#The jenga tower is SO TENSE TOO!!

[outer-space-face]

Help the Smosh vs Zombies brainrot is already starting, I can feel it.

[rhythymicwriting]

Salpêtrière - Thirteen

Art supplies threatened to fall out of their grasp, their sketchy jenga tower of items bundled in their arms teetered as they walked. Solomon might still be in the studio if they got there soon, but as long as he didn’t lock it, they didn’t really care. 

Rope creaked above their head as MC rounded the corner, freezing at the curtain of purple hair obscuring the rest of the hall. A nervous chuckle sounded from the woman, her face flushed. She swung steadily, hugging a knee to her chest as she reached for her other ankle. Thirteen was suspended by her ankle in the middle of the hallway. “A little help?” She laughed, dropping back toward the ground. The rope bounced at the sudden jerk, her swing increasing ever so slightly. 

MC sighed. This woman really was hopeless. They’d lost count of how often they’d helped her out of one of her traps. They worked better on the reaper than any of her targets. MC flicked their pocket knife open, dumping their supplies to the side and finding where the rope was tied to a cauldron filled with rocks. Instead of untying it or letting her down slowly, MC opted to saw through the rope, letting the reaper careen to the floor. She plummeted face first to the rug. 

“Ow, shit.” Thirteen groaned. She seemed alright at first, pushing herself onto her knees before collapsing back to the ground. She fell hard onto her shoulder. “Shit!” 

The human’s smile dropped. They flipped the knife shut, running over to the reaper. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine just…” She winced, massaging her hand. “I fell on my wrist.” She laughed softly. She took the hand they offered her, climbing to her feet. MC walked her to the cafeteria, buying a cold drink to ice her wrist. It seemed not even RAD could keep a nurse on campus more than twice a week. They ducked into an empty classroom, Thirteen hopping on a desk as she clutched the bottle to her joint. She talked about anything and everything that came to mind as MC rooted through the teacher’s desk for a first aid kit. They looked at her strangely when they returned with athletic tape. MC chuckled and shook their head, taking both Thirteen’s hand and the bottle, setting the soda to the side and applying the supportive tape to her wrist. 

“What was that trap anyway?” MC asked, not looking up from her mummified joint. 

The reaper’s feet kicked between them, the movements just barely avoiding hitting MC’s knees. Her eyes danced around the room. “Solomon likes to paint there so I thought I could get him on his way out, but he came out when I was looking the other way and pushed me into the loop.” She laughed, a breathy one that your throat stops too early and kinda chokes itself out.  

MC had never seen Thirteen this fidgety before and they had calculus with her. Something was clearly wrong. They set her hand gently on her lap, tilting their head to look her in the eye. She side eyed them briefly, before becoming too interested in what was probably the most boring poster in the room. “Hey,” The reaper tensed at their gentle tone. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

She giggled again. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thirteen.” MC’s voice was stern, the reaper still avoiding their eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” They sighed, falling quiet. MC climbed on the desk beside Thirteen, sitting in silence with her for what felt like ages. 

“MC,” Thirteen began, her voice solemnly quiet. “Do you know where reapers come from?”

“Storks?” The human joked. 

She laughed, shaking her head. “In a way, yeah.” Thirteen’s face tightened again. “We, uh… Reapers were human…once.” MC straightened, giving the woman their full attention. Thirteen picked at the edges of the tape, ignoring the ache in her arm. “Reapers are… humans that killed themselves…”

“What?” MC’s voice was barely a whisper, their eyes wide.

“Technically.”

“Diavolo told you they’re ‘between realms’ right? That’s because we don’t classify anymore… We interfered with our lifelines, so we can’t go to ‘heaven’ or ‘hell.’” She talked with her hands, rambling quickly through the incredibly complicated technicalities that would naturally lead to the creation of a new species of supernatural being. MC didn’t seem to be taking any of it in, but Thirteen couldn’t seem to stop herself. “We’re punished for that interference by having to monitor the lives of others and harvest their souls when they die. It kind of sucks, really, having your sentence be to watch others living out happy lives after you chose to end yours early, but I guess it’s fitting and I really don’t mind, I mean, it’s kind of fun and I like to see people that are happy.”

“Thirteen, you…” MC interrupted. The reaper fell eerily quiet. “You’re dead?”

“You,” MC’s eyes looked like shimmering pearls, tears threatening to breach their surfaces. “You killed yourself?”

The reaper didn’t answer for a moment, her own eyebrows drawing tightly together, the corners of her mouth pulling upward in a strained smile. “I don’t like to think of it that way.”

MC’s voice was tight and low. “You don’t like to think of it that way… What does that mean, Thirteen?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds really bad.”

“How am I supposed to say it?”

She hesitated. “...I’m not sure.”

“Why?” MC’s voice cracked. “Why would you do that?”

Thirteen breathed deeply. “I… I couldn’t take it anymore. I hated the world. I hated every moment. Every ‘hello’ felt like sandpaper in my throat. Every face was like candles on my retinas. Every pill felt like a new bar on a cage, forcing me to be something I’m not. Every smile, forced to keep the crazy girl from lashing out. Every feeling I had looked like an atom bomb to the people around me. My family sent me away. They said I was crazy. Maybe I was. They sent me to an asylum. They gave me pills, shocked me, left me in cells by myself for weeks at a time. It was hell. I don’t think they wanted to help me. I think they just got a kick out of it.”

“I never got a single letter when I was there.” Tears started to run down her face, paving wet trails against her burning cheeks. “I didn’t know patients even got letters for the first two years I was there. My roommate told me the day before she left. She’d been getting them the whole three months she was there. For two years no one even told me.” 

She was gesturing wider, her voice coarse and loud now. “I was tired of being an exhibit, a freak show, something to look at to feel better about the world they lived in. I was tired of people’s faces changing when they looked at me. Their smiles were never real. I wasn’t human to them. Not anymore.” Thirteen wiped at her face, the skin stretching and pulling under her hands. She dug her palms into her cheeks, as if trying to scrape off the water. “I started cutting when my roommate left. There wasn’t anyone left to stop me. The nurses never looked if no one told them to. I chewed my fingernails until they could grab skin and it helped me cope for a while. Not long enough, I suppose. They really should’ve had overnight staff in asylums. Maybe it would have been a little harder to get to the roof.” She smiled grimly. 

“It was only dark for a moment. I remember I was angry at first. I didn’t believe in an afterlife, and I'm sure you understand that when someone chooses to die, they aren’t excited about living again. But a voice called out to me. It told me that what I had done was against the laws of life and the natural order and I would pay for it with my afterlife. It told me I was reborn, a reaper, and I would spend eternity watching others enjoy what I gave up and they would beg me to keep it when I came to collect their souls. And I would have to take them anyway. That’s the part of the job I hate, you know. I love watching people live, people with shiny, beautiful, happy souls. Seeing people that live happy, fulfilling lives is a perk. I never got that. I like that others can. I don’t want anyone to suffer how I did. But when they beg me. I hate that. I don’t want their lives to end either. Really. But I have to do it. If I don’t, they become like me. They become an anomaly, an outlier, a reaper.”

MC stared at her, stunned. “That’s… wow.”

“Sorry, it’s a lot.” She laughed. 

“Yeah,” MC’s voice was still quiet. They continued staring at her, cheeks damp and mouth agape. Her face was still red, eyes burning, dry, and sore. She took another breath. 

“That’s… uh. That’s why I don’t trust people. I can’t keep friends and I’m…” She trailed off. 

“Scared.” 

“Yeah.”

MC set their hand on the desk, palm up, inviting Thirteen to take it. Hesitantly, she did. They didn’t say anything, letting the quiet fall back over them. Still uneasy but no longer tense, the silence was welcome. 

“When you were human,” MC began, turning their attention to the woman. “Were your eyes always that green?”

Thirteen laughed. “No, I think they were blue. I don’t remember that well.”

“Blue?”

“Maybe.” She smiled.

“Do all reapers have pretty green eyes?”

“Most. Some are kinda ugly though.” MC laughed this time. 

“What about your hair? Do you dye it?”

“Yeah and it’s a bitch to keep up on.”

“What color is it naturally?”

“Grey.”

“Grey?!”

“Yeah, like old lady grey.”

“Gross.”

“Tell me about it.”

The two laughed loudly. The conversation bounced between them like a tennis match for another hour, though it only felt like minutes. The two talked with their hands, talking animatedly atop the desks. However, on the desk between them, MC’s hand lay perfectly fixed, palm up, and Thirteen’s hand rested atop it, long, polished fingernails shimmering under the lights as her fingers curled around MC’s, steady and still. 

[handelplayssims]

We’re back! And the whole house is awake which doesn’t seem quite right. I did add in some new households within this save file so perhaps the whole house reset. -shrug- Anyway, I’m sending everyone but Kiara back to bed. Kiara seems like she has the energy to sustain herself awake, after all. Her whims are to chat with a girl that is somehow a friend of hers and to paint! What does an energized mood person even paint? Perhaps pop art! Painting made and now I suppose we clean up. ...you know what I want her to do? To work on her homework. Sure she may be a rebellious teen but getting into uni would be good for her, even with a B-grade. Annnd Zayne’s awake so let’s let him work on his mental skill as well via homework too. Aww, and now the kids are working together. How sweet! Those two are really becoming friends, aren’t they?

Ashlynn is awake and grumpy! Look out kids! I had her yell at them before she got called away to work. Angry! The perfect moodlet to come into the police force with! Anyway, being a cop is one of the active careers added in Get to Work. I do like to have these careers in general, just for further options for my Sims to be! Ashlynn first gets a case and then gets to go to a crime scene to assist another detective. Today we’re going to...the rather sprawling Villareal estate. Oh boy! The perfect lot the search for crimes! So basically what we do is to click on the ground and search for clues. ...honestly, this house is packed to the gills with stuff so I don’t know if we’ll be any lucky in finding clues. We manage to take a witness report and find one in a bathroom. Then we finally find two by a sorched jukebox. Emboldened, I try to head back to other sorched spots but find next to nothing. We get the alert that it’s an hour until closing time. Frantically I try searching some more...to no luck. And we only get 27 simmoleans. -sigh- Alas.

We return from work. Kiara is up to a B-grade, just as I hoped for! Anyway, I set the kids to doing their homework again. Santiago has a sad moodlet from his wife being all tense from work. Alas, there isn’t much for him to do outside of just wait for her to clear her low-fun moodlet. Kiara...needs to go to the restroom but it is taken! So let’s have her work on a painting while she waits. ...evidently helping with homework is fun? Doesn’t seem like it but hey. Zayne’s whims are...to become an enemy with Megan Knoles and to solve hard problems. It’s time to be a scientist man! With scientist plans and make three emotional potions! For auto-solving fun needs, Santiago went to the Jenga tower and so yeah sure! Let’s have Ashlynn join! Oooh, Kiara made a real cute bird art painting! It goes on the wall!

My favorite pieces get kept for herself! Anyway, I took this opportunity to kick Zayne’s potion thing off the lot and add in a desk instead for himself. And then I went ahead and gave Kiara a Britechester pendant. I am still thinking about what degree she’d actually go into but she’d be more of a Britechester gal. (Or perhaps I am, who knows!) And I gave Santiago some private time with his kitty before heading to bed to sleep. Time for-!

Neighborhood Watch!

Henford-on-Bagley: The Ennis household recently moved in.

Angie Ruth in the Ruth household has died. Angie was victim to a vicious chicken attack.

I recognize that name! RIP!

Evergreen Harbor: The Sorenson household recently moved in.

Khaled Mansouri in the Mansouri household has died. Khaled got on the bad side of a chicken.

[thebluewritingbench]

10) “Please, for the love of god, do not explain any of what I’m seeing.”

I feel like there could be a lot good comedic dialogue with this one.

I’ve enjoyed your Supercorp stories so far ❤️

thank you!! here have some more fluff: this is disgust #10 from these dialogue prompts

"Please, for the love of god, do not explain any of what I'm seeing."

“Your Monopoly set is cursed.”

Lena glares at the board, currently filled with houses and hotels, abandoned pieces still spaced around the edges. She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch instead of sitting on it and looking disgruntled. Her nose is scrunched in disgust, and Kara kind of wants to reach over and boop it.

Instead, she leans back on her hands and grins at Lena. “I don’t think the fact that you lost means it’s cursed.”

Laughter rings out loudly from the kitchen, and Kara catches Nia’s cackle above the rest. It’s the tail end of game night, the point where the games are starting to be forgotten halfway through and abandoned in favour of fervent drunk rants and trips to the kitchen for more snacks. Right now, Kara can hear Nia trying to convince the others to climb out the fire escape and up to the roof.

It’s just her and Lena left in the living room now, and Kara’s had enough aldebaran rum and coke that everything is a little fuzzy around the edges.

Lena falls forwards slightly, like she’s tilting on her axis. She’s a lot floppier when she’s drunk. “I think that’s exactly what it means,” she says. “I always win Monopoly. I am the queen of Monopoly. I do not go bankrupt.”

“You did in this game,” Kara laughs, catching her hands. Lena beams at her, forgetting to be irritated for a moment before she quickly overcompensates with an expression that’s far too serious to be believable.

“Because it’s cursed,” she says.

“Because Alex beat you.”

Lena gasps. “Alex cursed Monopoly.”

“Alex did not curse Monopoly,” says Kara, swatting at her. Lena laughs and swats her back, so they’re hitting each other’s hands as she talks. “There were just a lot of us and you had bad luck this time.”

“Like I said, cursed!”

There’s the sound of a window opening and closing, and the chatter in the kitchen swells and fades slightly. Nia must have convinced everyone to go up to the roof. Kara cranes her neck to try and see if there’s anyone still left in the kitchen.

