#Me: Time to procrastinate and watch random stuff and breathe I guess!

[anonymoosen]

DANG THIS ARTIST IS SO FRIGGIN TALENTED AHHHDHSJDJ I BET THEYRE A PROFESSIONAL ARTIST WHOS AN ADULT

*the artist is actually my age / only one year older than me*

DANGGGGG

(adding more stuff to say in my tags!)

[fabulouspotatosister]

truth hurts

summary: there are just some things you can’t hide. truth serum does that to you.

word count: 3,452

warnings: minor injury, mentions of blood

gif credit: @lowercasev

a/n(1): hello everyone! i hope you're all having a splendid day, wherever and whenever you are. this is just another one of those "i had a random idea and i wanted to get it out" except the idea is super old and i just wrote it now because i love procrastinating. anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic!

---

I suppose this is what I get for not listening to the Doctor.

 The wound on your ankle was looking, for lack of a better word, bad. While you weren’t a medical professional, there were a few things you were sure of - small cuts shouldn’t bleed so much, small cuts shouldn’t hurt so much, and small cuts shouldn’t be purple.

 You hadn’t meant to wander off. Amy was with the Doctor, talking with the locals of the planet that you had landed on, which left you to watch the TARDIS. As if the TARDIS needed watching, you had thought then. You’d taken a small walk - just a little deeper into the forest you were in, looking at all the strange flowers and trees.

 There weren’t many rules when it came to travelling with the Doctor. Not wandering off was one of them. And no interfering, but was that really a rule? You were a repeat offender, of course - how did the Doctor expect you to just stay still while there were so many extraordinary things to explore? 

 The forest was beautiful. You spent a lot of your small walk looking up at the canopy of trees that let in just enough light to make all the foliage glitter and glow. You were distracted, not really looking at where you were going, and you’d missed the feeling of something scratching against your ankle as you walked. 

 “I guess this is my karma,” you muttered, leaning against the TARDIS. You’d hobbled back when the pain became too much. The wound was pulsing now, beating in time to your heartbeat, a steady trickle of blood finding its way into your shoe. “I’ll listen next time.”

 A sharp call of your name made you look up - the Doctor was there in the distance, smiling so wide it had to hurt. “Come on!” he called, and waved. 

 “Is it safe?” you called back. 

 The Doctor nodded and motioned for you to come over, bouncing up and down like an excited kid. He could be unbearably cute sometimes. (Wait, where did that thought come from?) “It’s fine! Totally safe! Amy’s distracted in the market, I think we should go get her.”

 You looked at the Doctor, then at your ankle, and back to the Doctor. His smile was so earnest, so adorable. Your ankle would probably put a damper on everything, and the Doctor being upset was never a good sight. You were supposed to be having fun. You weren’t going to ruin everything by just having a scratch.

 “Hang on a minute!” You bent down, hidden by some of the shrubs, and rolled down your pant leg. Your wound stung as the fabric brushed against it, and you winced. You stood up, straightened yourself, and gave the Doctor your best “I’m-totally-fine” smile. “Okay, I’m good to go.”

 Your smile must have convinced him, because the Doctor grinned and spun around, disappearing back into the forest. 

 You tried not to limp as you followed him, but every step sent a stab of pain through your entire foot. Just grin and bear it, you thought, taking in a shuddering breath. Do it for him. 

 You pushed through the trees, finding yourself in a little clearing. The whole place felt alive - the trees glowed a warm orange as they swayed in the breeze, and the sound of their leaves rustling together sounded like delicate wind-chimes. Scattered around the clearing were various stalls and booths that were decorated with spools of vibrant cloth. The sounds of lively music and distant chatter filled the air as aliens of all kinds milled about.

 The Doctor was waiting for you, leaning against a wooden pole that held up a string of twinkling lights. Underneath those lights, with his arms crossed like that, he looked quite… quite… 

 You frowned and something throbbed in the back of your head. 

 “Ah! There you are,” the Doctor said brightly. He stepped away from the pole, still smiling widely with that smile of his, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Don’t look down, you begged silently. Just ignore me. “Brilliant, isn’t it? One of the legendary Elremian marketplaces. Just huge melting pots of culture, and the best place to find rare collectibles - hey -”

 The Doctor called your name, his voice soft against the din, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes. Your heart stuttered in your chest at his gaze, his gorgeous green eyes sparkling with worry. (What in the world...)

 “Are you okay?” he asked. He leaned down slightly to peer into your eyes, and you found that you didn’t want to pull away from how close he was. 

 You swallowed. Then, you nodded, and the throbbing in the back of your head turned into a pounding. “Of course,” you said, trying another “I’m-totally-fine” smile. “Let’s find Amy, yeah?”

 That smile wasn’t quite as convincing. The Doctor frowned as he stood back up, his gaze lingering on you for just a second longer before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders again and led you through the crowds.

 “As I was saying - collectibles,” the Doctor continued. Everything passed by you in a blur of vague colors and shapes. The Doctor’s voice was the only thing you could really focus on. “They’ve got everything from jewels to recalled video games, even stuff from archaeological finds if you can barter. Great, yeah?”

 “Yeah,” you muttered. The beautiful lights of the marketplace were so bright now, even though the rest of the sky was already turning dark. “It’s just - it’s loud.”

 “Loud? Don’t worry about that,” the Doctor said, and you caught a faint hint of concern in his voice. “Amy’s not far now. In here.”

 The Doctor pushed back the curtain of a small tent, gently pushing you inside. It was a little better than outside, a little darker and a little cooler. There were candles scattered around the floor, which had to be a fire hazard in a cloth tent, but no one in the tent seemed alarmed.

 “Amy!” the Doctor called, “How’s the shopping?”

 Amy emerged from behind another curtain. She was in a new dress, a tight-fitting neon green piece with a cape that fell over her shoulders and to the floor. It trailed behind her as she walked up to you. “Good! Here’s one,” she said, then spun around and raised her eyebrows. “How do I look?”

 “Bit bright,” the Doctor said, and Amy glared. “Sorry! Sorry. Good. I mean you look good.”

 The Doctor was right. It looked good on Amy, and honestly Amy could make anything look good, but the green was just so bright and annoying against the gentle tapestries of the tent and - “I don’t like it,” you blurted.

 Amy’s eyebrows had practically disappeared into her hair, but she was smiling. “Oh? Well, you’re honest today.”

 “No, no! I mean -” The pounding in your head had started to feel like someone hammering at your brain, chipping away parts that you actually needed. You winced at the pain, and your ankle began to sting again. “No, I think it looks great, I think you look great, you always look great -”

 “Don’t lie,” the Doctor said, moving to stand in front of you. 

 “I’m not lying,” you ground out. The Doctor’s brows furrowed.

 “Are you in pain?”

 “Yeah,” you answered - but if you were hurt they would be so upset and then you’d ruin everything - “Uh, no. I’m fine -!”

 At “fine”, you buckled, your knees giving out beneath you - Amy rushed forward and caught you, gently lowering you into a sitting position on the floor of the tent. 

 “What were you saying about fine?” Amy asked, her hands on your shoulders keeping you steady. “Doctor, what’s wrong with her?”

 “Nothing’s wrong with me,” you ground out, even though your legs felt like jelly and your brain felt like cotton. A sharp pain pierced through your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I’ll just - I’ll get up, let me -”

 “No, seriously, don’t lie,” the Doctor said, and rushed to your side. He crouched down beside you, taking your face into his hands, his skin warm against yours. His face was so close to your again, and you could see every single detail, down to the way his lip trembled slightly. He’d always been pretty, but now, looking over you with concern, he was even prettier. How was that possible?

 The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really pretty?”

 The Doctor’s eyes widened. “More than once,” he said, then mumbled something under his breath. “Is that the truth?”

 “Yeah, a hundred percent,” you said slowly, a smile spreading across your face. Shut up, shut up now before you ruin everything! “Super attractive. One might even say hot.”

 “Hot?” the Doctor mouthed in Amy’s direction before he looked back at you. Amy made a face that said not my words. “Right, you told the truth, do you feel better?”

 You let out a breath through your mouth. The cotton was coming out of your ears. That was funny. “Yup.”

 Suddenly, Amy gasped. “Oh my God, Doctor,” she said, her voice tight with fear. She looked up at the Doctor, fear filling her eyes, and reached out to slowly pull up your pant leg. You hissed as warm air met your wound again. “She’s bleeding!”

 Amy cringed and looked away, which meant that your wound was probably looking much worse than before.

 “No,” the Doctor said, breathless. “How long ago was this?”

 Your “I’m-totally-fine” smile was definitely not going to work now. “Just after you left me at the TARDIS, I think. Uh - I wandered off -” The Doctor’s eyebrows pinched, and something welled up in your chest, threatened to spill over. “And I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, please don’t be mad, but I wandered off and I cut myself on something and now I can’t stop talking -”

 “I’m not mad, sweetheart, you’re hurt,” the Doctor said, his voice gentle. “Amy, move her a bit, I’m going to have to take a look.”

 “Sweetheart? That’s nice, can you call me that more often?” Externally, you were smiling like an entire idiot, but internally you were slapping yourself in the face. “I really like it.”

 The Doctor went still for a moment, lips parted in surprise. He glanced at you and smiled, his cheeks a little flushed. “Yeah?”

 You breathed out a tiny laugh. “Yeah.”

 The Doctor whipped his sonic screwdriver out with a flourish and pointed it at your ankle. You winced at the whirring noise it made, and the Doctor shot you an apologetic look. He brought it up, doing the little flick that he always did, and squinted to read the results.

 “That screwdriver thing you do,” you said.

 “What about it?” the Doctor replied, slightly distracted.

 “It’s kinda hot.” Oh my God, please just shut up. “The way you flick your wrist, it’s nice. You’re nice. Everything about you is nice.” 

 The Doctor gave Amy a kind of helpless look. Amy’s eyes were still wide, her gaze still tinged with fear, but she still waggled her eyebrows at him. 

 “Not helping,” the Doctor groaned, and Amy grinned.

 “Definitely helping.” Amy reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Her lips curved upward in a reassuring smile. “Is she going to be okay?”

 “No,” the Doctor said.

 Amy glared up at him. “What do you mean, no?”

 “Yes, I said no, in the interest of being honest.” The Doctor looked at the sonic again, then tucked it into his jacket. “She’s been scratched by an Iophinque plant, so, one of two things - either it goes away in an hour, or it kills her.”

 “I think I’d prefer the first one,” Amy said. She glanced at you, and smoothed out your hair with her hand. That felt nice too. 

 “Me too,” the Doctor muttered. “Right. I’m going to head out for just a minute. Talk with the locals. Amy -” His face went serious - “call me if the worst happens.”

 “The worst?”

 The Doctor's voice wavered. “You know what I mean.”

 You whined as he stepped farther away, and you swore you could see the Doctor’s face crumple. But then he smiled, a “I’m-totally-fine” smile. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back.”

 “He always says that,” Amy grumbled, watching him run out of the tent.

 “He always comes back,” you told her. She looked at you, her expression unreadable - and then laughed, a little bit amused and a little bit incredulous. 

 “You like him,” she said.

 There was no use hiding it now - the plant that had scratched you had to be some kind of truth serum. It felt a little ridiculous, but there was always space for ridiculous when you travelled with the Doctor. “I do.”

 “Him?” Amy stressed, and you nodded. “Seriously?”

 You nodded again, and the motion made your head spin, your eyes fluttering. “Seriously. He’s just so wonderful, and nice, and - and -”

 “Hey, look at me,” Amy sounded so far away, but there she was, kneeling right in front of you. She patted your cheek gently. “Stay awake. Keep talking. Let’s make this like a sleepover, yeah? Talking about boys. Alien boys.”

 “Alien boy,” you corrected her. “Singular.”

 “Okay, fine,” Amy said, laughing fondly. She shifted, and you tried to focus on the color of her dress. You still didn’t like it, but the neon green was loud enough to keep you awake. “What is it about him?”

 You didn’t have to think much. “He’s - he’s brilliant. That’s what he is. He’s smart, to the point of being a little annoying, and funny, and kind, so kind. So lonely but so kind. And he cares so much. I think it’s beautiful. I think he’s beautiful.” You frowned. “Does that make sense?”

 Amy nodded and smiled gently. “Yeah, I do. You said he was hot?”

 Your frown morphed into a pout. “He is!” 

 “Oh, I know,” Amy said. “Believe me, I know.”

 Silence settled over the two of you. Amy sat with you, a quiet comfort as she stroked your hair. But there was something else you wanted to say, something important, something -

 “Sad,” you said softly. You felt tears well up in your eyes. “He makes me sad. It’s okay, but -” Your breath hitched in your throat. “It’s sad, you know?”

 “What is?”

 “I don't think he loves me back.” The words were out of your mouth now. They crashed over you like a tidal wave, and now that you had actually said them, they felt real. “He doesn’t - oh, God - he doesn’t love me back.”

 Amy shook her head, her hands moving to your shoulders. She shook you slightly and you looked at her, your breathing shallow. Tears were already streaming down your face. When did that happen? “You don’t know that.”

 “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you said. Your words were blending into one another like smudged paint. That was okay too. “I’m okay with it. He doesn’t have to. He - I know he can’t.”

 Amy sighed, sadness swimming in her eyes, and wrapped her arms around you. It was nice, being hugged by Amy, but you definitely weren’t feeling nice - nausea washed over you, and you sagged in her arms. You coughed, and something warm trickled out of your mouth. Spots of bright red.

 “M’sorry,” you mumbled weakly. “Your dress, I got it all dirty.”

 “It’s okay,” Amy said, soothing you. “I haven’t even paid for it anyway.”

 “You know, I still don’t like it.” You coughed again, your chest rattling. “Hey, Amy?”

 “Hmm?”

 You pulled away from her and watched as her calm expression shifted and morphed into one of fear. It must have been bad, whatever you’d coughed up, because Amy’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. It was a little funny, and you would have laughed if your mouth didn’t taste so much like pennies.

 “Got the second option,” you slurred. “I think you should call the Doctor now.”

 You pitched forwards, hanging limply in her arms, your head resting comfortably against her shoulder. You didn’t even hear Amy scream into her phone. But you could feel her shuddering, and you wanted to tell her that it wasn’t worth it, being scared over you, but your mouth was just so full of -

 The Doctor burst through the curtains of the tent, clutching a metal cylinder in his hand. “What happened?”

 “Doctor,” Amy began, “I think she’s -”

 “I know,” the Doctor said sternly. He took you from Amy’s arms and everything seemed to lurch for a moment, shifting until everything went still, and he was above you. Through the cloth of the tent the twinkling lights outside looked like stars. It was the perfect backdrop for him. “I’ve got you.”

 “Yeah, you have.” The Doctor looking down at you, his hair falling over his face, was enough to make your heart clench painfully. Everything else hurt too. “You always have.”

 “I found an antidote, you’re going to be okay,” the Doctor said, pushing your hair away from your neck. Something cold pressed against your neck, and you jolted - you reached up to grab the Doctor’s hand, clammy fingers wrapping around his wrist.

 “Wait, wait,” you said, the words coming out jumbled, “I love you.”

 The Doctor stared. It felt like an eternity under his gaze. His eyes were wide, searching your face for something - proof that you were lying, maybe? He wouldn’t find that anywhere with you, whether you liked it or not.

 “I love you,” you continued, “and I need to tell you before you cure me and I get embarrassed and take it back.”

 The Doctor was still staring, his whole body frozen in place. He blinked once, twice, and swallowed thickly. He was never usually so quiet. 

 The silence was getting to you. “I really want you to say something.”

 “You -” The Doctor let out a heavy breath. “You love me?”

 “Yes,” you whispered. Your vision blurred, putting something that looked like a halo around the Doctor’s head. How fitting. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

 The Doctor laughed softly. His free hand found your face, and he brushed his thumb against the corner of your lip. “You know that’s in bad taste, right?”

 “Definitely.”

 There was a click, and then a hissing noise - something sharp pinched your neck, and you felt a warmth spread over your whole body. It was taking the pain away, you noted dimly, your whole body relaxing even more as the antidote did its work. 

 “Feels nice,” you said, letting your eyes slip shut. “Thank you.”

 “You are very welcome,” the Doctor said gently. Then - “Are you with us, now? ‘Cause I really want you to be awake for this.”

 You quirked one eye open, and the Doctor smiled down at you. This wasn’t your truth-serum addled brain thinking, this was your very love-addled brain thinking - he shone brighter than anything else in the room. Even Amy’s neon green dress. Which you still didn't like. 

“Guess what?”

“What?”

 “I love you too.”

 You spluttered, your face burning despite how tired your body was, and made a noise that was probably the audible equivalent of multiple question marks. 

 All of that doubt and fear - just gone in seconds, wiped away like it had never had been there. Distantly, you could hear Amy sigh in relief, muttering something that sounded like “I said you didn’t know”.

 “Oi, don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me after a confession like that,” the Doctor said, his eyes crinkling. 

 “I was under the influence!” you protested weakly. The Doctor laughed, a sound full of fondness, and brushed a hand over your hair. It made you feel warm, like sitting right next to the fireplace in the TARDIS library. It felt like home. He felt like home.

 "I wouldn't kiss her, if I were you," Amy said. "She just coughed up blood. On me."

 You ran your tongue over your lips, still tasting the blood that was left there, and grimaced. The Doctor mirrored your expression. "Seconded."

 "There's always later," the Doctor said coolly, sending another wave of heat to your face. "You should rest. We'll get you back to the TARDIS."

 You blinked up at him. "You'll be there?"

 "Always." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "This'll have to do for now," he murmured against your skin.

 "It's perfect," you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as a welcome darkness overtook you. You're perfect, you thought, but he already knew that, didn't he?

---

a/n(2): i really hope you enjoyed! i hope you guys are doing awesome, love you lots!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Plan

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); unplanned pregnancy; cheating.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

(Fair warning, this is very depressing and rough)

Summary: You and Bucky had the perfect marriage until you didn’t.

Based on this prompt:

‘Shadow of what I once was.’ -Chance the Rapper 

for @honeyhan-123​‘s One Year Anniversary Challenge

Supplemental Lyrics: 

Where did you go? Why would you stay? You must have lost your marbles You always were so forgetful In a hurry, don't wait up I was too late, I was too late

Note: So this was kinda impromptu and out of nowhere. I haven’t done a legit one shot if forever so here ya go!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your feet ached. Even in the low heels, you felt as if you’d been standing on nails all night. Your round stomach made it hard to balance without the added challenge of your shoes. The dainty lilac silk was taut across your middle and your swollen breasts were barely contained by the off the shoulder bodice. You were told you were glowing but you felt anything but.

Your husband had wandered off as you were too tired to make the journey across the room. You found a random chair among the tables and lowered yourself heavily. An uncleared plate remained beside a champagne flute with a mouthful left in the crystal. You rubbed your stomach and sighed as you looked around.

Tony’s extravaganza’s always wore on but these days, time felt even more excruciating. The endless anxiety of the child within you, the urge to make it all go faster yet bask in what you had. 

It hadn’t been planned. You and Bucky had always agreed that children would only complicate your perfect simplicity. Neither of you had a deep yearning for a baby but you didn’t always get what you wanted. There were alternatives, you had talked about them. Those weren’t good enough for him. 

So there you were, bloated and nauseous. A different woman than you were. And he’d changed too. You could tell. Temperamental. One moment doting and delicate; the next impatient and hostile. 

Was it the stress of the unexpected? Or was it more?

You’d loved each other so entirely, you didn’t think he could have anything other than love for a child. At first, it seemed to be so but then as the months passed, his delight turned to resent. He didn’t say so but he didn’t need to. You couldn’t blame him. You felt the same and it made you sick. This child within you didn’t deserve that. So you cried alone at night; hidden in the bathroom as he snored, indifferent and ignorant.

You watched him with Steve and Sam; laughing. He didn’t do that much anymore. Neither did you. Maybe if you just talked about it, you’d realise that you were both trapped in the same dreadful limbo. The interminable wait. The fear and confusion of it all.

Maybe if he knew you were disappointed in yourself. Your career was on hold, if not over. You couldn’t be on active duty anymore, not with another life attached to you. His own was unaffected and perhaps your envy kept you from telling him of your woes. 

Is this how it would be? You alone with the child as he saved the world?

You huffed again and dropped your hand from your stomach. You looked down at the stretched silk. You couldn’t even weather a party without taking a breather. And now that you thought of standing up, you realised that might be a task on its own. Only six months and you felt ready to burst.

“How do you feel?” Wanda surprised you as she appeared from behind your chair. “You must be so excited.”

“Excited,” You smiled weakly. “In a way.”

“Oh, but it will be a miracle,” She chimed. “A little baby Bucky.”

“Well, we don’t know,” You rubbed a circle over your stomach with your fingertip. “He didn’t want to know.”

“Better, a surprise!” She sang.

You grumbled and shifted in the chair.

“Sorry, but could you…” You held out your hand. “Thank you.” You let her help you to your feet. “Is that the dress you were telling me about?”

She looked down at the dress with it’s peacock feather fringe and grinned. Her blue eyes sparkled and her golden hair shimmered down her back.

“It is,” She confirmed. “I found it at a rack sale… a bit tight but I managed.”

You chuckled softly. Wanda checked in more often than any of your other co-workers. Most only did when they were with Bucky or with a casual text. Wanda invited you to lunches and offered to baby shop with you when Bucky was too busy. You still had much to do and time seemed so trivial.

“The shower!” She clapped her hands. “I didn’t show you the invitations.”

“I told you, we don’t need one,” You insisted. “Bucky’s not much for that stuff and well, I don’t have much of a family to invite.”

“You have us,” She insisted. “We are your family.”

You could barely keep from frowning. You weren’t even sure you’d count your husband and the unborn child as family at that point. It didn’t feel like a family. It felt like a terrible obligation.

“Thank you, Wanda,” You reached over and squeezed her hand. “Excuse me, I’m not feeling very well.”

“You okay?” She clung to you.

“Fine, I think…” You fanned yourself. “I think it’s time to head out for me.”

“Okay,” She let you go, “Go rest, momma.”

You nodded with a sheepish smile and turned to waddle across the room. You were almost out of breath by the time you reached Bucky. Steve saw you and smiled. He welcomed you closer with an arm around your shoulders.

“And look at your wife,” Steve announced. “Each day, brighter than the last, I’m sure.”

Bucky turned and his cheek twitched. His veneer almost cracked. Sam nudged him playfully.

“Uh huh,” Bucky gave a crooked, half-hearted smile. 

“Now, do you think the arm is genetic?” Sam kidded and Bucky shot him a look. “Well, that definitely will be.” Sam pointed at Bucky’s scowl.

“Um, hon,” You wiggled away from Steve and touched Bucky’s cuff. “I think we should go. I’m tired.”

There was a pause. His tongue poked out just slightly and then he nodded.

“Well, guess that’s my cue,” He finally said to Steve and Sam. 

“I should be headed out soon,” Sam checked his watch. “Jet’ll be here nice and early.”

“Shit, yeah,” Bucky shook his head. “Why does Tony do that?”

You stayed quiet throughout their farewells, suppressed your misgivings. Finally he hooked his arm through yours and guided you to the door. When you passed into the hallway and approached the coat check, you finally found your courage. And your voice.

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving tomorrow,” You said softly as you handed in your ticket.

“Didn’t I?” He wondered as he grabbed your coat and handed it to you, then took his own. “Must have slipped my mind.”

You said nothing as you pulled on your coat.

“Tired,” He scoffed as he swept past you. You followed him to the door, unable to keep up more than a step behind him. 

“Bucky,” You pleaded from behind him, barely catching the door as he marched through it. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s funny how whenever I’m having fun, I have to stop because you’re not,” He huffed as he continued down the sidewalk. “That kid can’t be an excuse for you to be a bitch.”

“Excuse me?” You were startled by the venom in his tone. These mood swings had grown more frequent but no less tolerable. “Well if it was such a big deal, I’m a big girl, I can hail a cab.”

He rolled his eyes and unlocked the car as he rounded it.

“Then why didn’t you?” He got in and slammed his door. 

You opened the passenger side and lowered yourself into the seat. You closed the door but didn’t have the chance to buckle your belt before he pulled sharply out of his spot.

“I’m sorry,” You said. “I didn’t--”

“You didn’t think? Or you don’t care about me?” He gripped the wheel tightly and the leather groaned.

You were quiet. You picked at the button on your coat.

“You said you wanted to keep it,” You uttered.

“Don’t make me the bad guy,” He snarled. “Don’t. That’s what you always do. Hmm? What if I had said get rid of it? Then I’d be a monster.”

You were hurt but the anger constricted your throat and you glanced over at him.

“I told you to wear a condom,” You crossed your arms. 

“You said you were on the pill,” He growled. 

“I was!” You shouted. “You counted the pills yourself, you fucking--”

“I don’t want to do this again,” He raised his voice. “I can’t.”

“Then why do you do it?” You hissed.

“Because…” He sighed. “Because you make me.”

You lowered your chin and fought to hold back the tears. You shouldn’t have ever told him. You should have just made the decision yourself. You’d still be happy then. Him, too. He’d still love you.

“I can’t wait to fucking leave tomorrow,” He muttered. 

You lifted your head and blinked at him, stunned.

“Good,” You swallowed the acid in your throat, “Good. I can’t wait either.”

💔

Bucky slept on the couch that night. He didn’t say goodbye in the morning though you heard him leave. You were still angry but it wasn’t enough to blot out the hurt. The anger was nothing, but the stab in your heart was torturous.

You woke up slowly. Getting out of bed was awkward and descending the stairs was more than enough exercise for the morning. You mourned your specialty coffee beans and had juice instead. You buttered two pieces of toast alongside a soft-boiled egg and sat at the kitchen table with your laptop.

You could distract yourself with shopping. You still needed to paint the nursery. Hell, you still needed to do anything. Your procrastination was quickly growing overwhelming and you couldn’t wait until month nine to get your ass in gear.

You mulled between an emerald green and a canary yellow. Then a crib and a change table and a rocker… everything. Too much.

You wiped your hands and began to scroll more intently. The speakers binged and a small notification popped up in the corner. You ignored it as you mused at the koala sleeper. Cute. For a moment, you almost felt happy. Then you felt lost again.

Would it always be like this? Would you always be so alone? Bucky should’ve just left you. If this wasn’t what he wanted, if you weren’t what he wanted, he needed to just say so. Was this even what you wanted?

The same notification beeped and you clicked the small x without reading. A third time and you huffed. You rubbed your eyes and hovered over the small rectangle.

From: Marina; Rendezvous tonight? ;)

Marina. You squinted and sat back. You knew that name. You knew her quite well. You’d trained her only a year ago. The last you’d heard, she’d only just been cleared for field duty. You clicked the alert before it could flick away.

Bucky had left himself signed in. He didn’t have his own laptop, he rarely used yours; only to type up his reports and often you ended up doing it for him. You tapped your fingers above the touch pad and clicked the small bubble icon. The page loaded his messages and you felt nauseous. You gulped the last of your juice and braced yourself.

You dragged your finger along the pad and glossed over the conversation. He had been up all night, talking to her. You froze as you saw the first image; your husband’s hand around his dick. The one above was Marina; her toned stomach and perky tits, a pretty little v. You slammed the laptop shut and shoved it away.

You were mortified. Disgusted. You don’t know what to do but you know you have to do something. You look around at the life you’ve built with Bucky then at your growing stomach. You stood with a groan and left the kitchen. 

You climb the stairs slowly. You felt numb. You should have been angry, or sad, but the humiliation had seeped to nothing. Complacency. What you were used to.

You dressed and grabbed your phone. You sat on the bed and dialed. You waited for the other end to pick up.

“Hey,” Wanda sang from the speaker.

“Hey,” Your voice was steady. Emotionless. “Are you free to help me grab a crib? I saw this one online and I’d like to go check it out.”

“Of course!” She exclaimed. “Can Nat come? We were just finishing up our session.”

“The more the merrier.” You said and hung up without awaiting a response. 

You had to get out of the house. Away from the walls that only reminded you of him.

💔

In the days that Bucky was gone, you spent your days busy. Wanda helped paint the nursery a goldenrod yellow and assembled the crib. You hung up the little framed pictures of Winnie the Pooh and his friends along the walls and ordered a changing table with built-in drawers; then a rocker with a cushioned footrest, a mobile, a baby monitor… Just a little at a time. Distraction with a dollar sign.

And there were several times when your heart got the best of you. You looked at Bucky’s messages once more before you signed out of his account. Your eyes burned. They had, indeed, rendezvoused and you wondered if he was even working at all. You sniffed back your tears and carried on.

You didn’t need to worry about Bucky anymore, he didn’t worry about you. What you needed to worry about was the child. You would give it the life you couldn’t have. You would make it feel wanted because you could never wish such a horrid feeling on anyone else. Your love wasn’t his anymore, it was your own and it would be your first gift to your baby.

On the fifth night without him, you fell asleep on the couch. You were too lazy to drag yourself up the stairs and so you drifted off watching an episode of reality drivel. You woke with a start. Your legs were warm and a smooth thumb rubbed your ankle as your bottom half was draped over Bucky’s lap.

You sat up and tried to pull away. He kept hold of you as you propped yourself up on shaky arms. His touch was gentle but it stung so much. It was false affection; not affection at all.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” You gulped.

“You didn’t answer any of my other texts,” His hand tickled past your knee and crawled back down. You wore a loose nightshirt, made shorter by your bump, and nothing else.

“Let me go,” You tried to wrench your legs away but your stomach made it awkward and painful. He released you reluctantly. “You didn’t even say goodbye to me and you expect me to answer.”

You grabbed the arm of the couch and tried to stand. He reached over to help as his hand grasped your hip. You stepped away and turned to cross your arms. He tilted his head as he watched you. He remained on the couch, leaning back against it with a shrug.

“Am I crashing your party?” He asked.

“Only your own,” You hissed. “You don’t have to stay. I’m sure Marina would love another rendezvous.”

He nodded and looked at his lap as his tongue slid across his lip. He didn’t look guilty, merely amused. He lifted his eyes to you and smirked.

“Is that what this is about?” He raised a brow. “You’re my wife.”

“You’re fucking her. Don’t think I’m stupid.” You snarled.

“Fucking her but I didn’t marry her,” He stood.

“I’m keeping the house, it’s the least you can do for our child,” You huffed. “Since you won’t do anything else.”

“I’m not going anywhere, babe,” He neared and you tore your arms apart. You held your stomach as you backed away from him. “I made a vow.”

“You’re cheating on me,” You snipped. “Fuck your vow.”

“She’s nothing. She’s stress relief. You are… everything,” He kept on as you walked backwards. Your back met the wall and he grasped the doorway right beside you, keeping you from slipping away. “I won’t make an excuse. I’ve been fucking her and it gets the job done but… I’ll only ever love you.”

“Bullshit,” You snapped. “You know you’re full of it.”

His hand startled you as he touched your stomach. You looked down at the metal as it stretched over the cotton. You were shaking.

