#IGNORE TROY'S STUPID SHOES

[dogboyratgirl]

troy and lint but make them dogs

[daphnebowen]

more hsmtmts episode two things

“Holly will” is WILD I don’t even know what to say

okay the choreographers outfit is cute

”helping Ricky tie his shoe?” Girl how old do you think he is? Ricky may be a lil stupid at times but he definitely knows how to tie his shoe… Ricky should definitely get her those improv lessons (btw I love how this is a running joke)

”it’s a joke. You can tell because I laughed.” Still not funny. TROYELLA FOREVER!!

ricky in the background while Quinn is talking about her movie: “do you know? I don’t know 🤷🏼‍♀️”

QUINN HAS NEVER SEEN HSM HELP SHES FIRED

ricky mocking Mack is everything I’ve ever wanted and more “meh meh meh” “this guy 🙄”

oof. Emmy. Ricky totally was like “WHAT ARE YOU DOING”

PLEASE KOURTNEY IS FILMING

”moms holding area” is WILD 💀 don’t disrespect her like that

her scream was so real too

”it’s me, miss Jenn!” “Whaaat that’s crazy…”

“so.. you and Ricky. You AND Ricky. YOU AND RICKY.”

CARLOS IS A TRACK STAR

that transition was smooth as freak

mack better get his hands off Gina or I’ll slap him through the screen I swear

why does Quinn think Gina just jumped in to dance in place of Dani like Krystal legitimately asked her to

DANIS SIDE EYE AHAHAHAHA

AND GINAS LOOK OF DISGUST BACK IM SORRY

the camp shallow lake paper is WILD

POOF Richard is there.

POOF Richard is gone.

miss Jenn looks so disappointed when Carlos tells her that Emmy is her new assistant… until Emmy says she’s good at acquiring sensitive info. Then she’s interested. 😂

”has been sitcom actor” PERIOD

ricky hiding behind the homecoming sign is so Troy Bolton… or maybe that’s just his Joshua Bassett side

HE HAS LIPSTICK ON HIS CHEEK AWWHH

Dani and Mack are so toxic

Dani is so freaking stiff I can’t. I mean she’s really really bad

SHES READING THE STAGE DIRECTIONS I CANT

quinn should not knock mrs darbus’s monologues I loved those

THE RINA CUE

THE PUPPIES ARE SO ADORABLE

ginas look of amazement while Ricky is singing has me melting

Gina’s house is the new Ashlyn’s house and I don’t know how I feel about it

big red is so sweet

ashlyn is not gonna “steal his gay thunder” calm down although it is true that it’s not the kind of convo you have over text

ok Carlos is a savage “I drop bombs and then go on airplane mode” CRAZY

”welcome to MY BEDROOM”

emmy is a stalker or a hacker lowkey

ginas squeal!!!!

ashlyn trying to back up Gina and rina is absolutely crazy LIKE KOURT BACK OFF!!!

kenidee totally ignoring Ricky’s high five 💀💀

Ricky: BITE

OMG TEAAAAA BUH BAIII DANIIII HELLOOOOOO GINAAAAA

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

i’ve got a tangent, buckle up. (and yes i know this probably isn’t at all accurate. bite me.)

>>>

Steve didn’t really talk about his family. He left for home at five thirty and spent Sunday’s presumably at church with them, but he never really spoke of them. And no one really minded.

Sure, Billy had asked once or twice if he could meet someone in person. Steve would shrug his shoulders and agree to mention it. No one was very surprised when it never got brought up again. And Steve never relayed a response to his supposed offer.

No one knew what was up. Until The Mishap.

Now, Maxine Mayfield had a tough skin to break through in order to hurt her feelings. It took a lot. But something about the boy was oddly familiar in a sore way. His eyes, she’d consider, they were exactly like someone she knew. Innocent in such a guilty manner and soft even though he spoke with steel. How he stood like he had something to his name and how he only seemed to speak after thinking it through.

So, yeah, it took a lot for Max to get weepy, to get butt-hurt. People like Billy and Steve knew that, threatened to do every form of revenge in the book (although that was mostly Billy by a vast majority). Steve was kinder about it, offered her a quarter for the gum-ball machine and walked with her to calm down.

“What happened today?”

She turned the crank slowly so she could hear all the gears, “Some kid saw my low test score in history and kept making stupid jokes.”

Steve pressed his lips together, “I know that feeling all too well.”

Max looked up before opening the flap for the prize, “Really?”

He grinned, “What? You think I was this cool before puberty?” She rolled her eyes and he laughed quietly, “You just have to learn to make them feel bad about it so they stop.” Max nodded and pulled out a pink ball. “What’s this kid have going on? What’s he dress like, this town acts like there’s factions. Should be pretty easy to find him.”

Max threw the candy in her mouth and spoke around it, “Kind of dirty jeans, expensive shoes, colorful shirts.” She laughed, “He dresses similar to you actually. Isn’t that funny? He has darker hair though, and a bitch personality.” She crunched down on the gum-ball aggressively.

Steve didn’t seem to find it funny at all, in fact his face dropped, “Was his name Troy by chance?”

Max scoffed, “Yeah actually.” She grew worried when Steve still didn’t answer, “Why?”

Steve patted her shoulder and nodded at Billy over at the food counter, “I’ve got to go deal with some stuff. I’ll see you two later tonight!” he jogged out and Max noticed Billy looking a little too disappointed.

Steve did return that evening. To the Mayfield-Hargrove house with a kid towed behind him. Max couldn’t see their face as they hid behind Steve’s back, but she opened the front door before Steve even knocked anyway. Smiled and called for Billy like any other time (she always ignored Neil’s shout for who it was).

Steve crossed his arms, “Bud, you have something to say?” he looked over his shoulder and Troy peaked around hesitantly.

“Common, Stef, I don’t wanna.”

“If you can use your rotten mouth to pick on people than you can apologize too.” When Troy continued to stare at his shoes and Max stood taken aback still, Steve poked at the boy’s head. “I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, don’t think I won’t.”

Troy sighed but looked up, “You’ve been threatening that for years.” Steve narrowed his eyes but stayed silent. Max glowered until he spoke again, “I’m sorry for bullying you and your friends, that was a coward thing to do.” Steve nodded along and Max heard Billy walk up. “I promise not to say anything like that again and I hope you can accept my sincere apology.” Something about the words felt off, scripted. She almost said something until she saw a far away and similarly off-put look to Steve’s eyes. It wasn’t dishonesty, but something different. She didn’t know what, so she locked it away for another discussion.

She regarded him for a long moment, so long that Billy started tapping his foot, “I guess I can agree to that.”

Troy seemed relieved and looked back at Steve, “See? I can be nice.”

Billy stepped closer, “What’s going on?”

Steve looked a little sheepish, “I told him that if he didn’t apologize for being rude to Max than I wasn’t making dinner so,” he spread his arms out like wings, “Here we are.” Billy huffed, agreeable.

Max rose her eyebrows and smirked, “And how do you know him, Steve?”

Troy tried to bite him when Steve whacked his head, “This catastrophe is my little brother.”

“What?”

Billy leaned against the doorframe, “I don’t see it.” Steve smiled at him and Troy’s eyes widened in some sort of realization.

“That’s him?” he asked pointing at Billy (who in turn looked affronted).

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’d rather have a private conversation involving that topic. Later.” Troy continued to stare, bug-eyed at Billy.

Max stepped outside, “Let’s go get ice cream.”

Troy jumped up and tugged at Steve’s reluctant arm, “Good idea! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Steve looked over at Billy, “He’s been, uh, excited to meet the best player on Hawkins’ basketball team.”

Troy made a face, “No, I’ve been waiting to meet your boyf—”

“Later!”

[hearteyesbowen]

practicing lines ☆ ricky bowen

nothing says high school plays like two lead actors hating each other to their core

warnings: slight angst, slight fluff, some swearing, heavy making out

part I , part II

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

If there is one thing Y/N hated most, it was Richard Bowen.

Richard “Ricky” Bowen was the high school sweetheart. The most polite and respectful man in his grade, and probably his school. He held the door for anyone and everyone, he offers to help his teachers in need of grading test papers, and he seems to be the perfect boyfriend material. That’s not what you thought.

You despise everything about him. The reason for your resentment was due to the fact that you got the part for Gabriella when he wanted Nini to get the part so they could rekindle their broken love. Ever since then, he has been nothing but rude and obnoxious to you. You did everything you could to try and make peace with him, but he only cared about his stupid plan to fix his own mistakes.

It was clear to the whole school of the mutual hatred between you two. Although Miss Jenn tried to warm you up to each other with her bonding exercises and one-on-one script read throughs, nothing was more powerful than your anger for each other.

Today, after learning that the school’s stage was mysteriously burned down, you all traveled to the El Ray Theatre.

“Ok kids, let’s go to page five.” She yelled, taking her clipboard and standing on the side with Carlos.

You scrambled through your bag, grabbing the heavy script that Carlos printed out for you. You turn on your heels swiftly, only to crash into your ignorant co-star.

“Watch it, happy feet.” Rick snarled, towering over you.

“Why not give me some personal space, Richard?” You smirked. “Almost makes me think you have a crush on me.”

“You fucking wish, Y/N.”

“Language, Ricky.” Miss Jenn warned.

You give him an innocent smile, turning your back on him as you walked to center stage. You heard him groan under his breath as he trailed behind you.

You both stood next to each other, or five feet apart from each other, flipping the pages of your script to the next scene. You quickly skimmed through the page, reading through the scene you were about to act out.

“Let’s go to the scene where Troy and-”

You heard a loud snap coming from the ceiling. “Watch out!” Someone from the back screeched.

You felt a strong pair of arms grab you and pull you to their body, covering your head. A large sand bag fell from the roof, making everyone around you scream and hold on to each other.

“Is everyone ok?” You heard Seb cry out.

You look up from your hands that covered your eyes and saw horror in everyone’s eyes, from the sack to you. Confused, you remembered that you were in someone’s grasp. You look up and see Ricky, breathing heavily. He looked at you and everything was quiet.

You pushed yourself off of him, sweeping your body from the dust in the air. Ricky did the same, clearing his throat and avoiding your gaze.

“Maybe we should take a five.” Miss Jenn hummed, “Ricky and Y/N can go and look for a quiet, hopefully safer place to practice lines while the rest of us can figure out how to work the lights and not die.”

➢➣ ➢➣

“Wow, not even a goddamn thank you for saving your life?” Ricky asked annoyingly as he closed the door behind him.

You had both found a hidden storage room in the dusty halls of the theatre. Inside were worn out dresses with threads popping out, multiple broken chairs probably used during performances, and an old piano.

You rolled your eyes, “No one asked you to save me, Dicky.”

“What did you just call me?” He growled.

“I said Dicky.” You spat. You dusted off the chair of the piano before sitting down, leaving room for Ricky.

He rolled his eyes and took off his navy hoodie. His shirt went up a little, revealing his toned chest. You forced yourself to stop staring and tried to ignore him as he sat down, leaving as much room in between you two as possibly without falling off the bench. His hands grazed they top of the piano before pressing his fingers on top of the keys. He began to mess around with the notes, playing small and random tunes. His eyes were glued to the instrument as he played, and you noticed a small smile forming on his lips as he practiced . You almost forgot about everything as you listened to him play. Watching him focus on his music brought a shiver to your body, and almost a warm feeling in your stomach. You had never felt this towards Ricky, all you felt was anger. But now, this whole new feeling brought a new light to you.

“Should we start practicing our lines?” Ricky asked, turning to look at you. A heat ran to your cheeks as you both stared at each other. You noticed a change in his eyes and saw him glance down at your lips once.

“Yeah, uhm, go to page five.” You said, turning away and grabbing your script from the top of the piano.

Ricky was still in shock of what happened. He got up from the bench and grabbed his script from a tall, wooden shelf next to the door. He watched as you turn around the seat to face him, still looking at your script. He noticed your tongue stick out ever so slightly which made him smile. He quickly wiped the smile from his face, bewildered by his reaction.

“I don’t need my script, do you?” You ask softly.

His throat went dry as he looked at you, your hair falling slightly over your flushed cheeks. Something in him clicked, and his knees began to grow heavy.

“No, you’re perfect-that’s perfect.” He rambled.

You kept the page of the scene open and placed the script next to you on the bench. “Remember in kindergarten, you’d meet a kid, know nothing about them, then ten seconds later, you were best friends?” You recite.

“Yeah.” Ricky mumbled.

“Singing with you felt like that.”

“I never thought about singing, that’s for sure. Until you. And now,” He said, gazing into your eyes. “And now,” He repeated, seeming lost.

“What an actor you are.” You joked, giggling a little.

“What does that mean?” He asked somewhat annoyingly.

“It was a joke, Ricky. Calm down.” You countered, standing up as you got more irritated. “You can’t take a joke?”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you the one who can’t even thank someone for saving their life?”

“That bag was no where near me, idiot. What were you trying to save me from? Dust bunnies?” You yelled.

Ricky scoffed, “And to think I thought we were getting better at being nicer to each other. I’ve tried so hard to make things between us better but clearly you don’t want that. I’m just waisting my time.”

You were taken back. “How is all of this my fault? You are the one who started getting pissed off at me for getting the lead when you wanted Nini. Is that why you fucking hate me? Because I’m not your ex girlfriend who is happy with her new boyfriend?” You screamed, your fists curled into each other tightly.

Ricky’s rich brown eyes grew shinier, his mouth agape and in shock. Neither of you have fought like this before.

“I’m sorry.” He said, taking the smallest step towards you. You took a small step back, feeling yourself close to the wall. “I’m an idiot.”

“That’s one way to put it.” You mumbled, stepping back one more step as you hit the door

“Look, I know it was wrong for me to be mad at you for getting the part. I was so caught up in the idea of me winning back Nini like they do in the movies that I totally disregarded your feelings too.” He confessed. “I started to realized how wrong I was about you a while ago, but we were so deep into our frustration for each other I didn’t know what to do but to try and start being more polite. I’m the worst guy in the world and you never deserved to be treated like a dick, it was all my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have been so rude either.” You muttered, “It was childish for me to retaliate with an attitude instead of just working it out, you know? I deserved some of the harshness from you.”

“Can we agree that this was on the both of us?” He begged, letting out a little laugh.

“Yeah, for sure.” You replied, softly laughing as you brought your attention to the floor.

You stared at your shoes and dusted off your jeans. You felt Ricky stare at you, so you looked up. His lower lip was caught in between his teeth, slowly turning his soft lips red. You couldn’t help but steal glances from his eyes to his lips, noticing Ricky do the same.

“I feel as though I owe you an apology.” He started, moving closer to you. His slim body towered over your own.

“Oh, you do. I expect an amazing gift to make up for this.” You smirked.

One of his hands went to your chin, grabbing it gently as the other went to your waist. Your hands rested on his chest.

“I have an idea.” Ricky whispered before he crashed his lips to yours.

His large hand moved from your chin to your waist. Your arms slid from his chest to around his neck, and curled up into his own curly hair. His grip on your waist tightened and pulled you closer to him, making sure to leave no space in between you. You tugged his hair, making him let out a low groan. You smiled at his reaction. His hands slid down your waist and under your butt, motioning you to jump. You jumped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, and he slammed you up against the door. He began to trail kisses from your lips to your neck, and you tried your best to hold in a moan. You felt the marks he was leaving from your neck to your collarbone. You moved his head back up and brought your lips to his again.