“Stupid Monopoly,” Lena mutters, mostly to herself. “Fuck Monopoly.” And just as Kara’s turning back to look at her, she reaches out and hits the board off the table, sending cards and plastic pieces flying.

“Lena!” says Kara.

Lena does not have the grace to look abashed. In fact, she looks quite pleased with herself, like a cat who just knocked something over.

“You can’t just knock over the Monopoly,” says Kara, scraping up handfuls of little plastic houses and hotels from the carpet. “What if we wanted to keep playing?”

“Oh, pfft,” says Lena, unbothered, flipping dark hair away from her face. “Everyone’s too drunk to play now anyways. We weren’t going to keep playing.”

“You don’t know that.” Kara plucks a Monopoly house from her palm and throws it at Lena. It bounces off her forehead, and Lena’s jaw drops in a comical exaggeration of betrayal.

“Did you just throw a hotel at me?”

“It was a house, actually,” says Kara, picking another one to throw. This one bounces off Lena’s cheekbone. “That was a hotel.”

“You did not just do that.” Lena leans across the table and snatches a stack of Monopoly money, then launches it in Kara’s direction. It flutters down over the table and carpet. A bill brushes Kara’s ear. One lands on Lena’s head.

“That’s paper, it’s not going to do anything.”

“Don’t test me,” says Lena, scrambling out from behind the coffee table and grabbing the rest of the stack of money. She flicks it off her hand, a few bills at a time, sending a rain of multicoloured money over Kara and scattering the once tidy piles across the floor. The bills slide under the couch and TV. Kara chokes out stop between her laughter, still tossing tiny houses and game pieces at Lena.

There’s a bowl of gummy bears on the table, and when Kara runs out of Monopoly pieces, she reaches for a handful of those and starts throwing them at Lena instead. Lena’s moved on to throwing the cards at her, and it’s really going to be a bitch to pick it all up tomorrow, but Kara’s laughing too hard to care. Lena’s cackling, and she stumbles to the side and crashes into the coffee table, knocking over the remaining Jenga tower as she goes down. It only makes them both laugh harder.

Popcorn. The bowl of popcorn on the couch still hasn’t been knocked over, so Kara grabs a fistful of that and throws it. It’s better than the gummy bears, it sticks in Lena’s hair and falls down her blouse.

Having finally exhausted the contents of Monopoly, Lena reaches for her own handfuls of popcorn and gummy bears. “Take that,” she says, alternating between throwing the two snacks at Kara. “And that.” A gummy bear lands in Kara’s mouth. A piece of popcorn hits her eye.

Hiccupping back her laughter, Kara reaches blindly across the table for her drink, and without really thinking about it, flicks her wrist and tosses the entire contents directly at Lena’s face.

Everything freezes. Lena looks stunned, blinking rum and coke from her eyes. Amber liquid drips from her chin, her hair.

Kara, eyes wide, only manages, “Oh my god, Lena, I am so—” before Lena’s vodka soda is hitting her in the face. She gasps, inhaling a mouthful down her windpipe. Lena looks far too smug when she finally manages to stop coughing, and some instinct in Kara must take over because she lunges forwards and tackles Lena to the carpet.

Lena shrieks and laughs and squirms, and Kara pins both her hands above her head with one hand, sitting on her knees to straddle Lena’s waist. Instinct still driving her, she leans forwards and licks a wet strip up Lena’s cheek.

When she sits back again, Lena has stopped squirming and is staring up at her, utterly bemused. “Did you just lick me?”

“You’re covered in aldebaran rum and coke,” Kara grins. “Wouldn’t want it to go to waste. It’s expensive stuff, Lena.”

“Oh, so you’re trying to drink me.”

Kara shrugs. “Drink, eat, whatever.”

She’s basically sitting over Lena’s middle, which means she feels the way Lena’s stomach jerks slightly against her pelvis in a sharp inhale. Feels the way Lena tenses, like every muscle in her body has gone taut. Lena swallows, licks her lips nervously, which of course brings Kara’s full attention to her mouth.

Her lips are so pink, and so pretty and plush, and she suddenly looks so kissable it’s unbearable. It feels like Kara has to kiss her, like it’s a physical compulsion. She takes Lena’s chin in her free hand, squishing her cheeks slightly as Lena stares at her, and whispers, “Wait, wait, wait.”

Then, very gently, softly, quickly, she presses her lips to Lena’s.

Lena blinks at her, eyelashes fluttering, when she pulls away. There’s a long silence where she searches Kara’s eyes before she says, voice low, “Again?”

Kara leans forwards and presses a second experimental kiss to Lena’s lips. She lingers a moment longer than the first one, then pulls back an inch, still holding Lena’s hands fast above her head.

“Yes?” she whispers.

Lena nods, like she can’t quite remember how to speak. Then she says, “More.”

When Kara kisses her for a third time, her lips are already parted slightly, and they slot easily between Kara’s.

They’re so soft.

She tastes like vodka soda and gummy bears, and it’s almost more than Kara’s drunk brain can process at once; Lena’s warm body pressed to hers, her slim wrists in Kara’s hand, the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the slick brush of her tongue. She loses herself in it, forgets time, forgets how they got here, forgets everything but Lena.

It’s finally quiet after all their shrieking and laugher, just the sound of their lips melding together. Kara’s not sure how long they’ve been kissing—perhaps a minute, perhaps a lifetime—when someone clears their throat loudly, like they’ve already done it once or twice.

Kara breaks away, and Lena makes a small protesting sound in the back of her throat, a tiny whimper. They both look over Kara’s shoulder at Alex, who’s standing in the doorway looking faintly queasy.

Kara watches her take in the scene: Lena lying on the ground with Kara straddling her waist and pinning her hands above her head, the pile of Monopoly money and pieces that they’re lying in, the gummy bears and popcorn scattered across the floor and in their hair, the drinks that are still dripping from both their furtive, swollen-lipped faces.

Alex opens her mouth, and then presses it closed again.

“You know what,” she says, after a long moment. “I don’t think I want to know. Please, for the love of god, just… do not explain any of what I’m seeing right now.”

Without another word, she turns on her heel and disappears back into the kitchen.

Kara and Lena turn back to each other, still pressed together on the floor, breath uneven. Lena’s flushed, eyes dark, lips parted. She really does look good enough to eat. Her wrists twitch under Kara’s hand.

They stare at each other. Several long seconds tick by. Then, simultaneously, they start laughing.

It’s a long time before they stop.

[star1117-archives]

𝟏𝟓:𝟏𝟔 - 𝐂. 𝐉𝐇

➵ Genre : Fluff

➵ W.C : 495

➵ Warnings : N/A

© 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝟏𝟏𝟏𝟕-𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost or use my work in any way, shape or form.

“Y’know, I actually kinda hate you.”

Scoffing, you tapped Jongho’s forehead with the jenga block you’d just taken out of the tower, somehow managing to do it despite his goading and the precarious position the piece was in. You wiggled your eyes at the idiot before placing it on the top, ignoring his over exaggerated complaints due to the ‘pain’.

“I take back the kinda, I just plain old hate you.”

Rolling your eyes, you rubbed the extremely small mark your made on his forehead, proceeding to then kiss it better.

“Stop being a pussy.”

Despite your words, Jongho’s cheeks were red from your actions, his ears also a similar colour. He’d frozen in place, a dopey smile on his face as you faced the other way, impatiently waiting for Jongho to take his turn. When he didn’t, you turned around expectantly, breaking out into a small smile when you saw his dazed expression.

“Awh! I made your heart skip a beat, didn’t I? Look at you!”

You grabbed Jongho’s face and smooshed his cheeks together, making his pretty lips form a pout. You then leaned forward and kissed it, pulling away soon after and smirking proudly. With his cheeks now practically beaming, Jongho shrugged you off and leaned forward, his hand shaking as he reached for a Jenga piece.

“Shut up, no you didn’t.”

Even though he vehemently denied it, you knew Jongho’s words were just that; words. He was so utterly in love with you, practically head over heels for you, that any little action would make his heart race. His cheeks warm. But, he tried to pretend to be cool and charismatic around you and to be honest, it really wasn’t working.

Crawling around his figure on the sofa, you backhugged him tightly, holding him close as your head rested on his shoulder, breath tickling his ear. As expected, the awkward male tensed up in your grasp, much to your delight. His shakes became even worse as he reached for the wooden brick once again, letting out a deep breath to try and steady himself. Eventually, he grabbed a brick, just about to pull it out when you whispered into his ear.

“Love you, Jjong.”

And just as you hypothesised, the tower came crashing down, Jongho’s hand jerking up at your words. He turned to you in shock, his facial expression one of competitive anger.

“That’s not fair!”

You just giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sitting back in your place on the sofa. It wasn’t long before you soon enveloped the indignant man once again however, pulling him down on top of you. He struggled but you held firm, the male eventually giving up and relaxing against his will on top of you.

“I don’t like you sometimes. Like I love you, but I really don’t like you sometimes.”

Scoffing, you just pressed a kiss to his cheek again and shushed him, holding him close.

“Love you too, Baby.”

ೄྀ࿐ SFW Taglist !! ˊˎ-

@agustd-essert @hyuckilstan @a-soft-hornytiny @nyghtwolff-1117 @artemis-in-your-area @violetwinters @katelynnsqueendom @galaxybambam @yunhobabygurl @lee--felix @multidreams-and-desires @starlightracha @b1zcx5 @deja-vux @itbecina @kun-flower @ccarpc @anpanseok @yunhosprettyhand @mingitheii @vilavixg @mrcarrots @the-answer-is-love-yrself @effulgentfireflies @serialee @taehyunscaramelfrappe @lisa14-blog1 @imwhoever @cactusmalassus @ateezbabysitters @meowmeowminnie @soft-teddybear @cheline @hwarora @a1sh1teruu @fantasy2wonderland @xuxibelle @dazzlingligth @simeonswhore

Apply for the taglists here -> ꕥ༉‧₊˚.

[painsandconfusion]

Soft Caretaker / Whumpee Interactions

Wouldja look at that. Sand can write comfort. Weird, I know. @not-amber-schmidt got me thinking about it.

Just some soft comfort things for your bruised babies in recovery. Enjoy.

Caretaker and Whumpee spread out a picnic blanket in the park, watching for shapes in the clouds and they role lazily by.

Caretaker and Whumpee sitting on a beach, trying to guess who the seagulls will terrorize next. Laughing and exchanging "I told you so"s when they get one right.

The two decorating the house for the holidays. Snacking on far too much chocolate and candy as they put up cheesy figurines and window stickers.

Caretaker making two cups of tea and wordlessly handing one to Whumpee, sitting next to them so they are just a little bit less alone.

Whumpee knocks quietly on Caretaker's door after a nightmare. They slip into Caretaker's bed, snuggling in close and letting the fear melt away into warmth and sleepiness.

Caretaker and Whumpee curled up on the couch watching a horror movie. Caretaker holds them close during the scary parts, letting them bury their face in Caretaker's shoulder.

Caretaker and Whumpee are washing both sides of a glass door at the same time. Caretaker laughs, trying to perfectly mirror Whumpee's movements. Whumpee darts the rag back and forth, trying to evade them until the two are cracking up, playing tag until the glass is spotless.

Caretaker and Whumpee sit on the ground in front of a campfire, staring into the shimmering coals and telling countless stories.

The two climb onto the roof with a bottle of cheap wine in the middle of the night. They just lay there, passing it back and forth as they stare up at the constellations.

Caretaker and Whumpee singing along to the song on the radio at the top of their lungs, bouncing up and down as they drive down long, empty highways lit by stars.

Caretaker gently putting a kitten in Whumpee's lap. Reassuring them that they won't drop it or hurt it. Guiding their hands to pet gently along its back as it curls up to sleep.

Caretaker gently brushing through Whumpee's hair, pulling free any knots or tangles.

Caretaker making Whumpee close their eyes. They hand-feed them pieces of fruit or candy, letting them try to guess what one they just got. Whumpee gets most of them wrong, but is laughing anyway, swearing they're doing better than Caretaker would.

Caretaker washing Whumpee's hair. Whumpee's eyes flutter closed as Caretaker massages the sweet shampoo into their scalp. Their tense muscles unwind under the soothing, rhythmic pressure.

Caretaker and Whumpee playing Jenga on the floor of the living room. Caretaker blows on the tower, prompting Whumpee to squeal 'No no no!' as Caretaker laughs. When Whumpee wins regardless, they beam at Caretaker.

Caretaker holds Whumpee's hand as they drive, gently rubbing their thumb up and down Whumpee's.

Caretaker asks Whumpee to cut their hair. It's just a trim, but Whumpee is nervous they'll mess it up. "Don't worry. I trust you. It's going to turn out great."

Caretaker reading a book out loud while Whumpee works on small chores, knowing their voice will sooth them, even if the words are random or out of context.

Caretaker draws a bath for Whumpee after a stressful day. They get it exactly the right temperature with scented, soothing oils. A place where they can just escape, sit and forget the worries of the day.

Caretaker snugging Whumpee in a big, fluffy blanket, wrapping them up like a big floofy burrito.

Playing video games together, just letting the world melt away as they explore the game and talk to npcs, reading the dialogues out loud in silly voices.

Hugs. Just....big hugs. Long hugs when Whumpee comes home. Quick goodbye hugs. Surprise hugs. Tackle hugs. Soft hugs. All the hugs.

Caretaker and Whumpee walk through the park, holding hands. Pointing out squirrels chasing each other around the trees and sitting for a while to watch the ducks swim.

Caretaker gives Whumpee their big, cozy, worn out hoodie. Whumpee wraps themself completely in it, refusing to take it off.

