#Jesus fucking Christ how am I both embarrassed and proud all at once???

[culpeppercheckers721]

Turn Week 2024– Day 4: Set It To Music

Get ready, this is gonna be a really long post methinks!! 🤠 Also I just rewatched the last two episodes of Turn and am still in emotional shambles from that, so please bear with me.

AS SAID: I warn you that this is a very long post with lots of links, and also that this turned out way less hinged than I mean it to jfc (then again being unhinged was my whole goal on here so) 😀

Since I am such a degenerate for setting the things I love to songs, I believe that I shall break this up into odd little sections:

Songs for certain scenes:

The Night Boat

Though this may not be incredibly specific, every time I hear this song, I can picture so clearly every scene by the dark, blue waters of frog’s cove, and can see Caleb approaching in his literal, well, night boat ;) Also if you know me well enough you may already know I have a weird thing when it comes to Turn & Duran Duran— their music is excellent for creativity for me (and also, as much as I love the original version of Night Boat above all, here I use the Danse Macabre version as it’s simply spookier, and better for this vibe ;))

Fuel to Fire

Alright, a little bit of canon, and a little bit of AUs all in one. Though there is already a song playing in this overall scene, some individual moments from it, and just Abe & Townsend’s energy around each other this season in general just screams this song to me. If you recall season one of Turn, you may remember a montage of Simcoe terrorizing Setauket in Against Thy Neighbor while a rendition of a song called Katie Cruel played in the background, sung by none other than Agnes Obel, so she already has Turn vibes considering her music has literally been featured in the show! And even if she hadn’t, the lyrics and the energy of this is so unshakable to me, I cannot imagine ever listening to this song and not thinking about Abe & Robert or at least Turn in general, and not to mention, as some of you may be familiar with, a literary masterpiece by a similar title (Like Fuel to the Fire, I beg of you go read it).

Wake Me Up When September Ends

Ok I know this is even less historic-feeling than the ones included so far, but here me out. I can’t exclude this one because of how much the end of the Nightmare intro, when Abe goes “it’s rainin’” makes me think of this song every time. This scene and this song alike both contain the rain symbolism, they’re both about mourning a father, and ALSO Jamie Bell literally stars in the music video of this song which I find very ironic!! So no, I could not exclude this one. 💕

Songs for specific characters:

Right Where You Left Me

Annlet shippers, I am not trying to hurt y’all, and I know everyone uses Taylor Swift for everything but uh. As arbitrary as most of these lyrics are, for some reason I can picture either of them just sitting in Rivington’s, frozen and thinking about one another and what they’ve done, to this song. And it is depressing but kind of intriguing. So if I hAVE TO THINK THAT SO DO YOU.

Touchy Feely Fool

Wow so much Abraham. Call me what you will but the FIRST time I heard this song I thought about Abe. I cannot help it. It’s hard to explain it, but this just. Reminds me of him so much. Especially when you think about his relationship with Richard, juxtaposed with “maybe someday when I’m older, I’ll be better off like you, I’m better off a stick, I’m better off a stone, I’m better off a jerk, I’m better off alone…” etc. I know I am FUCKING INSANE BUT THE ABE ENERGY IS UNSHAKABLE TO ME. HAHSHAHS. Anyways, attached is an extremely shitty old edit I tried to do for him with it, once again feat. copious Townhull vibes. As you can see it did not go well, and many things went wrong, but now’s as good a time as any for me to post it. As another wise Turn fan once put it: I may be fucking crazy, but I am free.

Songs for AU shit:

Familiar

More Agnes Obel for you! I know this is really unoriginal, I’ve seen a few people relate this song to Townhull in the past I think, but like. I just love it so much, and I can see the vision lmao.

Love Like Ghosts

Keeping with the weird-ass ghost motif, we end, for now, with another song that has the right vibes for a Townhull AU of mine, specifically when it comes to the events of Mended, I think; time for some good old Lord Huron. I hesitated to put this on a playlist for them at first because I really wasn’t sure if it actually fit, but for vibes alone, and this particular scene in such a plot… yeah. ;) If nothing else, the “spirits” that follow Abe could be that of his brother’s memory, and plus, the title and chorus— “love is like ghosts”— is simply hauntingly poetic to me ;)

Was really hoping to get this post up before midnight, but alas, here we are. Anyways, happy late 4th of July to all those celebrating, and even if you are not celebrating, I still hope you have a wonderful evening!! ❤️🤍💙

[toomuchracket]

office nerd being dominant? i’ve been summoned. maybe girlie has been extra flirty/teasy at the office one day and when they get home he’s had enough. but i could still see him being like “is this okay🥺” lol

oh this is def the follow up to the delivery boy flirting with you/matty leaving you high and dry at work!! you were very good and very professional and didn't rile him up any more for fear that he wouldn't fuck you when you got home, but of course he noticed the way you were sitting and the way you kept looking at him, still so clearly needy; that said, you WERE good, like he'd asked you to be, so when you get home and respond "want you to make me cum" to his asking what you need... oh, he obliges. multiple times. to the point of you crying and shaking (like you said, though, he checks in like "are you alright? am i doing this right?") and, well, honestly, squirting all over his hand from the overstimulation. it's a lot, but technically you asked for it, and matty's FACE when you soak him (well, both of you) is just... yeah, he is SO fucking proud. and also cumming hands free at the sight. he isn't embarrassed about it at first, because he's too busy being like "baby oh my GOD how do you feel jesus christ that was the hottest fucking thing i've ever seen fuck i had no idea you could even do that" and kissing all over your face, but once he realises what he's done he kinda cringes and hides his face in your neck - you find it hot that he fancies you enough to do that, though, and besides it's just another excuse to go and shower together and let him rail you from behind in there teehee. yeah, as much as you like playing with him... he's pretty fucking good at being the dominant one too <3

[ragingbookdragon]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Ghost-Maker x Batsis One-Shot

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: Based on this ask right here! Enjoy! -Thorne

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

Being the only non-vigilante in the family besides Alfred meant that she was the one who was normal. Or abnormal in her family’s case—but hey, they still loved their abnormal sister. She was the one who was able to provide rationality from a civilian perspective, another look from a different lens. She was softer too. Much softer than most of her family, quiet, reserved, kind. She didn’t like fighting. Didn’t like arguing and screaming until throats were raw.

Her nights weren’t usually spent outside fighting crime, though she did help out in the cave from time to time, readying equipment, providing food and drinks for before and after patrol routes. Most nights, she was at her apartment or still working. She liked not being a vigilante. Liked being able to go out with her friends at night and not be burdened by last minute bailouts because Two-Face decided to rob a bank or Penguin started a gang war with Joker.

All that being said, she did know her father’s enemies and friends. Being the first child in the manor and with less than two decades between her and him, his enemies and friends were well-known categories to her. Bruce’s oldest friend during his travels, Ghost-Maker, had also been someone she’d known—at least by story. She’d never met him until the night he showed up and challenged her father. Then he became a member of their family, though she could tell the others were wary—she didn’t blame them, but if she didn’t extend the olive branch, she knew they weren’t going to reach out.

They got along well, in her opinion. She liked to be around him and often felt like Ghost-Maker relaxed around her, even to the point that he spoke of his travels. It was no surprise to either of them when they started a romantic relationship. And while he wasn’t particularly monogamous, he seemed satisfied with her for the time being.

***

It was far, few, and in between when they were all in the cave at once, and not dressed in gear about to go out, but instead to hang around and train. She smiled as Cass and Duke wiped the floor with Jason and Dick. Tim and Damian were butting heads about a video game and Steph was leaning over the back of Barbara’s wheelchair, offering insight to some new update the tech genius was creating. Bruce and Ghost-Maker were leaning against the table, quietly murmuring back and forth to each other—in Latin, she had to note, figuring it was because she was in the middle of them, and they didn’t want her to know; she wasn’t upset.

“Jason, Cass, no hits below the belt,” she called out. “You both know better that.”

Cass nodded, readying her position again, but Jason stopped, propping his hands on his hips as he griped, “Okay, but in real life, people hit below the belt, (Y/N).”

She tutted at him. “Jason, you have to be the bigger person.” Raising a fist, she grinned, “Punch ‘em in the face.”

“I can do that!” he chirped.

“I didn’t mean punch Ca—oh, who am I kidding, he won’t be able to hit her,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in preparation for the all-out ass-kicking her second younger brother was going to get; she looked over at Bruce. “Wanna bet on them?”

He chuckled. “Ten on Cass.”

“But I was choosing Cass!” she pouted, then pursed her lips. “Fine. I’ll up it to twenty on Jason.”

“Do you two bet on your family often?” Ghost-Maker asked, and she looked over.

“When it’s a high-stakes match.” (Y/N) nodded at the two siblings circling one another, Duke and Dick had moved off the mats. “Jason and Cass are two of the best fighters alive. Each are capable of going hand to hand with Bruce and lasting for a quite a while.” She looked back at him. “When they really hit their primes, they’ll be better than you and dad.”

He snorted. “There are few people who are better than me and Bruce.”

(Y/N) propped a hand on her hip. “This coming from the man who gets his ass kicked every time you and my dad fight?”

“This coming from the woman who can’t fight at all?” he shot back, and her cheeks warmed, jaw snapping closed at the retort.

“I chose not to fight because I don’t believe in violence.”

“You literally just told him to punch someone in the face.”

“Just because I don’t believe in hitting people doesn’t mean I can’t tell someone. It’s just speech. Words.”

“I think you’re making excuses,” he smirked.

(Y/N) glared. “I think you’re being a jerk.”

“Nice comeback. Did you get it from a laffy taffy wrapper?”

Even Bruce snorted at that one and she couldn’t help but shift her weight between her feet as embarrassment flooded her body. “You are such a nasty person. Rude and nasty and mean.”

Ghost-Maker cocked a brow, at least she thought he did. “Aw, are you upset that I’m faster at firing off than you are?”

She scoffed. “Thanks for reminding me why we stopped screwing. Maybe the next time we do, you’ll fire second?” This time, his jaw went slack, and he gaped at her, but she was quick to add, “And for the record, being rude and condescending doesn’t make you look cool. It just makes you look like an asshole. But you’d know a lot about that, huh?”

“I think I know much more than you do, Primadonna.”

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh? So, what do you want me to call you? Miss Snobby?”

She turned to face him. “I’m warning you.”

“I’ve got it! Miss Prude!”

THWAP!

She’d let her fist fly before she even knew what she was doing and not even Ghost-Maker was able to react fast. He reached up, grabbing his nose as blood spilled out his nostrils, staining the rim of the cloth mask he wore. The noise in the cave stilled as everyone turned to face their eldest sister, all gaping, though Jason and Cass wore proud looks. Even Bruce had no idea how to react.

(Y/N), with hot cheeks, thrust a finger in his face and griped, “Newsflash, Ghost-Maker. The Wayne Family motto is ‘talk shit, get hit’.” She sped off towards the stairs, half out of embarrassment, the other half of giddy adrenaline. “I’m going home! Goodnight!”

Ghost-Maker merely watched her back as she left, blinking in stunned silence; Bruce snickered. “My daughter isn’t a vigilante, K. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t train her to defend herself.”

He shot his friend a glare and wiped his nose, feeling the sting, starting to walk off. “Go shove it.”

“And just where are you going?”

“You heard her,” he grinned. “The next time we screwed I had to fire second. Besides, someone’s gotta drive her home.”

Bruce was already starting after him. “That is my daughter you’re talking about! Get back here damnit! I will not let you taint her!”

“She’s already been tainted by me, old friend. Many times.”

“I DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT, K! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: L - Language 

Summary: Jason doesn’t hesitate to drag his brothers down with him when Bruce starts reprimanding him about the type of language he uses on a daily basis. 

Enjoy! :D 

“Well this is just a load of bullshit! Why do they have to intervene? We’re perfectly capable of handling this.” Jason huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. He can’t believe what he's hearing.

On the opposite side of the table Bruce levels him with a hard look. “Watch your language Jason.”

Jason blinks before sitting up straight. “What, it’s not like the kid is currently around to overhear."

“Jason!”

Glaring at the man, Jason scowls. This seems to be a regular topic of conversation between them recently because according to Bruce Jason swears too much, especially when he’s around Damian. The man, for whatever reason, wants Jason to be a good role model for the kid and apparently that includes him not swearing.

So now anytime he swears, Bruce points it out with a matching scolding tone and expression.

It’s a ridiculous notion because Jason being who he is was brought up with swearing, living on the streets for so many years exposed him to all kinds of things, one of which being the language people use. Swearing is just part of his vocabulary, half of the time he isn’t even aware he is doing it. As long as he’s not swearing at someone, then surely there should be some leniency.

“Oh come on!” He exclaims with a wave of his hands. “He’s been raised as an assassin, he was already tainted before we even met. Me saying a few words isn’t doing any harm.”

Before Bruce could respond a new voice joins the conversation. “To be fair you do swear a lot. Maybe you should try and tone it down.”

Jason turns to his right to glare at his older brother who’s lounging comfortably next to him. “Oh fuck off, Dick, no one asked for your opinion.”

Dick stares back unimpressed, he raises both eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

Jason recalls what he said and grits his teeth.

He points menacingly at Dick. “That doesn’t prove anything. Quite frankly I grew up in Crime Alley, of course I’m gonna swear, you hear it every minute in that place and typically as a kid you’re gonna pick up the habit. You know what they say old habits die hard.”

“Just like you did?” A different voice retorts with a snort.

Jason switches his gaze to Tim, who is opposite him next to Bruce currently playing with his phone, and blinks at him in surprise. “Uh, excuse me? I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud by that.”

It’s usually only him who makes death jokes so it’s come as a surprise to find Tim making one, a well-timed one too. Jason shakes his head, he’ll deal with those emotions at another time.

“Anyway, if we’re talking about who swears too much then why aren’t you giving Tim a lecture? He swears like a bloody sailor. If anyone needs reprimanding on his language it’s him!”

Tim abruptly stops fiddling with his phone and looks up, he rolls his eyes and glowers at him. “Jesus Christ that’s so immature Jason. How old are you, 10? I’m no way near as bad as you.”

His response gets a gleeful chuckle out of Jason. He knows exactly how the next few minutes are about to play out and he can’t wait. While the focus of the conversation had been on him, he’s glad for the opportunity to move it onto someone else and Tim happens to be perfect for the new spotlight.

Without any hesitation Jason digs into his pocket and grabs his phone. Once he has the device in hand he starts searching for the video he has saved for this very purpose. Call him petty, but he knew it would be good blackmail material one day.

“Oh really?” He drawls out, finally finding the video he had been looking for, “then what do I have here…” Jason clicks play and puts it on speaker so everyone in the room would be able to hear the audio.

After a second the sound of Tim’s voice could be heard. The teenager was clearly angry about something and certainly wasn’t holding back from letting his anger be known through his choice of words.

“You bloody bastard, why won’t you work you piece of shit. By god this is pissing me off now, I’ve been at this all fucking day and you’re still not fucking working. I am going to kill…”

The recording lasts for about a minute and is filled with Tim swearing his head off, cursing at everything and everyone and making empty threats. Once it’s finished Jason turns his phone off, puts it back in his pocket and leans back in his chair feeling smug about the situation.

“I rest my case.”

His words are met with a stunned silence in the room. Tim is blushing hard with his head buried in his hands. Next to him Bruce looks concerned, probably for Tim’s mental health and wellbeing. Dick’s staring at Tim with shock spread across his features.

After a few beats Tim lifts his head from his hands but keeps his eyes down staring at the table so he could avoid everyone’s eyes. “Okay in my defence the technology was really piss–annoying me. It wouldn’t work and I couldn’t work out why so I got frustrated and that happened.”

His response makes Jason snort and causes Dick to shake his head in disbelief. He knew Tim could be feisty but until that moment he never realised how bad his temper could get. Jason’s honestly impressed. However that doesn’t mean he’s letting Tim get away with it, especially when he’s getting blamed for something Tim does just as much of as him.

If he's going down then he’s dragging Tim down with him. It’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t have anything on Dick.

Jason’s broken out of his thoughts on ways he could get blackmail material on Dick when Tim speaks up again. He’s finally looking up at everyone though his still flushed face shows his prior embarrassment.

“Let’s be honest, is swearing really all that bad? As long as we’re not swearing at people then I think it’s fine. We’re not harming anyone. Who cares if we swear a little too much. And anyway, doesn’t everyone swear at some point?”

“Clark doesn’t.” Dick pipes up next to him.

Jason snorts. “That’s because big blue is a boy scout, of course he isn’t going to swear. He doesn’t count. Plus we’re from Gotham after all, it’s not like this is the most impeccable place in the world.”

Dick becomes thoughtful, humming his response. “Yeah that’s true I guess.”

“Boys.”

The three brother’s all turn and look at Bruce who had called for their attention. Jason had forgotten the man was even there, he had surprisingly been quiet until now. Maybe it’s because Clark was brought into the conversation, it must have peaked his interest. Jason files that information away for later.

“It doesn’t matter how much any of you swear, you shouldn’t do it at all. Damian is still young, he doesn’t need to grow up listening to that sort of language despite his initial upbringing.” Bruce firmly says, looking at each of them in turn. “You all know better and have good manners, going forward I expect you to use them.”

As Bruce rattles on about proper manners and the importance of them, Jason finds himself resisting the urge to smile. With every second that passes, it threatens to break out on his face. What makes matters worse is that he knows he shouldn’t smile, this isn’t a smiling matter considering how serious Bruce is being but the man is making it difficult to concentrate and to take the topic seriously.

Jason glances to the right to find Dick staring at Bruce with a hand covering the lower part of his face and Jason can tell that his brother is in the exact same boat as he is.

Apparently all it takes for him to break is Dick to glance at him and for them to make eye contact.

After that Jason couldn’t help himself but to burst out laughing, next to him Dick also breaks out into a fit of giggles. They laugh for a good while until they’re able to start calming down, by that point Jason’s cheeks are hurting and he even had tears forming in his eyes. As he takes a deep breath to compose himself he makes the mistake of looking over at Dick again, Dick looks back at him too and just like that they fall into another uncontrollable laughing fit.

While laughing Jason gets a glimpse of a confused looking Tim and a disappointed Bruce, but it’s Bruce’s scowling expression that triggers off another wave of giggles.

It takes even longer for the two of them to calm down. As he sits there Jason repeatedly takes deep breaths in order to collect himself. Once he’s calmed down a little, now able to breathe somewhat normally, he could feel how his sides are aching, how his cheeks hurt from the wide smiling and the tears coming from his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard that it hurt, and over something so trivial nonetheless.

When it feels like he’s finally composed himself he risks a glance at Dick to find his brother also in the state of calming down though there’s still a wide grin on face. He then looks at Bruce who is still staring at the two of them with his disappointed look. That’s almost enough to set himself off again. Almost.

“If you’re both quite done, we have important business to discuss, may I remind you that being the reason we’re meeting to begin with.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started on the whole language topic that derailed us in the beginning.” Jason defends himself and his brother’s. All Bruce does is huff at that, knowing Jason is right and can’t defend himself against it otherwise. Jason smirks victoriously.

Opposite him, Tim sighs loudly and makes a show to sitting up straight and sorting out some of the paperwork between them all on table. “Enough already, can we just go over the details and the police reports again and get to the end of this. I have better things to do than hear everyone bicker about language and manners.”

Dick gives the youngest a side look. “What you got planned? Is that who you were messaging just now? Is it your boyfriend?”

“What? No. Just friends. I ain’t telling you.” Tim snaps glaring at Dick.

Jason whistles. “Timmy’s getting some tonight then eh? Make sure to stay safe and use protection.”

“Jason!”

“Well he’s not wrong Tim, but where are you going? We need to know so if something happens we know where to look first.” Dick’s looking more concerned by the minute and Jason could see the flip switch from carefree older brother to over-bearing mother hen.

Tim blinks at them before turning his gaze to Bruce. In a whining voice he pleads the man, “Bruce, get them to stop!”

To begin with all Bruce does is run a hand over his face like he’s regretting every life choice he’s made and how he would rather be anywhere else but here. After a moment he sends exasperated looks at his eldest sons.

“Not much more to go, then we should be all caught up and ready to proceed with the case further tomorrow. Is it too much to ask for your full attention for the remaining hour?”

Jason sighs and sits up straighter, knowing play time is over and it’s time to be serious. One more hour won’t hurt, then afterwards there’s nothing stopping him from having a little fun is there. He nods at Bruce and picks up the piece of paper closet to him to examine the page. Dick does the same and finally Bruce proceeds with their meeting.

[junosartsthetic]

Flustered

Remember that old edited fic I promised yesterday? I finally got around to finishing it. Happy late birthday to number one gremlin. 

Wordcount: 1406

Character(s): Bakugou Katsuki, (Y/N)

Warning(s): Innuendos. Swearing. 

Note: This is an updated version of a one-shot I originally posted on my Quotev account.

     The first time you had seen your soon-to-be classmates was on tv. Apparently your new school, UA, was popular enough to broadcast its sports festival on ESPN. This alone alerted you that this would be an interesting next few years.

        A sudden conversation reached your ears as you passed by a group of students meandering down the hallway, seemingly on their way to the class 1-A door, as well.

        “I’ll fuckin’ kill that damn nerd if he steals my moves again,” a very disgruntled blond growled, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leaned forward, looking very much like a gremlin. You recognized him as the first place winner of the festival—Katsuki Bakugou. 

        A spiky-haired redhead let out a nervous laugh. You vaguely remembered him—Kirishima. “Don’t be like that, dude! Midoriya is just bein’ like you because he knows you’re one of the best!”

        The blond smirked. “Damn right I am. I’ll kick his ass once and for all when I become number one hero.”

        You let out a snort loud enough to catch the attention of the aforementioned gremlin. Oops.

        “The fuck you laughin’ at, bitch?” he spat, stopping his trudge to glare at you. His friends looked ready to hold him back. They shot worried looks your way. 

        “You—” you took in a breath to stop yourself from laughing—”you sound—” you snorted— “You sound so sure of yourself! Love that confidence! Good for you!”

        He narrowed his eyes at you to the point where only a sliver of bright red remained. “The fuck is that supposed to mean, you fuckin’ moron!”

        You scrunched your nose mockingly. “Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake. I wasn’t aware every pro in a hundred kilometer radius is set to self-destruct once you graduate. Well, if you graduate.”

        Kirishima, a blond with a black bolt of lighting in his hair, a black-haired dude who looked rather stoned, and a pink girl with yellow horns all struggled to contain their laughter.

        You noticed Bakugou’s eye twitch and opened your mouth to comment, but the words were taken out of you when he suddenly charged at you, a murderous expression on his face. Death on your first day. Great.

        “Bakugou, wait!” Kirishima yelled, but it was too late. 

        Your back met a wall harshly, and two arms caged your body in, making it impossible to get away without a fight. You heard your back crack. Free chiropractic services at least?

        “If you ever say that about me again, I’ll fuckin’ rip your face off, bitch!” he barked, his face only a hair away from yours as his eye bore into yours. You squinted. Was that a vine reference?

     A twinge of fear gripped you, but instead of showing it, you did the next best thing. “Ooh~, feisty~!” You let out a flirty growl, winking at him. This was, in fact, not the next best thing. It was, however, hilarious to your goldfish brain. 

        A dash of pink spread across his cheeks, but his expression remained pissed and he kept eye contact. “Shut the fuck up!”

        You raised an eyebrow, keeping your cool. “Oh, why don’t you make me, pretty boy~?” Good job, (Y/N). Good social skills. You are nailing this. This is definitely the way to get out of the situation. There is no other possible option. 

        “Pretty-” he paused, glaring daggers as his face flushed pinker- “the fuck are you getting at, bitch!”

        You brushed off the growing apprehension of knowing he was going to snap at any moment and pursed your lips. “I don’t know, what do you want me to be getting at?” you replied, shrugging as you did so. You resisted the urge to bite your lip like a moron. What the fuck were you doing? Flirting? Fighting? Who knows. Certainly not you. 

        “The only thing you’re getting on now is my last goddamn nerve!” You felt a rumbling of the wall, and assumed he was using his quirk slightly, succumbing to anger. Would you have to pay for any wall damage he caused? You didn’t have wall insurance. Yikes. Maybe you could write it off on your taxes later. Just kidding. You don’t do taxes.

        “Well maybe if you’re lucky I can get on something more personal later,” you purred, giving a wink. (Y/N), no. Stop. You wanted to bash your head against the wall. What was this word vomit? You’re embarrassing yourself. 

        His face went bright red faster than you’d ever witnessed, and he finally broke eye contact to look sideways, his breaths coming out heavy. Oh shit. 

        You smiled, proud of yourself for winning whatever wild staring contest was happening, but that smile quickly left your face when he turned back towards you, a smirk on his lips. Ohhhhhh shit.

        His expression radiated cockiness, and you gulped. It was the same face he made throughout the sports festival- the one he put on when he knew he was going to win. You sucked in a breath, smiling awkwardly. Maybe if you just… apologize? Leave somehow? 

        The others knew what was happening; they could feel the tension in the air. Kirishima gestured to the classroom door some ways down the hall, and the others nodded, beginning to walk towards it with Ashido being pulled away by Kaminari. What the fuck? They were just gonna leave you here? Rude. You did deserve it, though. This was all your fault. 

        There was now an unspoken war between you two, but you refused to surrender. Whoever made the other so flustered they couldn’t take it won. And you wanted to win.

        Taking in a breath, you copied his expression. Okay, (Y/N). Just fake it ‘til you make it. Be cocky. Be the hoe you always claimed to be. “So, firecracker, you gonna say anything? Finally shut me up? Prove just how good you are at being number one at absolutely everything?” You mentally patted yourself on the back. Good quip? Good quip. Nice. You were nailing this. 

        “I know a way to shut you the fuck up-” he moved closer, now leaning over you with his forearm resting above your head- “but you might moan a little.” 

Sir, this is a Wendy’s drive-through.

        You bit your cheek in a vain attempt to stop yourself from blushing. 'Fuck, that was hot.' Regardless of your reddened state, you pressed on. “Oh yeah? Moan in irritation, maybe. You may have the looks but I doubt you got the touch. Of course, feel free to prove me wrong~.” You winced. They make it look so much easier in the movies. You could feel your confidence crumbling.

        He scoffed. “You wanna fuckin’ bet?”

        “Oh, I kinda wanna be fuckin’ something, but it’s not a bet,” you quipped, moving one of your hands from the wall to grab his messily-knotted tie. You smiled smugly.

        He remained speechless for a moment, his crimson eyes peering into yours. Then his gaze moved lower down your face. 'Is he looking at my lips? Is he going as far as to actually kiss me?' Oh fuck. Abort mission! Abort mission! Call it quits, moron!

        You tugged on his tie, tilting your head. “Oh? Did I break the future number one hero? Did I win against the Katsuki Bakugou?” Jesus Christ, (Y/N), you stupid hoe! Stop it!

        “Remember what I said about shutting you the fuck up?” he angrily whispered, teeth grit in irritation.

        You nodded. Oh no. 

        “Well, if you say another goddamn word I swear to God I fucking will.”

        You clicked your tongue before pressing it against the roof of your mouth, morbidly curious about what he would do. Luckily for him, you drank your full dose of dumb-bitch juice. Finally, you leaned forward and tugged him by his tie so you were nose to nose. “Bet.”

        You felt the roughness of lips on yours, but only temporarily, as Bakugou was suddenly flung away from you and into a mess of grey scarf.

        “Get to class,” Aizawa muttered, glaring at both of you, “NOW.” Yikes. Busted.

        You gave a swift nod and bow before skipping down the hallway, but not before turning behind you to wink at the caught blond and mouth 'later.’ 