“I knew you had a crush on me.” You breathed out. He bit your bottom lip, making you gasp, and letting his tongue slip through.

Ricky walked back to the piano and sat down, letting you straddle his waist. You latched your lips to his neck, leaving matching marks on his neck. He let out small moans, gripping your hips tighter as you went on. Your hands went to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it so he would take it off.

“Ricky? Y/N? Are you two in here? This door is jammed!” You heard Big Red call out from past the wooden door.

You both quickly pulled away, getting up from his lap and readjusting your shirt. Ricky did the same to his messy hair. He swiftly grabbed his hoodie he left on the piano and tossed it you, motioning at your neck with the numerous marks he left.

“Yeah we’re here! Just push the door.” He replied. He moved one of his hands to the side of his neck, hoping to subtly cover up the red scars you left him.

You managed to put Ricky’s hoodie on before Red opened the door. You took in the scent of his cologne and adjusted the collar more up to hide your bruises.

“Miss Jenn is having a midlife crisis so we’re going to order pizza. Are you guys good with pepperoni and soy cheese?” He wondered.

“Yeah, totally fine.” You answered. Ricky gave a small nod to his friend.

Red was quick to notice you wearing Ricky’s clothing on your body, but didn’t want to question it out of fear for his life. He gave a simple “ok” and left without question, knowing he would just demand answers out of his best friend later.

Ricky turned back to you, scratching the back of his neck. “About what just happened-”

“We can discuss over our next read through together.” You interrupted, giving him a soft smile.

“How about the movies tomorrow? At 8?” He asked hopefully.

You gave him a smile and walked up to him, going to peck his lips only to be pulled back by Ricky for another sweet kiss.

➢➣ ➢➣

You both walked back to your friends who were scattered around the main entrance of the theatre. Everyone noticed you two holding hands, Ricky’s hoodie, and the obvious makeup on his neck. You both acted as though nothing happened.

You were pulled away by Carlos and Ashlyn, noticing Red going for Ricky. “Excuse me, last time I remembered you and Ricky were about to murder each other.” He mumbled quickly.

“What do you mean? We just had a really, really heated argument right now.” You defended, playing with the sleeves of his larger hoodie.

“Is there something on your neck? Oh my god Y/N did you and Ri-”

Miss Jenn bursted through the door happily, “Alright kids, let’s go back to school!”

A/N - well heres another imagine !!! this one was fun to write and more steamy so ur welcome ! im thinking of doing a part 2 to breakdown, so let me know what u think or send me suggestions or requests of what to write next :)) love y’all

[thefirsthogokage]

Considering I keep having... issues... with Doogie Kamealoha, I might as well be prepared to make another post about Episode 5

And I really just want to say, before I continue, these are entirely on the creative team. I am fine with the actors. I just... Look, I used to tolerate marginally ok tv in the past. Then I watched ABC's The Rookie. It got off to a pretty good start, better than any freshman show I had seen in a long time. However, the quality tanked at an exponential rate in the second second to the point where I couldn't even watch it anymore. And I think that shift - the good tv to bad tv - really had an impact on me being able to handle middle ground television. Like, for a couple episodes, The Rookie was middle ground, and it's just something about that progression that just broke me. So, I'm sorry my watching of shows is hypercritical. I really think it all started because I noticed all these little details cropping up in The Rookie before it shat on my soul with how bad it got, and now I have this trauma that I take out on other shows and all the little details I know I should ignore, but no long can.

Sorry for that long rant, on to episode five.

HOW DOES SHE NOT KNOW WHAT SHE MAKES?!

I know, I know, plot divide, stupid Disney show, I know.

Oh Randall Park is still on...oh wait, they are pronouncing Choi wrong. That's annoying, especially since Park is Korean. It's not like 'choy,' rhyming with Troy (but with a 'ch' like it chair instead of the Tr), it's more like - from my understanding - chway (the ch like in chair with the word "way" - at least that's as close as I can get it). Yeah. Anywho we shall continue.

God I hate his character. Glad he gets around though. And that he's playing a Korean character, even if the character's name is pronounced wrong.

Ma'am, those are not the pants to play basketball in.

It seemed to slam the stock market, and yet is also promoting the stock market? Umm...wtf is this?

Wonder if she really did those push-ups with the kid on her back or not.

Oh no, Doogie, what the fuck are you going to do?

Oh dear. I refuse to believe that she would be this dumb and inconsiderate with that level of intelligence. Like, I don't like this storyline at all. (But I guess they are trying to say trading stocks is bad and addictive?)

UHHH, THE MESSAGING HERE SHOULDN'T JUST BE "Your mom was going to use those shoes," IT SHOULD BE, "YOU SHOULDN'T SELL STUFF THAT DOESN'T BELONG TO YOU!"!!!!! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

OH. So...they go riding horses? Geezus this is stupid. Doogie isn't fixing her mistake, she's off riding horses to get the stock shoe trading out of her system while her BROTHERS take their mother to find new shoes she can wear to play basketball with her outgoing boss.

Like I get that the meaning with what she taught her boys this episode fits better to get her to cheer up and all that, but Doogie fucked up royally here and the messaging why (that she sold someone else's property) isn't actually being given and she isn't really facing any repercussions.

Might be the last episode I watch of this show. This is just awful.

Ok, they kind of maybe tried to touch on the selling other people's stuff for literally one sentence. Hard to tell. Still aren't emphasizing what they need to. And these speech by her dad don't seem to fit with stuff here.

Uhhh, what? So, the game was casual, but she got rewarded for being aggressive...I'm confused.

Again, lightly played lesson of "stole someone else's shoes". Ugh.

Concluding Thoughts:

Ugh. I just. I honestly think I haven't given up on this show yet because of the setting. And the hot mom. Like, I think that's all distracting me from certain off-ness going on. Might continue this show, might not. Idk.

[argylemikewheeler]

Will and Nancy’s reactions to finding out ab Mike jumping off that cliff at the Quarry in season 1 (this would probably be after season 2 ??? Idk but Dustin is the one who says it infront of Will and Mike is like oh yeah fuck that was a thing that happenednoimtotallyfine)

[this is inherently dark so tw for talking about, you know, almost dying. but i try not to get too dark. short and semi-sweet.]

The first time Mike ever heard anyone say it out loud, it was followed by the deafening shatter of one of Mrs. Byers’ dinner plates on the kitchen floor.

“Yeah, Mike’s tried that– he’s jumped clear off the cliff at the quarry. El saved him though, so… Obviously no death.”

They’d been reminiscing all afternoon before, during, and after lunch. They were graduating high school in four days and could barely remember the time as it passed by them. Dustin was recollecting that first fall with El– every strange adventure they’d brought her on, as if everyone forgot; although, Will and Max liked the recaps. The story always changed a little every time with their dynamic story telling. This time though, Dustin apparently added a whole new detail. It’d laid buried for five years.

The plate shattered by Will’s feet, his hands open and grasping at his chest. Mike whipped around in his chair at the sound, reaching out for Will and pulling him toward the table by his waist.

“What’s wrong, Will?”

“What’s wrong?” Will had the habit of repeating things he assumed Mike should’ve known the answer to. This was one Mike really didn’t know; he didn’t feel guilty for his ignorance.

“You know El saved us at the quarry. That’s the whole story there.” Mike shrugged it off and let his arm loop around Will’s hips, keeping him beside his chair. Mike tried to encourage nonchalance onto the other mortified faces at the table. “Hey, some of you were there. Stop looking like that! Dustin’s fine.”

“I’m not worried about Dustin at the moment.” Will said slowly. “Michael, you jumped off a cliff?”

“It’s not like that, Will. I didn’t try to like, die, or anything.” Mike scoffed. He placed his hand on Will’s stomach, trying to soothe the undoubted stirring inside of it. “The asshole said if I jumped Dustin would be fine, so I just did it– but El was there.”

“But you didn’t know she was there… right?” Max said, leaning forward on the table. “That’s never part of the story.”

“Not helping, Maxine.” Mike sighed, glaring at her.

“Hey, she has a fair point.” El chimed in. She wasn’t looking at them, instead staring at the shards of ceramic on the floor and carefully lifting them from the floor to the trash without lifting a finger. “I ran up just in time, Mike.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Mike, how could you not tell me about this?” Will began fretting Mike’s curls through his fingers. He knew he had upset Will now; curl touching either meant Will was absolutely and undeniably flirting with him, or he was trying to calm himself down with the repetitive and never ending motion of smoothing down his mop of hair. And Will didn’t seem to be in any kind of mood at the moment so, there was little left to interpret.

“It wasn’t important.”

“Not important!” Will repeated again. “Michael, you could have killed yourself!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t.” He said, almost laughing. “We’ve faced a lot worse, Will. I mean, the mall? Or how about nearly being eaten alive when–”

“I won’t let you turn this into a joke.” Will said firmly. It was the special tone of voice he saved for when Mike really needed to understand he was serious. Mike didn’t hear it often; he was typically pretty aware of Will’s moods. That day though, he was missing all his marks.

Mike didn’t want to engage with the conversation and in turn, refused to engage with Will or any of his sudden fear. He wasn’t trying to be a bad boyfriend, he was just trying not to remember being such a sad child.

“It’s not a big deal, Will. Really. It was a blur of panic– I thought they were going to kill Dustin.” Mike explained earnestly. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was so fucking worried about everyone. For someone to give me some kind of direction on how to stop the bullshit around me was a no-brainer. I’d follow it, end of story.”

“You’d let Troy walk you off a cliff?” Lucas said, mirroring Max on the table.

“Did you all not hear the part where he was going to kill Dustin? Because, I mean, I will never get that feeling off my chest for the rest of my young adult life. Thank you very much.” Mike quipped, tilting his head back to look more directly at Will. His hands still stayed in Mike’s hair. “It wasn’t anything you’re thinking, Will. I promise.”

Well, it kind of was. But Mike didn’t really consider that until years later when high school got heavy and dark and he realized it was all familiar. He hadn’t meant it like that at the time. He had never thought anything would actually come from it; he’d jump but like, he’d be fine. He didn’t even consider the aftermath of jumping…

Okay. So maybe, in that last moment he did think of it. The aftermath just didn’t scare him.

“We’ll… We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Mike said, letting his head rest against Will’s side. “You’re ruining Dustin’s flow. He loves telling this part.”

“Okay. Sorry, Dustin. You were saying.” Will waved him on with a reluctant smile. He moved Mike’s plate back on the table and sat across his lap, hands going back to his hair.

—

After everyone had gone home, Will offered to take them for a drive. Mike was lounging on Will’s bed, one of his strange art picture books open on his lap. He knew the conversation was coming. It wasn’t going to be a drive with the intention of parking. No,it was constant motion to stop either of them from avoiding the issue.

Mike didn’t even bother putting on shoes as he walked out to Will’s car, taking one of Will’s sweatshirts to fight off the damp air of Hawkins’ June evenings. Will waited until they were at least on the main road before asking Mike anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Will muttered. His shoulders fell and his grip loosened on the wheel. “I mean, Michael, that’s big. That’s scary. That’s–”

“Not something I like to talk about.” Mike said shortly. “You don’t get to be mad at me, William.”

“I’m not mad! I’m… I’m not mad, Michael. I’m not.” Will reached over and grabbed Mike’s hand, unable to look at him. “I just don’t know why you kept this from me. From any of us. I’m just worried you’re not okay. You… You jumped, Mike.”

“I know! I know I did.” Mike twisted Will’s fingers gently between his own. Never before had he thought about that dark afternoon while so close to Will. It was strange, considering Will was the last thought he had before stepping off. “I figured, you know, if they found me it’d just be connected to what happened to you. It could all go away. They’d make up a story and it’d be over.”

The engine hummed in the silence, somehow sounding quieter just to leave Mike more vulnerable. He knew he had to speak again. Will had no place following such an announcement.

“Look, I didn’t really think anything was going to happen. Like, I could figure it out, but it wasn’t something I really understood until later. I was just really confused and scared, Will. I was for a long time.”

“Does your sister know?” Will asked, finally looking between the road and Mike quickly. “Mike, does your sister know?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, crossing his ankles stiffly. “And we talked about it. She’s fine.”

Except that she wasn’t. Mike remembered the conversation well. It was the same Christmas after Will was found alive. Mike had watched the color leave her face as she rushed across the kitchen to him. He was just in the archway, speaking as if the words were weightless, only to have them– and Nancy– come crashing into him.

She nearly crushed Mike as she held him to her, telling Mike that he was so so stupid sometimes but that she loved him to the ends of the earth and all the way back. Mike didn’t know anyone cared that much. He didn’t think anyone would have noticed. He felt alone on that cliff and thought he would be that way when he floated back to land again too.

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Mike.” Will couldn’t hear Mike’s memories– it would have been so much easier if he could. He was speaking just from his own heart. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He squeezed Mike’s hand.

Mike’s hands had gone numb; he hadn’t even realized Will was still holding his.

“Me too.” He nodded, swallowing an argument. “I’m okay.”

“Promise you’ll talk to me next time– any time, actually. I know it’s not my place to pry but… I can’t learn about this years later, Michael. I can’t. And you can’t keep that secret buried that long.” Will said firmly. “I love you, Michael. And that means that I love the really difficult stuff too. So let me know the hard things so I can make sure that I… so that I can love you correctly.” Will wasn’t crying, but Mike could tell when he wanted to be.

Mike grabbed Will’s forearm tightly, trying to hold as much of his as he could. Will’s eyes fought to stay on the road as Mike clambered to kneel in his seat. He leaned over and grabbed Will’s face, but kept it still and angled toward the road– he wasn’t trying to crash the car.

“I love you– I love you so muc– I love you, Will.” Mike kissed Will’s cheek, temple, and hair in every which way and order he could figure. “… I love you.”

“I’m always here to listen, Mike. Even for that kind of thing. I don’t care what’s going on with me.”

“You were nearly dea–”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here.” Will turned away from the road, kissing Mike shortly. “Always.”

“Thank you. For listening.” Mike hadn’t said anything, but it was still a comfort; Will always was. Mike rested his head on Will’s shoulder and gripped his arm tightly.

Whatever happened on that cliff was still buried– Mike wasn’t ready to push all those years of laughter and jokes about it aside and face it head on. It terrified him more to know that it was only a shallow grave, but at least when it was uncovered, by him or anyone else, Mike wouldn’t have to stand in the hole alone. He’d have someone there to reach up and grab him, tug him out– maybe even make him stay in there until he figured out how to scale out himself.

Will had survived and so had Mike. They both barely knew how, but maybe that was the whole point. Uncertainty kept them honest: kept Will talking about things he remembered about the years he’d forcibly forgotten– or been made to forget; kept them living moments they thought weren’t meant for boys like them; kept Mike thankful to have friends that spoke “I love you” like a nickname; and was maybe meant to keep Mike from denying the shortest and darkest moment of his life that would’ve made his entire boyhood very short and very dark.

Will had survived– came back from the dead, actually. Maybe it was about time Mike did too.

[27emailsicantsend]

I have no idea if you are still taking requests or not but if you are, can I get a uh muffy fic with a side of fluff and an extra large sick Buffy? (Asgds I just had McDonald's ignore me lmao)

Sick at Home: Muffy One Shot

“Marty, I’m serious, please stay home,” Buffy begged, right after a sneeze.