.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @jadeocean46910 @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @lav-whumps @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim )

[noonastopride]

Pride, Chapter 7

2879 wc

The Northern Pride formed to give some of the female Alpha Hybrids a safe place where they could live, and thrive, away from the aggressive advances of weaker males.

The idea of Mates was like a fairy tale to them, until one of their own finds hers on a business trip.

Agust was happy working as a chef in his mother's restaurant in South Korea, but dropped everything to be with his Mate. After a tense introduction to her Pride, he makes himself at home and finds he fits in with the women his Mate considers her sisters.  

Now that he’s met them, he suspects the females of the Northern Pride might actually have Mates; his brother and friends from his Pride back in Korea.

Chapter 7

  Lawn Jenga gave the group a chance to mingle outside of the new pairings. As interested as each individual was about their own Mate, they were also eager to get to know the others as well. It was clear that, on both sides, the groups were tight knit. And that meant that every single new mate was also gaining an entire family unit.

  Rayne took her opportunity to sneak away when her Mate was busy helping set up the game. Well. She thought she was being sneaky, but Jungkook watched her walk down to hide on the far side of the shed by the water. Although he wanted to follow her, and maybe try to coax a kiss from her, he decided she needed some time to herself to breathe. They had time to work on things.

   It had gotten dark enough that the strings of white bulb deck lights had come on, giving the area a beautiful glow. The group moved the table and chairs back to make room for the game on the level concrete of the patio, and then spread out to watch and visit.

    Jungkook and Seokjin were first to challenge each other. Namjoon laughed and explained why it was not surprising in any way, as those two were constantly trying to best one another.

“It’s a bit of an Alpha curse. And those two are always vying to see who’s on top,” he explained to the group of women.

Rokki sat in the grass next to Angel and Jimin to watch. She wasn’t feeling too shy about watching her Mate, in fact she was quietly rooting for him while talking with the new couple.

“Rokki? Can I ask you a question?” Jimin asked.  His head was cocked to the side just enough for Angel to inwardly sigh about how adorable he was.

“Shoot,” Rokki felt comfortable around Jimin. She had no hesitance in answering him.

“Why are you avoiding Seokjin?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rokki was trying hard to cover her shyness, “I just sat next to him throughout that whole dinner.”

“True, true. But you never looked directly at him, or held any kind of conversation with him. Do you not find him attractive?”

Rokki looked around to make sure no one was listening, especially her mate who was, at that moment, circling the Jenga tower looking for his next move,

“No,” she said in just above a whisper, “he’s so hot it’s insane.”

Jimin laughed. He found her shyness to be cute,

“Why are you whispering?” he asked between chuckles.

Rokki knew her face was red, but that was nothing compared to the color that rose to her cheeks when her Mate spoke,

“Because she didn’t want me to hear her.” Seokjin slapped a jenga piece hard enough that it flew to the side without disturbing the tower before he smiled at her and winked.

Rokki’s whole body jumped when the piece of wood flew, and she muttered “Fuck me!” under her breath. That man was far sexier than any man she had ever seen before.

   Jimin couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard at the startled look on Rokki’s face that he fell over in the grass. Once he composed himself he pulled Angel down to lay with him. She snuggled against his side and laid her head on his shoulder, content and comfortable in a way she had never been before. They didn’t need to talk. They just existed, together in their little bubble.

   The Jenga tower ended up being knocked over by both men. They lost balance while pushing and wrestling with each other, and leaned a little too hard in that direction. Of course they each blamed the other for the destruction of the tower, and ended up calling a tie since neither would take a loss.

    Down by the water, Rayne had done more than just hide. She made a habit of wearing a bathing suit under her clothes during the warmer months so she could go jump in the water whenever she felt like it, so she was well prepared to shed her shorts and shirt and pull one of the paddle boards out into the water. She made sure not to go out too far, it was dark and she didn’t want to worry anyone.

   The water always brought Rayne solace. Whenever she was troubled she could be found near the shoreline. That evening she sat on her board with her knees pulled up to her chest and looked out over the water, listened to the small waves tickle the shore, felt the rock of the board and made an effort to get past the scent of her mate to smell the fresh air. Grounding herself and her emotions.

   She heard the ruckus by the house. There was a lot of laughter, and for that she was glad. Her sisters deserved the world, and she hoped these Alphas would treat them as such. If they were anything like Agust they would. He looked at Natalie like she hung the moon and stars, and she was equally as in love with him. It looked idyllic, and every now and again Rayne would catch herself fantasizing about having something like that with her own Mate.

   But that was a dangerous path to go down. She believed in love once. She was almost desperate to have that kind of companionship, but none of the males she dated fit. And those that did make it past the first date were never worth the energy she put into them. In fact, now that she thought about it, every time she had sex, she was in position of power. She was on top controlling the encounter. She had never trusted them enough to give them that.

  The last male of her species she “dabbled with'' got more than aggressive with her, and the memory of the bruises from that beating is what had her pushing her Mate away. Was it fair to him? No. Should she just have taken care of the situation and fed that bastard to Bam’s pigs? Yes. Did the girls talk her out of that action because the male was the main Pride’s Alpha? Yes.

    The main Pride was much bigger than their modest eight members, and they wouldn’t be able to adequately take care of themselves if there was an attack. As it was, the main Pride left them alone, peacefully. In fact, Ana worked with the hybrid doctors office in town as their Radiologist, and had no problems with the higher ups.

   Rayne sat on her board and watched the sky quietly for quite some time. Was she avoiding her Mate? Absolutely. But it also filled her heart to have her moment of peace while listening to her family laugh and be so joyful.

    She knew her Mate was watching her again. She felt it. But at that moment, it didn’t feel quite as odd. Maybe it was because she was out far enough that he would have to swim to get to her. Or, maybe it was just that the feeling of his eyes on her was beginning to feel familiar. She didn't know, but at that moment, it didn’t grate on her quite as bad.

   Jungkook wandered down to the waters edge when his mate didn’t come back, and took a seat on the log swing that was near the dock. He didn’t spare his attention on the beauty he was sure surrounded them. His sole focus was the beauty that was sitting on her paddle board a little ways out in the water. She had her knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. Her head was tilted up just enough that he assumed she was looking at the stars.

    Although he wasn’t expecting a challenge like this to come from his Mate when he arrived, he wasn’t disappointed. Far from it, actually. He smiled at that. He’d always imagined his Mate would be sweet and obedient, blindly following whatever he decided with no questions asked.

In reality, she was strong and could handle herself, and wouldn’t hide behind his rank like some would.

   He watched as Rayne readjusted her position and reached forward for the paddle that was resting across the board in front of her, thankful for the moonlight that lit the scene in such an ethereal way. She took her time as she paddled back to the shoreline in front of the little boat shed, and only got her feet wet when she stepped off.

   Jungkook blatantly admired the graceful movement of her body as she pulled the paddleboard up to the shed and then put her shorts and shirt back on. The scent of her pheromones told him that she knew he was watching and, whether she liked it or not, her body was happy to have him there.

    His smile was wide and mischievous when she turned his way to walk back up toward the house,

“Where are we sleeping tonight, Mate?”

Rayne paused mid-step and had to school her features so her face would remain blank. instead of the “WTF” look she wanted to give him, she was able to keep it down to a blank face and raised eyebrow when she said,

“You have a bed waiting for you upstairs in the big house.”

His eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight and that annoyingly adorable grin got wider, “Is that where you’re sleeping?”

Rayne’s nostrils flared for a moment before she answered,

“Nope.”

And she walked away.

Back on the patio, things were winding down. The long day of travel and heightened emotions was starting to wear on everyone. As Rayne approached, she noticed that Fae and Yoongi had moved their chairs away from the group and were deep in quiet conversation.

Alice and Hoseok were at the table laughing and talking animatedly, while Scarlett and Namjoon sat across from them flirting with each other in an innocent way that Rayne never would have thought of from her Pride mate.

Angel and Jimin were also sitting at the table, facing each other with their heads propped up on their hands. They were staring into each other's eyes and playing with the linked fingers on their other hands while they talked quietly.

 Rokki was able to fit a chair in between Alice on one side and Angel on the other, leaving Seokjin to sit on the opposite side of the table, which wasn’t a hardship. He could watch her perfectly from there.

“Nat and Agust already go to their cabin?” Rayne asked no one in particular as she walked up behind Rokki and leaned on the back of her chair.

Rokki nodded, but the rest of the women looked around as if they hadn’t realized someone was missing. Which was odd to Rayne. One of their favorite things to do was give Natalie shit for not being able to be without dick for more than a few hours anymore.

“Angel?” Jimin’s soft voice brought his Mate’s attention right back to him, “I know we only just met, and I don’t want to sound too forward, but I’d like to sleep where you are sleeping tonight. I will be a perfect gentleman, I promise! But I really want to hold you while we sleep tonight,” he leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice before he continued with “and every night for the rest of our lives.”

Rayne had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, but Angel nearly melted into her chair at his sweet words,

“I’d love that.”

The couple stood and walked hand in hand into the house to collect Jimin’s things and head up to Angel’s room.

Yoongi didn’t say anything. He just held his hand out to Fae, who seemed to understand his intention. She took his hand and, in tandem, they stood to follow the same way the last couple went.

Alice was a little sad at the sudden turn of events. She turned to Hoseok and gave him a pout,

“Is it time for bed already? I’ve been having so much fun, though!”

Hoseok laughed and pushed his chair back from the table,

“We have our whole lives, Alice! But, it has been a long day. Would you do me the honor of showing me where I’m sleeping tonight?”

Namjoon cleared his throat. He was a little uncomfortable, but knew he that he had to say it, “Scarlett?”

“Hmmm?”

“I know it may sound a little old fashioned, but if I sleep anywhere near you tonight, I won’t be able to help myself. I think it would be best if I stayed in my own bed. Just for tonight. I want to honor you, and I would like more time.”

“OH! Um.” Scarlett was a little flustered and tripped over her words, “I mean, I don’t mind if you want to sleep in the same bed as me…”

She’d been looking forward to a ravishing like Natalie got on a daily basis, and didn’t know how to say it without sounding desperate.

Namjoon, though, stuck to his guns. He pulled Scarlett’s hand up to his mouth and laid a gentle kiss on her knuckles,

“Thank you for understanding, love. Can you show me where I’m staying for tonight?”

He put emphasis on “for tonight”, which gave Scarlett a little hope that she wouldn’t be without her Mate for too long.

They stood and went into the house to collect Namjoon’s things and show him to his room, leaving Rayne and Rokki with their Mates.

Rayne saw Seokjin open his mouth and beat him to the punch,

“Wanna stay with me tonight, Rokki?” she asked, a little louder than necessary. She had a feeling that this male would have no second thoughts about sneaking into Rokki’s room later, and wanted to give her the space she needed.

The man frowned at her, and decided to push back a bit,

“Aren’t you staying with Jungkook? You know… Your MATE.” his annoyance with her shone brightly as he enunciated the last word.

Rayne smiled brightly at Seokjin’s annoyance,

“Your Mate is fun to irritate, Rokki! Come on. Let’s go get whatever you need for the night.”

She stood back so Rokki could scoot back her chair, and looked cheerfully back at the two men,

“Scarlett is showing Namjoon where the beds are. You should probably go find out where yours are. C’mon Rokki.”

Seokjin and Jungkook watched the two women go into the house. Jungkook was thoroughly entertained. Seokjin was thoroughly annoyed,

“Your Mate suits you,” he said to the younger man, “She’s just as irritating as you are.”

Jungkook chuckled and relaxed back into his chair,

“Yeah. I like her.”

“Should we go find our beds?”

“Nah. Let's wait until they come back out. I want to confirm my suspicion of where my Mate sleeps.”

“Where do you think she sleeps?”

“That pool house right there.” Jungkook pointed to a small, white building with a pergola over a sliding glass door that had curtains hanging in it not far from where they sat,

“It smells like her.”

The two men sat outside enjoying the quiet for a few minutes before the door to the big house opened, and three women came out. The smallest of the three, Scarlett, led the way. She  stopped when she saw them still at the table, causing Rokki and Rayne to bump into her.

“Oh! What are you guys still doing out here?” Although she momentarily was taken off guard by the men, Scarlett was able to pull it together enough to be courteous, “Did you need help finding your beds? They’re just upstairs. There’s a couple of open rooms available. Not hard to find.”

“Thank you, Scarlett,” Seokjin said with a sweet smile, never taking his eyes off of his Mate, “We’re just enjoying the quiet beauty of where you live for a little bit before we turn in for the night. Don’t worry about us. We’ll find our way.”

A thought occurred to him just then, though. If Rokki was planning on staying with Rayne tonight, her bed would be unoccupied, and he would be able to sleep surrounded by her scent without upsetting her more. He winked at Rokki as Rayne pulled her by the table toward the small building Jungkook pointed out earlier, but this time he saw her smile the tiniest bit before he heard a quiet giggle.

That giggle changed everything. Seokjin relaxed and knew he was on the right track. He took a sip of his beer and watched his Mate disappear with the other two, and felt lighter than he had in a long time.

Jungkook and Rayne held eye contact as she pulled her friend toward her little cottage, and the challenge she was issuing very nearly had him on his feet, ready to claim what was his.

He took a deep breath to calm the instinct and saw her smirk at him just before she disappeared through the doorway.

“Minx.” he said under his breath. He needed to get a good night's sleep to prepare himself for the battle he was sure to come the next day.

Next

Chapter List

[speechlessxx]

Call It What You Want (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: There’s an unspoken bond between the Reader and Ransom.