        His face went red and he turned away. You felt you were in the lead in whatever competition you’d just started, and from here on out, it was going to remain that way. At least, you hoped so.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 283: I'M MARY POPPINS Y’ALL

Previously on BnHA: Everyone was all, “Tomura what do you have?” and Tomura was all,” a quirk bullet!” and they were all, “NO!!” He then threw the bullet at Aizawa, who ironically actually did have a knife, and since no one bothered to say “no!!” this time he proceeded to CHOP OFF HIS OWN LEG. Just, schwoop. Lopped it right off. Didn’t even fucking care. Anyway so then Tomura was all, “you know what who even needs quirk bullets” and somehow broke free from both Deku and Ryuukyuu to go claw off Aizawa’s face. Thankfully Todoroki “I've spent the past eight chapters puttering around waiting for the coolest moment to strike” Shouto finally decided to join the fray by impaling Tomura, and everyone was all, “ahaha, classic Shouto”, and Tomura was all, “don’t worry though I’m fine”, and it seems like he really is now, since he’s finally regenerated and all his wounds have healed again! The chapter ended with Gigantomachia stampeding towards Jakku, which is super terrible, but what else is fucking new.

Today on BnHA: The Gunga kids spend a few pages standing around letting all that trauma soak in nice and deep as Machia rampages on towards Jakku. Back in the Shigaraki Wastes, the heroes regroup, which mostly consists of the remaining conscious adults tearfully being all “you kids get out of here... save yourselves...” and the kids being all “YOU JUST SIT THERE AND CHILL, DAD” and “[EXPLETIVES]” and “I’M YOUNG AND FILLED WITH RIGHTEOUS SHOUNEN RAGE”, all of which is very entertaining to me and makes me very proud. Anyway so then Tomura’s body sort of explodes a bit, and he’s all, “what”, and then it finally sinks in that he might have popped out of the toaster early, so he tries to end the fight right there and then with another round of Decay. Except that Deku counters it by SPONTANEOUSLY LEARNING HOW TO FLY, which is probably SO CONFUSING for all the non-Gran-and-Kacchan people around, which is just one of the many things I love about it. And the other things I love about it are that it’s (1) THE MOST BADASS THING EVER, and (2) just, really fucking great. So yeah. Rage, Deku, rage.

OH NO MY BABIES

don’t tell me. I’m not sure I want to know what it is they’re looking at. how many of the pros are fucking dead now ffffmg

also that is an extremely intriguing chapter title, though. 75? as in percent?? oh my god is something finally going to go fucking right for our heroes. or at least, you know, less wrong

OOOF

dammit Momo he was supposed to go to sleep! WHAT THE HELL WAS ALL OF THAT MATH FOR, THEN. did he grow bigger, or did she just somehow miscalculate the dosage, or is he finally going to go night-night halfway to Jakku?

btw Momo I’m not actually mad at you, you’re still the only one who fucking did anything at all. if anyone tries to give you shit, just look them in the eye and ask them “okay and how many things did YOU do?”, and they’ll be like, “oh shit, none”, and you’ll be all “yeah that’s what I fucking thought” because YEAH

OH MY GOD SERO ANGST

I have never seen Sero this badly shaken before. it’s somehow so shocking?? holy shit you guys, I know I’ve been saying for ages “lolo all these kids about to be traumatized af” but somehow it’s one thing to know it’s coming, and another to finally actually see it. oh god

anyway let’s just hope all of the grown-ups aren’t actually fucking dead. but based on all of the kids’ expressions, it really feels like a lot of them might be, and that’s just... ...

and they had to see it. right? is that what this is implying?? holy shit. they watched it all happen. that’s it, the rest of this arc is cancelled, please proceed directly to the emergency therapy arc right now

TOKO!!

holy shit look at the size of that rock that fell on the medical tent. and DS pulling people out of the wreckage. it really feels like everywhere you turn this arc, the intrepid young scamps of U.A.’s first year hero class are the ones out here keeping things one step from total disaster

oh shit

excuse the hell out of me young Momo but what the hell is up with this use of the word “dead” with the implied “like everyone else” hanging there at the end?? what is up with that. that’s a very bad sentence I don’t like that at ALL

and what the actual hell is this panel of FATGUM AND TAMAKI IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CARNAGE, TWO PEOPLE WHOSE NAMES I’M QUITE SURE ARE ON THIS CONTRACT OF “PEOPLE WHO AREN’T ALLOWED TO DIE” WHICH HORIKOSHI IMPLICITLY AGREED TO THE MOMENT I STARTED READING THE MANGA. BOY WHAT

JESUS MOTHER F. CHRIST

THAT’S. THAT’S, UH

OH THANK FUCK

I mean, I already knew they survived, though. so WHY AM I STILL SO FUCKING ANXIOUS. good grief

and in before Majestic fucking dies on the next page, having saved the children with his very last act. I fucking hate you Majestic, you blue-balling child-preserving magnificent wizard bastard

HE FRISBEED THEM TO SAFETY GAH

WHY COULDN’T YOU DO THAT TO MACHIA THOUGH. BUT AT LEAST HE SAVED THE BABIES. TOO BAD HE’S FUCKING DEAD hahaha sob sob sob

is anyone still alive?? did the guys who were fighting off Snoopy Sno-Cone and RD back at the mansion at least make it out in one piece??

(ETA: from here on out all of these guys shall be referred to as Schrodinger's Heroes until further notice.)

so now Mineta is questioning whether or not their Smart Momo Plan even fucking did anything, which. same, Mineta, honestly. but it must have!! right?? ????

anyway so here’s some more panels of everyone dying do you want to see them. sure. why not

can we get back to the Tomura fight now. I’ve had just about enough of this, I’d like to see some 75% business now before this turns into the most depressing chapter of all time

BOOOOOOO

goddammit. well for now my money’s on Machia collapsing just as they make it back to Jakku. so Momo’s plan does eventually work, but the League still makes it back to Tomura thus ensuring more shenanigans can take place. goddamn, lol, just when I thought the arc was nearing its climax. feels like it just fucking respawned with a full life bar

also Toga is really looking... not great. I’m so scared for whoever she ends up fighting after this. OCHAKO MY SWEET BABY GIRL PLEASE WATCH OUT

WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE

PLEASE ARREST HIM FASTER. holy fuck if you fucking screw this up and he gets rescued I SWEAR TO GOD

oh wait is he just here to provide more backstory on Gigantomachia

GO BURNIN’, YOU GOT THIS. also, gonna be honest, at this point I really would not mind if Machia did a little less living for Tomura and a bit more dying

FINALLY!!!

FKFKF Aizawa not looking too good oh god. and Deku looks like he’s about to spontaneously develop ALL OF HIS REMAINING QUIRKS JUST LIKE THAT ON THE SPOT, FUCK YOU TOMURA

oh my god DON’T GET DISTRACTED!!

Shouto’s arrival is either about to make Endeavor more useless than ever, or suddenly a whole lot LESS useless, and right now it’s up in the air and I am excited but also scared

EXCUSES EXCUSES

BLAH BLAH BLAH. “SORRY I’M LATE, I WAS SAVING PEOPLE’S LIVES,” Shouto lies through his teeth, clearly not aware that Tomura has a built in GPS and knows full well that Shouto was actually only a few feet behind Bakugou and Deku and so that explanation doesn’t fly at all. the real truth must be something so embarrassing that he’s ashamed to admit it. did you get lost. did you run into an NPC who wouldn’t let you pass until you had completed some sort of quest

THERE YOU ARE KACCHAN, I WAS WONDERING

just as enraged as Deku! it’s almost like he just witnessed his sensei chopping off his own leg and subsequently almost being murdered or something

(ETA: actually lol I think he’s mad at Deku, for taking off earlier and leaving him behind with Gran. though there’s no law that says he can’t be mad about two things at once! anyway so do you guys think that being beaten to the punch by Deku here may perhaps frustrate this young man and contribute to his decision to return the favor at some point later on in this battle, perhaps with dire consequences? hmm.)

anyway so if you all are keeping up with the math, and I think you are, it seems like just about every one of the adult pros is either down for the count (Aizawa, Gran), or recovering (Endeavor, Ryuukyuu??), or Might As Well Not Even Be There (a certain TWO OTHER PEOPLE WHO ARE STILL IN A TIME OUT AND HAD BETTER BE THINKING GOOD AND HARD ABOUT WHAT THEY’VE DONE. OR MORE PRECISELY, DID NOT DO OR EVEN ATTEMPT TO DO). anyway so all of that means that the only ones actually ready and raring to go here in Round 2 against the newly regenerated and POSSIBLY HAS HIS DECAY QUIRK BACK Shigaraki Tomura are... drum roll...!

okay but FUCK YOU GUYS though oh my god YOU’RE EVEN RUINING THE DRUM ROLL

DID YOU NOT EVEN NOTICE HIS LEG BEFORE?!?!? holy -- can I -- can I please just slap them, I --

anyway so RockLockRock looks like he has something to say here. probably going to tell Deku to take Aizawa and run, as if Deku isn’t the fucking glue holding this entire operation together at this point now that Aizawa is KOed. can you believe these guys are so incompetent they’ve actually got me arguing in favor of the child soldiers now, what even

...fuck

shit. that face. he’s ready to die to give them all a chance. he knows he wouldn’t last two seconds against Tomura and yet he’s willing to sacrifice it all. damn it RLR... okay fine your time out is done now, but I’m still calling your parents

unfortunately, you’ll never believe it, but Deku doesn’t seem all that inclined to listen to this man telling him to bail and save his own skin sob

ngl though I am living for the Enraged Vengeance Deku we’ve been seeing in these last couple chapters. maybe now everyone will stop dismissing him as just a soft boi who always eats his vegetables and doesn’t swear, and remember that in truth he’s actually a mildly unhinged feral child with an infinite pain tolerance and a god-given talent for never listening to any life-prolonging advice that adults give him ever

oop don’t tell me he’s gonna do the Decay thing again, shit

-- uh

“eh?” lmao what the fuck. my boy's torso just opened up like a fucking door hinge and all he can say is “eh.” this fucking manga

like he’s seriously just calmly standing there trying to assess what the heck has gone wrong

you really don’t feel pain do you. “haha lol what why is my arm falling off I thought I fucking ascended”

OH MY GOD

IT’S OCTOBER THIRD. looool the fuck

Tomura. my sweet little S+ ranked death machine with an A rank in knowledge. who’s spent the past 15-20 minutes battling to the death with the number one fucking hero and all his pals. who all just HAPPENED to be there all ready and waiting to fight him the instant he woke up. Tomura. buddy. did it really only just occur to you that maybe something went wrong somewhere along the line. that maybe things were not, in fact going according to keikaku. that maybe the heroes didn’t just sit around waiting for you to finish cooking in your villain bake oven. like please forgive my impudence but TOMURA ARE YOU STUPID, is what I’m saying, I guess. but gently

(ETA: SHIGARAKI TOMURA, WHOSE ARM IS CURRENTLY DANGLING BY A THREAD: “hold up lol what day is it.”)

I really like how Deku’s just crying nonstop this entire time though. but like, you know. crying with RAGE

lol and he’s figured it out as well, and I fucking love the connection his mind made, look at this

sudden feelings of solidarity. “WE’RE NOT SO DIFFERENT, YOU AND I” lmao

AHH MIRKO

how does she still have two legs?? Horikoshi I can’t believe you forgot how many legs your own favorite character has. but anyways yes this has been your friendly reminder that Mirko saved EVERYONE and should have a battleship named after her

okay NOW he’s doing the thing

good job Tomura you finally got them!! good thing none of them can fly, or Float. RIGHT, DEKU

AHAHAHAHAHA YESSSSS

YOU LOVE TO SEE IT. AND A BLACKWHIP/FLOAT COMBO, TOO! TOMURA, YOU WERE SAYING??

(ETA: he even grabbed Kacchan too. “I can fly by myself!” YOU SHUSH MISTER.)

(ETA 2: and what I also love about this is that we know the SIXQUIRKS are seemingly in tune with Deku’s emotions, so it honestly makes perfect sense that in the heat of the moment with Tomura threatening to kill all these people that he cares about, the quirk just basically acts on his instinct to save and doesn’t stop to ask questions. we’re saving everyone, no buts. and he even activates Float at long last, acting on that same instinct. honestly Kacchan had the exact right idea the whole time, all the way back in chapter 217. “it’ll activate when he’s in trouble, right?” exactly.)

NO GRAN STOP NO ONE ASKED FOR THESE FEELS

OH MY GOD

NEVER HAVE I STANNED THIS BOY SO HARD. HOT DAMN

he’s so fucking mad. omg??! omg

okay so I’m gonna try my best to explain why I love this so much lol. all right. so the thing is, it’s actually so rare for Deku to actually take the reins like this. even though he’s the main character, even though he’s All Might’s heir, his personality is such that he genuinely doesn’t mind being in the backseat and is perfectly content to share the spotlight with others, or even relinquish it completely. BnHA has had... how many arcs so far? hold up let me check

-- okay I just checked and it’s 18. so, 18 arcs. and out of all those arcs, Deku has had a solo fight in approximately... five of them. and two of those fights were against Bakugou and Todoroki, respectively, so he was still sharing the spotlight even then. aside from that, he’s fought Muscular, Gentle, and Overhaul (oh, and Shinsou, I guess). that’s it! and it’s been almost 300 chapters! and again, he’s the main character. in a shounen manga. like seriously though, that is wild

and so seeing him here like this on the last page, ready to throw hands with Tomura, presumably while using Blackwhip as some sort of physical barrier to coat his attacks and prevent Tomura from trying any more Decay shenanigans with him? dude. I FELT THAT HYPE. it’s just a really effective way of keeping me from getting Main Character Fatigue like I might get in most other shounen series. because Deku doesn’t get the spotlight all that often in comparison, it still feels fresh to me, especially now with him actually going up against the Big Bad. just, idk what else to say except “hell yeah” lol

anyway, so I don’t even know how long it’s gonna last, and I expect that Kacchan and Shouto aren’t going to be content to just sit back and let Deku have all the glory either (Kacchan in particular is probably frothing at the mouth already), so in all likelihood it’s probably going to be more of a 3-on-1 than a 1-on-1. and it’s also very likely to end with Tomura gaining the upper hand and trying to take OFA! and so in truth this is a very fleeting moment of triumph, and the most premature of celebrations! but even so... damn. and also I just love seeing shounen kids lose their damn minds and explode with angry determination. and I especially love seeing it with Deku, because I love the reminder that beneath that sweet, unassuming nerdy exterior lies a core of fucking steel. that look in his eyes, though. TOMURA ARE YOU SCARED. you should be a little scared, lmao

anyway. so that’s the chapter! and I’m really glad we ended on this note, not just because Deku is a badass, but also because like I was saying earlier, this was about as bad a situation as the good guys have ever been in, and I felt like the manga was starting to lose that feeling of hope that still needs to be there at its core even when things are at their darkest. idk, I feel like we needed this. Tomura got a chance to catch his breath in the last chapter, and now it’s the heroes’ turn. whew

[tnystrk-exe]

we both know how this song ends 5

Jack Daniels x Reader

Masterpost

Previous Chapter

Warnings: drugging and sexual assault

Chapter Five

Dinner was sizzling on the stove. You had set Jack to make the biscuit dough for the cobbler as you cooked. Grabbing the berries, you tossed them all together into a bowl, cornstarch and lemon juice quick to join them.

Jack was humming a gentle tune. It had been a serene day. The two of you had skipped out on school. It wouldn’t be anything interesting today. Most people didn’t go to school homecoming day anyway, he had said. Instead you grabbed everything you needed for tonight and made Jack stop by the grocery store to make the senior Daniels surprise dinner.

“Sweetheart, I could get used to this,” Jack sighed contently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Oh?” You gave him a soft smile.

“Mhm.” He stole a stray strawberry from the container, “Want one?” You scoffed lightly at him, but opened your mouth expectantly all the same. He traced it along your bottom lip before feeding it to you, eyes trained on the scene. “Give me a taste…” Jack’s hand traced along your jaw before pulling you in for a kiss.

You moaned softly, letting him take over. Happy to let him take what he had wanted. Only breaking away from the kiss when you finally decided breathing was vital, taking in short quick breaths. Not one to leave him hanging, you pressed a couple kisses along his jaw. He stopped you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before resting his own against it.

A brief moment of bravery struck. “I could get used to this too.” Those weren’t the exact words others would say, but they were weighty enough for you.

Jack gave you a pleased smile. “I’m glad, baby.”

You had to move away from him, taking the stakes off the skillet before they had a chance to burn. Jack scooped the berries into a pan and added his dough to the top of it. Settled back into your task, it had been quick work to finish up dinner. The timing was immaculate. As Jack spooned the mashed potatoes into a bowl and you finished the cornbread, both the older Daniels walked into the home.

“That smells delicious!” Mrs. Daniels exclaimed, “You didn’t have to do that, YN.”

You gave her a hug, “It’s the least I could do. Jack and I were bored anyway. Besides, my buddy pal over there was practically begging for the cobbler all week.”

“And you made it didn’t you, Bug?” Mr. Daniels said smugly, ruffling your hair fondly.

Jack smiled at the three of you. He was happy you got along with his parents. It was always a noticeable change when they were around. Maybe they just gave you a taste of what you had missed he had decided. At least he had hoped they did. He wrapped an arm around you proud he had waited to bring such a great person to bring home to them.

“We should get ready for our date.” He hummed as his parents went to get cleaned up. “Can’t wait to see you all dolled up.”

“And I can't wait to see you in a classy pair of jeans,” you teased him. “C’mon I should start fixing up my face anyway.”

“And you’ll absolutely love the way they look on me,” he responded unfazed. All the same he grabbed your hand and led you up the stairs. “There’s nothing that could make you prettier.”

You grabbed your makeup bag and sat in front of his standing mirror. Jack turned on the music, opting to just lay on his bed and relax. All he really had to do is a clean up shave anyhow. Maybe a quick nap wouldn’t be too bad either. He didn’t know how long you’d take or want to bother you as you worked.

After a while, you straddled his thighs, excited to show him your work. His soft snores filled up the room. “Jack,” you half whined, bouncing lightly as you did, “Wake up.”

“‘M up, babygirl. I’m up. ” he sighed sleepily as he placed his hands on your hips to still you. Taking a good look at you, he smiled, his thumbs rubbing circles against your hips. “You look so beautiful, sugar. How’d I get so lucky?”

“You’re really cute trying to butter me up.”

“Cute enough for a kiss?”

“And there’s your motive.” You shifted closer to press a chaste kiss to his lips, already moving to get off of him. “You can have a better kiss if you go get dressed for me.”

“Uh uh. You’re not getting away that easy.” Jack moved, easily pinning you underneath himself. He pushed a strand of hair away from your face. “May I?”

“Always the gentleman,” you breathed out jokingly.

You caught him in a kiss. Your heart was already pounding away in your chest, it had never taken much with him. He trailed a hand along your thigh before hooking your leg over his waist. Taking your time, you kissed along his neck before sucking a possessive mark onto his favorite spot, your hands working on the buttons of his shirt pushing it off the second it came loose. Jack let out a too loud groan, enjoying the feel of your lips on him. Gladly making it known that you were a weak spot for him too.

“Now,” you pushed him off a bit, keeping your hands pressed against his chest so he wouldn’t try to steal a kiss from you, “Go get dressed.” You had stressed each word with a kiss along his jaw.

He hung his head against your chest, leaving a kiss there. “You’re one to talk about motives.” With a sigh he got off of you. Grabbing his clothes from the closet, he spared himself a quick glance in the mirror. “Baby…” he chuckled, “Was all this really necessary?”

You laughed, getting a good look of how your lipstick had smeared onto him. “I could definitely get used to that. It’s a cute look on you.”

“Remind me to take you on more dates,” he commented before he walked out of the room, making sure to shut the door behind himself. “Mom! Jesus Christ!”  You heard him startle.

A sigh. “You’re not allowed alone in the rooms anymore. Especially when your dad and I are home.”

“That’s fair,” you heard him reply, almost picturing his bright blush, “Anything else?”

“Go get that lipstick off of your neck.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You fell back against his bed, pretty sure you could feel physical pain through the embarrassment. A knock sounded against the door.

“YN, dear? Do you need help with anything?”

“Uh, no. I just need to get dressed,” you winced at the wording, “Thank you. I’ll be right down.”

“If you need anything, just call for me.”

Hearing her walk away, you stood up and started stripping down. You took the time to make quick adjustments to the makeup Jack had ruined. Sure you may have had a hand in that, but it felt better to place the blame on him. Your eye caught sight of the Polaroid on his dresser.

Biting your lip you weighed the options. You knew he wouldn’t share it around if you did so happen to take a picture. He was easy to trust like that.

Why the fuck not?

You grabbed his Polaroid and set it on to a self timer. The sensual pose you had been going for broken as you laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Grabbing the photo you looked at the fading in picture. It didn’t look too bad. If you were honest he’d probably like this version better anyhow. He was a softie. Going to the closet you hid it in the pocket of his favorite shirt, figuring he’d find it soon enough.

“Hey, babydoll, have you seen my tie?” Jack asked, walking into the room. He was unaware of the situation, preoccupied with fastening his shirt buttons.

A quick look in the closet, you saw it hanging on the rod. You grabbed the tie and handed it over. He finally looked up, his eyes widening when he noticed your current state. You didn’t miss his eyes doing a quick once over before he looked away, bright blush covering his now freshly shaved cheeks. Not the mustache though, you doubted you’d ever see him without it unless you gave him an extremely good reason.

“Fuck… I’m sorry. I honestly wasn’t trying to catch you…”

“It’s okay. I trust you, sunshine. While you’re here, you may as well wait up and help me zip up my dress. It’s the least you could do after giving yourself a free show,” you teased him.

“Y’know, I shouldn’t feel too terrible. Let’s say I had taken you on a swimmin’ date instead…” He trailed off, letting you fill in the blanks, back at ease seeing you hadn’t been upset.

“Uh huh, keep telling yourself you would have gotten a look at the goods anyway. Learn to knock, perv.”

You pulled on the simple cocktail dress. The navy blue of it matched up with Jack’s tie well enough. It was a dress you had had for a while, but it was pretty enough to pass through the event. You turned your back to Jack. He moved your hair to the side, fingers trailing against the lacy fabric, before obliging and zipping up your dress.

“You realize you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen?” He asked, looking at you through the mirror, resting his chin on your shoulder, “Stop rolling your eyes when I’m trying to be sweet on you.”

“I know, I am,” you turned in his arms, facing him, “let me help you with that.” You took his tie from off his shoulder and placed it on his neck. “May mess it up a bit, it’s been a while.”

“You know how to?” He asked, letting you do it for him.

“Dad taught me a couple things. Said it was a useful skill if I had a son, but mostly he was just lazy as all hell. That man hated ties.” You pulled the knot toward his throat, catching his slight wince, “Too tight?”

“Just a little,” he loosened it slightly. Jack pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Wouldn’t know what to do without ya.” He stepped past you as you started to fuss with your hair, reaching up into the closet.

You snorted quietly when you realized what it was. “I can’t believe I’m dating a cowboy with a formal occasion hat and boots.”

“Get used to it baby, eventually we’ll get you to my level too.” Jack sat his hat on your head, “See? That’s fucking hot.”

You laughed, “Why don’t we snap a picture then?”

“I’d love that, sweet girl.” He kissed your cheek, looking at the already set up camera, “That’s weird. I don’t usually misplace things.”

You ignored his cocked brow, resetting the timer. “Welp, there’s a first time for everything.”

“Hm, I guess there is…” He didn’t push it, instead opting to pull you in close for the picture.

“Bubba! Bug! Y’all gonna spend all night up there?” Mr. Daniels called out. “We’re getting impatient here.”

You held out his suit jacket for him to slip on. “C’mon cowboy, lot more of those where that came from,” you said, putting the hat on his head, careful not to mess up his hair.

The two of you walked down the stairs hand in hand. Mr. Daniels was already snapping pictures the second you stepped into view.

“Don’t the two of you look precious!” Mrs. Daniels gushed excitedly. “Too bad your mother isn’t here to see the two of you.”

“Mare,” he shook his head slightly. “You two clean up nice. Good going, kids. Matching and everything.”

“Already had the dress,” you informed, hoping to glaze over the mom bit,  “We took more time finding Jack’s tie than anything. I do think he looks extremely handsome.”

Jack blushed brightly. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Bess looked over lazily from the couch, unimpressed with the commotion.

His parents fussed over pictures excitedly. From what you had gathered, Jack had decided to skip past all the other dances. No particular reason, but he had just preferred going out with his friends instead. Which made Jack asking you to go all that much sweeter to you.

“Okay, okay. You took enough pictures. There’s enough proof we went on a date now,” Jack complained, “Anymore with you two and we won’t make it to the dance at all.”

“Just a few more,” his mom persuaded.

“Mare, why don’t we go take these to the store to get them developed? We already wasted a whole roll on them.”

“Sounds great!” Jack went to hug his mom, “You’ll get some more of us when prom rolls around.”

She sighed, but nodded, “Fine, go have some fun.”

Jack turned, winking at you as he did. “We will!”

You followed Jack out the door. “Really bold of you to assume we’ll have our prom pictures together. Never thought I had other plans?” you asked, messing with him.

“Aw, baby, you got plans to break my heart?”

“Who knows what could happen, Sunshine.”

Jack wrapped his arm around your waist, “Ain’t nothing gonna happen to us. Won’t let it. You’re gonna stick by my side way past prom.”

You shook your head, smiling all the same. “Why are you so sweet on me?”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm,” he leaned on his truck, still keeping you close, “I don’t know, sweetheart. You just genuinely make everything better. Just knowing I get to see you on those no good days makes me push through. You’re so kind and genuine even after… everything. As cheesy as it sounds, I kinda do like the idea of getting to wake up to you everyday.”

You blushed brightly, not really expecting that answer. “Everyday?”

“As many as we can fit in darlin’. Wouldn’t be so bad would it? Waking up to my ugly mug.”

“It may take some convincing.”

“I’m plenty patient.”

You couldn’t help the smile, pleased at how he took it in stride. Anyone else would have been upset at hearing that. “How are you always so sure, Daniels?”

“Can’t help it. I know the job I’m gonna work and I know exactly who I want with me. I’m on this ride as long as it takes.”

“C’mon. We’re going to be late sweet talker.”

He opened your door for you, stealing himself a kiss before you could get in the cab. “I mean it, YN.”

All you could manage was a nod. As good as he made you feel, it was still scary. Trust was hard. Commitment is a nightmare. Even if this was going well, you had to keep yourself straight. It had only been a couple months. You were both in your first real relationship, which meant it had to have a touch too sweet and just a bit too perfect. And those rose colored glasses may have skewed the both of you.

But Jack was never pushy. He never pulled away from the too jagged edges, even when they did cut into him. Never put off by the few times you pushed him away. He’d give you your time, let you breathe and you loved that.

You loved that.

The thought alone sent a shiver down your spine. The idea of love and Jack always did. Glancing his way, you knew he was nervous, judging by the way his finger rapt against the steering wheel. Nothing else betrayed him except for that. If you had to guess, how forward he always was with his words always left him somewhat scared that they’d make you run off.

“Jack.”

“Hmm, yeah babygirl?”

“You know how much I care about you right? Even if I do choke saying sweet things back at you.”

The tapping stopped. He gave you a bright smile, “‘Course I do. You let me know with the little things. Those are better than any words.”

Crossing the bench, you leaned your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know when, but I promise one day I’ll be able to.” It was easier to say looking at the passing by trees.

“We’re going at your pace, darlin’. Just knowing is enough.”

“You just come from something so perfect. Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll think I don’t fit into the picture. It’s stupid because you’re so on your sleeve about everything, but I can’t help it sometimes. We’re just so different.”

“But those differences will make us all that much better,” he rebutted in his usual optimistic manner, “I wouldn’t have you any other way. Or this for that matter. It’s good. I’m happy with you.”

“This is such a heavy topic for our first date,” you acknowledged the ridiculousness of the situation. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t apologize. It’s something you’re worried about and we should talk about these kinds of things. Besides, we’ve basically been dating since the first week of school,” he joked, “Look, we’ve been going at this for nearly two months now. Still new, but definitely over the awkward parts. Don’t worry about it.”

“We can talk about things you’re worried about too, you know.”

He sighed, “Honey, you know exactly what it is I’m worried about. Like you say, it’s a couple of months now. I can promise you, I’m not worried about us at all. It’s just that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you promised, “With the gig after school and everything. I’m gonna have a decent stockpile. I’ve been thinking about getting out of there soon enough.”