“No, we need to get you to a doctor or at least let me bring the stuff I got you to take care of you,” Marty insisted over the phone.

“No, don’t do that- wait a minute! You told me you didn’t have the stuff already”.

“Ok, I lied, but I thought that if I told you I didn’t have it then you would be more willing to tell me what you actually need”.

“I don’t need anything, Marty. My dad got me all the medicine and food I could ask for. I’m really sick and don’t want you getting sick to”.

“I have the immune system of an immortal being, Buffy,” Marty said. However, his voice sounded a lot closer than over the phone. Buffy snapped her head around to her door frame. Marty was standing in the door with a wicker basket filled with goodies. He was using the arm with the wicker basket to also hold his phone to his ear, because his other arm was behind his back.

Buffy didn’t look good. Her hair was incredibly tangled and messy, her dad’s large old t-shirt she used as a pajama shirt had a stain from two days ago, there were tissues all over her bed, her nose was incredibly stuffed, and her eyes were so swollen she looked like she was having an allergic reaction.

“What are you doing here?! Go home!” Buffy demanded, hanging up her phone.

Marty smiled, awkwardly dropping his phone in the basket, and sat on her bed, making sure to keep his other arm behind his back and hidden from Buffy.

“I told you, I’m taking care of you. Now, hush, Driscoll”.

Buffy couldn’t help but give him a small smile. She really didn’t want to get him sick, but the sentiment was nice and she didn’t have the energy to keep pushing him out, so she just let him keep talking.

“Now, I brought everything you need. Cold medicine, rags to wet and cool down your fever, crackers, soup, High School Musical 1-3- you’re favorite- oh! and this”. Marty pulled out a small brown stuffed bear. It had a little red ribbon tied around it’s neck and racing shoes on it’s feet. He handed it to her and she began to examine the bear, grinning.

“I named it Muffy,” Marty said proudly.

“You’re kidding me,” Buffy said, completely dry, looking over the bear at Marty with a blank stare.

“What?! I like it!” Marty said, defending himself.

“You’re really going to name the bear the ship name Andi gave to us?”

“Yeah, I thought it was symbolic”.

“Well, I think it’s silly”.

Marty looked a little hurt. He tried to take the bear away from Buffy, “well, fine then. I’ll take it back”.

Buffy yanked the bear back to her chest, “no, no, no. I like it.” Buffy looked at the some more and giggled to herself a little. “Muffy”.

Marty watched her for a second, realized he was staring, and then jumped off the bed. “Well, how about it, Buff? What do you need me to do? You hungry? Need medicine? How about a movie?”

Buffy adjusted herself up her in bed a little. “I really don’t need anything, Marty. I also really don’t want you getting sick. I’ll be fine. I promise”.

“I didn’t say I was leaving. I asked what you needed. So if you don’t need anything, then why don’t we go do something. How long have you been in bed?”

“Aside from the bathroom? Couple of days. Why?”

“Well, off we go”. Just then Marty walked over to Buffy and scooped her up in a bridal carry. She tried to fight him off, giggling, but she was too weak.

Marty grinned and said, “you have no power over me, Driscoll,” giving his best maniacal laugh. He carried her and Muffy down two flights of stairs into the basement and set her on the couch. He grabbed some blankets from a large wicker basket in the back corner of the room and opened them up on her lap.

“I’ll be back,” Marty said. Buffy couldn’t help but roll her eyes and smile. What did she ever do to deserve him?

About two minutes later, Marty returned down the stairs with the wicker basket and a pillow under his arm. It had all three of the High School Musical movies in it, two water bottles, and the crackers he bought. Buffy was looking at Muffy again, playing with it’s arms, when she looked up and saw Marty.

“Thanks. You were pretty fast getting all of that,” Buffy said, impressed.

“You must have forgotten, I’m 11.5,” Marty said with a smirk.

Buffy rolled her eyes again. She had definitely fallen for an idiot and she couldn’t be more happy about it. She loved how quirky he was. How he kept her on her toes, making her laugh with their competitive bants. He molded into her personality perfectly and she was so thankful for that.

Marty put the first High School Musical in the DVD player and popped out the bottom half of his couch cushion so he could put his feet up. He set the pillow down on the opposite side of Buffy, away from him, so she could lay down and stretch out if needed. Marty set down, giving a small old-man grunt.

“Isn’t it funny that Troy and Gabriella met at a party and are dating. And we met at a party and now we’re dating?” Buffy asked.

“Ease up on the cough medicine, Driscoll. We aren’t exclusive, yet.”

Yet. Buffy liked the sound of that. It had only been a week since they kissed at Andi’s party, but she was ok if they moved a little faster.

The movie began and Marty got settled in. Buffy was still sitting up and she looked at the pillow. Then to Marty. Then to the pillow. She chose Marty. She laid her head down on his chest and wrapped her arm around his stomach. Marty gave her a suspicious look and said, “hey, I thought you didn’t want to get me sick”.

“Too late for that. You decided to stay. Your fault”, Buffy said as she nuzzled her head in a little more. Marty picked up the arm that she was laying again and rested it along her side. He gently moved his fingers up and down her lower waist and side. It tickled her, but she liked it. 

They spent the rest of the night watching the movies. They moved positions, but still had one person either laying on the other’s lap or shoulder if they did.

When the third movie came on, Buffy was out cold on Marty’s lap. He scooped her back up, carrying her back up the stairs while she held Muffy tight in her arms. Buffy wriggled a little, but Marty just hushed her, telling her to just keep sleeping.

He laid her down in bed and pulled the covers up over her. Marty looked softly at Buffy for a few seconds and then put his hand on her cheek. It felt warm, but like the fever had lowered slightly. He rubbed a thumb back and forth on her cheek, said, “Good night, Buff,” pushed her hair back with that same hand, and kissed her forehead. He walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.

Two days later, Buffy was feeling much better so she went back to school. After first period, she hadn’t seen Marty anywhere. She saw Andi and Cyrus talking by a locker and ran over to them. “Hey, have you guys seen Marty anywhere? I’ve been looking everywhere for him”.

“He’s in my first period and his mom said he was out sick,” Andi said, gripping her backpack’s arm straps and shrugging. Cyrus shook his head “no” as well.

After school, Marty was scrolling on his laptop when he heard a tap on the door. “Come in!” he uttered, through a stuffy nose, getting a small cough.

“Told you you would get sick,” Buffy said, cocky.

Marty rolled his eyes as he closed his laptop and put it on his pillow next to him.

“Anyway, I brought this for you, you left it at my house,” Buffy said, holding up the wicker basket.

His hair was messy and his cheeks and nose were red and flushed. His bed was a lot cleaner than Buffy’s was when she was sick, but his face was a lot more sweaty and shiny from the fever. Marty smiled through his tired eyes and propped himself up in his bed. Buffy sat on his bed by his feet, setting the basket down next to her.

He noticed the High School Musical movies back in the basket, as well as White Fang. She had also brought him new crackers, soup, and cold medicine, with his rags cleaned and ready for reuse. He also noticed a black item in the bottom of the basket.

Marty looked at Buffy with a suspicious grin, “what’s this?” He asked, pulling the black item out to reveal a black stuffed bear.

Buffy smiled, but her lips started quivering as she tried not to laugh. “Barty,” she said. She couldn’t control herself, though. She busted up a huge, gut-bellied laugh. Marty tried to contain himself but ended up laughing too.

“We’re kind of stupid, huh?” he asked.

“We’re the absolute worst,” she said, both still laughing, hysterically. 

Both of them calmed down from laughing and Marty just stared at Buffy, smiling.

“What?” she asked, giving a slight chuckle under her breath.

“Nothing... I’m just... really lucky to have you,” Marty said, still smiling.

Buffy titled her head kindly at Marty and gave him a soft grin as she said, “me too”.

Requested by: @dancerdramatic14

[highroadsteve]

the greatest lie (part two) — t.h.

pairing: tom holland x actress!reader

warnings: tiny bit of angst

a/n: next part will be posted soon, but notes do motivate me to write faster! thank you all for the love on the first part!!

masterlist - part one

You stepped out of your car and made your way to your assigned trailer, the sunglasses placed on the bridge of your nose hiding half your face. Your heart was racing, the adrenaline running through your veins as you walked, greeting some familiar faces of the crew. The air was warm, the slight breeze allowing you to calm your heated face. Before you had gotten to the trailer, you saw Zendaya, Jacob Batalon, Tony Revolori, Harrison Osterfield and Tom Holland. Tom, Jacob, and Harrison were talking to one of the workers on set, Zendaya and Tony laughing loudly behind them as they conversed.

These were the friends you made during Homecoming, Y/N. No need to be nervous, you tried to convince yourself.

However, your stomach still erupted in butterflies. Your hands began to get clammy, having to wipe them on your jeans in attempt to calm your nerves. You took in a shaky breath and smiled, your stomach doing somersaults. It was like the first day of a new school, knowing you had friends but being presented in an entirely new environment where you felt as if everything had changed, although it hasn’t.

Zendaya caught a glance at you so she quickly whipped her head and cheered, pointing at you. You waved at her with an open-mouth smile. She tackled you in a hug when you reached her, laughing with excitement. Tony greeted you as well with a hug, expressing how glad he was to see you again. You pretended not to notice the trio that turned their heads to look at you, until you heard them speak.

“Y/N!” Jacob and Harrison cheered, doing what Zendaya did and basically tackling you in a group hug. Zendaya laughed along with them, glancing at Tom and catching his eye. She motioned at him to go hug you, which made his skin flush a deep red shade. You were smiling, greeting the two guys who were still hugging you. You were starting to become more comfortable, since these were your closest friends back when you were dating Tom. You all continue to act as if there hadn’t been a period in your lives where you didn’t see each other, and you were grateful.

“Hey Y/N.” You heard Tom say, a small smile playing at his lip when he wrapped his arms around you.

“Oh, h-hi Tom.” You mentally punched yourself in the face for stuttering. You thanked the universe that Jacob and Zendaya were one of the most outgoing people you know because they’re the ones who quickly came up with a conversation.

“So, you and Troy Bolton, eh?” Jacob teased you, elbowing your side. You laughed and rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the blush that burned your entire face. You waved him off, shaking your head, ignoring the confusion written on Tom’s face.

“Oh come on, we’ve all heard the rumors.” Tony added and Zendaya laughed awkwardly, seeing how tense it’s starting to become between you and Tom. He kept quiet, just glancing at whoever was talking, his face flushing a deeper red. A sign that he had no idea what to do.

“Guys leave her alone, she would have told me if they were dating.” Zendaya put her arm around you, nudging you slightly with her other hand. You nodded, shrugging at the group of boys in front of you.

“The rumors aren’t true, we’re just close friends.” You responded to them, grateful that they chose to let it go and continue onto the next conversation. Tom didn’t say anything until he excused himself to leave after one of the people on set had called him. Your heart was slightly aching, feeling so uncomfortable over the events that just happened.

...

After having another conversation with the group that you realized you had missed so much, the filming process started. The day on set went great, mainly focused on getting the lights fixated and the costumes perfected. You were not needed for a scene at the moment so you had spent the entire day in wardrobe and makeup, seeing what would fit right for the scenes you would appear in. There were about three artists working on you, matching colors to your skin.

As you talked to the makeup artist putting blush on you, a knock was made at the door of the trailer. Your assistant opened the door, stepping aside to let him in. You looked up from your phone and then at him through the mirror, raising your eyebrows in surprise and your mouth slightly opening.

“Umm, hey Tom. What are you doing here?” You asked, moving up slowly to let the makeup artist know that you will be standing up. The artist nodded and put the brush down, making their way where the assistant was. You stood up from your chair and hugged Tom, motioning at him to sit down on the couch. He grinned at you, shrugging in response to your question and sat down.

“Just wanted to visit you. I missed you.” You blinked a couple times. He missed you?

“I missed you too, Tommy.” You teased and he rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Oh shut up, Y/N/N.” He teased back, causing you to scrunch up your nose in disgust.

“Gross, you still remember that?”

“Of course, it was hilarious.” He smirked and you groaned, leaning back in your chair. You stayed quiet for a few seconds before he began talking again.

“So... Zac Efron. How did you know each other?” You turned to look at Tom. His eyes were avoiding your gaze and focusing on a string of fabric sticking from the couch.

“Awards show. Zendaya introduced us and we just started hanging out all together.” You felt a bit uncomfortable talking about Zac with Tom, only for the reason that there were tons of rumors online about the two of you dating and Tom was an ex that you’ve been in a serious relationship with. Plus, you got off on bad terms.

“I can see why. You two are lovely together.” He gave you a small smile and your shoulders tensed up, feeling your anxiety crawl up your spine. You were probably over reacting, but Tom was being so cool about it, you felt so... betrayed to have him accept the idea of you and someone else together so quickly.

“Oh no, we aren’t together.” You responded, your eyebrows furrowing upwards and shaking your head.

“I know, love. But you should be.” And with that last sentence, he gets up with a smile and hugs you before leaving. You looked at the makeup artists through the mirror as they return to working on your face.

“I see he’s taking it pretty well.” One of them spoke, causing you to sigh. It was good that he wasn’t angry, but it made you feel angry. You were being selfish, but it seems like he never cared. He never cared about trying to make it work between you two. And the fact that he’s pretending like nothing ever happened is irritating you.

...

“Wouldn’t it be good thing that he’s not mad?” Zendaya asked you with furrowed eyebrows, her head resting against her hand and her legs crossed as she sat on the couch in front of you. You shrugged.

“It would be, but he’s acting like my best friend. He’s acting like nothing ever happened between us. He’s acting like he didn’t call me a bitch when I called him out.”

“Well, you did call him a, and I quote, ‘fucking waste of time’.” Zendaya gave you a knowing look, causing you to open your mouth and close it with a sigh.

“You’re right, I know. Ugh! I know.” You groaned, basically throwing yourself back into the chair.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, dude. You really need to let it go and just let your friendship fix itself.”

You looked down at her shoes, thinking about what she said. Is it even worth it to be friends with Tom? Is he worth forgiving and forgetting? He didn’t do much wrong, it was you who started the fight.

But he was the one who didn’t want to try to make it work. So the blame isn’t all on you.

With that, you looked at Zendaya and shook your head.

“I don’t think I want to be friends with him.” You told her and she sighed, messing with the same string of fabric that Tom was messing with.

”I miss us all being together and having the time of our lives.” Your eyes shifted to look at her, seeing that she was frowning and her shoulders were slumped. It made you sad, but could you really just pretend nothing is happening and nothing is hurting your feelings.

You thought about it after Zendaya left, thinking back to the times where everyone was happy, where Tom would hold you and make jokes with you and the whole group would be sitting on the floor playing some stupid game. You missed that as well, but you knew it would never be same no matter how hard you tried to make it be.

——

part three coming soon

[sparklingdali]

Ogniem i mieczem: PAS DE TROIS BALLET AU 

READ ON AO3

Due the popular demand I present a short prologue for the two people who showed interest @bachaboska and @meadowlarkx.

This is something me and @thecrystalmadness have been working on. I blame her for making me write this as I would never in my life consider writing modern day AU and ballet. Thanks for ruining my summer. 

It took a while till they arrived at the house of the Kurcewiczs because Wasyl was slowing them down, stopping to point out various crosses atop church rooftops with an excitement that went beyond understanding. His brothers were, however, completely accustomed to it by now.

