You got up and patted him on the shoulder reassuringly, “You should start painting again soon, it was a good painting. See you around Pinky. 

Liz laughed while you told her about your chat, reprimanding you for being so bad with names. In your defense, Pinky was much more memorable.

But as fate would have it, you’d be learning and remembering his name a lot sooner. Your best friend’s car had broken down and it was now your job to pick her up from the shared studio she rented with other students on the other side of campus.

You parked the car and walked up the 2 flights of stairs to the open studio. Tarp lay haphazardly over the linoleum floor and tapestries hung as separators for each artists space. You carefully walked through looking for your friend, trying your best to leave the other students undisturbed.

“Y/N, that you? I’m over here.” You heard Liz yell from the farthest corner of the studio.

You walked toward her when a familiar mop of hair catches your attention. You smiled mischievously and pulled back the tapestry 

“Pinky!” You exclaimed and watched his head just barely poke from the top of the easel. He sighed exasperatedly when he saw you 

“It’s Jungkook.” Was all he said before he dipped his head back to his easel.

You studied the partially painted canvases all around him, all dark blues, reds, blacks- it looked like someone spat melancholy straight onto the canvas. You refrained from mentioning the paintings, sensing that he’d be sensitive to any teasing about his works.

“I didn’t know you painted here.” You said

“I usually don’t but the smaller studio I use downstairs is being used for a photography project, there are weird props everywhere and it creeps me out.” He grunted not even sparing you a second glance.

You nodded silently, continuing your snooping until Liz told you she was ready to go. 

“See you around Pi-Jungkook.” You smiled, satisfied with your remembrance of his name. Out of the corner of your eye you swore he smirked.

With project deadlines creeping closer, you found yourself picking Liz up almost 5 days a week, which to you meant more time to bother Jungkook who had finally started to warm up to you. And you’d be lying if you said that staring at him was a boring pastime. You’d most certainly developed a small crush on him but chalked it up to the frequency you were seeing him.

And it’s one day when you’re casually talking, splayed out on the crumpled tarp that he brings up how he’s finally come up with his end of term project proposal.

“Kookie that’s great!” Genuinely happy that he’s fought through some of the painters-block that’s been hanging heavily over his shoulders. You propped yourself on your elbows and looked towards the easel he sat behind.

He poked his head to the side, a half hearted smile on his face.

“But since it’s so close to the deadline, I can’t get a model, let alone pay them.” He huffed, explaining his road block.

You smiled and bit your lip, “I mean I could help you, I’m always around anyway. Might as well help out if I’m going to be in your space.”

And you swore that your heart stopped the second he looked at you. It’d been the first time a genuine smile lit up his face, the first time you’d gotten a look at his bunny teeth and to watch the light in his eyes flicker on. Your head buzzed and heart sped up at the way heat flooded your body. You smiled back even bigger, happy you were the reason for that look.

“You really wouldn’t mind? I just need you to pose for me with some props so I can get some rough sketches.” He explained enthusiastically trying to convince you.

But you’d been sold the second he had said he needed help.

“Seriously Kookie it’s not a big deal, all my finals are presentations and group projects so I’ve got time to spare.” You chuckled at the excited look on his face.

“So is there like a certain look or something you’re going for?” You asked laying your head back down on the tarp.

“The seven deadly sins.” He replied and your imagination ran wild at what he’d make you do. A blush settling across your face when you realized Lust was one of the sins. You had opened your mouth to start discussing with him but Liz interrupted, a smirk and a knowing look on her face.

“Bye Kookie.” You stood up and gathered your bag, taking out your car keys 

“Oh wait, can I have your number, I want to text you if I need you to bring something and what time to meet me.” He quickly scrambled to his feet.

You exchanged numbers, heart swelling with the thought. So maybe your crush was a little bigger than you let on but no harm if that’s all it was.

Liz eyed you while you both walked to the car, “Falling for the broken artist....I’m shocked.” She said, sarcasm dripping off every syllable.

You jabbed her with your elbow, hoping the blush creeping up your face wouldn’t be a telltale sign that she was right.

“Shut up, I’m just helping with his project. Because that’s what friends do.” You retorted and just got an eye roll back.

“Mmmhmm, and I pose for all my friends when they ask too. You’ve never even posed for me.” She said matter-of-factly to which you mumble a “you’ve never asked…” but you knew she had and that you’d rejected multiple offers.

And despite how boring posing seemed to you in the past, you couldn’t help but feel excited when you knew you’d get to spend more time with Jungkook.

It was going well, even though his eyes on you had heat flaring to your cheeks like a hormonal teenager. You’d gotten through three sins (Greed, Sloth and Gluttony) and he’d told you to meet him in the studio so you could start on Pride 

You’d realized how different Jungkook was when he actually was focusing on something. He pinched his lips together and furrowed his brow deeply.

He didn’t like to talk when he was fully immersed in something so you usually sat in silence, and sometimes studied his mannerisms. He seemed to sigh a lot, he was very hard on himself and you were sure there were more crumpled up sketches that littered the floor than “good” ones after the end of one session. But you liked how passionate he was. The way his hair fell while he bent over his sketch book. The way he mumbled words to himself or absentmindedly scolded you when you moved from being tired. It was a side you felt lucky to see. It was his own kind of vulnerability.

But while you waited in the dimly lit studio another student you sort of recognized, Namjoon you think his name was, pulled the tapestry back and looked at you curiously 

“Oh, didn’t think anyone was still up here.” He stated and you quickly got up from where you sat. You’d been waiting about 45 minutes by now and it was unusual. Jungkook would text you if he was going to be late or if the session would have to be postponed.

“Uh..do you know where Jungkook is?” You asked

He pondered on your questions before he answered, “I think he’s in his studio downstairs. If you’re going down there can you tell him to lock the building up.” He threw you a pair of keys before turning to leave 

You gripped the keys tightly before exiting the studio and walked the flight of steps down. The hallway was dark except for the window at the end that gave off eerie light from the street lamps and the neon sign from a Chinese restaurant. You silently shuffled through the hall, unaware of which was Jungkook’s. You tried each knob until one finally twisted open. 

He must’ve heard the door open because it was mere seconds after you’d stepped through the doorway that a sketchbook was being thrown your way, and not in a warm fashion. It hit the wall right by your head and you jumped, scanning the room for the body that projected it towards you. You walked further into the room only pausing to listen for any sign of life.

“Go away.” You heard Jungkook say grimly.

“Ju-Jungkook? Are you okay?” You asked cautiously.

He chuckled darkly, “Do I seem okay...I doubt it.”

You finally saw him, slumped in the far corner of the room hidden behind a multitude of different sized canvases. Under your feet you saw crumpled pieces of papers, either with holes in them or huge X’s drawn through the sketch.

You swallowed nervously, “What-what’s wrong.”

A sigh and a groan before he answered,  “I hate it all.” The shrill sound of paper ripping sent a shiver down your spine 

You felt your stomach drop, was he saying you weren’t a good enough model. You averted your gaze from his figure and scanned the room. You could see a plethora of paintings with the same girl- different poses, background, and facial expressions but nevertheless it was always the same girl. A pang of jealousy fired through your body. And then anger.

How could he still have so many paintings of his ex when she had cheated on him. You were angry that her face was good enough to produce painting after painting but you could barely help him get through one good sketch before he tore it to shreds.  

You stood there angry at him for no plausible reason which made you even angrier. You huffed and folded your arms. His eyes finally found yours and he quirked his head to the side 

“Why do you look mad?” He asked before his eyes widened like he was coming out of a haze and he checked his phone. Guilt washed over his face, “Y/N I’m sorry I didn’t text you, I just got so angry that I forgot….”

You nodded and turned on your heal. Jealously still pulsed through you and your heart quickened when he grabbed your wrist.

“Wait,” He started looking at the floor before back up at you and biting his lip. You bit your own lip and looked at him expectantly. Hoping he’s say something to ease the heaviness that had started to form in your stomach.

“Can I text you tomorrow about when to meet up?” He asked giving you a small smile and your wrist a reassuring squeeze.

You rolled your eyes, scolding yourself for hoping for the impossible. You rolled your eyes, a small, curt smile plastered to your face accompanied by a nod before you ripped your hand from his grasp and walked out. He stared in confusion and perked up when you came back into the room, hopeful you’d explain your irritated mood. But his face dropped when you just chucked him the set of keys Namjoon had handed you.

And you didn’t even wait for him like you usually did.

After that you tried your best to keep the sessions as professional as possible, saying a polite “hello” and “where do you need me?”, not even attempting at your usual small talk that ended in Jungkook grunting in annoyance before either completely ignoring you or mumbling a “shut up I need to concentrate.”