He squeezed your thigh, his thumb tracing pattern on your skin, “Yeah, I know. The faster you’re out of there, the easier I get to sleep at night. It’s hard not knowing if you’re safe.”

“We’re never safe, Jack,” you sighed, “You don’t have to worry every second we’re apart. I don’t want to be something like that for you.”

“You’re not just that,” he waved off the idea, “But you wouldn’t like it much if I was in your position instead.”

“And then you’d understand that I don’t want to feel like a burden.”

He parked the truck. “Honey, you’re not a burden. If anything, I’m gonna be the burden with how bad I dance.”

“As if. You’re good at nearly everything you do.”

“Nearly?”

“I’m obviously the better kisser in this dynamic.”

“Oh, obviously,” he mocked back, “Get out of my truck.”

You complied, he was quick to join you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze when he took it in his, already leading you toward the dance hall.

��Come on, admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’d like that anyway.”

“I would!”

You laughed at his eagerness, “Who knows where this night could lead, cowboy.”

“Wait, what? Rea-“

“YN!” Georgia squealed excitedly, “You look so pretty! Is that your boyfriend?”

“Georgie!” You hugged her, “He won’t be anymore if you wanna give me a shot. You look jaw dropping.”

“Let me see how it plays out with Sammy. If it’s a dead end I’ll give you a call.”

“I’ll wait up,” you sent a playful wink her way.

“Yeah, I brought you a drink just like you like and I brought some fruit punch for YN,” you heard Vanessa’s sickeningly sweet voice behind you. “Why don’t you have a taste? If it’s not right I’ll make you another.”

“I should get going before Sammy misses me, maybe you’ll save me a dance lover girl.”

“I’ll do that,” you laughed.

You turned to see Jack gulping down a cup. “Yeah, see. It’s perfect thanks.”

“I’m going to go get you another one.”

“No, it’s okay.” His response fell in deaf ears as she turned to go make him another. “That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Got yourself a barmaid?”

“The best I could do seeing you get all friendly with Georgia,” he drank the other cup trying to chase away the taste, “I wasn’t thinking about competition.”

You pulled him by the tie, toward the dance floor. “There’s no competition when I’ve only got eyes for you.”

“Aw, doll, that’s sweet.” He kissed your cheek. “Check this.”

You jumped along to the music, watching him dance. “Oh no,” you laughed, “You’re already a dad. That’s horrible. I love it.”

He smiled brightly at you, “Knew you would.”

The two of you danced happily, enjoying each other’s company. Jack had a lot of potential as a dancer, but your doubts rose when he broke out with the sprinkler. Eventually you ended up in a mixed up of your friend groups. Laughter and snuck in drinks passed all around. Which meant Jack had to struggle down a couple more of Vanessa’s concoctions, too polite to turn them down despite hating the taste.

“I’m cashing in my dances!” Georgia shouted over the music, stealing you away from Jack. “I’ll bring her back after a few.”

It hadn’t been long. Maybe two songs at most. Still, you just couldn’t seem to find Jack. You doubted he had gone far the dance hall was only so big.

“Hey Mikey, have you seen the cowboy?”

“Jack? I saw him with Vanessa. Seemed kinda out of it.”

“I saw them go outside,” Julie cut in.

“What?” You hurried to go see what was happening.

“Jackie boy’s in trouble.”

The group laughed.

Outside you looked toward the car lot. No one but a pack of stoners. Rounding the building, you called out for Jack.

“Can’t,” you heard him slur, “Don't want to.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

You could have sworn you heard the sound of a belt unbuckling. “Hey!” You ran, “What the hell are you doing to him.” Rounding the corner, you caught her with a hand stuffed down his pants.

Jack didn’t seem all there but he was definitely distressed. “No baby, please. I didn’t…”

Anger bubbled in your chest. It took over and you pushed Vanessa to the ground already aiming punches at her. There wasn’t much of a fight, she was too much coward to do anything. Even in his state and what had happened, he still attempted to pull you away.

“I never want to see you near him again. You get near him again and that’s it for you.” You only complied because you knew you needed to get him to the truck before he turned to completely dead weight. “You’re a fucking piece of filth.” You called out after her as she ran away.

“Baby, I didn’t want her to. I didn’t ask her to do anything,” he rambled, needing you to believe him.

“Hey, I know. I know. Let’s get you to the truck.” You readjusted his pants and belt to save him the embarrassment if anyone had seen him.

He slumped against you, dragging his feet. You should have taken better care of him. Jack would have kept an eye out for you, he always did. Instead you just assumed he was having fun, glazing over the signs that he wasn’t okay. Avoiding the group, he wouldn’t want people to see him like this, he was too proud, you finally got him to the truck.

“I don’t feel good,” he choked.

“I know, sunshine. I’m sorry. I’ll get you somewhere safe,” you kissed the side of his head before helping him into the truck.

You didn’t really know how to handle the situation. It was a first. Much less did you expect Jack of all people to be in this situation. Honestly, you saw a different outcome for this night. When you jumped back in the truck, you reached into his suit pocket and grabbed his keys.

“Oh,” you took in how tired and rough he looked, “Come here, honey.” You helped him lay down across the bench, his head resting on your thigh. His hat was missing, you made a note to get him a new one.

Obviously, taking him home was out. His parents would probably think he’s out of it drunk, you couldn’t deal with giving them that disappointment of finding out what happened not from him. Your house was laughable. That left the cheap motel across the street from the mom and pop shop. It was the best you could do.

When you parked in the lot, Jack seemed very dazed. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded weakly.

You got out of the truck and dealt with the motel worker. She handed over a key, looking too tired and overworked to even think about doing more than the transaction.

“Ground rules. Don’t be too loud, if you’re caught selling anything at all I’m calling the cops, and you’re out by 1 p.m. tomorrow.”

“Got it,” you waved her off. Before you made it back to Jack, you unlocked the room door. It would make things easier in the long run. “Hey, handsome, let's get you in the room.”

He groaned, but sat up. “You trust me? Right? You know I didn’t ask her to touch me?”

“Look,” you gave him a chaste kiss, “I trust you more than anyone. She’s not a good person. You don’t have to worry about me thinking anything bad about you. Now, help me get you inside so we can get you through this.”

Jack stood on shaky legs, letting you lead him to the room. When you got in, Jack immediately slumped down into the bed. “I’ll pay for it. My fault.”

“This isn’t your fault. You trusted her and she abused that. We take care of each other, right?” You sat down beside him. “How are you feeling?”

“Keep coming in and out. Nauseous to hell and back. Everything feels so...lagged behind. It feels like a horrible high.”

“Would you mind if I ran to the store? I could grab us a couple of waters, maybe some pills. I don’t know. Something to help. Be useful some.”

“I’ll be alright. I do think I’m going to sit in the bathroom.”

With that, you ran across the street to the store. The older man gave you a disgruntled look for coming in on closing time, but otherwise said nothing. Grabbing a basket, you made your way down the aisles as quick as you could. Sodas, waters, pain pills for him to take in the morning, a couple of snacks, a set of toothbrushes and toothpaste, and some shirts and shorts for both of you to change into. Once that was over and done with, you went back to the motel, leaving the items on the small table.

Jack was gagging in the bathroom, the sound of him being sick loud in the small room. You went over, water bottle in hand. Setting it on the sink counter, you crouched beside him, rubbing his back soothingly. When he was done, he looked at you, tears streaking his face.

“Why would she do that to me?”

“She’s not a good person,” you didn’t know what else to say. You grabbed the towel off the rack, using it to clean up his mouth. “I should've watched out for you more. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, laying his head on your shoulder. “Not your fault. We thought it was gonna be a fun night.”

You held him close, just wanting to keep him as safe as you could. All you knew in that moment was you couldn’t handle the idea of someone hurting him again. He was too kind and caring to ever deserve to be hurt. “It was fun,” you said, your hand carding through his hair soothingly, “Between your bad dancing and horrible jokes, I love being with you.”

“Don’t do that,” he mumbled.

“Do what?”

“Please. Please,” he stressed the word, “don’t say that you love me tonight. When I think about the first time… Don't wanna think about it being like this.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “Let’s get you changed then. Get you more comfortable to ride this out.”

You helped him stand back up. Taking him back into the room, you grabbed the clothes from the bag. It was quick work so slide off his suit jacket. Undoing his shirt buttons, you ignored the vomit your hands came across. The care you had for him overcoming the grossness of it. You casted the shirt aside before kneeling down in front of him.

“Help me a bit here sunshine, need to get your boots off.” Jack put a hand on the wall, leaning against it so he wouldn’t fall as he balanced on one foot. You pulled them off quickly. “Is this okay?” You asked him, motioning to his pants.

“You’re okay, darlin’. You know that.”

“Didn’t want to push you, sweetheart.”

Once the both of you were dressed out of your date clothes, you had set a trash can nearby before Jack pulled you on to the bed with him. The tv droned quietly. Jack was resting against your chest. Neither of you would have thought your night would end like this.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Here’s a sickfic I might finish but I should probably just post here now in case I never do

Uhhhhhh cw nausea and vomiting mention

I’m gonna @celosiaa because you are the only reason I am posting this at all.  And maybe you can nudge me to finish this at some point.  

Jon isn’t sure where he thought he’d wake up.  Possibly at his desk?  Or in his bed?  (Unlikely).  Does he even still have a bed?  The institute floor if he was unlucky?  The break room couch or the cot if he was considerably more lucky.  The point is, he feels like shit and he didn’t remember going to sleep.  Which probably wasn’t a good sign.  He lets himself drift for a while longer.  

Jon wakes in fits and starts.  

One moment he’s mostly aware the next he’s snapping back awake thus leading him to the conclusion that he wasn’t before.  A cycle that he is stuck in for several minutes.  He is not aware enough to properly examine where he might actually be.  

He’s too dizzy to think and his eyes feel gummy and puffy, and everything hurts.  

Sick?  Is he sick?  Not statement sick, but properly sick?  

Yes that tracks.  Sore throat.  Queasy.  Headache.  

Ugh.  