“He always does this,” said Symeon a little defensively but neither him or Mikołaj complained, they just looked deadly bored. Bohun didn’t understand half of what Wasyl was talking about because his appreciation of churches began and ended with a hazy memory of one with round domes coated in gold that he must have seen in Kiev as a child. When looking at them now he mostly only felt relief he was no longer forced to go to masses like in the children’s home.

“We will just have to wait for him,” continued Symeon with a side look that spoke volumes. Bohun felt almost offended, as he was never rude towards Wasyl and actually helped Mikołaj beat a few guys at school for making fun of him. But Symeon was fourteen, two years older than them, tasked with the thankless job of trying to pull his brother through basic education. Being in the same class with him and having to listen to snarky remarks  on his brother’s intelligence only increased his protectiveness. Bohun knew Wasyl should have been going to high school by now, though he couldn’t really determine his age.

Wasyl finally stopped blabbering about the difference between the rib vault and the fan vault so they resumed walking. After a long time they finally reached the Rozłogi Street, which gave the whole neighborhood a name. Bohun could see this was a much better looking place than the one he was living in with his foster parents. They passed small villas with neatly mowed lawns, surrounded by tall white gates and expensive looking cars, that gleamed in the afternoon sun, although none of them could rival Burłaj’s proudly displayed old broken polonez in the backyard. Bohun never realized that the Kurcewiczs were kind of rich and suddenly felt out of place in his hand-me-down clothes and shoes, of which he was already the third owner.

“Byahvyou to our royal estate,” said Mikołaj in bad imitation of French when they reached a cube-like modern house with a huge steel gate that one could almost admire for its unapologetic ugliness. “Jean, don’t just stand there, open the door for our most esteemed guest.”

Bohun laughed while Symeon rolled his eyes and pressed a chip on his key-chain to a blinking box on the wall. The gate suddenly opened. Despite Mikołaj’s jokes the camera at the top of the gate still made him feel like he was infiltrating the place. He wondered why they had such big security here. Bohun followed them along the stepping-stone path with a wide grin, admiring the trees lining it, branches bent under the weight of the cherries.

They played with a ball for a while in the playground behind the house, enjoying the warm weather. Wasyl was clearly dominating the game, being the fastest and biggest of them. Despite Bohun’s many attempts to catch up to him and retake the ball for his team, he didn’t succeed even once.

He barely remembered the last time he felt so carefree and normal. He liked Burłaj but there were too many children in his house. The older kids rarely did anything else in their free time beside trying to sneak out for a smoke and a few drinks, which Bohun found quite boring. The only one with whom he formed a fragile bond was Horpyna and she was a huge weirdo.

He recalled the first time he met her, being bored out of his mind and lying atop Burłaj’s car. A scraping sound woke him from brooding. He cracked one eye open and saw a shadow of a gangly girl with messy hair.

There was something unsettling about her and the dark glint in her eyes only added to the menacing impression. Years spent in the children’s home honed his fight or flight reflex (being no coward he mostly went with fight) and his senses were telling him this older girl was not to be messed with.

“Looks like old Burłaj went looking for stray cats again, huh? Aren’t you adorable,” she cooed.

“Who the fuck are you?” Annoying right from the start, Bohun thought.

“Haven’t learned how to say hello?”

“Hello, bitch.”

She laughed. “My, my, such refined manners. Pray tell, were your parents junkies or filthy pedos?”, she asked as if this was a perfectly normal thing to talk about. Bohun, thought he had seen a lot in his life, couldn’t find any response to that.

“Have you met Big Foot already?”

“Yeah… I did. I don’t like him.”

“Perfect. You have a nose for sniffing out the bastards. Wanna put spiders in his bed?”

Bohun looked up with interest, but cautiously stopped himself and asked.

“Why do you need me for this? Afraid of spiders?”

“Excuse you, I love them”, she said mock offended. “But I can’t actually put them there, he would immediately know it was me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“No. I will do it. But I want something in return.”

“And that would be?”

“Never call me adorable again.”

Horpyna cackled.

“Deal.”

Big Foot’s shrieking was to this present day still a fond memory.

“Let’s go inside and change. Dinner is in about an hour and Mother will be displeased if we’re not prepared,” Mikołaj said dramatically.

They lead him inside the house. Bohun didn’t have much time to look around, as they quickly dragged him upstairs in front of the bathroom.

“You go shower first, Stinklord, we have to settle something.”

Mikołaj ignored Bohun’s indignant huff and laughed. Just before he shut the door, Bohun caught a glimpse of him clenching his fist into a ball hovering above a flat palm.

“And don’t you dare to cheat again, Wasyl,” was the last thing he heard until he stopped paying attention.

Bohun showered quickly since he didn’t want to get yelled at for wasting water. He dried himself with his dirty clothes, unsure of which towel to use, and put on the shorts and the t-shirt in which he went to Hopak after school. He passed Symeon on his way out who had obviously won their little game.

“You can watch TV in the kitchen if you want. Mikołaj and Wasyl were blathering on about some stupid reality show,” Symeon said with disgust and closed the door behind him.

Having no idea where the kitchen was in this big maze of a house, Bohun only knew he had to take the stairs to get where they came from, but the moment he ended up on the ground floor he saw that all doors looked the same. A single door was open so he decided that one was his best bet, although Bohun wouldn’t peg the soothing music coming out of it as typical for ‘stupid reality shows’.

His suspicions turned right when Bohun found himself in a mirror-clad room with a high ceiling. In the middle was a girl that couldn’t have been much younger than him holding her leg up straight.

She didn’t stay there for long. As if on command, she spun around and made an elaborate jump. Bohun immediately noticed that despite leaping so high her landing was smooth and her legs didn’t buckle at all. She started spinning again and then made several deliberate steps on her toes towards the handrail where she went on to do some routine that looked complicated at first but the more he watched her the more he saw the individual moves flowing after each other in perfect synchronization. It was captivating and while he didn’t think about it in those words, the elegance and beauty of what he saw completely enchanted him. It reminded him, out of all things, of his mother, walking on an upturned bench and swinging her leg, jumping and landing and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

When the music faded softly away, he shouted: “That was really good!”

The girl turned her head towards him abruptly, dark eyes wide. He was already walking towards her however, seeing fear on her face replaced by caution. What was she afraid of, Bohun thought with amusement.

“How did you do it? Like this?” He executed the standing split with a grunt, showing off a little. Most people couldn’t do what he did, even if he got a lot worse at it since he had stopped training with mom. Stretching while brushing his teeth in the morning or doing headstands and flips to freak out his roommates really didn’t cut it. As he watched himself in the mirror, he was far from the easy elegance in which the girl did what he was trying to do.

He finally let his leg down and turned back to her. “I haven’t even told you my name! I’m Jurko. You’re the cousin, right? “

She did look nothing like the Kurcewicz brothers who all had dirty blond hair and were pretty fair skinned in comparison to her.

“I’m Helena,” she said a little defensively, as if she was disappointed that he didn’t know her name. She turned away and resumed practicing.

He began to imitate her slowly and while Helena was watching him with squinted eyes, as if she couldn't decide if he was mocking her or seriously attempting to follow her dancing. Soon a small smile appeared on her face and only grew wider when she saw his reflection in the mirror as he tried to do a pirouette and ended up feeling dizzy.

Helena looked like she wanted to say something a few times and now she finally gathered the courage.

“Alright then. First position, put your feet apart like this.” Her voice quivered at first, but as she continued talking, obviously knowing a lot about ballet, it changed and Helena recited the positions in a decisive, loud voice, actually reminding him of one of his despotic teacher’s at school.  It would probably annoy him if she weren’t like ten, making the whole affair amusing instead, especially since she liked to use weird french words.

“Now second position, third position. Put your arm a little higher, yes, you’re doing great,” she said enthusiastically. “Fourth position aaand...fifth position!”

He thought that he more or less managed to do everything she told him to. They went through the basic positions for a while but it started to bore him a little. So he asked her if she would show him how to do the pirouette again.

“Also what about this?” He furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to stand on his toes. His ankles gave out immediately at first, not used to balancing his center like that, and he fell down rather spectacularly. Helena snickered. Grinning, he immediately stood up to try again. This time he persisted for all of three seconds. Helena’s snickers turned into a full-belly laughter. Bohun was positively radiating with glee, her giggling only making him want to try harder.

“We should try the pirouettes. You need special shoes for pointe, they have hard soles to help you stand on your toes. Also it’s mostly for girls.”

“How come you don’t have shoes like that then?”

“You aren’t allowed to start too early because it damages your feet,” Helena explained seriously. “But I will be getting them in a year and half!” She turned on place, excited.  “Now the pirouette!” The tone of her voice changed again into a command. She ran towards him, showing him what to do with his feet.

“You put you foot here,” her fingertip went into the notch at the top of her knee. “And stand really straight. Like somebody just jabbed you into ribs.”

“Please don’t do that,” Bohun was standing upright on one of his legs, perfectly balanced but obviously concentrating very hard to be so.

“Like when I showed you how to do plies, you need to keep balance there,” she said while putting hands on her hips. “And then you turn into the fourth position.”

Helena watched him with wide eyes as he imitated her. She then continued to show him how to position his arms and demonstrated the pirouette several times while he watched.

“Also remember you are not trying to go around but up,” she said but Bohun was no longer listening, spinning at the spot at first in disjointed fashion and stopping a few times, but gradually imitating pirouette.

It was harder than it looked like. He stopped the attempts after a while, feeling sick.

“Oh, I forgot!” Helena covered her mouth. “You need to keep your eyes on the spot otherwise you will get sick.”

Bohun had hands over his face, thinking for a second he might really be, but then he only ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. “I think I will do it with closed eyes for a bit.”

When he lifted his leg and started spinning, Bohun finally felt like he got it. Somehow, it seemed easier with closed eyes.

“You are really good,” the awe in her voice prominent. “I can’t believe you are picking this up so fast. Did you ever do ballet before? Maybe when you were little? I started at four!”

Bohun, terribly proud that he managed to learn the pirouette, made a few more attempts. This was exactly just as much fun as it looked, he thought. When he finally stood with both legs on the ground, tired, there was a small smile on his face.

“No. But I will show you what I did.”

Bohun went still and sized the amount of space in front of him. He jumped on his hands, did a handspring, then immediately pushed himself off with his legs again in the air, stopping at a head stand. There he turned his eyes toward Helena who was clapping her hands excitedly and smiling.

“You are a gymnast!”

Bohun put his feet back to the ground, wiping his hands. “Not anymore, but I used to be. I just do hopak now with-”

He suddenly stopped. In the door stood an older woman with a stern face and long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail. Seeing him freeze, Helena turned to face the woman, who in return gave Helena a reproaching look. Bohun decided this must be her aunt.

“Is this what you call practice, young lady?” she scolded her. Then turned her icy gaze towards Bohun.

“I’m sorry, madame,” Helena said without looking up, sounding dejected.

----

Kurcewiczóvna was a witness to a scene which she didn’t prepare herself for. Helena had terrible tendency to just dance whatever she wanted to when left alone which she could at least forgive but there were times when she found her still stretching over some book half an hour after she should be already dancing. And now apparently forsaking ballet altogether over playing gymnastics with some friend her boys brought from school.

“And who are you?” she turned towards the boy who was staring at her with almost open mouth. But he quickly recovered:

“It’s Bo-hun. Hello, madame,” he for some reason bowed and gave her a cheeky grin. “I came with Mikołaj.”

After a long pause Kurcewiczóvna said slowly in an absolutely unimpressed voice: “Hello.”  She was wondering where her sons picked up this insolent brat. “Would you excuse us for a moment? Why don’t you go play with Mikołaj?” she asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Helena, who was until now biting her lip to not laugh at her, became very somber, suddenly trying to act like the perfect image of an obedient and respectful pupil.

“But we were practicing ballet before. I was teaching him basic positions and how to do a pirouette. Here, please show her!” she turned with pleading eyes to Bohun. “He’s really good.” she whispered.

Bohun got into first position with an inner grace not possessed by many in his age, eyeing her expectantly, almost challenging. Kurcewiczóvna saw the determination on his face and while she was this close to telling the boy to get lost, something in that look made her change her mind.

“Very well. If you want to show me something, lets put on some music first,” she said with a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Helena was already scrambling towards the CD player.

“Put on the little swans we did yesterday.” Kurcewiczóvna had to halt Helena’s another attempt at having her listen to Giselle. That girl sure was obsessed, even though she should be preparing for the upcoming performance and not wheedling out of her a new costume for ballet she at this point had no chance of dancing in.

Bohun was just standing there awkwardly in the meanwhile, scratching his ankle with the other leg. Kurcewiczóvna thought she will at least get some low entertainment out of this if nothing else.

She was proven wrong. He didn’t even wait for instructions when the music started playing and just went straight to the basic ballet positions. Bohun’s moves were unpolished for sure, but what he lacked in precision he made up for with enthusiasm. It was quite a joy to watch him because even when he made a mistake his relaxed expression didn’t change. This was a complete opposite of Helena who after any misstep bit her lip painfully no matter how many times she reprimanded her for it.

Even more striking was the way his movements connected with music. Musicality was a huge part of being a ballet dancer and while technique could be learned, hearing well and reacting appropriately to what your ears processed was the core. Helena was good at this too but she thought too much during dancing and could be easily distracted from concentration.

When the boy started doing pirouettes, it was obvious he only just began to learn them so she stopped him after a while.

Overall she was impressed. He even danced with a certain dramatic flair, Kurcewiczóvna thought with a hidden smile and asked Bohun, who was trying to catch his breath at the moment:

“You said you were Bohun. And your last name?”

“That’s my last name. I’m Jurko Bohun.” He sounded almost defensive.

“Which school are you going to?”

“Copernicus Middle School.”

Kurcewiczóvna rolled her eyes. “What dancing school do you belong to? Who is teaching you ballet?”

“I’m not doing ballet. I only do traditional.”

“And you never did it before?”

“No.”

She stayed silent for a while and then, as if she suddenly remembered something, ordered sharply: “Let’s go eat dinner. Practice is over.”

---

Later that night while on her way to the bathroom, Helena heard her aunt talking on the phone with someone. She stopped abruptly and listened, thinking she heard something about a great talent. A small hope rose in her heart. Maybe aunt was talking about her?

“I understand you’re skeptical, but wait until you see him. He has a certain... je ne sais quoi. No experience at all, my sons brought him home from Hopak.”

Silence. Saddened, Helena realized they must be talking about Jurko.

“Alright, but I can guarantee you’ll regret this. I wouldn’t be surprised if Chmielnicki got his claws in him eventually. You know how he likes to take an interest in street rats.”

The silence went for a little longer now.

“Okay, I will send him to you next week.” Helena couldn’t see her face but she knew her aunt was smiling. She remembered that victorious smile from the many pictures of her holding golden medals and flower bouquets. Just as Helena was quietly scuttling away, she heard:

“You too. And please do try to be nice to him, would you, Jarema?”

_____

Not a kid fic. For the rest of the story they are adults though they don’t always act like it. It’s also Jan/Helena/Bohun, with Jan just conveniently absent before the first chapter.

[xbarrjallenx]

Jessie’s Girl

Pairing: Mike Wheeler x Reader

Request: “ITS SO SAD OMFG! PART 2???”

“I love the angst, id love it if you did a part two x”

“Part 2 please omfg my heart hurts”

“Chasing pavements part 2?