“You want me to stop, I can stop. I don’t need her. I need you.” He grabbed your arm with his other hand. “I only ever think of you. Even with her.”

“Bucky--” Your feet scuffed over the hardwood and nearly caught under the edge of the rug. He shoved you ahead of him and you stumbled just in front of the couch. “Stop!”

“That’s my baby. You’re my wife.” He growled as he caught your shoulders and pushed you forward. Your knees met the sofa. “So be a good wife and serve your husband.”

“Get--off!” You struggled with him but you were off-balance. You lifted your legs onto the couch and he bent you until your head was on the back of it.

“Lonely? Is that the problem?” He dragged his hands down your back. “Mmm, look at you.” He lifted your nightshirt until your ass was bare. “Pregnancy looks well on you.” He kneaded the flesh with his metal hand as you heard his fly. You pushed back and he grasped your neck. “You don’t want to hurt the baby, do you?”

You froze and your eyes widened. You let out a murmur but could manage nothing else.

He pushed his knees between yours, you felt the rough denim of his jeans just below his cock as he rubbed against you. He was hard already. You squirmed and grabbed the back of the couch as you tried to lift yourself.

He poked at your entrance and your back ached as he pulled you against him. He pushed inside of you and sighed. He forced himself to his limit and you whimpered. He leaned against your back and his hot breath circled your neck. His metal hand came down next to yours and his other reached around to cradle your stomach.

He began to thrust, slowly. He purred in your ear and caressed it with his lips. Your legs shook. You were shocked; at his roughness, at the way your body reacted, at the suddenness of it all.

He sped up and you mewled. You quivered as you pushed back into him. Embarrassed as you couldn’t decide if you wanted him off of you or if you wanted more. His zipper bit into your ass as he panted into your neck, his hips never wavered. His fingers curled and uncurled across your stomach and he bit into your neck.

“Don’t you ever think of leaving me,” He snarled as he jolted your body. “Ever. Because I will always find you and I will always have you.”

He grabbed your neck and drew you back. You scrambled and kicked out as he turned you swiftly. He sat with you on his lap, his other hand still on your stomach as his other slipped to your hip.

“Keep going.” He ordered. 

You whined. Your lower back was on fire and your leg muscles thrummed. He guided you, rubbing your stomach as you began to rock atop him. Your arms shook as you used his thighs to keep moving.

“Ugh, yeah, yeah,” He groaned and planted his feet. He hammered into you from below and you bounced helplessly in his lap. “Fuck, fuck, here it comes.”

You felt him cum. His body spasmed as you were filled with his heat. He pulled you back against him, your legs splayed around his as he caught his breath. He held your stomach with both hands and slipped his metal fingers down to your thigh. His cock slipped just a little and he played with his cum as it leaked from you down his shaft.

“You don’t want me fucking her,” He sneered, “Then you do your duty as my wife.”

You tried to get off of him but he forced you back down until your walls were straining around him. He held you there until you stopped moving. Until you hung your head in surrender.

“I’m not done,” He snaked his hands further up beneath your nightshirt and cupped your tits and tweaked his hips. You winced and began to move once rock. “Mmm, these are even nicer than I remember.”

[rivalry-trope-enjoyer]

Cursed Number (Kazunari)

Ship: Kazunari Miyoshi x reader

Rating: SFW (mentions of alcohol, but primarily fluff). 

WC: 2,315

A/N: This is kind of my first x reader that I’ve done in a while, trying to break writer’s block and seeing where this goes <3.

It was something about the dreaded aura that filled the air the moment you stepped into the house. It reeked of strong-scented cologne and body odor all around you. If you had liked parties in the past, stepping into this one immediately changed that. 

A man walked up to you with a red cup and masking tape pieces scattered all over his clothes, sauntering his way towards you and walking from side to side. “Hey, you there...!” he slurred his words together before scribbling on a random number on a piece of tape and handed it to you, nearly stumbling downwards as he patted the tape onto your shirt and crashed to the floor. “Now go and have some fun!” he groaned out with laughter. 

You already felt extreme discomfort and tried to find a single place on the couch, one that was not drenched in spilled drinks or tipped over dip, cacophonous music bouncing from wall to wall and instantaneously wriggling into your ear. You were afraid to move, everyone around you had seemed so zombified by the overall vibe of the place.

Just as you thought you could finally breathe, after seconds of something happening, a group of college students, some you recognized from lectures immediately started crowding over the couch, not minding your presence, and sticking a bottle flat in the middle of the space.

“Alright, anyone down for some seven minutes in heaven?! 

That cursed number. 

You thought to yourself, Why does it seem everywhere I go it ends up like this?! 

You rose to get up to avoid the game, but immediately the same drunken man that gave you a number blocked the exit, and you were forced to sit dangerously close next to a blonde boy with a sunny demeanor. He laughed as the bottle began to spin, while you cursed at him and the entire party internally. 

You watched the glass bottle spin for what felt like eternity, anxiously tapping your foot as surprise, surprise, it landed between you and the blonde boy, and you turned to look at him, but his eyes were elsewhere. 

He watched the closet door open ominously, and the blonde man was quickly shoved inside, you practically coming with. It was a dark, cramped space, and immediately terror struck.

The moment the closet doors shut and the lock clicked, you covered your mouth with your sweaty palms in order to keep it down. Panic rose to your throat, and the blonde man next to you tried to speak. 

“I know this is all really sudden, and it looks like you aren’t really having a good time right now, aren’t you?” his tone was a warm light in the middle of the darkness you were stuck in, and he immediately shined a flashlight at his shoes. 

The space between you two was little, but not uncomfortable enough to let out a blood-curdling scream. You looked at him letting out a goofy smile with a flashlight in his hand. He seemed almost radiant.

You shrugged your shoulders, lowering your hands once you saw he had no awful intent. “I came here on my own,” you sighed. 

“Mhm, and I’m guessing it didn’t turn out well?” he continued to talk, but you were stunned at the fact he made no other advances. 

You looked up at him in shock, and he took out his phone and a pair of headphones. “You gotta always take a friend with you to these kinds of things! They’re not entirely the safest, so I’m glad I caught you,” he spoke so enthusiastically, it made you forget about the entire situation as a whole. 

“Sorry...,” you spoke out awkwardly, space closing in between you guys as he took out his phone to an empty contact space.

“That’s alright! My name’s Kazunari, I’ll go by Kazu, or whatever nickname you feel like using later. If you need a friend, we can add each other on Instablam,” he laughed after, and immediately became contagious, causing you to let out a little chuckle. 

You instantaneously reached out to the phone, but hearing the laughter outside of the closet made you remember that once you two get out of there, it would rain hellfire.

Kazunari noticed the panic that rose to your face, and he swapped out of the contacts and onto YouTube. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright. I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want, but... there’s this seven minute video on a bunch of kittens getting fed if you wanna watch that. It doesn’t even have to be kittens, it can be puppies, too!”

You could not believe what you were hearing right now, but he scrolled through all of these cute animal videos that captured your heart, in a similar way this seemingly knight in shining armor has. 

“That’s nice of you,” you spoke out of your panic, and immediately, Kazunari huddled next to you for support, handing you a headphone to watch the video he gestured towards. He let you pick between videos and it ultimately led to the kitten one.

For only a couple minutes you both sat close by the phone, arms touching and subtle hints of laughter and glee coming out of both of your guys’ mouth. Your head traveled to Kazunari’s shoulder, and naturally, his available arm fell over yours.

Blush rose to your cheeks at the act, the warm feeling that you got from Kazunari’s kindness was not because of the humid closet, or the cute animals that soothed your panic, but the gentle soothing gestures he gave you, enough to close your eyes for a moment and mentally thank him for what he had done for you. 

You had just met him, and you weren’t sure if he knew your name, but immediately this situation caused by a cursed number turned into a seven minutes that you would never forget. 

Ever since then, Kazunari’s kindness has always been apparent, and after exchanging numbers after the party, you found yourselves always in each other’s company. Day after day he would stop by your dorm or call you when he was at a party, asking if you wanted to come with. Other times he would ask for homework help, even when you were equally as lost on the assignment, he found every excuse to hang out when you were available. 

“Hey, Y/n! There’s a party downtown, did you wanna come with?” he asked over the phone while you were doing your assignments. 

Overflowing with stress, you were quick to decline. “I’d love to, but I have a lot of assignments due tonight, I don’t think I can-”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on. You said that yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, you sure you aren’t just ignoring me?” he asked teasingly. 

You let out a sigh and laughed at the joke. “No, my professors just like to give a bunch of homework and I don’t think a party can help my procrastination,” you looked at the clock and watched the time tick till your assignment was due. 

Kazunari laughed through the phone. “Ohhh, thanks for reminding me! I gotta get some of my stuff done, too. Can I stop by your place to get it done?” he asked enthusiastically. 

You froze, watching your shocked expression against the reflection of your clock. “...Kazunari? Skipping a party for some assignments?” you choked out. 

“And you too, Y/n! I love hanging out with you!”

It surprised you to the core, and it made your body freeze and thoughts filling your head. You fell in love for your close friend, and it wasn’t too hard to see why. He loved parties, socializing, anything that would give him a chance to see human interaction. But when you were stuck with homework and assignments, it didn’t make sense to why he’d blow it all off for you in your head. 

Even with someone being such a social butterfly as Kazunari, he still carved time to hang out with you, a close friend that he had the same warm feeling around. 

“Hello? Y/n? Sorry, my signal’s really bad ever since Sakyo started cutting off-”

“Hi, hi yes I’m here, sorry,” you spoke and gave yourself a facepalm. 

“Haha, okay! Don’t overwork yourself before I get there! It’ll take... uhhh probably around seven minutes tops,” he laughed before hanging up. You put down your phone and thoughts overwhelmed your head while staring at a blank document on your computer screen. 

“Work now, Kazunari later,” you muttered to yourself and started typing up your next assignment due.

After only a mere seven minutes of working, you heard a knock on your door and sprung out of your seat, launching towards the doorknob and greeted Kazunari with a smile. 

“Hey, Y/n!” sunshine boy strikes again, and this time he brought a plastic bag filled with all of your favorite food and snacks and a handful of movies on the other. “I got these recommendations from my good friend, Muku. Wanna watch some with me?”

“What about your assignments? And mine?” you avoided thinking about the kind gesture, a flustered feeling spreading throughout your body, as he handed you the various items. 

“You’ve been hacking at assignments all week! Aaaaand I stopped by your favorite cafe!” Kazunari had puppy dog eyes when you opened up the food he gave you. 

Inhaling deeply at the temptation, you closed it shut. “Assignments,” you said in a strict voice. 

“But it’s a lot,” he whined and crashed onto your bed. You sighed out and put the gifts to the side, staring at the clock. 

“Well, it’s around 3 right now, and if you finish at 7, I’ll go eat food and watch movies with you,” you sat at your desk and started your homework. 

“Wait wait wait, that’s not enough,” he said, walking up behind you.

“What? That is more than enough,” you turned around, but you watched the cheeky grin appear on his mouth. 

“If you finish your assignments at 7, we both get to watch movies, eat delicious food, and on top of that, I get to kiss you!”

You nearly let out a cough at Kazunari’s suggestion, but it was not like you were gonna turn it down. He kept on smiling after you reacted so violently, but you slowly nodded your head. 

“It’s a deal,” you felt a competitive fire rush in you, and Kazunari pulled up a chair next to you and laughed.

“I’ll be working then. Y/n~” 

Hours and hours had passed, but not in complete silence. Kazunari kept talking and showing you posts and videos from Instablam, you were concerned if he was even doing his assignment at all. You mentally cursed yourself for the times you took the bait, but you were determined to get your incentive. 

However Kazunari’s presence next to you was in a way, relaxing. As you wanted to scream into your pillow he fed you some of the food and your stress melted away. When you got stuck on a problem, he searched it up for you and tried to guide you through it. And the usual, whenever you felt a rise of panic, he’d stream a little cat video for the both of you to watch.

He was the most supportive person you could have ever possibly met, but each action caused you to freeze and grow flustered, melting in his action. 

You finished at the dot, right before seven, and you looked at Kazunari with wide and tired eyes as you practically collapsed onto him.

“You did it Y/n!” he exclaimed supportively, wrapping his arms around you tight. 

“I guess I did...,” you sighed out. 

The both of you got up from your seats, his arms still snug around your waist as you comfortable buried your face in his chest. “I’m so tired...,” you whined out. 

“Oh I know,” he teased, his fingers combing through your hair comfortably. “You go and relax, I’ll start the movie,” he led you to your own bed which you immediately crashed in. 

Kazunari’s absence made you feel cold, causing you to crawl into your sheets, watching the screen turn on. Kazunari crawled into the bed with you, smiling as he laid down on his sight. 

“So~” Kazunari had his usual goofy grin. “Did you really work your butt off for the movie, or to kiss me?” he asked smoothly. 

You stared at him with your mouth open to answer, too lazy to get up in an attempt to hide your reddened face. “Well... did you come here to work on assignments or to hang out with me?”

Kazunari smiled and laid a hand on your face, his thumb caressing your cheek and letting the movie run in the background. “Well, who wouldn’t wanna hang out with such an amazing and cool person?”

You, hesitantly overlapped your hand with his on your face and returned the smile. “And who wouldn’t want to kiss such a nice, amazing guy like you?”

Kazunari laughed, a blush growing on his face. “You always know what to say, Y/n!” His face inched closer to you, and his nose gently brushed against yours. 

“And you always know how to make me feel this way, Kazu,” you managed to whisper before he leaned in and kissed your lips softly, the warm feeling inside you only grew as he kissed you for what felt like a blissful eternity.

Even when he pulled away, the gap between you both did not lessen. “Hehe, I’m so glad I flaked on the party,” he continued to joke around, and he started to kiss you even more.

He made you feel safe, even when it was just the two of you, he was always there. It was all thanks to a cursed game, with a cursed number, but you managed to make a lifetime of heaven out of it. 

[kickingstonesandbones]

ADA: Songs the BSD characters remind me of (even though no one asked)

I’ve recently watched all 3 seasons of the Anime, the movie and the OVA and have started reading the Manga from the beginning. Right now I am only at chapter 40 because I started reading like 2 days ago, so idk stuff that would happen after the Anime storyline (if it goes that much further than season 3 ending, I wouldn’t know). I based this off on either specific lyrics that made me think it would fit the character or a certain vibe I was getting from a character. For some characters it was easier, for some not so much lol It is why some characters have multiple songs that make me think of them while others only have one (if they even do have one, that is – but the ADA does, except for Katai). So please do not rip into me because you think a song might not fit them as well as I do, because I just have not gotten to the latest chapter of the Manga yet, so there are some characters I do not know that well yet but I wanted to do this for fun. Other than that, I hope you enjoy this list~ Also, feel free to add to my list if you have songs that I haven’t mentioned but think would fit the characters, if you want to~

My taste in music is also pretty broad and not limited to certain languages or genres (though I do have my preferences), so I will provide translations of the lyrics in different languages from English. The German ones (like Kontra K, Elif, etc.) were translated by myself (on the spot), for other languages like Romanian or Korean, etc. I had to look up translations on the internet.

Disclaimer: For the songs for Dazai, one might want to consider a TW, for one of his songs has extremely open-no-room-for-speculation suicidal lyrics. If this affects you, please skip that one, I will put that song last on his list.

And, well, because this is 12 pages long in the document, I will be making a cut here…

.

𝔸𝔻𝔸 𝕚𝕟 𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝

💙 Wölfe (Wolves) by Kontra K 💙

It’s about so much more than just strength, it’s about solidarity and virtue / It runs so much deeper than your wounds could ever get / We’re walking through the fire together until the day we die […] /

And we are so infinitely far away from being perfect / But what doesn’t kill us will make us stronger / And hope dies last / It dies last /

A lot of the members have been through quite some shit, but they hold it together all the time and always pull through and manage to keep moving forward sooo (some random arsehole I talked to spoilered me about Yosano and Mori  -_-)

💙 Born For This by The Score 💙

A force that they can’t stop / They just don’t get it, I think they forget / I’m not done until I’m on top / I know I was born for this / I know I was born for this […] /

We are the warriors, who learned to love the pain / We come from different places but have the same name / ‘Cause we were born for this / We are the broken ones, who chose to spark a flame / Watch as our fire rages, our hearts are never tame /

.

ℕ𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕛𝕚𝕞𝕒 𝔸𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚

💙 Believe by Hollywood Undead 💙

I can’t believe / That when I breathe / That there’s something good inside of me / Just one good thing inside of me / So close to me / That memory / Of that one good thing inside of me / Just one good thing inside of me /

If I went out the back door, nobody would stop me / But, where would I go? / ‘Cause I ain’t never had a real home / So, what do I know? / So, I could keep runnin’, hide until they find me / But, what would that do? /

That he really hates himself that much and how insecure he is in his right to be alive not just simply because he is a living being really hurts to see.

💙 Face it by NF 💙

Don’t know how to face it / Let’s go back to basics / Yes, say what you mean, do what you say, but man I hate this / I just don’t know what I’m chasing, don’t know what I’m chasing / Yes, somebody told me / Life is something you don’t wanna play with / But I just keep on playing like life is just a playground […] / I look at myself and I ask what the goal is / Yeah, tell me what your goal is / I’m just so lost in emotions, I don’t even notice / I just slip into a place and I don’t think straight / Devil in my ear tryna tell me everything’s great / And in a year realize I’m in the same place / Running in the same race, same pace […] /

Get that sickness out my mouth / I feel like my train is derailing / I can feel it / Yo these words are only words until they actions / Words until they actions, strive on empty satisfactions / Yeah, the fact is I don’t know, fact is I don’t know /

💙 월식  (My Tragedy) by Taeyeon 💙

At the end of an empty day / Everyone busily returns from somewhere / In the red night sky / I disappear into the darkness little by litte / These many sparkling lights / There isn’t a single light that’s mine / Under the cold shade by myself / Like it wasn’t there from the start /

💙 Oceans by Jacob Lee 💙

I learnt to let go when I was younger / Scared of growing old / I would swim far into the ocean / And try to stay afloat / Until my lungs would cough up water […] /

I don't want love no more / Though it's the one thing I've been searching for / Though it's the one thing that I miss the most / Now I'm afraid to be alone / I learnt to grow old when I was younger / Scared of staying young / Afraid of the thoughts that I had conjured / That sat atop my tongue / Knowing I'd change the worlds opinion / If they would just, listen up / But they won't, now /

I feel worthless / Maybe I should open the drawer / Burn the pages / Write poems with the ash on the floor / Pour the ink, into the sink / And watch it drain from the shore /

.

𝔻𝕒𝕫𝕒𝕚 𝕆𝕤𝕒𝕞𝕦

I know Dazai has a looooot of songs, but tbh I could’ve added at least another 15 because. There. Were. Just.  S O .  M A N Y .  T H A T  F I T  H I M  S O  W E L L ‼‼ (Well, at least the ones I could think of off of the top of my head right away.)

💙 Believe by Hollywood Undead 💙

Don’t you know, little boy, they’ll lay you to waste, man / Little do they know, every song is a lifespan / Yeah, they’ve taken one, but I’m takin’ my last chance / To hold all we know and let go with both hands / Though, don’t you know that plots are made from concrete / Right through the stone, can you hear my heart beat? / Beats through my bone, like no memory left me / Not for a second or a minute when I dream […] / My heart beats heavy in an open chest / And, I wanna say goodbye, but there’s nobody left /

I broke it all, and I put to the test / Put your hands in mine, and feel this emptiness / There’s no beat in my chest / ‘Cause there’s nothin’ left / No, it ain’t goodbye, its a last caress  / What’s another dream? / You could hardly sleep /

Makes me think of Oda aka the bond they had aka the admiration Dazai had for him.

💙 Face it by NF 💙

I ain’t sleeping lately / I ain’t sleeping lately / Yes, I know that I’m the only person that can change me / Maybe, that’s why I ain’t changing / That’s why I ain’t changing / I got too much on my mind, I guess I don’t know how to face it /

He obviously has a lot of issues, and I bet he still doesn’t think of himself as a good person. It strikes me as if he’s thinking that Agency Dazai is not much different from Mafia Dazai. “Your hands are black. Mafia black,” as Higuchi said. I think he did not deny it when she said that, so he doesn’t disagree with her.

💙 Rain by Hollywood Undead 💙

I don’t mind, no I don’t mind, I don’t mind the rain / Simple things and subtleties, they always stay the same / I don’t mind, that I don’t mind, no I don’t mind the rain / Like a widow’s heart, we fall apart, but never fade away (fade away) /

Run like a child, do you know where I came from? / No, I don’t, but I’m singing all the same songs / I’m alone, and you’re looking for your anyone / Does it hurt just to know that it’s all gone? / I can feel the pain in the words that you say / Hidden in the letters that were written to no name […] / Buried in red, white, and a side of some blue / Some will die too late, and somebody too soon / If he could come back, we’ll see what it cost him / We had to lose it all, just to know that we lost one /

💙 Lass mich lieber allein (better just leave me alone) by Kontra K 💙

Man, don’t explain the world to me, it isn’t perfect / And just as imperfect are also you, her and me / All of that isn’t a problem to me / But tell me, since when does hatred laugh so audaciously into my face? / But it’s somehow alright for me […] / Man, I wish for a minuscule part of naivety back / But it seems it’s somehow too late for me / Somehow already too late for me […] /

Already been wandering for so long, you forget / Who is worthy of sacrificing yourself for and for whom you better not do it / You run along the street of success without any luck (on your side) / But she walks out of hell into heaven only once and then right back / If you end up where you started then where is the meaning? /

Because I also have my baggage to carry all on my own / Just like all of the fuckers that think I’m living in heaven all by myself / But the fire and the flames in which I’ve been standing in for so long already / Man, they refuse to see them / But it’s somehow alright for me /

You better just leave me alone / Because when they carry you on their hands, they will (eventually) let you drop / I’d rather fall alone/by myself / Rather alone/by myself /

💙 Lies by Will Jay 💙

I'd rather tell myself if I ignore / These thoughts they'll go away / And my toxic friends have changed / Truth is I hate confrontation / Deal with it tomorrow / 'Cause there's nothing I can do / That's my favourite excuse / Feeding my procrastination […] /

And I think I just realised I would do anything / To keep hiding the pain I've been burying / That's why I tell / Lie-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie-lies /

💙 Du willst es (You want it) by Kontra K 💙

Only the good ones die young, and not long after the best ones follow / No idea, ask death why he thinks that I am so damn bad / Still here, we’re almost not worthy of heaven / Working day for day, only the hatred kills the pain / Life will shoot you in the chest but only ever hit your heart / Thank God that place in my chest has been emptied a long time ago […] /

We asked God, “why” / But the devil said, “doesn’t matter” / We’re swimming in a pool full of misery / But bring us another glass of it /

💙 Wie gemacht dafür (like we were made for it) by Kontra K 💙

Pretty normal, normal / Because you can’t get me, get me further down (the hole/ditch) / Than I’ve already been, you get it? […] / I’m going one-on-one with my inner demons, and I’ve been doing that for the past 13 years / I’ve been there, no matter what happened / Ask your gangsters, they know my voice / Have respect, respect for the realness / But fucking piss me off, and I’ll be sending you to heaven […] /

What pressure are you talking about, I inhale this city deep into my lungs / Put it on the beat and I’ll be giving you a new reason for your hatred /

Like we were made for it, we’re running through hell barefooted / We’re living rent-free in their heads, with the real ones, with the real ones / Like we were made for it, always loyal to my people / Swapping none of my friends for money, for the real ones, for the real ones […] /

If you’re my enemy, I’ll give you lead (bullets) / If you’re my friend, I’ll give you love / Because a wolf stays fucking loyal only to his family /

💙 Lonely by Nathan Wagner 💙

Is everybody lonely? / Is everybody scared? / Is everybody worried / That no one really cares? / See I'm afraid to love, but afraid to be alone / Still I wonder why my heart is always broke / What a way to live, let the fear take all control / Oh, this ain't life, no / I'm not alive […] /

'Cause I'm afraid to show the people who I am / I'm not special, I'm just a simple broken man / So I will hide my face with my picture perfect mask / Oh, this ain't life, no / It's just a lie […] /

If I looked you in the eye / And showed the broken things inside / Would you run away? / Would you run away? / If you saw my darkest parts / The wicked things inside my heart / Would you run away? / Or are you the same? /

The following one makes me think of Mafia Dazai

💙 Body Count by Grey ft. Thutmose 💙

I got a hunger, I got a fever / And it just won't quit / I got a temper, I got a bullet / With your name on it / Everybody wonders what it's like on top / I don't gotta wonder 'cause I call the shots […] /

My blood runs cold and my feet run faster / I still got heart, I hear a heart don't matter / Say what you want and it'll be your last words / It ain't a secret, I got a hit list / And baby, you're up next /

Stack 'em up, stack 'em up / Teach 'em not to fuck with me / Bag 'em up, bag 'em up / Let 'em know who runs these streets / Take 'em down, take 'em down / Count 'em out like one, two, three / Add a-na-na-na-na-na-na-nother one  / To the body count /

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T r i g g e r   W a r n i n g  !

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💙 Bullet by Hollywood Undead 💙

Gone too far and yeah I'm gone again / It's gone on too long, tell you how it ends / I'm sitting on the edge with my two best friends / One’s a bottle of pills, one’s a bottle of Gin / I'm twenty stories up, yeah I'm up at the top / I'll polish off this bottle, now it's pushing me off / Asphalt to me has never looked so soft / I bet my momma found my letter, now she’s calling the cops / I gotta take this opportunity before I miss it / 'Cause now I hear the sirens and they're off in the distance / Believe me when I tell you that I've been persistent / 'Cause I'm more scarred, more scarred than my wrist is / I've been trying too long, with too dull of a knife / But tonight I made sure that I sharpened it twice / I never bought a suit before in my life / But when you go to meet god, you know you wanna look nice /

We hit the sky, there goes the light / No more sun, why's it always night / When you can't sleep, well, you can't dream / When you can't dream, well, what’s life mean? / We feel a little pity, but don't empathize / The old are getting older, watch a young man die […] /

When you were young, you never thought you'd die / Found that you could but too scared to try / You looked in the mirror and you said goodbye / Climb to the roof to see if you could fly /

So if I survive, then I'll see you tomorrow / Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow

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𝕐𝕠𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕠 𝔸𝕜𝕚𝕜𝕠

💙 Brunette Ambition by Qveen Herby 💙

'Cause it's been three weeks and four days / No days off, just runways / I’m fucked up, I'll throw shade / Outwork you on a bad day […] /

On a mission, got no competition / It's hard to sleep with brunette ambition / Revenge is sweet, pussy: my religion / They say slow down, but I never listen /

Old me forsaken, these rules are for breaking / I get lonely with no new friends / Associate, but they can't relate / When you want the world, they’re uncomfortable /

This one is 50% lyrics, 50% overall energy of the song. Yosano is a bad bitch, and I love her.

💙 STFD by TeZATalks 💙    [Flash Warning for epilepsy]

I'm not here to take no names or reservations / I'm the devil telling Satan I'm just wild / Sit the fuck down / Imma kill it let me live just how I'm livin' / Ghetto heart with good intentions / I'm just wild / Sit the fuck down /

I'm chasing freedom for the fearless / I gotta do it 'cause I can't chase fear myself / I'm 'bout as broken as I confess / But better than most that lay cower / Proud of who they crowd / You don't know me / Coming to take your crown / Bow down / You know that I can do better, better / I don't need you to come in and show me how / Settle down / Cause you know that I can do better, better /

This song is mostly just the vibe for me. Quite…. unapologetic. Like the badass bitch vibe Yosano gives off, despite (or probably especially because of) her past.

💙 Nur mir (only to myself) by Elif 💙

Can’t believe what’s happening to me / Your words have manipulated me / I shouldn’t lose the connection to myself / Because otherwise your words will always stay with me / At first, you were there for me / But then you wanted me as your property […] / This city is big enough for the two of us / I have to share it with 4 million others anyway / I get onto the same train, stand on the same platform / Oh, everything’s profit (to you), everything’s yours /

But I only belong to myself, only to myself / Belong to myself, only to myself / Not to her, not to him, not to you /

💙 Disease by Hollywood Undead 💙

Our words are broken but they’re spoken aloud / So come together, come together again / The time is now, let Armageddon begin / They say beginnings always start with the ends / I say forever and forever, Amen /

Forget what you are / Forget what you feel / We stand apart but fall together / Nothing ever lasts forever /

We’re born to live, we’re born to die / We’re forced to swallow these pills and to never ask why / What I’ve become, why can’t you see / That everybody, everybody, everybody’s got this disease? /

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𝔼𝕕𝕠𝕘𝕒𝕨𝕒 ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕡𝕠

💙 The Wolf by SIAMÉS 💙

Each and every day / Hiding from the sunshine / Wandering in the shade / Not too old, not too young / Every night again / Dancing with the moonlight / Somewhere far away / I can hear your call […] / Ain’t no fairytale / What I see in your eyes / Awaiting your mistake / Not too close, not too far /

Honestly, finding a song for Ranpo somehow was harder than it should’ve been lmao Originally, this song is about addiction, but if you read them in the sense of it being about a criminal, whom Ranpo is about to catch, it makes more sense. I am sorry I can’t provide a better song for him right now djhfksjlhdfujhhgkfc

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𝕂𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕒 𝔻𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕠

💙 Fuck You by Silent Child 💙

Am I wasting my breath on you / Feels like my words are never getting through, yeah / I never said I hate you to someone so much before / I'm light headed when we talk and then you shut the door, god damn / Like what are we still talking for, yeah /

I really hope you don’t see tomorrow  / I tried to play nice with you / 'Cause all you ever do is try to fuck up my day / And you were successful / (But I know the truth) / No you don't have anything better to do / Everything you ever loved has tried to escape you / So why would I want anything to do with you /

Fuck you /

Don’t lie, he would blast this at full volume when Dazai fucks up his schedule again HAHAHA (I love their dynamic)

💙 Waiting by Zhavia Ward 💙

The truth is you don't even / Know what the hell you believe / But you should believe / Lions don't lose sleep / Over the opinions of sheep /

So if you're waitin' / To watch me fall / Watch me fall / Watch me fall / I'ma keep you waitin' / To watch me fall / Watch me fall / Watch me fall / I'ma keep you waitin' /

Empire State kinda view / And I'm up here with the crew / I got the feelin' that you wishin' / You could be up here too / Maybe I should feel bad for you / Be a little sentimental / But I don't, no I won't / Make excuses for you to hide behind /

This one makes me think of the time Fyodor tried to break him mentally by making that little girl sacrifice herself (Season 3), but he got back up pretty quickly again after having his ideals get shaken like that.