Warnings: poorly written SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), soft Ransom (because i love him idc), bad relationship with parents. This fic was honestly so self-indulgent because I love this song. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Loosely inspired by Call It What You Want by (the Queen) Taylor Swift.

Sometimes life felt as if you were playing a Jenga game alone on a table with uneven legs.

For brief moments, everything was normal. Your movements were delicate as you built the tower. Higher and higher it would go, but then you’d stop to admire your work. You would rest your elbows against the surface and accidentally cause the table to shift. The tower would collapse, and you would have to rebuild it again.

However, you never had a stable foundation to begin with. The table was always wobbly. So, time and time again that tower fell. And you’ll have to start over alone.

That was your life.

Your parents were wealthy workaholics. You don’t remember being held or cuddled by your mother or father. You had a revolving door of nannies. None stayed too long so you could form any connection. Your mother would catch them in bed with her husband and terminate their employment. Even through your father’s infidelity, your mother refused to leave him. You remembered her drunkenly admit to you, her 7-year-old, that she stayed because she was afraid of what others would think.

When they weren’t working, they were fighting. You spent nights crying alone in your bedroom as you overheard endless arguments throughout the night. Your parents’ voices would echo through the large house and you’d hear every single insult, threat, and slur.

Your family was sitting upon a tense string that refused to break.  

You had no stability – no constancy. You had no siblings either. Your school friends – whether they were from grade school or high school, it didn’t matter. They were all the same – were too self-involved to pay you any mind. You had no shoulder to cry on. No one to kiss the bruises and the scars away. No one to lean on when your life itself felt like it collapsed.

You only had your parents who both resented you because you were the result of a love that they no longer had.

Perhaps, that’s why you and Ransom Drysdale got along so well. Trust-fund brats who were neglected by their wealthy parents. Maybe it was a good thing that you at least had each other.

The closeness between you was surreal. You read one another like an open book whereas others had difficulty even pronouncing your titles. You were each other’s confidant, best friend, and rock. You found in comfort in each other’s mess.

It would be easy to mistake you two as a couple.

Both of you were once touch starved children, so you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was in the grazes of your fingertips and the tight embraces where you would snuggle your face in the crook of his neck, and he’d bury his into your hair. Ransom often kissed your wrists and fingers as he toyed with your hand in his. Every time you sat down next to each other, your knees were touching, or you’d be playing an unconscious game of footsies. It didn’t matter what your bodies were doing or where you were – you were always touching.

Strangers, and even those who knew you, often did think that you two were together. And when confronted, both of you would always scoff and say no. You were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

But behind closed doors, there was something. Something more that ignited your skin and set your body on fire. Something more that left Ransom – the talkative asshole – speechless and panting as he tried to catch his breath.

You both agreed only to have sex when it was absolutely necessary.

“It helps us blow off some steam,” Ransom had explained to you while you just nodded in agreement. You couldn’t find your words. Your wits had been fucked to silence and your brain felt like jelly.

You have your shared struggles and frustrations. Sometimes a simple lay was all you needed to let out your bottled-up emotions. It made sense when you established the agreement in your late college years.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you agreed breathlessly.

You didn’t do it often. It would ruin the friendship. You even established a “no kissing on the lips” rule. You said it made everything all too real.

But as the years went by, something else began to blossom. Something else established itself. But neither of you would ever dare speak of it.

It would ruin the friendship after all.

-=+=-

You hated coming back to your childhood home. Haunting memories were the only keepsakes you had there. You had moved out right after college and would only return for holidays – upon your mother’s demand. You always felt as if it were empty. The house was massive and for many years was only home to three people, excluding the help.

You sat at the table alone as you anxiously fumbled with the initial necklace Ransom had given you for your birthday. The dainty gold ‘R’ charm was between your thumb and index finger as your leg bounced while you stared at the untouched feast.

Your father had excused himself, saying he had an emergency video conference for work. You and your mother rolled your eyes as he rushed off. You both knew it wasn’t for work. Enraged, your mother stalked off, glass full of chardonnay in one hand, the bottle in the other.

You didn’t know what you expected. It was like this every holiday – your parents made no exception. You stared at the turkey before you. Your parents didn’t even last to meal itself.

Frustrated, you decided to wrap everything up and packed them into take-home bags. You knew your parents probably wouldn’t eat the leftovers, so you thought about donating the feast to the foodbank. You could drop it off on your way home.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You dug it out and smiled upon seeing Ransom’s name.

Surviving? Because I’m not.

You chuckled. Suck it up, Drysdale. It’s Thanksgiving.

If I have to spend one more minute with these assholes, I’m going to throw myself down the stairs.

No exaggeration.

Before you could respond, you heard your mother call for you. Her glass was empty, and she was staggering into the kitchen, clearly drunk. You wondered if she drank the whole bottle.

“What the hell are you doing? Where’s the food?” She slurred.

You gestured to the packed meals. “I was wrapping them up because no one was eating.” You decided not to tell her about donating them. Lord forbid that you tried to be a decent human and help those less fortunate than you.

Your phone buzzed again. You gave it a quick glance.

Heading home now. They’re gonna give me an aneurysm.

How’s dinner?

“Why would you do that?” Her brows furrowed, but with her Botox, it made no wrinkles appear on her aging face. She put her hands on her his, the glass nearly slipping from her loose fingers. She was an angry drunk. She always was.

You wanted to say that she and your father ruined Thanksgiving. If they’d only just sit down and eat and pretend they were normal for thirty god damn minutes. But every year, that was never the case. You were always disappointed. “I can unpack it if you want.”

“Your father is an asshole.”

“You could’ve left him years ago,” you muttered.

She didn’t hear you. “How’s the job?”

“Good.” You said as you began to unpack some stuffing. Get some food in her since she was already full of alcohol.

“I don’t know why you decided business was for you,” she let out a long sigh. “Just like your father.”

“I don’t like setting up events. PR’s not my thing,” you tried to joke, topping it off with a forced laugh.

She set down her empty glass and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “Could always work for me, sweetheart. I need a new assistant.”

“I’m fine. Thanks, ma.”

“No, for real, sweetie,” she insisted. “I’d love for you to work for me. That’s every girl’s dream. Work for their mother.” You frowned. I don’t think that’s it, you thought.

“I’d rather not be tied to this family any more than I am,” you muttered. This time she heard you.

An exaggerated offended noise came from her lips as she stared at you with her jaw dropped. “Don’t be an ungrateful little bitch.” She spat. “That’s why you never do anything right and that’s why you’re unmarried, unloved, and unhappy.”

“I’m unhappy?” You laughed mockingly. “I’m not the one trapped in a marriage to man that constantly cheats on me. In fact, I’m ecstatic that I’m nothing like you or dad. I’m buzzing with jubilation.” You couldn’t stop yourself. You knew you were worsening the situation.

“You’re a vile bitch that’s gonna end up alone.” They were drunken words. You knew that. But it didn’t stop it from hurting.

You didn’t bother to respond. You chewed on the flesh inside your cheek before turning away and rushing out to your car. You cursed yourself for leaving the food. It would be trash tomorrow. Wasted. Stray tears rolled down your face and you wiped them away aggressively as you drove.

Being alone was something you should’ve been accustomed to already. In fact, you were. You were an only child, had friends that never bothered to ask if you were okay, nannies that cared more about your dad than taking care of you, parents who didn’t even remember your birthday unless they were reminded by their assistants. You knew how to be alone. You were so good at it.

And that frightened you.

You didn’t want to be alone. You craved affection, companionship, love. You wanted that for yourself. But despite all the luxuries you were granted throughout your life, that was one luxury that you desperately wanted but seemingly would never receive.

You felt your anger bubbling inside of you. A pressure started building in your head – steam that needed to be released.

Luckily, you knew where to go.

-=+=-

The holidays were a particularly hard time for both of you and Ransom. Your families demanded your attendances at events, so you both were always forced to come see the very people you loathe the most. Throughout the years of your friendship, it became a tradition to check up on each other as you spent time with your … “loved” ones.

It was a sanity check – something to keep you both grounded. He had a big family, so he could talk shit about them for hours. You loved to read the messages he’d send you.

But this time, he had sent you several messages that you hadn’t responded to. He began to worry until he heard a car door slam in his driveway. You let yourself in. You had a spare key.

“Ransom!” You called out.

“Bedroom!” He responded. He paused the movie he was watching just as you walked through his already open door.

There was something wrong. It was written all over your face. He didn’t need to ask you if you were alright. He knew you weren’t. So, instead he patted the empty side of his bed, inviting you to come lay down with him. But you had a different type of lay in mind.

“How hard is your dick right now?” You asked, bluntly, as you shrugged off your jacket and tossed it to the floor.

A smirk crept its way to Ransom’s face. “Come here and find out.”

You kicked off your shoes and shimmied out of your skinny jeans, leaving your legs exposed in only your plain, black panties. You climbed onto his bed and straddled his lap. You began to grind yourself to his growing erection. The friction stimulating both of you.

Ransom groaned as he watched you. His hands searched his sheets until he found the remote. With clumsy fingers, he managed to turn the TV off and toss the remote to the edge of the bed. He heard it fall, but he was too preoccupied with the gorgeous woman grinding her pussy on his slacks to even care.

“Let’s take this off, hm?” Ransom asked, fiddling with the hem of your blouse.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” you teased, stopping your movements.

“You’re childish,” Ransom chuckled, his tongue grazed the back of his teeth. He gave your ass a sharp slap. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“You aren’t the boss of me, Drysdale.”

He quirked up an amused eyebrow as if to say we’ll see before he pulled your top off your body. You were now sitting on top of him almost nude in your matching bra and underwear. You returned the favor, pulling off the hole-ridden baby blue sweater and exposing his body to you.

Your hands explored his chiseled chest and stomach. Hard as marble, but not nearly as hard as his cock beneath you, begging to be released from its confinements. You shifted down a bit so that you could undo his belt, but his hands stopped you. He grabbed your wrists and you frowned at him.

“What?” You snapped with furrowed brows.

“We’re on the same page?” Ransom asked you. He was concerned. Sure, this almost friends-with-benefits arrangement was years old at this point, but he still wanted to make sure you wanted this. He always asked before anything got too far.

“Please, Ranson…” your voice nearly cracked. He stared into your eyes and despite the lust being evident in your blown-out pupils – he was sure his mirrored the look – he saw the light red lines, an indicator that you were crying. “I need it.”

“Okay,” he nodded and let go of your wrists. Without hesitation, you began to expertly undo the belt and unbutton his pants. With his help, you were able to successfully pull down his slacks and left him in his boxer briefs. The tent inviting. Before you could reach into his underwear and pull out his friend, he flipped you over. You squealed in surprise as your back was pressed into his bed. “You need it, baby?” You nodded. “Okay… I’ll think about being nice.”

“Ransom,” you whined.

His fingers lightly traced the sides of your body. You shivered at his touch. You took it upon yourself to arch your back so that you could unclasp your bra. You threw it away, exposing your chest to your best friend who groaned.

“God, I love these.” He muttered.

His hands cupped your breasts, toying with them. His fingertips tweaking at the nipples as he ground his desire to yours. Ransom leaned down and latched his mouth onto one of your nipples. His tongue swirling around the skin as he sucked it until it pebbled. He then switched to the other. He’d also take a break from your nipples just to leave stray hickeys all over your chest, collarbones, and neck. He loved marking you up. Whilst his mouth continued its assault on your chest, one of his hands slipped into your panties and began to explore your wet folds.

And slowly, Ransom started to make his way down your body, leaving wet kisses on your skin. He kissed right on top of your underwear before slowing pulling the black fabric down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist. Once they were off, you instinctively bent your knees as Ransom pulled them apart and leaned down to give your pussy a broad tongued lick.

You used to be insecure of the stretchmarks on your thighs. When you and Ransom first started having sex, you were afraid he would find them unappealing – that it would turn him off. But your best friend assured you that every part of your body – including the flaws – were beautiful. “Nothing about you could ever turn me off, (Y/N),” a younger Ransom scoffed. The present Ransom, the one who was about to eat you out like a Thanksgiving meal, couldn’t agree more. (He’d often joke and say you ruined other women for him).

You were a moaning mess as Ransom’s fingers pulled your lips open to expose your clit to his tongue. He looked up at you from his position and the sight of you with your eyes closed in a blissful trance alone could’ve made him cum on the spot. His tongue swirled around your button in tiny, circular motions before slipping his tongue into your slickening channel.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. “Ransom, Ransom!” It was music to his ears.

He ate you out slowly, relishing in your taste. Ransom took pride in your reactions. You had one hand clasping the ‘R’ charm around your neck and the other lost in his hair. He smirked into you as he watched you wither in pleasure as he used his fingers to tease your opening. When you began to buck into his face, he used his other hand to hold down your waist, keeping your hips still for his assault.

You clenched around his fingers. “Ransom… I’m close�� oh, my god,” you warned. Ransom grunted, taking great pleasure from eating you out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. He pressed two fingers deep inside of you, curling them and stroking your walls. He buried his face deeper into your dripping cunt and stared up as you came. He wished he could have your reactions of video. The sounds you made were porn worthy and he would’ve loved to have his own private collection.

He stroked you as you rode out your high. You were breathless as your eyes slowly fluttered open, staring up onto the ceiling. “You with me?” Ransom smirked as he stripped his underwear and stroked his hard cock. You nodded. You reached out for him and he gladly leaned down to let you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“I want you to fuck me until I’m stupid,” you whispered. “Only thing I wanna remember is your name.”

Ransom almost frowned. Your parents must’ve really done a number on you this time. In the years that this arrangement had been established, Ransom would – 9 times out of 10 – be the one to initiate the stress relieving sex. But he was more than happy to oblige.