“Part 2 of chasing pavements? Jsjsjsjsjs hmmmm maybe the reader gets sad and Dustin decides to ask her to dance because he knows what's going on and make her laugh. Not romantic or anything. Just plain babies having fun?🐳”

Summary: Dustin cheered (Y/N) up after Eleven’s arrival at the ball, but he also managed to make someone jealous.

Word count: 1.507

Posted: 23rd of November 2017

A/N: OMG GUYS! I am so overwhelmed for the comments that I have received. I really thank you for appreciating my work and nothing’s better than reading positive comments after a long and tiring day at school.

Anyway, part 2 is about Dustin and the reader, but I put Mike in the description because I wanted to put the imagine under Mike’s section in my masterlist. I also used Jessie’s Girl as my inspiration in this, so yeah! Please let me know what you think of it and, eventually, tell me if you want the third part, I would write it without any problems.

Thank you so much, guys! I love you so much. x

- G. x

Link: Chasing Pavements (Part 1); Jealous (Part 3); Can’t Fight This Feeling (Part 4)

After seeing your loved one dance to the rhythm of a love song with someone else, you felt your chest tightening and your eyes stinging. Mike and Eleven seemed so happy, showing blithe wide smiles on their faces. You were in a deep pain, because who wouldn’t? Mike was your first in different ways: best friend, crush, love and, sadly, heartbreak too. You couldn’t accept your situation, but you were also no one to ruin someone else’s happiness, so you preferred to keep your agony to yourself.

“Milady,” You carelessly wiped your glossy wet eyes as a cute and jolly Dustin popped up in front of you. You quickly flashed him a wide fake smile, but you knew that he has already noticed everything. He was your best friend too and, just like Mike, he knew how to recognize the different types of your smiles. “may I have this dance?”

“Of course, gentleman!” You playfully winked at him, shaking your thoughts and Mike off your head. It would be unfair to Dustin if you thought of Mike while dancing with him. Also, that would be rude.

Dustin grabbed your hand as he helped you to stand up from your chair, leaving your party’s table empty once again. You both headed to the dance floor, still holding each other’s hands.

“(Y/N)?” Dustin mumbled shyly. “I have a problem.”

“What is it?” You worriedly asked as you tried to detach your brain from Mike and Eleven, who were slow-dancing few metres away from you and Dustin. You couldn’t see them though, because they were behind you.

“I don’t know how to dance.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hands as he gave you an uncomfortable smile, obviously embarrassed. You burst into a loud laughter, catching some of the people’s attention. Your friends, except Mike, shook their heads playfully as they thought that maybe Dustin has said something stupid, since it was his habit.

“Here.” You grabbed his other hand and you rested them on your waist. “Then we just sway to the song’s beat.” You stated as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. You slowly moved your body and Dustin followed you.

There was a comfortable atmosphere between you and Dustin. He was a dorky, but also an empathetic kid. He was a great observer too. In fact, he was aware of what has happened between you and Mike. He could read your mind too and he had the capacity of putting himself on someone else’s shoes, this time they were your shoes.

“Who’s the girl with the ginger coloured hair?” You corrugated your forehead as you curiously blurted the question out. You needed to distract yourself, that was why you took advantage of the situation to clear some things in your head.

“Oh,” He glanced at the girl that you were referring to and you smiled at her when she noticed your gaze. “she’s Max, Lucas’ girlfriend.” He faced you once again as he answered your question. You nodded your head in response and you tried to catch Lucas’ happy eyes.

“He’s growing up too fast!” You pouted in disappointment and you faked a cry, pretending to be melancholically nostalgic. Lucas was a sweetheart and he has always protected you from the bullies, being the courageous kid that he was.

He laughed out of nowhere and he murmured you something. “I liked her too, but I think that she was happier with Lucas.”

“Aw, Dusty. You will find someone better!” You caressed his cheek with your thumb as you felt sad for him. He smiled at you, but shrugged his shoulders. You then looked at Will, catching his big brown orbs. “And Will? Is he fine?” You worriedly questioned and Dustin’s eyes were suddenly filled with fear, you assumed that it was because of the Mind Flayer that Mike has mentioned earlier, and sadness. He cared about his friends a lot and you knew that he was afraid too.

“He’s getting a lot better now,” Dustin quietly answered and you unleashed a long and deep sigh. You wanted to be by your friends’ side in times of need, but you missed the chance. You felt guilty as you knew that they needed you. “thankfully.”

“Luckily!” You sighed in relief. “I missed you all, did you know that?” You sweetly chimed, trying not to hum to the song that was playing while you talked to your best friend.

“We missed you too, (Y/N),” Your heart melted at his statement, but you noticed that his eyes were focused to someone else. A grin was slowly forming on his face as he noticed something unbelievable was happening behind your back. “mostly Mike.”

“Eleven is back too.” You murmured and you noticed that he tightened his grip on your waist. You completely ignored the extra information that he gave you. He was shocked that you brought out the argument, so he quickly focused his gaze on you, letting the smirk fall back.

“As it seems, (Y/N).” Dustin sighed, feeling bad for not telling you earlier. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t control Mike’s feelings, Dustin.” You downheartedly smiled and a comfortable silence was quickly built between the two of you. “I can’t tell him who to love or not. I am just his best friend, not his heart.”

“I know, but nothing is impossible. Right?” He hopefully cheered you up, flickering his eyes between you and the someone else who he kept on looking at. You chose to ignore his gestures as you thought that boys could be stupid and crazy sometimes.

Your conversation quickly died as the topic went to Mike and Eleven. You knew that your friends were sorry, mostly because they wanted you to be happy. Obviously, you were all young and you thought about nothing but happiness.

“I really missed a lot of things in these months, didn’t I?” You giggled as you tried to start your conversation once again, finally letting go of the topic about Mike and Eleven.

“You did!” Dustin smirked once again as he thought of something dorky to make you smile. “In fact, I have them now!” He smiled widely to show you his brightly white teeth and you have just noticed that he already had the complete set.

“Oh my God,” You excitedly exclaimed. “you have teeth!” You remembered when Troy used to call Dustin toothless. What were you saying, Troy?

“Crazy, right?” He loudly laughed. “And do you think that you could just miss these pearls?” He cheekily purred in the middle of your slow and sweet dance, making you laugh out loud. He was an idiot, but you couldn’t deny that you loved it.

“You’re such a dork, Henderson!” You shook your head in disbelief with a big smile on your face. He was trying to make you laugh, but he has always been successful in doing it, even without trying hardly.

“I know.” He proudly agreed. “And remember Steve Harrington?”

“Of course. What’s with him?” Your eyebrows were knitted together, questioning yourself why someone like him was involved in your friends’ adventurous problem.

“He helped me with the demo-dogs.” He widely smiled at the thought of his new friend. “That son of a bitch is so cool!”

“You and Lucas used to call him a douchebag.” You nonchalantly remembered him, but he just let it go, making you laugh once again. He was a little incoherent, but maybe people has changed while you were gone.

“Are you feeling better?” Dustin worriedly questioned you, completely changing the argument as he hoped that he made you feel better somehow.

“I am, Dusty.” You nodded to thank him. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s always a pleasure, (Y/N).” He shook his head with a great smile on his face. “A best friend is someone that you’d do anything for.”

He honestly was grateful, because he made his best friend laugh with his dorky actions. He tried to make you happy even though you were oblivious of the stinging death glares that he received from someone that stood behind you.

Dustin stayed by your side and tried to fix your broken heart, but little did you know that someone else’s heart was breaking into little pieces too: slowly, but then all at once, right after you gave Dustin a quick kiss on his cheek and pulled him tightly into a warm hug to thank him endlessly. He wrapped his arms around your waist to embrace you back without any malice, but the people that surrounded you thought that he finally conquered the girl of his dreams.

Everybody shouted and cheered for you and Dustin, making you both blush in embarrassment and awkwardness. You sheepishly smiled at everyone and something strange quickly caught your gaze.  

Dustin was a good friend of his, but something suddenly changed and it wasn’t that hard to define: his best friend has just got a girl and he wanted to make her his.

In fact, everybody cheered for them, except one. The one.

[savingacadia]

After the End of the World - Chapter One

After coming out, the last place Will Byers expected to be hiding was the closet. Yet here he was, snuggled into the familiar warmth of his best friend’s sweaters. He tried his best to breathe silently, each inhalation infused with the lingering smell of Mike. It intoxicated his brain and sent tingles rushing from his head to his toes. Will cautiously laid his hands on the rough closet doors in front of him and rested his forehead on the door. He closed one eye as the other peered out the narrow space between the white bifold doors. He saw Mike’s room as it had always been. Dark clothing was strewn across every inch, his textbooks thrown carelessly into a mountain at the foot of the bed. Papers of scribbled notes were thoughtlessly scattered across every surface. The clutter never bothered Will. It was almost comforting, like he was seeing the inside of Mike’s creative mind spread across his room. Will was startled as muffled voices approached. He heard the door latch open aggressively, and suddenly the once muffled voices flooded the room with violent volume.

“Richie, I warned you about this!” Mike yelled as he tromped over the clothing, dropping his decaying backpack off his shoulder and discarding it somewhere in the mess. Richie came in following a footstep behind him like a shadow, tripping as his feet became ensnared in a long forgotten sweatshirt. He was trapped in place, cursing under his breath as he attempted to free his awkward limbs. Mike crossed the room with heavy steps.

“Come on, Mikey boy! Chare up. 'av a pint! 'tis not so brutal, me lad,” Richie urged in his Irish cop voice as he shook one lanky leg in an attempt to rid himself of the sweatshirt. Will watched as Mike froze where he stood, stone cold with anger. Mike clenched his hands into fists and locked his jaw with painful strength in an attempt to keep himself from letting them loose on his cousin.

“Stop doing that!” He burst, pivoting on one foot to face his rival. “Richie, all you’ve done since you got here is open that fucking trash mouth of yours. You made El uncomfortable, and when I asked you to tone it down you just got worse. I told you not to provoke Troy, and what did you do? I told you to leave Will alone, and you decided that meant to flirt and toy with his emotions.” Mike ranted. Richie suddenly dropped his composure. His ribcage collapsed and Will could see he was just awkward, guilty Richie for a moment. Mike took a deep breath, rolled his eyes and added, “And I told you to stop fucking smoking in my room!”

Richie dropped one hand to his side and rubbed his neck with the other and began uncomfortably, “Well, you know-”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike cut him off, “You and your voices.” Mike looked at the ground and shook his head, his voice calming as he ran out of steam to argue. “Your stupid voices,” Mike muttered to himself as he crossed his arms. Mike closed himself off in that moment, disappointment and frustration burning out his energy to be present in the argument. Even staring at the brown curls at the back of his head, Will could feel the hurt welling in Richie’s eyes.

“Well it’s not my fault your friends can’t take a joke!” Richie claimed defensively, finally kicking away the navy sweatshirt he’d been trapped in. Will watched as Richie stumbled forward, trying to get to Mike. He reached out a hand and Mike spun around stomping toward the exit. The tension between the two boys was unbearable. They both meant well, but they interacted with the world in such different ways. While Mike took control of the world around him, the silent and gentle leader, Richie yelled ill-advised humor at it. They both had their share of pent-up anger for everything life had unfairly thrown at them, but they dealt with it in such contrasting ways.

Will jumped back from the closet doors, shrinking back into the soft clothing as he saw Mike stampeding in his direction. Mike irritably mumbled with no direction, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Mike, wait,” Richie plead as he did a little anxious hop where Mike had previously stood. He began to chase after Mike once again, tripping over the mountain of textbooks in the process and falling onto his hands with a loud smack. “Mike!” Richie called as he blundered back to his feet. “Mike you can’t-” Will heard the door slam shut again as the voices hurried away. He took a deep breath to cleanse his racing mind. Once again the smell of Mike made him woozy. Will stood frozen in the closet for a moment, attempting to comprehend everything he had just been through.

Just like every Friday, the party had intended on meeting at Mike’s after school, and just like every Friday El was stuck late in class because she just had so many questions to ask. She was a few years behind the rest of the party, but she never stopped learning. She was fascinated and stuck on every detail. It annoyed her teachers more than anything, but she wasn’t caught up on conventional knowledge like the rest of the class, so every assertion the teacher made was followed by a contradictory question from El, and every contradictory question from El was met by an irritable sigh by her teacher. She meant no harm, she just had a different way of understanding the world, one that no classmate could begin to comprehend. Mike stood casually outside the door of El’s class to wait for her. Meanwhile, Max was out in the high school parking lot bravely skating through the after-school traffic and yelling insults at Lucas and Dustin who were pretending they weren’t desperately searching the ground for the car keys they’d lost. So just like every Friday, Will turned up to the Wheeler household early.

Though ill-advised, Will knew from experience that the Wheelers rarely kept their house locked. To be fair they lived in a nice suburban neighborhood, and the threats in Hawkins tended to be a bit more supernatural than thievery. So Will calmly turned the fancy golden door knob and let himself into the pristine front entry of Mike’s home. He unfastened the velcro strap at the ankle of his knock-off sneakers and began to loosen the black laces, as per the rules of such a well-kept home. His shoes that had once been white, but now were yellowing with age and love, seemed such a stark contrast to the clean entry as he kicked them off with his toes. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Richie came violently bounding down the stairs only to stop in his tracks with one arm behind his back when he saw Will. Richie’s eyes were wide in the magnification of his coke bottle glasses as he stared at Will, his loose Hawaiian swinging forward around his frozen sides with the sudden change in momentum.

“Oh, it’s you,” Richie stated simply with a shrug before starting right back upstairs as quickly as he had come down. Will slowly finished kicking off his shoes as he stared at the stairs in confusion at the strange interaction he’d just encountered. His daze was broken when Richie called down in his British butler voice, “Pip pip, cheerio. Won’t you join me, my good lad?”

Will shook his flustered head and blinked a few times. Though he was unsure, Will was intrigued, and he slowly began dragging himself up one stair at a time after Richie. The first thing that caught him was the smell wafting down the stairway, making his nose itch. When he reached the top step, Will found Richie standing in the doorway of Mike’s bedroom. Richie leaned on the doorframe with his arms crossed, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips and one leg propped up behind him. Richie examined Will for a moment, looking him up and down before simply walking into Mike’s room with no explanation. Will hesitated to follow. Richie could be unpredictable, and Will wasn’t sure if he could trust this Derry boy. Will could feel the blood rushing through his veins, his pulse heightening as he considered just ignoring Richie and heading back down to wait for his friends. Will nodded to himself, nibbling at his lip in contemplation. That seemed to be the safe decision.

“What? You go back to the fucking future, Marty McFly?!” Richie obnoxiously yelled out from the bedroom.

Will looked down at his orange vest, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about it. He wasn’t sure if it was the shame or just his own irresistible curiosity that drew him in, but he found himself quietly obeying the demands of Richie. When he stepped into Mike’s room, Will saw Richie sprawled across Mike’s bed, blowing smoke up into the air. Will grabbed at his own forearm anxiously as he tentatively sat beside Richie. The peculiar boy clumsily sat himself up beside Will. Richie held out the cigarette lazily toward Will, and Will pinched his eyes shut tightly, cringing as Richie exhaled sweet smoke into his face. Will opened his eyes cautiously and found himself staring at the cigarette in fear. It wasn’t the cigarette itself that petrified him. His mother had smoked his whole life, and though he had never thought of doing it himself, Will saw no problem with the matter of smoking. It was that it was Richie’s cigarette that sent shivers down Will’s spine and froze him in terror. He chanced a glance up at Richie, who silently responded by raising his eyebrows and shoving the cigarette closer to Will. To his surprise, Will watched his hand reach out and linger at Richie’s offering. It was as if he was watching someone else control his body. Will took the stick, trembling so violently that he nearly dropped it as he slowly brought it to his mouth. He closed his eyes tightly and inhaled deeply. He opened his eyes wide as the realization of his mistake hit him, the feeling of black poison swirling in his stomach. He attempted to stifle his coughing fit in embarrassment as Richie watched on laughing. 