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𝔽𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒 𝕐𝕦𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚

💙 S.C.A.V.A. by Hollywood Undead 💙

Here's the massacre, a mausoleum fit for me / Lived a hundred years, a hundred years I didn't see / Gave all my hope away, isn't any left for me? / Bombs are splitting atoms, what can the future bring? / We can fill a million choirs and wait till children sing / We can walk a million miles and end up in the sea / And our lungs just keep filling and lying when we breathe / The world's filled with liars, liars like me / And I look at my child, it's finite, this feeling / Eyes blue like the sky, I see all of this meaning / I reach up to God and I ask if I'm dreaming […] /

Everybody says greetings and goodbyes / Everybody pays, no one knows the price / We know the price of sin, the sin of sacrifice / I know I'll sin again, but who can save me twice? / How much can we ask? You'll get the answer first / How much can we kneel with the air that chills the earth? / The air keeps getting colder, my knees keep hitting dirt / The innocent can cry without the guilty getting hurt / You ask who you love and you don't know, no, do you? / The spirit of God just passes right through you / You gave away heaven, handed right to you / And I can see it all, tell me, is it true? /

Fukuzawa is that anime character that’s visibly been through a lot of shit (and has done a lot of shit as well, even morally grey or black), which could be why he’s so stern and not a man of many words. Marked by life, if you will. He also gives off a very “wise man” kinda vibe right from the beginning, so I think that this song somewhat fits him because it is wondering about the state of the world and human nature.

💙 Courtesy Call by Thousand Foot Krutch 💙

This is your last warning / A courtesy call / I am not afraid / Of the storm that comes my way / When it hits it shakes me to the core / And makes me stronger than before / It’s not a question about trust / But will you stand with us? […] /

There’s a rumble in the floor / So get prepared for war / When it hits it’ll knock you to the ground / When it shakes up everything around / But survivial is a must / So will you stand with us? /  

This song just has that badass vibe. And no one can deny that Fukuzawa has a badass and intimidating vibe as well as he seems so stern and stoic most of the time.

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𝕋𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕜𝕚 𝕁𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕠𝕦

💙 Nesimtit by Mark Stam 💙

I don't have lots of cash / But enough for me to buy you an ice cream / For us to go on a walk / And for you to whisper to me in the waves of the ocean / I've taken some days from the border / And I put some behind the door, on ice / For cloudy weather / So that we can have them when the movie of life passes […] /

Let me be your lifeline / When your world is in the process of demolition / Let your dreams fly / I promise, we'll catch them somewhere around the sun /

Oddly enough, the Tanizaki siblings were just as hard for me as Ranpo… There aren’t really that many songs that would make me think of them. But this Romanian one made me (partly) think of him, I also think it’s cute and would probably fit him lol Especially the last four lines make me think of him and Naomi. After all, he’d even burn down the whole world if it was for her sake. All in all, this just sounds like him in the sense of a really supporting person/friend/brother.

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𝕋𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕜𝕚 ℕ𝕒𝕠𝕞𝕚

💙 You Should See Me In A Crown by Billie Eilish 💙

You say, "Come over, baby / I think you're pretty" / I'm okay, I'm not your baby / If you think I'm pretty /

You should see me in a crown / I'm gonna run this nothing town / Watch me make 'em bow / One by one by one / One by one by / You should see me in a crown / Your silence is my favorite sound / Watch me make 'em bow / One by one by one / One by one by one /

Naomi isn’t giving me the same “badass bitch” vibe as Yosano does, but she does have that “badass princess” vibe. Is that making any kind of sense? Like, she does not have an ability, but she is neither dumb nor completely helpless in all situations. So, there is a slight badass vibe, but not the “I can and I. W i l l . Kick your stupid. Bitch. Ass.” – so a…. “badass princess”? Because she also has that elegant aura about her. I hope I am making sense…?

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ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕠 𝕂𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕜𝕠

💙 2! 3! by BTS 💙

We know that you are happy right now / That you're slaying right now / You have all what you deserve / And we are so damn proud / But you're people, like us / You have spars, you get hurt / You get tired of the pressure / You get tired of the rush / God, thank you so much! / For giving us the chance / To tell you that we're here for you / And this will never change /

Lay on us / When dark times come and surround you / Our light will help you to get through / Our love is gonna heal you / Lay on us / The ones who would go to space to / Steal some stars just to give you 'cause it would make you feel good / We're gonna stay with you forever, until the end / We swear that we're not going anywhere / Yeah we're not going anywhere / We know the road can be so tough / But with holding hands / Together we take a nice deep breath /

Haruno strikes me as the kind of person, who’d be a really supportive friend, so I thought this might fit her. I have not seen much of her and her character neither in the anime nor in the manga yet, so I don’t really know whether this is any good or if it does her any justice.

On the other hand, I feel this song would also fit the Tanizaki siblings well.

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𝕄𝕚𝕪𝕒𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕚

💙 Puste sie weg (blow them away) by Kontra K 💙

Love in the air – blow it away / 9mm on the chest – then blow it away / 3g on the mirror – better blow it away / And the wind will do the rest / Hate in the air – blow it away / Pressure on the chest again – then blow it away / Seven sins in my head – better blow it away / And the wind will do the rest […] /

Because everyone’s talking, talking, talking too much / But unfortunately never do it, do it, do it / And I don’t hate, hate, hate the player / But I’d rather kill a whole team by myself /

I’d rather have three, four warriors than one thousand “brothers” / I’d rather pick up cents from the ground than break bread with liars / I’d rather be broke like I used to be than be a part time dealer / I’d rather have a heart of gold than sharing with no one at all (no one) /

Hatred in the air – blow it away / Pressure on the chest again – then blow it away / Seven sins in my head – better blow it away / And the wind will do the rest /

Take the lyrics quite literally, “blow them away”. The feeling of this song fits him, I think, because of his sheer strength. He just blows away hatred, malice, etc. and is unaffected by any of it as his heart and his head stay innocent and pure, even if naive.

I have to say though, it can be a pun, especially the part of “9mm (gun) on the chest” would be most obvious for it (especially considering that the “on the chest” part does not specify in German whether it’s your own chest or you are holding a gun to someone’s else’s chest lol). In general “puste xy weg” means to blow it away with the air out of your mouth, but colloquially it can also mean gunning down something or someone. And if you apply that meaning to every single line with “blow it away”, the meaning turns around from not letting it bother you to killing it, which I find interesting with this character. (Because he definitely has great potential to actually kill someone with his ability alone.) Though what I thought when I heard this song was that it might fit him with the meaning of him letting nothing bother him.

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𝕀𝕫𝕦𝕞𝕚 𝕂𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕜𝕒

💙 Alaska by Elif 💙

Sometimes I’m thinking, I’m going insane like everyone else / They said I’d be going nuts and yeah, I’m starting to believe them / -7°C, I’m walking through the city park by myself / The down jacket is keeping me warm, but in my heart, there’s Alaska /

I don’t know what love is / No matter how much of it I get, I need more of it / It’s tearing me apart on the inside / When I, once again, don’t know where I’ll be getting it from / Even my therapist says, he doesn’t know any further / My dark side, it’s stronger than the good one / My youth was poisened, the future is uncertain / It is how it is yeah, it is how it is /

💙 Godsent by Smash Into Pieces 💙

I used to share, I used to care / The good in me is gone I'm bad / I used to give, I used to feel / The things you did will never heal / Take a look at me now / See what I've become / I will no longer feed the machine / Can't control the monster in me, no / The way that I feel / Makes it harder to breathe / When I'm thinking about you / The monster is real /

This makes me think of her in the Port Mafia.

💙 Boomerang by Smash Into Pieces 💙

I've been gone for a while now / But only to gain my power / I've been fighting my demons / And I'm back up on my feet (and now) / The harder you fall down / The stronger you come back later / Now I feel like an army / And I've only just begun /

This one in turn makes me think of her in the Agency.

💙 Circles (제자리) by G.Soul 💙

Oh, we know the ending / No matter how you escape / Here again / Always come back to me / Back again / Eventually / Here again / Why is it so hard to leave? / Here again / We always stay here […] / Answer me, I don’t know, no / Just don’t know / You’re getting stuck / Forever / Oh, we know the ending / No matter how you escape / Here again /

This makes me think of what Kouyou (I hope I am remembering her name correctly) was saying about her as a flower of darkness, as she was kind of turning in circles (no pun intended)–between wanting to be in the light and “accepting” that she only belongs into the darkness–at the beginning before she finally joined the Agency.

💙 Excuses (변명) by G.Soul 💙

I told you not to be too good to me / That it would make it too hard on you / No matter what you say now / I don’t hear a word of it […] / Even though I may be making a mistake / Even though I may regret this as time goes on / Baby, I think that we should just end it here now /

Even though the song in total has a different vibe (and story lmao), these parts of the lyrics makes me think of Kyouka telling Atsushi that there is no saving her, and that the light is no place for her (directly after saving her from the Port Mafia). It kinda makes me think of the part, specifically, where Atsushi suggests going on a “date” and at the end of it, Kyouka wants the last place they go to to be the police station.

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𝔻𝕒𝕫𝕒𝕚 & 𝔸𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚

💙 Sing To Me by Missio 💙

Somehow I got nominated as a king of sadness / Got so much I know that I could even feed the birds / And that's why / I prayed, I prayed, God sent me right to voicemail / It's like, all day my vanity is for sale / Take it away, my head is in my own hell /

Sing to me, I am not doing well / Getting tired of my own words / Sing to me 'cause I can't hear myself / Through the loudness of my own hurts / Call me selfish when I say this, say this / I'm kinda helpless, and I need you / Sing to me 'cause I'm not doing well /

Somebody told me that there's two sides to this life / I think I might've chosen darkness over light /

These two are two sides of the same coin, but no side is brighter than the other. I feel like they are kind of mirroring each other in the way they feel about themselves, which is why these lyrics mirror both of them towards each other as both are in need of salvation as they’re drowning in their own minds. Dazai is just better at hiding it from Atsushi.

💙 Namae wo yobu yo (Call A Name) by Luck Life (Season 1 Ending) 💙

I was searching / For the reason I’m able to remain as myself / If there’s a version of me / That exists within your heart / That even amid the darkness on this long, hilly road / I feel I can become a new me / Able to make my way through / So that each of us, walking our individual moments, can keep on smiling / So that we can keep moving forward, exploring the meaning of life together / I’ll call out a name / Your name / So that you can remain who you are /

Technically, lyrically it’s the entirety of the song, but I will not write down all of it lmao And it’s the Atsushi and Dazai parallels here again. It’s not just the ending with the animation that shows it for me, but the lyrics reflect both of them in them as well. I absolutely loved this ending. I never ship characters as I do not care about that, but I really love these two (separately)~ (What they mean for each other aka what they might mean for each other in the future [peace of mind/finding worth for Atsushi, and a reason to live for Dazai, etc.], how they’re already helping each other [Dazai helping Atsushi with feeling worthless, and Dazai finding a bit of piece of mind], etc. etc. etc.) I haven’t loved 2 characters in an anime as much as this in quite a long time (The last time was Kougami and Akane in Psycho Pass) as I find making up characters as complex as them and make them fit together as well as them/make them complement each other/balance each other out is actually pretty hard to do really well.

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Making up this list took waaaaay longer than it should’ve. (I did not include Katai because I couldn’t think of a single song for him, sorry.)

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, obsessedbutonline!

For @obsessedbutonline, who listed fluff, angst, and ‘Derek giving Stiles gift’ as a few ‘Likes’. I hope I did those items justice. Hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Friend!

Read On AO3

*****

The Gift

The gift. He supposed it all started with the gift. Or maybe Star Trek. Derek wasn’t sure. It was Stiles, after all. One day, the younger man had been debating the cuddle rating of a Tribble, before diving into an analysis of The Voyage Home being one of the worst movies in franchise history (except for the whales, of course), and the next thing Derek knew, he’d found himself discussing how Moby Dick was one of his favorite books. The random jumps from one topic to another hadn’t been anything new for Stiles, but that had also been the year they’d legitimately gotten ‘together’ after their contentious circling of each other’s orbits, so when Derek had opened an inelegantly wrapped early edition of the novel on that first Christmas as a couple, he’d been rendered speechless.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d stared at the leather-bound copy exactly, but he did recall feeling a bout of inadequacy. He thought he’d hid it well though. “Stiles – “ he’d started. “I wasn’t expecting…This is too much.”

Stiles had shrugged like it hadn’t been a big deal, an eager grin on his face. “Nah, it wasn’t too bad. A classmate mentioned a prof who needed an assistant to help translate some Latin verses, and I thought I’d check it out. When I went, I noticed a copy of Moby Dick in his office, and you’d mentioned it was one of your favorites, so I offered my translation services for free if he would sell the book for a discounted price.”

Of course, Stiles had remembered that weird detail from a throwaway conversation. And of course, he’d been resourceful in procuring it. That was just who Stiles was. Now, Derek, on the other hand… well, he’d felt completely out of his league when he’d pulled out the gift card he’d picked up a day earlier from a comic book store. He hadn’t even known if that was a store Stiles ever visited. He really sucked at gift-giving. “Sorry, I didn’t …”

Stiles had yanked it out of his hands before he’d even finished. “I love it. Thanks, Derek!” The younger man had beamed excitedly, clutching that cheap piece of plastic in his hands as if he’d just received some personal heirloom. There had been no uptick in the man’s heartrate, so there’d been no lie in those words, but that hadn’t stop Derek from feeling bad.

And it was then that he had resolved to do better, that he would be thoughtful and meticulous in his gift selection the next time Christmas rolled around. Stiles deserved as much.

But he’d mentioned he was bad at gift-giving, right? As in, monumentally bad. Because the next Christmas, when they’d settled down on his couch after an intimate holiday dinner he’d prepared for the two of them, Stiles had presented him with a charmingly wrinkled gift bag. And when he’d pulled out a lovingly restored and framed photograph of his family from before the fire, he’d not only felt a slight lump in his throat at the sentiment, he’d also felt remarkably small and completely lacking in comparison. It was a good thing they’d come to a mutual understanding that their birthdays would be a no-gift zone, because Derek wasn’t sure he could’ve handled double the inferiority complex this time of year.

“I found a copy of the photo from the digital archives of the town newspaper. It was for some fundraiser committee your mom chaired, I think. I saved a copy, and googled around for some pointers on how to increase the resolution so I could print out a decent version of it,” Stiles had explained.

Derek had nodded absently, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of his mother’s face under the cool glass. His whole family had stared back at him, carefree and unburdened in the moment that photo had been taken, eyes all shiny from a sunny afternoon picnic. “Yeah, I remember. It was a Pets in the Park fundraiser for the local animal shelter.” There had been an ache in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of everything he’d lost, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. Now, it had been dulled by time, and tempered by the meaningful relationships he’d found, foremost of which was the one with the man beside him. “Thank you,” he’d said slowly, slightly surprised that his voice hadn’t cracked at the pool of emotion swirling within him.

“Anytime, big guy.” Stiles had leaned in, his weight and warmth freely offered as a source of silent strength.

But when he’d pulled out his gift for Stiles, he had had that sinking feeling of failing an important test. He hadn’t even had time to wrap it properly, opting to place a haphazard bow on it instead. “Sorry, I didn’t know …”

Stiles had grabbed the cellophane-covered box with a puzzled expression. “A bath set?” he’d asked slowly. “Is this your way of telling me I stink?”

There had been amusement in the younger man’s tone, devoid of upset or disappointment, but that hadn’t stopped Derek from feeling upset and disappointed in himself. After Stiles had gone through all the trouble of giving him such a personal and meaningful gift, he’d reciprocated with … soap. “Remember when you were on break during Thanksgiving,” he’d started to explain. “That necromancer problem we had?”

“Oh, damn, do I ever! We spent the whole night trying to wash zombie goo out of bodily crevices I never knew I had!” Then, realization had set in as those rich brown eyes widened. “This is perfect, Derek! Thank you!” And just like that, Stiles had fallen on him with his usual gracelessness, and proceeded to express his ‘gratitude’ properly.

That had been last year. But this time around, right before Stiles had returned to campus for his final two semesters of college, Derek had stumbled upon the ideal Christmas gift, while they were cleaning, of all things. They’d been packing up and storing some of Stiles’ stuff before the younger man headed back to school when they’d gotten diverted by some dusty, old boxes in the Sheriff’s attic. Somehow, in the way of procrastination, they’d ended up flipping through old photo albums when Stiles had paused to tell him about a picture of his mother.

“Oh, there’s the locket my dad helped me buy for Mother’s Day when I was eight,” Stiles had said as he’d pointed to a picture of Claudia Stilinski, vivacious and beaming brightly at the camera. Anyone could see where Stiles had gotten his smile. “I didn’t have the greatest taste in jewelry, so it doesn’t look like much, but she was so excited when she got it. She wore it all the time.”

“It’s nice that you have a memento to remember her by,” Derek had supplied.

Stiles’ shoulders had slumped a little at the comment. “Yeah, I think we accidentally sold it during a garage sale not long after she died. Dad wasn’t exactly in the best place, and he just wanted to get rid of the memories because they hurt so much back then. Lots of regret now. Who knows? It might’ve found another home, or it might be in a garbage dump somewhere.”

And that comment had led him down the winding, convoluted path to where he was now: standing in front of a teenage girl with bright blue hair and an eclectic ensemble of a loose plaid shirt, artfully ripped leggings, and combat boots.

“A hundred bucks,” the girl re-stated, her tone indicating that this wasn’t a negotiation.

“One hundred? The pawn shop owner said you only paid five dollars for it.” He could be stubborn too, though deep down, he knew he wasn’t really in a position of power in this situation, much as that rankled him.

Ms. Blue-hair shrugged. “So? If you want it that bad, then you should be willing to pay for it.”

She had him there. Three months of diligently interviewing the Stilinski neighbors, and following a trail of multiple goodwill and pawn shops had led him to that very locket hanging from the girl’s neck, that very locket Stiles had shown him in that old photo of his mother. He gave the teen what Stiles had laughingly termed his ‘murder-brow’ look and pulled out his wallet. Of course, he would pay, especially after all the work he’d put into tracking it down, and because this was for Stiles. He didn’t have to like being swindled like this though.

“That’s a nice jacket, by the way.”

Derek looked up from pulling out the cash and froze. He glared at the girl, hoping the intensity of his stare would deter whatever she was about to insinuate. It didn’t work.

“No,” he said flatly as she watched him expectantly.

“Okay, I guess we’re done here then. Nice meeting you.” And with that, she turned and started to walk away.

Derek ground his teeth together to keep from outright growling and fought hard to not wolf out. He hated being bested like this. Life would’ve been so much simpler if he could just take the damned piece of jewelry by force and run off with it. Stupid morals.

“Fine,” he conceded with a clenched jaw after she’d managed to walk several feet away.

She turned with a triumphant smile as he started to shrug off his leather jacket. When he held it out with the wad of cash, she unclasped the chain without any further objections and handed it over. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

(***)

Stiles’ name flashed on his lock screen just as he was pulling up to his loft.

“Hey, you back already?” he answered as he shifted his car into park. His regular visits to Stanford notwithstanding, he’d been anticipating Stiles’ winter break for a while, and the timing couldn’t have worked out any better with him finding the locket when he had. “I was going to pick you up tonight after you’ve had a few hours with your dad.”

Several seconds of heavy breathing greeted his words, and almost instantly, he was on alert, muscles tensing and heartrate increasing. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, Derek, I’m here,” a familiar voice sounded through the phone. “Sorry, just had to get around Scott to check something out. But no, I’m not home yet. Got sidetracked on my way into town. Can you come to the preserve right now? The trail just off Parsons. We’ve got, um, a problem.”

Since his return to Beacon Hills, the supernatural activity in the area had decreased significantly, especially with a solid pack established in the area now, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t the occasional run-in with creatures bringing in death and mayhem. This sounded like one of those times. Shifting gears into reverse, he responded without hesitation, “On my way.”

The trip to the preserve was quick, the route having been travelled so many times that he could probably drive it eyes closed. After parking in the lot off Parsons, he picked up Stiles’ scent almost immediately, along with a few others of the pack, and had no problems tracking the source down a few hundred feet off a popular running path.

Not surprisingly, Scott noticed him first, looking up from a patch of tall grass and nodding in greeting as Derek silently approached. Stiles stood more out in the open, back turned and head down as he tapped busily on his phone. Once upon a time, his quiet ‘stalking’ would’ve caused a flailing of limbs and a high-pitched yelp from the younger man, but of the familiarity borne from the years of closeness, Stiles simply turned, smiled, and greeted him with a warm ‘hey’ as if he’d known he was there the whole time. And all things considered, he probably had.

They’d never been a couple for overt displays of affection, but the way Stiles unconsciously leaned toward him, trusting and open, worked just as well in telling Derek how the other man felt. He usually did the same, subtly breathing in the scent of his boyfriend and feeling more settled in his presence. They hadn’t seen each for a couple of weeks, and he’d missed having Stiles near.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking around for the rest of the pack. Their scents were fainter, which meant they had been here recently, but had likely wandered off or left altogether.

“It’s Christmastime in Beacon Hills, so the usual. Y’know, carolers, Santa parades, sleigh rides, tidings of comfort and joy, and oh yeah, witches.”

Derek had never been bothered by Stiles’ sarcasm, though he wouldn’t openly admit that if asked about their first encounters with each other, but now, he found the trait rather endearing. “So, we’re dealing with a witch. How bad?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I was driving back into town when I saw a kid running across the road. Freaked me out, and barely stopped in time. When I went to check on him, he was crying and said an old woman had tried to take him. At first, I thought it was an attempted kidnapping, but then, he said that there was a lot of screaming coming from her big bag, and he was scared of getting stuffed in there with all the other kid. For this town, that triggered alarm bells. Stuffing kids into bags and lugging them around is not your regular run-of-the-mill kidnapper MO. I called my dad, and he came out here with a few units, but is running interference on the supernatural front. He’d mentioned that this was the third attempted kidnapping this month, so the deputies are on high alert. They still think it’s a regular human predator, so they’re canvassing the other side of the preserve right now, which means we can do our own investigation here. I called Scott, and the others are now fanned out, doing a search to see if we can catch a scent.”

“No luck yet,” Scott added as he strode over to join them. “Just a whole bunch of the usual smells, and with the people that use the running trails, it’s hard to pinpoint a specific one. We’re not exactly sure what we’re looking for.”

“I think I have a lead though.” Stiles held out his phone to show an etching of a stooped crone with a large sack. “We might have an Icelandic witch in the area, one that kidnaps and eats children, but I’m not a hundred percent. I hope I’m not right because … well, children! But she’s supposed to be active around Christmas. I need to double-check some books at my house to make sure though.”

Derek nodded, not surprised that Stiles had pretty much figured it out already. As human as Stiles was, he was arguably one of the pack’s most valuable assets, and truth be told, Derek felt quite proud of the other man’s quick wit and life-saving accomplishments. “So, you need to go home then?”

Stiles made a sound of agreement as he tucked his phone away and gave him an apologetic look. No words were needed to communicate how sorry he was that their reunion wasn’t what they’d planned.

“Okay, call us with any info,” Scott chimed in. “Derek and I will probably be more useful if we keep scouting the area. This is children we’re talking about. I don’t want anymore of them put in danger.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Alpha leader, sir,” Stiles replied jokingly, giving his friend a mock salute.

The years had matured Scott somewhat, enough that the erstwhile werewolf took his role and responsibilities somewhat seriously now. And for this, Derek was grateful.

Scott gave Stiles a shove to get him on his way, before shaking his head with a laugh and started to move back to the tall grass he’d been searching through earlier. “Go, you idiot.”

Stiles responded with the very mature gesture of sticking out his tongue. Then, Derek felt the younger man’s arm wrap lightly around his waist and pull him close for a quick kiss. The motion was casual, natural, and one that Derek returned without thought. “Sorry, not what we’d planned when I got back, huh? Let’s catch this witch fast so we can start our Christmas cuddle session, ‘kay?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at the comment. His boyfriend sure did have a way with words sometimes. “Christmas cuddle?”

“Hey, it is what it is.” Stiles shrugged innocently as he started to move away.

“I’m not calling it that.”

“Suit yourself, Sourwolf, but I’ve officially labelled it, and you can’t take that away from me,” Stiles said as he walked backwards toward the nearby trail. Derek half-expected him to trip on some invisible rock in the next few seconds. “Gonna say it all I want!”

He rolled his eyes as the younger man’s antics. “Go.”

“Christmas cuddle! Oh, and far be it for me to complain about seeing you in that t-shirt, but you do know it’s winter, right? We may live in California, and you may have some super-awesome internal wolfy furnace going, but I’m cold just looking at you. Where’s your jacket?”

“Go!” While he didn’t feel the chill as acutely, he didn’t need to be reminded about his fleecing by a greedy, blue-haired teenager.

After Stiles wave his acknowledgement and jogged out of sight, Derek turned back to join Scott. Their relationship may have started out roughly, but they’d fallen into a companionable pattern over the last few years. It was likely because of everything Scott had been through and his maturation, but Derek guessed part of it may have been out of respect for both their relationships with Stiles. Without much preamble, they quickly sectioned off their respective search zones, and fanned out into the thicker parts of the preserve. Derek had grown up here, had run and played amongst the trees and foliage so often that walking through it now stirred a sense of homecoming. Still, sometimes, there were things here that could still surprise him. Like the odd whiff of fear and panic he caught a few minutes after he’d split off from Scott. It was faint, probably non-existent for the newer wolves, but it was there, so out of place with the earthy scent of moss and soil. He started to follow it, his senses sharpening as he homed in on the potential prey. He hadn’t made much progress before he heard a howl off in the distance, and his entire body tensed, ready for action.

They’d found something!

Once he pinpointed the source, he was off, dashing through branches and over roots with a surety of stride that had been acquired from a lifetime of running these woods. He didn’t get very far though. He heard it first, a loud symphony of disembodied laughter all around him. Before he could stop and confront whatever it was, he caught a flutter of movement in his periphery, and then, he was flying, thrown through the air by an impact harder than anything in recent memory. He was out cold before he even landed.

(***)

He wasn’t unconscious for long. At least, he didn’t think he was, given that generations of werewolf evolution had refined his healing abilities to the point where he shouldn’t be. But however long it was, it was enough to find himself strapped to a board – or a crude table, perhaps – staring up at the flickering shadows of a stone ceiling. Or a cave? He honestly hated losing time like this and waking up in unexpected places, which, given who he was and where he lived, was an actual occupational hazard.

A whimper somewhere to his left drew his attention just then, and he tilted his head at an uncomfortable angle to take better stock of where he was, and with whom. Just within his field of vision, he could barely make out a small figure sat huddled inside a primitively constructed cage no higher than his hip. A wood fire burned beneath a big vat just a few feet away, thoroughly heating up whatever was inside if the bubbling sound was any indication.

“Hey,” he said quietly, if a little hoarsely, hoping the hunched figure would shift enough into the firelight for him to make out who it was.

The figure shuffled over, and Derek could see the tear-streaked face of a boy, probably no more than eight or nine years old. Stiles had said there’d been attempted kidnappings. It looked like one had succeeded.

“H-hello? You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I am.” He wasn’t good with children, barring the few cousins he’d played with when he was younger, yet that had been different. They’d been family. He knew this kid was scared, could hear it in the tremor of his voice and smell it in the dankness of the air, but he wasn’t sure what he could say to help with that. “I’m Derek. What’s your name?”

“A-Andy.”

“Well, Andy, if you give me a minute, we can get out of here and I’ll take you back to your parents.” He tried to sound reassuring, though he wasn’t sure it worked as well as he’d intended when he was tugging and testing the thick ropes tied around his chest, waist, and legs. They were tight, but he managed to slide a hand free enough to shift and start slicing away at the restraints with his claw.

“Just Mom,” the boy said quietly. “Dad left.”

“Okay, we’re going to find your mom then. I’m sure she’s really missing you right now.” He figured that keeping a calm tone and easy conversation going was as good a plan as any while he worked on the ropes.

Andy shuffled a little in his cage, his face dipping down again into the shadows cast by the nearby fire. “She’s working. She’s always working. She promised I’d get to see Dad, but she couldn’t take me, so I went to find him myself.”

Which might explain why the boy hadn’t been reported missing yet. There was some give to the rope by his right hip, so he tilted his head and tried to look over at the boy and hoped he properly projected the sincerity of his words. “That doesn’t mean she’s not missing you, Andy. I know she’s probably very worried. She – “

The stench assaulted him first, sour and rancid, before he felt the whole space shake with a reverberating thud. Andy quickly scooted back into the corner of his cage with a scared squeak, leaving Derek to turn and search out the source in the dim light. An old woman came into view near the foot of his table, posture bent and face haggard, each of her steps sending tiny shockwaves through the cave. Her long, gray hair hung in a greasy, unkempt mess, framing a crooked nose and a gap-toothed, mirthless grin. She resembled the picture Stiles had shown him on his phone, but the younger man had neglected to mention one thing. She was a fucking giant!

The whole cave suddenly felt cramped, and her looming presence caused his heartrate to spike. He worked faster on his ropes.

“Good dog. You’re too old and gristly for my liking, but if my lads want a pet, a pet they will get,” she said in a voice deeper than he’d expected. She patted his stomach dismissively as she passed, and he fought hard not cry out at the jarring, painful contact. “Now, where’s my little snack? Little boy for a little snack. Little boy snack.” She cackled at her own wit.

He heard Andy whimper again as the old, giant crone ambled her way over to the cage, and he wanted to tell the boy to be brave, to hold on because he was almost through his rope. Yet, as he was about to do just that, he caught the scent of metal and electricity in the air. It cut through the myriad of other unpleasant smells like an olfactory beacon, clear and crisp and a harbinger of something – or someone – familiar. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the arrival of the calvary, even as Andy shrieked when the witch pulled him roughly from the cage and shuffled over to the boiling pot.

Then, several things happened at once. First, voices that sounded like the disembodied laughter he’d heard earlier came from somewhere outside. This time, however, they were shouting out in distress, intermingled with the familiar voices of his pack. The cries gave the witch pause for a split second, just as he cut through the last of his restraints and pulled free. After that, he was up and leaping through the air, aiming to get Andy free of the old woman’s clutches and away from the fire. And he managed just that, wrapping his arms around the boy as he clawed at the large hand that held him. But he underestimated the reaction speed of the crone, and barely managed to turn his body to shield Andy before her other hand swatted his side. He landed with bone-cracking impact against the boiling pot, adrenalin enhancing his movements as he rolled quickly to avoid landing on the fire or getting splattered by the hot liquid in the toppling vat. He was pretty sure he’d probably cracked a few ribs, but they were already healing. Andy seemed none the worse for wear when he looked down, unhurt and safe in his arms still.

“My boys! What are they doing to my boys?” the witch wailed.

Derek tensed briefly, thinking the giantess would take her surprise and anger out on him. He readied himself for a fight, but instead, she turned and marched the other way, he and Andy seemingly forgotten. He eased himself up with a barely suppressed groan, and let the small body pressed against his chest slide down to his lap. He could hear the pack outside, the growls of the wolves and the foreign-sounding chants from Stiles, and he knew that they had it handled.