“Your wish is my command, baby,” he muttered, nipping at the skin of your neck before pushing into you.

In one hard thrust, he pushed his entire length into you. You winced when you felt him brush against your cervix. His thrusts were sharp and hard. You’ve had enough sex with each other to know the various spots that made one another tick. Ransom was eager to give you another orgasm – he got off on it.

The shifts of his hips were deliberate, bringing your legs up to drape over his shoulders. He hit spots deep inside of you that you never knew existed before you had sex with him. Your hands were searching for something to hold, something to occupy themselves with. Ransom leaned over, folding you in half, as he took your hands in his, interlacing your fingers while he pounded into you.

You gushed around his thick cock, another orgasm being pulled from you unexpectedly. You moaned his name over and over. “Yeah, baby? Only I make you feel like this, huh?” he grunted. “You take my dick so well. Only you do that, baby.”

You moaned in response, no tangible sentences could even form. His name was the only thing you could say. Your brain effectively melting as you requested.

“I’m gonna make you cum over and over for me.”

He made good on that promise. You lost count of how many times Ransom had made you cum. You had no idea where he got the stamina. But he fucked you through orgasm after orgasm. You fell apart so many times only for him to put you back together.

The obscene sounds that came from your heated core were accompanied by a symphony of moans and the slapping of skin.

“Ugh,” you moaned after what felt like your 6th orgasm of the night. “I love you, Ransom,” you moaned out, and it was the truth. In your fucked-out state, you confessed the three words that you both were too afraid to tell each other. But Ransom smiled, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic. He was about to cum.

He leaned down and captured your lips, groaning into you as he found his release inside of you. The warm feeling spreading throughout your body as you kissed back. Your lips melting into each other, eager and hungry. It was years in the making.

Ransom pulled away first and pulled out of you. You winced and whimpered upon feeling the emptiness. Your mixed fluids slowly trickled out of you and onto the bed, but neither of you minded. You were both too tired.

Ransom slumped beside and you naturally snuggled into his side. By this time Ransom would’ve offered to help clean you, knowing your legs would be like jelly, he’d walk you to the bathroom. But he wanted to enjoy your shared afterglow as he pulled you over his body so that you were resting on his chest. Both of you were panting, lungs trying to pace themselves.

You slowly began to feel the fear settle in.

Ransom was your best friend. The one constant thing in your life. The only stability you had. Your place of comfort. And you’ve ruined it. You said it. The three words. The feeling that’s been building up for years. You scolded yourself for saying it so recklessly.

You’ve done it. You’ve toppled your tower again. Your fingers played with the ‘R’ charm on your necklace again. A nervous habit it seemed.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered in the darkness. He kissed the top of your head as he wrapped his arms tighter around you.

And then a feeling of ease settled upon you. A smile on your face as you realized the tower didn’t fall… not yet. But even if it did, Ransom would be there to help you rebuild. You weren’t alone.

[ao3feed-assassin-class]

Knock My Life Down Like a Tower of Jenga

knock my life down like a tower of jenga by rere senpai

“You know, that night I was so frustrated with that name.” Nagisa confesses. “‘Gender’, was that all they thought about me? Just some confused boy who looks like a girl?”

Isogai stays silent, Nagisa continues. “It kinda hurt too, I thought I was gonna get a cool codename that was actually more about me than.. Than whatever Gender was.” He releases a tense puff of air. “But in the end I moved on. It was just a stupid codename, it didn't define who I am.”

“Your codename wasn't given to you by your best friend.” Isogai slips. “Ah-”

The tower of jenga falls apart once more, but this time it is by his own hand. His hand stretches out and swipes across the table, destroying the tower as it crumbles in blocks and pieces.

Words: 4139, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Assassination Classroom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Isogai Yuuma, Maehara Hiroto, Shiota Nagisa

Relationships: Isogai Yuuma & Maehara Hiroto, Isogai Yuuma & Shiota Nagisa, Isogai Yuuma/Maehara Hiroto

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, no beta we die like the reapers, Conflict Resolution

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37581673

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 02 | Crosstalk | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst [later on], humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 10.2K

Last time on SR01: Namjoon introduced you to his friends and you find yourself absorbed into their little group rather quickly. While on your way to a Halloween party hosted at Jimin’s beautiful condo, you admit to your best friend Jennie that you have a crush on the sweet, shy, nerdy Jungkook. This just happens to be the same night he reveals his true nature: fuckboy. Now that’s just embarrassing, isn’t it?

Tags: Fuckboy Jungkook, let’s play some drinking games, dirty jokes, innuendos, friendship feels, jealousy, flashing, sexual tension, dumbBitch reader is drinking her dumbBitchjuice tonight, Tae makes things weird for half a sec, hint of foot fetish?, flirting with Hobi, flirting with Jin, embarrassedJoon who is also a mediator part time, tsundere softYoongi, Jimin is a traitorous snake who lives for the drama, Jungkook is like the kid pulling the pigtails of the girl he likes, tiniest glimpse at softboyeJK underneath

CW:  excessive drinking,  filthy language

Series: Activate your SIMCard Fic: Swipe Right (2/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost. masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It's been months since the fiasco with Jungkook. You do your best to avoid any opportunity to hang with the group in a stationary setting when he’s present, but he’s kind of an unavoidable obstacle at this point. Pissed doesn’t begin to cover your feelings towards him and hurt doesn’t quite do it either. You’re angry about the things he did, the things he said, the way he covered up his true self, but most of all, you’re furious that your feelings didn’t just evaporate with the shift in his persona.

You thought time would heal everything, but so far it’s only turned you bitter about the whole thing. He still smells so fucking good. He’s still got a body like the weightlifting champ he is. He’s still dorky and funny in ways you wouldn’t expect a tool of his calibre to demonstrate. But he’s also a player and a crass asshole. A crasshole. Has he ever stayed with the same girl for more than a few days? You’d wager a confident sum of money that he never has.

Even though you hate his guts, your brain still finds ways to remind you that even if he’s a dick, he’s a dick you’re still attracted to. He’s the kind of dick you suck one night after getting drunk on cheap beer, and in the light of day you are disgusted with everything about it. So don’t get drunk and don’t suck that dick. Easy peasy, especially since fury overtakes you any time you look at him.

Pissed at him? That doesn’t cover it. Pissed at yourself? That’s closer, but it's still not quite all-encompassing. It’s some sort of culmination between the two that has you absolutely livid with the entire situation any time you think about it. He made you feel like a fool. You genuinely liked the person you thought he was, and he embarrassed you. That made not talking to him the way you did when you thought he had the emotional capacity of an actual decent human being hurt even more. At least you know now that he’s got more in common with a lifeless, unfeeling rock.

Not that he hasn’t tried to get you to talk to him. He has, texting you jokes, sending articles on upcoming game titles, spamming invites to a party on xbox live any time you log on, making a point to stand next to you, interrupting all of your conversations with an obnoxious “Hi, Princess!” and pestering you until you acknowledge him. Thankfully Namjoon has kept him from sitting next to you when you carpool, whether it be for dancing, dinner, karaoke, or any other external hangouts. Nevertheless, he still finds a way to annoy you despite the barriers in his path, and you are ready to claw his eyes out at a moment’s notice.

To keep your mind off how your last crush, well, crushed you and continues to let you down, you’ve been downloading and trying out a few different dating apps. You figure it’s time to find someone to connect with, and this is definitely how people do it these days, but your experience has been less than stellar. Jennie helped you set up your profiles and mentioned it in passing to Namjoon, mistakenly believing you told your other bestie about it. He's been teasing you about it every week since, but has been sworn to silence around the others under fear of you telling everyone about the time you caught him making out with a couch pillow.

He doesn't crash on your couch anymore.

Ever since Hoseok and Yoongi moved into the apartment down the hall, he's spent more evenings on their comfy sectional than you can count, but always after binging Kung Fu movies and bringing gratuitous amounts of takeout over your place. You’re grateful for the solitude so you can attempt to converse with strangers via text — maybe even flirt a little. Most of your conversations have become stagnant, but there’s been one guy texting you back and forth for a month now. You’re waiting on him to ask you out since you’re too much of a chickenshit to make the first move.

Now, as you walk down the hall with Namjoon, he elbows your ribs. “So... how’s your Jay-Jay?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Jason is fine.”

“He text you this week?” he asks, stopping in front of the apartment door.

Kind of.

“Mm-hmm!” Your reply is overly enthusiastic and it makes him suspicious.

“Did you text him first?” he questions, pausing before his knuckles touch the door.

Yes. But only because I saw a meme I could use as an excuse to talk to him.

“No.” The tone is questionable so you shake your head violently, scoffing. “I told him I wanted to meet in person.”

“Good. Good. Either he responds or he doesn’t,” he surmises, as if what he said isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. He snakes his hand around the back of your neck, massaging his fingers in circles over muscles you didn’t realize you’d tensed up. “And either way, I’m 100% certain you’re way too good for him. So don’t worry about it so much, okay?”

He snickers when you cast your gaze at the floor with a shy smile. “Joonie… That’s really sweet of you to say. I... Thank you.”

He shrugs off the gratitude with a smirk, trying to not let it get to his head. It’s true and you need to hear it. He clears his throat and knocks, nervously glancing over at you with his other hand still working small circles into the back of your neck. You’ll figure out soon enough that he’s also buttering you up since Jungkook is definitely home tonight, contrary to your belief that he certainly would not be.

The door swings open and a very sweaty, very shirtless Jungkook stands with his leg propped against the door, showcasing every glistening muscle of his body in the dim light. He dons an innocent smile, spreading his stance to push the door open wider and making sure you get a good look at the muscles tensing in his thigh. Your eyes helplessly scan the sculpted lines of his stomach, even as he purposefully flexes to draw the tiniest gasp from your lips. Pert brown nipples threaten to steal your attention, but you drag your eyes to the ink splattered across his skin instead. The myriad of tattoos that line the right side of his body tell a story you don’t have time or desire to explore, and you hate the way that your brain notes the curl of black ink disappearing beneath the band of his shorts and reappearing across his thigh.

“Princess, you made it.” He clicks his tongue with a devilish smirk as he watches you look him up and down with your mouth hanging stupidly agape.

Feeling your fight or flight response kick in, Namjoon’s fingers clamp down hard on your neck to keep you from bolting.

“What is he doing here?” you hiss in your friend’s direction, too distracted to fight against his iron grip on your neck.

“I live here,” Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms. “What? Didn’t you come here to see me?”

The anger on your tongue short circuits the connection your mouth has with your brain. Your jaw snaps shut and you roll your eyes, mirroring his action by folding your arms across your chest.

Jungkook seems amused by your irritation, offering a small laugh. “Client canceled so I decided to do a little exercise at home. Problem?”

He lets his hands drop to his sides, knowingly hooking his thumbs beneath the band of his shorts. Your eyebrow twitches and your jaw tightens. He knows the effect he has on women. He knows the effect he has on you. You’re determined to deny him the satisfaction so you simply stare him down. Douche.

Namjoon forces a dimpled smile to cut the tension. “So... I brought jenga! Do I smell pizza?”

You attempt to push past Jungkook, but he makes sure to bump a sweaty shoulder into you. “I’ve gotta shower. Wanna join?”

If you roll your eyes any harder, you might sever your optic nerve. “Don’t touch me.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Somehow you’ve been stuck with the worst jenga player in the world as your teammate. Namjoon may be a good friend and smart as fuck, but he is terrible at anything requiring coordination. He’s been the only one to knock the tower over. Four times now. That’s four times you’ve had to drink the disgusting gin offered in the form of a shot by Seokjin.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” you declare, wiping the taste of evergreen trees from your mouth as you set the empty shot glass back down. “Jin, jump in for me?”

You sit back in your chair and pulling out your phone to check your messages.The man grimaces at your request. “Do I have to? The odds seem stacked against me. I can only compensate so much, you know.”

Hoseok and Yoongi snicker into their beers and Jimin laughs out loud as he reaches into the communal bowl of popcorn possessively wedged between his teammate and himself.

“I think these teams are very fair,” Taehyung says, licking the salt from his fingers as he sets the last of the blocks back into position.

“I feel like my luck is changing. Different teammate, different energy, come on,” Namjoon assures him, making the first move.

The block slides out without issue and he drops it on top of the tower with a grin. Hoseok hums a thoughtful sound as he pushes a middle block with the tip of his pointer until it falls onto the other side of the table.

“I’m not sure you’re paying enough attention to be the referee,” Jin pouts.

“Are you really so mad that she’s not looking at you?” Jimin teases with a giggle while making his move. “This is one game where you can’t use your face as a bargaining chip, Jin. It’s all skill.”

The older man scoffs, rolling his eyes as he takes a side block and wagging it in your direction. “How will you know if someone cheats if you’re looking at your phone the whole time, hmm?”

“I’ll know,” you mutter, not bothering to look up. “Besides. How do you cheat at jenga? You knock the tower over or you don’t. Team that knocks the tower over does the shots. Those are pretty simple rules.”

Seokjin grumbles something unintelligible underneath his breath in response. You ignore him as you reach for your bottle of spiked root beer, trying to figure out some clever joke that might impress Jason enough to respond to you. You rack your brain, furrowing your brow in contemplation as you stare at the blinking cursor and take a big swig.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch the flash of white and subconsciously spare a glance up. Your stomach flips like it’s trying to win a gymnastics competition and you wish you could press undo on the double take your eyes have just performed without prompt. Maybe he didn’t notice.

Jungkook pauses in the hall, adjusting the white cotton towel around his waist. He’s grinning at you like the cat that ate the canary as he slowly drags his fingers over the edges of the fabric, peeling it from its resting place on his hips. Of course he fucking noticed.