“You don’t swallow it, dickhead. Here,” Richie began, leaning over and took the cigarette from Will. “You’ve got to breathe it in shallow, like this,” Richie brought the cigarette to his smooth lips and inhaled blissfully. He took the stick away from his mouth and after a moment blew the smoke at Will like he was blowing a kiss, smirking behind the mischievous grey cloud. “You just kind of hold it in your mouth for a minute, and then let it go,” Richie explained casually as he shoved the cigarette back at Will. Will carefully took the cigarette in his steadying fingers, his terror suddenly replaced by his irrational determination to redeem himself. He did as Richie taught, sucking in the smoke as if it were a straw in a coke. He paused a moment, waiting for the cloud to cool in his mouth before carelessly breathing it out toward the floor. Will stared at the bedroom door, his head off in space as he handed the cigarette back toward Richie.

They continued like this for a while, silently passing the dwindling cigarette back and forth until Will felt a jolt of confidence and comfort. He turned toward Richie and blurted out, “Why are we in Mike’s room?”

Richie shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He huffed out smoke like dragon’s breath, immediately going for another desperate drag. “I’m disposable,” Richie explained. “Already got kicked out of my own house. Probably better if I don’t lose this one too. Aunt Karen’s never going to let Mike go now that Nancy’s left for college, so who’s it gonna hurt if she thinks Mike’s smoking instead of me?” Before he could stop himself Richie added, “And Uncle Ted doesn’t have the first fucking idea what goes on in this house,” as he handed off the cigarette to Will. Will nodded, taking another blissful drag. He felt it invade his body, valiantly breaking apart the tension and fear in every nerve and calming him with a nicotine lullaby.

Their calm was interrupted when they heard the front door struggling to be opened. “Shit!” Richie spat out, jumping off the bed and turning to Will. “Warden’s home.” Richie snatched the last of the cigarette from Will’s grasp and shoved him toward the closet, effectively knocking Will over in the process. Richie quickly and carelessly put the cigarette out on the closet door, leaving a  disturbing black scar on the white paint. He opened it in desperation, vigorously gesturing for Will to get in. Will wasn’t sure why he allowed himself to follow every command Richie gave him, but he clambered to his feet and walked into the closet without argument. Will watched fearfully as Richie closed the doors on him, shutting Will off from the rest of the world.

Will was jolted out of his reverie when the closet doors clattered about, opening to reveal Richie struggling with the contraption. Richie kicked stray clothing out of the way in an attempt to free Will from the comfort of being alone in the small closet. “They’re in the basement,” Richie commented passively as he grappled with the door. Will nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for reasons he couldn’t understand. He took small steps and stared at the floor as he exited the closet, walking past Richie who was ushering him out of the room. Will reached the top step of the stairway and nervously glanced back to see Richie slamming his bedroom door behind him, loudly shaking his obnoxious metal signs. In the center lived a red and black “Keep Out” sign, below which was an old, beat up street sign that read “Neibolt”. Both signs were weathered and Will had half a sense to say Richie was mischievous enough to have stolen them right off their posts. They were poorly nailed to the white door that used to house Nancy’s bedroom. It seemed much less welcoming now, Will concluded as he turned back to the stairs.

He felt relief wash over him like a fresh rain when he laid eyes on his friends in the basement. Lucas had Dustin in a headlock while Dustin swung his arms around wildly trying to get free. Max rolled her eyes at them as she closed the mini fridge and crossed the room with a can of soda in either hand. She tossed one to El who was snuggled up to Mike on the couch. El’s eyes locked on the soda and she mentally guided it to the table in front of her. She smiled in pride at her accomplishment while Max threw herself down on the couch next to El. Will smiled at the misfit behavior of his friends as he finished descending the stairs into the warmly lit basement. He was greeted with excited cheers of his name and familiar smiles from each of his friends. 

“You’re late!” Mike teased as he gestured Will over to the couch with the hand that was not wrapped around El. “Normally you’re sitting here waiting for us,” Mike elaborated, a flash of concern flying across his face. Will sat next to Max on the couch attempting to stumble out an excuse.

“Well I-“

“Have you been smoking?” Max blurted out as she furrowed her fiery eyebrows at Will. “You reek.”

Will shrunk under her accusations, suddenly very aware of the smoke laced in his clothing, hair, and every inch of exposed skin. “I- Um.. it’s just…” Will stuttered, looking around at the concerned and critical expressions on each of his friend’s faces in horror. “I-”

“It was Richie,” Mike vomited, cutting off Will’s pathetic rambling. Mike stared through Will’s eyes and straight into his soul with a look of hurt confusion. Mike’s eyes didn’t leave Will’s as he added, “Must have drifted down here when Will came in.”

Will felt guilt welling up in the pit of his stomach as his best friend covered for him. Mike’s eyes searched Will’s face for any sign of life, but Will just looked so dead all the time. Will couldn’t tell if Mike knew for sure what had happened, but he’d be a fool if he couldn’t read the suspicion plaguing every feature of Mike’s face. The room was awkwardly silent as the group stared at the invisible tension between Mike and Will. Will was afraid to close his eyes, but all he wanted was to blink it all away. The answer to his prayers came when Dustin piped up.

“You guys will never guess what I brought,” Dustin claimed using his arm for emphasis as he backed away from the group. He turned around and excitedly unzipped his backpack to reveal his multitude of video game cartridges crammed in amongst the decaying textbooks.

“Sweet man, what’ve you got?” Max asked excitedly as she jumped up from the couch and crossed over to him. They began sorting through the pale grey cartridges together as Lucas turned to make judgements about each game Dustin owned. Eleven stood up in her gentle way and floated over to where the decisions were being made, leaving Mike and Will alone on the couch together. Will chanced a glance to his right, and regrettably Mike’s confused stare had not moved from Will’s face. Will looked down and nervously pulled at each shaky finger on his hand. He wasn’t sure why he felt so guilty. It wasn’t like he had done anything wrong. Whether or not he chose to smoke was none of Mike’s concern. Smoking in Mike’s room was a little uncalled for, he’d give Mike that, but Richie was going to be smoking there with or without Will. He knew Mike, though not Richie’s biggest fan in the world, wouldn’t ever judge him for who he hung out with. Will supposed it was himself that he felt guilty for, or rather his lack of existence. He was so numb and so dead to the world all the time. Quite simply, Will had nothing left to live for. That’s the kind of thing PTSD can do to a person he supposed. When every waking moment is a custom-made torture poisoning your brain, there’s not much point in existing. Will breathed as he began to understand. He had nothing left in the world to wake him up but cheap thrills.

“You have the new Super Mario Brothers?!” Max exclaimed, her warm hair drifting behind her as she ran across the basement with the hunk of grey plastic. She shoved it into the Nintendo Entertainment System that lived below the boxy television set, bouncing with excitement. Max sat in awe as the pixel filled screen lit up her face and reflected in her bright blue eyes.

“Me first!” El exclaimed in her child-like glee, running to the lively television. Her earthy plaid shirt flowed behind her like a cape as she plopped herself down next to Max, who was scooting back to view the entire television, tiny grey controller in hand. Max started the game, then casually passed the controller off to Eleven, who began bashing buttons passionately as the 8-bit figure fought it’s way across the blue screen. Her tongue poked just slightly out of the corner of her mouth as she bit it in concentration. El leaned closer to the screen as the obstacles became more difficult as if she could will the characters to do her bidding with an intense stare.

“Jumpjumpjumpjump!” The entire party erupted as a tiny pink enemy raced toward El’s character.

“Look out!” Max screamed, pointing a finger at the screen as the two figures clashed. Eleven’s character began flashing on the screen as she huffed and passed the game controller to Max. The party continued to change turns whenever someone lost a life, all laughing and screaming at each other as their eyes locked onto the fast-paced action on screen.

During Mike’s turn Will decided to take a peek at Mike while he was distracted. He saw the former tension and concern on Mike’s face replaced with a youthful smile that just grew brighter with age. His eyes were wide with intent and focus. Will felt comfort in knowing his friends could so easily forget his peculiarity and act as though nothing had ever happened. He hated being treated like he was broken, it forced him to feel like he was doing something wrong. It made him feel like they were overreacting, which made him feel as though he was just being dramatic and he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just turn it off and be okay. After all, he survived didn’t he? Somehow surviving seemed like too little and yet too much to ask of Will these days. He couldn’t explain to them what went on in his brain. It was impossible for anyone to understand without having experienced trauma like Will had known. El came close, but she was different. Eleven had never known a world outside of the lab until she escaped. She still had nightmares and episodes of panic, but it was because she was afraid of her past. Will, however, had known a world full of hope and friendship before being ripped away from it by a figure of darkness. Then he came back and just had to adjust back to a life he could never see in the same light. It was intolerable.

[lyraparadigm]

Troy Otto x OC One Shot Series Part #3

Hello my lovelies, as promised, here’s part 3!

Chapter 3

Arya didn’t like Troy. In fact, she despised him. His smug attitude and penchant for picking arguments with her pissed her off. It got worse after she had accidentally discovered his aroused state during one of their more heated arguments. Since then, Troy had bumped heads with Arya at every turn. He constantly forced her to interact with the soldiers at the base; have meals with them, drink with them and go on border patrol with them. He said she had to ‘participate’ in the community if she wanted to be a part of it. She had instantly pointed out that she never wanted to be a part of the community and that if he’d just let her go, she’d be on her way back to LA. He hadn’t liked that suggestion much, judging by the slamming of his office door.

It was awkward at first; for both the guys as well as Arya. The guys knew Troy had somewhat of a soft spot for Arya so they didn’t trouble her much. They tended to leave her alone but now that they were all having dinner together, neither one of them knew what to say. Troy’s men looked to him for guidance but their Leader’s eyes were fixated on the pretty girl with a scowl on her face.

Shrugging, Mike broke the silence as he asked Arya to pass the salt. She chucked it at him, which in turn made Charlie chuckle.

“Quite the swinging arm you got on you. You play any sport before all this?”

Arya’s brows furrowed in confusion at the man’s friendly eyes. Even his smile seemed sincere.

“Baseball in college.”

A round of hoots were heard before the men started talking about their favourite teams. Then the conversation digressed into them wondering where their favourite baseball players were right now - whether they were alive or dead…or worse. It was a surreal transgression for Arya to see. They had all been so joyous and then reality had hit about five minutes later, bringing their mood down again.

“So you’re from LA?” Charlie started again; his southern twang ever so prominent.

“Yes.” Arya chewed on her lip as she watched Charlie’s eyes widen in invitation. He wanted her to elaborate. Sighing internally, she mumbled, “Born and raised in Santa Monica.”

“What’s it like there? I’ve never left Texas.” James called out from one end of the table and Arya shot back, deadpanned, “Overrun with walkers.”

Silence took over before Mike coughed and stated encouragingly, “Bet you killed your fair share eh?” He then addressed the rest of the table, “Y’all seen her with them biters right? Absolute beast, this one.” The men started laughing and banging on the table; commending her and such. Arya felt a warm flush on her cheeks as rage coiled within her. How dare they act this way? She was fuming at their audacity. They would have sentenced her to death two weeks ago, for no good reason. Yet now, on their boss’ orders, they were acting like they were her best pals.

“Guess the group decision to not murder me paid off.” She spat as she slammed her plate on the table before stalking off.

Times like these, she wanted to hack a few walkers, simply to let off some steam. Unfortunately though, there were none on the base and she couldn’t just leave whenever she pleased. She needed Troy’s permission for that. Simply the thought of Troy made her want to scream and hurl anything and everything against a wall. She even dreamed of choking the man to death every night.

“You’ll have to get that bandaged up.”

She closed her eyes for a few moments. It helped her in pretending he wasn’t here. Troy had managed to catch her off guard again. Of course he did. She belatedly realised he was referring to the freshly formed cut across her palm. She had been clutching the biro in her hands hard enough to make it snap under pressure and the jagged pieces of broken plastic had sliced open her palm.

“What are you doing here?” She asked with a bitter tone. He had a tray of food with him.

“You left without eating.” He nodded as he set it down. She watched him move around her make shift office; opening drawers and cabinets to finally settle on pulling out a first aid kit. She rolled her eyes at his pretence as he walked closer to her. She attempted to snatch the box from his hands but after a short struggle and a furious glare from him, he won in keeping the box. Grabbing her hand, he started cleaning the blood with cotton pads.

“I understand why you felt the need to leave.” He spoke quietly, his eyes daring to gaze into hers, “But sooner or later you’ll have to forgive them”

“I don’t have to forgive anyone.” She spat out, attempting again to tug her hand away from his grasp. Casually leaning against the desk in front of her, he tugged her forcefully till she was close enough for their knees to knock.

“Why are you doing this?” She blurted out tactlessly. She was tired of playing games with him.

“Well I can’t let you walk around with an open wound-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She groused, her hands itching to cause some form of physical harm to him. He irked her. His very presence made her skin crawl and the fact that he was so tenderly wrapping her hand in bandages made her stomach churn with unease.

“What are you talking about then?” He asked with a coy smirk on his face.

“You want me to like it here. You want me to willingly participate and…and be friends with your men. You want me to like you”

She could feel him tense at her accusations, so she took it a step further. She liked rattling him as she called him out on his bullshit.

“You even pretend to understand me- like we’re kindred spirits or some such bullshit- but I’m nothing like you Troy. You don’t know anything about me.”

He was silent for a long moment, choosing to simply finish wrapping up her hand. Then his words pierced her like knives.

“I know you enjoy killing them. I’ve seen you on runs- you smile after a kill. You get high off the adrenaline and the blood. So I guess you’re just as sadistic as me.”

His words were punctuated by squeezes of her hand and tugs that brought her even closer to him. Too close.

“I know enough about you to know that you get it. You get how this world works now. You’re an asset to me and my men; they get that too now. So you’re staying here, whether you like it or not.”

Arya didn’t bother arguing with him. She was quick to see and seize opportunities when they appeared to her.

“That’s one part of it…but not all of it. You also want me to like being here. Now tell me, how that can ever happen, if I have no freedom?” She moved to stand between his legs, her stare brazen as she challenged him.

His smirk broadened at her bold move. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” She mocked as her fingers delicately traced a vein up his neck. He struggled to maintain composure. His hand gripped her wrist tightly, bringing it back down.

“Don’t lower yourself to that kind of cheap seduction. It’s pathetic.” He spat as his grip on her hands tightened. She felt a deep seed of humiliation take root within her. Cheeks colouring, she struggled to get out of his grasp. She elbowed him in the ribs and shoved his chest back as she grappled with him. He was taller, broader and stronger than her but she was resourceful. Managing to free one hand from his grasp midst struggle, her hand lunged at the scissors in the first aid kit. In an instant she had it pointed to his throat, pressing against his windpipe.