You’d sit still, mostly mulling over your own thoughts, trying to distract yourself from his intense gaze and the bubbling annoyance at your own stupidity for liking this guys. As soon as he’d relax from his hunched position and place his sketch book on the floor, indicating he was done for the day, you’d be quickly gathering your belongings and making a beeline towards the exit.

The pattern repeated itself until you got a text from Jungkook:

Hey, instead of the studio come to my house to model.

 and bring lingerie if you have any

Your cheeks flared up at the text but you knew it was only because today he’d be sketching you for Lust but it didn’t keep your thoughts from wandering.

And when you arrived at his house, punctual to the second, his eyes lite up in surprise before smiling fondly at you. It always seemed he was genuinely shocked whenever you showed up. You relaxed under his smile just a little at the welcoming look in his eyes. You followed him to a spare room 

He began to explain the look he was going for and so you followed his instructions until he mumbled, “Did you bring lingerie?”

You turned 10 different shades of red as you nodded shyly. He turned around even though he was about to see you in your bra and underwear in a matter of seconds anyway- your heart nonetheless swelled at the kind gesture. But it was also pounding so hard I’m sure once he started to draw you he’d notice 

You stripped, wearing a red lacey bra and panty combo that’d you bought on a whim once during the Victoria’s Secret semi-annual sale but never had the opportunity to show off. And you admit, you jumped at the chance to use it.

You laid back down on the blanket that Jungkook had previously put on the floor.

“J-Jungkook..you can turn around now.” You stared at the ceiling way too embarrassed to look at him. If he was feeling any type of emotion towards your exposed body you felt blessed you didn’t have to see it, afraid his eyes would pass over you in harsh scrutiny.

“Okay, lift your arms above your head...good. And arch your back slightly.” You followed the requests. You stayed perfectly still except for your hammering heart. And it may have been 30 minutes before he cleared his throat and sounded his next request, shy for the first time since you’d started posing for him.

He sighed, pausing to choose his words carefully but then choosing the blunt route nonetheless, “Do you think you could pose naked?”

You look at him for the first time since you’d stripped to your undergarments, a look of disbelief at the questions he had just posed. You swallow thickly, biting you lip as you debate with yourself 

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable with it I could just use old sketches for ref-”

“No, I-uh..I’ll do it.” You hastily replied a wave of jealousy washing over you at the thought of him using his ex's “nudes” to help with his project when he had a perfectly viable girl in front of him 

He nodded and got up, “I need to go get something...uh take your time.” He smiled awkwardly before exiting the room.

You wrung your hands together anxiously, still horrified at the situation you’d just put yourself in. You don’t know how long you’d been lost in your own thoughts of doubt and worry when Jungkook came back to the room.

“Oh..” He said ready to leave again to give you privacy to undress. But you held your hand up stopping him, what was the point he was about to see you naked no matter if he was in the room or not 

You gulped, conscious of his eyes on your figure. You turned your back to him in an attempt to feel less shy. You unhooked your bra and threw it towards the rest of your clothes that sat in a pile by your feet. You squeezed your eyes shut as you quickly took your panties off next and threw them into the same pile. Hugging your arms over your exposed chest you kept your eyes on the floor as you laid back down 

Staring at the ceiling, with your arms still over your chest, legs clenched together tightly in the hopes it’d make you feel less naked you said, “How do you want me?”

It took a few seconds before Jungkook answered sluggishly, clearing his throat, “Same as before.”

You shyly lifted your arms up to the positing before and arched your back again. 

“So...I’m going for a post-sex sort of look...I’m going to spray you with this water…you know to look like sweat. I want to make sure I can draw the sheen of sweat correctly” He said to which you quickly nodded, past the point of embarrassment, completely lost in the shock at what you were doing. The shit you did for this kid, he was lucky you’d become so smitten with him.

You gasped at the feeling of the cold mist over your body from where Jungkook sat. You heard the chair scrape and suddenly Jungkook was standing over you with the spray bottle, wetting your chest liberally.

He smiled sheepishly, “Sorry it’s so cold, I should’ve waited for the water to warm up a little.”

You try your best to feign indifference but a small hiss as the cold water hits your warm skin gives you away. You made eye contact for the first time and fought back your embarrassment to smile at him. If you weren’t so delirious with the overall heightened sensitivity you were feeling would’ve notice the slight flush across his face for sure when he smiled back.

Once he was satisfied that you looked like you had enough post sex “sweat” covering you he began sketching. This time you snuck glances at him, his stare was getting you heated in all the wrong places and your legs began to tremble ever so lightly from clenching them together so tightly.

You glance back at Jungkook and see his brow furrowed, a tell-tale sign of his concentration before he’s pausing to look back at you, you flush at the sudden eye contact. He tugs his lower lip in between his teeth before giving you a look that you weren’t familiar with.

“This is going to sound weird but could you look like you’re..feeling good or something.” You realize the face in a mix of bashfulness and worry that you’ll deny his request.

You stiffen, not exactly sure how to comply with the request. Shyly, overwhelmingly self conscious of his eyes on you, you toss your head back and your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you try to feign a look of pleasure.

“You look like you’re in pain.” He stated matter of factly

You sighed in frustration, lowering your stiff arms from their previous position above your head, “Well it’s hard to actually do when I’m not actually feeling anything. It’s kind of a heat of the moment feeling” You mumbled 

You relaxed your body and propped yourself up on your elbows, the initial awkwardness of being naked slowly fading the longer you laid there. Despite the lack of pleasure you were currently feeling, you were feeling aroused. The beads of water slowly rolling down your chest, the cool air flowing through the room making your nipples hard. You were certainly feeling like Lust.

He pondered on your statement before he answered like it was the most obvious remedy to the predicament, “Why don’t you just touch yourself then?”

Your eyes widened to the side of golf-balls, “What?!” shocked he even had suggested you do something so intimate in front of another person. But deep down, in the back of your mind, you secretly hoped he’d keep asking knowing that you’d eventually bend to his pleads.

He quirked his eyebrow looking completely serious at the suggestion and your own resolve is starting to crumble under his gaze. You really didn’t think you could feel anymore exposed to Jungkook but he had completely shattered that assumption.

You licked your incredibly dry lips and darted your eyes around the room at a loss for words, wanting to say yes but your pride keeping you from doing something so shameful in front of another.

“If you want,” Jungkook began shifting in his seat, the long white button down pulling at his torso, “I could turn around until you’re comfortable, you know...until you get into a rhythm or something?”

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and you sighed knowing you’d take the bait. You nodded timidly watching as he spun around. You bit your lip as your hand traveled down to your core, not surprisingly you were already wet from both the stimulus from the water bottle and Jungkook’s intense gaze.

You closed your eyes and tried to relax as you began to fondle your breast in one hand and slowly circle your clit with the other. You imagined Jungkook’s’ broad back that was mere feet from your body, and the provocative vulnerability you felt under his gaze.

It was a slow pleasurable build and you weren’t sure when he’d finally turned around but when your hooded gaze swept up to his figure, he was gazing at you just as you dipped one finger into your wet heat. You ministrations stuttered and he gently goaded you on, “Keep going, just like that. 

He sporadically would praise you, the edge of your orgasm too close to even think of stopping now. You’d let out a breathy moan every once in a while or a whimper when you dipped a second finger in an curled it against your g-spot. You were sure to bite your lip if you felt you were going to moan his name, sparing you some shame.

“Just a little longer.” Jungkook could be heard distantly as your head swam in pleasure.

“Ju..ah..kook...go-gonna…” You managed to choke out.

You were so close you could taste it. Your head flung back, your eyes squeezed shut and real sweat began to coat your chest, back and face. You could feel a flush spread across your face and an intense heat build in your abdomen.

He breathed a sigh of relief, clearly having finished whatever he’d been manically sketching 

“Okay, go ahead.” He assured you and you didn’t know you’d been waiting for his approval until those words were spilling from his lips. Those words were music to your ears as you eagerly felt your orgasm wash over you. You chased the high for as long as you could before you relaxed back into the blanket 

He left the room while you recuperated from the intense orgasm coming back with a warm washcloth that you took with a small smile before wiping your sweaty forehead, hands and slick thighs. Shakily, you stood up and began re-dressing. Feeling the tangible awkwardness in the room you still managed to make small talk.

“So, when’s the exhibition?” You asked pulling your jeans up.

“Uuh 2 weeks.” He answered. You saw how antsy he was and you frowned inwardly at how fast he was leading you out the front door once you were fully clothed 

“Okay, I’ll see you-” But the door was already closed having heard Jungkook mumble a lackluster “Goodbye.”

“Around”.” You finished to the closed door.

The next two weeks passed painfully slow. And despite Jungkook had never texted you outside asking for times that would work for modeling sessions, you’d hoped he text you and ask your opinion on some of the pieces he’d been making for the exhibition considering you were the model.