“You okay?” he asked as he gave Andy a good once-over.

The boy simply nodded, his whole body still trembling. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and hugged Derek as if his life depended on it. Not sure how else to respond, Derek hugged the child back.

That was how Stiles found them a few minutes later when he stumbled clumsily into the cave. After some coaxing, they both managed to talk Andy into finally letting go. Scott took it from there, coming in to take the boy away to find the Sheriff, who had been called to the area when Stiles had triangulated Derek’s location. Stiles waited a moment after Scott had left before he turned and threw himself into Derek’s arms.

“Oh, thank every deity I just prayed to you’re okay. Had me worried.”

Derek squeezed the warm, lithe body clinging to him like an octopus, and bent down to briefly nuzzle his partner’s neck. He breathed in the fortifying scent that was simply Stiles and used it to ground himself after the crazy events that had just happened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m fine.”

“I know. You’re one tough son of a bitch, but the uncertainty always gets me.” Stiles pulled away and gave him a look with those ridiculously wide Bambi-like eyes that made Derek’s insides go warm. “And of course, you would go all superhero and save a child while we saved you. With the way the boy was holding on to you, I thought you’d replaced me with a cuter, newer model.”

Derek quirked up his lip into a lopsided, half-smile. “Never,” he returned easily. “If I did, I would at least try to get a good trade-in price for you.”

“Smartass.” As his comeback, Stiles smacked his arm with the back of his hand. He then slipped said hand into Derek’s, intertwined their fingers, and started walking out of the cave. “See if I ever send baddies back through an intercontinental gate for you again.”

“So, she wasn’t a witch?” Derek asked as he followed Stiles’ lead out of the cave

“Oh, no, she was a witch. The giantess witch, Gryla, and her sons, the Yule Lads. I don’t know how they got here, but I was working off of some quick and dirty research, so the best I could do was track down caves in the area, which is what the literature says she tends to favor, and find a spell to send her back to her native Iceland.”

Derek silently listened as Stiles explained what had happened, both grateful and proud – and not for the first or last time either – at the quick wit and resourcefulness of the guy he got to call his. They eventually emerged from the cave, and he immediately felt lighter the moment he could smell the fresh earth and foliage again. The sun was beginning to set, creating lengthening shadows of the redwoods and the oaks that stood like sentinels around them. And with that came a distinct chill in the air. He felt Stiles shiver at the lower temperature, and wished he’d had his jacket around to offer the other man. The jacket that he’d exchanged for …

With his free hand, he reached into his jeans pocket where he’d tucked the locket earlier, and –

Shit!

Without another thought, he turned and sprinted back into the cave. He quickly scanned the area and did not see the locket anywhere. His eyes then fell on the overturned pot and the still-burning embers of the woodfire. A dash of panic began to taint his actions, but he didn’t stop to quell it. Instead, he rushed over to the dying fire and started digging through the ashes. His hands burned and healed almost simultaneously as he dug desperately through the charred wood, an odd combination of frustration and helplessness clouding his judgement.

“Derek?”

He heard Stiles, but didn’t answer, mainly because his fingers wrapped around a clump of metal just then. He looked down at what used to be Stiles’ mother’s locket, the piece now misshapen by the heat and bearing no resemblance to what it used to be. He dropped the thing, both dejected and angry. This was supposed to be the year. This was supposed to be the Christmas where he would show Stiles how much the younger man meant to him by putting the care and thought into his gift that Stiles had always put into his. But everything… everything had been for nothing.

“Derek? What’s wrong? You okay?” Stiles approached and knelt beside him, looking ready to join him in whatever he was searching for.

He brushed the soot and ash off his hands, shook his head, and stood up. “Nothing. I’m good. Just thought I dropped something but I was wrong. C’mon, let’s go home.”

Puzzled, Stiles stood too, though he didn’t pry, and together, they made their way out of the cave once more, but not before Derek threw one last, longing glance at the pile of ashes.

(***)

“Oh, my god, I’m so stuffed,” Stiles said as he plopped down on the couch and rubbed his belly. “I might have to be rolled off to bed later because there’s no way I’m standing up.”

Derek smiled softly at the younger man’s dramatics, and joined him on the sofa. Christmas dinner had been an intimate one again between just the two of them, with Derek doing most of the preparation, while Stiles had ‘helped’. He didn’t mind though. He enjoyed their time together. The way they fit together, their ease with each other … it had all been hard-won, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The younger man had chatted animatedly throughout the meal and Derek had let him go on, wanting to prolong the whole thing because, if he was being honest, he was dreading what would happen afterwards: their gift exchange.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” Stiles said, as if reading his thoughts. He reached over to the end table and grabbed an unevenly wrapped gift.

Derek stared at the thing for a moment, just knowing deep down it would be a typical Stiles present, all special and personal. Why did Stiles even stay with him? He must come across as an unthoughtful, unappreciative jerk. Slowly, he unwrapped the gift, and revealed a collage of artfully arranged photographs. There were trees and flowers and butterflies dancing on sunbeams across open trails. They were beautiful, more so in that Derek recognized where they had been taken: the preserve.

“You sometimes talk about how you grew up in the preserve,” Stiles explained. “How it’s a second home to you, and how you have all those memories with your family there. I know the memories are special, so I went and took some pictures during summer break. I hope these help you remember all those good times.”

Derek blinked away the prickling he felt in his eyes. Stiles may have assumed he was touched by the gift, which was fine. He didn’t need to know what Derek was really feeling. He didn’t need to know that in that moment, he thought Stiles really deserved so much better than him.

“Thank you. It’s perfect,” he choked out. “I – “ He didn’t know how to continue. What else could he say? “My present isn’t –“

He stopped. Stiles looked at him expectantly. Not finding the right words, he leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed the last-minute gift bag he’d filled the day before. “Here.”

He looked away while Stiles eagerly dug into the bag. He knew what was in there, and he didn’t need to see the lackluster reaction the younger man would have at the assortment of Reese’s candies he’d find.

“Oh, this is awesome, Derek!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly. “Holy shit, there’s a half pound peanut butter cup in here! Hello, Heaven!”

Derek felt Stiles’ arms wrap around him in gratitude, but he couldn’t find it in himself to return the gesture. The younger man seemed to notice and pulled back. “Derek?”

He turned and took in Stiles’ questioning gaze. He couldn’t do this. They complemented each other so well in everything, but somehow, in this, they were completely mismatched. “Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked in earnest.

“What?”

“My gifts. Doesn’t it bother you that my gifts are so … so bad. Yours are always so … so perfect.” It felt good to get that off his chest.

Stiles gawked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. “Huh? But I think your gifts are perfect. And that’s not a lie. You can tell, right?”

True, Derek hadn’t heard any change in the other man’s heartrate to indicate otherwise, but no one could like his choice of gifts that much. “I just ... I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, how much I care about you, the same way to do for me, especially with the gifts you give me. But I can’t seem to do that.” This was uncharted territory for him, this admission. He wasn’t used to revealing his insecurities like this. Yet, this was Stiles he was talking to, he reminded himself. Stiles, who never had any shame in revealing his every failure and weakness, and who gave his trust without fear of being hurt. Derek owed him the same. “I found your mother’s locket,” he finally said. “The one from the album you showed me. I found it, and was going to give it to you, but I lost it when we fought that witch last week. I’m sorry.”

He stared at the coffee table. He stared at the discard wrapping paper of the collage he’d just received. He started at everything but Stiles.

And then, “That’s what you were worried about? Not being able to show me you loved me?” Stiles’ tone was incredulous, and it was enough for Derek to turn his attention to the younger man again. “You’re an idiot, Derek,” Stiles continued. “For the record, your presents are awesome. But that’s not the point. You drive three hours each way to visit me on campus every other weekend. You cook Christmas dinner for us every year. You help me pack for college each fall. You drop everything and meet me in a forest, no questions asked, when I call. You even spent all night picking zombie guts out of my hair. If that doesn’t say ‘love’, I don’t know what does!”

To put an exclamation to his point, Stiles pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, Derek Hale, and I know you love me. You don’t need to give me things to show me that. You show me every day in the things you do. And that’s more than enough.”

Derek looked at the man sitting beside him, stunned and at a loss. “I –“

“It’s more than enough,” Stiles re-stated firmly. “Now, stop your self-flagellation, and show me how much you appreciate my gift by kissing me.”

Stiles pulled him in again, and this time, Derek did put everything he had into that kiss because the weight of those heartfelt words were slowly sinking in. He loved Stiles. And Stiles … Stiles knew that. He groaned in appreciation at the true gift he’d been given as he pushed the younger man down onto his back, bracing his weight on his arms as he ground their hips together. Fuck it, he felt like he’d really won the lottery in finding Stiles … because Stiles was right, he realized as he deepened their kiss, tasting and teasing the smart, sarcastic, and silly man beneath him.

This … This was more than enough.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

day seven - pull-out p.2

ONLY ONE BED

A/N: Well, here we are friends. It’s time to say goodbye to spideychelle week. But really, when you think about it, isn’t the real spideychelle week the friends we made a long the way?

Okay, but for real, this has been so fun!! Both writing and seeing all the creations made by our talented fandom! Thank you again @spideychelleweek​ for putting this together <3 Till next year

There’s stuff in this fic that’s pretty new for me, as I’ve never written explicit smut before, and it’s something I’ve been thinking about trying for a while. So, I figured Spideychelle Week would be the best time! 

Without further procrastination on my part: enjoy some 6.3k of cow facts that will impress your friends, Peter being a mess, MJ being a mess, everyone’s a mess, smut, and ONLY. ONE. BED. 

Read here on AO3

--

“Hey, uh, MJ.”

Peter’s voice is hushed as he gently nudges her. 

She mumbles and stirs, blinking sleepily at him as she returns to a vague form of something akin to consciousness. 

“MJ.” His hand brushes her arm once more, leaving a certain warmth that she can’t quite place. “We’re here.” 

Sure enough, there’s a faint glow coming from the porch light ahead, though it’s entirely too bright for one o’clock in the morning. MJ sits up in her seat, yawning as she stretches her arms out in front of her. Her eyelids droop for another moment as she goes to unbuckle her seat belt, and she can just barely hear the opening of the driver’s side door as Peter climbs out of the old Volvo. 

“You don’t need me to carry you in do you?” Peter’s gently teasing voice cuts through her sleep-raddled mind.

Apparently he’s done being a weirdo. 

The thought of being held against her best friend’s chest flashes through her mind, fleeting, but it’s there alright. She shakes it away almost as quickly as it appears. She cracks an eye open, quirking an unimpressed brow at him as he leans against the door frame with a stupid little smirk on his face. 

“Fuck off,” she groans.

Something in the way he shakes his head with a snort of a nervous-sounding laugh causes her stomach to flip, filling with butterflies. 

Again, she simply brushes it off. 

But then, watching him pop open the trunk, his shirt riding up a little as he lifts the lid, she wonders if he’s thinking about the way their hands touched in the car as much as she is. It was a soft touch, warm, and in a way, inexplicably familiar. Though, as much as it made her heart seize, Michelle’s not sure why she didn’t just pull her hand away. 

Then again, Peter didn’t pull away either. 

It’s dangerous territory, this kind of thinking. “Do you think there’ll be any cows on the beach?” She asks through a yawn, a teasing lilt to her tone. 

Peter barely glances back at her, scoffing. “Shut up.”

A smirk pulls at her lips.

They grab their things from the car, MJ feeling as though she’s moving through quicksand as she gathers her bearings, trying to get a feel for her “land legs” after sitting for so long. The walk to the front porch feels like a half-marathon, and it feels even longer as Peter struggles to remember the door code to get in. 

Finally, after a nearly eight hour drive after class, they step inside the small beach cottage. 

The house is silent and dark, the only light coming from a lamp in the kitchenette. Ned and Betty must have gone to sleep hours ago, there being practically no sign of life in the house except for the few dishes in the sink. There’s a note on the counter, from Betty giving them instructions for the wifi, the tv, and of course, how to work the shower. 

MJ can feel herself once again falling closer and closer into the welcome embrace of sleep. She doesn’t waste any more time, nearly pushing past Peter as she heads for the open door to their bedroom. She can hear him laugh behind her, and she bites back her own smile when he calls out a soft, good-humored, “hey!” 

But as they both step into the room, they’re met with a rather strange surprise. 

When Betty had told them about this house, she had sworn up and down that there was room for four people to sleep. Two bedrooms, three beds. One for her and Ned, two for Peter and MJ. It was simple. 

Here, however, in this dark, moonlit room at one in the morning, there’s only one, full-sized bed. 

One bed, and a single, dark leather loveseat. 

The silence that falls between them almost crushes their shoulders under its weight. MJ can practically hear the collective overthinking they’re about to do. 

“You can take the bed—” They both say simultaneously.

Peter immediately cuts in. “Uh, you—you should take it,” he insists, his lips stretching into a sheepish grin as he scratches the back of his neck. 

“No, it’s fine,” MJ replies, setting her backpack down next onto the leather sofa, flinching at the way the fabric squeaks under the weight of her things. “I can take the couch. You take the bed.” 

“No, no,” Peter repeats back to her. “Seriously, I’m cool with it. Plus,” He continues, putting his own bag down next to hers and ignoring how the squeaky leather groans again. “Being Spider-Man, I’ve gotten pretty used to sleeping literally anywhere. Just one of my many talents,” he cracks a joke, his almost timid grin wreaking havoc on her insides. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up on the side of a building.”

She quirks a doubting brow in his direction, though the corner of her lips twitch upward. 

“For real,” Peter pushes. “I’m cool with it. The super-speedy healing will help with the lumpy couch.”

Her lips purse as she lets out a quiet hum. She’s quiet for a moment, her brows pinching together. “It does make sense,” she finally nods. 

Peter smiles. 

“I mean, you are the short one,” she teases. 

“Hey!” He fights to get rid of his smile as he shoves her playfully. “Only by, like, two-inches.” 

Their shared laughter dies for a moment, and they’re left alone in the quiet, dim room. 

MJ wants to roll her eyes, even though she’s beginning to feel that same, creeping awkwardness from earlier. “Why—” She clears her throat, telling herself that it’s only so she can get the tired scratchiness out of her voice. “Why don’t we just both take it? We’re adults. And friends. We can share. Besides,” she pauses, her eyes drifting to the bed in question, a strange yet not entirely unwelcome heat rising to her cheeks. “It’s not a queen, but we could both fit.”

“No,” Peter spits out, perhaps a little too quickly. A faint blush falls across his face, and he coughs again, rocking back on his heels. He huffs out a breathy laugh. “No… You—You really don’t wanna share a bed… with… with me. I—” He chuckles. “I’m a huge—HUGE—blanket hog. And, like… I always try to cuddle whoever’s in bed with me—not that… I’m ever in bed with a lot of people… or I mean—random people. Just—”

Throughout his rambling, Michelle starts to really feel that now annoying, almost tingling warmth even more, the same one she’s been feeling since this damn trip started. She shifts on her feet, trying not to think about what it might feel like to have Peter’s body pressed up against her, snuggling up to get warm, in that very bed. 

It alarms her just how quickly she thinks that, yes, she would really like that. Very much.

“—I guess I get cold at night? I don’t know, every trip for decathlon in high school, Ned would always complain if he had to share a bed with me at one of the hotels.” 

His quiet laughter fills the room around them, and MJ can’t help but notice the correlation between that sound and the speed at which those stupid stomach-butterflies’ wings flap. 

“—I honestly don’t know where I get it? I mean, I slept with a teddy bear until I was thirt—”

“—Okay, fine!” MJ sets him free from his rambling, a tired laugh hiding under her words. “You take the couch. I’ll take the bed.”

Peter nods, lips pressing together into a thin, yet slightly triumphant smile as he goes to move the bags off of the loveseat. 

After a beat, he speaks again, chuckling quietly. “We made that a lot harder than it needed to be.”

MJ can’t help but let out a snort. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, uh—” He coughs to hide the jittery waver of his voice. “I guess I’ll get the couch ready.”

“Sounds—sounds good,” Michelle exhales a sharp breath through her nose, a twitch of a grin appearing on her lips. She lamely throws a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll—I’ll just go get ready for bed. In the bathroom. Yeah,” she adds, toying with the loose threads at the hem of her t-shirt. 

He looks up from his bag, brows raised, eyes dopey and sleepy. “Oh, cool. Okay. I’ll—” He clears his throat again. “I’ll use it after you.”

“Cool,” she mutters without another glance, looking down at her feet as she grabs her toiletry bag and a new t-shirt and sleep shorts, before practically sprinting out of the room and into the hall. She doesn’t stop until she gets to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. Relief is the one thing she can feel in that instance, yet her breath is still stuck in her throat. Closing her eyes, she runs her hands over her weary, yet tingling face. 

God, what was wrong with her?

The icy floor of the bathroom tile does nothing to cool the warmth radiating from her head to her toes. With another quick, sharp exhale she moves to the sink, splashing her face with cold water. She looks up after a beat, staring—borderline, glaring—at herself in the mirror. 

Get it together, MJ, she thinks to herself, mouth setting in determination.

One weird road trip, one single hand touch in the car, one glimpse of abs, one bed, and one over active imagination; the key ingredients to begin the process of breaking Michelle Jones. 

But she won’t let that happen. No, she absolutely will not. Sure, Peter’s probably one of the best people she’s ever known, and sure, he’s funny—sometimes, mostly on accident—and sure, he’s got the body of an olympic gymnast, and she can’t get the image out of her mind that olympian bod wrapped around her in bed, but none of that means anything. Anything at all. 

None of it’s relevant to how she feels right now. And none of that changes anything about how this night—this trip—is going to go. 

Yes, maybe she’s had this stupid crush on her stupid best friend for some stupid amount of time. 

But again. 

It’s not relevant here. 

She’s just had a weird day. That’s it. She’s tired. She needs to sleep. 

Forcing any and all thoughts concerning the boy in the next room, she starts her nightly routine; brushing her teeth, washing and moisturizing her face, the basics, not rushing anything. She takes her time changing her clothes, perhaps a little longer than normal. But again, she tells herself it’s only because she’s tired—not at all that she’s avoiding going back to the room where Peter is. When she runs out of things to do to procrastinate going back, she brings herself to the mirror again, staring at herself with almost disappointment. 

But then, she steels herself. She didn’t need to be freaking out right now. Peter’s just a person. He’s just her best friend. They’ve had plenty of sleepovers before, and this is no different. And besides, they’re sleeping in two separate places, so really, all of this inner turmoil is pointless. Nothing’s going to happen.

And really, why should she be freaking out about the guy who read her cow facts for a solid thirty minutes of their trip?

With a solid, resolute nod, lips pressed tightly together, she exits the bathroom and goes back down the hall, opening their bedroom door without a second thought. 

Big mistake.

Big BIG mistake.

She really should have waited maybe five more seconds, because when the door swings open, Peter’s standing there in just his boxers, his head caught in his t-shirt as he pulls it on, chest and abs just out and ready to go. 

Big mistake—that absolutely doesn’t mean anything. 

It suddenly becomes very confusing to MJ why the Brant’s would have the thermostat set at eighty degrees. 

Michelle decides that there’s a very interesting spot on the wall just above his head. 

Peter pulls the shirt the rest of the way on, his eyes widening when he sees his friend just standing there. “Oh, uh, hey.” A not-cute-at-all unforgiving blush rises to his cheeks, spreading to the very tips of his ears. 

They both huff out an awkward laugh.

“Uh—” Michelle finally meets his gaze, finding it damn near impossible to go back to her spot on the wall now. “Bathroom’s—bathroom’s open.”

The chuckle that comes out of him is breathy. “Cool. I’ll just—go use it, then.”

“Yeah.”

She waits until the door closes behind him to smack herself on the forehead. Groaning, she flops herself on the bed, covering her face again. 

These feelings have always been here, she knows that, she’s not dumb; but they’ve never been this intense and the way he’s been acting all day and in the past fifteen minutes hasn’t been much help at all. She wonders if he’s been so strange because he’s feeling those things, too. She’s seen that guy hopelessly in love, and it’s always looked kind of like what he’s doing tonight, but…

This feels like a whole new level of loser.

Truly, she has no idea how she’s going to get through the night. 

But maybe—

No. 

No. She’s not going to think about this any more. She’s going to go to bed before he gets back. That way, she doesn’t have to talk to him or see him. She’ll sleep, and then they can just hang out tomorrow. With Ned and Betty. Not alone. 

As long as their not alone, she’ll be fine. 

She gets up to shut the overhead light off before turning the bedside lamp on, passing a brief glance to the loveseat turned bed across from her. Shaking her head, she pulls back the blankets and settles into her own bed.

When Peter returns, the room is dim, Michelle scrolling mindlessly on her phone. She wonders if she appears a little too casual for comfort, but she shakes that thought away as the door clicks shut behind him. 

Peter’s silent as he settles into the couch, the leather groaning and squealing loudly under his movement. The noise cuts through the air, causing them both to freeze for a moment. He grins sheepishly as he nestles further under his blanket, his face becoming only partly visible. 

Michelle doesn’t say anything as she turns to the bedside lamp and switches it off. 

The room becomes blanketed in dark, and it takes a moment for their eyes to adjust. The air feels heavy; soul-crushing, even. It’s deathly quiet, and Michelle’s almost a hundred percent positive that Peter can hear her breathing and the way her heart’s beating like an out-of-time snare drum. 

She closes her eyes, willing her mind and body to return to that feeling in the car, before she started having this weird, sudden existential crisis. And to some degree, it starts to work. She counts, starting at one, hoping that having her mind focus on something other than the current situation might help. Her mind starts to drift, her counting switching to random, sleep-induced thoughts, and her body starts to feel heavy, sinking further into the fluffy mattress—

EER-ER-EEEP

But she’s startled, yanked back to reality by the loud squeaking of Peter tossing and turning on the loveseat.

Once again, the deafening silence returns, but Michelle doesn’t say anything, annoyed, but still electing to just ignore it. All he’s doing is getting comfortable. No reason to attack him for that. 

It’s quiet again, and for the second time, she closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Minutes go by, and she’s finding it harder and harder to get that feeling back. The counting from one doesn’t work this time, her brain immediately crossing to the Peter lane that’s always there. The thoughts and feelings from earlier in the day and in the bathroom flood right back—especially seeing him mid-putting-a-shirt-on—and it suddenly becomes too hot to be under so many blankets.

Trying not to let even the tiniest bit of frustration show, she flips onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, subtly scooting a little closer to the wall to be as far away from her problem as possible. Drawing in a long, deep breath, she closes her eyes again. 

It’s quiet again, the silence that fills the room bringing the mood back to what might be serene if she weren’t so stressed out. She focuses on her breathing, on slowing her heart beat to a semi-normal rate, pushing any and all thoughts about Peter Parker out of her head—

EP-EEEEER-EP

EEER-EEP

Peter groans from his place on the couch as he turns on his side, cutting the silence of the room with his restlessness. 

There’s a moment where she thinks that he’s finished, that he’s finally settled.

ER-EP

And instantly, the moment is gone.

“Peter,” she almost hisses. 

“Sorry!” Peter whispers back. “I can’t—ugh… get comfortable. It’s like there’s a giant metal rod just… Stuck right in my back.”

She doesn’t say anything in return, sighing as she turns over on her side, facing away from him. If anything, as annoyed at his noisy fidgeting as she is, she can see the silver lining—being angry at him is a nice distraction from whatever the hell the other feeling is—illness, pining, lust, she doesn’t know. At least now she can just focus on how much of a pain in the ass he’s being. 

She does feel sorry for him, of course. The couch hadn’t looked all that comfortable when they walked in, and a loveseat isn’t a good option for anyone, no matter how tall or super-powered they are. It would have been much easier for them both if he had agreed to just share with her. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal. 

(It is.)

It’s not like all she’d be able to think about would be his hand next to hers, the warmth of his body lulling her into a homey comfort. 

Nothing like that at all. 

Feelings for her best friend aside, she’d be more than able to share a full-sized bed—that’s really meant for only one person—with him. But then, she thinks about how much—how quickly, he’d rejected the idea, and then she deflates. He’d been so defensive, so insistent. So—

EEEEEEEE-EEEP

Michelle can hear him suck in a breath, bracing himself. 

“Oh, my GOD.” She whisper-shouts into the pitch black room, grabbing her pillow and pushing her face into it. 

“I’m sorry!” Peter matches her tone, sitting up before throwing himself back against the cushions.

No. She will not listen to this all night. She’s had enough. 

If’s she going to get any sleep at all—

Peter sits up again, listening as MJ starts rustling around on the bed. “What—What are you doing?” He asks carefully. 

“Scooting over.” She snaps.

“What? Why?”

“Just get in the bed, Parker.”

“Wha—what?” Even in the dark of the room, Michelle can practically see the blush fall over his entire face. 

She scoots closer to the wall, huffing indignantly. “Because I don’t wanna have to listen to that all night. I’d like to sleep at some point, if that’s okay with you.”

It takes a moment for Peter to respond, and at first, Michelle thinks—worries—that she’s taken a step too, far.

But then, the couch squeaks again as Peter stands hesitantly. 

“...Are you—Are you sure?” He asks, his voice coming closer, her heart leaping into her throat. 

Despite the rush of blood roaring in her ears, she holds her ground. “God, yes! Just get over here already,” she whispers again, opening the blanket for him to get in. 

She can hear the hesitation in his silence, but she’s surprised when the bed dips beside her. His hand brushes her arm as he crawls under the blanket and settles into the mattress. When he settles in, he keeps a respectable distance, clinging as close to the side as possible. It’s certainly a tight fit, even with both of them as close to their respective ends of the bed as they can possibly get, and although he’s almost falling off the edge, she can still feel the his warmth.

And then, they both lie there for what seems like hours, each holding their breath, neither one daring to speak, neither one truly settled.

Michelle tries moving, turning away from him, though it doesn’t help much. He’s still too close; she can still feel him right next to her. 

It’s not fair, she thinks. It’s really not.

Though she’s not all that surprised; she shouldn’t be. This is exactly what the both of them had been avoiding. 

Michelle shifts again before sighing in defeat. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks as he turns on his side, his quiet, soft, sleepy voice so incredibly close. She shivers. 

“Can’t sleep,” she says, nestling further into her pillow. 

On instinct, she turns back around to face him. 

Perhaps a mistake. 

His face is mere inches from hers, her breath catching in her throat. If the lights were on, she’s sure she could count every freckle on his nose. He quickly pulls back to give her another centimeter of space. “Sorry,” he whispers, the sheepish grin on his face audible. 

“It’s fine,” She breathes out, albeit a bit shakily, as she rolls over onto her back again. 

Her hand falls to the middle of the bed, but she yanks it back when her pinky brushes his. “Sorry,” she says, huffing out a laugh at herself. 

Peter rolls onto his stomach, his face turning to her as he rests his head on his pillow. “You’re good,” he mumbles groggily, his eyelids drooping with every passing second. “This is so much comfier.” 

She smiles, a warm fluttering in her stomach as she looks over at him. His breathing deepens slowly, and soon, she can tell that he’s fast asleep. 

He could fall asleep anywhere, he said. 

Anywhere except for a loveseat. 

Sleep doesn’t seem to want to come as easily to Michelle. She still tosses and turns, feeling herself drifting in and out of the first stage, never fully asleep and never fully awake, staying in that torturous limbo in between for what feels like a whole-ass eternity. 

When a solid-ish form of rest finally comes, it’s gone before she has a chance to realize. She opens her eyes again, seeing the hint of the beginning of morning light through the single window in their room. Craning her neck up from her pillow she looks over Peter’s sleeping form and at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 

4:48 AM. 

She falls back against her pillow with a frustrated huff. 

“You okay?”

If she weren’t so sleep deprived, Peter’s soft voice so suddenly awake and beside her would have made her jump. Instead, she passes him a fleeting glance before rubbing her one of her eyes with a knuckle. 

“Can’t sleep,” she says again, just as she had earlier. 

Peter rolls on his side to face her fully, his arm tucked under his pillow, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “Do you want more cow facts?”

Her laugh cracks, voice worn from a lack of sleep. “No. No. I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“I’m gonna get you more cow facts.”

“Peter—”

But he’s already reaching for his phone on the table, turning back to face her after typing into his google search. His face glows blue from the light, and she can’t help the way her lips tug upward at his look of fierce concentration. 

“Okay, you can pick—”

She stares up at the ceiling. 

“—27 Amazing Cow Facts That Will Impress Your Friends, or—get ready for this—”

She will not look at him. 

“Are you ready?” He doesn’t wait. “10 ‘Udderly’ Fascinating Facts About Cows.”

“Peter—” She warns, her grin hiding nothing, as she turns on her side to face him. 

“Pick!” He insists, his quiet voice full of mischief and excitement. “You gotta.”

Her eyes narrow. “Neither.”

“Okay, we’re going punny,” He decides for her. “Did you know that cows cause more deaths than sharks per year? Crazy right? Where’s Cow Week then, huh?” He scrolls further upon earning no response besides a deadpan stare. “You ever wondered why Cows moo? Well, these moos are the pick-up lines of the cattle world. Bulls and cows let each other know that they are ready to, in the words of a bovine Marvin Gaye, get it on.”

“I hate you.”

“Cows can see three-hundred-sixty degrees. Kinda like chameleons—HEY!”

Before he can even finish the fun fact, her hand shoots out to yank his phone out of his hands. His reflexes are much fast, and he holds it away over the edge of the bed.

“No more cow facts!” MJ hisses as she reaches over him, her arm laying across his chest, in an attempt to snatch his phone and throw it across the room. “No more!”

Peter lets out a breathy laugh, and it’s then, when he just drops his phone, that she realizes how close their faces are; his nose just barely brushing hers, his breath fanning her face. They stay like that a moment, her hand unconsciously smoothing over the fabric of his t-shirt, unable to tear her gaze from his.

Almost instantly she pulls back, muttering out a sorry. 

But she doesn’t fully move away, and neither does he. 

There’s a moment, one where it all just suddenly clicks—where it all falls neatly into place, like that last, perfect piece in Tetris—and it’s when she finally lets herself look right at him; when she sees that tiny, shy smirk on his face; when she sees that unspoken tint to his eyes as he looks at her.

“Do you, uh—” He swallows. “Wanna hear another one?” 

There’s nothing she can do to stop herself from smiling a soft smile.

“No.”

Against any of her better judgement, she leans in.

The first brush of her lips against his is barely there. It’s unbelievably soft, almost as if she’s dreaming. Peter startles at the touch, and she pulls back. He stares at her, mouth parted as he looks at her, speechless. A nervous laugh bubbles up out of him as he tentatively brings a hand to brush her wild curls behind her ear, staying there. 

“You kissed me?” He asks dumbly.

She nods, mentally reminding herself to breath. 

And that’s all it takes.