He lays there for a while longer.  And promptly drops back off.  

~~~~~~~

Jon stirs in Tim’s lap.  Be blinks a  few times and groans.  Jon has been all but passed out in Tim’s lap for hours.  

He isn’t even sure why he bothered.  

Tim sighs.  He knows Jon is awake now, and he very much needs Jon to have some liquids.  And some fever reducers.  “Jon?”  He asks softly.  He doesn’t want to frighten Jon.  

Jon’s shaky breathing catches in what Tim very much fears is a sob.  What the hell is he supposed to say to a crying Jon?  “Tim?”  Jon’s response is quavering and damp.  He still hasn’t really moved.  Tim is more than a little worried that Jon doesn’t seem to have the energy to even shift position.  

“Back with me?”  Christ, Tim hopes Jon is.  

Jon spent most of the car ride to Tim’s flat crying, apologizing, gibbering about god knows what, and looking more than a little like he was going to be very ill (something Tim would have worried about if he wasn’t reasonably sure Jon had already expelled everything in him before Tim managed to half carry him out of the Archives).  (He debated A&E, but ultimately decided Jon might accidentally compel the staff and cause a lot of problems.  But if Tim couldn’t get his fever down, or get him to keep down liquids, then he’d take him in.)  Tim tried to find it irritating, but honestly it had just made his heart hurt.  

Jon just whimpers.  

Tim gently cards his fingers through Jon’s hair.  Jon shivers a little.  This flu has been going around the Archives but even though Jon has been the last to catch it, he seems to have it the worst.  Tim doesn’t think he was ever this far gone.  (Martin would probably be the one here if he wasn’t still sleeping off the last of his fight with this.)

Jon blinks a few more times, swallows drily, and asks, “Tim….?  Wha’ you doing?  Thought you were out today?”

“First day back.  Found you passed out in the loo.”  Tim hasn’t decided if he wants to be nice.  (A bit late to not be, considering he drove Jon to his (Tim’s) flat and is letting Jon cuddle him even though Jon is kind of disgusting at this point and is going to share the leftovers of the soup and medicine and lucozade he stocked up on the moment he knew he was coming down with something.)

Jon squirms a bit so he’s looking up at Tim.  His face going from confusion, to embarrassment, to dawning realization when he (presumably) he notices he’s partially in Tim’s lap.  “You hate me.”  It’s a question, but not a question of if Tim hates him.  

Jon’s slurring.  Which can’t possibly be good.  Tim takes in his puzzled look and takes that to mean ‘Hey Tim, I’m too much of an arsehole to thank you for letting me use you as a well toned body pillow let’s jump right into the boo hoo I’m a victim of the universe and I’ll take everyone down with me and I know this so why could someone I’ve so terribly wronged be being nice to me.’  No.  That’s not right.  And that’s not fair.  Tim does want to blame Jon for everything.  But that would make him a hypocrite.  Sure Tim didn’t stalk his coworkers after the Prentiss thing, but where Jon got paranoid, he got angry.  They both pushed each other away.  Not to mention…. he did accuse Jon of murder…. which is what he was angry at Jon for accusing him of…. It is Jon’s fault that he is stuck in the archives, but Jon’s just as stuck as he is.  And it’s not Jon’s fault that Sasha...  He’s not a heartless dick, he couldn’t just leave Jon to possibly drown himself in the toilet.  

“Debatable.”  Tim can’t really explain it any better than that for now.  He blames Jon, yeah.  Sure.  Easy.  Of course he blames Jon.  …But he knows it isn’t Jon’s fault, and as much as he wants to forget that.  He can’t.  And he can’t forget the years of friendship before all this.  Maybe they weren’t as close as he presumes he and Sasha were… but they were close.  

Jon looks even more confused.  And then he looks rather nauseous.  He closes his eyes again.  

“I need you to drink something before you pass out again.”  He should probably try to be nicer, because Jon flinches at his tone, and tries to make himself even smaller.  

This isn’t news.  Jon has flinched because of Tim a lot.  He knows he shouldn’t be proud of this, but he is. ��

“And don’t puke on my couch.”

Jon just whines.  

Tim gets impatient and mostly carefully leavers Jon up enough that he can press a  Lucozade into his hands.  

Jon’s eyes flick open slowly.  He blinks a few times as he tries to comprehend what he’s holding.  

“You’re supposed to drink that,” Tim says helpfully.  

“Thought you wanted me not to puke.”

Tim is reasonable sure that was supposed to be a joke, but Jon’s eyes squeeze tight against dizziness, so Tim nudges the bin he preset nearer.  

“Drink the goddamn thing or I’ll have to take you to A&E and I’ll really be fucking pissed.”  There isn’t any real heat to Tim’s words.  But that doesn’t stop Jon for fumbling with the lid.  

Christ he looks so pathetic.  His hands are shaking almost too badly to get it to his mouth and he would not be vertical if Tim let go.  And sad.  Was he just stuck with those damn puppy dog eyes?  

But could Tim really blame him?  Enough people have kicked the shit out of Jon that he really can’t blame Jon for looking like a kicked puppy.  

Jon drinks cautiously.  He looks mildly surprised when nothing bad happens.  

Tim props him up against the back of the couch so he can pass Jon some more fever reducers.  Jon carefully takes those as well.  He shakily closes the still half full sports drink and closes his eyes again.  He’s listing sideways.   

It’s dark out when Jon wakes up again. He can’t quite recall what time of day it was when he was last conscious.  He thinks he might be slightly more aware.  Possibly.  

He’s still shivering and he still feels like death.  Grand.  

Something shifts under him and he starts.  

Oh.  Right.  Tim.  

“Jon, you awake?”

Since when does Tim talk to him like a person?  Like he hadn’t fucked up that badly.  

“Jon?”

Right.  Yes.  He’s supposed to answer.  He swallows.  His throat feels like sandpaper.  “Ngk.”  Well.  Not quite a word, but close enough, right?  It is enough to start him coughing in any case.

“Jesus Christ, Jon!”

Jon is hoisted into a sitting position fast enough to make his head swim.  He closes his eyes tightly to try to stop the room from spinning, but he’s still coughing and now he’s queasy again.  

By the time he catches his breath, tears are streaming down his face and he can feel someone (Tim) rubbing his back.  It feels…. Jon isn’t sure how it feels, but a lot and it makes his skin prickle not unpleasantly.  

“Jesus Fuck Jon.”

Jon doesn’t have the air to answer.  He feels himself sway.  He is lowered back down and a straw pushed into his mouth.  He cracks one eye open and sees a very blurry Tim (shit where have his glasses gone?) holding the same sports drink, this time with an addition of a .... is that a margarita straw?   The Eye helpfully informs him that it is.  Jon takes some careful sips until his throat feels a little less awful.  

He can see Tim’s mouth moving.   He hears his voice but he’s a little too far gone to make out words.   

Tim has been keeping up what he hopes is comforting, soothing one sided conversation.  He hopes.  He hopes it might help Jon, but Jon seems pretty far from aware right right now.  

“You’d probably rather have water or tea right now but I’m not Martin, and well... I think you need the salt and sugar...”

Jon only manages a few sips before the straw drops from his mouth.   

“Come on, Jon.  There’s no way you aren’t dehydrated.  I don’t want to take you to A&E.  You don’t want to go to A&E.  You really don’t want me to take you to A&E.”

“Sorry...”. Christ his voice is weak.  

“Stop apologizing.  You have done that to death today.  Maybe try again when you’re conscious.  Maybe I’ll even accept it.”

“Sorry.”

Tim sighs.  Obviously that’s not going to get through to Jon right now.  “Come on.  You’ve got to drink more.  You lost a fuck ton of liquids.  I know you did.  You haven’t even begun to make up for that.”

Jon whines.  Tim checks once again that there’s a bin within easy reach.  He still presses the straw to Jon’s mouth.  

Jon drinks.  

It takes a painfully long time, but he keeps it down.  Tim waits a wile to make sure that continues to be the case before he nudges Jon.  “You up for some soup?”  

Jon considers for a very long moment.  He’s having trouble concentrating on the question and honestly he’s hoping Tim will come up with an answer for him.  

“Jon?”  

“Maybe?”  It’s hardly a whisper.  

“Let’s try sitting you up first, okay?”

[bisexual-horror-fan]

I would adore to read some of your works surrounding your characters! Especially if there’s already an assemblage of that completed so we needn’t worry about you overworking yourself

Well this seems like as good a time as any to be honest! Let’s go off shall we! So I wrote this a while back, it is mostly about Ginger Handel, the Final Girl to my Slasher OC Victor Pace. James Doron (never posted his offical bio) is also the other main character in this, he works in the same bakery with both Victor and Ginger. I love these three so very much and have written a lot about them already, so I can post more if people like it. This is a big deal because as I am sure you know OG shit isn’t what I post here, yet anyway.

Anger, a conversation, backstory. Here we go some of my original shit! Hope you all enjoy it!

---

Rating. SFW. Length. 2.6K. Warnings: Mentions Of A Bad Home Life and Mental Health Struggles. Some Sad Shit. Some Soft Shit. Minor Angst. Anger. Some Backstory.

---

How Dare You?

---

Ginger was more scared than she had ever been in her whole life. 

She was so concerned, worried, freaked the fuck out, she had to go find James and talk to him. She remembered where he lived from when she had stopped by for dinner with James and Victor. It was early, very early, she stood in front of his door and knocked, waiting, waiting, hurry up, come on. Finally the door opened and James was rubbing his eyes and said sleepily.

“Ginger?”

“James.”

“What are you doing here?”

He yawned, leaning against the door frame and Ginger said.

“I have to talk to you.”

“Now? Couldn’t wait until work?”

A tired laugh as he responded and she shook her head, saying seriously.

“No.”

He stared at her for a moment, he realized she seemed serious, he pushed off the door frame before sighing and saying.

“Fucking fine. Come on in.”

She walked in, James flopped down on the couch, Ginger stayed standing, pacing and James asked,

“So what’s the problem?”

“You know those murders?”

He sighed and said.

“Yeah, the ones you are so concerned about, sure.”

“I think…”

A pause. She struggles to find the right wording.

“This is a lot. I just...I think I know who’s doing it.”

That got his attention, he sat up and asked.

“Woah. Ginger really?”

Yes. Thank God, he seems interested. Ginger nodded and continued. 

“Yes! Yes, we have to go to the police. I’m sure the murders are being done by one person.”

“Shit. Yeah I’ll help you, what evidence do you have?”

She felt embolden as she continued speaking, almost too quickly, gesturing as she did,

“I don’t have the physical evidence yet but if we can convince the police and get a warrant then I’m sure we will have everything we need.”

“Well c’mon spill. Who is it?”

Ginger hesitated and James gestured with his hands for her to spit it out.

“It’s...I think it’s Victor...”

He looked dumbfounded. He looked up at her and said harsh.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“James, I know, I know! But you have to hear me out!”

“No. No I don’t actually.”

James rolled his eyes and he crossed his arms, leaning back on the couch. 

“James I swear to God it’s him! I know it, I-”

James got up and sighed very loudly, hand running through his messy hair.

“Shut up Ginger.”

Ginger tried to speak up and he cut her off right away.

“I said shut up Ginger! Oh my GOD. I cannot believe you.”

“What?”

He rubbed his hand over his face, weight shifting from one foot to the other and he said harshly.

“I said. I can’t believe you! Like Jesus Christ, Ginger, why? Huh? What do you have against the man?”

Ginger started to get a little frustrated at how quickly this was falling apart, at how fast James was getting upset as she said.

“Why are you always defending him?!”

James looked at Ginger, shocked as he said.

“You really don’t know?...”

The realization hit as he vocalized it,

“He didn’t tell you. Course he wouldn’t. Wasn’t his thing to tell. God damn it Victor.”

She heard it but it was almost like he was saying it to himself, he spoke louder as he addressed her again, eyes focused as he glared at her,

“That fucking man still amazes me. This makes me even more upset because you are accusing him of something so AWFUL.”

He was pacing now, almost rambling, still in utter disbelief he seemed mad as hell, he didn’t stop.

“The reason I defend him so much Ginger is because he is the best man I have ever met. He has helped me immensely. He gave me so much, real world experience and personal teaching, he listened to my problems and became my fucking friend. When I was in school, there was this one night and I had to bring in this dessert for a final exam and I fucking dropped it.”

He stopped pacing for a moment and he laughed recalling the memory and recounting it for Ginger.

“Like an idiot I dropped it and I fucking cried and freaked out about how I was going to fail and all my work would be for nothing.” 

He remembered being curled over, crying tears of pure frustration, hunched over the mess that was once his dessert, smashed plate and cream and hard work splattered over the tile in the back of the bakery. He remembered Victor crouching down beside him, hand on his back, he looked up and Victor told him.

“Get up. Come on, get up and straighten yourself out, I’ll clean this up and I’ll help you do it again.”

He remembered looking up to him through too many tears as he said,

“Wha-what? Victor i-it’s already 11:30, you’ve stayed too late already, you normally open at 6, you shouldn’t-”

And Victor was rubbing over his back now, a shake of his head as he comforted him, 

“James. Nothing you can say is going to change my mind here. I want to help you. I’m going to help you, okay?”

He sniffed and smiled and said.

“Okay.”

He remembered tissues and wiping his face clean, feeling a little embarrassed crying in front of his boss. They played music and talked and laughed and drank coffee and managed to stay awake and remake it even better. Victor insisted on keeping the store closed that day, he drove him to school that day. James passed and Victor and him went out for lunch and over even more coffee he remembers the moment where everything really changed when Victor said.

“I’m proud of you.”

That stopped James dead, mid sip of coffee, he wasn’t exactly used to praise and Victor didn’t stop.

“You have such a passion for this. For what we do, it is amazing how far you’ve come since we started working together, really.”

A pause. 

“And I wanted to offer you a full time job at Pace’s Pastries when you are done with school. No obligation to stay forever obviously but you are such a good fit and I would love to have you.”

James agreed readily, easily, he couldn’t believe it. It was like a dream. Life is so good right now and here was Ginger standing there, doubting Victor, it was enraging. 

He took a deep breath, his back to Ginger he continued, recalling another time.

“Once. I was mugged and they got a lot of money off me. I had just been to the bank, tuition payment, gone.”

A snap of his fingers for emphasis and he kept talking.

“And when I cried to Victor on the phone about it he fucking payed my tuition that month for me. These past years that man has been nothing but kind to me. Been there for me. Cared for me. I can’t tell you the amount of times he showed me such kindness again and again even if sometimes I probably didn’t deserve it. Everyone in Long Grove can tell you something nice about him! Some sweet, kind thing he has done for them.”

He was facing her again as he continued, louder now, more anger hurled at her. 

“EVERY SINGLE ONE GINGER. And then you come in and start throwing accusations at him, why? Is he too nice?! Too fucking likeable?! SO SOMETHING HAS BE WRONG WITH HIM?!”

Ginger was in shock to say the least. She knew Victor was a good guy, that he did a lot for people but she didn’t know just how much he had done for James.

“He is family.”

“What?”

“He is my family Ginger...Like...”

Another sigh, he walked over to the couch and sat down again, he motioned for her to sit too. She took the chair next to the couch and he couldn’t look at her as he continued talking, eyes on the floor, hands on his knees.

“I’ve cried in front of that man too many damn times I swear to God. My family disowned me. I was almost done my last year of school, it was so awful, Victor was there for me.”

Another series of memories recalled, James in the back of house at the bakery, arms folded on the table in front of him, phone call just ended, tears still wet on his face, his dad’s words still ringing in his ears, fragments, hurtful and stinging.

“Never come back here again.”

“No son of mine-”

“Disgraceful.”

“Worthless.”

He heard the door swing open, he got up, wiping at his face, he pocketed his phone and said.

“Hey Victor, sorry I’m still here, I was just going to lock up.”

He tried to talk normally but his voice still sounded thick and raw from so much crying. 

“James what’s wrong?”

He forced a smile and turned to look at Victor, still in the doorway as he said.

“Nothing man, uh nothing I’m all good.”

“James.”

Victor stepped closer and James still tried to deny it.

“Really Victor I’m good-I just uh-”

Think of a lie James come on, you burden him too much already, something, think of something. 

A hand, strong and steady on his forearm, when did he close his eyes? He opened them again to see Victor, looking so concerned.

“You can talk to me James.”

So nice. 

He is so damn nice and he is so open, no one in his family ever wants to talk about anything.

It all came spilling out, he couldn’t stop it, he told him about his home life, his family, his dad. He had started crying somewhere in the middle of telling him and it ended with the both of them sitting on the table in the back, James with his hand near his mouth, looking down, still crying, Victor just being there, listening. 

“And then he said he never wants to see me again, to never come back there. They are disowning me Victor.”

He finally finished, Victor waited a moment, to make sure he was done. Hands taking his, strong and sure and grounding, James looked up to him and Victor said.

“Fuck them.”

James laughed a little, Victor wasn’t the type to swear often. He thinks the only time he heard it before now was one afternoon when making candy he got a molten sugar burn, it sounded wrong coming from him, he asked,

“What?”

“Fuck them. James they don’t know what they have in you. You are so talented and smart and so good and it sounds like they don’t act like a family.”

A forign concept to James. He sounded so confused,

“Act like a family?”

A laugh, quiet, a little sad from Victor before he says,

“Family supports each other, listens to each other, is there. Present. Caring, loving. Sounds like they have never been your family.”

James had to agree, they never cared, the only person who did was his younger sister, he was most broken up about that, not seeing her, her having to deal with them alone. Victor wasn’t done.

“I’ll be your family.”

James' heart had never beat harder in his life. He couldn’t accept hearing that so easily, something like that had never been offered to him, it sounded too good to be true. No way.

“Victor what are you saying? You-you’ve done enough, really I-”

“You need a place to go, you have school to finish, you are so close, live with me, take the full time job when you graduate. Figure out what you are doing with no pressure, James I care about you a lot, please let me help you do this.”

Again all he could do was smile through the tears and say,

“Okay.”

Living with Victor was so easy, he never realized that he wanted to go home to a place before, he always was avoiding his old family’s house, but here he actually wanted to go home at night. Being able to relax was life changing. Victor was the only one who came to his graduation, he took pictures and cheered and James felt loved and seen and heard for the first time in his 22 years of life.

James looked so sad, so angry so many things and he looked up from the floor back to Ginger. Less sad, more anger again. 

“So...Ginger...I’m fucking sorry if I am a little upset and a little fucking doubtful of you that the man who did all of that and so much more, the man who saved my life, is capable of killing multiple people.”

Ginger doubted herself now. Stumbling through her attempt at a response.

“But...The...I...”

She sighed and James continued, prodding as he asked,

“What? What else?”

Ginger started.

“I don’t think he is mentally well.”

James got up and stepped closer, he scoffed looking down at her and said.

“And what about it Ginger? I know you know about how he got that scar of his. I know people in this town talk, they love him but fuck it IS the biggest thing that has ever happened here so I KNOW you know about it.”

Ginger couldn’t meet his gaze now, speaking quietly, playing with her fingers for a mild distraction, she felt like an idiot.

“Yes I know about how he got it.”

James continued, anger still clear in his tone,

“So if you know about it you know he has been through a lot. He watched his parents and brother die, almost died HIMSELF, so yes it kind of mentally messed him up, he is medicated, he is in therapy, he is working on himself.”

“He goes to therapy?”

He stepped away, walking to the kitchen, he needed coffee, dear God he needed something to help deal with how she was being right now, he continued speaking.

“Yes Ginger, oh my God. He doesn’t really talk about it at work, he is a little sensitive about it and he obviously made the right call, why are you being such a judgmental bitch?”

Now she was shocked, hand to her chest, finally looking back to him,

“I’m being a-”

He cut her off quickly. 

“A judgmental bitch. I will say it again and again because the shoe fits.”

Now it was Ginger’s turn to get angry, she got up and followed him to the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and watched him, he seemed so different from how he was at the bakery, she softened. To be fair though she had barged her way in here well before 5 AM on a weekday and demanded to talk to him, accused him that the only family he has is a murderer, of course he is defensive.

Of course he doesn’t believe her. 

Yet.

“James. I’m sorry. I know I am asking a lot of you, I know you have history and you don’t want to believe this but what if I could show you?”

She stayed in the doorway. Keeping the distance between them. She felt bad. James got out a second mug, he poured her a cup and picked it up, he held it out, still not looking at her.

“You want to show me Victor is a murderer?”

She stepped into the kitchen and took the cup and said. 

“Yes. You are right, I need something hard, real evidence, if we catch him in the act then you will have to believe me.”

James let out a sigh, he shook his head and looked over to her as he said.

“I’m only agreeing to prove you wrong. There is no way it’s him.”

“So you’ll hear me out?”

She asked hopefully, he rolled his eyes and said.

“Yes. If it’ll get you to shut up. Now do you take cream or sugar or both?”

[berrymeter]

hi everyone this is my first fic be nice to me <3

in which y/n gets to bully mark tuan for free - somewhere over 1k words

It’s getting a little late, isn’t it ? You check your watch— just kidding, you don’t have one. What year is it, 2006 ? Don’t make me laugh. Rather than a clock bracelet conveniently placed around your wrist you lower your eyes to the bottom right corner of your laptop to confirm your suspicions… Ah, yes, the passage of time. You spent the entire damn afternoon scrolling through social media like some kind of zoomer-millennial-loser, again. (Chances are you’re one.) Still that doesn’t negate the fact that it is assuredly late now ; shouldn’t that passive aggressive twink-passing dude be back by now ?

Okay, it’s not that late. Just about time for dinner, the good ol’ almost-nine in the evening. Realistically you shouldn’t be complaining, you never actually have dinner with your problematic roommate nor do you eat dinner at an appropriate time yourself, but you open your notes app nonetheless and add another bullet point to your list: “Things I Get To Throw In His Face When We Have An Argument”. Build up your arsenal and release it all when the time is right, that’ll show him. An exaggerated sigh escapes your lips. Is it so hard to be punctual, after all ? He told you he’d be back by eight ! You’d planned to watch a movie together ! Not that it ever amounted to anything since an argument always broke out mid-film, but plans were nice every once in a while. You bite your bottom lip in annoyance, zoning out for a brief few seconds ( minutes ? Are you aware of time ? I’m not) as your eyes lose focus over the screen emitting all that nasty blue light, before deciding to just brush it off – at the very least, until he gets there. Once the door opens, it’s on. Some more scrolling and it gets you thinking, since your brain doesn’t have much better to do while he’s not here to get his ass jumped by you. You think. You think about how you referred to him as a “twink-passing” dude just a few paragraphs earlier. (You are currently in the mind of the narrator. I get to be y/n.) Why so ? Well, very simply, a twink would refer to a man who engages in romantic relationships with other men, or would at least be willing to. You’re unsure whether he would consider it. He sure looks like you could snap him like a twig though, so you call him a twink anyway. What’s he going to do ? Punch your kneecaps ? (Even if you are short, I, the writer, am shorter than you. I am offering you the ability to be taller than Mark Tuan. Use it wisely.) You think a little further, and think of how ‘twink’ has been used so many times as a joke, like it’s a funny insult. Is it right ? Are we not taking the term seriously enough ? You drop that train of thought soon enough. It doesn’t matter: twinks should be bullied. What convinced you of this is that twink from that NCT group, the one with the monosyllabic name. You nod to yourself. Yes, twinks should undeniably be bullied. (Note that I am a twink too, it’s okay, relax, I’m not calling for twink oppression. I mean I kinda am actually tho.) Within a few more seconds, your eyelids start to slip shut. Ah… What was that about the zoomer-millennial-loser thing ? You know it’s not easy these days to be productive, to find things you enjoy when you’re not in the right headspace, and being in the right headspace is not easy itself either. Work is tiring. You need those bucks, though. You struggle to work and then on your day off you scroll through social media. It doesn’t actually make you a loser, does it ? That’s what the bitter older generations will try to feed you, but it’s all wrong. You’re just living. Yes, you are. I’m proud of you. You made it this far ! Keep scrolling. Maybe get off Twitter though, that’s not how you’re going to make yourself feel any better in any capacity, unless your thing is pissing off ARMYs and getting terminated within the hour… The door unlocks. Your mind snaps back in. Wow, gee, at least you managed to pass time ! And it’s… yikes, you probably dozed off too during that time, because it’s past ten. An offended frown graces your features as you turn to look at that little bastard, that short fucking stick, that— “ Wha ! ” You get hit in the face with a purse… Damn, gay ass, he’s carrying a purse around now ? Wait, hold on. Why the fuck— “ Why the fuck did you do that ? ” you exclaim as you throw the purse aside. The devil’s looking at you with that passive aggressive smile of his on his face. Sickening. “ I heard what you said about Virgo men the other day, ” he responds, his voice barely hiding the pent up anger, “ and that wasn’t really nice, (y/n). We actually shower, you know ? ” “ Yeah, well, you’re gonna need to prove that, bitch boy. ” He grabs his keys and throws them in your face. Ouch, hey ! “ Stop that ! I wasn’t even lying, I— " His hand goes through his pocket while you speak and this time his phone hits your head. It’s enough. Quickly you stand, pushing your laptop aside and throwing the phone right back in his face… but it’s too late. He’s seen it. Your laptop. He gets a flash from the past ; years ago, when he was just a young Virgo man navigating this cruel world, although the world was at his fingertips by virtue of being a FUCKING Virgo man (tells you a lot about why the world is cruel), back when he met that so, so young Taurus boy, and he grabbed his laptop… You notice his glare. Your eyes narrow, and before you can yell out “No” he’s leaping for your laptop, grabbing it and holding onto it tight as you try to pry it from his hands. “ Let it go or I’m calling Jaybee ! “ the words shoot right out of your mouth. “ You think I’m scared of that catboy ? He showers even less than me ! ” “ Did you just admit to not showering ? Fucking nasty ! Go shower, stinky ! ” He roars in response, but it’s really embarrassing because he’s not a lion in any way, shape or form. He is, fortunately, very much human. You move your foot to rest it on his back (picture it: he’s on his stomach, across the couch, holding onto your laptop. So it is possible for you to rest your foot on his back). You put a little pressure on it, and his back cracks a little ; he goes “Ouch, fuck !”, and releases his grip. Yes, good, the laptop is yours (you knew that but I mean it’s in your hands again, don’t be annoying). Once again you put it aside – he uses that time to straighten himself up a little – but you have no mercy. You rush to the fridge as he follows suit, grab the bottle of milk, open it and throw it in his face. “ Jesus Christ, dude ! ” he yells out, completely inconsiderate of whether or not you’d like to be addressed as such. Don’t forget: as hot as he may be, he is a Virgo man. He does not care about you. Stop loving him right now. “ Guess you’re gonna have to shower for real this time, ” you comment, the satisfaction of this battle you just won seeping through your words. “ Fucking loser, lmao. ” “ Fuck you, (y/n). ” “ You look stupid as hell right now. Boo! Take a shower, you and your crusty musty ass ! That’s what you get for making me wait two hours ! You can’t even find the beat though, I guess you couldn’t find where to read the time on your phone. ” The court jester known as Mark Tuan proceeds to exit the scene under these humiliating claims, wiping some of the milk off his face with his milk-drenched shirt. “ Ew, ” is what you have to say to that. “ I beg you to shut your mouth right now, ” he responds from the bathroom.

But you don’t shut up. You’ve got your list, after all. You come closer to the bathroom door and lean against it, opening your handy dandy notes app – it's actually a Drive file so you can open it both on your laptop and your phone, handy dandy ! – and beginning to go through it all. " You remember when we moved in together and you stubbed your toe ? You thought I wouldn't notice how you blamed me for stubbing your toe on YOUR table that I hadn't even touched, and just casually didn't do any chores the next week ? Or the time I asked you to not touch my food and you went and ate all of it without even thinking about it, the time you threw my phone away because you thought it was too old and cheap to still be used by someone... Or worst of all, the time you said Zuko wasn't a 'compelling' or 'well-written' character, and that you found the Joker much more relatable... " " Go away ! " He kind of sounds like a child, not as in cute but as in immature for a grown ass man, and next thing you hear is the sound of rushing water. He's actually showering ? Damn, guess all that bullying paid off at the end of the day ! You smile to yourself but in an evil way. “ What a fucking embarrassing manlet lol, “ you mutter to yourself. Your job here is done (for now). All is well in the world. You go sit back on the couch, grab your laptop again, and browse AO3 for self-insert fics where you help Jinyoung and Jaebum hide their relationship by being Jinyoung’s beard. No way you’d get that close to Jaebum even in the dreamscape ; Mark was kinda right about him not showering…

[yikesharringrove]

so i just read Flowers for Yikes and i really love what you guys are doing! If you're taking requests, I'd love to see a college/university au with lines 4. “I… think I love you.” + 17. “I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.” you know i love you!

@xgardensinspace we’re famous omg.

Thank you for your request! I am always taking requests, I love doing them so much. You’re so sweet! ily!

4. “I… think I love you.”

7. “I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.”

I love a good college/university au. This is also modern au 😊 (feat. dyslexic Steve bc of course it does, it’s me)

Read on AO3

Prompts!

Flowers for Yikes can be found here! Written for me by @xgardensinspace

Steve was gnawing on a pen.

He was sitting in the chair outside of the tutoring rooms in the library. He had a standing appointment with Billy, easily the smartest undergraduate tutor in the joint, but also easily the most gorgeous man Steve had ever seen.

He was totally jacked, thick in the most delicious way with long curly blonde hair he made a show of sweeping into a bun with one of the many different colored scrunchies he owned. He had these eyes that made Steve melt, blue and kind and sharp in a way that made Steve go hot every time they were trained on him.

Billy also had a reputation, horror stories of people going to him for help and winding up in tears as he told them their papers were shitty, that they were idiots for doing their math homework incorrectly, that they should drop out now, save their parents the money.

But he was always so gentle with Steve, softly explaining where he went wrong, how he good make his arguments stronger, giving him tools like an online citation generator when Steve was too confused and down on himself for not remembering how to create an MLA 8 citation.

Maybe it was because Steve had cried and called himself stupid the first time they met. Steve hoped it had something to do with the tightness in his gut whenever Billy’s eyes met his and his face lit up with a smile.

The door to their regular room swept open and a freshman came out, face beet red, clutching papers covered in Billy’s red scrawl. Steve shot up, gathering himself and heading into the room.

“Jesus Christ, Pretty Boy, it’s good to fuckin’ see you. Some people on this campus are idiots.” Billy was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face in a long-suffering way. “So what have you got for me today?”

“Well, I, um. This one is kinda, kinda different. It’s for that stupid seminar I have to take for my core credits, and its-we had to write about what makes us the most insecure, so I need you, I mean, just read it and don’t focus on, on what it says.” Steve hadn’t wanted to show Billy this work, but they met up at 8:30 every Tuesday, and this paper had been so emotionally draining on Steve, he needed to see Billy and for once in his life, didn’t have any confusing assignments to try and work out.

“Okay, I’ll be real gentle with ya.” Billy smiled at him, the softest one Steve had ever seen from him.

Steve handed over the stack of papers and plopped into the chair adjacent to Billy’s, each sitting on either side of one corner.

Billy scanned through the document quickly, his eyes sliding from side to side.

“Shit, Stevie. This is really good.” He looked up at him. “I’m not blowin’ sunshine up your ass, this is genuinely really good.” Steve was beaming. Billy was definitely nicer to him than anyone else he tutored, but he had never actually called Steve’s work good before. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re dyslexic?” Steve’s face fell.

“It’s fucking embarrassing, man. I can’t read for shit.”

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s something that makes you really fucking strong. I see the way you bust your ass in school. I feel like I coulda helped you better if I had known.”

“My dad was always, really pissed off about it. He never let me get tested for it, just said I was lazy, or said I was just stupid. I only got tested when I came to college and could do it without him knowing.”

Billy’s brow was furrowed.

“FUCK your dad. Fuck him. You’re not stupid. You literally have a learning disability. You are not stupid. Do you understand me?” Billy was looking into Steve’s eyes like he could crawl inside his brain and MAKE him understand.

“I-yeah. I understand. Thanks, Billy.” Steve smiled at him, just a little one.

“Okay, so, let’s make this paper really kick ass. So you begin by explaining what it’s like in your brain when you read or write. I think for this introduction, leave any typos there are, really solidify what it is like for you before things like me or spellcheck get in there to fix it. It’ll really send the point home. And I think you should add what you told me about your dad. It’ll make a better transition from that into how stupid you have always felt you are, even though THAT’S not fuckin’ true.”

Billy continued on, making a few marks on the paper, explaining his ideas to Steve and making comments debunking anything Steve had said about himself in the paper.

“Okay, I think that’s all I got for ya. When’s she due?”