But your hopes were doused when not a single text came your way from anyone besides your mother and Liz. She’d told you that she had met someone and that she’d be getting rides from him to the studio. You were happy she’d finally been successful with the grad student but now all you did was sulk around your apartment. All your friends were slowly being paired off and you were becoming more and more lonely not realizing how much time Jungkook had taken up these past months.

And after his curt attitude the last time you’d met you were positive that your crush was nothing but one-sided. Honestly you weren’t even sure he’d use your poses as reference for the project he’d been working on after his temper tantrum in his studio. The thought made a pit form in your stomach and the uncalled for jealousy flash through you whenever you thought about it.

By the time the exhibition for the students had come around you were actually dreading it, not wanting your desires to be shattered. You didn’t want to know that he’d decided to use past references for all his paintings. Or to see him ignoring you. You missed his smile, his cute bunny teeth, that scar on his cheek, his stupid hipster pink highlights.

“You’re kidding me! You posed stark naked for this kid and you’re not even gonna go see his paintings?” Liz reprimanded you.

You winced at the memory, only slightly regretting telling her that you’d posed naked for him. To which she laughed saying, “Damn you got it bad, didn’t even ask you on a date and you’re already getting naked for the kid.”

You’d blushed at her teasing words and although you didn’t disclose it to her, that’d probably been one of the hottest orgasms of your life. It made your little goody-two shoes self feel dirty in the best way. You often found yourself daydreaming about his gaze on you resulting in a throb between your thighs.

“What if he doesn’t even use me for his paintings?” You addressed your doubts to her out loud.

She sighed, used to your self doubt by now. “Hun, I doubt he’d have made you keep coming back to pose for the last 2 months if he wasn’t going to use them.”

Her matter of fact tone instilled some confidence in you. But you couldn’t deny that there were butterflies in your stomach from the idea of coming face to face with him again 

You bit your lip, weighing the pros and cons of going to the exhibition and in the end, you were being placed in a familiar position- being dragged to the gallery but this time less grumbling and more nervous babbling.

You fidgeted with your fingers behind your back as you walked through the gallery, on high alert for Jungkook’s tousled hair, pink highlights, and circular glasses.

You’re walking aimlessly from room to room casually admiring the artwork of the students.

You stop in your tracks.

Your face heats up before a swell of pride makes you feel like you’re going to burst.

You’re stared, eyes widening, at a painting- it’s called ‘Wrath’.

You’re staring at a canvas of a young woman, hunched over, a knife poised in her hand with blood dripping down in. Two familiar eyes reflected in the knife.

You studied the rest, soon realizing the young woman was never alone, a set of hands, a flash of hair or eyes of another somewhere in the painting.

You came to stand in front of the last image you’d posed for, ‘Lust’ and felt yourself blush, feeling just as naked while you looked at the painting 

The young woman arched in pleasure, naked, a fine sheen of sweat glistening off her skin. But what caught your eye was the set of hands that were roaming her body greedily. You tilted your head confused, unsure of the point of the other character in each portrait 

You studied the painting longer, tilting your head at every angle trying to figure it out. An old man had crept beside you.

“Perplexing set of portraits aren’t they?” The old man said.

You glanced sideways at the man, he held a stack of papers and a knowing smirk on his face. You blushed and averted your gaze to the floor.

“Do you know the concept behind them?” He asked looking at you before shuffling through the papers.

“The seven deadly sins.” You answered.

He chuckled and cleared his throat, “These set of portraits are the story of a cynical man who inadvertently causes the woman he loves to commit the seven deadly sins.”

He hands you the paper which you take hesitantly before he studies you, a wise shine in his eyes, “You must be the lady behind these portraits am I correct?” He quirked his eyebrow and you timidly nod your head.

“I’m Jungkook’s professor for studio art, it’s nice to meet his muse.” He smiled shaking your hand.

You scoff, “I’m not his muse, that’d be his ex-girlfriend.” You stated bitterly, folding your arms.

“I’d advise you to look through his sketches that are required with the project proposal. He didn’t draw all of those in one night. I’ve been teaching him for 3 years now, and it’s so difficult for Jungkook to find anything worth making because once he finds it he can’t stop thinking about it. You’ve been his muse far before he asked you to be his model.”

Your eyes widened at the statement and you found yourself flipping through the pages of his paper, all sketches of you. Different poses, background, and facial expressions but nevertheless it was always the same girl- you.

You found yourself biting back a smile.

You looked back at the man, “Is Jungkook here?”

“I’m sad to say that he is not, he had said that today was the deadline to clear out the studio space he rented.”

Your shoulders slumped in disappointment. But your inner-Liz gave you a small pep talk and you took matters into your own hands.

You found your friend quickly who was leaning against her new boyfriend, Namjoon.

“Hey,” You said breathlessly, heart pounding with excitement, “I’m gonna go I have to go do something.”

She glanced down at the paper in your hands, sketches on display and a smirk played across her face. She clasped your shoulder and squeezed giving you a small nod to go pursue your man 

The small gesture gave you enough strength to continue on your quest, getting into your car hurriedly and zooming well over the speed limit to the studio.

You ran to the building, your whole body buzzing as you prayed that a) the building was unlocked and b) that Jungkook was still in fact here. You sighed in relief as the door easily pulled open and you shoes pounded against the steps loudly as you made your way up the two flights.

Your chest burned as you sped towards the plain white door to the studio that Jungkook rented. You stilled in front of it, heart pounding and butterflies forming in your stomach. You gripped the doorknob. It turned- a sign that it was unlocked 

The room was a lot emptier than when you’d seen it the first time. You glanced at the corner where he’d been slumped, and your lips tightened bitterly at the memory. You rounded into the second part of the room and your eyes landed on his turned back, feelings of shame and embarrassment bubbled in you as you remembered your last encounter 

Not that it wasn’t really hot that he watched you get yourself off, and that he’d made you his muse but there were certainly more conventional ways to let you know he could possibly like you. You rolled your eyes- typical art student theatrics.

He turned around, struggling to hold the various sized canvases in his grip and froze when his eyes landed on you. They expanded to the size of saucers in shock.

You smiled smugly, no reason to be coy in such a situation. You held the paper that his professor had given to you up so he could see that you knew his dirty little secret.

His gulp was audible, or maybe it was so obvious that you swore you could hear it.

You hadn’t really thought ahead of time in the frantic rush to get here what exactly you were going to say to him and so you blurted out the first thought that creeped into your mind, “I thought you still loved you ex.” You weren't quite sure if it was a question or a statement.

His eyes widened even more in shock, clearly not understanding just how deep your intuition went.

He set the canvases up against the wall any chance of peaking at what they were foiled when he made sure the actual image was facing the walls. He cleared his throat and for the first time you didn’t see a stereotypical, hipster, art student. He wasn’t wearing a mask of half annoyance and half amusement like he could care less what happened like he usually did. He opened his mouth and a worried expression quickly settled over his features as he desperately struggled to find the words 

“I….I was.” He stated, emphasis on the ‘was’.  He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly and you took the moment to admire his outfit- all black. God did he make it look good.

He looked back at you sheepishly and quirked his head as if to say here goes nothing, “I was struggling so hard to draw, couldn’t find anything worth drawing and then I started drawing you..I could remember your features so easily….and then I only wanted to draw you. That’s when I told you about my project. If you hadn’t offered to be my model I would’ve asked.”

You nod, slowly processing everything, “What about all those sketches you ripped up, you said you ‘hated them all’.”

He hummed in remembrance before a light chuckle left his lips. He bit his lip unsure before he answered, “I hated how I couldn’t draw you perfectly.” His gaze slowly dragged back to your eyes. A sincere smile on his face that made your heart beat just a little faster than it was already was.

“You’re still quite the cynic.” You commented with a snicker, referring to his paper and the topic of his showcase, “I saw that one, your hands all over me.” You quirked an eyebrow.

He laughed uncomfortably and you watched his face blush. “I...I’m s-”

“Sorry? Hmm...should’ve told me that sooner. Were you even going to contact me? Even after you watched me touch myself...for your benefit might I add?”

You walked closer, you wanted to tease him. You liked seeing him flustered, the opposite of his usual stoic mask. And you were frustrated, a little hurt also to say the least. There were some true questions that lie under your taunts.

“I...I was going to come to the show...talk to you then.” He swallowed and licked his chapped lips and he watched you stalk closer to him. He shut his eyes, seeming to hone in on any courage he had and said as confidently as he could, “Your body, is the best inspiration I’ve ever had. I stayed up for hours painting after you’d left that day.”

You hummed as you placed a hand firmly against his chest and pushed, backing him into the wall.

“Is that really all you did? Is that why you kicked me out so quick, so you could paint?” You asked, tilting your head and feigning innocence. But the air was heavy with tension, ready to crack at the slightest misstep.