A split-second later, he’s crashing his lips against hers, sighing in relief at the contact, his hand moving to cup her jaw. And it’s a feeling that’s everything to her. For something that’s been so hyped up in her mind for so long, she feels delighted shock in finding that the feel of his mouth moving with hers far exceeds any of her previous expectations. 

There’s a faint tremble to her hand as she cards it through his stupidly soft hair, gathering the strands, giving an unconscious, yet gentle tug. Peter groans, the sound sending a tidal wave of electricity through her. 

And truly, she thinks she could live in this moment for forever, cheesy as it sounds. 

His hand moves to her neck, bringing her even closer to him as tilts his head, deepening the kiss. With his free hand, he grips at her waist—her old t-shirt bunching as he pulls himself up to lean over her—before moving down to smooth circles into her exposed hip. 

A harsh, short breath escapes her as she grips onto his black shirt, her other hand slipping underneath it to smooth across his stomach. 

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Peter murmurs against her lips when he pulls back. “Like—a long time.” His laugh is breathy. 

Hers is, too. Almost moreso. “Yeah,” she grins. “Me, too.”

The way his smile stretches, reaching all the way up to his eyes just might kill her, she thinks for a split-second, and she comes to her own rescue by pulling his face back down to hers. 

She can feel his smile widen through the kiss as he rolls them over, her legs coming naturally to wrap around his waist as he lays on top of her. He squeezes her hip playfully, his hand ghosting  across the waistband of her shorts. At her sharp intake of breath, he retracts his hand quickly, as if he’s been burned, mumbling out a “Sorry” against her cheek as he moves to press kisses along the column of her throat. 

Michelle feels herself laugh breathily, still unable to bite back her smile. “It’s… It’s fine.” She takes his hand back to it’s place on her stomach, encouraging him to continue, her body screaming in celebration. 

But he pulls away, looking at her inquisitively, the hand she’d moved coming back to rest on her arm. “We don’t have to do anything—”

“—I know we don’t,” she cuts him off, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she grins up at him. “But I want to.”

Somehow, someway, his grin seems to get even bigger, and he tries twisting his mouth in an effort to hide it. “Me, too.”

Without another word, she pulls him back down, kissing him soundly, his hand still resting against the flat of her stomach. Again, he deepens the kiss, a hand reaching to cradle the back of her head as his lips mould perfectly against hers. His tongue shyly brushes against her lips, and she readily parts them. 

Her breathing grows ragged once more, and unconsciously, she rolls her hips upward, moaning softly into his mouth at the feeling of his hardness briefly pressing against her. He holds himself up with his free hand, muscles tensing as he bites back a groan. Her smile against his lips grows, and she does it again, earning the same reaction. 

He huffs out a nervous chuckle, his kissing growing gentler as his other hand comes once again to the waistband of her soft sleep shorts. Slowly, almost too slowly, his hand dips under her shorts, and he freezes again. 

Michelle’s ready to pull away and ask if he’s alright before he starts to just barely touch her.

Her hips jerk slightly, and she laughs quietly when he pulls away from her, looking down at her with curious concern before cupping her through her cotton boyshorts. One of his fingers traces a line down the middle of the soft fabric; it’s a faint touch, almost ghostly, but it’s more than enough to make her face burn hot. Almost experimentally, he presses down harder, his strokes smooth as he starts to rub slowly, the corner of his lip quirking upward at the tiny gasp that comes out of her. 

He matches the pace with their breathing, his movements slow and deliberate. Pulling her in for another quick, yet sound kiss, he removes his hand. Instinctively, she raises her hips, her own shaking hands moving to remove her sleep shorts. She pushes them off, though she struggles getting them past her thigh, Peter swooping in to move them down the rest of the way. 

“Teamwork,” he jokes lamely.

“Great—ah,” She responds, her voice catching when he returns his hand it’s earlier ministrations. “Great job.”

“Thanks,” he says with a small smirk. 

This time, his strokes are faster, and he adds just the tiniest bit of pressure. Michelle’s breathing gets heavier, less steady, and all she can do is close her eyes and focus on just how fucking good it feels. 

And also, how god damn frustrating it is that he’s still not actually touching her yet. 

She can feel Peter’s smug smile against her neck when she lets out the quietest whine and she almost speaks up, ready to tell him off—joking of course—until she feels his hand finally dip past the navy blue lace trim. 

Fuck.

His fingers hover above her silky skin before coming down slowly. They both let out shaky breaths as he touches her—finally touches her. His movement is still tentative as he goes to tease her entrance, collecting her wetness and swirling it over her clit, the slight tremor in his hand giving his nerves away. Unconsciously, her hand comes to rest on his, guiding him softly into a gentle rhythm. He murmurs something incoherent before capturing her lips into a tender kiss. 

He repeats his movements, dipping his finger further into her each time. 

“Oh—” A soft moan escapes her when he inserts a second finger, an uncontrollable grin pulling at his lips at the sound. 

His fingers pump and in out of her, curling, speeding up when he notices how her breathing matches, his eyes trailing down to her lips. Michelle can hear her heart thundering in her ears, her breathing growing ragged as he picks up his pace. 

But before she can feel herself getting closer to that point, Peter removes his fingers, sitting back on his heels as he rests between her knees. The whine that comes out of her at the loss of contact would almost be embarrassing if she wasn’t so annoyed. She glares up at him, though her gaze softens when he glances down briefly, then back up again, his eyes questioning and earnest. 

“Can—” He clears his throat. “Can I—?”

It takes her a moment to register what he’s asking, but then it hits her. 

Oh, fuck. 

“Yes!” She answers a little too quickly, disguising her excitement under a cough. “I mean—” she replies slowly, lowering her voice. “Yes.”

He grins easily at her, the expression making her heart seize. 

His smile fades as he leans down, his fingers tracing the lace trim of her boyshorts, pulling them down slowly, leaving them to hang off of her left leg. Before she can make any comment—perhaps one about how he half-asses everything, though perhaps, she thinks, it’s not the time for that—he dips his head down quickly, his lips meeting hers.

Michelle shudders, and her breathing hitches as he flattens his tongue before licking a long stripe up the length of her center, the fingers of his left hand digging into her thighs. Instinctively, her hands fly to his hair, wrapping themselves in the soft curls, smoothing them down as he sucks on her clit, tracing smooth circles with his tongue. He moves his free hand back up to her hips, curling two of his fingers into her once again. 

After a beat, she lays back, allowing herself to become lost in the feeling, letting Peter coax soft moans from her lips, unable to stop her body from tensing, her insides twisting in white hot pleasure. He quickens his pace, and she has to cover her mouth to stifle her moans. He glances up at her, a sight that’s almost too dizzying when she dares a quick glance in return. She feels that same heat pooling in her stomach again, a wavy smile tugging at her lips as she feels herself getting closer and closer. 

Her thighs twitch, tensing around Peter’s head, and for a moment, she worries that her hair pulling is a little rough—which doesn’t seem to be a problem, given the moans that Peter gives when she tugs and pulls, and frankly, it’s hard to focus on anything else with how she’s teetering back and forth on the edge. With another swipe of his tongue, Michelle gasps, bucking her hips upward, her fist in his hair holding him in just that right spot. 

The coil tightens, the heat burning, and with added pressure to her clit, she feels herself flutter and spasm around his fingers as she releases, back arching as he whimpers under her breath. Peter pulls back, his breathing as ragged as hers, wiping his mouth before crawling up to meet her. 

She doesn’t wait for him to ask before pulling him down, capturing his lips into a heated kiss, sighing as she tastes herself on him. 

For a moment, there’s nothing else said between them as Peter pulls away, laying on his side next to her, the only sound in the room being their labored breaths. 

“Go team,” he jokes. 

With a playful eye roll, still breathless, MJ goes to pull the blanket back over them after the AC kicks in again, sending a shiver through her. “Go team,” she says back. 

As soon as she’s back against the pillow, he moves in again, his hands moving to cup her face as he plants a soft kiss on her lips that makes her heart flutter. Her hand sneaks under the blanket as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss once more. The surprised grunt the comes out of Peter as she dips her hand under the waistband of his boxers, grabbing his dick, causes a faint, tired laugh to bubble up out of her. 

He kisses her back eagerly, laying them back against the pillows as he brings a hand to rest on her naked hip. 

It’s such a happy moment, Michelle thinks. Her heart feels as if it’s soaring in her chest, her cheeks warm and glowing. She likes this loser. So much. And she’s unbelievably glad that he feels the same. 

Peter groans, feeling her soft hand tighten around him. His strangled moan is cut off. “Oh, God—”

And, perhaps in what they’ll remember as the ultimate, literal cockblock of all time from a Certified Moment Killer, Ned Leeds, their dear, dear friend, barges into the room. 

“—Guys! Betty and I are gonna go watch the sunrise! Wanna—?”

He freezes, seeing his two best friends huddled together.

“—What’s going on guys? Why are you… in the same bed…?”

It’s in that moment that Michelle’s exceedingly glad she put the blanket back on so that they’re friend can remain blissfully unaware. 

It’s also in that moment that she promptly takes her hand off of Peter’s dick.

Peter and MJ exchange glances 

“...There was only one bed. And the couch sucked.”

Ned stares at them, his brows pinched together. He points a thumb at the loveseat in question, his expression seeming to state the obvious.

“You know that’s a pull-out couch right?”

[justjeonday]

Serendipity | jjk x pjm

Serendipity; the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

By a slip of his finger, Jeongguk ends up meeting his neighbour on the rooftop of their apartment complex - and he finds himself wanting to stay in the moment forever.

Click here to read on AO3.

- pairing: jeon jeongguk x park jimin

- word count: 6K 

- rating: PG-13

- genre: sO much fluff, angst, neighbours AU, student!jeongguk, dancer!jimin, airdrop AU, strangers to lovers, jeongguk is shy uwu, you could also call him a professional procrastinator. jimin is intimidating but what’s new

- warnings: descriptions of social anxiety, one or two swear words in there oops please excuse my language

- notes: i didn’t really plan for this to be a mxm fic but it just felt right?? this feels really random and i don’t know if it makes sense at all but please enjoy, I had fun writing it! feedback is very welcome as well <3 

also, if you like listening to music while reading, any lofi would go great with this! perhaps, even a lofi version of serendipity... haha jk... unless??

this is partly inspired by the game missed messages created by Angela He, I saw someone play it on youtube and got this idea!

huge thanks to zoe for helping me with this fic, i love u <3

this is a part of the @ficswithluv​ bulletproof bingo event!

gif by @nanzse, found here.

Jeongguk's room is washed golden as he lays on his bed, soft lofi playing from his phone next to him as his fingers in an unmotivated manner slowly press lettered keys on his laptop. He couldn't be less excited about writing this essay, the assigned topic of 'happy accidents' being something he's not really able to make a connection to.

After getting down a simple, uncreative title at the top of the page, only to end up deleting it, he sighs as he rolls over on his back and lets his eyes flutter closed. The rays of sunshine seeping in through his open window feel nice against his honey skin, the mild May breeze brushing it ever so slightly. This would be perfect if it wasn't for the empty document displayed beside him, calling at him to finish writing already.

He loves evenings like these, just being, listening to the hustle of Seoul coming from the streets as a soft beat escapes his phone. There's something about sunsets that renders a calm to wash over Jeongguk's body, no matter how stressful or dull his day might be - the sight of a sunset makes him stop for a moment; makes him pause and enjoy the present. It's something he treasures deeply, how the warm hues of orange blend in with the blue. It makes him feel excited to be alive, thankful to exist.

He imagines it’s like finally being able to release a breath; coming up for air when you've been held under the surface for almost too long. It quiets his mind, rids him of thoughts that weighed down on his shoulders during the day.

A sudden pling erupting from the laptop causes Jeongguk's eyes to open, the sound harsh in contrast to the music that brought him to his own, peaceful utopia. He frowns as he sits up, grabbing his laptop and placing it in his lap before he leans against the wall his bed is pushed up against.

Jiminie's phone would like to share a photo.

The notification makes Jeongguk furrow his eyebrows in confusion. Who is Jiminie and why is he airdropping Jeongguk of all people? 

Out of boredom and in search for another excuse to procrastinate the essay, he decides to see what the stranger wishes to share with him. He clicks accept, and on his screen two pictures appear - causing a scoff to escape Jeongguk's lips.  It's dumb really, but despite the unnecessary and pointless pictures, he feels a small smile spread on his lips. He expected something stupid, something to cause a huff and a roll of his eyes - to make his disappointment in humanity increase further.

On his laptop, two pictures of a cat wearing sunglasses are displayed. Jeongguk shakes his head as he snickers quietly by himself. He really doesn’t understand why he finds it so funny but he can't deny it made his evening a little bit better, the dull mood caused by the essay a bit brighter.

He decides to write a thank you in return, typing a few words of gratitude before he hovers over the send button. Should he reply? Maybe he shouldn't. What if the airdrop was sent to the wrong person? It'd make him look stupid if he wrote back.

After over-scrutinizing further, he chooses not to send anything back after all and goes to hit delete, but presses down on the wrong button.

Note sent.

He curses under his breath, cheeks turning crimson in embarrassment. It’s been done, there’s no reason to dwell over it. There’s nothing he can do.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair as he shuts the tab, and he's once again met with the sight of a blank page, making him sigh in frustration. Happy accidents. What is he even supposed to write about? His mind is blank, much like the document before him, there's really no specific event in his life relating to the theme he's able to think of.

What a foolish choice of topic.

He feels his heart skip a beat in surprise as yet another notification pops up on his screen. He nibbles at the skin of his bottom lip for a few seconds before he clicks accept once more.

7:49 PM: My pleasure! So... 'Genji', what are you up to?

Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut in further embarrassment at his laptop device name. He could’ve just gone for something normal, something simple like 'Jeongguk's laptop'. He sighs at himself as he starts writing a reply to the stranger, who he assumes is named Jiminie - a wild guess thanks to the device name; the simple, non-cringey device name.

7:51 PM: It's Jeongguk. I'm up to nothing much, just procrastinating my essay...  u?

Jeongguk presses send before he gets the chance to hit the backspace button and overthink his choice of words. After his note is sent, he finds himself waiting for a reply - eyes lingering in the corner of the screen as he looks for the next notification to pop up. Or the next excuse to further procrastinate, if you will.

And before long, there's another note waiting to be accepted. Without hesitancy, Jeongguk clicks it.

7:54 PM: Bored, looking for something to do... maybe some fresh air could benefit the both of us? ;)

The reply makes Jeongguk quirk an eyebrow at his screen, a faint blush settling over cheeks as he feels flutters of excitement in his gut and nerves blooming in his chest. A few minutes go by as he reads the words over and over, asking himself what to do. He eventually decides to reply even with the amount of intimidation he feels - despite his introverted nature. This time he sits for longer, fingers hovering over keys as he looks for words that sound okay in his head.

8:01 PM: What are you initiating, Jiminie?

Jeongguk’s heart beats fast in his chest as he presses send, fingers picking at the fuzz on his cheek as he partly dreads the reply, partly looks forward to it in a strange anxious excitement. This is so unlike him, to do spontaneous stuff like this, make plans and decisions last minute - especially when he’s well aware it’s involving a complete stranger. He likes knowing what’s gonna happen and giving himself time to mentally prepare for occasions like these, or preferably avoid them.

8:02 PM: Meet me on the rooftop in 20? I'll be waiting.

His face grows hotter as he reads the note repeatedly. He's never done anything like this before. It makes him excited, but causes his hands to become clammy at the foreign but tempting opportunity - a subtle anxiety starting to grow in his chest as he thinks of all the possible ways this could end.

Does he go up to his rooftop in twenty minutes to meet the stranger, put himself through awkward silences and worry? Or does he stay inside, alone, to continue procrastinating his essay?

The latter of the two options does sound much more boring, however, more comfortable and safe in his mind. Yet, he can't help but feel intrigued by this Jiminie he just chatted with, and he's curious.

Fuck it.

He gets up from his bed, grabbing a decent outfit from his wardrobe before throwing it on. He stands in front of the mirror, scanning over the black fabrics before shrugging and deciding it'll do. He doesn't want to be overdressed, or appear as if he actually worried about how he looks. Which he in reality, actually did - but Jiminie doesn’t need to be aware of that.

Before he knows it, fifteen minutes have passed. He slips his boots on and proceeds to stand by the door, watching the time tick on his phone. As the numbers read 8:21 PM, Jeongguk inhales a shaky breath to calm himself before he steps outside of his apartment.

Nerves spread like wildfire in his chest as he walks up the staircase towards the door leading to the rooftop. He stands before it for a few seconds, trying to compose himself before pushing it open. He's met with a world illuminated pink and the smell of cherry blossoms, a warm pleasant breeze brushing through his hair as he takes a hesitant step outside onto the concrete floor.

He doesn't do stuff like this. Jeongguk likes keeping to himself, he enjoys being alone in his room. The most communicating he does is through his headset while playing overwatch. What got into him today, what reason made him say yes to meeting a stranger on his rooftop, he's not certain of.

Jeongguk closes the door behind him as quietly as possible before turning to scan the area, eyes looking for someone unfamiliar; someone his eyes have yet to know.

He's caught by surprise as his wandering gaze stops at the sight of a figure. He sees pink, pink hair swept by the gentle wind. Soft pink, rosy and warm in contrast to the lightblue fuzzy jacket the figure is clad in - a contrast replicated in the sky above.

He's even further intimidated by the daring choice of hair color, another reason along with the previous one of the bold, somewhat flirtatious way he asked Jeongguk to meet on the rooftop just twenty minutes ago.

Jeongguk, after gathering the courage, slowly starts walking closer - nerves almost prompting him to quietly turn around and return to the safe, comfortable space of his apartment. He could leave right now and come up with an excuse as to why he couldn't show up. He considers it for a second, however, he quickly shakes the thought away, not wanting to go through with it no matter how tempting it may be.

He's tired of excuses.

He keeps moving forward, closer to Jimin standing with his back towards Jeongguk - looking out over Seoul.

As his boot scrapes against the ground, the pink-haired turns his head - looking over his shoulder to meet Jeongguk's doe eyes. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

More like a bunny, maybe?

Jimin smiles at the sight, now turning with his whole body to greet the younger. "Jeongguk-ssi, you showed up," says Jimin, perfectly plump lips stretching into a smile; showing off his flawlessly aligned teeth.

Jeongguk doesn't say anything, still a few meters away when he stops to give a small bow in respect.

He still doesn’t know why he agreed to this, he’s very well aware a silence like this always lays in the air around him when he’s meeting new people. That’s why he usually avoids occurrences like these, not wanting to put himself in such an anxious state.

He's always awkward when meeting strangers, especially if he's alone - when the conversation is depending on both him and the other involved to keep going. He never knows what to say, never able to find words that feel right. He hates small talk.

Although with Jimin, there's weirdly a welcoming atmosphere in the air. A smile that allows his shoulders to relax slightly, an ambience that tells him to breathe out and be himself. Jeongguk has never felt anything like it before.

Jimin keeps the younger's gaze, and the attention makes Jeongguk look down as a subtle blush settles over the tops of his cheeks. At the same time, while Jimin exudes a scenciere and relaxing vibe, his aura also feels intimidating - radiating confidence and self-esteem much unlike Jeongguk.

Jeongguk doesn't like to stand out in a crowd, he's reserved and timid - he'd rather stay quiet and he has no problem with that, he likes being alone to some extent. When he goes too long without meeting any of his close friends though, he tends to get lonely. That’s when he finds himself wishing he was different in that sense, that he could go out and make new friends whenever he felt like it without having to worry so much about first impressions, or if he stutters too much. 

His wardrobe is mostly black, not only because he simply likes how the color looks on him - but also because it feels safe, it’s not too out there. He usually puts on a bucket hat whenever he's out and about, mostly to avoid any awkward eye contact. He could never imagine himself dying his hair pink, or any other color for that matter - since he imagines it'd bring him unwanted attention.

That's just the way he is, and he's always been that way. But he can't deny the desire to be braver, more willing to experiment and explore. He wants to experience more, like dating or just going out with friends without worrying too much. He almost feels stuck, restricted because of this anxiety. It sometimes keeps him up at night, has him wondering who and how he’d be as a person if he was different in that aspect.

Jimin is somewhat stunned himself, much like Jeongguk. He really had no expectations going into this, but the person before him wouldn't be one of them if he did. He wasn't picturing someone who wears black oversized clothes, someone so big and muscular - yet shy. There are obvious outlines of a toned chest under the fabric of the hoodie, only a little more obvious than the pink apples of his cheeks. It makes Jimin's heart warm.

"Are you not gonna join me?"

Jeongguk averts his eyes from his own boots as Jimin’s voice pierces the silence, even though it’s soft and inviting. He becomes very aware he's still standing an awkward distance away at the question, giving Jimin as small nod as he walks up to the railing - fingers tightening into fists as he tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie.

His gaze wanders over the busy street below as he searches for the right words to say, but he can't seem to find any. He sneaks a glance at Jimin before he looks up at the sky, feeling a solace embrace him. He exhales as his body relaxes at the sight of the sunset. Everything’s okay.

"Do you-" he stutters slightly, stopping mid-sentence to compose himself. "Have you lived here long? I haven't seen you around," he manages to say, a small flower of pride growing in his chest.

Jimin is taken aback hearing the shy speak, gaze falling upon him to meet big, constellation-filled brown eyes, in which create a sunset of their own as the sky reflects in them - an even prettier one, as stars in his orbs decorate it further.

"No not really, I moved in just a few weeks ago," Jimin replies. "I spend the majority of my days at work though, so that's probably why we haven’t met yet."

Jeongguk feels a question linger at the tip of his tongue, deciding to let it free before he overthinks it.

"What do you do?" he asks, partly to keep the focus of the conversation away from himself but for the most part out of curiosity.

Jimin smiles at the interest, running a hand through his hair before speaking. "I do contemporary dancing, weird huh?"

"I don't think it's weird," Jeongguk shrugs. "Why do you say that?"

Jimin looks out over the city, painted pink, as he searches for an answer. "Well, it's not a typical job and you don't really earn a lot doing it. Most people would say it's stupid to work towards a career like mine, that it won't get me anywhere."

Jeongguk listens as Jimin speaks, and he notices a spark of passion glimmer in his eyes.

"So why did you choose that path?" Jeongguk surprises himself as the question rolls off his tongue, noticing how his shoulders are no longer as tense.

"I've been dancing ever since I was little, there's just something about it that I love. It's my escape, in a sense. Whenever I dance, all I do is move to the music - I don't think of anything, I don't worry. It’s almost as if my mind goes quiet." He says, eyes following the fluffy clouds floating over the sky. "It's really not about earning money for me, and even though it's nice to benefit from it in a financial way, that's not what keeps me going. It may be tough sometimes but I love dancing, and that's why I do it. Despite it not being an average job, or the most reliable and profitable one."

"I like that though, the fact you're doing something that's different. I think it's important to do something you enjoy, something that makes you excited to wake up and get ready. I hope I can find a passion like that in the future." Jeongguk avoids meeting Jimin’s gaze for even more than a second, eyes moving from him to the sky, then down to watch people walk by below.

Jimin turns to Jeongguk with a smile, chest filled with warmth at his words. "I hope so too."

Jeongguk gives a small smile in return as a silence falls over the both of them, but it's not one you necessarily want to fill. It's peaceful and comfortable, much to Jeongguk's surprise.

They stay like that for another hour, sitting with arms resting over the railing as their feet dangle over the edge of the building while they get to know each other - carefully stolen glances and unspoken words lingering at the tips of their tongues. Night has now fallen over the city, neon lights decorating the streets as bars become crowded and streets become busy - even more so than before.

Upon spending time together, albeit for just an hour or two, Jimin finds himself growing quite fond of Jeongguk.

At first sight, he wouldn't have expected the boy next to him to be so shy - as someone who blushes at compliments and eye contact lasting for more than a few seconds. All this is hidden beneath his attire, sporting chunky boots along with ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie - also considering that these are all black. Dark from head to toe. It almost makes him intimidating to Jimin, in a way. However, Jimin must admit it looks really good on him, it suits him, but it doesn't match his personality one bit. He's sweet and timid, all bunny smiles and dimples with big, sparkly, doe eyes - far from what Jimin would associate with the dark, edgy style he's donned in.

After another tranquil silence hangs in the air around them, Jimin looks at the watch on his wrist - noticing the clock is nearing 10 PM. He’d love nothing more than to stay here, learning more about Jeongguk, talking nonsense, just being in his presence.

He had heard Jeongguk laugh for the first time as he asked about his device name ‘Genji’. He had with a smile explained the reasoning to Jimin, talking about how it was inspired by a character named just that of his advice from a game he played - because said character is one that needs healing, in this case, charging the most often. Jimin has never found video games fun or entertaining, but when it’s Jeongguk who speaks of it; he feels as if he could listen for hours, secretly admiring the dimples that dip in his cheeks as he smiles.

“I have work tomorrow, I should probably get my eight hours of beauty sleep in before I have to wake up,” Jimin chuckles, and as much as he hates to say it - he really needs to get rest considering he’ll be working on a new choreography tomorrow, which he knows requires more energy and focus than just practicing.

They accompany each other as they make their way down from the rooftop, shoulders brushing as they walk down the stairs - slowing down as they step onto the seventh floor.

"This is me," Jimin says, head nodding in direction of the door with the number 202 on it.

Jeongguk stands quiet, a small smile on his lips as he suddenly feels awkward again - gaze wandering around the hallway, avoiding the other’s eyes.

Jimin decides to speak instead of waiting for Jeongguk to, having gathered by now that he’s someone who needs that extra push to get comfortable around someone - that it's easier for him to speak if someone helps guide the conversation forward. Although, he noticed Jeongguk slowly warming up to him on the roof; and he’d be laying if he said it doesn’t makes his heart happy.

"Thank you for meeting me tonight Jeongguk, I had a really great time," Jimin says, smiling as he backs up towards his door.

"So did I," Jeongguk replies, looking down at his boots as his smile grows bigger. "Goodnight, Jimin-ssi." He gives a small bow in Jimin’s direction.

There's really no need to be so formal anymore, there never was, but Jimin appreciates the gesture of respect nonetheless.

He decides to play along, bowing at a 90 degree to the younger angle with arms stiff against his sides. "Sleep well, Jeongguk-ssi."

Jeongguk chuckles at him, and the sound makes Jimin smile.

Minutes later, Jeongguk walks into his own apartment - adrenaline rushing through his veins because of the new, exciting experience. He lets himself lean back against the door after closing it, eyes squeezing shut as he smiles widely.

He feels stupid, like he’s a teenager with a crush. As he thinks back to what just happened, thinking about Jimin's smile, his light touches over the fabric on Jeongguk's shoulder - he feels a tickle in his gut, cheeks growing hotter as he longs to be in that presence again even though it’s only been minutes since they said goodbye.

He tries to shake the thoughts of the pink-haired away but it’s of no avail, kicking his boots off and stepping into his apartment as he exhales. He figures there's no use trying to finish his essay now, knowing his mind will wander to picture Jimin's face in his mind - try to recall the sound of his angelic laugh.

Oh, how he loves Jimin's laugh. The way he throws his head back, eyes turning into crescent moons as his hand comes up to cover his mouth - his knees almost buckling underneath him. He laughs with his whole body, and it makes Jeongguk feel a kind of joy he's never felt before. He'd do anything to hear that laugh over and over again, he’d even give up overwatch.

Jeongguk falls back on his bed, eyes staring up at the ceiling as he tries to rid his mind of Jimin again. It's hopeless. He's already too far gone.

The next few days go by agonizingly slow. Jeongguk sits through multiple online classes, each getting harder to concentrate on than the previous one.

He got a taste of Jimin that night, his smiles, his touch, his laugh. He got a taste of that new, alien feeling - the butterflies, the leap of his heart inside his ribcage.

He craves more. He wants to feel it again, he wants to feel that rush he felt when they first met - that joy he felt by just being with Jimin, sitting next to him and listening to his voice as he speaks.

By Friday noon, three days later, he's on his way home from the nearest store with his beloved bucket hat on as per usual, a bag in each hand as he walks back home - most of the contents being ramen and banana milk, of course. He pushes the door to his apartment complex open by turning around and pressing his back against it, squeezing himself along with the heavy bags through the frame before walking over to the elevator.

He'd secretly wish to bump into Jimin, anywhere, anytime - like he has been ever since they met on the rooftop - but he's been finding it useless so far. He still has yet to see Jimin again.

Jeongguk had been sitting in his bed yesterday, fingers itching to send an airdrop to Jimin, something like a casual ‘what’s up?’, but he never went through with it. He'd feel desperate, clingy - he didn't want to seem that way. He shut his laptop with a sigh, pulling the covers up to his chin before closing his eyes and returning to his utopia - sunsets, lofi, and Jimin.

A new addition to his paradise. Someone he's so uncertain about, someone he barely knows, but yet he feels so sure of.

Jeongguk reaches up to press the button on the wall, hissing quietly as the handles of the paper bag strains against his wrist. Only a few seconds later, the elevator doors slide open - but the small space isn't empty. In the elevator stands Jimin with messy hair, gaze moving from his phone in his hand to look before him where Jeongguk is standing.

"Oh! Jeongguk-ssi," Jimin beams, stepping out of the elevator. 

Jeongguk almost feels relieved to see the bright, joyful, pink-haired boy again - heart skipping a beat at the pleasant surprise. "Hi," He exhales, eyes locking with Jimin's.

“I like your hat,” He laughs, walking by Jeongguk. “Shame it covers your pretty face.”

Jeongguk’s breath is caught in his throat by the unexpected compliment, blood rushing to his cheeks - making him thankful he has the hat on to hide it. He stays quiet, not really certain how he should respond to such words.

"I'd love to speak but I have to hurry back to work." Jimin doesn't stop as he talks, but turns around and walks backwards as he keeps Jeongguk's gaze. "Meet me later? Same time, same place?" He says with a small smile, not caring to wait for an answer before he turns around and exits the building.

Jeongguk stands frozen, eyes stuck by the door where Jimin is now nowhere to be seen. For the few seconds he got to see Jimin again, he's grateful - but he wishes their interaction wasn't so brief, too quick for him to take in the beauty that is Park Jimin.

Jeongguk returns from his pink haze as the elevator doors start sliding shut again, quickly putting a bag in between them to stop the motion before he steps inside. He feels giddy as he waits for the arrival to his own floor, staring blankly in front of him as he repeats Jimin's words in his head.

'Meet me later'.

His heart leaps in his chest, an unwanted smile spreading across his lips as he looks down at the floor in embarrassment - despite being alone in the elevator.

Jimin too, can’t help but smile as he gets into his car. Since he asked Jeongguk to meet him three days ago, since they talked on the rooftop, Jimin often caught himself thinking about the boy - wondering what he’s up to. Even when dancing, he can’t help but let his mind wander, making it difficult to focus on perfecting his moves for the new choreography.

He feels a weird, unusual connection with Jeongguk - one he’s never felt before, not even with his past lovers or any of his friends. It almost feels like they were supposed to meet that night, like it was destined. Like they’re fated to know each other.