You force your eyes back to the safety of your phone screen just in time, barely missing the flash of his glossy ink-covered skin. When he realizes you’re not watching the show he’s putting on, he fastens the towel around his waist and walks into the light of the den. You swallow, feeling his eyes rake over your form as he passes the table with a loud sigh.

“All clean,” he announces in a singsong voice as he continues towards the kitchen.

You hate the way your jaw threatens to betray you by attempting to drop at the sight of the rippled muscles carved into his upper back and the thick line creased into the meat of his spine. Even with the broad artistic strokes of color swathed across his back in the shape of a phoenix spreading its red-orange wings wide, you can still see the definition of his form chiseled beneath it. You try not to lose yourself in the flawless details painted into his flesh and grind your teeth to keep your jaw wired shut.

Wet, tangled locks of hair fall into his face as he reaches into the refrigerator. When he stands up straight, he arches his back to stretch his chest towards the ceiling. He’s got a tiny jug of banana milk in his palm and he’s working on chugging it down.

He pauses and licks remnants of the cloudy liquid from his lips. “Thirsty. Relatable, right, Y/N?”

You scowl, tapping furiously on your keyboard. “Put some fucking clothes on.”

Jungkook throws his hands in the air in defeat as he casually wanders out of the room. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

Your eyes settle on the tower. Minutes pass and still it hasn’t fallen. Turn after turn around the table, the game has gone on far longer than anticipated. Namjoon is determined to not lose this time; it’s actually kind of impressive how careful he’s been. You’ve almost forgotten about Jungkook until he reappears, this time fully covered in black sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. The tension in the room is palpable. You’re afraid to even breathe in the direction of the wooden blocks precariously stacked on one another.

Hoseok is sweating as he prods the stack with his index finger, making a high-pitched whining sound as he tries to determine his next move. Jungkook wedges himself between Jin and Taehyung, forcing you to acknowledge his presence as he sits on the opposite side of the table and steals a fistful of popcorn.

After a few seconds, Hoseok sighs at Yoongi. “I give up. You do it. We’re a team. I’m gonna knock it over if you don’t,” he whines.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and quickly shoots his finger out at a random block. It flies across the table at Seokjin, causing him to dramatically duck out of the way just in time. The table erupts with laughter.

“Damn, that didn’t do it. I was hoping we could play cards now,” Yoongi mutters to himself.

“Hey, what are you doing? You almost hit me with that! You have to put that on top! Go get it!” Jin yells across the table, mind already heavily clouded with booze. At least he’s laughing so you know that heightened tone doesn’t indicate any serious animosity.

“It’s right next to you. Pick it up and give it to me,” Yoongi replies while leaning over the table, which causes the tower to immediately wobble. Hoseok dramatically gasps, bringing his hands to his mouth. Seokjin picks up the block and slides it across the surface as he gives you a pointed look.

"Isn't this cheating? Don't they forfeit since it was on Hobi’s turn?"

"They're technically a team.” You shrug.

"You are a terrible referee," he groans, rubbing his temple as Yoongi carelessly throws the piece on top.

Taehyung and Jimin fervently whisper to each other over their strategy before Taehyung reaches out for an easy-looking target. The slightest touch sends the blocks crashing down, causing the man to blink in disbelief.

“Time to drink up your handsome competitor. Gin served by Jin.” He snickers.

Jimin and Taehyung cringe as Jin slides two shot glasses full of the vile liquid towards them. They link elbows and tilt their heads back, downing the burning liquid in solidarity. Jimin seems unaffected while Taehyung’s face scrunches up and he coughs.

“It burns!” he sputters, clutching his chest. He walks into the kitchen, dragging his tongue across his palm as though it will remove the taste from his mouth.

“Thank god. I don’t think I could have stomached another,” Namjoon murmurs, rising to his feet. “Be right back.”

As soon as he heads off in the direction of the restroom, the others start cleaning up the mess of blocks scattered across the table and Yoongi begins shuffling a deck of cards. Jungkook takes the opportunity to slide into the empty seat beside you. You toss an annoyed glance his way in warning. “Can I help you, Jungkook?”

“You could if you weren’t so busy pretending like you don’t want to look at me.” His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he smiles innocently when you look up from your phone to glare daggers at him.

“You’re in Namjoon’s seat.”

He ignores your statement, peering over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your phone screen. “Who are you texting? Is it your hot friend?”

“She doesn’t want to bang you, dude,” you tell him in a flat tone, flicking the power button to hide the message.

“Oh, just like you?” he asks, unable to hide the amusement striking his features.

After years of practicing this song and dance with other women, he’s grown accustomed to everyone wanting a piece of this cookie. There’s no way you’re immune, especially after his performance on the ocarina a few months ago. He charmed you before you could sink your teeth into his neck and do the same to him, and now you're mad about it. That’s your category, right? Your spite is obviously a cover for your disappointment.

Unless it isn’t. His conviction wavers as your jaw tightens and you take a swig from the dark bottle on the table. People don’t get close unless they want to get fucked. Literally. But you are Joon’s ‘friend’ and you seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him, at least for a little while. Most people are good at faking the first time, but it’s been a while and you’re still here. What if you’re actually hanging around his friends for all the right reasons? What if you had something other than shallow intentions? What if he actually hurt your feelings? He sinks back in his seat, silently stewing in his assumptions.

You set your phone face down on the table, a forced manic smile settling on Yoongi. “What are we playing?”

The man spreads the cards face down over the table in a circle, placing a single shot in the center. “It’s called the circle of death. There are a bunch of ways to play so I’m just gonna pick my favorites.”

He gets up, taking the magnetic whiteboard off the refrigerator and furiously scribbling notes on its surface. You crane your neck to get a good read, but it’s still fairly challenging to make out his chicken scratch.

“There’s a lot you can pick up after hours at bartending school. I had fun playing this with the other people in my class but it’ll probably be even better with you guys.”

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ  RULES:

A - Face

2 - You

3 - Me

4 - Floor

5 - Jive

6 - Forehead master

7 - Heaven

8 - Hate

9 - Rhyme

10 - Social

J - Never

Q - Eat

K - Rulemaker

Joker - Waterfall

Your eyebrows furrow at the words you can make out. “This seems complicated.”

Yoongi scoffs, setting the board on the counter and leaning it against the wall. “Trust me. It’s not as bad as it seems. Besides this will be right here in case you forget.”

“Does that say eat? Yoongi, what the fuck does that mean?” You tilt your head to the side and try to read the list in its entirety but still at a loss for what it means.

Hoseok scratches his head, equally as stumped by the list.

“I’ll go over the rules once everyone is back at the table. I have a feeling I’ll be repeating them enough once we start.”

You slump in your chair with a pout as you proceed to polish off your beverage. Namjoon returns and sees his spot has been taken.

"Kook," he warns, tapping his friend in the shoulder to try to get him to move over.

Namjoon isn't stupid in the slightest. He may lack common sense at times and he definitely is the clumsiest person in the room, but perception is his strength. What do you get when you add up the subtle glances, the nervous stutters, and shy smiles? Multiply that sum by the times you've tucked your hair behind your ear needlessly, gotten starry-eyed while talking, or claimed a seat nearby. Tallying your distracted behaviors yields a simple answer: a crush.

You don't have to say anything. You never have to say anything because you wear that shame so well. Even subtracting the stunt Jungkook pulled on Halloween and the distance you've put down since then, it's not enough to negate the total. You say you hate him, but those glances are still there. Pressing your lips tight to keep yourself from smiling has become your default defensive tactic. Playing with your hair quickly turns into tugging loose strands back into a ponytail. It’s almost painful to watch. He wonders if anyone else sees it for what it is because Jungkook sure doesn’t.

Staying out of it is tough because he knows both sides. But it’s not his place to spill the tea to either one of you. You’re both his friends and it’s hard not to feel like the mediator that he definitely doesn’t want to be. You’re adults. You can figure your shit out without him to take care of every little thing. Yeah, it would be easier just to do it all for you, but you’ll never learn that way and neither will he. However, that doesn’t mean he can’t drop some caution tape out every once in a while.

Jungkook digs his heels into the floor and huffs. “But I like this seat and you got up so it’s mine now.”

“Joonie, it’s fine.” You manage to keep the irritation out of your voice, talking over the man to your left like he’s not even there. “He’ll get bored eventually. Don’t feed the troll.”

Namjoon shakes his head and takes a seat on the opposite side of Jungkook, grumbling how you’re going to come crying to him later when Jungkook snaps your bra straps or some shit and his friend is gonna end up with a black eye but whatever not his problem. At least that’s the gist of what you get out of your friend’s griping. He may have a point, but you’re not going to acknowledge that. You’re busy looking at the plastic cup full of beer set down in front of you.

You crinkle your nose at Yoongi but he answers before you can ask. “Everyone is drinking the same thing. Even playing field. Not really fair if someone's got more alcohol in their drink."

You catch Taehyung's eyes across the table and mirror his disgusted expression, both of you sticking your tongue out at the liquid.

"Alright. There's only one rule you really need to be worried about in the beginning: my rule to keep you all from getting distracted. If you touch your phone, whoever catches you is allowed to send any message to any contact in it.”

Jungkook grins wickedly at you, noticing the way you drop your mobile device on the table and leave it where it lands face down. Yoongi goes over the rules one by one and gives an example of each being used. Everyone blinks at him stupidly once he gets to the Queen and delivers a deadpan explanation that whoever pulls that card has to eat it. None of you are drunk enough to believe him, so he scribbles the rule out on the whiteboard and writes a question mark instead. He sets the board back in place and continues with his explanation, looking at everyone expectantly.

He points at the board behind him, not bothering to look back at it. "This is here in case you forget what any of the cards mean, but we’ll go slow since there are eight of us.”

A full round around the table and you are all feeling pretty comfortable and giggly. Some of the more tame cards have made their way into the discard pile beside Yoongi.

Jin pulled an eight and made Tae drink until he said stop, which was hilarious and equally terrifying when you realized someone could do the same to you. Luckily the enemy beside you didn’t have the pleasure.

Taehyung pulls a King and tries to make a weird rule that any time a four is played and you’re all scrambling to the floor, the last one to touch the ground has to kiss the feet of the cardholder. When you collectively agree you are not doing that he huffs and makes a rule that for the rest of the game if you have to drink, you have to dirty talk your beer before taking a sip. This rule makes you determined not to lose any rounds.

Laughter erupts from the table when Yoongi calls his drink a filthy little slut before having to take a sip. Hobi is so thrilled when Yoongi pulls a five and starts dancing immediately after that he ended up cackling instead of focusing on the game. He’s less than thrilled about needing to drink after missing the opportunity to dance so he ends up glaring at his drink.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, you filthy bitch? You want me to put my hands around your throat, put my tongue on you and drink up? Alright then.” He coos a ridiculous sound at his cup and guffaws before taking a huge swig.

Jimin covers his eyes and laughs, downing the rest of his drink like it’s water without a thought of whether he was supposed to or not. He gets up to refill his cup as an excuse to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“Hobi’s upping the game. Woooooow.” Jin leans back in his chair, mouth agape with wonder before bursting into a squeaky laugh.

You gulp, hoping everyone is too distracted by their own laughter to notice the way your legs clamp together. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual. Fuck. Hobi. I gotta text Jennie. She’s not gonna believe this. No, don’t touch your phone. Don’t look at anyone. Just wait for your turn to pick a card.

Hobi pulls a three and has to drink again. “Ah. This slut wants more. Here we go, baby.”

You desperately scan the circle of facedown cards, a smile forcefully smattered on your features. You strain to reach the one you’re trying for. Hoseok slides it towards you with an innocent smile, as though those lips weren’t just spewing absolute filth. “I hope it’s a good one.”

Your eyes drop to the card as you flip it back on the table. Jack. You squint at the board, trying to figure out what “Never” means when Yoongi puts three fingers up.

“Alright, Y/N. This is Never Have I Ever. We all put our fingers up like this. You come up with something you’ve never done and say it out loud. If any of us have done those things,” he pauses and drops a finger so he only has two standing tall, “then we put them down. First one to have no fingers up has to drink.”

Oh no. What haven’t I done? What haven’t I done? The guys all expectantly wait for you to say something. You purse your lips as your mind blanks on every moment you’ve ever experienced.

“Never have I ever…” your mouth is dry. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi laughs. “Don’t think too hard. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy, but it does have to be true. It’s not fun otherwise. People have different goals. You can use it to learn or you can just try get as many people to drink as possible.”

Suddenly a lightbulb goes off in your head. They’re all men. “Never have I ever peed standing up.”

Everyone around the table puts a finger down. The mirth in Yoongi’s face becomes strained and his eyelids flutter as he sighs. “Careful. There are a lot of cards left and you’re about to make yourself a target.”

You press on anyway. “Never have I ever had sex with a woman.”

A few of them tut in annoyance as they’re all left with one finger up.

Jungkook pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek. “You’re not living your best life then.”

You furrow your brow while trying to think of another easy thing that could get them all to lose. Tapping your fingers on the table, you make an effort to focus on each one’s concentrated gaze. It comes to you and you filter your bottom lip through your teeth for a moment. Have they...? You’d bet they all have.

Jungkook rolls his eyes at you. “Come on, Princess. Just say whatever it is.”

“Never have I ever been to a strip club.”

There’s a collective sigh as their hands drop and they stare at their drinks. You grin like a maniac, taking in the garbled sounds of each one dirty-talking their drinks like it’s a goddamn orgy.

Jungkook looks over at you, making sure he has your attention as he offers an amused smile. “You really haven’t been to Wings?”