His eyes darted around the room, flitting to yours before he hung his head towards the floor. The night outside was coming quickly once the sun started setting but you could still make out the faintest blush across his face. You blushed as well, the unspoken words causing heat to swirl in between your thighs 

“Jungkook.” You whispered, your hand still firmly on his chest felt his heart pounding just as fast as ours, and your other hand cupped his jaw.

He slowly made eye contact with you, his doe eyes showing expectancy as they spared a swift glance to your lips. He inhaled deeply, his mouth parted. Your hands snaked into his hair- something you’ve fantasized about doing since the moment you laid your eyes on those stupid pink highlights. You played aimlessly with it and you felt the hot breath from his satisfied sigh run over your face 

That’s when his arms, that had been hanging limply by his sides, timidly fell to rest gently on your waist. He searched your eyes for a reaction that may have showed your dissatisfaction but you bit your lip instead to hide the smile that would've probably split your face in two.

You push yourself up on your tiptoes and tilt his head for easier access and gently press your lips to his. You feel his hands grip you tighter and pull you closer. You melted into the kiss. It was so satisfying and you just want to keep kissing him, over and over and over. And all you could think about was his warm tongue and the moans he’d let out the closer you pushed into him. You felt his large hands begin to slide down your body, arriving to the curve of your ass. 

Breaking from the kiss, a small whimper sounded from Jungkook and he chased after your lips for more but you stopped him with a firm press to his chest. You licked your lips, feeling how tingly they felt.

You gripped his hands and pulled them off you taking another step back to farther yourselves. You studied him, he was leaned up against the wall for support, his breath was ragged, veins bulging from his forearms at how warm you both were getting 

His disheveled hair, wrinkled shirt, and jeans so tight you’d believe if someone told you they’d been painted on. You smirked and more heat pooled in your groin when you saw the obvious outline of Jungkook’s semi.

“Did you jerk off when I left your house?” You asked outright, sick of beating around the bush and too drunk from the kiss you’d both just shared to care about the lack of discretion.

He sighed, “Yea…” an apologetic tone in his voice.

Your core pulsed as you said the next words, “Show me.”

His hands slowly came to rest on his belt before looking back up at you, ‘are you sure’ written all over his face.

You bit your lip eagerly and nodded to encourage him further, “It’s only fair Kookie.” You pressed 

He nodded in understanding, his hands slowly unbuckling his belt. You rubbed your thighs together, his veiny hands and the seductive picture of him unzipping his jeans enough to start aching for friction between your legs.

He looked up at you through his fringe, when he pulled his pants and boxers down simultaneously. You gulped back a moan. His dick was definitely hard than when you’d first asked him to show you but not yet fully hard 

You raised your eyebrows, “Go ahead.” You pushed on, “Show me what you did after I left. 

A devilish grin met his gaze - a mixture of lust and timidity. He grabbed his shaft and immediately his head was knocking against the wall. After a few pumps he shyly opened his eyes and looking directly at you spat into his hand before stroking his hardening length.

By this point your panties were sticking to you with arousal and you were itching to be touched. But you kept yourself planted. Kept watching.

He started to moan and you could tell his dick was very hard by this point. The head flushed- the same color as his lips that were being assaulted by his teeth in vain attempts to quiet his voice.

The veins in his neck began to stand out, and you began to move forward. He stopped pumping his length and lifted his head when he heard your footsteps.

You stopped your advance, “Did I say you could stop?”

He immediately started again, no questions asked but kept his gaze turned to you 

You were now close enough to read out and touch him, just before you were chest-to-chest you moved to his side and began to nip and suck at his neck.

A deep groan erupted from his chest. “Y/N.” He choked on the rest of his words and you could tell by the faster movements he was coming to the end.

“Stop.” You whispered.

He whined, only slowing down but not completely stopping.

You grabbed the hand that was wrapped around his shaft, “I said stop.”

He whimpered, having come to a complete halt now. His cock was an angry red color, having been so close to release.

You back up from his once again, staring- his face glistened with the beginning traces of sweat, cock on full display. You began to undo the wrap dress you were wearing watching Jungkook’s lust filled expression follow your every move.

Once the dress you had on was discarded and you were only in your undergarments you ordered Jungkook to strip which he abided by eagerly. You approached him once more, and ghosted your fingers over his toned chest 

You sighed at his warm skin under your fingertips. “You’re so beautiful.” you smiled up at him appreciatively.

He blushed and whispered back, “Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

Your fingers snaked but up to his face and brought him in for another kiss, much more fervent than the first. He pulled back and held your foreheads together, “Y/N…” He licked his lips and his voice pleaded for something that wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

You looked up at him, “What?....show me, show me what you want.”

You stepped back and watched as he fell to his knees like a desperate sinner in church and slid his calloused palms along your legs before looking up at you like a puppy begging for food.

You just nodded, letting him spread your thighs further apart and slid your panties off your legs.

He inhaled sharply, “You’re so, so fucking beautiful…” and he finished the statement by attacking his lips against your clit, kneading the flesh of your thighs adoringly.

Your hand fisted into his hair and exhaled a moan your felt you’d been holding in since you stepped into the studio.

He licked harshly, “So good….so beautiful….You’re such a fucking goddess” He’d say in between licks.

His praise and intense licking has your legs shaking. He twirled your body around by your waist so you were leaning on the wall before he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and sunk a little lower on the floor to get better access to your dripping core.

You moaned and tugged on his locks sending a groan through his body and straight to your clit. You gasped when he slowly put two fingers into your heat, “Jungkook.” You dragged his name out in a moan 

He looked up at you, eyes big as a baby deer, the deepest affection present in them.

He pulled away from your clit for a moment and broke into the biggest smile- the kind you’ve only seen him wear when he spoke about art, “I could do this all day.”

The transparency and sincerity of the sentence had you flushing a deep red. At a loss for words you grabbed his head and pushed him back into your heat.

“Stop talking and make me cum.” You commanded, struggling to bite back a smile that you were sure Jungkook could hear in your voice.

He nodded, re-attaching his lips to your clit and pumping his fingers faster into you. You whined, beginning to rock your hips against his tongue. He curled his fingers brushing against your g-spot and you clenched around his fingers.

“R-right there, keep going Kookie..” You managed to spit out before shoving his face further into you.

It didn’t take long after he found your g-spot and with his mouth on your clit before you came around his fingers. He pumped into you, letting you relish in your high before he slipped them out and began to lap at your release, only stopping when you whimpered and tried to push his head away. He placed feather light kissed to your inner thighs before sitting back.

You shuddered at the pure lust behind his eyes while he cleaned his fingers of your release before you found yourself looking at his very hard length. The vein on the underside prominent and the color even deeper than before. You saw pre-cum oozing out of it and you clenched at the thought of feeling him inside of you .

“Lay down.” You said. He obediently laid on his back propped up on elbows. You straddled his thighs soon after and rid yourself of your bra. He tentatively raised himself farther and ran his tongue over your erect nipple.

You shut your eyes reveling in the feeling of his tongue, a whine coming bubbling in your throat and warmth swirling in your core when his teeth nipped at your sensitive bud. His head traveled to the other nipple, repeating while slowly massaging the other tenderly.

You carded your hands through his sweat hair and slowly pushed him back down by his shoulders. You delicately took his shaft in your hand. Your small hand wrapped around his larger shaft made Jungkook groan loudly, which turned into a drawn out whine as you pumped him a few times and swiped your thumb over his tip before you brought your thumb to your lips.

“Shit, you’re making me go crazy.” His forearm hung over his face as his complains came out more desperate than annoyed.

You slide up his thighs until your heat was grinding back and forth over his shaft spreading your discharge all over his length. Another low rumble sounded from his chest.

“Jungkook, look at me….tell me what you want.” You grabbed at his arm when he didn’t move it 

He looked at you. His eyes were filled with pure lust, hooded, glazed over, and blown out.

His face was serious nonetheless, hair sticking to his face, a few beads starting to gather around his neck and chest.

“I want you to ride my dick until you’re cumming all over it.” He said breathy

With that you sunk down on him, the slide easy from your own arousal. You hissed at the stretch, never having taken any as thick as Jungkook before.

You pressed your hands onto his chest to steady yourself, “Jungkook, you’re so big…” You said through gritted teeth before you elicited a whine.

He just looked at you, your face both pleasure and pain, his eyes wide with your comment. You felt him twitch inside you.

“P-please don’t say that again...I really almost just came in you.” He declared

“I can’t believe this is happening, you’re so beautiful...amazing..I don’t even know how this is ha-” His rambling stopped when you started to swivel your hips in circles. He groaned loudly and laid your hands lightly on your hips.

Then you slowly began to bounce on him, setting the pace. Moans, whimpers and pants were all that could be heard between the both of you. But as you felt your second orgasm start to near your legs tightened in exhaustion.