Jeongguk finds himself sprawled across the sofa hours later, phone in hand as he repeatedly checks the time - a random k-drama playing on his TV, in which has been given minimal attention since he put it on. He lets out another sigh after looking at his phone, noticing only a little over an hour has passed since he checked it at 4 PM.

Three long hours left until he can see Jimin again.

Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. But eventually, the clock strikes 7:50 PM and Jeongguk immediately gets up from the couch, excitement quickly spreading through his body.

Finally.

He finds Jimin the same place he was standing when they met three days ago, now sitting down on a blanket instead of leaning against the railing. He doesn’t hesitate before he starts walking closer this time, causing the older to look his way at the sound of his unusually confident footsteps.

“What’s this?” Jeongguk chuckles, gesturing to the blanket and pillows placed on the concrete.

Jimin smiles, patting the ground next to him for Jeongguk to sit down. “I figured we’d be here for a while and standing up isn’t really that comfortable.”

That’s probably for the best, Jeongguk figures, since he found himself worried Jimin would fall if he laughed too hard when they previously met. He almost wants to laugh at the memory of his doubt in Jimin’s balance.

He’s a dancer for god's sake.

Jeongguk pushes the tickling thought to the back of his head before he nods with a smile, sitting down next to Jimin before looking out over Seoul - a beautiful sunset once again painting the city in orange and pink hues. 

“I missed you,” Jimin suddenly speaks, hand coming up to run soothingly over Jeongguk’s back - giving him shivers running down his spine.

Jeongguk looks at him for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the skyline with a small smile sneaking its way onto his lips. “You did?” He asks, voice quiet as he fiddles with his fingers.

“Yeah, did you miss me as well?” 

You’re all I’ve been thinking about.

Jeongguk only answers with a small nod, head turning slightly to look at Jimin again - cheeks rosy with timidity. Jimin snickers at him before looking out over the city again. 

“Do you wanna listen to music?” Jimin asks, grabbing his phone from his pocket.

Jeongguk feels weirdly cold despite the warm spring evening as Jimin’s hand falls from his back.

“Uh yeah, sure.” 

Jimin holds it for Jeongguk to take. “Put something on.”

“Oh... I’m not sure you’ll like my taste in music,” Jeongguk shakes his head.

Jimin only laughs at his shy behaviour. “Don’t worry so much, Gguk.”

Jeongguk releases a barely audible sigh as he looks at Jimin, taking the phone from his hand hesitantly - feeling butterflies in his stomach at the nickname, the flutters only intensifying as his fingers accidentally brush over Jimin’s, tingles lingering on his fingertips at the touch.

“What do you listen to?” Jeongguk asks while he presses letters on Jimin’s phone, trying to find a playlist that looks good enough.

“I listen to a lot of different music because of work, but I really enjoy ballads with acoustic guitars and stuff - any calming music really.”

Jeongguk nods to show he’s paying attention, fingers stopping their scrolling as he finds a playlist - pressing play before handing the phone back to Jimin.

A soft beat fills the air around them, along with the lively sound of Seoul coming from the streets below them.

“Lofi?” Jimin smiles, placing the phone in between them on the blanket.

Jeongguk nods, eyes following Jimin who lays down on the blanket next to him - head landing on one of the pillows. Jeongguk follows shortly, letting himself fall back to lay beside him.  

“It’s nice~” Jimin sighs in bliss, looking up at the pink sky.

Jeongguk and Jimin talk about everything and anything as the sky darkens and stars come out from hiding. Hours later they're still laying next to each other on the concrete, stargazing into the black abyss.

Jeongguk turns his head to look at Jimin, who is looking up at the celestial bodies above. "So, do you just casually airdrop strangers in your freetime?" He asks with a laugh, referring to a few days ago when he got that first notification.

Jimin chuckles, placing an arm under his head. "No, I was just really bored so I airdropped everyone available."

“I thought I was special,” Jeongguk jokes, acting disappointed as he pouts.

Jimin hits the younger’s shoulder lightly, laughing before looking up at the stars again. “You are, I haven’t met anyone else I sent the pictures to.”

"Why did you ask me to meet you?"

Jimin turns to Jeongguk again at the question, eyes meeting. "You're the only one who replied to me."

With cheeks turning rubescent at the intense gaze Jimin gives, Jeongguk looks up at the sky again as a smile creeps onto his lips. He feels his heart flutter in his chest.

"Jeongguk," Jimin says, trying to get the attention of the boy laying next to him.

"Hm?" Jeongguk hums in response, unaware as he turns his head to look at Jimin once again.

Jimin doesn't say anything else, only admires him. Jeongguk is drawn in by Jimin's stare, not wanting to look away again. He too, admires the other's face. Soft skin, pretty nose.

Pink, plush lips.

Jimin turns to lay on his side, now even closer while simultaneously causing their faces to end up only a few inches apart as they stay looking at each other. Jeongguk keeps still with bated breath as he notices Jimin's gaze fall to look at his lips - making him unconsciously part them as his own gaze falls down to admire Jimin’s, trying to imagine what they would feel like against his own.

Without thinking too much, or giving himself time to change his mind and back out; Jimin leans forward - slowly inching closer. Jeongguk's heart beats fast in his chest but he lets eyes flutter closed as he feels the brush of lips against his own, excitement and tranquility blooming in his chest all at the same time. The touch is feather-light against his lips, but it makes him feel more than he ever has before.

When Jimin finally presses his lips firmly against Jeongguk’s, it makes him exhale deeply through his nose as pink explodes in his chest.

Jimin’s hand comes up to cup Jeongguk’s cheek as he leans in further, deepening the kiss even more - making Jeongguk’s body relax against his touch and lean into it. Jimin lets his tongue swipe over Jeongguk’s bottom lip lightly, prompting them to open before he feels the younger’s tongue against his own. He feels Jeongguk’s breath tickle against his skin as the kiss intensifies.

After a few more seconds of connected lips, blissful exhales, tasting Jeongguk’s cherry lip balm, Jimin pulls away and opens his eyes to look at him. Jeongguk’s eyes stay closed as he licks his bottom lip before biting down on it, still tasting Jimin's lips on his own. Jimin licks his own lips as he watches, aching to feel Jeongguk's pressed against them again.

"Hmm, are you wearing cherry lip balm?" Jimin hums with a voice barely louder than a whisper, a small smile on his lips as he lets his thumb brush over Jeongguk’s bottom lip.

Jeongguk breaks into a bunny smile, hands coming up to cover his eyes as he turns shy at the thought of what just happened. Jimin snickers at his behaviour as he sits up, looking down on his wrist to check the time.

12:08 AM.

"It's late, we should probably-" He's interrupted by a pull of his shirt, causing him to fall back into his previous position.

This time, it's Jeongguk's turn to initiate the kiss - lips pressing against Jimin's again. He surprises himself by the action, but he can't help it - longing to taste Jimin's lips a second time, feel them against his own once more. 

Jeongguk cups Jimin’s face with both hands as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, to feel Jimin even closer. He wants to stay like this forever, he wants to be with Jimin for as long as possible. He never wants to let go.

Their lips meeting holds just as much passion as before but lasts for a few seconds less before they have to part again, both needing to catch a breath because of the intensity of the kiss. Jeongguk chases after Jimin’s lips before letting his fall down on the pillow beneath him in defeat, realizing he needs to regain a steady breath as he feels his chest heave up and down.

Before standing up, Jimin places a haste, light kiss on Jeongguk's nose - making him scrunch it in an adorable manner. Jimin chuckles as he watches Jeongguk open his eyes slowly, an apparent blush laying across his cheeks as he looks up at the older.

Jeongguk's smiles with his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he shamelessy admires Jimin, still not moving from his position on the floor. He feels so happy.

Is this what true happiness feels like?

The end of his week turned out much different from what he ever could’ve imagined. Normally, he'd be laying on his sofa by this hour, stuffing his face with ramen while having some anime or k-drama playing on the TV - happy and relieved he’d be getting two days without having to attend any classes.

If at the beginning of this week, someone told him he’d be kissing his neighbour at midnight by the end of it - he'd think of them as crazy. Jeongguk? The timid and introverted Jeongguk? Kissing someone? He himself couldn't see it happening anytime soon. He figured it’d be too hard for him to find a connection like that with someone, considering his shy nature.

But here he is, the inside of his chest painted pink because of his love-struck state, butterflies wild in his stomach - eyes looking up to admire the person standing in front of him.

The stars in the sky seem to shine brighter than ever before. He finds himself feeling euphoric, almost high on the emotion. He feels relaxed and free of any burdens, just like the sunset they'd been watching earlier managed to make him feel.

He never planned for this to happen, he never expected his week to end up this way. But it did, by a single slip of his finger.

Jeongguk met Jimin through serendipity; a happy accident.

Happy accidents.

Oh, how happy he is they exist.

[coldtomyflash]

Weird question, and it's perfectly okay if "I don't know" is your answer: How did you manage to do grad school AND finish writing so many good fics? I'm writing the lit review for my dissertation right now, and I want to finish several WIPs I have (if nothing else, just to prove to myself that I can), but it just feels like I can barely do either, much less both. Any advice at all?

Ah, no worries! It’s not that odd a question. Actually, someone’s asked me before ^^;  My reply to them at the time was here. No need to read it, but it’s some context? 

My reply now that my head is in a healthier place is... long and winding and not actually full of that much advice but eh, I rambled as I do. If you just want the advice, scroll all the way down and it’s there. 

For starters, I’m not a normal comparison point. This isn’t to pat myself on the back, but for a variety of reasons, writing is something that comes really naturally to me. I’ll detail those reasons, but before I get into that, the point I’m illustrating here is that... sometimes I think people compare themselves to how much I wrote and what else I accomplished in that time and think “hey cool - that is a function human! Why can’t I do that?” And the answer is short answer is that my brain is programmed for pretty much one thing, and that thing is writing writing, and holy crap I was the opposite of a functional human when writing that much and that quickly.

The long answer is - 

I’ve been making up stories literally as long as I can remember. I spent my childhood consuming stories. I taught myself to read and was during school I was consistently reading about 8 grade levels above my reading level, and loved learning about narrative structure. I annoyed the shit out of my older brother by reading the same book series as he read, but guessing plot points that were going to happen either in that book or else 2-3 books out. he didn’t get how I would just know and I’d be like “it’s obvious - that’s where the story has to go!” Because I was imagining it in my head - what i would do with it, where it would go, where it had to go. Closing the page mid0chapter and imagining the next-scene, and then picking back up to see how right or wrong I was.

And I had a best friend for most of my childhood through to early adulthood with whom I made stories. Every weekend, creating narratives together, not writing them down but basically roleplaying them by talking them out (voices and all, it was a heck of a lot of fun, as much as it made me pretty much the nerdiest teen in existence). We tried to write a novel when we were 12, got about 7 chapters in. We had a lot of starts and stops on other stories too.

Which isn’t said to stroke my own ego, it’s said to highlight that I have a metric fuckton of explicit and implicit practice at storytelling. It was and sort of is my “whole life”. I also had teachers that helped me develop storytelling skills, and was really freaking lucky to go to a school with an AP program for English that seriously stretched my ability to write fast. We had to write an essay every single class, during class, and have it finished by the end of class (or in less time if we had lecture stuff to go over too) in my last year of high school. The essays could be creative response (i.e., short stories). I wrote a short story almost every week in the space of an hour when I was 17. By the time I got to the end of year final and actually got to use a computer and type that shit instead of hand-cramping halfway through, I somehow managed to write the two-essay final in the allotted 3 hours and, i shit you not, had a wordcount of 6000 words. 

That’s still my record. It was probably a dumpster fire but I got 100% probably for sheer volume.

Anyway that was over a decade ago, but the whole reason this life story is pertinent is because - 

I have practice. The only way to improve at anything, to get faster at it, for it to ease, is to practice. Practice at storytelling, practice at having to set a scene using just words sitting in my BFF’s room and trying to describe the image I had in my head for how I wanted her to see the scene as it was playing out. Practice at writing fast and getting feedback on how to write. Practice implicitly at trying to imagine what routes stories can take. Practice taking stories apart and piecing them back together, in my head, all the time.

So that’s part of it. 

The other part, and this is what I said in my previous post, was depression. I was seriously fucking burnt out and depressed when I started writing coldflash fic, and grad school took a huge toll on my mental health. It’s easier to write when you’re doing it to procrastinate working on your dissertation, and easier to keep writing when you get positive feedback and it feeds those lovely dopamine gremlins in your brain who aren’t getting any positive validation from grad school because holy damn that shit is hard.

I had no balance in my life for a long time. It wasn’t good. I went to counselling. I got more balance. Fic slowed down. Still finished, but not 120k words in 3 months (that was the pace when I started fic writing...jfc I don’t know how I managed.) Life got harder. Fic was now harder to write. I got more counselling. Fic was easier to write. I moved around the world. Fic got harder to write. I started anti-depressants. Narratives now seem to be flowing again. 

Regardless of the state of my mental health though, I’ve never written as much as quickly as I did during the middle of grad school. And I think that’s because I was very narratively pent up when I started writing fic. I had been so busy and pushing myself so damn hard in grad school that I didn’t make almost any time for stories, for fic, for imagining my own stories. I was suppressing that side of myself in the service of Focus. So when I burnt out, my narrative side rebounded and said “fuck that noise, I still exist, and we’re making space for me”. It took over. I came literally a hair’s breadth from quitting my PhD post candidacy. Idk what type of program you’re in, but business schools in North America? It’s a 5 year PhD typically, and I was at the end of year 3 and eyeing the door.

Anyway - I say all that because - 

I am not a good example and you should not do what I did. Finishing that many long WIPs that quickly wasn’t healthy, and was only possible because I didn’t do much else at the time, and had a lifetime of practice and a narrative rebound to make it even possible. 

But - 

My actual advice?

1) Practice. Practice. Practice. 

Not all at once, but everything counts. Daydreaming counts. Watching shows and thinking of how they could be improved counts. Talking out story ideas with friends counts. Just make it fun. Practice is something we think of as arduous and annoying. Learning new words is practice. Meeting new people and considering their traits is practice. Everything can be practice for writing. All the research you do can be practice for writing. (Random note: a childhood coping mechanism for anxiety that I had was to narrate what I was doing to myself in my head in the 3rd person. Like telling a story of myself walking to gym class in my own head. That was also practice.)

2) Have fun with it! 

Don’t making writing an obligation. Then it’s another thing on the list of things you avoid. Finishing stories often feels like an obligation. I’m going through this right now with Needs Must. It can be hard to complete a WIP because you start to have internal anxieties about disappointing readers, not living up to expectations, exhaustion from that narrative, distraction / temporary loss of interest (which is normal! and not actually a bad thing!). All of that then makes you feel guilty, which makes it impossible to get into a creative space to write. You can’t work on the thing you’re avoiding.

3) It’s okay to give your WIPs breathing space. 

When you hit a wall, you may need to set it aside and read it again in a month with fresh eyes. You may need to treat your story like someone else’s story. That’s, again, literally where I’m at right now with Needs Must. I just reread a bunch of it and hadn’t really forgotten the details but once they’re on the page they’re out of my head, and so taking some time before going back to reread it made it easier for me to think of like I think of every other story: “what would I do next with this? Oh that’s a twist, that needs to come back later. There’s a theme here, we’ve seen that three times. What’s the best ending I, as a reader now, can imagine for this?”

If avoidance, guilt, and/or writer’s block aren’t your issue, and it’s literally just down to time management - 

4) Your graduate degree is more important than your WIPs. 

Your WIPs aren’t going anywhere, they don’t have a deadline, and your readers will wait for you, and new ones will find you. Time management is an essential, awful, part of being an academic. 

I get more done, both at work and creatively on fic, when I’m just a bit too busy, but that’s me. Figure out what is optimal for you, and do it. When do you get the most writing done? When you’re relieved? When you’re anxious? Late at night? First thing in the morning? When does it flow? When won’t it ruin your graduate career?

(Seriously I was writing fic at work last week and was kicking myself. I don’t have time for that shit! Set boundaries on your time!)

But full serious here, graduate school is exhausting, and almost inherently de-motivating, and even the best damn students eye the door a lot of the time, even if they do finish. It’s stressful and you feel constantly powerless. It’s a lot to need to cope with. I found writing to be a way to cope. That lit review you’re working on? Yeah, it’s zapping your time and energy. That’s normal (unfortunately). And it’s good to give yourself breaks from that to write. Don’t feel guilty for taking time here and there for yourself - to write, or to not write. To relax, unplug, unwind. To close your eyes and daydream (if you’re me) or have a bubble bath (if you’re my sister), or do whatever helps you honestly, genuinely destress. The best thing you can do for both writing and for graduate school is to take breaks and take time for yourself. There is actual science on the importance of breaks, and academics are fucking notorious for putting too much pressure on themselves to actually relax.

5) If you’re burnt out and/or depressed - seek help! 

Most universities have resources for mental health! Talk to a doctor! Don’t put too much stress and pressure on yourself! Almost half of grad students are mentally ill at some point!

6) Talk out your stories with friends! 

I know I already said this under “practice” but having a fandom friend to bounce ideas with and cheer you on is amazing and essentially. I was in constant contact with Bealeciphers when I started writing, and now I have a different friend who’s helped me the past couple years with writing and developing my stories. Mostly they cheer me on, and when I’m stuck, I tell them where the story is going and what I need help with. But honestly, writing doesn’t need to happen in a vacuum and doesn’t need to be you hunched over a laptop in the dark all alone and staring blankly at a screen (I’m definitely not projecting here, no siree). It’s amazing how motivating it is and how much it can help you stay on track to check in regularly with other writing friends!

7) Pick your battles.

You say you have a... couple(?) of WIPs? How many are you juggling? Is it too many? Do you need to set one (or two??) aside? When my steam was slowly and AATJS and Tumbling Together started to feel like a chore, I set TT aside and took a month break from AATJS then dived right back into AATJS (with the help of the friend mentioned above, cheering me on) because I knew it would be the harder one to finish, and the one that I feared I’d never finish if I put it aside too long. I tackled the biggest hurdle first. If that’s the type of thing for you, I recommend it. Pick the story that’s either the most or least likely to get finished, and focus your energy there.

Another battle-picking thing here? It’s okay to outsource. I’m terrible for not using a proofreader beta. It’s a weird control thing, despite the fact that I love people pointing out typos in my works so I can freaking fix them. The point here is: don’t be like me. If you suck at finding your own typos, use a beta or proofreader. My writer friend who helps me helps when I get stuck. I help them when they need feedback on specific scenes and tones, and I’ve recently discovered they hate editing (I love editing) so this entertains me to no end. Just - you don’t have to do it all yourself. If you feel like you do, see points 5 and 6 again.

Aaaannnddd that’s that. Whew. I just spent... wow, too long on this. I spent as much time on this as I did on my own grad student’s lit review I was providing feedback on today ^^; #whoops 

[marvel-lous-things]

➡️Written for @lesbiansassemble 's 10k writing challenge :D

➡️1000ish words

➡️Pairing: Pepper X May

➡️Prompt: "I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong"

➡️A/N: Sorry I'm late ❤️. Kinda spent the last 2 days debating whether or not to just chicken out, and then decided not to. Hope y'all like it :)

###############

"You know, if you're busy, I could just go away But then, so would this delicious tray of cookies."

Pepper looked up slowly from her ever-growing pile of paperwork, the bags under her eyes darker than her Gucci vantablack purse (the only one of its kind). She'd been working hard all day, and hadn't left the bedroom in hours. Well, except for the one time she needed to use the restroom, but she carried her phone there too, so she wasn't sure it counted. 

May firmly believed that it didn't.

"You know you can't keep doing this, right?"

Pepper blinked, her eyes staying closed a little too long. "Doing what?"

May sighed. She didn't know what she expected, exactly, being in a relationship with the most successful woman in the world. (Yeah, sure, Pepper seemed to insist she was just one of the most successful women, but that's just technicalities). May knew that her badass CEO would often have to put her corporate life before her personal one, once in a while. But this was just...insane. Nobody in their right mind works 16 hours a day, two days straight- on a weekend. So, naturally, that just meant the exhausted redhead before her wasn't in her right mind. And that was very, very rare, and very, very concerning.

"Ginny?"

Pepper grimaced. She hated that name, so naturally, May used it when she wanted to get Pepper's attention, and bending over wasn't enough. Usually it was, though.

"What?"

"Either you tell me what's wrong, or I'm calling Peter and telling him that you ate his last Snickers bar."

Pepper's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare."

Would she?

"Potts," May raised a dainty eyebrow, "I had to watch the poor kid berate himself for losing his, and I quote, "one true source of happiness", while I struggled to keep a straight face out of an obligation to protect my sweet-toothed girlfriend," She let the "girlfriend" run over her tongue slowly, savouring how it felt to call her that, "so unless you tell me-"

Oh. She would.

"I'm fine," Pepper tried hopelessly, "I just-"

"No."

"But the stuff I have to-"

"Wrong."

"There's a board meeting in three-"

"Wrong again. Do you need a hint?"

Pepper sighed, resting her head on her hands. Never being one to give up, she tried one last ditch effort to make things right, which-

"I love you?"

"Thanks. Try again."

-evidently didn't work.

"Pass." She shrugged.

May tried a more gentle approach this time. After spending a year with her, May had come to the realisation that good cop, bad cop had a strangely successful effect on her. She hoped to God that Pepper wouldn't ever be arrested for anything in the future. "Honey," her eyes softened, "I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong."

Pepper smiled. May noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I don't need your help, Parker. I just need to get this stuff done so that I can-"

"What, get started on other stuff? Pep, we haven't had a proper conversation in four days, you haven't seen Peter in two, save for those "bathroom breaks", and you certainly aren't busy enough to drive yourself to a near-death situation over some paperwork!"

"How would you know how busy I-"

"Because I've lived with you for a year, and not once have I seen you procrastinate enough to be this heavily loaded. And you're-"

May's eyes momentarily drifted to the laptop lying on the table. Open on it, was Pepper's very professional-looking E-mail account, with random mails selected in no particular order. May would have had absolutely no idea what was going on had it not been for the treacherous dialogue box in the bottom left corner, confirming whether the emails had to be deleted. She was sorting her own mail.

She had AIs for that.

Which only meant one thing- She was giving herself more work. Oh, this was not good.

"Care to explain why you'd rather do something FRIDAY does for free, in half the time? And while you're at it, maybe throw in a few details about, oh, I don't know, burying yourself in work instead of talking to me about what's wrong?"

Pepper didn't answer. She didn't really know how to. So, she decided to tell the truth instead.

"I'm scared, May."

Pepper's voice trembled. She hated it. She hated feeling weak and helpless, especially when the cause of her worries were laughable at best. May hated hearing her like that too, but for different reasons entirely.

May didn't say anything. She simply came closer and sat down next to the very tired woman on their bed. Pepper didn't protest, instead pulled her close and buried her head into the warm chestnut hair gracing May's shoulders.

She didn't probe further. Just waited for the woman in her arms to continue. Which she did, after some quiet sniffles, and a marginal tightening of her hold on May's waist.

"I'm 52."

The brunette blinked. "You have been, for about a week now. Why-"

"My mother died when she was my age."

Oh.

May wasn't sure what to say. Thankfully, she didn't have to. Not just yet.

"Ovarian cancer." She took a deep breath. "It happened so suddenly. Mom experienced pain, of course but she was told it was just menopause," Pepper chuckled ruefully, "and that it would pass. Well, needless to say, it didn't."

May let her continue, running her fingers over Pepper's arm.

"And apparently, my grandmother had it too, so she sort of had a genetic predisposition to cancer, I guess. And guess who gets to be the next lucky carrier of that gene."

Pepper waited for her to answer, not wanting to say it out loud herself. Stupid as she thought it was, she felt like saying it would mean acknowledging the very real risk she was facing. And that was something she really, really didn't want to do.

"I'm guessing it's...you?" May chose her words carefully.

"Sure does seem like it, doesn't it?"

May considered that for a moment. Cancer wasn't necessarily genetically passed down. Pepper's mother being afflicted simply meant that she was at a higher risk of getting it than, say, May herself. Didn't have to mean that Pepper had to resign herself to this. "It's just a higher possibility, honey. All you have to do is get checked out for it."

"I know!" Pepper looked up at the ceiling, something she often did when she was embarrassed. "I know, but it just- I'm scared that...you know..." She waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind. I'll just go sometime this week and...hope for the best."

May sighed, absently pushing a stray strand of red off Pepper's forehead. If there was any indication that she was frazzled, it was her unruly hair.

"What do you say we both go together, tomorrow evening, get a complete examination. I'm not getting any younger either. It'll do us both some good." She hoped Pepper would agree. Maybe someone to do this with would convince her.

Pepper smirked. "Odd idea for a date, isn't it?"

"Well," May shrugged, "That doesn't have to be the end of the evening."

And with a wink, she was gone (taking the cookies with her, unfortunately), leaving Pepper to stare in amusement after her. 

And clean up the files, of course.

[stealthpoptarts]

Random Long Writing Post Time

Okay so I don’t normally make these, but I’m both bored and procrastinating from. Actually working on my book. Which I’ve started over like five times. I think I finally got it right, so hopefully no redoing the entire plot and so on. 

Anyways, I’m a pretty weird person, and so I’m not sure if anybody else thinks like this. But here I go anyway. I’m going to talk about character development. NOT character development arcs in writing or other media, because I don’t feel qualified to write about it? And I have a bad habit of not finishing things? No, I’m gonna talk about all the developing and thought and detail that you put into your character before writing, drawing, etc them. The stuff that you might know, but that might never show up or even directly relate to their story.

This includes, for some examples, why they have the name they do, why they might wear their hair a certain way, how they drink their coffee, how they might react to hypothetical situations that have zero relevance to the book/story/whatever, that one time they got lost on the subway, that one person they met that one time who told them that one thing, why they get upset about xyz thing, why they disagree with x but not y, and so on and so on. All the research into whatever you need to research to be able to write accurately and correctly. Basically. A lot.

The way that I have always looked at it is that this information is already out there. All this stuff, knowledge, scenarios, the characters and their friends and families and loved ones, already exists somewhere out there in multiverse. Or maybe in this universe, although I hope not because several of them would punch my lights out if they could. But all of it is real somewhere, somehow, and I just need to find it somehow or another. 

That means a lot of my writing is instinct, does this feel right? Would they really act this way confronted with this? What about this? 

It also means that if anything, anything at all catches my attention and/or makes me think/reminds me very strongly of one, specific character... I pay attention. It usually stands out for a reason, and if I can figure out why and make myself accept the reason (whether I like what I’m thinking or not), then it saves a lot of trouble in the long run.

This is how I’ve developed almost every character, and half the time I’m not sure that I’m completely sane or that I’m making any sense or going about things the right way at all. A lot of it’s just random, spur of the moment thoughts and ideas.

Half the time I’ll start writing a scene with an idea in my head of how it will happen, who will say what, etc., and then actually sit down to write the scene only to find that the characters had an entirely different idea in mind. This happens more than I like to admit, and I almost always like “their” version better than what I thought of originally. But it happens less and less the more I write. I take that to mean I’m getting better at writing. I hope.

I seize on completely random things, objects, ideas, I make completely random off the cuff jokes. I reference one particular detail over and over again. And then, it just sticks. Like how one grain of sand inevitably changes, however minutely, the entire pile when it’s added, everything added to them changes my characters just a little bit. 

Why does Luke like to cook? I wrote a joke story during a class when I finished all my work early. He got high*, ate all his friends food, “borrowed” his car while he was sleeping, bought an air horn (with $5 he found in the car), and woke him up with it at exactly 12:00am on April first. What does that have to do with cooking? Well things got more and more complicated from there. With the first things I write, I sometimes end up with more questions than answers.

Why was he high? Because he smoked something or other (in this particular story, weed. I even had a friend check that it was accurate cause I do not have experience with being high on anything, nor do I want to). Why? Because he was bored, and he had some with him. Why did he have any to begin with, on a random sleepover? Why did he even start in the first place? He self-medicates, and a whole host of other reasons on top of that, not all of which he’s conscious of. So, being high on weed, he’d get the munchies. He also loves doing and making things for other people, but never has a lot of money or resources. And he wants an easier, better way to cope. What do all these lead to? Learning to cook when he was still in middle school. It turns into something he loves doing just to do it, regardless of anything else.

In other cases, it really is completely random and/or not entirely under my control. 

For example, Luke especially loves making pastries. And has an unusual love of poptarts. How did this happen? Well in the story mentioned above, he eats all his friend’s poptarts, and his friend (understandably, having had several unopened boxes at that time) was upset about this. My friends, who I had shown the story to, thought that the inclusion of this detail was especially funny. Luke stealing the poptarts anytime he was over there and eating every one became a running joke between me and my friends, in our roleplays, and eventually in other stories I wrote about these two characters. This also helped lead to the love of cooking I came up with later.

I wrote this story three or four years ago, and while other parts aren’t entirely accurate to the character(s) involved, these ones are. And stealing the poptarts is still a running, inside joke.

Sometimes it’s, loosely or more directly, based on a dream I had. Or something I doodled or drew because I was bored, and couldn’t think of anything else to draw.

For example, Ichiko’s pyromania. The very first time anything involving this character and fire was a strange dream I had, and it was strange for two reasons: one, it had actually had and followed a cohesive storyline, and two, my character(s) showed up in it. The second has only happened one other time that I remember. 

They, random dream-people, and me, and Luke, Ichiko, and Dyllan were also there, were stuck in a large underground maze. Think underground brick labyrinth, unused/abandoned mall/subway tunnels, old greenhouses, high school gyms and auditoriums, movie theaters and movie theater concessions stands, complete with mysterious, unspoiled food and drinks. Basically a hodge-podge of places stuck together.

I don’t remember any other part of this dream, and probably only remember this because I later drew it. But there was one point were Ichiko grew frustrated and punched the wall. I don’t know why I remembered that scene specifically, but I do. It may be part of why, later on, his character grew to have a short temper. Another time they were, I don’t know why, trying to get the sprinklers to come on. So they found a bottle of vodka or whiskey somewhere, and he blew fire at them. I drew the fire-breathing part later on, and my friends joked about him being a pyromaniac. And that, for some reason, stuck. 

I avoided writing about or considering that aspect of his character until later, though. One because it really had started as just a joke. And, later, two, because I was uncomfortable thinking about the ramifications and problems that arise with an unhealthy obsession with fire. And why he might’ve developed or had such an obsession. 

A lot of what I think up or decide or discover about my characters boils down to one question, though, and that’s why. And the answer I give, or even that they give, could be very, very simple. But that’s only on the surface. It’s always, always more complicated than that. 

There are also always contradictions. Two characters remember the same event differently, or believe and struggle with two contradicting ideas. Two aspects of their personality are at conflict with each other, and this causes problems. Nothing is ever as simple as A + B = C. 