You’ve seen signs for that club, hating to admit the ads garnered intrigue. It’s split down the middle, supposedly one side angelic and the other hellish. “Nope. Drink up, Jungkook.”

He maintains eye contact with you, bringing his drink to his lips. “Maybe I can get you to come. Will you give me permission to taste you?” He tilts his head back and makes a show of closing his eyes and slowly slurping his beverage. You narrow your eyes at him before he puts the cup back down. “Delicious. My turn.”

He flips the card. “King. Ooh. My rule. Starting now, every time you say something you have to start with the word hashtag and end with dotcom.”

“Jungkook, that’s so stupid,” you say without thinking.

“Hashtag, drink up Princess, dotcom,” he replies with an impish grin.

You bite your lip and stare at your drink. How could you be so careless? They all lean in, waiting for the words to leave your mouth. You hold your hands up in a T-shape. “Hold up. Time out. Pause the game. I need some clarity. Do I have to say hashtag dotcom thing WHILE talking to my drink?”

Namjoon looses it, laughing like a maniac. “Hashtag, I think you fucking do Y/N dotcom.”

Jungkook just smiles, crossing his arms and waiting for you to continue. God, you fucking hate him. This is the dumbest rule you’ve ever heard. It’s going to get old fast. Still, you stare down at your cup. “Hashtag… Uh… I’m gonna... s-slurp your fluids out now, dotcom?”

Jungkook’s obnoxious laugh is piercing your eardrums as you down a few big gulps. The rest of the table roars with laughter and heat burns your cheeks, not daring to make eye contact with any one of them.

“W-What was that?!” Jin yells. “You sound like an alien! Can I give you some pointers, please?”

“Hashtag, Seokjin! You forgot dotcom!” Jungkook says, pointing to his friend’s cup.

Jin curses under his breath and stares at his cup. “Hashtag, this is how you do it, Y/N.” He focuses on his cup without missing a beat, raising it up to the sky longingly like he’s about to start serenading it. “You wish you could hear me say this every day, don’t you? You love how my mouth feels on you. I can tell by the way you’re dripping for me, my lovely. Dot. Com.” He makes a point to run his tongue along the rim of his cup and takes a sip.

Fuck these guys. But also… Fuck? These guys? You’re one dirty comment away from soaking your panties, but they don’t need to know that.

“Hashtag I’m sorry I’m not a slut like the rest of you. Also Seokjin, you’re a bitch, dotcom,” you grumble, gripping your knees to keep your hands off your phone. Jennie will absolutely scream once you tell her about this night. She’ll be sad she missed out.

Jin’s eyes go wide as though you smacked his ass in front of the world, a smile is taking over the corners of his mouth. “Hashtag, stop trying to flirt with me, dotcom.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help the shy smile that creeps in. Jungkook sits up straight and sighs dramatically. “Hashtag let’s keep going so we can get the rest of this bread dotcom.”

Jimin pulls a king and has made the rule that hashtag dotcom is abolished. It comes as a relief when you’re a few more rounds in, and everyone has already consumed way more booze than expected because of Jungkook’s rule. An uneventful round of drinking passes before Seokjin pulls the last King out.

“A rule, hmm? Alright. When you ask someone to drink you have to hold their chin, stare longingly into their eyes, and ask them to drink.” He demonstrates, holding Taehyung’s jaw in his fingers. “Like this. Will you please drink for me, my dear friend, Taehyung?”

Tae bashfully giggles waving his hand away. “You’re too much sometimes. I think you need a girlfriend.”

Since it only applies for certain cards, you end up forgetting about it as multiple turns come and go without utilizing it. Your turn rises again and you slide the eight face up across the table. After kicking your chair with his feet for the millionth time, you completely forget about the rule Jin made and pick based on your irritation. Eight is hate indeed.

“Jungkook, go until I say stop.”

The words feel satisfying as they leave your mouth, but Namjoon grimaces, anxiously baring both sets of teeth.

“Uh… You gotta…” Namjoon taps his cheeks twice with his fingertips.

Horror replaces that smug satisfaction in the pit of your stomach and it churns a sickness deep inside that pit.

Jungkook cocks his head at you. “You really wanna put your hands on me that badly, huh?”

You exhale loudly and tightly grip his chin with sweaty, hot fingers. Your eyes threaten to burn holes into his. “Jungkook, go until I say stop.”

He’s stunned into silence for a second, adam’s apple bobbing ever so slightly. He blinks at you a couple times before regaining his composure. Who knew princesses can breathe fire? Grabbing his cup, he grins and chuckles an amused sound even as you’re tearing yourself from him.

“Don’t worry I can go all night when you taste so good, baby,” he says, tilting his head back as he drinks.

You keep an eye on his cup, watching the liquid slowly disappear. You have to be careful not to let him finish, but you kind of want him to suffer a little bit. Even though he drinks like a fish, he’s still not on Jimin’s level. This has to be affecting him somehow. He watches you through an annoyed side-eye when you don’t say a word, not allowed to stop until you say so or until he finishes his drink. Your phone chooses this exact moment to vibrate a long sound against the table and your concentrated gaze wanders for a second too long, allowing him to gulp down the remnants of his drink.

Jungkook slams his empty cup down in time for you to look back at him in horror before looking at your own full cup. The room fills with the sound of everyone “ooooh-ing” like this is the sixth grade. With a heavy sigh, you bring your cup to your lips.

“I was distracted. I would have said stop.”

Jungkook leans his elbow on the table and rests his head on a folded palm. His smile tells you he’s ready to dish it back. “Mmm-hmm. Go on. Oh… Wait.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw in his hands so lightly, like it could disintegrate at the slightest touch. He leans his head back slightly, soft eyes imploring you to move closer. He slides his fingers up your jawline, nestling them behind your ears like he’s about to draw you to his lips. “Will you be good and drink that for me until I ask you to stop?”

Jin scoffs. “Wow. Look at this guy.”

The others hold back their snickers. Your eyebrow twitches, smacking his hands away from you. Instead you focus on the cup in your sweaty palms.

“I can’t wait to feel you… dripping from my mouth,” you whisper to your cup, trying to redeem yourself for earlier and doing your best not to think about how fucking good it felt having Jungkook’s hands wrapped around the sides of your face. You don’t spare a look at any of them as you tilt your head back and start gulping the liquid down.

“Much better,” Yoongi says with a smirk, but you don’t hear him over the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Namjoon smacks his hand to his forehead. “Yeah... I’m gonna need you to dial it back just a bit. I still have to see you at work.”

Jin pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “Ah, maybe our Zelda isn’t so bad at this after all.”

Jimin, Taehyung and Hobi all have their elbows on the table, cheeks in their palms as they watch your throat make its swallowing motions. They simultaneously grunt differing words of affirmation. About three quarters through, Jungkook puts his hand on the bottom of your cup.

“Stop.”

Mercy? From Jungkook? You don’t believe it, but you’ve been struggling so you’re kind of grateful. Just as you’re about to put the cup down, he taps the bottom of it, forcing liquid to splash upwards onto your chin. You slap his hand away as he cackles and you wipe your lips.

“Fuck you, Jungkook.”

“What time, sweetheart?” He grins when you glare at him.

“Just pick your fucking card before I strangle you.”

“Kinky. You know, I might let you if you asked nicely.”

You get the pitcher of beer from the fridge and start refilling everyone’s cups. He pulls a card that has him whispering dirty words into the rim of his empty cup, holding it out for you to fill. At least most of the cards seem to be gone now. You hate to admit you’re feeling a bit dizzy and out of sorts, but you reason that it’s just a few more rounds, so maybe you just sip on water after this game is over.

Just as you get back to your seat, Namjoon throws a sheepish grin your way. “Joker.”

“There’s only one of these,” Yoonngi begins, looking around the room to make sure he has everyone’s attention. “Waterfall is when everyone starts drinking and you can’t stop until the person to your right stops. Namjoon can stop whenever he wants, but Jin has to wait until he’s done. Then Taehyung waits until Jin is done. Make sense?”

Normally the waterfall card is played in the opposite direction, but there’s so much tension between you and Jungkook tonight and he’s so used to his friend getting his way with women that he can’t help wanting to give you the edge on him. Everyone nods. The realization dawns on everyone that before this can happen, they all have to do two things per the rules.

One after another the guys ask the person to their left to drink while gripping their chins. It would be a fairly intimate scene if people weren’t giggling every three seconds. Still, your heart damn near skips a beat when Hobi’s slender fingers curl under your jaw, drunkenly pulling you closer to his face than you’ve ever dared to get. Heat builds in your stomach and travels up your chest, spreading across your back and prickling your neck. You hope it doesn’t move into your cheeks.

“You gonna take this drink, Y/N?” he aks, unable to hold the giggles in as he wags your head back and forth in his steady hands.

Oh… He’s fucking gone, isn’t he? “For you? Maybe,” you flirt, rubbing your shoulder against his as you turn away.

Jungkook sits up straight, muscles tensing as you twist your body towards him. Suddenly, he looks a lot bigger than you remember. Is he puffing out his chest? You wilt under his irritated stare but are determined not to let it show. You slip your fingers underneath his chin, just barely registering the stubble there. Your slow blink hides the flutter of your eyelashes, alcohol clouding your brain with desire. But damn if the room isn’t still spinning. He flashes you boyish grin when you clap your palm to his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Yes?”

“Drink up, buttercup,” you giggle, pinching your fingers closed beneath his jaw.

A choked laugh escapes him. “You should sit this one out. At this rate, you’ll be passed out with your face on the toilet seat in an hour.”

You spin back to your drink with fury in your eyes; if there’s anything you hate more than Jungkook, it’s being told what to do. Especially by Jungkook. I’ll show you, asshole.

Everyone turns to their cups and mutters a few dirty words before Namjoon begins the circle of drinking. One by one the cups come down, everyone seemingly grateful for the person before them showing at least some kind of mercy. You slow your gulping when you realize Jimin is dragging it out in an attempt to annoy Yoongi. Both of them still seem surprisingly sober for the amount they’ve ingested. Maybe they don’t wear their intoxication as easily as the rest of you. Hobi exchanges a worried glance at you, trying to not let it slip that he’s only pretending to down his beverage, but you can tell by the steady level of the liquid in his cup that he’s pretty much ready to tap out.

As soon as Jimin finally pulls his cup back from his lips, Yoongi stops, immediately followed by Hobi. Yoongi is keenly aware of his roommate’s inability to hold down liquor in large quantities. He doesn’t fare much better with beer. Saving his friend means you can be saved too. He looks at you, raising his eyebrows in warning. You spare a fleeting glance in his direction, but it’s long enough to catch his message loud and clear: Don’t be an idiot, Y/N. Don’t go overboard.

But you turn your attention to Jungkook, who is still effortlessly allowing his beverage to slither down his throat. You gulp in segments, a commendable attempt to keep yourself going. Even for all your efforts, booze spills from the corners of your mouth and leaves cold sloppy trails down your neck as you watch Jungkook. He’s not even struggling. Fuck. You finally give up, allowing the cup to smack down on the table with a messy splash.

He keeps going just to spite you, polishing off his drink with a smack of his lips and a satisfied sigh. He rises from his seat, patting your shoulder as he gets himself more to consume. “It’s cute how hard you tried.”

The final round passes and you are ready to strangle Jungkook for the way he keeps knocking his knees against yours. It’s gotten to the point where you’ve moved your chair so close to Hobi’s that he’s put his arm around you, thinking you are just as sleepy as he is. Truth be told you kind of are. The room is a little too spinny for your liking, but you can’t seem to persuade your brain to make your legs get up and get yourself a glass of water.

“You want to nap too?” he whispers, rubbing the eyes he can hardly keep open. “Come here. Let’s sleep together.”

The innocent words make your stomach spin in place but you don’t have time to ruminate on them. Jungkook hooks his ankle around your chair and jerks it back towards him. Furious eyes flicker on him in warning just as Hobi’s cheek slumps over your shoulder and draws your attention away. Luckily Yoongi springs into action to keep his friend from falling any further into your personal space than he already has.

“Okay, Hobi. We get it. You need to sleep,” he chuckles, cradling his friend’s arm around his shoulder as he helps him to his feet.

Hoseok weakly grumbles a sound of acknowledgement as they shuffle down the hall into what you assume is a guest room. Their apartment is bigger than any you’ve seen so you find yourself wondering just how many guest rooms they could possibly have. Then you remind yourself that it doesn’t matter because you are definitely not staying because getting an uber is always an option.

When Yoongi returns alone, people have started migrating into the living room. Jungkook and Jin are still seated, heatedly talking about some game nearby, but you’ve elected to ignore them in favor of checking your messages. Jason has sent you a few messages that have piqued your interest, including one finally asking you on a date. Does ignoring guys really fucking work? Was Namjoon right about something in his life? You don’t want to believe it.

The words in Jason’s message blur together, despite how hard you’re concentrating on them. You’d told him you were out with friends. He must have known you’d be relatively unavailable so maybe it’s okay that you’re in no shape to formulate a coherent response. Still you stare at the keyboard, jumping when an arm reaches over you to place a glass of water on the table for you.

You blink a few times at Yoongi, who simply whispers a gruff “drink” before grabbing the shot left in the center of the table and downing it as he joins the majority of his friends in the other room. Jungkook looks over at you, eyes dropping to your open conversation when you absentmindedly set your phone down. You take the cold glass in both hands and narrow your eyes in Yoongi’s direction as you swallow down a good portion of the liquid.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It’s been an hour and if you’re honest you’ve just barely teetered back into the moderately drunk category. Yoongi had offered to take you home when he was getting ready to leave since he was already chauffeuring Namjoon. At the time you declined because you were certain that your natural predisposition to motion sickness would be amplified by the liquor in your system. You didn’t want to make Yoongi’s new car smell like puke. Namjoon has this habit of texting when he’s worried. Even after he left you’d been going back and forth about the night. Honestly it’s kind of helping keep you from passing out and you’re reminded how grateful you are for his friendship.