His grin was broad, perplexing her.

“There’s that fire.” His eyes sparkled as he appraised her.

“You can have all the freedom you want, doll.” He spoke softly.

Her brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“You can have your knives back and we’ll give you guns too. You’ll be free to do what you want here.”

“But…?” She waited for the other shoe to drop.

Smacking her hand away from his throat, he stood to his full height. Towering over her, he bent his head to her level, “You’ll come back with me to the Ranch in a few days.”

-/-/-/-

 It turned out Troy’s men were as incessant pains in the asses as Troy himself was. A couple of them followed her around when she went on her walks; Charlie even started speaking to her like they were old friends. Mike would make stupid jokes that she tried ignoring at first but then they just kept getting worse to the point of somewhat making her smile. Then one morning, in the middle of doing a stock take, Arya watched Charlie trip over his untied laces and topple into Mike. A half open bag of flour that was in Mike’s hands then proceeded to fall over the both of them, making them look utterly ridiculous.

It was the first time in weeks that Arya laughed. It was abrupt and loud and contagious. She almost didn’t recognise her own laughter but once it had started, she couldn’t stop. She bent to her knees, unable to hold herself up from laughing so hard…and then it occurred to her that she might be crying too. Maybe she was just unhinged. Maybe all it took for her to snap was an ill placed bag of flour and two idiots. Then she saw Troy entering the garage. His eyes were wide with curiosity at first. Arya watched several emotions flicker through his eyes till he finally seemed to settle on irritation.

“Get back to work.” He groused, with a scowl on his face. Arya simply snorted and burst into another fit of giggles. Mike flung a handful of flour, colouring Troy’s hair white and then Arya was gone. One look at Troy and Arya was hopeless. She was lying on the floor with a stomach ache from all her laughter. Arya vaguely heard Mike and Charlie tell Troy something but she didn’t bother enough to catch it. She chose to lay there on the floor and chuckle at the complete ridiculousness of her situation. She was being held captive by a group of soldiers that were murdering people in the bathroom. She was also, slowly, starting to get comfortable around said murdering soldiers. The truly hilarious part however, was that Troy – who had all but forced her to interact with his men – was now jealous.

“Alright. You’ve had your fun.”

Arya sat up again, her back leaning against a rack of shelves, with her elbows resting on her bent knees. She had rubbed off the tear streaks down her cheeks but the redness in her eyes still remained. She bit her lip to hide her amusement as Troy crouched in front of her.

“I want you to go down to the bathroom. We have two new people”

Arya snorted again, “No.”

Troy’s eyes narrowed into slits but before he could speak, Arya interrupted. Her fingers rose to brush remnants of flour still left on his brow bone. He all but froze due to her actions.

“You said I could have my freedom. And guess what? Saying ‘no’ is a big part of it.”

“You still have to follow my orders.” He scowled, disliking the liberties she was taking.

“Hell no.” She chuckled, vexing him. “I ain’t no soldier and I’m certainly not a scientist.” She mocked. “I have no interest in your experiments on the living.” She stated with a smile on her face.

Troy seemed utterly perplexed at her behaviour. He had never seen her so unstable before. She was always so guarded and calculated; steady and calm. She would argue with him and she would scream but she would never outright disobey him. So why the change in behaviour now?

“You want me to get along with your men. You want me to like being here and you want me to like you. You also want me to murder people – honey you can’t have it all.” She leant closer to him; her eyes now narrowing to match his, “Make me go down there against my will and I will hate you with every fibre of my being.”

His eyes pierced hers as he debated whether to argue with her or not. “What makes you think I’d care if you hated me or not?” He baited her.

A slow smirk formed on her lips. Her fingers reached out to trace his cheekbone, just below his eye.

“You’d care.” She stated aloofly. The serene confidence in her tone annoyed him further but before he could scowl and prove her wrong, she rose to her feet.

“Charlie and Mike were being idiots and for a second they reminded me of my brothers.” Her tone was clipped now and her expressions guarded again.

“So I laughed.” Brushing off her arms and thighs, she waited till he too was stood.

Eyes snapping to his, she finished, “Then you asked me to murder people and it brought me back to reality.” Her face was deadpanned; her words blunt. She didn’t wait for him to respond, she simply left the garage.

-/-/-/-

Arya was never good at ignoring problems. Sure, she’d run from them, but that still meant she was acknowledging their existence. As she lay in bed at night, tossing and turning, she felt conflicted about ignoring certain problems. Troy’s words repeated in her mind unrelentingly. He had brought two new people into the base and as much as she would like to, Arya couldn’t ignore that. Curiosity gnawed at her, constantly urging her to get up and go see for herself as to whom those people were and why Troy felt the need to mention them to her.

Her footsteps were quiet but they felt heavy, the closer she approached the bathroom. She had to hold her breath when the stench filled her nostrils again. She shivered as she remembered her brief moments in this place. She hadn’t even stayed long enough to remember the colour of the tiles on the floor but she remembered all their sneers. She remembered how each man in the room looked at her like she was a lamb and they were the butchers.

The door creaked as she opened it slowly. Willy and Tanner were on duty. Their heads snapped to her presence. She folded her arms defensively as her chin jutted out proudly. She walked in with no explanation, her eyes scouring the place for new faces. A boy with scraggly hair was sat on the floor and a girl with an open wound lay across his lap. Arya blinked, her mouth opening in disconcert as she watched the girl slowly dying. Tanned skin, dark hair, captive…Arya saw herself in this girl…or rather, she saw what could have been her fate had she not bargained with Troy. That thought chilled her to her very bones.

Her gaze drifted to each of the soldiers in the room as they chatted casually and even heckled and jeered as they joked. How could they simply sit and watch someone dying? How could they ignore it? Then her eyes met the boys and he started pleading with her, asking her to help the girl and before she could so much as step forwards, the boy had a rifle butt thwacked onto his head.

“William.” Arya growled, her glare full of fire, “Back the fuck off. Troy sent me here to patch up the girl.”

“No he didn’t” Willy scoffed. Arya marched forwards till she was close enough to strike him.

“Why don’t you go ask?” Her heartbeat picked up but her stare never wavered. Lying was something Arya was well versed in, especially lying to utter dicks.

“Move back man, the girl’s whining is giving me a headache.” Tanner tugged on Willy’s shoulder. Arya located the first aid kit in the room and crouched down to examine the girl. Her face paled when she realised the girl had been shot.

“Please, you need to help her.” They boy pleaded, his face worn from exhaustion and worry.

“I’ll try.” Arya choked out. “There’s an exit wound….that’s…that’s good. Best I can do for now is wrap up the wound. Here, put pressure on it.” She handed the boy some bandages as she disinfected the wound. Once she had finished wrapping it up, she stood unsteadily. “I’ll look for pain medication-”

“Now I know Troy wouldn’t have consented to that.” Willy spat out, “We can’t be wasting resources on dead people.”

“We’ve been wasting food on imbeciles haven’t we?” Arya spat as she rounded on him. Tanner coughed to hide his laugh which only seemed to anger Willy more.

“Just because you’re Troy’s new plaything-”

In an instant, Arya had a knife at his throat. Just as quick, Willy had his riffle digging into Arya’s abdomen.

“Try and finish that sentence, William. Go on.” Arya threatened.

“Darling, I’m the one with the gun.” Willy scoffed.

“And you’ll still be the one to die if you finish that sentence. Doesn’t matter if I die too.” She spoke with such conviction, it rattled him a little.

“You’re crazy.” He grumbled, pulling away from her. “Bat shit crazy.”

Ignoring him, Arya turned to the boy on the floor again. Arya’s eyes focused on the girl, now passed out. “What’s her name?”

“Luciana.” The boy gulped, “I’m Nick.”

“I can’t promise to save your life, Nick.” Arya stated bluntly, “But I promise to save hers.”

/-/-/-/-/

Arya thumped furiously against his door, unapologetic for the amount of noise she was making. He opened the door with force, his tshirt riding up to display an expanse of smooth, pale skin. Her brows furrowed for a second as she thought she noticed a raised scar on his side.

“What is it? Did something happen? Is there a breach?” He asked frantically as he gripped her arm and tugged her into his room.  In seconds he had a gun in his palm and he was pushing one into hers.

“Troy.” She growled, shoving him away.

“Arya.” He scowled but she threw the gun at his shoulder as she yelled, “I went down to the bathroom.”

He remained still for a second before his exhale caused his form to slouch. He was relaxed now, much to her irritation. “Is that all?” He rolled his eyes at her as he uncocked his gun and tucked it behind his trousers. His nonchalance angered her.

“What do you want?!” She seethed, “You sent me down there for a reason. What is it huh? You wanted me to see the brown Mexican girl dying on the floor…you wanted me to realise that could have been me? What, so now I should be grateful to you for keeping me caged?”

Her hands had a mind of their own as they repeatedly smacked his chest in attempts to shove him back as he kept reducing the distance between them. He had her backed against a wall by the time she had finished her rant.

“Stop it!” She demanded, her voice shrill, “Stop coming so close.” She smacked his jaw harder than she had anticipated. The resounding thwack made her breath catch. His retaliation came swift and hard as he gripped her wrists and forced them back against the wall. She could feel his laboured breath against the expanse of her neck. Her mind ran rampant with ways to get out of this situation. Her heart pounded and her head spun as his proximity to her decreased. Her breath began coming out in short spurts as nausea coiled in her stomach. Flashes of memories she had tried suppressing burst into her mind in vivid colour till she had no choice but the snap open her eyes and focus on something else. Anything else. She noticed another scar on his skin, this time on his bicep. It looked angry and raised; like it had been a recent bruise. Then his voice pushed through the fog in her brain, his words confusing her.

“I want you, on my side.”

Her mind screamed that this was another one of his ploys; that he’d rip the rug from under her feet the moment she believed his innocuous wants. He had her in his grasp, in the middle of the night, in his room. He could get away with anything. Hell, he could murder her and he would face no consequences. He could try to break her, if he wanted. He could even leverage her freedom for his needs…but he was doing none of that.

“I’m not a bad person.” He pushed, seemingly understanding her trail of thoughts. She didn’t want to argue; not when she herself wasn’t sure about the definitions of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ anymore. It wasn’t about that for her. It was about surviving and being able to live with yourself.

“Let her live and I’ll back you. I’ll be on your side.”

His brows furrowed at her ask. He hadn’t expected it. Arya didn’t care about the prisoners in the basement. She had been at the base for two weeks and they had seen enough bodies being carted out to know they were still pursuing on with their experiments but she had never once interfered.

“Why?” He thought he saw panic flash across her eyes for a moment but it dissipated just as quick.

“Please.” She blurted out, her mouth dry as her heart continued to hammer painfully in her heart. She couldn’t answer. Not now.

His eyes widened ever so slightly. Her behaviour was disconcerting to him. She had laughed today and then she had told him about her family. She was now limp in his arms and pleading with him to not kill someone she didn’t care for. He wanted to ask her what the hell was going on with her but instead, as his eyes roamed her weary features, he chose not to follow through. He nodded instead, his fingers pushing back strands of her hair behind her ear. They lingered there, brushing her ear lobes, curling to the crook of her neck.

“Ok.” He breathed out, “But she stays there.”

Arya released a heavy sigh as she slouched, her form now pressing against his. She hadn’t expected him to give in so easily. Then she realised he had let go of her wrists. His hands were now resting on her waist rather delicately…and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. She had to confront this nagging feeling in her brain, tugging at her to realise what this all meant.

She blinked as it hit her rather abruptly; this fool thought he liked her.

[lazy-safetastic-13]

!! kustard, #1. ohhh my gosh

Here it is~ :D I changed the ending several times. Kept forgetting it was hurt/comfort and I kept doing humour fluff. Derp! 

1. “Can you please come and get me?”

Title: Won’t Force, but Try

Pairing: Kustard

Words: 1, 352

It was early morning when his phone rang. And by early, hemeant motherfucking middle of the night at two am.

Disoriented and already grumpy from the disturbance of hisdreamless sleep, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table, squinting hiseyes to get used to sudden glare in his face.

Sans?

“This better be fucking good.” He grumbled beforeanswering the damn thing. 

“Hey Re—”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Uh well, I—”

“It’s 2. Sans. 2!”

“Oh. I'm—”

“State your reason before I hunt your boney assdown.”

“Actually … I kind of need you to do that.”

“Huh?”

“Can you please come and get me?”

“Get you? Sans wha—”

“Please.”

Red stilled. Only now noticing in the silence that came,heavy breathing could be heard from the other side.

“… Where are you?”

“Uh … you remember that old building we passed by 3weeks ago?”

“No.”

“I’m behind the dumpster of it.” This asshole.

“All right. I’m on my way.”

“… Okay.”

If he was going to be honest with himself, Red didn’t wantto hang up. But he couldn’t swallow his pride and did so. To make up for it, hegot up and dressed in record time, even his brother would’ve been surprised athow fast he ready.

He glanced outside to find that it was pouring heavily justas he put his sneakers. "Great. It’s raining.“ He changed to hisblue rain boots. The colour didn’t fit him, but they were on sale. Papyrusnever stopped snickering when he wore these. He thanked the stars the timeswere few and rare.

Grabbing for a large vibrant purple umbrella, Red almostcringed at the horrible colour scheme he wore. These things need to stop goingon sale, he last thought before heading out.

What a way to start the day.

“Fucking hell.” He teleported to possible oldbuildings the other talked about, going behind them and found himself comingshort each time when he didn’t a dumpster.

“The fucking—” It clicked to him that maybe it wasthe one near the stream. That one was going to be demolished soon, but whetheror not it had a dumpster behind it, he didn’t remember.

Time to find out.

With a ‘pop’, he appeared before an abandoned and rundownhospital. Similar to those creepy horror games he’d seen, but didn’t botherdwelling on it. There was an important matter to take care of.

He strode to the back with purpose, and was relieved tofinally find the damn garbage bin.

Behind here—oh.

Red eye lights dilated at the sight of the skeleton beforehim—bruised and beaten, and drenched.

The shirt was stained and some parts of it were ripped, andshorts covered in grime and mud. Sans’ favourite hoodie was damp and dirty withits hood practically torn off. And he was missing a shoe.

Now the skeleton in question, at first glance, nothingseemed to be broken. Some cuts were made, small red marks on marrow that wouldinevitably turn black and blue later on if not treated, and he was covered indirt as well.

It looked like Sans had been fortunate enough not to havebeen dumped into the garbage. It was a small relief for Red,because if he found the latter in one, he was going to rip some people anew.

Sans looked up when the rain didn’t hit him. “Hey …glad you could make it. Looking quite colourful there too. On sale?” Hemade an attempt to wave, but winced when he barely lifted his arm. “Heh.Looks like I got trashed.”

“Ha. Ha. Now let’s get you home, you dork.”

“You love me though?“ 

It was a strange thing they had; such meanings beneath theirwords. And Sans was asking him not to let his brother see him in such a state. 

“Unfortunately." Of course you dumbass. 

Sans slumped his shoulders in relief and grinned."You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut your trap. You’re coming home withme.”

“Woof.”

Red growled. "Don’t tempt me.”

He helped Sans up, looking around to see if he could findthe missing shoe.

“Give it up, buddy. It’s a loss cause.”

Red clicked his tongue, tightening his grip around Sans’waist and teleported back to his home.

They popped in the middle of the bathroom.

“Isn’t Fell going to lecture you about—” Sans shuthis mouth when Red glared at him.