“Friday.” BIlly’s left eyebrow went up. “I know, I’m usually such a procrastinator. This one was really easy. Probably because I have a lot I’m insecure about. Hardest part was to pick one.” Billy’s face scrunched up again. The timer on Billy’s watch went off, signaling the end of their hour. “Thank you for your help though, man. I really appreciate it.” Steve packed up his documents, touching Billy’s arm before he turned to leave.

“Steve, you’re not stupid. It’s really important to me that you know that.”

Steve turned.

“Thank you, Billy. I’ll see you next week.”

Steve got an A and a smiley face that read “Great Work!” on the paper. He was ECSTATIC to show Billy his good work, what he had helped Steve achieve. At 8:30 the following Tuesday Steve bounded into the room and flopped his smiley essay down.

“I got an A! Billy this is the first time I’ve gotten an A on a writing assignment! The professor said showing how hard my dyslexia makes it for me was really smart! That was your idea! Thank you!” Billy stood up with STeve, bringing him into a bearhug.

“Fuck, Stevie. I’m so proud of you.” H released him and they both sat. “This really was all you though, I gave very little input into this piece for you. You got this A for us.” Steve beamed.

“Billy, I really wanna thank you for all your help this semester. I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.”

Billy gawked at him.

“I… think I love you.”

“Sorry, what?”

Billy’s face went bright red.

“I’m sorry, this is probably really fuckin’ weird, but I’ve had a stupid huge crush on you since we started tutoring, like, six months ago, and after I read this paper last week, and you let me in more, I just. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, and I would like to, if it’s okay, maybe like, take you on a date?”

This is the first time Steve has ever seen Billy look unsure of himself.

“I, sorry. You want to go on a date? With me?”

“Yeah. Sorry, did I just make it weird? You’re just so happy and it was really cute, and I’m sorry if I misread or if you’re not into guys or-”

“I WANNA GO ON A DATE WITH YOU.” Steve had never been the most articulate. He felt like he was gonna explode from his skin. “I’ve actually had a crush on you too. I wanna, I wanna go out with you.” Billy lit up. It was beautiful.

“Okay! Okay, you uh, you have my phone number. I’ll call you this week? Maybe we can, what are you doing on Saturday?”

“I’m free all day! Whatever you have in mind is, I’m down for whatever.”

“Okay! I’ll give you a call. It’s, um, it’s a date.” They smiled at each other. “Can I kiss you, or is that like, is that too forward.” Steve melted at Billy asking permission.

“No, that’s-fuckin’ kiss me.” Billy launched across space, connecting them together. His hands cupped Steve’s face as he smiled into their kiss. Steve’s hands trailed u Billy’s muscular back to his neck. Both boys were grinning as they pulled back for air.

“If you don’t get outta here, Pretty Boy, I’m gonna jump your bones right here, right now.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Here I am, tryna be a gentleman and shit, and here you are, making me want to throw all that right out the window.”

“Well, maybe if Saturday goes alright, you’ll get to. I am a classy broad though, you gotta wine and dine me first.” Steve winked, pulling his backpack onto one shoulder. “I’ll see you Saturday then, Bill.”

“See you then, Sweet Thing.” Steve melted at the nickname.

It was gonna be the beginning of something, real nice.

[sergeanttpoliteness]

➹one love confession, please➹(peter b. parker x reader)

The sad and divorced man who’s become a regular for the past year is constantly spilling his emotions to you, his favorite bartender. This wasn’t something new; you can’t count with both of your hands the times you’ve heard someone recount the odyssey of their life. But these flutters in your stomach were definitely something you didn’t experience with your customers, and you definitely did not end up making out with them at the end of the night. Maybe Peter B. was your only exception, though.

(PART I)

word count: 12.3k (oof)

warnings: cursing, alcohol, and mentions of sex (let me know if i missed something!)

a/n: it’s five am where i live and this is already awfully long so i’m gonna make it as brief as i can. first, i’m sorry it took eight months, but at last, it’s here, and i’m so happy and proud of it ! thank you a million times for the amazing support this story got, seriously. second, this was also for @connorshero 1.6k followers writing challenge, and i can’t express enough how ashamed i am that it took so long lmao, i’m a clown. it’s here, tho, and i hope i hear your thoughts and that y’all enjoy it (:

taglist: @fanbase-jumper

Never in a million years would you have deemed possible a human could undergo through such a crushing feeling of dread, yet, sadly, you found yourself to be wrong, for there you were, a pressure smothering your lungs and an iciness washing over you. You never would have imagined yourself hiding in the bathroom from a certain Peter B. Parker, either; but then again, contrary to your previous thinking, there you sat on the closed toilet seat, your eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavily as a frostbite in your heart eclipsed any other thoughts in your head.

For the last few days, you had tried to repress a memory which physically pained you as you worked at the bar, almost as if it were nothing more than a bizarre dream you had one night, or a movie you watched as a little kid and couldn’t figure out as a grown-up whether it was real or not. It didn’t take long before in your restless little brain, that date did not exist in the calendar. So… strange, how all of sudden you couldn't remember anything from that night. Yeah, nothing happened. There’s no reason or possible explanation as to why you nearly dropped dead to the ground every time the entrance opened, or why your lower stomach erupted like a geyser refusing to rest whenever you caught a glimpse in the mirror of the bruises on your neck and, just maybe, somewhere in the back of your head, recalled how they came to be in the first place; how the small vessels burst, why they’re there. Your self-induced amnesia surprisingly worked. Yeah, like a charm. Until you looked up for the billionth time and it wasn’t another false alarm. The fortress of protection you constructed collapsed as if it took no effort to build it, because there he was— there stood Peter, just a few feet away from you.

Of course, you panicked; hysterically searched your surroundings for an excuse to leave, but no one wanted to bother you when you most needed it. Terrible luck, indeed. You only had two choices (although, really, you most likely had more): you could be, you know, smart and face your problems, or, Peter, to be more concise, or you could run away to hide and wait it out in the bathroom. So, after analyzing it thoroughly for approximately two seconds, what did you do?

Get the fuck out of there, obviously; you threw your towel, sped out of the bar, and instantly headed to have the meltdown of the century in the bathroom.

You screamed into your hands as you relived everything in your head, stomping your foot on the floor tiles. Remorse didn’t suffice anymore to explain the sharp pain in your stomach. You’d sabotaged yourself— you got a nip that night, a morsel of something greater, a catalyst for ‘what if’s and a total loss of self-control, because once the temporary high didn’t satiate you any longer, you’d seek it again. Regardless of your constant imbecility, you weren’t oblivious: it was nothing more than a distraction for Peter’s troubles and conflicting emotions over a woman he’d married, and it would never mean anything to him. It never would, despite how much it meant to you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out, narrowed eyes reading the recent message while your heart went ballistic.

‘You can’t stay there forever, he’s starting to get suspicious.’

You breathed out, partially relieved. It was your friend. You texted him earlier as you lost it in the bathroom stall, as one does. You were close to getting on your knees and start praying to any superior entity that he was simply imagining stuff like most of the time, attempting to read in between the lines when, in reality, all Peter did was drink his whiskey served over ice, totally unconcerned. Yes, perhaps, you running away didn’t signify ‘subtle’, and the fact that you two hadn’t shared a word or texted ever since you fled his apartment a week prior didn’t brighten the situation at all. Why should it matter if you chose to continue escaping your issues? You could stay there forever, and it was no one’s business. The bar’s urine-scented bathroom could be your new home.

Your phone rang again. ‘Dude, c’mon.’

Goddammit.

Your friend shouldn’t have the power to knock some sense into you with just two messages, but he did anyway. You required an abundance of courage you did not carry to hesitantly walk out of the stall, and then the bathroom. You were sure your heart could hop out of your chest, as gruesome as it may have been, at any moment as Peter’s figure came closer and closer to you with each dreadful step you took. It wasn’t as dramatic in real life, most likely (most definitely). But as if you finally understood your situation, the charisma awakened from its sleep and, in an instant, you let out a disappointed ‘aw!’, replacing your terrified features with an exaggerated pout. “Oh, man! Somebody else already took your order? Unbelievable.”

He reacted as though he overheard the most unbelievable noise— a call from God itself or extraterrestrial life, because he could’ve gotten some whiplash by the way in which his head jerked up.

Peter cleared his throat, unsure of what to do with his hands as he showed you a tight-lipped smile. “Uh, hey! Hey…” He exclaimed and you winked at him. “I thought you weren’t here, or something.”

You thought for a moment. For real this time. You couldn’t say ‘I was just having a breakdown in the bathroom’. “Nah, my boss just needed my help… with stuff,” You waved your hand, aware that your boss had left an hour ago. He hummed and nodded, downing his shot. Wait. Your eyes returned to his glass when you fully took it in. It wasn’t whiskey served over ice.

You pointed at the empty drink in his grasp. “What’s that?” 

He glanced down at it, raising a brow. “What, you’ve never seen a shot of vodka?”

“No, no, I mean— yeah, but what the hell happened to your whiskey?”

Peter pressed his lips together, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno, guess I just… got tired of it?”

The corner of your lips tugged down momentarily. “Ah, I see…” You distracted yourself with a glass, cleaning it despite its already pristine look. You just needed anything to focus on other than Peter. “This is so tragic, your whiskey days have come to an end.” You joked, laughing quietly and disguising the aching in your chest.

He tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow and grinning a confused smile. “What’s wrong with vodka?”

“It’s just… so boring.”

An incredulous grin stretched across his face. “More boring than whiskey?”

Your smile faded, a frown taking its place. “I… I’m guessing I had just grown used to it— I don’t know.”

For the first time in a whole year of weekly meetings and ongoing chatter, an uncomfortable silence sat amongst you two. And for the first time, too, you did not know what to say. “Y/N?” You looked up at him attentively, although you did not want to hear what he had to say at all.

Peter avoided your gaze, instead focusing on his lap, and opened his mouth, closing it when you couldn’t think up any words. “I think, uh… we gotta talk, right? About… y’know.” Your face heated up as red as a field of roses.

You laughed nervously, your hands on the bar as you slanted forward. “...About what?”

“Just, about what happened, and that thing you said the morning after—”

“Did I say anything the morning after?” You cut him off, wishing you’d stuck with your plan of moving into the bathroom.

To your horror, your biggest fear unfolded as Peter let out air through his nose, chuckling without humor.

“Are you gonna try to convince me it was a dream again?” You nearly passed out as Peter cited the words you so vividly remembered uttering. “‘You’re just dreaming?’” It all came back to you, everything— your forced memory loss received a fatal blow as memories bombarded your brain: Peter’s face twisted with puzzlement and sleep after you blurted out your utter nonsense and— how could you forget, oh God, how could you— the cherry on top, your uncomfortably intense five-second staring contest as you headed for the door and dashed out of his apartment.

“‘Wake up?’” He continued and you merely blinked back at him. He didn’t need to fucking quote you and remind you what a joke you were— who does that? But also, who tells the guy you just hooked up with that he’s dreaming after he caught you in the midst of trying to sneak out? B-B-Bingo! Of course, of course it had to be you out of all people.

You stood frozen, like you did that embarrassing morning, begging your head to stop it with the callbacks and breathing out. “What if it was a dream? You never know.” You said, unwilling to give up your idiocy. Peter stared at you, his lack of amusement terrifying you further.

“A dream.”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ, Y/N—”

“What?”

“Stop acting like an idiot, please.”

“Peter, you literally could’ve brought up anything else other than this.” You hissed, exasperated. “Any other fucking thing.”

“I can’t not bring this up.”

“Well, why not? I surely can.”

“‘Cause it was weird.”

You grimaced and covered your face with your hands, muffling your words, “Oh my God, I know, I fucking know. What did you want me to do—”

“I don’t know, maybe just talk, you know!” He suggested with raised hands, the harsh sarcasm in his voice deepening your pained expression. “Wh-why did you even say that?! Like—”

“I didn’t want to be there! I just wanted to leave, okay?!” You admitted loudly, uncaring of your blatancy. When you didn’t hear him, your shaking hands slowly unveiled your face. A man two seats away eyed you two as he drank, while Peter stared at the counter with knitted brows, digesting what you said.

“Do you wish it had been a dream?” He asked quietly. You began to tap your finger, your lips shaping the words you wanted to speak, but didn’t exactly know how to.

“No. That’s not it, I…” You croaked out. You couldn’t continue when you noticed what you thought was a flourishing desire in his eyes which you saw that same night back at his place. Just say it. Your fingertips thudded the wood faster, your feet shifting, voice stuttering. Say you’d do it again.

“It was just a one-time thing, right?” You whispered. Then, you doubted if that lust had simply been a delusion your brain fabricated. That, perhaps, you yearned for something bigger so badly you’d projected your own silly cravings onto the man, for all trace of that weakening glimmer was now nothing more than the familiar amity the always held.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Right.” You breathed out.

“It was just a one-time thing.” He repeated as if it were obvious.

“Yes.” You both nodded, unable to look at each other straight in the eye without squirming. As soon as some clients called for you, you shared a last glance before you left. When you returned, all you found were some crumpled dollar bills and no sign of Peter.

You didn’t buy him a gift. And neither did he, but he did send you a message saying, ‘Merry Christmas!’, and there exists a possibility that you broke down crying whilst drunk because of the smiley face he wrote along with it, but that’s something you wouldn’t ever disclose— even if it happened one more time during New Year’s Eve as your head pounded with the people around you religiously blowing their party horns. That was it, though. You didn’t see him at the bar, which a part of you could only be thankful for, but the remaining kicked itself for not fixing things when you had the chance to. For not being honest when you could have.

Your friend yet again with his wisdom from the gods told you to stop wasting time and move on with your life, albeit not as kindly, as if saying it in such a way wasn’t hurtful enough. However, after being too sensitive for two seconds, you sucked it up and knew that he was right. 

You managed to keep Peter out of your thoughts most of the time, focusing on your job and getting additional money with your paintings to treat yourself. You could go out more with your friends, buy a new TV, maybe save for the vacation you’d been dreaming of for the past years. For some time, as there was no Peter in your head nor at the bar, it was just like before the man nearing his forties and with a really, really nice nose sat down in front of you.

You could only maintain him out of your orbit for so long, though.

You sat at another bar two blocks down your place, hunched over and your eyes glued on your cell phone’s screen, anticipation pulling imaginary strings connected to your fingers which fidgeted, tossed the device from hand to hand. Your friend was the fourth person you texted in the last thirty minutes, an act born from desperation, perhaps; created upon an urgency for an anchor, a quick fix that would momentarily patch up the heaviness in your chest that made an unwanted visit too many times to your liking and dissipate all the thoughts in your head. You needed something, a distraction, anything— hell, you’d even texted your boss, a known shopaholic, asking if she wanted to go shopping. But everyone appeared to be doing something that night, too engaged in their own affairs to remember you. It was selfish, you understood, to think that way; they had lives, after all. Nevertheless, that selfishness was a blemish you couldn’t vanish as the three dots emerged, followed by the exact same message you dreaded: ‘Can’t tonight, I’m with dad. What about tomorrow?’ There was no tomorrow, though. No, you ached for it right now, in that instant, something.

Peter.

No. You couldn’t. Another decline was a final blow you couldn’t withstand, anyway, especially from him. However, you weren’t the one making the decisions anymore. Your heart manipulated your limbs, and in a blur, you’d searched his contact. Too soon to your liking, you heard that tedious beeping, your heartbeat then the sole noise in your ears once it halted. All of a sudden, you couldn’t talk, your words lodged in your throat, because it was strange to hear that voice again and it was too much for you right now.

“Y/N? Are you there?” Peter said after you didn’t make the slightest sound, hesitance evident in his tone, for he wondered whether it’d been an accidental butt dial. You took in a big breath and pressed your phone closer to your ear, your elbows aching from the hard counter they rested upon.

“...Hi.” You scrunched up your nose, shaking your head at yourself.

“What… what’s up?” It was odd, you both knew, because when did you ever call each other, and when was the last time you two talked? But turning a blind eye to your friend’s advice, you itched to fulfill your own cravings that night— it didn’t really matter what kind, but just a friend was all you needed, just someone.

You stuttered for a while, internally grateful he remained silent and waited for you to clear your mind. “Nothing. That’s why I’m calling, I guess. Just wanted to talk.”

“To talk?” You could hear the engines of driving vehicles in the background and you frowned, scratching the back of your head.

“Sorry, are you busy? I didn’t mean to bother you. I can call another time—”

“No, no!” He stopped you, your heart growing wings, fluttering and capable of flying out of your chest with how gentle he sounded. “I just got done with something and I’m going back home, you don’t have to hang up.”

You hit the tip of your shoes against the bar, tense brows still not relaxing. “Oh, okay…”

“Are you at work?

“No, my shift ends at a normal time on Friday’s, thankfully.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I see— so you’re home alone and bored?”

You observed the place around you, focusing on the bartender and then on your drink. “Eh, not exactly.” You closed your hand into a fist, struggling to not dissect the skin around your nails like an animal in a biology class. “I know this is unusual, we never really talk outside of the bar and we haven’t seen each other in a while, but…”

“It’s kinda our first phone call, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your lip trembling. “Y-Yeah. Our first phone call.” You almost cursed when your voice wavered.

“Hey, you alright?” 

You sighed, scratching your head. “Not gonna lie, I’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t know.  It’s a Friday night— everyone’s out having a good time, and I’m just… here, in a bar and on my own.” You shrugged, your nails carving the timber.

“It’s not stupid.” He murmured and you snorted, unconvinced. “If it makes you feel any less alone, I’m not exactly out partying and having a good time, either.”

“Do you even still party, grandpa?”

“Just ‘cause I’m old, it doesn’t mean I still haven’t got the moves.”

“It definitely sounds like you don’t.”

“Don’t sound so sure, you haven’t seen me at my best.” Seeing him wasn’t necessary, you could easily imagine his teasing grin.

“Hm, yeah, I’d immediately take off my clothes if you pretended to lasso me at the club.” You both giggled and you hugged yourself, glancing at the empty stool beside you, biting the inside of your cheek. “Do you maybe want to come and have a drink with me?” You shot your shot, to your thumping heart’s dismay. Guessing by the click you distinguished, he probably just got back home.

“...Have a drink with you?”

“J-Just to hangout, you know.” You quickly explained. “Chat for a while. I can pay, if you want.”

You waited for a response, a rejection. But it didn’t come.

It was quite embarrassing, to say the least, that after he agreed and you hung up, you almost dropped your phone with how the fright weakened your arms as you tried to send him the bar’s address. You eagerly waited, too, like a damn puppy anticipating its owner’s return at the end of the day. Using your phone’s selfie camera, you checked your appearance, tidying up all just to make yourself look way more put together than you actually were, even if you were in a bar, alone, and, well, drinking. Despite your awaiting, though, you were taken off guard when a man chose to settle down beside you and cleared his throat.

“I gotta say, it’s weird to see you on the other side of the bar,” Peter smiled as a greeting. Your eyes scanned him, taking in his presence, struggling to process it as if he were a ghost. In your defense, it did feel as if he hadn’t been part of your world for the last two months.

You chuckled, shyly moving your view to your beverage. “Sorry, I won’t be playing bartender tonight.”

“Too bad, I like it when you give me free drinks.”

“Technically, you still are getting free drinks from me tonight.”

He huffed, a crooked smile lingering on his face. You called for the bartender and side-glanced at Peter, quietly asking what he wanted and biting back a disappointed grunt when it wasn’t whiskey served over ice. Whatever. It was just a drink. You two didn’t share a look after that small interaction, though, your face flustered, redder than the bartender’s awful and painful-to-look-at-from-how-bright-it-was shirt. You preferred to believe it was the alcohol, regardless of the truth that you hadn’t drunk that much yet. But your skin burned since he was there, and suddenly, the last disastrous meeting you two experienced replayed way too loudly in your head, the scorching sensation only spreading further and gaining more vigor with the possibility that it did the same in his, too. The unspoken and evident discomfort was enough to make you assume that it definitely was on his mind. 

You made the effort to spark up a conversation with the dreaded small talk. ‘How have you been?’, ‘Anything new?’, ‘The weather’s been pretty cold lately, huh?’— blah, blah, blah. Nonetheless, neither of you had more to say other than short, boring responses. It became so unbearable, you knew the only way you could get through this night— seeing as you couldn’t leave after he’d just gotten there— depended on your current and whoever many you could afford future drinks. Quite an alcoholic mindset, perhaps, but there was no way you were the only one or that Peter didn’t have the same wish as you.

Holding your third drink, tispy thoughts pressed you to climb out of the hell you were in. You turned your body to face him, nudging his leg with your foot. He’d been paying attention to a wildlife documentary and an animal hiding from its predator before he lifted an eyebrow and nodded at you. “What?”

“Where have you been?”

A crease formed between his brows as he found it hard to differentiate this question from the one you asked earlier. “I told you, I haven’t really been up to much—”

You shook your head. “That’s not what I asked. Where have you been?” Peter pursed his lips, contemplating.

“New York.”

You hummed, bringing your drink up to your lips. “Okay. So if you were here, how come I haven’t seen you since, uh—” You pretended to count in your head, tongue poking out of your mouth as you summed with your fingers. “—December?”

“I was busy.” You narrowed your eyes.

“I thought you hadn’t been up to much?”

“I… haven’t,” Peter said slowly, too far in to escape the contradiction. You bit your lip before finishing your half-empty drink all in one go, head spinning, the weight in your stomach drawing you down to the Earth’s core.

It’s difficult to perceive the line between overthinking and legitimacy. It’s so fine and faint, like a message written with chalk in the middle of the neighborhood’s road that can only be deciphered if you stare at it long and closely enough after the days have passed by and the rain showered upon it. On one side, the message was nothing more than scrawls and nonsensical letters, an unnecessary distraction on the road disrupting you from reaching your destination on time. But then, there was the other side: the truth. A truth that, funnily enough, you reached by overthinking in the first place. Which was what occurred when you suspected the reasoning behind the lack of Peter in your life could be pinpointed to the man purposefully avoiding you; and, right now, grasped that, after all, it wasn’t just another case of irrational overanalyzing. 

“Do you hate me?” You blurted out, your eyes going round with the disappearance of your filter. Confusion overflowed Peter’s head and spilled into his expression, adorning his face.

“Huh?”

“Do you hate me—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Where the hell did that come from, though?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” You stated the obvious, visibly hurt. Peter denied with his head the misconception, sighing.

“It wasn’t intentional.” He assured you not just with his words but his gaze, too. You pressed your lips together, not fully convinced.

“Was it not?” You asked with a small quirk of your mouth. He stared at you, embarrassment crawling across his skin.

“Alright, maybe it was.” He admitted sheepishly. You let out air through your nose, turning on your seat.

“So you do hate me.”

“Y/N,” Peter called for your attention, although he knew it was half-joke. You returned your attention to him. “If I hated you, would I be here, sitting next to you?” He questioned, motioning around him. You shrugged one shoulder, a grin growing on your face.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just being nice.” You said and he groaned jokingly, sporting his very own lopsided grin.

“I’m being nice because I like you.”

Your smile fell for an instant, but you put the expression back up, reminding yourself that, once more, it didn’t go further than platonic. “Good. But you were mad, then.”

“No, not exactly.”

“You left without saying goodbye last time.”

Peter frowned, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did. Sorry.” He apologized, the sincerity interlaced in his voice worsening your state. You wanted to place your hand on your chest, as you diagnosed with your zero quantity of medical knowledge that you had a high chance of having a heart attack before the night came to an end.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?”

“Well,” You placed your chin on the palm of your hand, moving your eyes elsewhere. “First, for being a dumbass back when we hoo—”

“You know what? You’re fine.” He interrupted you. “Save yourself some time.”

Your brows snapped together. “But—”

“You were right. Let’s just not talk about it and move on, alright?” He waved his hand, grabbing his drink. “If you do talk about it, I think I’m actually gonna get up and leave.”

You laughed, nodding. “Ah, I see. So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, then?”

His actions halted in the midst of taking a sip. “Maybe.” He answered vaguely.

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t just run away from your problems, Peter.” You pointed out like the hypocrite you were, particularly after that was exactly what you were doing not too long ago. Peter, unaware of this, however, had to admit you spoke the truth as he rubbed his nose with his knuckles, grumbling.

“You see, you say that, but I’m still gonna continue doing it.”

“No, you’re not, because we’re going to discuss this like adults—”

“As an adult, I’m telling you that all is good and I’m over it.” He finished with a warning tone you couldn’t take seriously and you giggled. “Next topic.” 

“Okay, grandpa. Sure thing. All is good.” You grinned, the ice in your heart melting off as he copied your countenance.

“For real this time.”

“Yeah. For real this time. Can I be honest with you, though?” Peter waited for you to go on, paying close attention, his gaze soft. You stared at him for a moment too long ‘till your eyes moved to your hand now feebly holding your empty drink. “I missed you. Kind of. Is that dumb?” You mumbled, your voice small.

You couldn’t properly see him, but through your peripheral vision, you didn’t catch any movement. That’s when you prepared to scream ‘sike!’ to his face— a real-life undo button to delete the emotions you couldn’t take back and shove down your system anymore. However, it felt… good. For once, it wasn’t spilling your guts out and regretting everything as you attempted to cram your organs back into you; you had plucked out a thorn that’d been hanging inside the palm of your hand for far too long. It was liberating. And you peered up at him, expecting that relief to be temporary, but his tender features didn’t let that happen.

“...No. I missed you, too.”

You both smiled.

The conversation began to flow. Words started to spill, and although you weren’t at the bar, you enjoyed that exact same security and blissful buzz. You realized then— a revelation that did not help your case— the location didn’t play an important role, and perhaps it never did; bar or not, if Peter was there, you’d still feel stupidly and overly content. Your worries faded away as you two caught up with no drop of MJ’s name, but some lingered anyway, because change was inevitable, looming over you. Laughter left your lips, his hand rested close to yours on the counter. You noticed, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, to walk away from the euphoria tainting your body. More liquor entered his, over time you stared at his mouth one, two, three, four seconds too long as you became intoxicated along with him, and so did he with yours.

“C’mon, tell me.” You pouted for an instant, interchanging it for a drunk smile. “Your secret dies with me.”

Peter slammed his fifth drink down, cheeks tinted pink. It was wrong, indeed, to take advantage of his condition and try to get out of him something you’d wanted to know for the longest time, and that he kept to himself as if it were government classified information. In your drunken brain, it did not seem too far off. Perhaps he went on outrageous underground missions. You laughed at yourself. Peter didn’t seem like a spy-type of guy. Unless…

“Do you, like, work for the government?” Peter screwed up his face at your absurdity.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter opened his mouth, a giggle escaping. “I can’t.” You dragged your stool closer to him, as you weren’t close enough already. Actually, when did you get so close? It didn’t matter. You analyzed his face, hoping that somehow, if you looked at him long enough, you’d gain the ability to read minds and crack into his. Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, studying you like you were the most interesting being. You didn’t know why, but you felt tempted to move that strand of hair that always hung in front of his forehead away from his face. As any rational person wouldn’t, you did, your thumb brushing against the barely visible scratch that started the conversation in the first place.

“What are you thinking?” You questioned, brimming with interest. He went crossed-eyed as he tried to follow your hand.

“About stuff. Whatcha thinkin’?” He asked back, his view traveling down to your lips. You bit your lip.

The closeness, your full-blown pupils, the actuality that you could lean closer to him and you’d meet his lips. It all seemed too familiar. And so you wondered, if you did move and kiss him, if you stopped resisting and glanced down at his lips, too, what would happen?

“I don’t know. What does it look like I’m thinking?” You asked, lowering your voice. The stench of alcohol should have been enough to stop you both from advancing any further, but Peter licked his lips, smirking.

“It seems to me like you wanna fuck me.”

You gasped, hiccuping. “Oh, my! I didn’t know this part of yours, Peter B. Parker. Is it just the alcohol speaking?”

“Maybe. But is it true?”

“What?”

“What I said.”

Your upper body swayed closer to him, tired, dizzy, and wishing to lie down. You gripped his shoulder and helped yourself add some distance, your other hand landing on his knee. “Maybe.” You simply said. Your eyes remained interlocked into one another, your hand running up his shoulder to his neck, and then all the way up to the back of his head, sensing his goosebumps. “Maybe…” You repeated as your touch on his knee traveled up his thigh. Peter took in a sharp breath, his hand unconsciously wrapping around your wrist.

You couldn’t help it anymore. You leaned in and captured his mouth in a rough kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pull away, a voice said in your head as you felt his tongue momentarily slide against your bottom lip. Pull away, the nagging voice went on and you did, shaking your head.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen again.” You whispered, yet your mouth came back into a messy kiss, even messier hands craving touch. Breaking glass startled you two apart and you looked down, sighing when you saw your drink’s contents all over the ground. “You owe me a drink.” You panted, your lips swollen.

Peter scoffed, his half-smile blurring your vision as he tilted his head towards your ear. “Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to.” He said, mouth ghosting near your cheek despite his words, yearning to continue. You pecked his jaw, lips resting against his hot skin, careless about the other customers in the bar.

“I do want something to happen, though.”

You both ignored the conversation your sober selves had. ‘It was just a one-time thing, right?’. Peter slammed your apartment’s door closed whilst your lips were still connected, your hands clumsily coming down to try to unbuckle his belt. ‘Yeah’. His own hands aided yours, the clinking of his belt buckle speeding up your heartbeat as if it weren’t already dangerously fast. ‘It was just a one-time thing’. Peter groaned into your mouth, tasting like liquor, like something you’d both regret the next morning but did not care about the consequences, even if it was a lesson you’d already learned. Not at the moment.

But nothing happened.

You couldn’t recall much the next morning. The first proof that it didn’t go further from a make-out session was that you woke up in your bed, alone, and wearing the same clothes as the previous night. The second evidence you gathered when you barged into your living room and there slept Peter on your couch, his appearance also identical to the one in your hazy memories. He didn’t remember anything. As you struggled to cease your trembling legs, he simply laughed and asked if he got so wasted he had to crash at your place. You shrugged and smiled, still capable of tasting his lips and vividly feel his hot breath.

From then on, you avoided drinking or being too exhausted to have any common sense when you were around Peter. One day he invited you to go out and have a few drinks again, to ‘repay’ you, and to which you responded as calmly as you could that you had other ‘plans’; other plans that, truthfully, were faker than the disappointed expression of yours that followed. Then, as if you couldn’t ever reach a state of peace, he asked again a month later, and you had no other choice than to invent a faulty reason for why you didn’t feel like drinking that night, the next night, or the one after, even if, according to all the drunk stories you’d recounted to him in the past, you never really turned down a drink or the opportunity to get inebriated. Guilt poisoned you when he never brought up the idea after that, fingers crossed that he didn’t get the impression you didn’t want to meet him in other circumstances other than the bar; regardless that that’s exactly what was going on. Every other night after he helped you with closing the bar, you’d also nod goodbye at him and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting until he turned around the corner so your feet could dreadfully carry you to the subway station, your now-unfixable car present in your head like an aggravating piece of gum that stuck to your shoe.