You whined, “J-Jungkook..” You childishly pounded on his chest playfully while you pouted 

He seemed to get the message as he started to help, meeting your hips halfway. Your jaw when slack at the change in speed, the way he was filling you in a new way.

“So...so good” You groaned

He repeated your statement in agreement. “I’m so close…” He stated

“Don’t come yet.” You commanded despite his protests. You leaned, hovering your chest over his.

“Kookie, where do you wanna come huh? My mouth? Tits? Maybe inside of me?” He shook his head in protest to all your suggestions 

You slowed down and swatted his hands away from your hips so you were in total control, making sure you were slowing down his chase to orgasm, “Then where?”

“I-I don’t...I would never come anywhere on you. I’d never defile you like that.” He looks away, a look of disgust on his face from even thinking about it.

“Jungkook,” You grab his jaw and force him to look at you, and start to ride him agonizingly slow, “Where do you want to come?”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes just flicker to the canvases and it dawns on you.

“You want to come on one of your paintings? Never thought you were such a dirty boy.” You lean down and lick at his lips and he complied by opening his own mouth. The kiss is just as dirty as Jungkook’s fantasies.

“Okay...but I get to choose the painting.” You agree to his dirty desire.

“Wha-” He begins to disagree but then you stop riding him altogether. He whined.

“If you want to come at all, you’ll do whatever I want.” You smile sweetly, grinding on his dick.

He grunts but nods his head and before he can verbally confirm your wishes you’re already bouncing at a faster pace again.

You replace his hands on your hips and let him slam back into you, almost yelping in pain as he brushes against your cervix.

You shut your eyes tightly, “Please, please keep going I’m gonna-”

A soundless scream left your mouth wide open and you felt yourself start to clench around him. You still your hips and clamp around his dick a few times before moving again, trying to ignore the sensitivity 

“You gonna come you dirty boy...hmm...ready to come all over one of your paintings yet. Mmmm so filthy, I can’t believe how filthy you can be.

Who knew something so beautiful was so. Fucking. Filthy. ” The dirty words that filtered into his head was enough because he was roughly lifting you off his dick.

You scrambled to his feet and saw a half-finished piece. It hadn’t even finished drying. You could tell it was a project he’d given up on but you could also decipher that it was a sketch of you. You grabbed it and laid it on the wall.

You motioned him over, standing to the side and began to jerk off.

“N-no, I c-can’t do this to a picture of you. It’s..n-no.” He furrowed his brow in protest but kept still as you pumped his shaft.

“Come on Kookie, you’re gonna make this painting so nice with your pretty cum. It’ll mmix with the colors, it’ll be a masterpiece after that.” You cooed sweetly, peppering kisses along his skin.

He threw his head back and let out a guttural groan before warm spurts of semen were shooting onto the canvas.

His breath was labored, eyes still shut in euphoria. You let go as his cock softened 

You nudge his cheek with your nose affectionately. “Kookie, look...look how pretty.”

He cracked his eyes open and blushed when he saw you swirling his cum with the semi-wet paint. He buried his face into the crook of your neck embarrassed. 

“I can’t believe I let you make me nut on one of my paintings.” He said into your neck.

“I can’t believe you wanted to….but it was really fucking hot in a twisted way.” You laughed soothingly petting his hair. You lifted his head and looked at him seriously, “But next time, please just come on me…” This time you blushed at your confession, “I-I want you to defile me.”

“So I’m not the only dirty one.” He gripped you tightly into his chest before pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

“Jungkook! Stop drawing me and hang out with me.” You complained when you realized he hadn’t heard a word of what you had been saying.

He sighed placing the sketch book down and giving you an apologetic glance, “Just as I was getting in the zone.” 

You pouted, “I’m your muse, do as I say.” You stomped childishly.

He got up and laughed at you, before you circled his arms around your waist. “What do you wanna do Y/N? 

“Liz is being showcased at the gallery again and we should...no, have to, show our face.”

He groaned, “No, don’t wanna. I wanted to paint tonight. Plus some weird and cynical art student might try and hit on you.” You could feel the smirk against your head as he mumbled his protests into your hair.

You huffed in frustration, “No, not gonna happen. Apparently I only like cynical art students who have pink highlights.” You wiggled from his embraced and ruffled his hair, with fresh pink highlights.

Once you’d a grumbly Jungkook to the gallery and exchanged your congratulations with Liz, you began to wander the gallery with Jungkook.

Your gaze fell on a painting that had you biting back a smile. A boy and girl holding hands, in front of a mirror. Their reflections identical, from the stupid pink highlights to the adoration shared between them. You thought you saw Jungkook smirk. 

The painting was called ‘Art imitates Life’.

[fratzombie]

So Bless Me Anyway Chapter 1:  Of Pretty Nurses and Bleeding In Hallways

Summary:

Andrew is dying of AIDS in 1980. Kevin leaves him because he can't cope and Andrew falls in love with his nurse who is Neil. Its the Tony Kushner play Angels in America adopted with the characters from Nora Sakavic's book series All for the Game. You can read it on AO3 here. 

--

“First of all, you call now. Radio silence for months just to tell him this.  No, you don’t get to talk to him. He doesn’t need this. No, don’t call again. Goodbye, sir.”

Andrew’s head was pounding but the corner of his lips quirked almost in a smile. Nicky was shaking as he hung up the phone. But Andrew felt pride swell in his chest, even if he’d rather carve out his liver with a spoon than ever let Nicky know. He’d be insufferable. But Luther was a cancer. A bigoted nasty oozing sore of a person and Nicky was better off without the bastard in his life as far as Andrew was concerned. But the hazy feeling in his head felt way too familiar so who knows if this affectionate nonsense was organic. Oh, boy did he hate being medicated. 

Andrew’s eyes were still closed, he wasn’t quite ready to open them yet. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton and his limbs felt heavy. He didn’t hear the coward. He’d bet the fucker was hiding. Maybe with a bottle.  Andrew said he didn’t want to go to the fucking hospital and he meant it dammit. Passing out or not, it was still his choice. Not that the coward ever listened to Andrew.

“Open your eyes, Mr. Minyard, we know you are awake.” A voice Andrew didn’t recognize. Probably a new nurse. It always took awhile for him to care enough to figure out their names. Unamused, he opened his eyes.

”My name is Neil and I’ll be your nurse for today. How are you feeling?” Neil continued. He looked like a model. Wearing dumb scrubs that were at the very least two sizes too big and with a face and hands full of scars. It was incredibly unfair that a man with knife scars down one cheek and a puckered burn under his eye on the other had a face this attractive. And he was asking how Andrew was feeling. No, this was not how today was going to go.

“Hiya Neil. Are you sure you’re my nurse? Who let you out of the burn unit?  Did you steal those oversized scrubs from them? Naughty, naughty. They don’t like it when you get out of your bed.” Andrew smiled sharply, letting his voice bounce up and down in a parody of how it sounded all those months ago. Andrew firmly believed that when life gave you the absurd the only reaction you can give it is an absurd one back. Neil smiled back just as sharp.

“No, not a patient anymore. See the burns all healed,” the nurse said gesturing to his cheek with his burned hands. His eyes laughed as he said it like he was almost amused at Andrew’s lack of tact. ”So how are you feeling?” Neil continued undeterred by Andrew’s games. How was Andrew feeling? Andrew didn’t feel. Feeling went away to fight in the war and never came home as far as Andrew was concerned.

“Just peachy.” Andrew wanted Neil to leave. Neil frowned and the frown did nothing to sour his looks, unbelievable.

“I’m sure you’ll want a minute alone with your loved one. I’ll just go get you some water and some oral meds.” Neil left and closed the door and Andrew let out the breath he was holding and turned to his cousin who was sitting in the chair.

“Nicky, where’s Kevin?”

–

Andrew was standing in the hallway coming back from the kitchen where he had gotten himself a glass of water.  He felt a little dizzy and it was getting hard to breathe but he was still standing and then the pain in his leg spiked white hot and his knee buckled. Suddenly, he was on the floor. He just wanted help to get back up. It would have taken forever if he’d have to crawl to get to bed. So he shouted to get Kevin’s attention.

“Asshole. Wake up. Kevin. Wake up. Fucker. Wake up.” Andrew could feel the sweat cover his forehead and the back of his neck. This was not good. The big idiot heard Andrew at least and ran to his side.

“Kevin, I think something is wrong. My lungs are doing a piss poor job of breathing,” Andrew said lolling his head so that he was facing Kevin even though he couldn’t quite focus on him. He kept on trying to get his eyes to focus by blinking. But the dizziness was getting seriously in the way.  Kevin started to stand up.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Kevin said. Andrew grabbed his arm.

“No, wait, I-” Andrew began and was interrupted by the big buffoon.

“Wait? Are you fucking insane?” Kevin put his hand on Andrew’s head.  “Oh God you’re on fire, your head’s on fire.”