Delarin is obsessed with control, but he is at the same time wildly unpredictable and chaotic. He wants as much control over any given situation, his surroundings, events, and even other people, as possible, but he can’t even really control himself.

Dyllan believes that he is a normal, even (mostly) functional person. He doesn’t believe or doesn’t want to believe that he has any problems. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, and its what he tells himself everyday. But at the same time, he struggles with addiction and he knows this. He knows he should quit, or at least try and cut back, but that would be an admission of there being a problem in the first place. He hates crowds, he hates the feeling that someone, anyone, is watching what he’s doing. But he can’t stand to be alone, it is terrifying to him. He wants to pretend certain things haven’t really happened, or if they did, that they don’t affect him, but he still needs to have at least one light on. He can’t work in his apartment, it’s too empty, he always ends up in a busy, crowded, public space.

Another thing that I’ve learned is that I can’t avoid certain aspects of a character’s personality just because they make me uncomfortable. The character always ends up losing dimension and focus, and I have more and more trouble writing about them until I confront what I’ve been avoiding. There aren’t any shortcuts, or loopholes. Either I consider and include everything when deciding or figuring out a character’s actions, or I don’t write anything at all. 

In conclusion, cause this is getting way too long, here are the basics. The TL;DR I guess. 

Consider everything, big or small, important or not, that shapes a character. Everything has an effect on them as a person, and therefore an effect on what their actions or reactions will be in any given scenario.

Everything is complicated and complex in real life, so if you want realistic characters, everything has to be just as complicated and messy. If the answer to any “why?” you might ask is only a sentence or two long, you may (or maybe not, this is just how I do things. I don’t judge) have some more thinking to do. 

Names are important, and, if you have to change it, think carefully about how changing the name will end up changing your character also. 

Don’t avoid aspects or parts of a character or characters’ personality just because they make you uncomfortable. If you’d rather not write while keeping every piece of them in mind, maybe write a different character. 

This probably won’t work for you, or maybe it will, or maybe you already do things the exact same way that I do. I don’t know. I think of characters almost as real people. Not literally, but in the sense that they teach me as much about themselves as I come up with on my own, if not more. I’ll sit down to write, and they’ll (figuratively speaking) go, ‘hey, by the way...’ I can’t change this, I’ve tried. I know there is at least one or two published authors who do the same. So I thought that maybe I’d write this in case there’s anyone out there who feels awkward or weird or as though they’re doing things wrong, just in case. Because with writing, and just art in general, there really is no right or wrong way of doing things, no matter what some people might tell you. 

[jinie]

*.+ soft asks +.*

I was tagged by @fluffyjhs (obrigada Lua, sua linda ♡) some time ago, but my phone ran out of battery when I was doing it and Tumblr didn't save it, so I took some time to do it again 😔

I'm tagging: @namtooris @njssi @namseokis @angeljk @softiejungkook @rapmooni @taeofcups @yunhosworld @guksdimple @utopiajeon @gukooky @worldwidechaotic @sunshinehobworld @jingertonic

Y'all don't need to do this and if you don't want to be tagged in games just let me know! I wish a great day or night to you! 💗

What's the smell of your shampoo?

Uh... I don't know. I only know it has a good and kinda sweet smell, sorry sjdjsjk

What's your aesthetics?

Listening to the pouring rain in the outside, cold days, oversized hoodies, warm sunrises and colorful sunsets, taking random pictures with a camera, petting random friendly dogs and cats, kissing the tip of a dog's nose, messy hair, loud music, comfy clothing, no make-up, book's smell, tight and long hugs, holding hands, loud voice when excited, singing to songs you don't know the lyrics even when you can't sing at all just because yes, chocolate taste, pastel colors, staying up late.

What's your favorite time of the day?

The dawn. I really like how it's quiet when the world is asleep, I can focus a lot if I'm not feeling tired or overthinking. I also love to listen to the birds waking up and singing when the sun starts to rise.

What do you most like about the beach?

The sound of the waves and how beautiful and vast it is. I always take pretty pictures uwu

What do you worry about constantly?

Usually my future. What should I do with all the years ahead of me? Will I find a purpose? When will I make some real friends? Things like this. And I also worry if I'm healthy.

What's a song you've cried to before?

I don't remember crying for real while listening to a song, but the last one I teared up while listening was Awake.

What are some relaxing tips for your followers?

Take a nap, drink some water slowly, take deep breaths until you feel calm, listen to calm instrumental music (or any music of your taste that helps you to feel good), listen to those songs with sounds effects such as rain or just rain/nature audios if you like them, watch funny or cute videos and laugh a bit, hug someone for a good minute (if physical contact doesn't bother you), take a bath/shower and focus on the water instead of your thoughts, give your pet some love (if you have one), look up at the sky for a while, go for a walk and breathe some fresh air...

What are some things that make you tear up?

It depends. I tear up to everything that makes my emotions overwhelmed. I can tear up to songs, movies, a soft gifset, sad stuff, a very happy moment... In conclusion, I’m a big cry baby sjdhdk

What is your favorite from each sense?

Smell - the smell of rain is my absolute favorite

Touch - soft blankets, I guess?

Sight - colors gradients (so satisfying~ especially when you can see those colors in nature, like in the sky for example)

Sound - the little noises my dog makes (I can't really explain these, but they're so cute uwu she always complains like "hmmm" when I hug/squish her and she makes this little soft snores-like noises before she gives kisses. It's the cutest thing ever and I love her with my whole heart ♡)

Taste - chocolate

What is an alternative reality you'd live in?

HARRY POTTER AU (can someone take me to Hogwarts pls)

What are some troubles you face on a daily basis?

Feeling unmotivated. Most of the days I don't even want to wake up. Procrastinating is also a really bad habit of mine and it causes me troubles constantly.

What is one scene from a book that makes you really sad?

Sirius Black death :( I know it was necessary, but still...

Say something to your followers!

Even though I don't talk a lot with my followers or mutuals because I'm shy and I don't know how to keep a conversation, I'm always here to make new friends and I'd love to talk more! So if any of you wanna talk just message me, seriously. I'm also grateful for each one of you, thank you so much for appreciating my blog 🤧💖

[handle-with-utmost-care]

Cheerleader/Soccer player PART 5

Ok so I wrote this series years ago (i think like 4 yrs lmao) and I had a very uncharacteristic urge to finish several stuff I have lingering about.. 

and this was one of them…IDK If anyone is still interested in reading? Lol or even remember? Or maybe you’re new here bc of riptide but lmao surprise I wrote this cringe drabble that turned into a 5 part fic :)

I am like...70% embarrassed by this fic bc i hate mostly every previous part. it was hard to continue bc I had to get over my crippling distaste for sudden POV changes. maybe someday when I’m not too caught up in my own procrastination I’ll go back and rewrite and flesh out this mess and post it on AO3, but for now this’ll have to do.

to the person constantly harassing me to finish it YOU KNOW WHAT ANNIE I FUCKING IFNALLY DID IT OKAY. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU ASS! @cherylsbosom

also apologies for any typos

PART 5

“Alright, status report girls.”

“I thought we were dropping the fancy lingo?”

“Yeah it’s kinda confusing to keep up with.”

“Status report,” Ally Brooke repeats, sharply eyeing the girls on her bed.

She had invited Dinah and Normani after school to continue discussing a potential plan B.

But from the looks of it, Ally’s got the distinct impression that that’s the last thing on their minds. If their giggling over Dinah’s phone was any obvious indication.

Ally clears her throat pointedly. When that has no effect, Ally stomps her foot. “Girls!”

Dinah drops her phone and Normani’s laughter immediately tapers off.

“We have to focus here. Lives are at stake,” Ally says, as she flips open to the newest empty page in her notepad.

Normani gives her a look of disbelief. Ally almost flushes at the expression, because, okay, maybe she is still getting a bit carried away with this Operation Camren thing.

But she had convinced herself that Camila and Lauren were both too stubborn to realize the obvious. This was all for the sake of love.

And Ally was a firm believer in doing things for the sake of love.

Her eyes glance down at the notepad in time to realize she had already spelled out the mortifying title. She hastily scribbles it out before the girls can see. Normani’s expression turns into an annoyed eye roll.

Fortunately she doesn’t comment, much to the Ally’s relief.

“Mila’s not doing so well,” Dinah says, finally returning her complete attention on the topic at hand. “She’s been ditching soccer practice lately and she never wants to leave her room whenever I try to invite her to go out.”

Ally figured as much. It’s been almost a month since that awful incident at the party, an incident that Camila has been very close lipped about.

Ally had lost count of the number of times she tried to get the girl to open up. Inevitably, each time had always ended in a very indignant frown and an annoyed: “Just drop it Ally, everything is fine, okay?”

Ally wouldn’t press after that. But it was clear that everything most definitely was not okay.

“Lauren is bitchier than usual and I don’t think it has anything to do with the freshman cheerleaders fucking up the pyramid formation,” Normani admits after a while.

Ally sighs at this. She’d been aware of the head cheerleader’s mood swings, witnessing a firsthand account of it yesterday when Lauren completely chewed out a freshman for missing a step in the routine. An honest mistake that really didn’t deserve such a harsh scolding.

Ally had tried to calm Lauren down at the time, but she was having none of it. Instead, Lauren had chosen to stomp off and cut practice short.

Normally, this wouldn’t exactly worry Ally. It wasn’t anything new for Lauren to throw tantrums when things weren’t going her way. But for the tantrums to be so closely followed by a complete emotional 180 was something to be concerned about. And recently Ally had caught Lauren in a state of severe melancholy.

It was a draining experience hanging out with the girls only to have Lauren bringing the atmosphere down with the frequent amount of times she would frown sadly. Or respond sadly. Or even just breathe sadly. Ally had lost count of the sudden urges to shake Lauren and demand what was wrong.

But then, Ally would catch Lauren staring at Camila.

And she had decided that perhaps leaving them alone really was the best option.

Ally plops down at the edge of the bed, defeated.

“And I really thought this was all going to work out.”

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Normani offers, as she inspects her nails. “Even though their horoscopes say they’re totally compatible.”

Ally doesn’t question how Normani even knows Camila’s birthday.

.

.

.

Another month passes. Another month of the same strained atmosphere. Ally is sure the rest of the cheerleaders have picked up on their leader’s flip flopped mood swings. The girls on the squad learned to leave a wide span between themselves and Lauren.

The soccer team wasn’t faring much better. Ally had noticed Camila’s performance out on the field had suffered drastically to the point that she’d been sitting out on the bench more often than not.

It was a dreary month for all of them, despite the rapidly approaching homecoming game. Something that she, Lauren, and Normani had excitedly talked about at the beginning of the school year was a topic that had been seemingly forgotten.

Yet the school didn’t share the same sentiment. Everywhere, people were buzzing with pregame excitement weeks before. Hallways were adorned with bright posters and decorations. The school’s PA always made sure to add a final comment reminding students to buy their tickets. Many conversations between classes were heard predicting the outcome of the game.

Today isn’t any different, Ally thinks as she pushes past a group of guys on the football team hyping the other up. She rolls her eyes. The action makes her stop before the cafeteria. She wasn’t like this. Usually she’d join in on the hype. Relish in it.

This whole Lauren and Camila is seriously putting a damper in my mental well being too.

She sighs, pushing through the double doors leading to the cafeteria, feeling a wave of despair at the thought.

The cafeteria is loud and rowdy. More than usual, Ally notices. Her eyes flit over to the source of the noise to find a growing throng of students near the far end of the room.

The shouts and jeers echo across the cafeteria walls, mixing into a cacophonous mess. Ally can’t exactly discern what is being said or cheered. But from the school spirit that’s been thrust in her face recently she thinks she has a pretty good guess.

For a moment, Ally panics that this was a planned lunch event she forgot about, or in one of Lauren’s irrational moods, she’d decided to have an impromptu pep rally to punish the squad.

Ally quickly rifles through her bag, pulling out her weekly planner. After flipping to the latest date, relief spreads through her chest.

No. No scheduled event.

More students gravitate towards the crowd. Ally pushes through several people, in the opposite direction, until she finds Normani.

“What’s going on?” Ally questions, sidling up beside the girl. Normani simply shakes her head.

“I don’t know.”

Ally opens her mouth but Normani quickly cuts in.

“And no, I don’t want to know.”

Ally pouts at her indifference.

The both of them make their way to their usual table. And when Lauren joins them a few moments later, she makes no indication that she’s noticed the unusual overly eager students.

Well that rules out an impromptu pep rally.

Lauren takes a seat. Ally immediately feels a wave of sympathy upon seeing her friend. She takes in Lauren’s miserable frown, the distressed knit of her eyebrows and downcast eyes.

This was probably worse than the random angry outbursts the past month. Seeing Lauren so dejected always managed to pull at her heartstrings.

“Hey girl,” Ally greets, moving to take the seat across from her. Lauren barely lifts up her gaze as she tosses her food with the fork in her other hand.

“Hey,” she answers, casting her eyes down upon the untouched food again.

“You want some of my fruit salad?” Normani probes.” My mom put in some mangos, I know you like them.”

Lauren doesn’t even flinch at the uncharacteristically nice gesture.

“Maybe later.”

Ally and Normani exchange a look. This behavior had seemed to be going further and further into a downward spiral as the weeks progressed. Ally was almost tempted to go through with her intervention.

Look how your meddling turned out.

Maybe Normani was right. Maybe it would be just best to leave them alone.

Ally sighs, before pulling out her own lunch.

The crowd continues to go on strong. The jeers and sneers reverberate throughout the lunchroom even more so than before.

Ally begins to notice that the majority of students are starting to swarm the crowd. Her eyes glance around the people trying to determine the situation. That’s when she realizes something that makes her stomach drop.

“I think that’s the soccer team’s table,” Ally says. The tone of her voice grabs both girls’ attention. She watches as Lauren’s eyes dart towards the crowd and the similar conclusion comes to her. Her expression instantly sparks to life.

Lauren is out of her seat before Ally has time to register anything. She doesn’t even have time to tell her to wait because in the next second Lauren is shoving people out of the way and disappearing among the mass of students.

“Come on,” Ally blurts out, tugging Normani up from her seat to chase after her.

Their process is a lot less effortless than Lauren who had people parting like the red sea after her aggressive pushes.

It’s probably because of the hastily muttered excuse me’s that fall from Ally’s lips. Eventually Normani becomes so frustrated that she just hollers a very loud MOVE.

The students finally part, allowing them to push through until they reach the table…. only to realize that they’re too late.

Ally feels her blood turn cold when she sees her friends.

Slowly, her senses come into focus. And she realizes, dizzily, that cheering she heard earlier were actually people chanting FIGHT.

Dinah and one of the freshmen on the cheer squad are in an intense hair pulling scuffle, while Lauren is on the floor trying to aim a punch on another beneath her, who Ally suddenly recognizes as the girl Lauren chewed out at practice what felt like forever ago.

Ally lunges forward trying to pull Lauren up from the girl, as Normani attempts to pry apart the two other girls beside them.

She manages to get Lauren to her feet, not without a ridiculous amount of struggle. Because then Lauren keeps attempting to hit the girl on the floor. The victim of Lauren’s assault isn’t making things any easier for her either, as she continuously claws at them until Ally gets caught in the fray.

Ally feels her hair being yanked in an awkward angle painfully.

God, if she wasn’t a pacifist she swears she would –

“Stop! Stop! Stop this immediately what on earth are all of you – girls STOP IT!”

The sound of the principal makes them all spring apart from each other.

The six girls are huffing and red faced, attempting to catch their breaths.

Ally’s hand instantly comes to gingerly rub her sore scalp, before scowling at the culprit for the hair pulling. The freshman’s eye is already swelling, and Ally tries to quell the silly surge of pride towards Lauren for getting her good.

She glances at Lauren, sighing in relief that her friend looks unscathed for the most part. Her eyes then come to Dinah and Normani. Dinah is pouting as she tries to fix her mussed hair and Normani is pressing her fingers to her bottom lip in search of blood.

Ally sighs again, and that’s when she remembers the last girl. She searches in a frenzy for Camila, praying she wasn’t a part of this. But then she sees the soccer player, gaping wordlessly at them …completely covered in food.

The principal turns his attention towards them all.

“You seven. My office. Now.”

.

.

.

A month’s worth of scraping gum off the cafeteria tables seems a lot better than a potential suspension. Ally will take what she can get, she decides as they all disperse from the principal’s office.

The two offending freshmen pull Lauren aside to beg for forgiveness. Though from Lauren’s stony expression, Ally figures Lauren is already planning to kick them off the team. But then is momentarily shocked when Lauren accepts their apology stiffly, followed by a malicious threat to stay in line.

(Later on, Ally would find out the girls’ had decided to go after Camila in a misguided attempt lighten up their captain’s somber mood).

“Did you see that girl’s eye? You got her so good, Laurenzo. I’m kind of proud,” Dinah compliments, after the two girls slink away. Lauren’s lips tilt into a small smile.

“Yeah but you practically pulled out her entire weave. That’s impressive,” Lauren responds, a smile finally breaking out.

Not that Ally condones fighting, because, like, she so doesn’t, but it’s nice seeing them get along. Albeit for the wrong reasons. But there’s something so amazing seeing Dinah nudging Lauren in that friendly manner. As if they’d known each other their entire lives.

“You both are ridiculous,” Normani snaps. “I literally just got my nails done yesterday and this happened.” She lifts her hand up to show off a broken middle fingernail. They both laugh and after a while Normani cracks a grin. “But okay, yeah it was kind of bad ass.”

“Kind of? Did you see the other girls?” Dinah demands.

“I don’t really understand how you’re all so happy. We got a month’s detention because you guys can’t communicate like normal people.” Camila’s voice pierces through the lighthearted atmosphere. Ally almost forgets her presence because she had been so silent during their walk through the hallway.

She watches as Camila pulls out a spaghetti noodle from her hair and flicks it to the floor.

“We were defending you,” Lauren mumbles after a while.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Camila snaps. “I was handling it.”

“Clearly,” Lauren mumbles sarcastically.

“You know what?” Camila whirls around. “I don’t need your sarcasm. And I don’t need your stupid sympathy, okay? Today wouldn’t have even happened if you weren’t such a bitch.”

Lauren visibly recoils.

“Mila,” Ally begins but the soccer player shoots her a glare.

“No, don’t do that-“

“It wasn’t my fault,” Lauren begins hotly.

“Like you didn’t plan to have them dump the entire squad’s lunch on me. I have spaghetti noodles in places there shouldn’t be!” Camila snaps.

“Mila, she didn’t know that those girls were going to do that to you. You really think she would send those cheerleaders after you?” Dinah questions.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

It’s the statement that does it. That plunges the atmosphere completely into a subzero level. That makes Lauren look completely heartbroken. That actually breaks Ally’s heart.

.

.

.

It’s another week of radio silence between the two. Another week of Ally and Normani (and now on occasion Dinah), watching Lauren sigh dejectedly into her food during lunch. Sometimes she’d cast a few sad looks over to the soccer team’s table. And the girls would look upon her sympathetically.

Lauren didn’t know which was worse.

The pity or being ignored. While one was infuriating as hell, the other just…hurt.

This morning in particular was brutal. She had run into Camila in the hallway, accidentally knocking her duffel bag from her shoulder. When she tried to reach down to grab it, Camila scrambled to pick it up herself and hurried away head bowed. The exchange – or lack of one – left Lauren feeling like she was a ghost.

“Would you just talk to her?” Normani groans exasperatedly after Lauren recounts the events to the three of them in Ally’s room after school.

“She practically hates my guts.” Lauren mutters into her pillow.

“Look, as much as I love kicking you especially when you’re down I don’t think I can take any more of your moping. It’s actually starting to depress me,” Normani sighs, sitting down beside Lauren on the bed. “And I doubt she hates you.”

“Yeah, it’s impossible for Mila to hate anything,” Dinah chimes in from her spot on the floor.

“Except me.”

“She’s just really upset right now, Lauren,” Ally supplies. “And rightfully so. You really did a number on her. What the heck did you even say to her at the party?”

At this, Lauren feels her face redden with shame.

She had toyed with the idea of telling them, but she feared that they would hate her more than she hated herself. And she wasn’t ready for any more negativity.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lauren mumbles. “It was…it was really bad. And I feel really shitty for it too.”

“Then tell her that,” Normani snaps.

That’s easier said than being done, Lauren thinks. She makes a small grunt that earns an eye roll from her friend.  

Ally comes to sit next to her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Lauren, we’ve all seen the way you look at her.”

Lauren freezes at this. It’s the first time they all sort of acknowledge the big pink elephant of the room that is her more than platonic feelings for the soccer player. And she almost expects mockery or insults. But when she glances up to find them all staring at her supportively, she feels a deep seated worry slowly dissipate.

“And we’re all more than positive she feels the same way,” Ally continues, saying just the right thing to settle her confused doubt.

“Really?”

“Girl, of course she does,” Dinah adds in. “She looks at you like you put the pineapples on her pizza.”

“That’s disgusting, Dinah,” Normani retorts with a fake gag.

“Well where else are you supposed to put pineapples?”

“Um, not on a pizza.”

“It’s called Hawaiian pizza.”

“All that should be on my pizza is pepperoni and cheese,” Normani argues stubbornly.

“How can you not like pineapples on pizza? Who doesn’t like pineapples on pizza?” Dinah demands turning to look at them incredulously.

“I like Canadian bacon,” Ally says unhelpfully.

Lauren tunes the rest of the conversation after the two decide to settle the matter by ordering pizza. Her thoughts stray to the soccer player. And a pang of guilt hits her.

When the pizza arrives twenty minutes later, Normani demands (through a mouth full of Hawaiian pizza) that Lauren take her self-pitying ass next door and grovel for forgiveness.

Dinah agrees, and Ally rephrases that advice in a more encouraging manner. The thumbs up did little for her self esteem as they all but threw her out of Ally’s room and confiscated her phone lest she try to uber it back home.

And that’s really how she finds herself on Camila Cabello’s doorstep, desperately trying to think of ways to get out of knocking.

It’s stupid. This is dumb. There’s no way – absolutely no way Camila would even want to see her. The past week, the soccer player has been pointedly avoiding her.

No, that was an understatement. Lauren was getting the cold shoulder. That blatant icy treatment that left her feeling even worse than before the stupid cafeteria incident.

The last thing Camila had said to her was still plaguing her mind. Camila had insulted her, offended every nerve that could possibly be offended and yet Lauren knew she deserved it. Dinah may have been right – it wasn’t possible for Camila to hate anyone. But reducing Camila to the type of person who could be so incredibly harsh to another person just made the situation all the more worse.

Camila hated her. It wasn’t even something to debate.

Lauren hesitates ringing the doorbell. Her fingertips ghost across the button, brushing the smooth surface uncertainly.

A hundred and one things filter through her head and they all revolve around the girl somewhere behind the door.

She doesn’t get a chance to summon up much courage because in the next second the door is flying open and the Camila Cabello is standing before her.

She doesn’t look as surprised as Lauren feels, which is more than a little disheartening, but she tries not to let it faze her. Instead, she straightens up, almost to the point of rigidity.

Relax Lauren. Jesus. Okay. Here we go-

“What are you doing here?” Camila asks just as Lauren begins to form the apology that was burning to in the back of her throat ever since she Camila ran out of her bedroom crying.

Lauren hesitates, suddenly feeling the little flicker of confidence she fabricated fade away. Camila looks all around unimpressed with her display and this only serves to turn her nerves into jelly. Abort, Lauren. Abort.

NO. You will fucking stay and say your peace or so help me god you dumb shit.

“I asked you a question,” Camila snaps. It seems strange, so completely out of character seeing her so angry. There’s a venom that wasn’t there before in her voice, in her sharp expression that leaves Lauren wishing she had come better prepared for this.

A stab of guilt pricks at her chest as she realizes the only person who made this happen was herself.

Lauren swallows thickly, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist. The attempt to occupy herself with something besides Camila’s steely gaze is pitiful. But then again, she is a coward. She’s not even sure she can look the girl in the eye anymore.

“Look, if you’re not gonna say anything you might as well just –“

“-I’m sorry!” Lauren blurts out. The desperation of the outcry overwhelms her. She’s not going anywhere until she makes Camila listen – to everything. Because she knows deep down this is her only chance. Her only shot at fixing anything that she’s so despicably good at fucking up.

Camila’s glare softens slightly. It’s very miniscule but it gives Lauren the hope she needs.

“I’m sorry, Camila,” she says again, internally quivering at the name that rolls so effortlessly off her tongue.  It comes out so naturally, almost as if it had always sort of had its own place in her voice. As if she was supposed to say it over and over again. Which, admittedly she would do…in the privacy of her room…in the dead of night…where literally no one would be able to hear.

(Of course she would deny ever doing that if anyone asked her).

But it’s the first time she’s ever called Camila by her name. Well the first time non insultingly. And it’s something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the both of them.  Lauren feels her face flush suddenly, and Camila’s eyebrows rise.

“Camila,” she pauses, feeling the nervous little buzz building in her stomach at the name. “I didn’t –  look, about what happened at the party – I didn’t mean it.”

Camila’s eyes narrow and the walls are back up again.

“It sure didn’t sound like it. Just because you defended me last week, which I didn’t even freaking ask you to do by the way, doesn’t mean I’m going to be welcoming you into my life with open arms,” Camila says. “You humiliated me.”

“I know.”

“No. I don’t think you do, Lauren. It hurt. Like a lot, okay?” Camila blurts out. “I’m not even sure I can forgive you.”

Lauren feels that little glimmer of hope crash dive. This isn’t going as planned. Oh what did she know? There weren’t any plans or any go-to instructions for this kind of situation. How were you even supposed to convince the girl that you’ve been stupidly in love with for four years that you want her?

She flushes at the thought and the familiar wave of denial bubbles up in the pit of her stomach. She can barely even admit that fact inside her own head. How could she possibly even begin to explain it to Camila?

The girl practically thinks she hates her, which she doesn’t. Oh god, she doesn’t even hate her at all.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Camila,” Lauren begins, feeling her voice tremble. “I really don’t. I just – I just wanted to explain.”

Camila stares at her expectantly.

“I didn’t know what people were going to think if they found out,” Lauren mutters and Camila rolls her eyes.

“That’s not enough.”

“I was scared.”

“That’s still not enough.”

“Camila, please.”

She sees the girl’s expression soften again, the aggression slowly crumbling away. It gives her the courage she needs, the motivation to bring down her own stupid barrier preventing her from being vulnerable.

And this time, when Camila speaks her anger has soundly melted. “Don’t be scared.”

It’s just a small request, not even louder than a whisper but Lauren can hear it. The conviction behind the three words. The ounce of moral support beneath them. The figurative hesitant arms being slowly opened for her to walk into and it’s enough.

Lauren takes a deep breath, her heart pounding. She swallows thickly and tries to calm the rapid beating.

“I really didn’t mean what I said to you at the party,” she begins

Lauren almost anticipates Camila to make another sarcastic comment, but she simply stares at her so she continues.

“I didn’t mean it when I told you that there wasn’t anything that would happen between us. I didn’t believe it in the slightest because…I wanted something to happen,” she admits in a rush. “And all that stuff about you being no one was just about the shittiest thing I’ve ever said and I feel terrible. It’s not true at all, Camila. Not even a little bit. I was just – I wanted to hurt you because I was the one feeling like the loser. I’m a shitty person know I am.”

“You’re not a shitty person Lauren,” Camila sighs wearily. The admittance makes her hesitate. Makes her stop and stare at Camila keenly, feeling her chest ache suddenly.

Even in her anger, Camila will still defend her. Lauren isn’t even sure if this should please or upset her.

“I am though. And it’s not even about the night of the party. I know I’ve put you through hell for like years. I’ve just been such an idiot about all of this because I was just so fucking scared of what it all meant.” She stops and runs a nervous hand through her hair. “Because I’ve never felt this way, like ever about anyone and I knew, deep down that you had the power to hurt me in the worst way. And I just, like I just refused to give you that power so I thought that if I hurt you first…” Lauren trails off, shaking her head. The shame that’s kept her up all night for weeks manages to creep back up.

She averts her gaze, feeling the all too familiar burning stinging building. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Camila.

“It’s stupid I know,” Lauren mumbles. “It makes no sense – that logic. I’m an idiot and I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to be that person who gets scared over every fucking little thing, or the person who cares more about her popularity than the things that really matter. I just don’t care about that stuff anymore. Camila, I don’t care. I don’t even – I can’t even properly articulate how fucking sorry I am. For everything.  For making your feelings seem like they don’t matter because they do, Camila. They matter so much to me. And…I’m done belittling my own feelings as well because…because they matter too.”

She feels Camila’s eyes burning into the side of her face, almost as if prompting her to turn and face her. But she’s afraid of what she’ll see. Disgust? Anger?

She doesn’t expect the softness. She doesn’t expect the understanding. She doesn’t expect the feel of her fingertips brushing against her. In comfort. Acceptance.

Camila’s warm hands come to grip hers, undoing her tight fist. She feels a palm press into hers and it feels so incredibly intimate that Lauren is almost tempted to pull away. The sudden fear springs up again. The fear of being hurt.

But when she looks up at Camila’s face again, the fear melts.

“What do you feel?” Camila asks gently.

She poses the question that went unanswered in that stuffy room during the party. She’s opening the door of vulnerable opportunity. She’s allowing Lauren a second chance. One that she knows she doesn’t deserve.

A gentle squeeze of their hands prompts Lauren to speak again.

“I feel…” Lauren’s voice dies, as a lump forms in her throat. It’s stupid to get this emotional, she thinks. But god it’s been such a long time since she’s felt anything remotely similar to this. “I feel a lot,” she finishes lamely.

Camila tilts her head. For a second, Lauren feels that she’s going to laugh at her dumb attempt at opening up. But Camila is patient, something that Lauren is beginning to feel grateful for. She’s nothing like Lauren.

“I think you should know, that I…” Lauren trails off uncertainly. She stammers on the spot for a moment. It takes another gentle squeeze for Lauren to calm her nerves. “I think you're the most irritatingly adorable person I've met. I get butterflies every time I'm even in the same room as you, or even when you just look at me because you make me so nervous. And you make me doubt everything and it pisses me off but at the same time I love it because it’s you.” She pauses, releasing a shaky breath. "You’re just – like – I don’t even think you realize how extraordinary you are Camila.”

Lauren averts her eyes. Blearily glowering down at her shoes. Shifting weight between each foot. But Camila’s hand is still in hers. Intertwined. Giving Lauren just enough courage to continue.

“And I know it’s stupid because I’ve been such a bitch to you all of these years. I know it probably doesn’t mean much to you, saying all of this now. I just,” Lauren pauses, searching for the proper words. Her pounding heart isn’t exactly making it any easier. Camila staring at her so intensely isn’t making it any easier either. “I just wanted your attention. And I didn't care if it was negative attention.”

Lauren lets out a shuddering breath. The hand in hers loosens, and Lauren quickly tightens it, keeping their fingers firmly interlocked.