Nothing could be more vexing than this, though.

Eventually, you began to wonder. Perhaps, yet again, you were as weary as that time you slept with Peter, seeing as you couldn’t think straight, almost as if you’d suffered from a concussion and all your neurons died, to your utmost dismay. But there was a dissimilarity: the unfortunate detail that, unlike physical fatigue, mental exhaustion wouldn’t pack its bags and wave farewell after a night-long sleep. Not when immediately after you woke up, the same worries still found their home within your head. So your imagination took it as an initiative to force feelings and schemes onto you, ones which involved the stomach-churning plausibility that maybe, just maybe, Peter liked you back and you could happily come clean. You had to laugh. But then you really started to wonder.

You needed at least six reasons to follow through with it. First. He was the one who made a move months ago. Second. He wasn’t drunk. Third, you listed in your head, you kissed. Again. And, fourth, this time he might have been drunk, but if he did it both as a sober man and a drunk one, it had to mean something, right?

You were struggling to distinguish the line between overthinking and legitimacy again.

You went to work that day, decided, the fifth reason simply being that you couldn’t get him out of your head, but the sixth reason missing. A truck landing on you would probably do the job, you thought. You didn’t mean it whole-heartedly, of course. But, apparently, the universe didn’t know about sarcasm and how it worked since, an hour after the thought passed through your head, it sent you a nice little gift and Spider-Man just so happened to get in a fight near the bar and an actual truck broke through the walls of the pub.

“I can’t fucking believe a truck landed right here. This is why I hate living in this city so much,” You scoffed, holding a towel wrapped around ice up to your bruised forehead as you observed the gigantic hole where the truck happily invited itself into. Peter barely reacted to your comment, too focused on disinfecting the wound in your arm. You pulled the makeshift ice bag away from your head, screwing your eyes shut. “I’m starting to get a headache from how cold this is, can I—”

Peter grabbed your hand and forced it back up to your forehead, shaking his head and focusing again on your arm. “No, trust me, it will reduce the swelling.”

“Should I be worried that you know so much about injuries?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at your lap. “I know. Thanks.” You smiled, recalling the urgency in his voice after he called you, saying he’d seen what’d happened on the news. He moved on to the gauze and began to bandage your arm, making sure his movements were delicate lest he hurt you more. “I met Spider-Man, though. I think I can finally die in peace.” You caught the way the corner of his mouth lifted upward.

“Really? Did he apologize for almost killing you?” Peter grumbled, accepting the scissors you offered him to cut the cotton fabric. You released a huff of air, admittedly offended and immediately going to defend the masked superhero.

“He didn’t almost kill me, it was the other guy. Bad guys, you know? They’re everywhere.” He huffed. “He checked up on me and offered to take me to the hospital, though. Pretty cool guy.”

“And why didn’t you say yes?”

You contemplated his question. “Stranger danger.” You shrugged. Peter laughed softly, muttering ‘fair enough’. “It also wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to interfere with his, uh… superhero duties…”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Isn’t making sure you’re okay part of his duties?”

“I guess, but I’m fine, it’s no biggie.”

“Y/N, you could have died.”

“But look at me,” You patted your torso, then holding your arms wide open. “I didn’t. You’re making it sound much worse than it actually was.” Peter ran his hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly.

“Whatever,” He said, hesitance showing through his eyes. “I just think the guy should be more careful. His job is to protect the people, not to… hurt them.”

You scowled playfully, kicking him lightly. “Dude, fuck off, don’t talk shit about him like that. He’s Spider-Man. Give the poor guy a break.” He didn’t say anything, though, stirring your concern as you realized he seemed off since he first arrived. “Are you okay?” You inquired, frowning.

Peter glanced up at you before rubbing his face. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”

“Every day is a long day when it comes to you, isn’t it?” You joked lightly, nudging him a second time. “You helped me, now let me help you. What’s up?”

He moved his head from one side to another. “You’re always helping me.” He said almost as an apology, smiling sadly. You smirked back, standing up from your seat next to him to jump over the bar. You grasped an empty shot glass, checking no small debris had made its way into for the sake of Peter’s health (now, that’d be a hell of a lawsuit) before you slid it towards him.

“It’s my job as your bartender.”

He peered down at the glass and then up at you. Chuckling defeatedly, he took ahold of it, and you read it as ‘ah, the hell with it’ as you reached for the bottle of vodka. “I fucked up.” He whispered while you poured the liquid.

You screwed the cap closed, your eyebrows lifting high. “How come?”

Peter placed his head in his hands, nose crinkling. “I, um… talked to MJ?” And just like that, your mood took a fall as well, an inaudible ‘oh’ fleeting past your lips. “It’s the first time we talked in a long time.”

“...And?” You asked anxiously, folding your arms across your chest. Peter clutched onto the shot of vodka, watching the liquid dangerously reach for the edge of the glass after he slowly tipped it.

“Well, she’s trying to move on.” Surprise crossed your face. “And I was so distraught by it for the rest of the day that I really fucked up at work.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“That maybe I should move on, too.”

Your arms fell down to your sides. Maybe you really did hit your head too harshly, you thought, as your body started to feel heavy and you had to support yourself on the bar, for all this information you were hearing at once was colliding against you more vigorously than the pieces of wood which fled towards you earlier. Swallowing to bring moisture to your throat, you continued with the million-dollar question pestering you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You regretted uttering the words, something you seemed to be doing too much to suit your taste as of lately. However, Peter, although the question troubled him the same way it did you, clasped his hands together and you studied him whilst he went through every thought in his head and through every feeling, seeking an explanation he himself needed to know as well. 

“I’m not sure if I want to. But I know that I have to.” He finally breathed out. You leaned forward, not satisfied, needing to hear more and more even if it’d hurt, because nothing was more vexing than this feeling. 

“But you love her,” You said matter-of-factly. Silence. Your heart pounded rapidly enough you could sense it in your head. “Right?” You asked, embarrassed by the apparent desperation in your tone.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out his thoughts, blinking up at you.

“You love Mary Jane?”

He bit his lip as he went back inside the isolated room of his brain after only just sneaking his head out, evidently growing stressed. “It’s okay,” You brought him back out, sacrificing your curiosity as you gently smiled at him. “You don’t have to answer.”

Peter exhaled thankfully, downing his shot. “What’d you wanna tell me earlier, anyway?” He asked expectantly, his voice scratchy from the liquor. Oh. Yeah, right. Plans might have changed an hour ago, yet for some reason, you still wanted to come clean to Peter. However, right now, after hearing about Mary Jane, you forgot about the sixth reason and remembered why you never did in the first place after all this time.

“Do you… want to go get a drink?” You cursed your imagination for not working when it was necessary. Peter’s forehead creased with astonishment as if he never thought he’d hear that sentence again (in his defense, though, it’s exactly what you were planning to do).

“You finally wanna go and get a drink?”

“Hey, just be glad I’m feeling like it.”

It was an understatement to express you were feeling like it.

You continued searching for that sixth reason for the next weeks, even if the entire world knew that after you found it, you’d keep your lips sealed. Your friend put your friendship at risk when, during your September lunch with your boss, he couldn’t resist but telling her about your ‘secret crush’, saying he simply did it for a third opinion, but neither of you gained no new eye-opening advice for your boss dragged on about how Peter could be ‘the one’, which honestly worked in scaring you away from the topic. One day after, as you couldn’t fall asleep, you deliberated the reasons why you should forget about Peter.

One. He’s your friend. Your really good friend. You liked him being your friend. He’s funny, a nerd, and you could talk to him forever, even if it was merely absolute nonsense. Two. He’s a lot older than you. Not that eight years mattered that much, but it could. You were just entering your thirties whilst he was nearing his forties. Even if he’d made it clear kids weren’t his cup of tea, he could change his mind. You weren’t ready to settle down yet, despite most people reminding you the clock was ticking and you should start considering it. 

Three. The iconic Mary Jane Watson. Peter’s ex-wife whom he loved dearly. He might have not talked about her since he mentioned the idea of moving on, but you knew it was easier said than done. If you opened up, he could shut you down and reveal he’s still in love with MJ. Or worse, if you two did wind up dating, he could decide to leave you for her. Four. Your friend helped you with the fourth one. He had yet to tell you about why he’s bruised most of the time. It admittedly awakened the cynicism in you, for it could be something which had the potential of putting you at risk, or get you killed. Plus, if he did not want to give you an explanation, it meant he didn’t trust you enough. 

Five. You couldn’t lose him. You already almost did. Your absurd crush could be the last straw and get rid of him for good. If that was the case, then you’d do anything to muffle your heart singing its love songs when he crossed your mind or simply stood in front of you. You’d do it, even if it’d hurt.

Again, you couldn’t come up with a sixth reason. You established, then, that whichever reason you uncovered first, would be the final word. Your friend knew both a sixth reason for why you shouldn’t forget about Peter and why you should that, trying not to influence you any further, he kept to himself; it being clear in his head which one he hoped you’d find first.

It was another Friday night. You’d just returned home after wasting your money on some restaurant that definitely was not worth the price (goddamn New York) when your phone blared its ringtone in your pocket. Your heart clenched as you read the name and were about to answer immediately, until you stopped yourself. Counting eight seconds in your head, your thumb slid across the screen after you got to the last number and picked up the call. “Peter?” You were audibly and justifiably perplexed— why has he calling you at… you checked the time— ten P.M,? It may have not been the first one anymore, but phone calls were still a rare occurrence between you two.

“Hey! Are you busy?” His breathing was heavy, which made you wonder what he possibly could’ve been up to before he called you.

You opened your apartment’s door and blindly searched for the light switch. “No, I just got back home, actually.” You muttered, and then voiced a victorious exclamation when the room lit up in front of your eyes. “Why?”

He inhaled profoundly. “Cool. Great. Yeah.”

You guessed the barely distinguishable quiver in his voice could be defined as uneasiness as you sat down on your couch’s armrest, squinting.

“Is everything okay?”

“...Yeah. Yeah!” He repeated, firstly too quietly but now with faux confidence. “I needed to talk to you.”

Ah, hell. You had one important question and one only: when would you get a break from confrontation and those words? The last time you and Peter ‘needed to talk’ didn’t exactly go as smoothly. That in mind, your organs plummeted down into an expanding black hole in your stomach as you brought your fingers up to your lips. “I’m all ears, as always.” No, not really, but you didn’t exactly have any other choice.

“Okay, okay. Um, I, uh… what am I doing?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I wanna say sorry in advance.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

You could solely hear what sounded like wind. “You’re not gonna believe me, so just, just look outside your window.”

The black hole having devoured the contents in your system, you raised to your feet and sped to the window, not capable of painting in your head a single picture of what in the heavens the man could be planning. You unlatched the lock and glided the window upward, your head gradually peering out. Your eyes went as big and round as the full moon glowing above you when you saw it.

You stared dumbfounded, close to pinching yourself to do a reality check. It had to be a dream. A strange dream. There was just no way. No fucking way, it was absolutely impossible. It was beyond the innumerable existing possibilities that Spider-Man looked back at you, stuck against the wall. Similar to someone’s lack of subtlety, it couldn’t have been any more evident. You didn’t even need a big brain or to think, to analyze deeply as if it were a riddle in a newspaper. Because it was just right there in front of you, plainly obvious and transforming your blood into ice: the phone he held up to his face.

“Hi…” Said the masked hero. And so did Peter through the phone call.

Your phone slipped from your grasp, yet you didn’t glance down at it. You continued to gawk at the man as he flicked his wrist and saved not only your phone, but simultaneously also your bank account from having to spend hundreds of dollars on a new one. You did not mutter a thanks, let out no relieved sigh when he gave it back to you. You just stared.

“I know I’m pretty cool to look at, but can you please say something?” He laughed nervously. Ignoring him, you took a step back and retreated your head, eyes close to falling out of their sockets. The phone in your shaky hands rang a second time and you answered without needing to look at the contact.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Peter, what the fuck.”

“I’ve done this so many times but I still don’t know what to say.” He groaned to himself. You put your hand on top of your head, disbelieving.

“Get in.” You abruptly ended the call and plopped down on your couch, clutching your stomach, blinking furiously after black dots uncontrollably twirled in your vision. You heard a thump, the floor shaking slightly; however, you didn’t turn around to look at your guest, instead focusing on the wall in front of you. It wasn’t until the cushion beside you sank with the man’s weight that you blew up. “Holy shit.” You cupped your face with your hands, laughing out of pure shock. “Holy shit… holy shit!”

“Don’t freak out.”

“How am I not supposed to freak out?!”

Peter— Spider-Man shrugged, his white lenses wide. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He admitted.

You scanned his mask, the mask you’d become familiar with after seeing it so many times on TV and pictures. Somehow, however, regardless if you knew that mask and the person behind it, you couldn’t believe its authenticity. “Take off the mask.” He didn’t move or respond. “Please.” You begged.

You first saw the stubble. Then his lips. Then his crooked nose, and soon, those eyes. The whiskey eyes. Peter’s whiskey eyes. Your hands wound up on his broad shoulders, and for some reason you yourself couldn’t work out, it just dawned upon you how muscular they were. Your eyes came back to his face. Yeah, that’s Peter. That’s Peter B. Parker. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. All the revelations crashed against you quick, glass shattering in your head, everything suddenly making sense. The bruises. His constant fatigue. Everything.

“Peter… oh my God.”

“I know I-I kept this from you for a really long time, and I know it’s hard to fully digest it, but I did promise I was gonna tell you one day.” He said, the corner of his lips twitching. But you weren’t smiling— all the terrible fights you’d watched on the news throughout the years flashed in your head, going all the way back in time to when you first discovered Queens’ brand-new superhero as a seven-year-old.

You gasped, covering your mouth. “You’re telling me you’ve been at this since you were a fucking kid?”

Peter let his mask drop to the carpeted ground, his back sliding down the sofa’s backrest. “Since I was fifteen, yeah.”

“Peter…”

He grimaced at your concern. “I know it sounds sad, but it’s not… it’s not that bad.” He promised you, but you couldn’t take him seriously. You picked up your legs, sitting cross-legged and playing with your fingers as you continued to go through your racing questions.

“I used to look up to you when I was little.” You revealed quietly. Peter scoffed, grinning playfully. 

“What, you don’t anymore?”

You shook your head vigorously. “I do. Shit, I still do. I never thought I’d meet my childhood hero the way I did, though.”

“Sorry I’m just a sad, old man.”

You rolled your eyes, prodding him with your elbow. “You’re so much more than that.” All humor fled his expression and he shut his eyes, throwing his head back. 

“Am I? I constantly feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He huffed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke. There it was, of course; he couldn’t talk about Spider-Man in a non-degrading way.

“You’re fucking Spider-Man!” You exclaimed, not accepting his utter bullshit, but he was willing to accept it as he peeked one eye open to look at you.

“I know, you always say that.”

You gave up in trying to change his mind and shifted closer to him, copying his position, unable to focus on your view of the boring, mundane ceiling; so you turned your head to see Peter getting lost in the white square. “You really didn’t have to tell me. This is a big secret.”

“It’s alright. I trust you.” You were glad he kept staring up as you felt the blood rush to your face.

“You do?” You asked, your chest warm, illuminated with glee. Peter glanced at you, nodding nonchalantly.

“I mean, yeah. I really do.”

You turned your face away from him, your muscles close to tearing from how big and proudly you grinned. “Spider-Man trusts me.” You hushed to yourself.

Peter breathed out, exasperated, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Stop.” He pleaded, laughing himself nonetheless. You bit your smile back, moving to sit straight in what your friend liked to call your ‘parent worried about their kid’ sitting position. 

“I guess I was right for worrying, huh?” You smiled sadly, taking in the severity of the situation. He poked his cheek with his tongue, shaking his head.

“I don’t want you to worry.” He sighed. You snorted.

“That’s dumb. You’re saying you’re always putting your life on the line? Of course I’m gonna worry.”

“Well, I worry about you, too.”

“How come?”

“If you’re close to me, then you’re putting your life on the line as well.”

You frowned, squeezing his arm to comfort him. “No, don’t say that.”

“Y/N, it’s the truth, though.” He fully sat up to turn toward you, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s the worst thing about this. How many times have the people I care about gotten hurt? All ‘cause of me?”

You remained speechless. Moments later, he placed his hands flat against the sofa, preparing to stand up. “Y’know, I get it if you want to keep your distance from now on. I actually think it’d be a good—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You warned him, expression stern. “It’s stupid.”

“I almost got you killed that other time—”

“You didn’t almost get me fucking killed, for Christ’s sake!” 

Peter’s jaw tightened and he ran his hands through his hair, that strand of hair falling back in front of his forehead. “Whatever. You can’t be so sure, anyway.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing that he was right. You nervously placed your hand on top of his. “Can I hug you?” You asked like a child, giving him a half-smile. Peter looked down at your hand before his eyes moved to you.

“Sure. Y-Yeah.” 

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him hard, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt him slowly embrace your waist, scared of  underestimating his strength. “I’m glad you told me. It must have been really hard.” You murmured against his chest. He chuckled humorlessly, his cheek on top of your head.

“You have no idea.”

“I’m gonna be here for you no matter what, okay? Whether it’s to vent or for some weird spider shit. I…” Love you. “You’re my friend, dude.”

After he left that night, you’d never been more conflicted about your feelings. It was a conundrum; a whole headache-inducing brain-teaser. You’d striked out the fourth reason why you should forget about Peter, the original five down to only four, but you still searched for that sixth— now fifth reason. As if it didn’t scramble your brain enough that it left you dazed and your thoughts impossible untangle, Peter unknowingly joined the game with the objective of rattling you up more. 

You noticed he didn’t disappear without notice ever again, and if he did, he didn’t leave you hanging, rather he sent you a text the day after with an entire clarification. Then, you caught onto the increasing meter of his touchiness: new and unexpected hugs, holding your damn hand— although that only happened twice, but still. Your overdramatic friend didn’t even need to point it out. 

One Saturday, he sat down in front of you, and before you could greet him, he surprised you. “One whiskey served over ice, please.” He smirked. You gaped at him, laughing, face astonished.

“What’s up with that?” He shrugged, grin never disappearing.

“I dunno, I guess I missed it.”

You never thought you’d continue hearing ‘one whiskey served over ice, please’ ever again. But you did.

This year, you did give him a present for Hanukkah and Christmas. A painting of one of your favorite photos of his that he showed you one day; a day you so vividly recalled, for he asked you to come with him to take pictures of an exhibition at a museum, and you accidentally broke a statue after you leaned against it in the attempt of doing an extravagant pose. To your surprise, he gave you one, too: a photo album with pictures from that day, and a message that read, ‘Merry Christmas!’, accompanied by a smiley face. In the blink of an eye, it was New Year’s Eve again, except that this time, you and Peter were talking.

You came out of the party’s bathroom, unable to tear your gaze away for the fourth time from Peter’s New Year’s Eve message, until you bumped into someone and had to force yourself to pocket your phone. You lazily swayed to the music, your vision blurring out, turning it harder to find your friend amidst the people. While your body was there, all your five senses working perfectly, feeling the heat from the enclosed space, the music vibrating in your chest, the smell of alcohol and smoke fixed in your nostrils, your mind lived in December 20th. December 20th being last Monday: a date that continued to echo in your head, the entirety of the day playing from the beginning until the pitch-black hour of midnight. It played, played, played relentlessly, exhaustingly. December 20th, it continued, a stupid date that your drunk self could not let go of.

You distinguished your friend in the crowd, comfort kissing your body and your tired legs guiding you to him, until you moved a person aside and saw the full view of his lower body grinding against a girl all over him. “Ah, fucking gross,” You groaned, pushing the unlucky same guy as you took a turn and headed for the glass door leading out to the balcony.

You firstly bumped into the door thinking it was open, but successfully slid it open and made it out into the winter weather, the city more awake than ever twenty minutes before the New Year. But you weren’t focusing on the future. No, you held onto last Monday, gripping it so tightly it hurt, hanging onto it as if you’d be nothing once it left. You stumbled towards the bench to your left, falling defeated on it. December 20th. You turned on your phone, squinting down at the screen, eyes struggling to focus through the brightness. Last week. You opened your contacts and without hesitation called a number, bringing your phone up to your ear, humming along to the beeping whilst you awaited for the person to pick up.

“Hello?” Peter said. You hung up, eyes wide. What the fuck were you doing? You didn’t answer your own question, though; you pressed the button to call again. 

“...Hi?” 

You ended the call a second time, growing frustrated with yourself. Having finally made up your mind, you called him one last time, jumping when he answered in what appeared a worldwide record-time. “Y/N, what the fuck—”

“Peter! You answered.”

There was a short silence. “I did.” He agreed, undeniably puzzled. You slumped against the wall, muffling your dopey laughter with the palm of your hand. You could hear… ah, wait. You could see, not hear, his face in your head with no problem: his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“How are you?” You wanted to hear about his day. What had he eaten that day? What had crossed his mind? Hopefully you’d made an appearance at least once. That’d be nice.

“I’m good, thanks for asking.”  You hummed happily. “How drunk are you?” 

You shook your head, failing at rubbing the haziness out of your eyes. “Just a bit tipsy, maybe.”

“How much exactly is ‘a bit tipsy’ for you?”

“How many phone calls have we had?”

A question out of the blue, you knew, and you were expecting yet again the quietness as he processed your sudden need to quiz him about such insignificant rubbish. Well… did he think it was insignificant? So many questions bouncing off your skull all at once, worsening that awful migraine you could already feel coming… or was it the booze? No, who cares. All you cared about at the moment was his response, because knowing how many fucking phone calls you’ve had wasn’t that hard unless you didn’t care.

“What?” Really? He was going to make you repeat yourself? You dug the heel of the palm into your closed eye, white fireworks blowing up in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Like, for these past two years. How many phone calls?”

“I… don’t know, maybe like three?”

Your face fell ever so slightly. “It’s six, actually.” You heard an unenthusiastic gasp.

“Wow, that’s great.”

“Do you remember the sixth one?”

“Isn’t this the sixth one?”

“This is the seventh one.”

“Okay, and why are you giving me a class about how many phone calls we’ve had?”

“Because you don’t remember the sixth one. I’m sure you don’t even remember the fifth one that well.”

He remained quiet for a moment. “It’s a blur.” Peter murmured.

“You were drunk…” You shut both eyes now, trying to dig through the fog to recall. “It was after you came to the bar…” Peter’s embarrassed stutters, similar to his inebriated ones, helped to uncover the memory further. 

“I-I was drunk, yeah,” He admitted, “just like you are right now.”

“And what did you say?”

He laughed uncomfortably. “I think you remember better than I do.”

You grinned. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Of course I’m embarrassed, Y/N.”

“Well, what about the sixth time you called me?”

“I seriously can’t remember a sixth time.”

“It wasn’t a failed booty call.”

He breathed in harshly. “Ah, I’m glad, I guess.”

A frown took over your features. “You really can’t remember?” You needed him to. He had to. Or else...  or else…

“I swear on my aunt.”

Your heart shattered, the sharp pieces prodding and hurting your chest. “So… so I guess you didn’t mean what you said?” You mumbled to yourself, realization sobering you more than you wanted it to.

Peter couldn’t help but begin to panic a bit at the mention of expressing something without his knowledge, or at least without his not drunk self’s knowledge. You immediately grew conscious of it for this time, the silence was different. “...What did I say?” He questioned, somewhat afraid. You didn’t speak. “Y/N? What did I say?” He pushed more urgently.

“It doesn’t matter,” You changed your mind. Calling was just another bad idea. You took your phone away from your ear for a second, jumping off from your seat, but your foot accidentally knocked over your drink. You stared down at the growing pool of alcohol staining the floor, seeping underneath your shoe. Blinking, you looked at your phone, at Peter’s name, and the numbers of the counter below it rising, marking each of your thumping heartbeat. 

The sixth reason. You needed it to stop you right now; an instruction to back out, the reassurance that it was still an option and it didn’t stop being one long ago. But as your finger came down to end the call for the better, your head screamed, freezing you.

Sixth. You were in love with Peter Parker.

You dropped back down on the bench, eyes glazed over. That was it. The sixth reason. Peter. The man nearing his forties and with the loveliest messed up nose. The customer you met last year and that continued to come to bar you worked at just to talk to you, his bartender. The guy you laughed with, sang with, slept with, became too close with, fell in love with. You put the phone back up to its right place, anxiously licking your lips. “Look, I’m gonna regret this. I know I am. But that hasn’t stopped me in the past, so why should it now, right?” You chuckled, your eyes wide. 

“I’m really concerned about that phone call, though.”

“Peter,” You glanced up at the sky, gulping. “I’m so glad I met you. I really am.”

“I-I’m glad I met you, too.”

You smiled momentarily. “Good. Working at the bar had become such a pain in the ass, and it still kinda is, but then you came that first time, and you called me ‘kid’ which annoyed me, but I was still hoping that maybe you’d stay, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because…” Your free hand came up to aid the other which trembled too much, grasping it tightly. “I don’t know, it was weird, I just couldn’t… I-I really wanted to get to know you. And it took some time but eventually we did talk— you said that stupid pick-up line and somehow it worked. I really need to higher my standards.”

“Hey, it was a great pick-up line.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“You gave me your number, didn’t you?”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward, and you laughed softly at yourself. “I did, I did. And I’m glad I did, even if you were just trying to get your mind off of MJ.” The truth stung as it glided out of your mouth.

Peter thought for a moment before continuing, “Maybe I just wanted a friend.” But it lacked sincerity, and you both could recognize that.

“But, Pete,” You bit your lip, looking down at the mess you’d left on the ground, the sole of your shoe now sticky. “Am I really just a friend?”

More silence. You breathed in, your chest moving up. “Be honest with me, please.” You begged, your voice hushed.

“Okay.”

Your stomach began to cramp up. “That time we hooked up,” You paused, the eerie shortage of noise on the other side of the line pushing you to go on. “Did it mean anything to you? Was it anything more than just a distraction?”

“I…” 

“Or what about that other time at my place? Why did nothing happen?”

“We were too wasted. It was wrong.”

“So you do remember.”

“I do.”

You placed your hand on top of the other, beginning to pace around. “Are you lying about that phone call, too?”

“What is it with this phone call you say? What happened?” He repeated, desperate and with a hint of irritation. You approached the railing, placing your elbows on the metal.

“Just… be honest with me.”

“I am, Y/N.”

You kneaded your forehead with your knuckles, shaking your head. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s been too long, and it’s so confusing. You’re so confusing. Or maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know. There’s… there’s this thing, I know you can feel it as well, and sometimes it’s as if there’s a chance that you might feel the same way I do, but then the next minute it’s as if not, a-and it’s so confusing.”

“Feel the same way you do? What do you mean?” He clearly knew what you meant. Your eyes traveled around the city, the cold and strong breeze nearly knocking your body backward. If he knew, why couldn’t he simply outright admit it? Why, all of a sudden, was it taking him so long?

“The phone call…”

He groaned. “Y/N, just please tell me why you’re so hung up on that phone call?”

“It was last week. You said you liked me.”

You said it. He heard it. He finally heard it, and you waited for anything like an idiot, yet it never came. You checked if you had accidentally hung up the call, but when you saw that it was still going, you sighed and decided to end it for once and for all. “We can be anything. Anything, okay? I can just be your bartender, you can be my client, we can be friends, w-we can be more. If it’s not supposed to be, then just as long as you’re there, I really won’t mind. Just, please… I’m begging you…” You whispered, not capable of discerning whether your body quivered from the winter or the fear brutally gnawing on you.

“Be honest.” 

Peter held his breath. “Y/N…” You waited, shoulders shaking, the stupid fucking silence clutching you by the neck as you waited. Just say it. Just say it—

“I’m still in love with MJ. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You said aloud, voice cracking. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Pete, no, I’m…Thank you. It’s just kinda hard to take it in, but I...” You tightened your jaw, your throat aching, swallowing back your pity. “I will. Thank you for being honest, though.”

“I really hope this doesn’t ruin things,” You could barely hear him: your brain too loud compared to his voice. You shook your head frantically, scrunching up your nose to hold back a sniffle.

“Never. I love you.” It wasn’t the way you wanted to say it. “You’re my friend. And I’m not going anywhere because you said I was stuck with you, remember?”

He laughed, a beam of light that almost mended your fractured heart. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that.” You smiled brightly, wiping the tears you’d tried so hard to stop from running down your cheeks. You stood straight, but it was only for a mere second, for your arms plopped back down onto the railing from the lightheadedness which threatened to bring you down. 

“Okay,” You slurred, the bile rising up and burning your throat. “I’m gonna leave you. My friend will hate me if I miss the countdown…”

“Sure. Happy new year… be safe.”

You giggled, waving your hand at no one, really. “Don’t worry about me grandpa, I do this every year.” You doubted the idea that popped in your head, but voiced it anyway, “And if you need any help with MJ, I’m here. I can give you a discount at the bar for a date night!” The excitement you forced onto yourself was salt on the wound.

“I’m not sure if that’s a romantic idea, but thanks, I’ll think about it.” You both hesitated, waiting for something once again. But when you realized that it’d never arrive no matter how much time passed, you nodded quietly and unwrapped your arms from yourself, preparing to let go of that feeling you’d clutched onto for the longest time as well.

“I’ll see you around.” You finally said and hung up. You stared at your phone, grief by your side, holding your hand. Yet, to your surprise, a weak smile started to creep on you, relief slowly sewing your heart together. You told yourself that the heaviness in your heart didn’t matter, because at least you had Peter. At least he would still be there, at the bar, with his whiskey served over ice.

As you stumbled to your feet, ready to join your friend and drink away your bittersweet ache, your phone began to vibrate. Your brows twisted together and you looked down, sliding your thumb across the screen.

“Peter?”

[zarcake-writes]

The Deal

Ok, everyone. Here’s the devil!principal story I’ve been working on. Let me know if you all think part two should include smut. I can’t decide, so I want you all to tell me. 

Warnings: mention of sexual assault and suicide (nothing too descriptive)

The room smells of incense and vanilla. Smoke hangs heavily in the air, making the room hazy and stifling. The only light comes from the many white vanilla-scented candles scattered around the room. It would be almost romantic if it wasn’t for the red summoning circle on the floor before you. The room’s dim lighting makes the bright red paint look darker than it is; it reminds you of blood. 

In your hands is a heavy book that looks ready to fall apart should someone look at it the wrong way. Most of the pages are faded, the writing barely visible. Other pages are taped together and some are missing entirely. The cover isn’t in any better shape. It’s so faded that the original color of the book might have been red or brown. The title of the book has been worn away, leaving the name and author a mystery. The spine of the book, like the rest of it, is barely there. Only a couple threads keep the spine intact.