“No shit, that’s how a fever works.” Andrew rolled his eyes, regretted it, and winced in pain. Jesus this bullshit was making him feel pathetic.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital. I hate hospitals. Get me up so I can go to bed. We’ll call Aaron tomorrow. Just let me go to sleep.” The asshole shrugged out of his grasp. Stupid body, he used to be able to just hold him there. Stupid loss of muscle tone. Stupid disease.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Kevin said as he left the room. Andrew could always refuse when the thing got there, he was too tired to fight with Kevin right now. Then he felt a pain in his stomach that felt like he was being punched and then a sharp pain lower like in his groin. He had to go to the bathroom, urgently.

“Kevin stop that nonsense and help me up. Fuck, Kevin, I have to go the bathroom. I don’t want to go the hospital. I just have to go to the bathroom.” Andrew’s bowels did not wait and blood and shit poured out of him. In that moment he couldn’t tell what he hated more, his traitorous body or Kevin. Andrew closed his eyes and Kevin entered the room.

“Andrew? They’ll be here in– Oh my God,”  Kevin said as he was instantly by Andrew’s side. “There’s blood,” Kevin said trying to prop Andrew up.

“You’re useless,” Andrew intoned, “Don’t touch that,” he reprimanded and he passed out.

When the ambulance came Kevin rode to the hospital with Andrew. They headed to the hospital where Andrew worked with his brother. The staff admitted Andrew fast and by 1:00 am he was set up in a room with an IV drip of antibiotics and fluids. The nurse working on him was a friend of Aaron’s fiance, her name is Emily. Emily turned to Kevin.

“He’ll be alright,” she reassured him. But it was a lie and they both knew it. He wouldn’t be alright. This was the beginning of the end.

“No he won’t,” Kevin replied unable to hear the lie, not tonight.

“No. I guess not. I gave him something that makes him sleep,” the nurse conceded. But the idea of a sedative perked Kevin up.

“Deep sleep?” Kevin asked with a little too much hope in his voice.

“Orbiting the moons of Jupiter.” Kevin nodded he was relieved. He couldn’t talk to Andrew tonight, couldn’t face him tonight. He knew it was selfish. Andrew hated anything that dulled his senses after what happened to him with the courts.

“Are you his uh…?” She gestured with her hands.

“Yes, I’m his uh,” Kevin said duly. Not being able to look at Andrew with the oxygen mask on and the tubes in his body.

“This must be hell for you,” she said well-meaningly and squeezed Kevin’s shoulder in support.

“It is. A frozen hell,” Kevin said in hollow voice.

“Yeah, well. We all get to break our hearts on this one. He seems like a nice guy. Cute,” Emily tried again.

“Not like this. Yes, he is. Was. Whatever. Will he sleep through the night?” Kevin asked again far too hopeful. Feeling as though he was suffocating in the hospital room.

“At least,” the nurse told him. Kevin grabbed his coat and scarf.

“I have to go. Tell him, if he wakes up and you’re still on, tell him goodbye, tell him I had to go.” With that, the nurse gave him a nod and her mouth tightened and Kevin left to go to the nearest bar. He stopped at a pay phone before entering the bar to call Nicky and tell him what happened. And then entered the bar and drank until he forgot his own name.

[kaedekisaragi]

Kaede Kisaragi Watches The Flash S4E03 - Luck Be A Lady

Were you listening to me, Barry? Or were you looking at the meta in the red dress?

We open to The Thinker as he dictates about "Subject 02", one Rebecca Sharpe. Three weeks ago. She goes by Becky, and dislikes when people mispell her names. And she is very much a geek, for all intents and purposes: she is not assertive enough to make the jitters barista give her no milk, and she gets home to find her boyfriend cheating on her and postpones her righteous anger to go to the bathroom due to said milk. As Thinker describes her... She's a defeatist. That the whole world conspires against her. Perfect victim to manipulate, yes? She enters a bus full of familiar looking people... Like Kilgore... And a bright light explodes just outside their bus as we cut into the credits.

Present. Barry and Cisco, calling out to each other, in middle of a brutal, vicious battle, hopelessly wondering where is Caitlin... Only to then both be killed brutally by little kids in the Laser Tag arena. And be called old men. Sucky kids. The gang all sits down for snacks, Cecile apologizing for not inviting them for dinner, but squeaky pipes on West house like to be heard. For the last 18 years, apparently, as Joe sticks up for his home's personality. Iris and Barry celebrate a couple's decision to break up, which frees up their wedding venue, and Iris moves in and scores the deposit. All lovely and in sync, like a cute couple. But suddenly, a breach alert!

Harry pops out! Harry party! Wally is not amused, because he was ready for date night with Jessie. Harry delivers a... cube? It plays a bit of message from Jessie, but shorts out (shoddy atlantean plastic, I tell you)... So, that's a Breakup cube. It records a message, plays music, and puts out a tissue for the person who got kicked in the butt. Ouch. Harry being left to very, VERY clumsily explain his own daughter's decision to break up (or go on a break, for you Friends people) because Wally is busy filling in for Barry (ouch, how long ago was their last date?) and she needs to work on her own stuff. Cisco's says it best:

Flash rushes off to deal with a bank robbery, and Caitlin points at Harry and tells him that they are NOT done, to his clueless confusion. And here we rejoin Becky Sharpe, whose voice remains somewhat nasal, but she now has stupid luck, since as she walks, a domino effect of rube goldberg proportions explodes as everyone around her knocks something or tumbles over something... Letting her enter the bank and grab whatever cash she wants without any worry. As she returns to her Uber to leave and Flash is right on top of her... He slips violently as a large barrel of marbles spills over and causes him to fall. At the lab, they ID becky, because CCPD has records of every single unlucky stuff that happened to her (even the time her cat got burgled by a cat burglar). Harry is firm on not believing in 'luck', preferring to use technobabble. Cisco reveals he did not take out all the tech from barry's suit (he left some sensors in, sue him). Cisco and Harry go off argue on who can calibrate a satellite better, while Iris goes get a package at the loft and Joe goes home to Cecile.

Cecile called the plumber. He says it'll be 15k for the whole house plumbing. Which... Cecile uses as an argument to try and convince Joe to sell the West home. She does have a valid point in that they are an empty nest, they don't need such a big house. He says he'll think about it. Meanwhile, Iris tries out her wedding dress, only for Barry to glimpse at it for a second... And to compound the bad luck, their chosen venue burned down, and the other venue has been spoken for. Well, they still got six weeks, that's like, 5 episodes away... right?

Becky enjoys her kobe beef, and one remark from her is enough to send her ex-bf into a piling hot soup bowl in front of his squeeze. Thinker's assistant has no idea why his plan involves Becky. Thinker says she's formidable, but her powers capricious and in need of observation. Cisco and Harry continue to squabble like a married couple over the Dark matter sensor... Barry arrives with them, as they reach the exact spot where Becky got her powers... Which is where Barry emerged from the speed force, RIGHT ON TOP OF A BUS! THE BUS BECKY AND THE OTHERS WERE IN! HOLY LIGHTNING BOLT STRIKES TWICE, BATMAN!

Cisco and Harry squabble on the lab, as the team takes in the fact WE created the metas this season. Harry apparently feels Cisco should've called him for help before opening the speed force, and they just go off each to their own side in typical bratty manner. But before anything can happen, Joe gets a call from Cecile and ORDERS Barry to take him there. Because the West house is full of leaks now. Barry shuts down the water, but this is beginning to get ridiculous. Barry and Joe discuss the idea of selling the house, and Joe doesn't want to let go of his memories of his kids in this house. Cisco locates Becky at Jitters, so Barry goes there in civilian form. He tries to gently tell her how powers can be overwhelming... But she makes it pretty sure that she is not interested, saying she's tired of being given the bad hand at life... And she need only express a slight annoyance at Barry attempting to hold her hand for Barry to witness a LOT of things ready to go wrong inside Jitters if he stands in her way. She is positive that the world is finally 'fixing' its mistake and making HER the one lucky and everyone else unlucky. And due to that, she doesn't care that she's ruining everyone's life in the process... And Barry can't even go after her, because the mere intent makes things nearly go insane wrong around him. Seriously, a baby carriage near a nailgun? Seriously?

The team is down in the dumps. They can't get close to Hazard (thank you Cisco), and they created her, and they all feel they are cursed since the house is about to break apart, Jessie dumped Wally, and Barry and Iris? Well... Iris just called Barry over to a church for an impromptu marriage... RIGHT AFTER A FUNERAL SERVICE LMAO Seriously, they are REALLY gonna be married, of course they are... Until the priest gets an allergic reaction to the cinnamon incense the mischievous altar boy put on. Seriously.