“I wanted your eyes on me. I wanted you to know me. That’s what I’ve always ever wanted, Camila."

.

.

.

The homecoming game falls on a chilly Friday night in October. The winds send a biting chill as the sun falls into its daily descent. The bright lights of the stadium highlights the puffs of breaths exhaled from excited students as they find their seats on the bleachers.

The football teams congregate on either side of the field, huddling for their plays. The cheerleaders form a tight group on the track, coming closer for warmth behind their short, pleated skirts, awaiting their captain’s presence.

The frosty air extends past the field, curling and slithering beneath the cracks of the school’s double doors, spreading through the empty hallways. Even faintly permeating within the small confines of the girl’s locker room. Where the conveniently absent head cheerleader has dragged a more than willing soccer player away from the loud crowded football field.

Lauren presses Camila up against the locker. She feels Camila squirm beneath her weight and she gets a thrill out of it. Her lips brush against Camila’s forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, finally resting upon her mouth. Lauren moves them slow and sensually, closing and parting her lips in a delicious rhythm she has become quite familiar with.

Lauren parts her lips again, taking in the Camila’s bottom lip. Her teeth close around them, almost playfully. It would be playful if Lauren’s hands aren’t currently trying to cop a feel beneath the girl’s shirt.

Camila pulls away breathlessly. Her pants beat enticingly against Lauren’s lips, tempting her to close the gap again. But Camila is resilient, even angling her body away slightly.

“Did the girls give you a hard time?” Camila asks, her hands loosening their tight grip in her hair.

“No, it’s not halftime yet.”

Camila nods and leans back against the locker again.

“Do you think they suspect anything?”

“Please. The girls are still betting on Ally’s dumb Operation Camren plan,” Lauren scoffs. Camila laughs. Lauren feels Camila’s fingers play with the ends of her hair, twirling a few strands.

The uneven pace from the kissing has melted, warming Lauren up inside, as if she had her own personal Camila sweater. The thought almost makes her cringe. When did she turn into such a sap?

“You know, without Ally’s dumb plan this probably wouldn’t have happened,” Camila murmurs.

Lauren wants to disagree. She wants to protest and go through her detailed argument of how very much it would have happened anyway. How they were inevitable from the very beginning. It was only a matter of time because they were made for each other.

But it’s stupid and makes her sound like a weenie, even in her head.

Lauren is a lot of things. But she is most definitely not a weenie.

“Should we thank her?”

“Hmm, probably not,” Camila says, glancing down at Lauren’s lips. “I think she’ll be disappointed that she couldn’t plan our first date.”

There’s always the wedding.

For a horrifying second, Lauren almost says that out loud. It takes her a moment to recover from her almost blunder. She secretly thanks the big man upstairs for gracing her with the ability to keep her mouth shut.

(She makes a mental note to go with Ally to church more often).

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lauren finally responds, eyes roaming across Camila’s face. Her flushed expression. Her red, bruised lips, tousled hand blown out eyes. Lauren feels a quiver of happiness and something not quite as innocent fluttering below her waist. Her nails dance around her skin lightly. Camila shivers beneath her touch.

“Are you cold?” Lauren asks in a soft voice.

Camila glances up at her from beneath her eyelashes and Lauren swears she feels her heart stop.

“A little,” Camila murmurs. Lauren doesn’t hesitate in shrugging off her lettermen and draping it over Camila’s shoulders. “Wait, no I was kidding kind of. You can’t give me this you’re gonna get cold and plus everyone is going to see-“

“I’m not gonna need it during the routine,” Lauren reassures in that same soft tone. “And you’re my girlfriend now. Let everyone see.”

Oh god, did that really come out of my mouth? That stupid cheesey dumb good for nothing line that’ll probably make Camz totally cringe. that’s it I’m becoming a Satanist –

But then she looks at Camila and she’s is staring right back at her with an expression Lauren can’t quite put her finger on. But it easily becomes one of her favorites.

She doesn’t get a chance to speak because Camila is pulling her face down for another long, deep kiss. Their lips move at a heated pace. Lauren can feel the message conveyed in the very contours of Camila’s mouth.

I love you.

It’s not time yet. It’s too soon.

But eventually.

.

.

.

Ally bundles up in her letterman, standing next to Normani on the track field. The noise of chatter from the onlookers on the bleachers is a comforting sound, setting in her cold body pleasantly. Her eyes glance towards the football field, watching her boyfriend Troy in his gear, stretching by the bench, before running out into the field to replace another player. It’s the last game of the season and the excitement is tangible.

“Any sign of Lauren? The quarter is about to end. We already be preparing for the routine,” Normani complains.

As if on cue, the head cheerleader runs on to the field hurriedly, looking much too flushed for this cold weather.

“Hey,” Lauren greets, unevenly, making Ally and Normani exchange a furtive look. Lauren catches this. “What?”

“You’re all red,” Ally supplies, rather sheepishly because thinking of Lauren doing whatever she was doing (or who she was doing, rather), isn’t something she wants to picture.

“And you’re …flustered.” Normani smirks.

“Where’s your jacket?” Ally adds.

Finally Lauren snaps. “What is with the third degree? Jesus, I’m here aren’t I? You know what just get into formation.”

Both Ally and Normani resist the urge to laugh at the blushing girl.

Ally doesn’t have the heart to tease her further. Instead, she follows Lauren’s lead, falling into place with the rest of the cheerleaders.

However, as the routine progresses, Ally can’t help but notice something –someone – emerging from the very same double doors their head cheerleader had burst from just moments ago. Out comes a very flustered, but very happy soccer player, wearing a very familiar letterman jacket. And if Ally hadn’t noticed Lauren’s obvious shivering, the fact that Jauregui was engraved across the back in gold letters was telling enough.

Ally watches as Camila practically skips up towards the bleachers to sit beside Dinah, looking absurdly pleased with herself. The sight brings a silly grin to Ally’s face.

She glances over to Lauren who is too busy staring down at her shoes. But Ally notices the distinct pink tinge to her cheeks.

Her attention shifts to Normani and sees that she, too, notices Camila’s sudden wardrobe change. Normani smirks. But both remained tightlipped.

Once halftime is over, Ally watches as Lauren scurries back through the double doors leading to the locker rooms. She doesn’t even wait to have a quick debriefing of their routine, which Ally finds almost irresponsible. Well, she’ll talk to her about that later. It’s not like she doesn’t know what’s got Lauren all flouncy. Or who.

As if to further demonstrate this, Dinah approaches Ally and Normani down from the bleachers with a smug expression on her face.

“I see Laurenzo isn’t with you.”

Normani glances over Dinah’s shoulder.

“Neither is Camila,” Normani states, a matching smirk growing on her face.

They all sort of giggle at their observation.

Camila and Lauren were not discreet at all. Whatever secret they think they had was about as subtle as a neon sign. A blinking one. With dancing interchangeable lights. And fireworks lighting up in the background.

If all of the times Ally’s caught Lauren waiting by Camila’s locker weren’t an obvious indication. It’s probably the hickeys she’s absently seen as Lauren tries to hastily change into her uniform for practice. Or the nights she’s caught Lauren wearing what looked like one of Camila’s jerseys during sleepovers. Or the flowers Camila swears were from her father the days leading up to the game, (even though Ally distinctly remembers her father never buying flowers because of his allergies).

Not that she confronted them about it. At least not directly.

A little teasing maybe. Something that both of her snickering friends could agree with and had wholeheartedly participated in.

But no. No. She’s definitely learned her lesson about meddling…at least until that potential future wedding she’s begun making plans for comes into play.

Which, in that case, Operation Camren 2.0 is definitely a go.

.

.

A/N: happy 2018 !

[dear-veronica-sawyer]

Secret (J.D. x Reader)

“Could you do a jd x reader where they've been friends for a while and she confronts him abt heather's suicide and take it where ever you want ((;“

(Wow this took a really long time. I’m so sorry!! There’s been a lot of stuff happening in my personal life and also I am a major procrastinator help) (also lmao im not completely sure if this is what you wanted but here ya go its not really a confrontation ugh im sorry im bad at life also the ending is rushed sorry)

(Idk why but he turned out to have more of a movie J.D. personality, sorry!)

WC: 1,709

Warnings: suicide mentions (obviously), unhealthy relationship, cussing, the very beginning of this is kinda angsty WHOOPS, gets kinda steamy i guess, majorly ooc whoops

(I DO NOT IN ANY WAY CONDONE UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS)

Ever since you had heard what happened, it seemed you were stuck in your own head. It felt like you were stuck in this endless loop of “that can’t be true, that can’t be true, that can’t be true”. Ms. Fleming tried to talk to you, with little to no response.

There is no way Heather Chandler commit suicide, was the thought that been running through your mind for what seemed like forever. None of your friends understood why you seemed so fixated on Heather’s death. You didn’t blame them, simply because you didn’t fully understand it either. You hated Heather Chandler, and Heather Chandler hated you. She bullied you constantly, so why would you be so worked up over this?

Well, if you were being honest, it’s because it didn’t make any fucking sense.

There were too many holes in the story, too many inconsistencies. The suicide note didn’t sound like Heather at all. You weren’t buying the whole “popular girl on the outside, tortured soul on the inside” shit. And why would she kill herself by drinking drain cleaner, of all things? That just didn’t seem like Heather Chandler to you.

“Hey... (Y/N)? (Y/N)... (Y/N)!!” A deep voice broke you out of your thoughts and you were brought back to the present.

You were at you friend (and longtime crush) J.D.’s house. Luckily, his sleazy dad wasn’t home to make you uncomfortable. You were sitting on the couch, watching a random TV show with a slushie in your hand. J.D. had been waving his hand in front of your face to catch your attention. Once he realized you had snapped out of it, his tense posture relaxed and he raised an eyebrow.

“What were you thinking about?” He took a sip of his cherry slushie and you tried (keyword: tried) not to look at his red-stained lips that were currently smirking. You also tried not to look at his messy, but somehow perfect hair. Or those mysterious eyes that seem like they could hold the secrets to the universe within them.

Damn, if there is one person who can get Heather Chandler off of your mind, it’s J.D.

“Oh, you know... stuff.” You so eloquently replied. Really, (Y/N)? “Stuff”? You mentally berated yourself.

“Oh, really?” J.D. deadpans. “What kind of stuff?”

“Um...” You fidget with the hem of your shirt nervously. “It might sound stupid.”

“Tell me.” He rests his hand on your arm, and electricity races through your entire body. Your eyes are cast downwards and you take a deep breath.

“It’s about Heather Chandler.” You say in a quiet tone. J.D. doesn’t say a word, and the silence between you is almost deafening. The only thing you could hear was the TV show in the background, until J.D. slowly picks up the TV remote and presses the mute button.

“(Y/N)...” He says slowly.

“It couldn’t have been suicide, J.D.!” It was like a dam broke (*insert Percy Jackson reference here*), but emotions flooded out rather than water. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“It makes perfect sense, (Y/N)!” J.D. seemed to be getting more and more agitated every time another word came out of your mouth. You didn’t understand why.

“No, J.D., it doesn’t!” You protested.

“Oh, really? How does it not make sense?” He scoffed back at you.

“Heather Chandler was a dramatic person. We can agree on that.” J.D. nodded in agreement to your words. “If that’s so, why did she kill herself by drinking drain cleaner? I think we can both agree that it would make more sense if she did something much more attention grabbing, like purposely crashing her car into a tree and blowing up, or whatever.” (A/N: okay wow, i feel horrible for even writing that. unfortunately, i’m trying to make this fic as believable as it would be in the heathers universe, and, uh, they’re pretty blunt about this stuff. i’m still really sorry tho :/ )

“Are you really questioning the way she commit suicide? That’s a little morbid, even to me.” J.D. said flatly.

“I... I just...” You stuttered out. You hadn’t expected J.D. to be this cold and uncaring about the situation. Something about this wasn’t right. You took a deep, calming breath.

“I think it might be murder.” You choke out. J.D.’s expression was completely unreadable. He leaned in closer to you, his lids half shut. Your breath hitched. You would have (naively) thought that he was going to kiss your worries away if you hadn’t seen his smirk.

“Why do you think that?” His voice sent shivers down your spine, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him. You saw his smirk deepen.

“Uh, well... I, um, it’s just-” You were stumbling over your own words. You could feel your face burning, but you couldn’t move away. He took a strand of your hair between his fingers and played with it softly. It’s almost as if he knew the effect he had on you (hint: he did. He would have to be an idiot not to notice).

“Can you keep a secret, (Y/N)?” J.D. asked, almost in a whisper. He was driving you insane.

“Um, y-yes?” You manage to spit out. You blinked your eyes furiously, not understanding where J.D. was going with this. Also, you were desperately trying to ignore the fact that he seemed to be getting closer to you - but that’s just your imagination, right?

Oh shit, it’s not your imagination. His face was so close to yours, if you tilted your head even slightly upwards, your lips would touch. Just one move, one singular move, and everything would change. Do it, (Y/N), a surprisingly courageous voice inside your head said.

Before you could do anything, a low voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re right.”

You pulled back your head a bit in confusion. “What?”

“You’re right. Everyone else in this school would never even guess that it wasn’t true. But you... you knew something wasn’t right from the beginning. You’re smart, and that’s why I became friends with you in the first place.” J.D.’s eyes had a dark, angry tint that wasn’t there before. “I know that of all people, you would understand.”

“Understand what? J.D., what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Heather Chandler, (Y/N).” He said quickly. “You’re right. It wasn’t a suicide.”

You processed this information for a moment. You knew it! Of course, it wasn’t suicide! You were right!

Wait. Hold on. Something about this is off.

Your eyes widen and you stare at J.D. in horror and disbelief.

“J.D... How do you know that?” You ask, not daring to rise above a whisper. No. No, there is absolutely no way that your best friend is a murderer. He can’t be. That’s ridiculous. This is all a misunderstanding. Please be a misunderstanding.

J.D. looks at you expectantly. “Come on, you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

Your worst fears have been confirmed, and honestly, it feels like a punch to the gut. You could feel the color draining out of your face. Your best friend took someone’s life, and judging by his reaction, he doesn’t feel very guilty about it. You start to move away from him without thinking. He grabs your arm and pulls you back.

“(Y/N), don’t be like that! Hear me out!” You refused to look him in the eye and he made a frustrated noise. He lifted your chin up so you had no choice but to stare at him face to face.

“Heather Chandler was a complete and utter monster. She terrorized people daily and she was never given any consequences. She deserved what she got. We can rid this world of assholes like her together!” He exclaimed passionately.

“J.D....” You said weakly. Fuck, if only you weren’t looking at him right now. If you weren’t looking at him you could definitely say no. You could say no and call the police and never have to deal with this again.

But you knew, looking at his face, you wouldn’t be able to resist. You would say yes. You would go along with his plan. A sick part of you was telling you, “Doesn’t he have a point? Heather Chandler was horrendous.” But the rest of you disagreed. No one deserved a fate like that, even someone as terrible as Heather.

But here you were, nodding as he gave you the most persuasive look he could muster. You hated yourself for it, but it was too late now.

As soon as he saw you nod, his face broke out into a rare smile. God, you knew you should hate him, but you were still a hormonal teenage girl who was in love with an idiotic boy. Not to mention, that smile was pretty fucking irresistible. When he looked at you like that, almost all of the worries and self-loathing from your previous decision were erased from your mind.

You weren’t thinking when you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, but you know you certainly weren’t expecting him to kiss you back.

You threaded your fingers through his hair while he gently pushed you on your back, hovering over you. The kiss was was full of fire, almost like a battle. His hands ran down your body until they came to rest at your waist. It seemed like you could keep kissing him forever, until you remembered that you needed to breathe.

You (albeit reluctantly) pull away. God, the sight of J.D like that was... amazing. His hair disheveled, his face pink, his breath coming out in sharp pants. You couldn’t think of anything that could even come close to comparing.

“I love you.” Those three words came out before you thought of the possible repercussions. To your surprise, he merely smirked.

“I know.” He said in a husky voice. You couldn’t take the time to revel in how breathtaking his voice sounded, because his mouth was on yours in almost a second. The kiss was so passionate that you knew in that moment that you were in way too deep, but God, you felt so alive. It felt like your body was racing with electricity. It was a perfect mixture of pleasure and excitement and you knew you could never let that go. 

It was that euphoric feeling that made you stay. That euphoric feeling that made you keep his secret from anyone and everyone. Jason Dean had you wrapped around his finger, and you would never have it any other way.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Blog Tour - Love Under Quarantine by Kylie Scott and Audrey Carlan

Love Under Quarantine, an all-new feel good strangers-to-lovers romance about finding love in the most unexpected ways from New York Times bestselling authors Kylie Scott and Audrey Carlan, is out now! While the world is ravaged by a global pandemic, hotshot NFL running back Evan Sparks is locked in his own personal hell. With a career-ending scandal on his back, Evan hides out in his best friend’s empty San Francisco home, the full city shutdown locking him in a lonely twenty-story apartment in the sky. Romance writer Sadie Walsh is having the worst case of writer’s block ever…until the incredible, muscular stranger staying next door gets her muse going strong. The pair of loners, never expecting to find a friend in all the madness, meet each day out on their balconies like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Each new day brings unique challenges for the pair as they navigate the unknown and find solace together. They quickly figure out that as long as they have one another, they can handle anything. Even falling in love under quarantine. *** Writing together for the first time, New York Times bestselling authors Kylie Scott and Audrey Carlan team up to tell a story that not only is a beautiful escape during a trying time, but a true lesson on the power of humanity’s ability to survive. Through a sexy, hopeful, strangers-to-lovers romance, the authors prove with love, trust, and faith, we can conquer anything. Download your copy today or read for FREE in Kindle  Unlimited! Amazon: https://amzn.to/2xb7wmo  Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/loveunderquarantine Excerpt SADIE Okay, reposition feet hip-distance apart and centered on the mat. Inhale and let it all go on the exhale. I look over the balcony across the barren city and try to find perspective. What did the teacher say? Set your intention? My intention is to maintain a modicum of good health and to not go insane during self-isolation. Fingers crossed on both fronts. Getting some work done wouldn’t be a bad idea either. “They locked down the fucking city, man!” The voice blocks me from finding my zen spot. Some big blond dude is pacing back and forth in the neighboring apartment. Guess we’ve all got to get our exercise one way or another. A nice quiet doctor owns the place, but he’s overseas right now. No idea who this guy is. The new cat sitter, maybe? If so, I hope Gloria housetrains him quickly because all of this shouty behavior is not okay. Not if I have to share a wall with him for the next few weeks. My new neighbor’s voice lowers to a more tolerable level and I take a deep, calming breath before moving into my next pose. Much better. Despite having questionable balance and being new to this whole yoga thing, I’m not doing too badly. It’s weird how quiet the city is with everything on lockdown. Peaceful, almost. “Two weeks! I’ll be stuck here for two weeks!” he rants once more. Ugh. Due to the architect’s penchant for floor to ceiling windows—perfect for letting in the light—I have quite the view of my new neighbor’s performance. Much angst. Such woe. Like we’re not all going to go stir crazy during lock in. Even if it has only just started. I for one can’t wait to see how many divorces and break-ups this causes. Call it morbid curiosity. Though, being a romance writer, my mind would be better served dwelling on the possibilities for true love in this situation. A random casual hook-up turning into so much more due to weeks of forced interaction? Roommates bonding over newly revealed shared interests? Nuh. Roommates entering into a sex pact to stave off boredom! Now that could work. Broken beds and broken hearts. That’s how to get things done. With the requisite happy ever after at the end, of course. “Excuse me!” he shouts, shoving a frustrated hand through his head of thick, wavy, dark blond hair. New phone call, I think. After all, you can’t yell at the same person all day long. How tedious would that be? Call me distractible, but watching him is actually a hell of a lot more interesting than perfecting my Downward Dog or doing yet another inventory of my pantry. Damn Oreos. I could have sworn I had another package. Day one and I’m already out of my favorite snack. Just bring on the apocalypse already. Without Oreos my life is already functionally over. “Are you kidding me!” The man sure has a set of lungs on him. Unfortunately, at this point, he about-faces and strides back into the apartment. Still yelling, of course, though I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. On the plus side, in those blue jeans, his ass is a thing of wonder. Honest to God. In less pandemic-y times, I’d charge my friends a bottle of wine to come over and witness the beauty of that thing. So tight. So nice. I lick my lips. Impressively broad shoulders beneath his T-shirt too. When he paces back to the front of the apartment, I’m presented with a strong jawline, high forehead, and a nose that could be slightly crooked. At least, it will be in the book. Readers dig that shit. The hint of a complicated past with a dash of violence thrown in for good measure. Ideally, he’d have broken it defending a small child or rescuing puppies. A combination of the two, perhaps? Yes, it’s a definite. Apart from the anger management issues, this guy is officially hot stuff. Not that I’m after an actual love interest. Just inspiration for the hero of my next book. Which is when it hits me…big buff dude reveals surprisingly sensitive side to sexy single introverted neighbor during quarantine. Hmm. It has possibilities. I stop procrastinating and move onto the next pose, arms out in a T, legs wide, and a slow bend at the waist. I exhale, pondering the plot idea along with the thickness of his thighs. The way the denim lovingly embraces every inch of his musculature. It’s like it’s on a loop playing over and over in my head. Okay, maybe I’m a little sex starved. He can feature in my masturbatory fantasies as well. After all, he’s that kind of can-do, helpful guy. Or at least, he is in my mind. And that’s where the man will stay. At a safe and appropriate distance. For both the virus and my heart. Meet the Authors About Kylie Scott Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013, 2014 & 2018, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into eleven different languages. She is a long time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet. Connect with Kylie Amazon: https://amzn.to/2XujcZh Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2GngiQq  Facebook: http://bit.ly/2OiXx3I  Twitter: http://bit.ly/391pjJM Instagram: http://bit.ly/2EUrx11  Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2Imusk3  Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2S7cc32  Book+Main Bites: http://bit.ly/2ETz5RQ Stay up to date with Kylie by joining her mailing list: http://bit.ly/2TOOivT Website: https://kyliescott.com About Audrey Carlan Audrey Carlan is a #1 New York Times and International bestselling author. Her titles have appeared on USA Today and the Wall Street Journal. Audrey writes wicked hot love stories that have been translated in over thirty different languages across the globe. She is best known for the world-wide bestselling series Calendar Girl and Trinity. She lives in the California Valley where she enjoys her two children and the love of her life. When she's not writing, you can find her teaching yoga, sipping wine with her "soul sisters," or with her nose stuck in a steamy romance novel. Connect with Audrey  Facebook: https://bit.ly/2V0qWSS  Amazon: https://amzn.to/2V0zr0j Bookbub: https://bit.ly/2x2rwaK  Instagram: https://bit.ly/39DdB8g Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2R9cIxM Stay up to date with Audrey by joining her mailing list: https://bit.ly/2V050Y1 Website: https://audreycarlan.com/ #StrangersToLoversRomance #NewYorkTimesBestsellingAuthor #KylieScott #AudreyCarlan #LoveUnderQuarantine

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/blog-tour-love-under-quarantine-by-kylie-scott-and-audrey-carlan

[bughead-fic-request]

I would like to thank @leaalda for making these amazing banners.

This is an effort to spread the word about all fan fiction writers in our little fandom. If you would like to be featured or nominate a writer, please contact me. Please reblog this post if you can and check out some of @itstenafterfour work!

1. First things first, if someone wanted to read your stories where can they find them.

Either on tumblr, or AO3. I prefer people reading them on AO3 though.

2. Tell us a little about yourself.

Okay, here goes. I’ve never been too great at talking about myself in a positive light but I’ll do my best here.

My real name and age are something I keep very private from this blog. There’s a real sharp divide between this blog and my real life.

You guys have taken to calling me Ten, and it’s growing on me. So that’s my name now — I’m Ten. I’m starting to like it more than my real (and unusual) name.

Anyway about me…I’m a serial procrastinator, dog mom to a tiny yorkie, and I like to think I give good advice, as tons of you guys have told me so when I help with problems over anon. I live in Canada, and I’m the author to about 12 (I think?) fics by now, which is more than I ever would if everyone hadn’t been so receptive and nice.

I don’t know if you’ll find this an interesting fact or a sad one, but I do tons of my writing in the hospital. I’m there a lot as I’ve got a plethora of health issues, and it gives me something to do with my time there, and makes it that much more tolerable. For that, I say thank YOU all for reading.

3. What do you never leave home without?

My laptop. It’s always in a sling case so I can write wherever I go.

4. Are you an early bird or a night owl?

I am worse than a night owl, I’m like a 4 AM owl. If there was a poster child for bad sleep schedules, it would be me.

5. If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?

God, I don’t trust fictional worlds. They’re all horrible in their own ways, and I wouldn’t last a day.

If I could live anywhere (and have wifi,) I’d live on the island of Themyscira from Wonder Woman.

6. Who is the most famous person you’ve ever met.

Um, does Brendon Urie noticing me on a livestream count?

But nah, I did meet Dan and Phil during their live show tour. I’ve been watching their videos for years, so it was a big deal to me. Still wild to me how tall they are.

7. What are some of your favorite movies/TV?

Okay, I am so bad with movies, I rarely watch them. But I do watch plenty of TV shows — here’s just a couple of the ones I enjoyed: Brooklyn Nine Nine (you guys KNOW how much I love this show), 13 Reasons Why (I know there’s controversy surrounding it but I think that save for a few scenes it was done well), Stranger Things, Chuck, the old Twin Peaks, Teen Wolf, Flashpoint, Your Lie In April (a fantastic anime) and I just started The Bold Type.

8. What are some of your favorite bands/musicians?

I listen to SO MUCH RANDOM STUFF. My spotify has about 10 or so different playlists and they all have different vibes. I guess right now I’ve been into The Cab, Blackbear, Porter Robinson, and The Neighbourhood, but that’s probably going to change in like, two days. I’m also currently in love with the songs Shelter by Madeon and Porter Robinson, and Only by RY X.

9. Favorite Books?

I feel like such a fake. I love reading but I rarely read books. I guess my all time favourite would have to be Me and Earl and the Dying Girl. (The movie’s also fantastic!)

10. Favorite Food?

I eat SO MUCH ICE CREAM. It’s insane.

11. Biggest pet peeve?

If someone is directly next to me when I’m on my laptop. First off, I feel super constrained if I can’t move my elbows freely as I type, and second, I hate it when anyone stares down my screen trying to see what I’m doing on my laptop.

12. What did you want to be when you were little? What do you want to be now?

When I was little, I wanted to be an artist. Now, I just want to find some direction in life, whatever it may be. The medical field interests me, but i’m not sure if it’s something I could really do as a career.

13. What are your biggest fears? Do you have any strange fears?

Biggest fears? Why is it that now I’m asked this and I blank out? To quote Jughead Jones,

“Fear of the unknown, fear of facing it alone. Fear that those closest to us are the monsters.”

Make of that what you will.

14. When you are on your deathbed what would be the one you’d regret not doing?

I’d regret not being more confident in myself, for sure.

Okay… lets talk about your writing!

15. Which is your favorite of the fics you've written for the Bughead fandom?

Oh gosh, this is a tough one! But if I had to pick, then it’s a tie between The Ninety-Ninth Precinct (it was fun mixing two shows I love, and writing a more light and breezy Bughead.) and A Perfect Place To Start. You guys seemed to like that one.

16. Which was the hardest to write, in terms of plot?

Smut is always tough for me, so anything that escalates beyond making out is always a bit of a challenge for me, so The Snake Charmer and Before The Moment’s Gone were hard.

17. How do you come up with the ideas for you fic(s)? Do you people watch? Listen to music? Get inspired by TV/movies?

My ideas come from all over the place. Some from music, some from movies and TV shows I just have to twist into an au. Others come from the prompts you guys send me.

18. Idea that you always wanted to write but could never make work?

Anything where you’ve got a hotter or more confident version of either Betty or Jughead. If I’m honest with you, it’s hard for me to write anything where I don’t see myself in the characters or relate to them. I’ve tried to do a hotter Jughead, but it always ends up with him being the sardonic dork he is because I can’t write characters I don’t connect to. And as a quiet outsider-type myself writing sexy confident characters is a challenge because they just don’t resonate with me in a way I could write them.

19. Least favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

Um, I’m not sure I’ve got one, really. Anything I don’t like gets scrapped and never sees the light of day, so I’m actually pretty okay with what I’ve put out.

20. Favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

Okay, so my favourite scene was writing Betty warming up to Jughead’s motorcycle in A Perfect Place to Start. It was fun to see that progression from her thinking it’s a cliché to enjoying riding on it and cheering.

21.Favorite character to write?

I always enjoy writing Betty, because I connect with her character. I feel like she’s one of those characters I can really understand, I know why she feels the way she does and I can relate to that. And like I said, I can only write characters that I see myself in, so I can draw on my own experiences.

22. Favorite line or lines of dialogue that you've written?

I could never narrow it down to just a line, but if I can say a section it’s this excerpt from a ficlet I did:

Her cheeks and lips were a warm, rosy, invited shade of red, and every one of her breaths came out a breathy swirl of white in the cold November air. Her lips were curled up into a smile. She looked like a work of art, painted by the finest artist with the most beautiful array of pigments he’d ever seen. Jughead wanted nothing more than to meet her lips and kiss her over and over again until the lines on her forehead, marking her confusion and bitterness over what he’d known was a horrible day disappeared.

23. Best comment/review you’ve ever received?

Every single positive review makes my day. Any comment from @jandjsalmon, who basically defines the gold standard for fic comments. I couldn’t even pick one.

24. How do you handle bad reviews or comments?

Horribly. I’ve cried before.

I am a self destructive writer, and when I pour so much work into a fic sheerly because of how much I doubt myself already, so it hurts like hell to get mean comments. I always skim and delete as fast as I can before my eyes can focus on it too much and read and internalize it, but what does stay in my mind stays for weeks.

25. If you could change anything in any of your stories, what would it be?

I guess to make my dialogue better. I’m great at descriptions but I always feel like my dialogue falls short.

26. What is your favorite story you’ve ever written? Any fandom?

What I listed above, those two for Bughead. definitely. And I have one fic for b99 (it’s a special request from a friend) over on my AO3 which I’m very proud of.

27. What are you reading right now? Both fan fiction and general fiction?

I’m not reading anything in real life right now, but in terms of fic I’m currently digging Wicked Games by @charlesbbass (and not just because Ari’s my best friend on this site and I’ve had some exclusive access to the plot, but because it’s insanely well written!) and By Mere Happenstance by @it-happened-one-starry-night. This slow burn is setting me on fire and I’m living for it.

28. Do you have an advice for writers that want to get into this fandom but might be scared?

Whatever you put out there, I promise there will be an audience for at least one person. Whatever you publish, at least one person will read it, I swear to you. For each positive comment is 10 people who read the fic and were too scared to leave one. So write, and popularity just happens. You worry about writing for now, and I promise you, readers will follow suit. I believe in you.