The page you’re on is faded like the rest. The words are nearly gone and there’s a burn mark on the center page. But with a wave of your hand and the page comes back to life. The page glows and heals, the writing burns brightly and becomes legible. The language on the page is foreign and old, not many people can read it. To you, it looks like when someone key smashes their keyboard. It takes a moment for the letters to shift and change, allowing you to read the page.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the incense and candle smoke. The smoke tickles your nose and you fight the urge to sneeze. Can’t have a sneezing attack when you’re summoning the devil, can you? That would be embarrassing.

You speak the words on the page loud enough that your voice echoes throughout the room. The air grows heavy and the smoke thickens. It’s getting harder to breathe. The smell of something burning sends chills down your back. The part of your brain that fears the dark is screaming at you to run, but you ignore that instinct and continue reading from the page. The burning smell worsens. The sweet smell of frankincense and vanilla is replaced with the smell of burnt flesh and hair. It makes you gag.

As you speak the last phrase, you swear the room shakes and there’s a flash of light from the circle. The air is still heavy with smoke, but it is slowly clearing. The burnt hair and skin smell are gradually overpowered by the smell of incense and vanilla candles.

Standing in the center of the circle is a figure. The haze shrouds their features, but you’re excited. It’s been a year since your first failed summoning. That first time you summoned a low-level demon that shouted obscenities at you and threatened to eat you. Every summoning after that one has been a failure, but you’ve gotten the hang of it. While each demon and creature were wrong, they were gradually getting stronger and stronger.

The smoke clears enough and you’re able to see who is standing in the center of the circle. The excitement and pride leave your body when you recognize who you summoned. Not the devil or a demon, not even an angel. A fucking human, more specifically, your high school principal.

“Mr. Lucien?”

The man turns to you and looks very confused, and slightly worried. He looks the same as the last time you saw him at your graduation. Average height, with dark hair that is always neatly slicked back, with his usual dark-colored blazer.

He says your name like he’s asking if it’s you. “I… um, what am I doing here?”

You snap the book shut and place it at your feet in irritation. You want to throw the damn thing at the wall, but you refrain. You did that before and spent an hour putting the thing back together. “I fucked up, that’s what. I thought it worked this time, but obviously, it didn’t. Gods, I can’t do anything right.”

Mr. Lucien shakes his head and gives you a sympathetic look. “No, that’s not true.”

“Dude, you’re not my principle, you don’t need to lie to me anymore. I’m a fucking failure. I peaked in fucking middle school.”

Mr. Lucien takes a deep breath and takes a step forward. “I’m not. You have always been a wonderful student, and you were a wonderful person in high school. I remember you getting into arguments with unfair teachers, and the one time you punched a guy for snapping a female student's bra. You’re not a failure.”

You sniff and wipe your eyes. “Yeah, well, I feel like one.”

“Feeling and being are two different things.”

You look up at him and smile. He smiles back, looking proud of himself.

Mr. Lucien was your favorite faculty member in high school. You remember all the girls fawning over him, and yeah, he’s good looking, but you liked him for how kind he was. He always knew when someone needed to talk. It was common for him to have counseling sessions in his office before and after school. He cared for his students, and wouldn’t hesitate to put an unfair teacher in check.

You can still remember when you spoke to him the day before you graduated. You were on the verge of killing yourself. You didn’t get into any of the colleges you applied for and your family made it clear they were incredibly upset with you. None of them asked why you failed your classes for two years. They simply said you were a kid, so what kinds of problems can you be having? The self-hate and disgust you felt were nearly overpowering, and ending it seemed like the only option.

It was Mr. Lucien who spoke to you. He wanted to understand what was happening in your life, and what was hurting you. It was the day after graduation that you confessed everything to him. The boyfriend, the night he hit you, the night he… the night he tried to force you to do things you were not ready for. Everything from the night before had been the last straw. Seeing your ex being congratulated on being such a good student was sickening. All the snide remarks from your family and feeling alone just became too much.

Mr. Lucien listened to you that day. He was surprised to see you at school, but when you began to sob, he didn’t hesitate to usher you into his office. When you confessed everything, he didn’t question or doubt you. He believed you and offered to call the police, but you just wanted to forget about the entire thing. And while he seemed hesitant to not contact the authorities, he did as you asked.

“So,” Mr. Lucien looks around the room, “What is all this about?”

You look at the book in embarrassment before glancing up at the man. “Well, I was trying to summon the devil.”

“Trying?”

“Yeah. I… I wanted to make a deal with him.”

Mr. Lucien’s eyebrows go up, but his face is unreadable.

“Look. before you say that I should be committed or that the devil isn’t real, you’re wrong. I’ve been trying to summon him for a year now, but I just get his stupid lackeys.”

Mr. Lucien nods but says nothing.

You scowl and grab the book at your feet. His eyes narrow slightly when he sees the book you’re holding.

“Look, just get out of the circle and I’ll call you an Uber to come to get you. I would offer to drive you, but my car’s been broken down for a week.” 

You turn and place the book down on a nearby table. When you turn back to the circle, Mr. Lucien is still standing in the circle, his arms are crossed.

“You can step out. The sooner you do, the sooner you get to go home and I can start over again.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? The circle isn’t for humans, it’s for…” you trail off when the realization hits you.

Mr. Lucien smirks. “What is this circle for?”

“Demons. Are… are you a demon?”

Mr. Lucien laughs and shakes his head. “What else can this circle hold?”

You swallow and take a step back towards the circle. When you speak, it’s barely a whisper. “Angels.”

Mr. Lucien's smile widens. “Bingo.”

“Are… are you an angel?”

Mr. Lucien laughs but shakes his head. “Once I was. And I was God’s favorite son.”

“So, you’re the devil?”

Mr. Lucien scowls and lets out a huff. “I prefer Lucifer, but you can keep calling me Lucien.”

“Jesus H. Christ. You’re the fucking devil! My high school principal is the devil!”

Lucien's scowl deepens. “I just said to call me Lucifer or Lucien. Not the devil, and certainly not Jesus.”  

“How… Why are you a high school principal?”

He seems confused by the question. “Should I have a different job?”

“Why would you have a job, to begin with?”

Lucien shrugs. “I get bored and every few centuries I get a mortal job. A few hundred years ago I was a musician. That was difficult. But being a principle is even harder. So many teachers are terrible, not to mention the school board are a bunch of idiots, and then there are-”

“I get it! The public-school system is terrible and needs to be changed, I know. But why a principal?”

Lucien is silent for a moment. He looks distant for a moment like he’s lost in his thoughts. It only lasts a few seconds. “Because… because I wanted to see why so many children and young adults were praying to me. So many sad and lost children, begging for my help or to die. I guess they lost faith in the man upstairs.”

“High school is hell. College is purgatory.”

Lucien laughs and nods. “Eloquently said.”

You’re both quiet before Lucien narrows his eyes at you. “So, why did you summon me?”

“Because… because I want you to kill someone.”

“Kill someone? You don’t need me to do that.”

“True, but I want you to make them suffer for eternity. And I can’t do that.”

Lucien nods in agreement then reaches into his blazer. He pulls out a note pad and a pen, then looks at you expectantly.

“So, who is it and how do you want them to die?”

“My high school boyfriend.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “We could have called the police, you know.”

“It’s not for me. Besides, they probably wouldn’t have done anything.”

Lucien frowns. “Who is it for then? What did he do?”

“It was a couple of girls, younger than us. But his parents have good lawyers and he got off. The girls were embarrassed publicly and are still suffering. Kill him, make him suffer, that’s what I want.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why do you care? Why are you going to sell your soul, make a deal with me, for this? Why does this matter so much to you?”

You open and close your mouth a few times, then look down at the floor. Why does it matter to you? You got away from him, and while the scars still sting, you’re not suffering like those girls. But suffering and pain isn’t a competition. And what he did to them, he nearly did to you.

When you look back up, Lucien is watching you. A look on his face like he’s waiting for you to say something truly profound. “Because it’s my fault. I should have told more people about him. I should have listened to you and gone to the police. They might not have believed me, but it would have at least started something against him. And those girls… it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault though.”

“But it is!” you shout. Your hands are shaking and your heart is pounding. “I shouldn’t have kept my mouth shut. I should have done things differently. If I talked, then maybe they would have avoided him.”

Lucien nods and looks down. He writes on his note pad, then looks back up at you. “It’s not your fault, you know. He would have gotten off, you would have been ignored, and he would have hurt someone else. So, why do you want me to kill him and make him suffer?”

“Because I owe it to those girls, and any other women he’s ever hurt. I want him to know pain. I want him to suffer for hurting me and anyone else."

Lucien nods and seems satisfied with your answer. “Very well. Give me a few days to write up the contract, then I will return.”

“Just like that?”

“Yup. I will need you to release me from the circle though.”

“You won’t hurt me?”

“Now why would I ever want to hurt my favorite student?” Lucien winks at you.

Your face grows hot, but you ignore it. “Don’t call me your ‘favorite student’ and then wink at me. That’s weird.”

Lucien laughs. “Fair enough. Now, the circle?”

You nod and break the circle. Lucien smiles, adjusts his blazer, then steps over the line. He stops in front of you and gives you a devious smile. His hand cups your face, his thumb strokes your cheek affectionately. It feels nice, being touched so sweetly. It’s calming, but you’re not sure if there's more to this touch. 

“I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart. Then, the real fun will begin.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything. He releases your face and walks past you. When you look over your shoulder, he’s gone.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Eight, “Unanswered Questions”

Find all chapters to this story HERE! c: 

Check out the inspiration tag for this story here! :*

Song Inspo: I’d Rather Be With You by Joshua Radin (click to listen) 

                                    SNEAKY PEEK TIMEEEEE

With a jealous sigh, I lock my phone and lose myself in my boring cup of tea. Again. Wondering when the puzzle pieces of my life will fall together, like it seems so many others have.

The people on Instagram.

Even Harry’s, I think as I steal a peek at him.

Swallowing, I suddenly think of the puzzle piece I want to find most of all. And that perhaps it’s not that I haven’t found it yet, it’s because it doesn’t fit, I realize as my eyes study him. Hands in hair. Chunky rings on his fingers. A pastel suit on. And a contagious smile on his face. All of this ignites another swarm of butterflies within my tummy.

If only he fit into the puzzle that’s my life.

“Sometimes it hurts more to hope, and it hurts more to care. But you have to promise me that you won’t stop caring.” 

- Katara, Avatar the Last Airbender

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

“Nothing,” I tell Skye, quickly toeing my shoes off on the rug. My rumbling tummy guides me over to the cabinets, and then the fridge. 

“Then stop slamming doors if you’re apparently not mad,” she retorts with a huff. 

The microwave beeps at me angrily, and I slam that door, too. There’s just this indescribable comfort from slamming things when you’re mad. 

I plop down onto the other side of the sofa Skye sits on, flipping through the channels on tv. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be like doing people’s hair right now?” I say in between spoonfuls of tomato soup. 

“Aren’t you supposed to like, be at school still, or in Madley?” she replies with the same disdainful tone I just used. 

Well played, Skye, well played. 

“I didn’t want to be there any longer. And I’m going up there tomorrow when dad has his next chemo.”

“Mmmmm,” she replies, not being able to pick something to watch. “Business was slow today so they told me to go home,” Skye groans. Her lips in a glittery blue lipstick press together in annoyance, and embarrassment. 

“It seems like we’re both having a shitty day.”

She nods at me, but doesn’t reply at first. “And why was yours so shit, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter under my breath. 

Pulling out my phone, I type in my passcode. Next, I open the app and find the profile I was looking for. One I’ve been trying to stay away from, but now I need it to answer the questions filling my head. Swiping up, my eyes search for a picture to tell me all that I want to know. But as I drink my soup, I find myself looking at artistic shots. Before long, I’m looking at pictures from 5 years ago. 

“Why’re you looking at Harry’s Instagram?” Skye asks, scooching over to sit by me. I don’t answer her, and when I dare to look up she gives me the evil eye. 

Sighing, I realize I have to tell her. And that maybe it will be good to tell somebody. “He was the guest speaker for my class today,” I admit quietly. Bringing the ceramic bowl to my lips, I down the rest of my soup. The awkward silence is soon filled with my slurps. 

“Excuse me. Did I hear you right? Harry spoke to your class today?!” she asks in near disbelief. 

Nodding, I sit forward to set the bowl on the table. Hitting the back of the sofa with a groan, I look back at my phone. 

“And you’re mad becauseeeeeeeee why?”

“Because he had a ring on his finger,” I reply in a small voice, flicking my thumb across the screen. 

“So? Everybody wears rings, Ree,” Skye insists. But my eyes pan over to hers, and I don’t hide anything in them. The realization unfolds on her face, and her features fall. “Oh, Ree. I’m sorry . . . But you can’t know if it’s a wedding ring or not.”

“I know, that’s why I’m trying to look on his insta. But I don’t see anything about a wedding or a new girlfriend,” I respond, starting at the beginning again. 

“So, that’s a good sign then. Anybody would post about getting married,” she says reassuringly. But her words don’t stitch up the hole I feel inside of me. One that grew even more just today when I saw that ring. 

“I don’t know,” I breathe out with uncertainty. 

“Is that all, Ree?” Skye coos softly. I drop my phone on my chest and close my eyes. Her fingers start to comb through my shoulder-length hair that she cut the other day in our kitchen. 

“His hair is short, and he looked so good, Skye. Fuck, he looked amazing. He was in this gray suit, and he had stubble. It was sooo attractive on him. And he was so charming with that dimply smile. Everybody ate it up, even me,” I confess, feeling the emotions weigh in my words. 

“Yeah well, even I think he’s hot. It’s pretty hard not to have a crush on him,” she agrees. I open my eyes and turn to look into hers. She flashes me a small smile as her fingers continue to play with my hair. 

“Did he recognize you?” 

“Yeah, about three minutes into his talk. And he smiled and it messed him up. Made him lose his train of thought,” I say with a proud smile tickling at my lips. She nods smiling, and says ‘go, Ree!’ “I think he wanted me to ask him a question when it came to that part, because I saw him look at me a few times.”

“And why didn’t you ask him a question?”

“There was nothing I wanted to ask since I know a lot about his career. I didn’t want to take away from the learning of the other students.”

“You’re too fucking nice,” she laughs, pulling one from my lips as well. Skye shakes her head, sending her now neon pink locks into a dance. “Soooo, did he say hi to you afterward?!” 

“No, and I didn’t know whether to say hi to him,” I admit sadly, my eyes falling to my lap. Picking at a hole in the knee of my jeans, I avoid her gaze. She has enough theoretical balls for the two of us, and is always telling me to just do it. But I never can. “I was debating to say hi when I saw the ring. And about 5 girls were already up there talking to him after class ended. I’m sure they were all flirting up a storm with him.”

“So? That’s when you walk up to him. He forgets about them. You bask in their jealousy and awe as he gives you his undivided attention,” she explains theatrically as if it were clear as day. 

“Sureeee, because that would so happen. I don’t know why you’ve always thought the feelings were mutual between us.” “Even though I only met him once when he came over, that’s all I needed to tell that he fancied you too, Ree,” she quips, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “His eyes were all over you and you could tell how much he enjoyed being with you. Even if you whooped his ass at that card game Nerts that night.”

“Yeah well, it doesn’t really matter anyway. Because apparently he’s married or engaged, or something,” I tell her in a low voice. 

“Maybe you could’ve asked him if you’d gone up to say hi to him,” she insists emphatically. God, I wish she knew when to stop. But she somehow says all of the things I'm secretly thinking. “That’s probably why you came home so early, isn’t it? So there wouldn’t be any chance that you could run into him in the halls, or at the little Starbucks they have? Am I right, or am I right?”

“You’re right, like always,” I admit through gritted teeth. I avoid her eyes, and instead pick at the pink nail polish I’m wearing. 

“I’m sorry, but when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, Ree. Which translates into making a move with the bloke you’re pining over. Now, watch FRIENDS with me and cheer up,” Skye finishes, quickly pecking my cheek. I dramatically gag and feel her shove my shoulder. 

I briefly laugh before laying down with my head in her lap. 

“What are you doing?” she demands. 

“Play with my fucking hair. That’s what you get for being mean to me when I’m sad,” I whine, using my puppy dog voice. 

“Fineeeee,” she relents. Joey and Chandler’s faces appear on the tv screen. Not long after, I feel her fingers tickling my scalp. “Ya know, Ree, I’m pretty sure you’d have a good chance of walking into his office and pulling down his pants to suck his cock. I’m sure he’d let you.”

“Jesus Christ, Skye! Stop it! I can’t believe you’re thinking about that!” I almost shout, feeling her belly shake with laughter. 

“I’m just saying that you know, you could go to his work and ask him out. Or text him to get a coffee, or to get curry together. It’s not as hard as you make it.”

“I’m not getting started again on the rant about how he was a dick-,” I try to say, but Skye is just not having it with the excuses today. 

“And how he didn’t believe you when it came to Amber who beat you up. I know, Ree, and it was a nightmare, but it’s been a year almost! I doubt he’s married or betrothed to some random chick already. That’s the kinda thing you put on your insta, and it looks like he still uses that account. Plus, people change and it says something that you’re still crushing on him after all this time. And I’m just saying, but it looks like he still cares about you too,” Skye finishes for me, combing through my tangles. “You know I’m right.”

“Yeah, I know. But I still don’t like it.” 

“Maybe you’d like it if you tried to change it,” she continues with her speech. I roll my eyes and try to immerse myself in the scene in front of me. Chandler and Joey playing with their pet duck and chick in their shared apartment. “Just shut up and play with my hair.”

But no matter how hard I try to push her words away, they worm their way into my head. And they stay there, repeating themselves until they’re heard. 

And they won’t shut up, not yet. 

+

I shiver as the cold raindrops still run down my skin. Cursing, I round a corner and try to remember my way around this place. Checking my watch, I curse again when I find I have a few minutes left to find the lecture hall. The fucking rain ruined everything today. My hair. The traffic. My timing. But I can’t let it ruin the speech I’m about to give. No, that wouldn’t be fair to them. 

Soon, I find the number on the familiar door. I walk into a large room humming with voices. Walking straight to the front, I find the man I’m looking for. He turns around with a smile budding on his lips. 

“Glad you could make it, Harry. Thanks for coming in this lousy weather,” Professor Alcott says, gripping my hand firmly in his. 

“‘Course, Rich, I wouldn’t miss it. I’m sorry if ‘m late, tha traffic was horrendous. Big accident up on tha motorway an’ everythin’,” I reply, shaking my head. I feel the raindrops collect at the tips of some hair.  

“That’s a shame. I hope the lot are alright,” he tsks, shaking his head of graying hair. I echo his words. “Well, I’m sure the students will enjoy your talk today. I hope we won’t have as many sleepers as last week’s.” 

I laugh along with him before following him to the front of the room. A blonde fellow rounds the corner and rushes up the stairs, door banging behind him. I only catch a glimpse of him as Richard gets the attention of his quieting class. But I can’t help thinking the bloke reminds me of the main character from the Kingsman movies I’d just seen. 

After draping my coat over a table his computer sits at, I turn my attention back to the class. I smile at Rich when he introduces me, followed by their welcoming applause bringing warmth to my cheeks. 

It’s never not exciting doing these things. 

I smile back at the 50ish young faces looking up at me. They cover a wide age range from parents, some older than me, and to those straight out of high school. Nonetheless, their eager faces bring forth a feeling of hope and excitement I can’t name. 

These talks never fail to have that effect on me. 

I jump into my usual spiel, starting off with a little about who I am. Mentioning Myles, and then telling them how I came to be a lawyer. I start to talk about cases of mine, from favourites, to nightmares, to success stories, and also failures. I’m just about to speak about my time in university and try to give them advice, having known what they’re going through. 

Not long after I started, I’m in the middle of a sentence about starting the firm with Myles. I look up from a woman in the front row and to another place in the room. My eyes dance upwards, trying to include everybody. And then I see her. 

Becks. 

My Becks. 

My heart flutters in my chest as I lose my breath. It’s as if my heart is reacting to seeing her too after all this time. 

Flushed with excitement, I watch her look up from her paper. And to me. Her hair is shorter, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her lovely face without makeup. She’s more beautiful than I thought I remembered. A smile grows on my lips by accident, and I see one inching up her face, as well. 

Looking away fast, I remember that my eyes deceive me. And she’s not the only person in this room. “I’m sorry, what was I sayin’?” I ask with a laugh, searching the eyes of students in the first few rows. I thank an eager volunteer and continue with my story.

But it’s hard with the emotions bubbling inside of me at the sight of her. Becks is here. Thoughts run rampant inside of my head, along with questions. But I can’t entertain them right now, I remind myself. With an attempt to shut off my brain, I return my focus to my story. But the thought of her sits at the back of my mind. My emotions and thoughts doing backflips at the back of it. All as she sits up there towards the back of the room, watching me and listening. 

Suddenly, I feel even more pressure to impress. 

I had a little speech-bubble waiting inside of my head, waiting until the end to say hi to her. But the second that Alcott says his last words to the class, I’m swarmed with blushing girls standing in front of me asking more questions. Smiling, I oblige and answer them to the best of my distracted ability. Twirling a ring on my left hand, I try to assert my attention to the girl currently talking. But it’s difficult. 

I find my eyes lifting from her elated face and to the crowd of students shuffling out of the lecture hall. I think I spot her head of dark hair next to that of the Kingsman fellow, and a shock of red hair. Friends of hers, they must be. I try to balance my attention between the full force nagging inside of my head to look for her, and the students in front of me. The next time I look I see her getting closer, but then I briefly forget about her when a male student asks an interesting question. 

Wrapping up my answer, he thanks me. I shake his hand and say goodbye. My eyes trail in the direction of the door when I hear her name. Somebody else is saying it. I don’t see her shock of chocolate hair until I watch Kingsman wrap an arm around her shoulder. The flirtatious words of another girl melt into a muffle as I watch her walk away to the door. 

Becks with another guy. Words of getting coffee pass between them. 

Something happens inside of me and I feel everything shut off for a nanosecond, or ten. It only lasts longer as I witness her lean into his shoulder and leave through the ajar door. 

“I think that’ll be all for Mr. Styles today. He put on a great little show for us indeed, but he probably has to get back to work here soon,” I finally hear Rich say from behind me. But it only registers with me when I feel him pat my arm. 

I blink and turn my head back around, feeling everything hit me hard. The sounds. Remembering that people are standing there, looking at me expectantly. 

“Yeah yeah. I’m sorry, e’rybody. But thank you, an’ thank you, Rich. I um was gonna grab a coffee ‘fore I go. Where’s that cafe ‘gain?” I ask him quickly, listening intently to his directions. 

I swerve around clumps of university students mingling in the halls or walking to their next class. But all I can think about is finding her in the crowd. Of course, I don’t, because there are too many people. And too many heads of hair that look like hers. Taking a left and then a right as Rich said, I rush down a hall. At the end of it is the little Starbucks that I could smell from around the corner. And then once again, I find what I’m looking for. 

But not quite. 

I can't get my feet to move another inch. Because his arm is still around her and she’s laughing at something he said. Staring into his eyes like he painted the stars in the sky. I thought once she looked at me like that, but as I watch them, all of my confidence of that melts away. He hugs her quickly, tickling her side in the progress. And I hear her melodic laugh without a phone in between us for the first time in ages. What’s felt like forever. Something stings deep inside of me watching another man being rewarded with it. 

And it’s not me. 

Not anymore, not for what’s been a long time. 

Huffing, I find my fingers tangled in my hair. They fall as my eyes study her with what tastes like bittersweetness. She looks so cozy in a jumper and jeans. Hair wavy and tucked behind her ears. A dimple falling into her one cheek and a smile in her eyes. Her crystal blues that scream of hidden sadness. She’s even more beautiful up close, and my goodness, how she’s changed. 

I turn around and find my feet pulling me away from her. Because maybe she isn’t my Becks anymore. No, she’s his now. Because I lost her. 

Biting my lip, I round a corner and almost run into somebody. 

“Heeeey. I was looking for you, you left your coat in the lecture hall,” Rich says, holding it out for me to take. “You alright, son?”

“Y-yeah, I jus’ uh thought I saw an old friend. But I guess not.”

“Oh well, that’s a letdown.”

“Yeah, ya can say that,” I reply softly, pulling on my coat one sleeve at a time. 

I listen to Rich’s praises of my speech as I follow him down the hall. Buttoning my coat to busy myself with something. 

“I had a question fer you,” I begin and he encourages me to continue. “I used t’ have an employee by tha name o’ Rebecca Holte at tha firm. I see she’s in yer class I jus’ spoke t’.”

“Oh, Becky? She worked for you? My, that doesn’t surprise me at all. She knows quite a bit about law and it shows in her work. She’s already been in the program, having dropped out a few years prior. But she’s doing really great. One of my best students. I know she’ll make a fantastic lawyer,” he says, shuffling along in his gray coat. Briefcase and thermos in hand.

“Yeah, I do too . . . I didn’ know she enrolled ‘gain in tha program,” I say, choosing my words carefully. The feelings of delayed elation and surprise coming with those words peek at the edge of my sadness. Even though I’m not sure how to phrase them with the chaotic state of my mind at the moment. 

“She started back again this Fall. Has about 30 credits left to go, I reckon. She’s plugging right along, even with her dad’s diagnosis.”

“Yeah, I heard ‘bout that from a coworker. ‘s a right shame. How’s she handlin’ it?” I question, looking up from the tiled floor to meet his eyes framed by graying brows. 

“Oh just fine. Her work is still just as strong. She’s always a light in our discussions, contributing her experience to the topic. I only see her twice a week and we don’t talk very much, what with having 54 students in her cohort. But I think she’s managing. She’s only needed a few extensions since her father started chemotherapy in September, but I couldn’t ask for a better student. Never skips a lecture. Participates. She communicates with me when she needs help. And she’s had a good effect on the class, and has already made some friends in the cohort. She’s going to need those with the tougher classes coming up, and with her dad’s diagnosis,” he informs me. I nod along with his words, savoring them as they’re about her. I itch to ask him about the fellow with his arm around her, but I resist, knowing it wouldn’t be appropriate. 

“Maybe she’ll come back to work for you after the Bar. Circle of Life, eh?” Rich laughs, bumping shoulders with me. I thank him, nodding along with his joke.

We say goodbyes before parting ways. I step back into the chilling rain and he walks into another classroom of students. For shits and giggles, I scan the hallway before leaving. I don’t see her, even though I knew I wouldn’t. 

Pulling up the collar of my coat, I hurry fast through the growing puddles and soggy leaves. Shivering, I hide my hands away in my pockets. I shake my head and take them back out. Removing a ring from my left hand, I slide it onto a different finger with relief. That feels better, I think inwardly before my hands are welcomed by the dryness of my pockets once again. 

Shuffling through the cold rain, I put another step and another between her and me. “Fook,” I mutter aloud when a thought appears in my head. 

I wonder when the next time is that I’ll see her, if ever, it says with a sting. 

+

“Bloody hell, it’s coming down out there,” a voice says, pulling me from my thoughts. Looking up, I find Asher walking towards me. 

Getting up from my chair, I walk over and hug him. 

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he comments, sliding off his brown jacket.

“No, I only got here a few minutes ago. That snow is no joke.”

“No kidding,” he agrees, taking a seat across the small table from me. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been uh, fine. I’m sorry I’m so bad at replying to texts, things have been crazy.”

“That’s okay, I understand. How has chemo been going for your dad?” Asher asks, trying to tame his crazy hat hair. 

“I guess as good as you can expect it to, with all of the vomiting and other shit it brings. I bought him a bunch of thick shirts and jumpers the other day. He’s even colder without his hair and all the weight he’s lost,” I reply glumly, flipping through the pages of my menu. 

“I’m really sorry, Becky-.”

“I know, it’s okay. Thanks,” I stop him, patting his hand. Something unspoken passes between us. He nods with a small smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just that this is a nice little escape from everything going on. I don’t mean to be rude, but I kinda wanna keep it that way.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize,” Asher says after drinking from his glass of water. A smile curls his lips upward and a little laugh joins us. I ask him ‘what’ and watch a blush color his cheeks. “It’s actually kind of a relief, because I’m always bad at talking about that stuff. I never know the right thing to say, and then I just feel bad the whole time because of it.”

“Thanks for telling me that, and you always do a good job, so shut up,” I tell him, squeezing his hand before we fall into another laugh together. 

“Sooo, what’s new with you since the last time we got lunch? When was that, like in September? When there wasn’t snow on the ground?” 

“Yeah, something like that. Um, not much. Dad’s been doing chemo as you know, and after he’s done with this round, he has surgery. Um, I just wrote a huge paper about serial killing for Criminology which was um, interesting. I got to shadow a local lawyer for a day before then. We studied some pretty disturbing cases in Crim, worked on writing some arguments, and that’s about it,” I confess, my words ending in a laugh. With the next words on the tip of my tongue, they’re stolen away when the waitress arrives to take our order. 

She leaves a pint and a soda for us, making me wish I’d ordered something warm. 

“Sorry, was there more you wanted to say?” Asher asks, bringing the foamy pint to his lips. 

“Uh yeah, I guess,” I answer nervously, smoothing out the square napkin my drink sits on. “Guess who came and talked to my class the other day?” 

“Who?” 

“Harry,” I tell him. Looking up to meet his eyes, I press my lips together in a silent ‘Yeah, I couldn’t believe it, either.’

“You should’ve seen that one coming. I’ve heard he’s done those uni talks for years,” Asher chuckles, pulling a scoff from my lips. But it only encourages him, and his melodic laugh tickles my ears. 

“Yeah I know, but it hit me out of left field. I wanted to hide under my seat, and at the same time, I enjoyed it.” 

“What, do you like him again now? Damn, make up your mind,” Asher teases, and I nod. 

“I know, I know. But he sent me a really nice card . . After I cried to him on the phone about my dad after a bottle of wine. And I don’t know, he was his charming self when he spoke to my class,” I try to explain, hearing an ‘Oh, I’m so surprised’ from Asher. I shake my head with a nervous smile. “I know, but I couldn’t stop eating it up just like everybody else. Ugh, what is wrong with me?”

“A lot of things, but I don’t think we have enough time today to cover those,” he quips. I laugh, mirroring his smile. 

“You know, I like the blonde beard you have going on,” I tease him, drawing an imaginary line around my mouth. 

“Oh shut up. I’m trying it out, okay?” he says in defense, holding his pint up. His nervous smile paints crinkles by his eyes. Along with pink on his hairy cheeks. 

Shaking his head, he sets his pint down before adjusting the salmon collar of his zip-up sweater. 

“It’s fine with me,” I say, holding my hands up in defense. His laugh fills my ears as I reach for my soda. 

A silence fills the space between us, for lack of better words. The telly above the nearby bar fills our silence, along with the chattering of the lunch crowd. 

“He was wearing a ring, Asher,” I say slowly, my voice absent of smiles and laughs. Daring to look, I meet eyes with him. They’re soft and serious now as he takes a pull from his pint of beer. “On his ring finger,” I finish with one of those smiles you force to assure them you’re okay, even though you’re not.

Twirling my straw in the sea of dark soda and ice, I wait. But then I can’t wait any longer. “Do you know if-.”

“I don’t, Becky. I’m sorry. I hardly see him, since I’m on the other side in I.T.,” he begins, walking over my words. But I welcome it, the saving. “I wish I could say I’d have heard about a wedding or engagement, but I don’t really hear anything about him. The few times I’ve seen him I haven’t paid close attention. But you know, maybe it just didn’t fit on any other finger.” I nod in silence, trying to deflect the emotions. Wishing I could drown them in the fizzing soda I stare into. They only hurt more when I realize that I can’t. 