Harry is doing his calculations, gets pissed, tosses the breakup box, and gets hit in his own head, to Cisco's amusement. Harry, as it turns out, has spent the summer assembling a team for Jessie (but no, they're not Jessie and the Quicksters). And now he's bitter because she kicked him out of the team, too much stiffness cramping their millenial style. But soon the alarms go off: Becky's power field is expanding to affect more of the city (making Cecile slip while Joe's stuck with a jammed door). AND A GOOSE GETS SUCKED INTO A PLANE ENGINE AND IT EXPLODES, WHAT?!? All because Becky's exerting Newton's Third Law in extreme levels, going to her casino to get rich without dying. 37 snake eyes? Really? And not a single security officer to toss her out? AND THEN THE PARTICLE ACCELERATOR TURNS ON AND IT'S GONNA EXPLODE! SERIOUSLY, HOW THE FUCK?!? IN FOUR MINUTES, EVEN!

Flash runs to the casino. The plane tries to go for a water landing. Joe breaks the doorhandle. Flash finds Hazard, but slips on coins and ends up CUFFING HIMSELF, SERIOUSLY, HOW?!? Harry gets zapped by short circuit on the circuitry of the pipeline. Flash gets up, but someone sees him, tumbles into another person, setting off the fire alarm. Joe gets in the house, but Cecile and him get trapped when a beam falls down blocking the door. Shit is all hitting all fans... But Harry gets a sudden spark of brilliancy, telling Cisco to LET the particle accelerator explode...

IT EXPLODES, THE ENERGY HITTING HER AND CANCELLING HER POWER, MAKING HER LOSE AT THE SLOT MACHINE! And award of the episode goes to co-pilot of the plan, who did not panic ONCE in this whole absurdity! Flash arrests Hazard.

Harry kinda sorta apologizes. Cisco takes what he can get. Cisco invites Harry to stay, because he's family, and he has a get-out-of-jackass-jail-free card. Harry is made to admit he has no friends, being too busy looking after Jessie to make his own life. Cisco wants to help him with that. No bro hugs, though. At the lab, Harry has identified the bus from satellite scans, confirming that... we have 12 metas. They got this by the balls...

...Until Wally points out NOBODY noticed he wasn't around. Because he went to Earth-2 to talk to Jessie... She confirmed it. She has to take care of herself... And Wally realizes he does too. He's leaving Central for a while. Barry supports him, saying all heroes lead their own paths. If he has to go, he has to go. Wally promises Joe he'll never lose him. And if he needs him, he'll come running. Literally. Tearful goodbye to our Kid Flash. Harry, in turn, realizes the possibility of the guy behind the Samuroid being behind the new metas.

Thinker's assistant knows Team Flash has the number of targets, and says they might be smarter than he credits them. But he's smarter... HAVING THE SAMUROID HEAD AS A CAMERA IN THE LAB!

Stinger. Joe returns home to find Cecile plastering the wall. But Joe has decided it: time to sell the house. Get one with a dishwasher, jacuzzi... Possibly space for his record collection too? Buuuuut... Cecile changed her mind. Because she heard what he said about getting the best place to raise his kids... And it just struck a chord with her. Because...

She's pregnant.

Faces of Joe West, meet thy winner.

So glad to have Harry Wells back :) Of all the three Wellses, I think he's my favorite. Especially since he and Cisco get along much better than Cisco and HR did. Plus, unlike HR, Harry actually does bring an extra genius into the fold. I do feel it was very harsh the way they broke up Wally and Jessie, but I guess it's also realistic, since they're both young and young people do crazy stuff, I guess?

No clue yet on the Thinker's plan. But it DOES make a lot of sense that the team made new metas with their bringing Flash back. It doesn't, however, explain yet how the Thinker is so smart. Oh well, we take the answers we can get.

ALSO, A THIRD WEST IS COMING INTO THIS HOUSE! LET'S HAVE A WEST PARTY, PEOPLE!!! POST YOUR FAVORITE JOE WEST SCREENCAPS!!!

[thatslytherinanderson-blog]

HEADCANNON: A SIGHT TO BEHOLD

Date: 24/11/18, 11pm - 4am. Who: @gryffindor-professor Where: The Black Lake, Hogwarts.

Summary: Cooper’s been having a bit of a bumpy few weeks and there’s nobody he wants to see more than Robbie Clarington. Except last night he had to give him up to go help with a wolf problem and the night before that Robbie disappeared off to Thanksgiving. Deciding to go sulk by the lake for the night as he usually does, Cooper’s met with an unexpected surprise and good company. 

Notable Points:

It certainly started off as a bumpy week with Cooper and Tyler going and exploring Hogsmeade in the night together and Robbie calling them out on Instagram (20th to 21st). It was followed by an argument with Harper and Cooper ditching Hogwarts, leaving Robbie trailing after him for over twenty-four hours, across the Scottish countryside (21st to 22nd). That evening (22nd) after managing to drag a tired Cooper back to the castle, a sleepless Robbie went home for Thanksgiving with his family.

In the midst of his self-destructive week, after countless demonstrations and cries for help, Cooper felt like he was yet again losing the one person willing to help, due to his commitments with Tabitha on the 23rd. Tired of waiting and being pushed back, he chose to defy Robbie further and purposely go down to Hogsmeade with Tyler in the night again.

Cooper had barely slept that week and had once against spent the whole night and day sat beside the Black Lake. After fighting with his emotions all day on whether he pushes Rob away or lets him in, he finally gives in and sends a brief message to the Dark Arts teacher saying “I need you.”

Robbie arrives shortly with the jumper Cooper requested, although it’s one of his own after knowing Cooper had taken a fondness to his jumpers, considering he was still yet to return the other he borrowed. Robbie has gathered a small picnic from the kitchen, knowing his idiot probably hadn’t eaten that day, as well as some blankets and his speakers.

Cooper was a little taken-a-back from the bold gesture on school grounds. Uttering a quick “the fuck are you doing? What if someone comes out?”.

Robbie simply replies with a small smirk, "Then I hope they would realize that I'm just a teacher trying to make sure his dumbass student doesn't freeze and starve to death. But we could move over there where the wood is a bit thicker and gives us more cover from the castle, if that'd make you feel better?”. Cooper, still with his grumpiness on shoots back a small, “I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t call me a dumbass,” before following him.

He’s take him through this dense shrubbery that leads round to a quieter and more hidden part of the lake. Then he’s literally just lie on Rob for a good hour because he’s warm and safe

Rob just starts pointing at the stars and pointing out constallations and is completely wrong about everything but he knows it, he's just saying truly absurd things like "That's Sirius, he was a dog, and the best boy. Aside from me, anyways."

“Uh-huh, sure it is”

Cooper lets him ramble for the first five minutes before actually turning over so he can see what he’s pointing at, doing his absolute best to hide the smirk on his face. He’s also going to call Rob “the best boy” from now on because 🙄😂

“You just said that one was an elephant and now it’s a beach ball. I’m sensing some inconsistency”

"It is. If I wasn't calling you a dumbass, that's when you need to start worrying."

That's his goal, he wants the kid to smile.

"Excuse me, are you telling me that the elephant can't be a beach ball? Let the kid live its dreams, my god, so heartless."

“I shall store that in the memory bank for the future”

Well he’s certainly earned it

“I think St. James is about to come charging down here with some star charts if you carry on” and he’s just doing his best to not give Rob the satisfaction that he’s funny

"You do that."

Bless

"All I have to do is say 'Dueling Club' and he runs for the hills, so I'll be fine. Now that one (pointing) is a giant ladle used to scoop up the soup of the galaxy. Any time it rains, it's because someone's pouring out the soup."

“I don’t like soup. I feel like if it’s galaxy soup then it’s gonna be rainbow coloured.”

"Of course it is; why do you think there are rainbows when it's sunny out. You get the sunlight to really make the colors pop."

“Pop like your face ” 🙄 argumentative little shit “what about Leo the lion?”

"That makes no sense, babe." omfg "No thanks, I prefer Tony the Tiger."

Lmao! “Shut up” and he’s just grumbling but quietly cause he got called babe. “No bitch, he likes frosties cause they’re mediocre” you have captivated my son in this game, well done Robert

Robbie just grins but lets him grumble in peace. "Why would he like a mediocre cereal? That seems like a destructive way of living." Bless, Robert's proud of himself

“Coco pops is where it’s at

"Ugh, yes, Coco pops are so good."

“Nothing beats my favourite breakfast though. Do you know what that is?”

I don't know what it is. Please enlighten me."

“Well I was gonna say bacon sandwiches but then my cocky brain woke up and said you “

"Well, I will be more than happy to provide you with your favorite breakfast tomorrow morning."

“... you’re terrible” and he just leans over and kisses him before settling back down.

"What? How could I deny you your nutrition?" he smirks before kissing him back and settling too.

“Oh my god Robert. What would your mother say” and he just smacks his chest before laughing.