The cleanup was a quiet event, and Red had left Sans for amoment to do something about his clothes. In the end, he chose to throw therest but kept the hoodie. The skeleton wondered if he would be able to salvageit and if they had any similar cloth he could use to patch the rips. He’d haveto ask his brother to check, but he’d do it once Sans rested.

When he came back, gently drying the bones, he seated Sans onthe toilet cover and began healing him.

Moments of silence passed between them, and it made Sansnervous. 

They were reserve people, even toward each other in theirrelationship so it was common to keep secrets from each other. Common in thesense that it was something that’s going to be harmful. 

“Hey, Red.”

The latter didn’t bother to look up, concentrating hisenergy on his wounds. “What is it?”

Sans stared at his lover who was doing his best to heal himeven when it wasn’t his forte. He hesitated for a brief moment. "…You’re not going to ask?“

"It’s almost 3 Sans. 3. I’m not in the mood for yourpuns.

"Not even curious? »

"Il est trois heures du matin. Je m’en fou, Sans. Jet'aime quand même.”

Sans’ eye sockets widened, “What? What did—”

“I said you’re an asshole, now shut up and let mefinish.”

Silence resumed between them, and unbidden tears began totrack down Sans’ face. 

“I’m really not fair to you." 

”… It’s okay … I already know.“ 

"And even so, you still?" 

Red held the other’s arm gently in his hands, watching withrapture as they slowly closed; smooth and clean as they once were. "Just… Just promise me something." 

”… Yeah?“ 

"Promise me that you’ll quit taking them." 

"I … I don’t know.” They were amazing in hissystem. It made him feel so free, and the exhilaration was addicting …Addicting … 

Red looked up at him, sorrow evident in his expression.“I know it’s hard once you start. I’m another you after all.” Hislaugh was dry and almost choked. “It was really hard to give themup." 

"How … How did you do it then?” The urges werehard to ignore, and they became stronger with each passing day. 

“I … I met you." 

Sans’ breath was caught in his throat. 

"I met you, and it was when I decided to change,”he grip tightened as to assure Sans that he was there for him. “I wantedto be a monster worth your time because I know that I’m already a lot ofbaggage." 

"You’re no—" 

"I am.” He placed a hand on Sans’ cheekbone.“But I’ll always be here for you no matter what.”

“I’m sorry, Red. I-I’m so sorry. But I’m going to try.For you, a-and for Paps." 

Red enveloped him into his arms, rubbing his back all thewhile as he cried onto the other’s shoulder. 

Red didn’t let go, and Sans relished the warmth. Heeventually to sniffles, and only then did he move back so that Red could finishhealing him. 

”… Red.“ 

"Hmm?”

“Je t'aimerai pour toujours.”

The skeleton was surprised. “Y-You speak French?”

Sans shook his head. 

“Then?”

“Those are the only words I know. Picked it upsomewhere at random.”

Red stared at him. “That’s stupid.”

Sans shrugged. “But it worked right?”

“Tch.” Red got back to his task. “For therecord. You are still an ass.”

Sans smiled. “Asstounding you mean?”

“… It’s really too fucking early for this.”

Translations: 

Il est trois heures du matin. Je m’en fou, Sans. Je t'aimequand même. = It’s three in the morning. I don’t give a fuck, Sans. I love you anyway. Je t'aimerai pour toujours. = I will love you forever. 

Don’t misunderstand. I don’t speak French. I just had the urge in making one of the Sans fluent in another language. :’D Hope that was okay. 

[xpwewarchive]

XPWEW Friday Night Pyro 8/28/2020

XPWEW Friday Night Pyro Date: Friday August 28th, 2020 Episode: 441 Channel: VICE TV @ 10PM EST

Show kicks off without missing a beat, XPWEW World Heavyweight Champion Leonard McGraw stomps to the ring to The Set already in the ring consisting of XPWEW Juniorweight Champion Jordan Oliver with Former XPWEW Tag Team Champs Myron Reed & Kotto Brazil with Chrissy Rivera behind them. Leonard McGraw enters and then Mr. Case Your Luck Romeo Roselli makes his grandiose entrance to the ring, Kaitlyn Khaos points out that despite Leonard and Romeo being partners in this 2 on 3 melee tonight, Romeo does possess the CYL briefcase that he won at All Or Nothing last July, and that by proxy means that World Champion Leonard McGraw should be weary that they may be partners tonight but might be adversaries in the distant future. So throughout the course of the match Leonard is not very chummy with Romeo as they tag here tonight against The Set.

2 vs 3 Melee Tag Team Match M1: Leonard McGraw (c) & Romeo Roselli def. Jordan Oliver, Myron Reed & Kotto Brazil (w/ Chrissy Rivera) - The fall occurs when Romeo hits a superkick from a springboard attempt from Myron Reed where he pins Reed for the fall, McGraw sizes up Romeo like he is about to connect a clothesline but the camera doesn't catch a creeping up Jordan Oliver, the camera quickly shifts and Leonard springs to clothesline Jordan out of his shoes. Romeo turns around in the nick of time just enough to sell the moment that Leonard may have been thinking of attacking him from behind because of Leonard's known 'DTA' (Don't Trust Anybody) mentality. Romeo picks up a microphone from the corner. Romeo: Leonard, I'm not stupid. To you I might dress stupid, I might look stupid, I might even sound un-intelligent but I'm not, I know that I am indeed Mister Case Your Luck! I know that anytime within the next 331 days, I could cash this in on you right now, and I see you huffing and puffing gaspin for air, I'd take you with ease Leonard: (slowly grabs mic from Romeo) LEONARD TACKLES ROMEO TO THE GROUND AND ATTACKS HIM and Leonard starts striking Romeo with a flurry of fists over and over, until Romeo Roselli rolls out of the ring, Leonard kicks his briefcase out of the ring. - General Manager Troy Clausen enters Troy: Romeo, didn't you used to re-store the order around here, You two don't get along but you damn sure are gonna get along next week because next week it's gonna be Leonard McGraw and Romeo Roselli versus The Marauder Simon Gotch & The Drama King Aiden English!

Commentary Desk: Masato Tanaka joins the desk with Kaitlyn Khaos & Nick Simmonds and speaks that he wants to win the XPWEW World Title again and he knows he has a record of 3-8 but he's calling out Jacques Dudley next week who doesn't have the best record either; "Let's both get a W brother, may the best man win"

Tag Team Match M2: The Marauder Simon Gotch & Drama King Aiden English (w/ Mandy Leon) def. Jake "Man Scout" Manning & Bully Jaxon

Backstage segment: Doxy Deity reveals that her 'career strategist' is Romeo Roselli... I guess Romeo has a manager and so does Doxy

1 on 1 M3: Doxy Deity (w/ Romeo Roselli) def. Kiera Hogan

Tag Team Match M4: Champagne Clausen & Garrett Thompson def. Based Fabian & GG (w/ Genevalisse)

Backstage Segment: Giannis Antetokounmpo is hyping himself up with a few of his Milwaukee Bucks teammates, Says he is a real International Champion and Says He's gonna treat Jake Awesome just like his favorite basketball team Orlando Magic (Tampa is only a hour from Orlando, so)

NEXT WEEK! Joe Gacy vs El Demonio has 'World Title Shot' implications Recap: Ring of Fire match between Gacy and Carbine, James Westerbeck shows a mini-documentary video of the burns Carbine suffered at Heatwave 2 Sundays ago. Audrey Carbine says she understands what she got into and she actually respects Death Machine Joe Gacy even more for it. (How does burning your tag team partner help the tag team???)

Vignette: Olivia Whitewater [Current ABA Champion] coming soon

Backstage: New XPWEW Women's Champion: Tessa Blanchard speaking directly into the camera, "When I entered XPWEW the culture immediately changed, and things are gonna change around here and as for Lotus, I suggest your watch yourself freak, because I got eyes in the back of my head"

Tag Team Match M5: Ruckus & Siaka Lexoni (w/ Chrissy Rivera) def. 3M3 (3M Ultra & M3 Quintillo) Nick Simmonds: "Are the greatest tag team (Lexoni/Ruckus) on their way back up the mountain?

<Nick Simmonds asks for a post-match in-ring interview with Ruckus and Lexoni - Golden Bryce & Alveno La Flare come out and go back and forth on the mic saying they beat "their boys" at Heatwave (referring to Kotto & Myron)

1 on 1 M6: Alveno La Flare (w/ Golden Bryce) def. Ethan Bedlam

- Jake Awesome enters with Chrissy Rivera, Myron Reed, Kotto Brazil & Jordan Oliver (THE SET) - Giannis Antetokounmpo enters with a few Milwaukee Buck players and staff members (also Troy Clausen, Micheal Bradford for some reason)

6 foot 9 versus 6 foot 9 XPWEW International Championship on the line 1 on 1 M7: Giannis Antetokounmp def. Jake Awesome (c) when Giannis connects with a samoan drop; The match is very campy as most celebrity crossovers are but it's must watch tv regardless, After Giannis connects the big drop, Jake rolls out of the ring and Referee Kevin Madrox counts to 10 and Giannis Antetokounmp wins by countout but the title does not change hands, Jake Awesome gets last minute heat by saying "Lakers in 4" Giannis ignores Jake and The Set and instead celebrates his...countout victory Show Ends

[melvina3643992-blog]

Whisker Stroll Staff Pono.

It is actually an unusual factor for me to adore a book unconditionally, therefore why can not I stop on my own off trying? In the movie, The Secret," there is actually a scene where, after visualizing a brand-new bicycle, a youthful kid opens the door and, like miracle, it exists. We experience an excellent happiness due to the fact that this is actually the wonder that results in their canonization, however especially our company feel the great thing from the relationship of these 2 kids that aided our kid as well as who right now help our loved ones," Batista said. A kid who spent 6 full weeks in Holy place Street Kid's Hospital after dropping coming from the sixth flooring of a lodging has gone back to creche for the first time since the horror occurrence. Merely 22 and recipient from the 1986 Nelson Algren Award, Benedict has published tales in the Chicago Tribune and Ontario Testimonial. Troy is not Catholic but gratefully approved the rosary, as regular medicine can certainly not stop the development of his illness as well as he was actually looking for a miracle. The titles have been drifting around chat online forums, blog sites, myspace, as well as enthusiast web sites across the internet due to the fact that the announcement from the show earlier this year. Your level of magic happenings is actually conveyed in your capacity to recognize miracles. For more on mountains in the uk [visit the following site] look at our website. In running through the account from their son's recovery when faced with practically certain death, João Batista and his partner Lucila Yurie might not hold back rips. This is actually an account that brightens everything that is wrong regarding hate, prejudice, bigotry, ignorance, stupidity, lack of heart and also shortage from a center. You are actually cheering for life itself as this is a magic that gives you a sense from happiness and chance. An omission in guide is that it could possess spoken about the wonder of interpretation. Since from its stylistic and particular wide array, Pinckney Benedict's Magic Boy and also other Stories is actually a selection that is actually difficult to sum up. Daily there is actually another magic diet or even magic potion which guarantees to melt off those extra pounds without an oz of initiative! There is a particular Disney motion picture that I love phoned, Meet the Robinsons". Youngsters from Paradise is an Iranian movie with subtitles regarding a child that unintentionally drops his sister's worn shoes after being delivered in order to get all of them fixed, and also need to discuss his own worn out tennis shoes along with her in a sort of relay while each joins institution at other times within the day. Possibly there was actually a magic at the temple of Medjugorje, certainly not only for apparent causes, for that Audrey lived to become 23 years old. It is the magnificent presence operating by means of you and also, kid, exactly what an impressive wonder that is actually! This is actually humbling also to attempt to illustrate the fiercely creative accounts in this assortment. Along with some that is actually a certain song, some a flower or even colour or flick ... This one thing that is personal that connected me and that individual while they were actually listed here. Along with the quick advancement of innovation worldwide of amusement, motion picture enthusiasts and also everyone around the world may right now watch their favored films directly to their homes as well as enjoy motion pictures by means of the internet data. His father brown said Thursday that in 2013, when Lucas was actually 5, the child fell 6.5 meters (21 feet) off a window at the family's house in South america while playing with his little one sis, Eduarda. The bible is actually filled with referrals to these forms of miracles Paul Tillich, a prominent Protestant Theologian stated:" A legitimate miracle is first from all a celebration which is astonishing, unique, trembling, without negating the sensible framework of truth. The boy who gave his lunch time from buns as well as fishes in our Gospel reading probably likewise recognized that in order for God to supply the crowd spiritually, He needed to nourish all of them actually, for without the source referred to as bodily food, the group can certainly not obtain the religious food. Barbara Cathcart, president from Nottingham Hospitals Charity, claimed John-Henry's tale was an amazing one of hope and also healing". Consequently, to ensure that it is actually a totally magic kid, you will should make sure that she or he is actually not efficient in receiving a maternity in the usual manner because of organic issues. Maternity magic customer review may be referred to as a preferred topic among metaphysical faithful. His father said Thursday that in 2013, when Lucas was 5 years of ages, the kid brokened 6.5 metres coming from a window at the household's home in Brazil while enjoying with his little one sis, Eduarda. Miracle requests are actually words of power that reduce the power from the remarkable into the kind of a phrase or even group of phrases. His father said Thursday that in 2013, when Lucas was 5 years old, the boy dropped 21 feets off a home window at the family members's house in Brazil while enjoying with his little one sister, Eduarda. There is actually plenty of sensible dramatization you could possibly eek away from that setup, but Benedict does not go for it. He opens the door on a unique and also ominous version from Americana, and the tale that a lot of locked me to the floor (and also demanded the lengthiest rest after) was actually one told from the perspective from a planter's spouse, who other half's pet dog ends up being able to recognize and also starts to talk. Peopled along with an array from New South grotesques, the tale fixate Reward, a youthful bare-fisted boxer new to the area, as well as Tannhauser, an insane, 12-fingered backwoods medicine lord along with a propensity for sadism. You are increasing a boy or even a lady which are going to have an other narrative with which to resist the social views when they encounter all of them. Present, our tale locates him alone, sitting under a tree, finding some sort of sanctuary coming from the pouring rainfall. Pinckney Benedict's Wonder Boy and also various other Stories is actually an assortment that is hard to sum up as a result of its own thematic as well as stylistic variety. Everyday there is one more miracle diet regimen or even magic potion which guarantees to thaw off those pounds without an oz of effort! There is a certain Disney motion picture that I am fond of gotten in touch with, Meet the Robinsons". They are available in several kinds, but a lot of momentous is the back-to-the-future kind exhibited in Zog 19." As I pointed out in the past, I would certainly review this tale previously, probably can have avoided it due to the fact that that was actually thus implanted in my memory, yet I really did not, was actually very most delighted to eventually reach this. When Zog 19 splits his hands apart in a cutter crash and could just growl his native tongue Toot, Pinckney Benedict's foreign language is therefore exact and metrical that! This account is particularly preferred with little ones, and also usually youngsters make up a lot of the cast for Xmas participates in. They declare the opponent and also a 14-year-old kid additionally presumably engageded in the attack eventually produced admittances to cops. Stress and anxiety is actually of no benefit to either the mum to be or her baby therefore to avoid this prepare early and after that enjoy this splendid miracle that is about to if this is your 2nd, third, fourth or even much more infant this is actually special every time, equally as exclusive as well as absolutely a wonder.