“I hate that I even care, but all of a sudden I did again when my dad told me about his cancer. I wanted to run to Harry and tell him. I don’t know why, after everything I went through,” I reveal with difficulty. “And then I called him when I was drunk, because I had this strange desire to. I hardly remember it, or try not to, and then that damn card came in the mail. And messed everything up,” I confess, covering my eyes with my hands. 

“Yeah, feelings are just great, aren’t they?” Asher quips with tension throughout his voice. 

Somehow I laugh and drop my hands to find him staring at his drink. “See, that’s what I was saying before. People get sad in front of me and ask for advice. And I-I just . . . gum up. And start telling jokes, like Chandler Bing, because I don’t know what the fuck else to do.”

“It’s okay. I like the reality check,” I tell him, smiling. He nods gratefully, wiping the beery foam from his upper lip. 

“Do you think it means anything, you caring about him again all of a sudden again?”

“Well, if I said I stopped caring about him, I’d be lying. That’s what fucking got me here,” I reply honestly. The waitress appears at that exact moment with our appetizer.

I couldn’t be happier for the rescue from my own words. 

But it scares me to say them out loud, because that’s when they become real on a whole other level. And I’m already struggling to accept the “feeling them” part. 

After hugging Asher with tummies full of pizza, I rush to my car. Finally escaping the blustery wind, I close the door. Huffing out a ghost of a breath, I crank the heating in my car. Closing my eyes, I sit back and wait for it to warm up. Then a memory I forgot about until Asher reminded me of it comes back to me. It starts unfolding inside of my head before I can stop it.

“Do I have any messages?” somebody asks. 

Looking up from my cup of tea, I find Harry smiling above me. Now that is an odd sight indeed.

“Um no, you don’t have any messages, Mr. Styles,” I reply, folding my hands in my lap awkwardly. “Why the big smile?”

His hard green eyes meet mine, but they soften. Raising his eyebrows at me, his lips melt into a smile. “I said t’ call me Harry. And I jus’ finished talkin’ t’ a class of law students, somethin’ I always enjoy,” he answers, walking away from the table where I sit. 

“Yes, Harry . . What do you enjoy about it?” I ask, stirring the spoon in circles. Watching the little tornado form in the brown liquid, I wait for his answer. I’m not sure how a crabby pants like him would enjoy having anything to do with uni students. 

With the shuffling of moving food around in the fridge, he says, “”s just great t’ see new faces comin’ into law. Their enthusiasm ’s unmatched too, ‘cause they ‘ave dis love fer law that I dunno how many lawyers even ‘ave anymo’. ‘Cause o’ that, they hang onto yer every word.”

“And they probably flirt with you too, I bet,” I joke softly. I raise my head at a noise, watching him pour a cup of tea. But that’s not the noise. It’s his tittering laugh that I’ve only heard a few times now. 

“Um,” he struggles, laughing nervously. “I can’t deny that, nor confirm it.”

“You liar! They sooooo flirt with you!” I counter.

“An’ what would make ya say that?” Harry asks, turning to face me. 

Cocking an eyebrow, he challenges me, and yanks my answer away. Or any kind of answer I had. But I definitely can’t say that I think that because I’m a college-aged female who thinks he’s cute. Well, more than cute, but I’m trying not to let myself get that far. But it’s hard to deny my feelings, when his mere presence or even name puts butterflies in my stomach. 

“Ah, not so confident anymo’, now are we?” he smirks. I laugh too, shaking my head and letting it fall. I worry he can already read my answer from my expression. But I try not to worry. I’m relieved when he doesn’t blurt my answer into thin air. That would make it even more real. “No, yer right. They do it quite a lot - flirt with me. It depends on tha class, an’ well, how many girls are innit. Sometimes ’s not so bad, an’ otha times ’s annoyin’, ‘cause well, I have a girlfriend. An’ ‘m there t’ talk to ‘em ‘bout law, not t’ get their phone numba,” he finishes. Again, he rips the words right from my mouth with his own. Because he had to bring her up. Amber. And ruin the blissful ignorance I had for the moment, forgetting that he has a girlfriend. 

Fuck.

Bringing the steaming cup of tea to my lips, I try to drown my words with it. Staring at the table, I don’t know what words there are left to say besides, “Yeah, I suppose that could be hard.”

“Oh yes, very awkward at times,” Harry responds, setting his tea down on the counter before walking away. “I mean, ‘s like I can’t outright tell ‘em I don’ want their numba. It’d all stop there if I did, but I can’ really go there.”

“Yeah, that would probably just make it even more awkward,” I drone on.

“‘Xactly,” he responds. My eyes follow him as they often do. His actions bring a question to my lips. 

“Since when do you do puzzles?” I ask after watching him fiddle with the 500 piecer lying at the other end of the table. “I didn’t know you were getting that old.”

“Oh, hush you. ‘m barely older than yerself,” he smiles, trying to connect two pieces of the Autumn puzzle.

“Really, and how old am I again?” I say sarcastically, testing him. An accidental smile tickles at his lips, but he tries to hold it back. It breaks loose after he slowly looks over at me. “You have no idea, do you?!” I exclaim, voice rising by a few octaves.

His face dissolves into an embarrassed laugh. “What? ‘m sorry. Ya look so young!”

“Wow, good excuse!” I respond, rising from my chair. Soon I’m staring down at puzzle pieces standing next to him. “I’m 24 by the way, only three years younger than you.”

“Oh yeahhhh, dat sounds familiar now,” he replies knowingly.

“Sure it does,” I mutter, trying to place a piece but it doesn’t fit. 

“Why ya sayin’ ‘m old? ‘m only 27, ya know. Tha’s not old.”

“You’re more closer to 30 than you are to 20. Now, how does that make you feel?” I pose to him. With an ‘aha,’ I fit a piece to complete a pumpkin sitting on a doorstep. 

“Old . . . Hey now, that was rude,” Harry counters, giving me a sad look. It only makes me smile a little bit. 

Picking up a piece splattered with shades of yellow, I accidentally bump shoulders with him. 

“Yeah, well you’re working your way to being an old man. Doing puzzles and not liking uni students,” I divulge, feeling the edge to my voice. But the words couldn’t sit on my tongue any longer. 

“Heeeeey, I neva said I disliked uni students. Jus’ . . . some o’ ‘em are irritatin’ an’ far too flirty. Bloody hell, wha’s gotten into you t’day, love?” Harry chirps.

“That’s what you get for not remembering how old I am, and for calling me young. Do you know how many times I still get carded?” I groan somewhat jokingly. Setting down that piece, I forget it by picking up another. I scoff when Harry giggles after fitting another piece in. 

“Don’ be so sensitive, Becky. I bet I could even tell ya when yer birthday ‘s,” he bets. Looking up curiously, I meet his playful eyes. 

“I bet you couldn’t,” I challenge him. 

His cherry lips bend into an effortless smile. My eyes leave them when his hand comes into view. Pulling away the strand of hair from in front of my eyes, I follow his fingers when he tucks it behind my ear. “June fifteenth,” he mumbles softly. Trying to push away the blush warming my cheeks, I clear my throat. 

Nodding, I smile and say, “Good job. You got one right for once.” Breaking the special yet awkward eye contact, I look back to the puzzle. 

“I can rememba birthdays fine, ‘m jus’ not good at tha age thing.”

“Mmmm. I guess lawyers only have to be good at remembering dates,” I comment smiling. With a huff, I drop my piece of the puzzle and return to my chair. 

“Yeah, tha’s an important bit. What, ya give up already?” Harry replies. He bites his bottom lip as he looks at the lonely pieces, eyebrows in a tangle. 

“I don’t have the patience for puzzles.”

“Tha’s why ya only work at ‘em a li’l bit atta time. A few pieces, an’ then ya do a few more in an hour or so. Wheneva yer bored. My gran’ likes t’ do ‘em while she’s watchin’ tha telly, or in between chores,” he reveals, distracted by a blue jigsaw piece. 

“Mmmmmm, that’s a good idea,” I tell him. Scrolling through my phone, I exit out of Instagram after tiring of seeing everybody post relationship pictures. 

With a jealous sigh, I lock my phone and lose myself in my boring cup of tea. Again. Wondering when the puzzle pieces of my life will fall together, like it seems so many others have. 

The people on Instagram. 

Even Harry’s, I think as I steal a peek at him. 

Swallowing, I suddenly think of the puzzle piece I want to find most of all. And that perhaps it’s not that I haven’t found it yet, it’s because it doesn’t fit, I realize as my eyes study him. Hands in hair. Chunky rings on his fingers. A pastel suit on. And a contagious smile on his face. All of this ignites another swarm of butterflies within my tummy. 

If only he fit into the puzzle that’s my life. 

+

Yawning, I rub my eyes. I sit up, wincing at sore spots from the uncomfortable chair. Unbelievably, the clock reads only 8:39 pm. It feels much later than that, I think, but after the events of today, I was tired at 4 o’clock. Habitually peeking at the black screen by the bed, I feel relief when I see his steady numbers. Blood pressure. Heart rate. Oxygen levels. The rhythmic beeping assures me all is well too, but I don’t feel that way when I look down at my dad. I can’t see his blue eyes, because they’re still closed. There are all of these wires on him, and a tube down his throat. It’s already hard enough to see, without arguing in the background.

“For the love of christ, would you two stop it? If you’re going to do it, do it in the bloody hallway,” I snap at them. Getting up from my chair, I grab my purse and leave. 

Ignoring the sound of my name, I keep walking until I no longer hear it. I had to get out. They were crying and fighting and the doctor’s words weren’t making sense anymore. I just can’t take it anymore, like a typical tv show character would say. My steps echo down the hallway as the guilt eats away at me with every step. Emotions run around inside of me. 

Anguish one moment. 

Then frustration. 

Overwhelmed. 

Frustrated. 

Tired. 

Fed up. 

Sad. 

Mad. 

The humming welcomes me first, before I arrive in front of the line of vending machines that have been my sole solace during my time here. The number of visits being more than I can remember. The fluorescent lights advertising the packaged goods burns, and yet calms my eyes. Hmmm, what shall we have today, Becky? Sour gummy worms? Chocolate cupcakes? Doritos? Salted nut rolls? Granola bars? 

“Don’ get tha chocolate chip cookies. They look far betta than they actually are,” a voice suggests from behind me. There’s a spark of something inside the walls of my brain during the second before I turn around. “Trust me, I was tha one who wasted a few pounds on ‘em,” they continue. 

I watch the last few words leave the lips of its owner after I slowly turn around. Those cherry lips reach higher to the sky the longer I stand there. I watch the dimples crease his cheeks. The eyes I’ve looked into and missed too many times to count, crinkle with his smile. 

[kookiepleasee]

Hostility.

Pairing: Yoongi x Female Reader

Genre: Tsundere, growing yandere tendencies, angst

TW: death

Summary: Being best friends and going to the same college can make Yoongi realize some things. 

Yoongi closed his eyes, the music filling his ears and the empty space around him. The university’s music department was always left abandoned when final exams week rolled around, and it allowed Yoongi to finally express himself when he never could. 

He opened his eyes again, focusing on the black and white keys in front of him. His fingers played so delicately on the refurbished piano. The university didn’t find a need to buy a new one, but Yoongi was content with the aged musical instrument; it had character. 

He continued the motions with his fingers, his hands playing the most beautiful notes. It was a shame no one was here to hear it. 

Yoongi considered joining the music department and fulfilling his dream, but he knew financial-wise it was going to get him no where.

But as he sat in front of the piano, he forgets that he almost failed statistics twice, forgets that he regrets majoring in business just to get school over with, and forgets that his mother will never be as proud as him as she is with his brother. He solely focuses on the keys being pressed, and the resounding music flowing in the spacious room. 

His foot carefully calculates when to push down on the piano pedals as he closes his eyes once more, his fingers diligently working themselves. 

He found solace in the way he himself created such a beautiful noise. A domino effect in which his fingers meticulously pressed onto the white keys, then on the black keys, then working his way down to the white keys again to create the music he cherished the most. 

Oh, how he wishes he could live in the mountains. Alone and at peace with a piano by his side. 

Never mind that, he won’t be suffocated by his overbearing mother with her expected high standards and judgements. 

Then he finally remembered that he did fail statistics twice, and that he regrets majoring in business, and that his mother will always see him as substandard. He harshly bangs his hands onto the keys, the music becoming harsher and faster than what the original piece called for. Yoongi pursed his lips, his foot slamming onto the pedals. His whole body moved as his fingers worked harder than before, aggressively making the music bounce off of the walls. 

Yoongi was left heaving when the piece was finished. And all that was left was him and the thoughts of failure in his mind. His hands slide away from the keys and onto his lap. His black hair covers his eyes, but he doesn’t make an effort to move them out of the way. 

“That was good, kind of sloppy at the end, but good.” Yoongi jumps from the sudden voice behind him. He doesn’t turn around, finally recognizing it was you, his best friend critiquing him.

“Thanks asshole.” He gruffs out, his fingers gripping onto his shirt. He tries to act as if he just didn’t pull himself out of a self-wallowing pit of despair, but his stature was too noticeable for you.

“Who pissed you off this time?”

“No one.”

“Min Yoongi.”

“Y/N Y/L.”

“Yoongi~”

“Fuck off.” 

You, his best friend; an odd label since all you both seem to do is argue, walked up behind him, your hand inching towards his shoulder.

Yoongi felt it coming, your empathetic side whenever you notice his odd behavior. He hated that he depended on your soft touches, but his exterior never allowed you to realize that he did in fact, need you.

-

“So are you ever going to tell me what had your panties in a twist earlier?”

“I don’t wear panties.”

“You don’t?” You smile at your own comment before swallowing down your sandwich. Yoongi glares at you before he engulfs a spoonful of his own yogurt. 

“Yoongi, you know what I meant.” You become serious again, watching his eyes close in frustration.

“I am going to key your car if you don’t shut up about it.”

“Hostility is going to get you no where, you know.” You muffle out, trying your hardest to not spit out any food. 

“Sure it will.” Yoongi sarcastically claims. He disregards the leftover yogurt in front of him and looks at you to make a point. His breath hitched when he saw you sat before him, bread crumbs littered across your lips and a hoodie draped over your body. 

The denial that ran through Min Yoongi’s body shot through the roof as he analyzes your features. For so many years he has been able to look the other way and become the apathetic and sarcastic best friend of Y/N Y/L/N, but not today. At this very moment, in a booth tucked away in the cafè, Min Yoongi can say that Y/N was the one. 

Maybe Yoongi was a bit disappointed that he finally broke his record for being able to restrain his feelings from you. His cold, apathetic exterior only being shown and nothing more. 

“Hello~ Min Yoongi.” You wave of what was left of the sandwich in front his face, making him jump from the sudden realization he has been staring for far too long.

“What is it?” You ask. 

“You have crumbs all over your face. Clean yourself up, hobo.”

You roll his eyes at his comment, lazily wiping the back of your hand across your lips. Yoongi continues to eat his yogurt, noticing that you were packing up your books.

“Where are you going?” Yoongi didn’t mean to sound so hopeless, and his cheeks redden in embarrassment.

“To class, idiot. You should be going to stats or you’re going to have to take it a fourth time.” You tease, “Meet me at my car so we can hangout.”

Yoongi scowls at you. Flipping you off as you turn your back to leave, he counts down the minutes until you return.

-

Maybe if you hadn’t invited him out to your car after class, his hands wouldn’t be shaking. Min Yoongi was a tough boy, as his mother would like to call him. 

A tough boy who listens to no one, not even their mother.

But why did this tough boy have a best friend who had a heart of gold? Someone who had a future and a well rounded personality. 

Maybe you were sent by the gods to shape him up- slap him into his senses. 

Or maybe you were sent to show him he will never have anyone like you.

Nonetheless, Min Yoongi allowed himself to bond with you over the years. No matter the amount of stupid little arguments you two shared, Yoongi enjoyed the bickering. It was intimate, really. Being able to throw jabs at each other and laugh about it afterwards was better than just awkwardly hanging out and asking about their day.

“Where are you taking me?” He asks, rubbing his hands over his jeans to relax himself. 

“To the woods to murder you, Min Yoongi.” You rasp out in an ominous voice. 

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters out, suppressing the smile behind his fist. Yoongi looks out of the window, still trying to deny that he did in fact, want you.

-

“What the hell is this?” Yoongi questions, eyeing the modern building in front of him. 

“Shut up for once and follow me.” You grab his hand, leading him to the building. Yoongi notices the overflowing people circling around the entrance waiting for their tickets to be scanned.

“Y/N what the hell did you bring me to.” 

“A piano recital.” You claim, watching his ears turn red. 

“Why?” 

“Because... you like to play the piano? Do you not want to watch it?” Now it was your turn for your ears to turn red, embarrassed that he might’ve not liked the thought of it. 

“No! I mean yes! Yes, I want to watch it.” Yoongi stumbles over his words. 

Honestly, Yoongi couldn’t care less about the piano recital, but since you had thought of him- 

you thought of him. You went out of your way to bring him here. 

-

“Did you like it?”

“You could tell his fingers were stiff. Mediocre.”

“Yoongi, that’s rude.”

“It’s not rude if I am simply criticizing.”

You swing the car keys with your hand as you two walk back to the car. The concert was boring, but you managed to keep your eyes open.

Unlike you, Yoongi stared at the artist on stage, engrossed by the music. 

-

“What do you think he thinks about when he plays the piano.” Yoongi randomly asks. You look up from your textbook, confused for a moment.

“The pianist from yesterday’s concert? The hell would I know? What do you think when you play?”

Yoongi shrugs from your question, regretting he had asked in the first place. You wouldn’t understand. Returning his sight on his laptop screen, it had looked like he was reading something important, but he was disassociating. Wondering if the pianist too forgot about his worries, as if there was nothing else in the world. Just him and his piano. 

You also wouldn’t understand that his feelings has grown for you. Every splitting second wondering about your whereabouts, who you were with, if you had eaten already. Maybe you would, but Yoongi couldn’t stand the rejection. He’d throw himself out of the window out of embarrassment.

-

“Let’s hangout after class.”

“No.”

This was new to you. Yoongi refusing your little adventures. You tilt your head, awaiting for his smile and telling you he was just kidding, but he never did.

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want to hang out.” “...Okay.” 

You look at him for a bit longer hoping he’d throw an insult and say sike! but Yoongi remained in his spot, unmoved.

-

You were tired of Yoongi being dismissive. How can he just disregard you? After being friends with him since highschool, he couldn’t just throw you away, can he?

“Yoongi. It has been days since you have insulted me or hung out with me for that matter. What is up your ass?” You stomped up to his dorm and spoke your mind once he had opened his door. 

“Nothing is up my ass.” He mumbles, turning around and leaving the door open for you to enter.

“Jesus christ, this place is a dump.” You kick around a pair of shorts on the floor. 

“Then leave.”

“Yoongi, stop being a big baby.” 

“Leave.” 

It was no longer an option but more of a demand.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You ask. 

What the hell has gotten into him? Yoongi could ask himself the same question. He can’t even carry out simple daily tasks without thinking about you. Denial is what has been making Yoongi get out of bed and go to class. If he had succumbed to his thoughts, he would be closed off in his dorm, wishing about you. 

You would never understand if he had explained, so he instead ignores your question and plops himself onto his bed. 

His roommate is gone, which only left you two and a shut door. Yoongi closes his eyes in disgust. How could he have these heinous thoughts about you? 

Yoongi could take you here in his dorm room, on his bed, blessing the sheets.

His eyes open once more when he hears the door slam shut. You had left.

-

Maybe Yoongi would have gotten over you if it hadn’t been for the fact that you were the only thing on his mind now. He had no interest on playing the piano anymore, because when he did try to play, he was too focused on the keys when he rather could be focused on you.

Yoongi thinks thats when the cord snaps. Realizing this pit of regret was eating him up. Maybe he was right, god had sent you just to rub it in his face that he’ll never have anyone like you.

But he will.

-

He pounds on your dorm door this time, his fingers fiddling with each other as he hears the doorknob wobble. 

Your face appears from behind the wooden door, and a frown is instantly found on your lips.

“Yoongi.”

“Listen-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You were being a dick.” Before you could close the door, Yoongi shoves his foot between it. With his limb now in the way of you being left alone, you glare at the boy in front of you.

“Can’t you just listen to me?”

“Like how you listened to me when I went to your dorm?” You spit, annoyed that he had the audacity to even ask you that. 

You expected him to stare at you with his soulless eyes and walk away and sulk about it for a week and come back to you as if nothing had happened.  (Like he always does)

What you had not expected was the door to fling open as Yoongi slams his palms onto it.

“Yoongi what the fuck!”

“You’re going to listen to me.” He demands. His body mere inches away from yours.

“You- you have been infecting me. You did something to me and I don’t like it at all. I feel things- things I have never felt before for you. I’ve been trying to wash away these feelings but holy shit Y/N, I can’t. I love you.”

"Yoongi...you’re my best friend.” The boy shuts his eyes in frustration and purses his lips. So fucking what if they were best friends? Your voice makes him focus on you. “Also, I’ve been talking to someone.” You look at your feet, too afraid to be so close to him. 

“What- what do you mean talking?” 

“Kim Seokjin, the senior in our class-”

“Kim Seokjin? That narcissistic asshole?”

-

Yoongi could never stomach the thought of physically hurting someone, but here was, repeatedly thrashing a wrench onto ‘the Kim Seokjin’s’ face.

“I had confessed my feelings to her and she told me she had eyes for you. Do you know how humiliating that is?” 

He continues his assault in the senior’s dorm room.

“-how fucking embarrassing it is to be rejected?”

The senior had no words as he was unconscious and blood was pouring out of his mouth. Yoongi was nervous as hell when he entered the boys room without warning, earning Kim Seokjin to jump from his desk chair. He stayed quiet as the senior repeatedly asked him what the hell he was doing before the iron clashed into his temple.

“Just you fucking wait, she will never set her eyes on you ever again.”

Yoongi heaved as he saw the mess he had made in the now dirty bedroom. He looks around to see how he could clean it up, but opts to just drop the wrench into the sink and allow the water to flow from the faucet. He washes the tool, noticing that he finally did something right. 

“You were so ignorant when you had said hostility gets you no where. Look where I am now- winning.” Yoongi says out loud in the empty room, a dead body now laying a few feet away from him.

[travellvogue]

Five Stars- Dele, Jadon, Reiss & Eric

SMUT- when i say it’s long i mean it’s longer then eric’s dick 

wordcount- 2339 (grab the popcorn)

You looked at the three of them with a smirk and spoke slyly, “we’ll invited Eric next time, yeah?”...

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

They’d both gone home, leaving you and Del in bed together once again, your body washed from the quick shower you’d had together, just the two of you- the way he secretly liked it. He definitely wasn’t complaining about this threesome... well now foursome, business but it was nice to have you in his arms, all to himself. It was definitely an unintentional love, he hadn’t expected to fall head over heels in love with the girl he and his best mate shagged that one night, bringing you home from the bar in a tipsy state. But here you were, practically moved into his house, next to him in bed with his hoodie on a pair of panties he’d bought you, just for his eyes.  

“So...” he smirked, running his hand up and down your spine as you cuddled into his chest. “You wanna call Eric now, or?....” he smirked, watching you giggle and hit his chest playfully. He knew there wasn’t 100% seriousness in your suggestion but he knew you’d probably be open to the idea with a little persuasion, plus he’d like to show his best friend how amazing you are- just once. “Hmm I want you all to myself before we start inviting the whole England Team” he teases. His hands wondering down to your bare ass, giving it a good squeeze as you look up at him, his eyes instantly telling you what he wanted. 

So that’s exactly how you found yourself under his body, feeling his cock pumping in and out of you slowly. A caring, gentle feel to the sex as he presses kisses all over your face and collar bones, loving how you whimper his name- just his name. Your pussy clenching around only his cock, your legs shaking solely because of how he’s thrusting into you. He loved moments like this, he loved having you all to himself. God he loved sharing you and watching you get fucked. But he loved being able to make you feel incredible all by himself... he loved you. 

“I love you” he whispers gently as he stills inside you and fills your pussy with his cum, feeling you clench and look up at him in shock. “I-“ words failed you at that very moment, smashing your lips against his and pulling his face as close to you as possible. Tongues dancing in an intimate passion as you pull away breathless, “I love you too Del... so much” you whisper gently, his heart tightening at those words. “You still want Dier to join in?” he doubles checks again, cheeky smirk on his face when he watches you nod with absolute certainty, “good...” he winks, “wanna show my best mate what the love of my life can do” he whispers, the two of you falling asleep in a mist of pure love. 

He was already at training when you woke up the next morning, a little note on top of a box on his side of the bed, ‘I love you, be home at 4, wear this ;)’ peeling back the lid of the box and the delicate white tissue paper you were greeted by the most gorgeous set of lingerie. You’d spent the day getting ready, hair and makeup perfect, the lingerie set making you feel so bloody sexy. Spraying yourself with Dele’s favourite perfume on you, knowing he can’t resist you when you wear that ‘sultry’ scent. 

For some reason you were nervous for his return home, feeling as though there was more riding on this night than usual. “Pretty girl” you hear called through the house as the door opens, quickly wrapping your silk dressing gown around you, the noise of several footsteps and rustling around confusing you slightly. Making your way down the stairs to the kitchen where the noise was coming from, pausing at the door when you don’t only see Del, but three other boys along with him. “Oh, hi boys” you pull the belt of your sexy dressing gown a little tighter and walk towards Del. Jadon, Reiss... and Eric. This could only mean one thing. 

“Looking good Y/N” Jadon smirks, Del pulling you closer and giving you a kiss. “Thank you” you blush. You’d noticed Eric’s eyes watching you intently, not leaving your body since the second you walked into the room. “So...” Reiss teasing voice captures your attention, his eyebrows wiggling around at Dele. An awkward chuckle leaving Del’s lips as you look up at him. “Baby?” he asks, the three boys watching the interaction, you only hum in response. “Welll... uh” he begins but is quickly cut off by Jadon, “You said you wanted to shag Eric” he says bluntly. Brain ticking away at the thought of having all four of them as you look up to Del. “You wanna show him what you got?” Del smirks, your expression matching his as you look over to Eric. His cock had grown harder within the short space of time, eyes dark with lust as he waits for your reaction. You only smile sensually and nod. “Come here” you smirk, Dele propping himself up onto the kitchen island whilst J and Reiss took a seat on the stools, Eric taking three strides towards you with a smug smirk. “You want me to suck you off infront of everyone?” you kiss his neck, hand running over his bulge, “You know I do pretty girl” he growls, taking no time in pulling his joggers off and dropping to your knees. “Show him what that mouth do” Reiss hollered, no doubt the three boys supporting hard ons by now. 

He was big, almost too big. A slight thought of ‘where the fuck am i gonna put all that’ running through your brain, but that didn’t stop you shoving as much of his cock down your throat as you could fit. Instantly spluttering and choking around him, hand cupping his balls as he moaned your name. You can sense three pairs of eyes on you, only encouraging you to take his thick length even deeper down your throat, eyes streaming and airways burning but fuck it felt incredible. The moans Eric was emitting was enough to get your pussy dripping into your panties. “Fucking hell brooo... i might have to steal her” Eric groans, looking over to Del who simply smirks and replies, “She’s mine; my little cockslut” you hum around Eric’s cock at Dele’s words. “Don’t act as if I ain’t been balls deep in that pussy” you hear J say, the sound of a high five from the two young boys say together, “and me” Reiss adds with a chuckle. “Get up princess... let’s get to the bedroom before I destroy you in the kitchen” Eric instructs. Everyone following his request as you all make your way up stairs, losing your dressing gown in the process, leaving you only in your new sexy lingerie as you lay on the bed. 

“How do you wanna do this?” Dele asks, the boys stood next to him, practically drooling at the sight of you. You watch them all contemplate how this is going to work, so you take it into your own hands to make a suggestion. “Take it in turns...” you begin, grabbing everyone’s attention, “each one of you fucks me whilst the others watch, and if you’re good boys then you can all have me at the same time” you watch them all gulp in anticipation, cocks growing impossibly at the thought. Four heads nodding along to the suggestion. “Who wants to go first?” you ask jokingly, finding this whole thing so thrilling. “Me” “Me! “Me” through separate voices answer with the same word, “Think the newbie should get the first taste” Del speaks, Eric nodding in agreement, not taking long for them to settle on the order in which they fucked. Eric climbing onto the bed with you, pulling you around so you were under him, watching him strip himself naked as the other boys took their seats around the room. 

“Oh jesus christ” he moans deeply as he slips into you, your wet hole stretching out to fit him all inside you, nails raking down his back. “Fuck this is hotter then I thought it would be” Reiss moans, hand wrapped around his hard shaft as he pumps it up and down slowly, teasing himself until he gets to be inside you. Eric’s hips rocking against you in a steady rhythm as he masks in the feel of you, your juices covering his cock, the slight clenching every time he fucks himself a little deep inside you, all three boys watching in complete awe. Dele making his way over to the two of you, cock rock solid as he comes to kiss you, sucking on your boobs as you whine his name, “tell him what you want baby, you’re a filthy slut, he needs to go harder don’t he” he mumbles to you as you gasp and nod. “Lift her legs over your shoulders bro, she likes it like that” Dele tells Eric but his eyes never leave yours once again, Eric happily following his demand, “can’t believe believe you get to fuck her everyday, lucky git” Eric growls, pistolling himself incredibly fast into you, cock now deeper then before. “Lucky inni” Del smirks, wanking over you as you watch him with lustful eyes. You squeal as you reach your high, the mixture of having Eric inside you and having three other boys watching you becoming too much as you clench uncontrollably around Eric’s cock. “Fuck I’m cumming” he moans, stilling inside you and pushing himself as deep into you as possible, three long strings of his warm cream coating your insides. 

“My turn” you hear and eager Reiss say, jumping up from his seat, walking towards you as his cock stands loud and proud. “Turn over baby, imma take you doggy style” he instructs, watching you get onto all fours and arch your back just like the pornstars, a small trace of Eric’s cum dripping out of your little hole. “Gotta fuck this back into ya” he scoops up the small amount of liquid as gets you to clean it off his fingers, wasting no time and sinking inside you. A fast pace as his balls slap against your skin, moans emitted from his mouth only forcing you closer to another orgasm, squealing his name as Jadon and Dele come to stand in front of you, Eric still trying to catch his breath. “Suck me off gorgeous, get me all wet for when I fuck ya” Jadon says, bringing your chin up so your face was level with his cock, Reiss not calming down with the thrusts, Jadon’s cock slipping down your throat so easily you’re almost embarrassed... almost. “Can’t even get enough of you” he groans, wrapping his hand in your hair and practically ducking your face, spit and cum dripping down your chin, “I’m gonna fill her up, i’m fucking close” Reiss moans, the whole build up making him not last long, groaning your name as he thrusts his cum into you, now mixing with Eric’s, your walls coated in the mixture of cum, making you feel so full. “Thank fuck, was close to cumming in her throat if you didn’t stop” Jadon smirks, pulling his cock out of your mouth as a long string of spit follows, replacing Reiss, admiring how your pussy looks fucked red-raw. “Filthy little slut aint ya” he slaps your pussy as you wince from the overstimulation. Pounding himself into you relentlessly, Dele feeling as though his cock was going to fall off as this rate, “that’s my good girl” he whispers, knowing you’re not used to this amount of stimulation and pleasure, lips pressed against yours gently, loving how you whimper into the kiss at the pure pleasure of J’s thick length inside you, hole already stretched out from the two previous cocks, loving how the other boys are already growing hard again at the sight of their real life porno. “Oh shitttt” your interrupted by a loud groan from Jadon, feeling him fill your pussy up with more cum once again, feeling like you could practically explode from how full you were. Dele smirking knowing it’s finally his turn.

“Save the best for last” you smirk up at him as he lies you on your back, your words had a filthy meaning but the look in your eyes was nothing but love, gripping hiks biceps as he sinks into you, truly feeling like a puzzle piece as he slowly thrust into you, able to feel the three other lads cum squelching around his cock, listening to your pussy talk to him, a wet noise with each thrust that only made him beyond horny. Cock soaked in the mixture of seed as well as the dripping wetness of your pussy. Leaning down to rub your clit in figure eight motions, “you gonna cum with me baby? I’m not gonna last long” he mumbles against your lips, knowing the boys are still watching the two of you. You only whimper and nod, completely exhausted from being taken by four different cocks, hole stretched out to the max and fucked raw, squealing and whining when you finally reach your third high, pussy clenching around Del’s cock, tipping him over the edge as he releases the most amount of cum inside you, pussy literally full to the brink, slipping out of you with a wet pop, a mixture of all of their cum gushing out of you, a smirk on their faces when they see Del scoop up the concoction and bring his soaked fingers to your mouth, humming as you suck it off him, tongue swirling as you swallow it all. A blush on your face as you look at everyone’s gobsmacked expressions, knowing that was the best night of all your lives.