"She would be proud of me for taking care of your health. You're a growing boy, after all." he's got the biggest shit eating grin right now

Cooper just gasps and smacks his chest because he can’t believe how filthy he is sometimes and he doesn’t wanna let him see the amused grin he’s hiding

Robert's actually giggling at this point before dipping down and kissing him again.

[jaydcstories]

THE RETREAT Chapter 7

After dinner, Charles and his nephew retired to the Smoking Room, another extravagantly decorated area with rococo mouldings, decadent wall paintings and one gigantic chandelier shedding a dim light over the deeply padded, whiskey and tobacco stained sofas.  This was the place for some serious post-prandial networking and the opportunity for Charles to introduce Paul to some influential business colleagues. Needless to say Paul was already something of a sensation after the fun and games they’d had with his rented slave and he was quite the centre of attention.

But the Smoking Room was no place for a slave, so Andy had to stand outside in the hallway with his collar chained to the wall. It was a long wait. One or two guests stopped to amuse themselves by stroking his cock and playing with his nipples, but it soon fell quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts.

The heat of his arousal had cooled now and without anyone looking on he was able to touch himself, smooth his cock and massage his balls, which ached so much from all that rough handling. But there was no hardness there now, and no desire to bring it back. Just a dull memory of the unfulfilled orgasm that he’d held at bay for so long and that now lay quietly coiled up like a sleeping snake in the pit of his belly.

Apart from the murmur of voices coming from the Smoking Room, the house was silent. He’d watched some of the guests go upstairs, presumably to their private rooms, and one or two had gone through the little door under the stairs that led down to the cellar. He wondered if any boys were still down there and where the rest of them had ended up. He’d not seen any sign of them.

As the time dragged on and he fought against the hunger that was nagging at his guts (the scraps he’d been fed at Paul’s table had only made him more desperate for some proper food) he began to realise he was standing there completely unattended. What was stopping him trying to make a run for it? After all his collar was only a light one and couldn't be that difficult to work loose. It was a tight squeeze but he could just get his fingers underneath the leather and he could feel some kind of catch or pin at the back. If he fiddled with it long enough, or maybe gave the chain a hard tug... He imagined creeping down the hall and finding an escape route out of this crazy house through some unlocked window or side door. He’d have to be quick and make straight for the trees—then he realised he had no idea what was out there or where he could possibly run to—and the absurdity of it all brought him crashing back down to earth.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so lost and abandoned. There was no one to care for him here. No one he could turn to for comfort or reassurance. There had always been someone before, an older slave, a friendly Master—or Carl.  But here he was nothing but an object of amusement for anyone who wanted to hurt or humiliate him.

He closed his eyes, leant against the wall and tried not to think of anything at all.

Meanwhile, in the Smoking Room, Paul was finding his feet. The atmosphere was heavy with booze and smoke and the endless conversations about money and business seemed to drone on forever, but his uncle’s friends had taken a genuine interest in him, and they showered him with advice about careers and investment opportunities. He soon had enough contacts for a whole year’s worth of job interviews and his future was looking a lot more positive.

“They treat me as one of their own,” he thought. “Which of course I am. I’m no different to them. I could have everything they’ve got. All it takes is a steady mind, a little common sense. It’s like Uncle is always telling me. You’ve only got to believe in yourself.”

Reaching inside his jacket, he felt the hard edge of the leather strap and thought about the boy outside. There was proof, if he needed any, of who he was. His uncle’s gift had done its work. Nothing could have surpassed the satisfaction he’d felt when he’d made that slave boy's hide tremble and burn. He felt sorry for the boy of course, but a slave is a slave and it would be far crueller to treat him as anything else. Anyway the boy wouldn't expect to be treated any other way. A slave needs a Master and Paul was proud to accept the burden of that responsibility. It was a measure of his birthright as a “son of the Reich”. In fact he was beginning to think it was his duty to make as much use of the slave as possible, otherwise there would be little purpose in keeping the boy alive at all.

He waited for an opportunity to slip quietly out of the room to reconnect with his prize and found the boy leaning against the wall with his eyes shut, as still as a statue.

Paul watched him for a while. There was something very appealing about that stillness—his lean body, all the weight on one foot, hands nestled behind his back, balls neatly bunched against his thighs, his head drooping slightly to one side.

“I wonder what’s on his mind. Perhaps  he’s pining for home. But slave’s don’t have homes, do they? They belong wherever their Masters want them. Perhaps he’s dreaming of some other life. He can’t have been a slave for very long. He’s too unsure of himself. Perhaps that’s why he looks so sad. A little scared and naive—but with the body of an athlete. I wonder how much he’d cost to buy outright.”

“Time to take him upstairs, I think.”  

Paul’s thoughts were interrupted by Charles, who had followed him out into the hallway.

The interruption also woke up Andy. His mind had been drifting so much that when he opened his eyes he couldn’t remember where he was for a second or two or how he’d got there. And when Paul released him and led him over to the staircase, his legs and back were so stiff that he wondered how long he’d been left standing there. He was more tired than ever now—and hungry—and confused.

Paul really wanted to be left alone with the boy, but his uncle insisted on accompanying them upstairs. Their rooms were adjacent with a connecting door, so it was difficult not to involve him, and anyway Paul knew his uncle was only trying to make sure that everything was alright.

In fact, Paul was feeling so horny now that he made the boy climb the stairs ahead of him so that he could enjoy the sight and touch of those smooth symmetrical buttocks. The boy’s physique was every bit as satisfying from this angle—broad muscular shoulders, tapering waist, meaty shanks and strong thighs. By the time they reached his room, there was only one thing left on Paul’s mind—and for that to happen he needed his uncle not to be there.

The room was spacious and much like any other hotel bedroom, with all the usual amenities, except that the bed, though nominally a single divan, was more than usually wide, and there were one or two extra items of furniture whose purpose was not immediately obvious. Also, one half of the room was dominated by a full length mirror, facing which were two wooden pillars about three feet apart, with metal hooks and hinges attached at various intervals. This whole area had its own lighting system controlled from a small panel by the bed.

Charles drew Paul’s attention to a chest of drawers which contained, courtesy of the establishment, an assortment of leather bonds, straps, ropes and chains as well as a few mysterious objects that puzzled and intrigued Paul.

Before taking his leave, Charles searched amongst these items for a set of straps which he fitted to Andy’s wrists and ankles.

“If you’re thinking of fucking him, which I’m sure you are, try hooking him up by the wrists between the pillars, I usually find that works pretty well.”

Grateful though he was for his uncle’s advice, Paul was getting a little impatient.  He wished the man would just go and leave him alone with the boy.

“I’ll be fine thanks,” he said, gently guiding Charles over to the door that connected their adjoining rooms. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, and  there's one other thing.”

Charles pushed past Paul and headed back to the chest of drawers.

“Here we are...”

He held up a black leather gag which had attached to it a solid rubber dildo moulded in the shape of a large erect penis.

“House rules,” he said. “Mustn't let the boy disturb the other guests. It’s surprising how one can get carried away. Howling and screaming is alright outside in the cages, but here in the house it’s rather frowned upon. So boy, come here and kneel down.”

Andy, who had been quietly trying to take all this in, didn’t think things could get much worse. For a while he had dared to fantasise about being left alone with Master Paul, who despite all the rough handling and humiliation, had at least shown a little sensitivity and warmth. Perhaps, if he behaved himself and gave himself up completely to Paul, then, he thought, his sexual inexperience wouldn’t be a disappointment. Paul would show him what to do and teach him how a good slave should give satisfaction. But the sight of the wooden pillars and the mirror and the ankle and wrist straps and Charles’s sly insinuations, had turned that fantasy into a nightmare. They were simply going to torture him and rape him—although technically he knew that a slave couldn’t be raped because he had no choice and is only there to be used anyway.

This was much worse than being paraded around the dining hall. He was caged in, isolated, at the mercy of two unpredictable tormentors.

Sheepishly he crept over to Charles and knelt down. The heavy black dildo looked far too big to go into his mouth and it took several slaps to get him to open up wide enough. But in it went, pushing down on his tongue and reaching back as far as his throat with its sick rubbery taste. He gagged and almost choked and tried, stupidly, to shake it free and got another slap. The harness was pressed hard against his lips, forcing his teeth to clamp down on the base of the dildo. The strap was pulled tight and buckled behind has head and that was it. They pulled him on to his feet and attached his wrists to the pillars. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and felt so much pity for himself that he began to cry—and to the satisfaction of both Masters, the gag proved very successful in stifling his sobs.

“I shall now leave you in peace while I take a shower and change into something a little more comfortable,” said Charles at last. “I’ll pop back in an hour or so and see how you’re getting on.”

THE RETREAT by John Dee Cooper

READ THIS AND OTHER STORIES ON JDC’S MALE SLAVERY FANTASY BLOG : deepen46.blogspot