Sitting on the couch next to Jimin may have also influenced your decision since the man literally smells how vacations feel — and god do you need to relax. He’s also acted as a barrier between you and Jungkook, who has his legs stretched out across the cushions to Jimin’s right. Jungkook has been engrossed in his phone since you left the table, opting out of switching off with Taehyung when he dies in-game. You’re kind of thankful for it. Maybe he’s finally settled down for the night. Does he get more polite with drowsiness?

Jimin smiles softly at you, his arms draped over the back of the couch. The pair of you have been quietly conversing and giggling over the platformer Seokjin and Taehyung have been playing. Jimin’s face still looks a little flush with alcohol, but he only just finished his last beverage for the night. How the hell can someone so tiny pack away so much liquor? You hold in a shiver as his fingertips playfully dance along your shoulder, trying not to let on how the action affects you. His harmless flirting only bolsters confidence hiding in the depths of your mind and you stretch your arms up with a yawn and lean against him, knowingly giving him a better view of the cleavage poking out from beneath the v-cut of your shirt.

Jimin allows a devilish smile to curl at his lips as his fingers walk down your arm. He puts both hands back on the couch, like you’d made the move unprompted by his touching. “Hmm. You’re pretty bold, aren’t you?” His whisper is low and breathy, so quiet you almost miss it. What a tease.

“Hey. Jimin. Come here.”

The unusually quiet Jungkook knocks his foot against his friends knee, which pushes Jimin’s thigh up against yours. You softly sigh at the contact and the subsequent loss when Jungkook sits up and Jimin apologetically scoots away. You plant an elbow on the armrest beside you and prop your cheek up on your palm. Seokjin is carrying Taehyung through this level it seems.

“Do you think I should tap that?” The words are loud enough to distract you so you can’t help but turn your head in their direction.

“I think she might be out of your league,” Jimin giggles. “Besides she’s older than you. I thought that bothered you?”

“Oh. No way. I love it. When they have more experience I don’t have to work as hard,” he replies with a lofty sigh.

“Are you sure about that in this case? You’re very presumptuous.”

Your blood heats up the back of your neck. Why are men so disgusting? You grit your teeth, unable to hold in the sound of disgust that makes its way through them.

Jungkook’s head snaps up and he locks eyes with you. There’s something smug about his expression, like he’s stupidly proud of pulling that reaction from you. “Aw, are you feeling left out, princess? Here, see for yourself. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

When he flips his screen around your own profile is staring back at you. Straightening your spine and reaching across Jimin’s lap for him, you hiss, “Jungkook, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Why?” He tilts his head to one side, feigning confusion and looks at the profile again. “I think she’s pretty hot.”

“If you match with me, I will not swipe right on you. You know that, right? So this whole thing is pointless,” you reason, more for yourself than the two men beside you. “You’re not gonna get to me. It’s not gonna fucking work, Jungkook.”

Jimin’s shoulders tremble with soft, mellifluous laughter that spills from his lips as he takes in the exchange. It’s apparent that Jungkook has already gotten under your skin. Denying it is only making you angrier.

“Fine. Fine. It’s gone now, see,” Jungkook says, briefly flashing you the home screen of his phone before putting it away. The image of that big tiddy anime girl behind all those icons is going to haunt your dreams; you can feel it.

You get up to get yourself more water. “I hate you so much.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It’s late. Seokjin left a few minutes ago and Jimin rubs his eyes, unsure what to do. The selfish part of his brain tells him he should claim the other guest room. The horny part of his brain tells him he should suggest you share with him. The exhausted part of his brain tells him to just pass out in Taehyung’s bed and let him figure it out.

“You’re welcome to stay, too. We have room for you,” Taehyung says with a kind smile. “There’s another guest room.”

You still don’t feel well enough to drive or sit in a cab. You sit with your hands folded in your lap, pondering your shitty life choices. You’ve become pretty good friends, but a sleepover seems a bit strange without your bestie Namjoon to buffer out all of the awkward moments.

You smile as sweetly as you can manage, your voice small and borderline whiny in its need for sleep. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want to be a bother. Thank you, Taehyung.”

The man rolls his eyes. “I won’t allow you to sleep on a couch when we have beds.”

“Your couch is comfier than my actual bed,” you joke, patting the plush cushions on either side of you.

Jungkook walks in, shirtless and scrubbing a toothbrush furiously in his mouth. He tries to speak but it’s unintelligible, so he turns back around to finish up.

“It’s really okay. I should stay up and finish my water anyway and I don’t want to keep you guys up. I drank a little too much.”

“No shit,” Jungkook sighs as he rounds the corner and leans against the wall. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay up with you, Princess.”

Taehyung flashes his friend a pointed look and opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when Jungkook continues.

“You guys go on. I’ll make sure she drinks up her water and gets to bed.”

You glare at him as Taehyung moves in to whisper something to him, but you lose focus as Jimin pulls you into a tight hug that you can’t help but return.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he mumbles into the fabric of your hoodie. “I’m glad you’re a part of our family.”

You squeeze his shoulder before he shuffles down the hall and disappears into the bathroom. “Goodnight, Y/N!”

Taehyung offers a boxy smile and a small wave, demeanor changed after his side conversation with Jungkook. “Don’t take off without having breakfast. Seokjin will come back and make something tasty. Also I put your keys in my studio so good luck finding them if you try.”

You half laugh, half scoff. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. ‘Night.”

“Goodnight,” he says, passing Jungkook a tight lipped smile on his way down the hall.

Jungkook waits until he hears the door close before he speaks and for the first time since you met him, his tone borderlines concerned. “Be honest with me. How sick are you right now?”

Your throat swallows down a thick mass of air. “I’m fine.”

“Tch. Okay, Princess,” he scoffs in disbelief, taking slow steps towards you with his hands buried in the pockets of his black sweatpants. “Do you need a bucket?”

“No.” You drink down your water, trying to focus on anything but the way your body is producing enough sweat to make you want to discard your hoodie as soon as he leaves you alone.

A door opens down the hall and Jimin shuffles out before disappearing into another room. The quiet click of the door closing causes Jungkook to sigh. 

Spinning. The room is spinning again. You hold the cold glass in your hands like it’s your lifeline, shut your eyes and throw your head back to rest it against the couch. You don’t notice when he leaves, but you definitely notice the cold cloth pressed to your forehead when he returns.

“Do you want comfier clothes?” he quietly asks, voice bereft of any humor as he sinks into the cushion beside you.

You open your eyes and glare at him like this is some prank he’s playing on you but you’re not sure how. “No.”

He rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself. I get hella hot when I’m drunk off my ass. Figured I’d ask.”

“I’m not...” you begin, trying to bring your head to rise. It feels heavy and plops back down on the seat.

“You’re drunk,” he states plainly. “And miserable. So drink up the rest of the water and I’ll show you to the guest room. It’ll be embarrassing if any of my friends wake up to you looking so pathetic. Come on.”

He helps you bring the cup to your lips and tilts your head forward enough to safely consume the rest of the water in your glass.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“If you think this is what nice guys are like, I feel bad for you.” He puts the glass down in the kitchen sink, briefly rinsing it.

“Jungkook,” you whine, an exasperated sigh passing your lips with his name.

“What? Your judgement of character is way outta whack. It’s just sad,” he explains, crossing the room while rubbing fresh lotion up his arms. Washing dishes makes his skin feel itchy.

“Alright. Come on. Up.” He waves his arms lets them weakly smack his thighs when you don’t move.

A whiff of sweet peaches and soft jasmine pervades your nostrils. Why does he have to smell so fucking good? He removes the cool cloth from your forehead, earning a whine from you.

“You’ll get a new one when you get in bed. I can carry you, if that’s easier.”

“Tell me why you’re doing this. I don’t get it. What do you want?”

“I want to go to sleep so I can be lazy tomorrow and do nothing but play video games.” When you don’t budge he sighs and sits down beside you again. “And... because... you’re Namjoon’s friend and he asked us to look out for you... And now you’re all of my friends’ friend… And I guess that makes you my responsibility.”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting you to just decide you’re gonna be nice out of the blue,” you weakly smirk and let your head roll to the side so you can look at him. “Should have known it was Namjoon.

He hums an amused sound. “Yeah. Now are you going to let me get you in bed?”

You’re able to force your head up at that. “I can get myself in bed just fine thanks.”

He laughs. “Your loss.”

You stand on unsteady legs. “Where am I going?”

Jungkook grins, entertained by your lack of coordination. “That’s a good question. Where are you going, Princess?”

You stumble a bit, reaching out to steady yourself with a wall that is definitely too far to grab. Long, tattooed fingers grip your shoulders in an instant. The heat of his massive chest presses against your shoulder blades. Even through your layers of clothing you can feel how hot his skin burns and it makes you shiver, despite the way you’re soaked with sweat.

“Don’t make me ask you for help,” you plead. “Please don’t.”

“Do you want me to pretend like you didn’t beg for it, too?” he whispers, curling a muscular bicep around your back and guiding you down the hall. As he passes the thermostat, he makes a point to lower the temperature a few degrees. Jimin, Hobi, and Tae will survive. But then again, he’s not worried about them at all, is he?

“Haven’t you embarrassed me enough?” You voice cracks and you’re barely managing to hold back the tears threatening to spill out.

He doesn’t say a word as you cling to the strength of his body, looping your arms around his neck and waist as though he isn’t the last person in the world you want to tangle yourself in. He pushes the door to his room open with his shoulder, making sure you get across the threshold okay before helping you awkwardly waddle over to the unmade bed. You don’t seem to notice, and if you do, you definitely don’t comment.

Your hoodie is falling from your shoulders as you climb onto the mattress. Jungkook grabs the fabric and slings it over his shoulder. You’ve landed at a weird angle across the pillows and show no signs of correcting your position so he moves the pillows beneath your head to comfortably accommodate you. You slowly blink at him, but you’re not seeing him. Silent tears rolling down your cheeks as he grabs the thinnest sheet on his bed and pulls it over your form up to your shoulders. He chooses to ignore the way you quickly swipe them away and instead goes to get the cold towel he promised.

Standing in the sink with ice cold water running over the cloth in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the air around him, knowing no one will ever hear it.

When he returns he waits a moment, looking for the steady rise and fall of your chest. He smooths the hair from your face before pressing the cold cloth against your sweaty forehead, turning your head to the side just in case your body decides it isn’t quite ready to rest. He lightly pats your head a couple times and leaves the room, delicately closing the door behind him.

As he makes the journey back to the couch, he feeds his arms through the sleeves of your hoodie. He settles down on the couch, feeling the warmth of the space you’d been occupying all night beneath his head. Pulling down the blanket from atop the back of the couch, he brings his knees to his chest. He bunches the soft, excess material of your hoodie in his palms and turns his head into the fabric, allowing himself a subtle inhale.

Why do you have to smell so fucking good?

[sapphos-poets]

enough (m!mc x f!blaine)

Credit to @i-cant-think-of-a-name-15 for the prompt idea! I had lots of fun with this, I hope you like it :)

Pairing: M!MC (Kennedy Monroe) x F!Blaine Hayes 

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: board game night shenanigans with a sprinkle of pining and angst! also slightly crack-ish. 

"Boardgames," Blaine deadpans. "Seriously? You promised me fun, Rutherland."

"This is fun," Dionne insists. She's sitting with her legs pulled up on the couch, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, dressed in silk pyjamas. Peter's awkwardly perched next to her, hands clasped in his lap.

Kennedy looks from Dionne to the stack of boardgames on the coffee table in front of him, to Blaine standing in the doorway. He told her to show up at his and Dionne's suite in the evening in comfy clothes for a night-in to celebrate finishing their end-of-term exams. He hadn't specified what they would be doing exactly, but he'd hoped for the best.

And now, she did show up. In a too-large full sleeved top and leggings. That she looks adorable in. It isn’t helping Kennedy's blood pressure.

He clears his throat. "Blaine, come on. We're celebrating!"

She sighs and closes the door to the suite behind her, crossing the room to sit at the other end of the table, opposite Kennedy. Her eyes flick to his for a moment, and then back to Dionne's. "So, what are we playing?"

Kennedy shuffles through the stack on the table in front of him. "Whatever you want."

"There's also a bottle of champagne I've wanted to open since forever," Dionne adds, nodding to the bottle she placed before the couch earlier.

"Fine." Blaine surveys the stack. "How about that one?"

____________________________________________

"Peter.

How?

"

All four of them gaze down at the Jenga tower that's barely holding together. It had already been on the verge of collapsing before, but Peter had managed to somehow wrangle a piece out without upsetting the tower.

Peter shrugs, his discomfort obvious. Dionne gives him an appreciative glance that has him looking away in self-consciousness. "This isn't going to be fun for the next player." She looks to Kennedy, who's staring nervously at the teetering blocks.

"Come on, Rutherland," Blaine smirks, leaning back on her hands. She'd put her hair up in a bun, the loose strands now framing her face. "Don't tell me that you're scared of a board game."

Kennedy squares his shoulders, determination crossing over his features. It's just a board game, it would be fine. And he can't give in to Blaine's teasing. His hand hovers over the tower as he scrutinises it for the safest block to remove. Finally, he selects one and gently pries it out.

The resulting crash is loud enough to tear a little shriek out of him, which sends Blaine doubling over in laughter.

"P-R-E-O-C-C-U-P-I-E-D. That to your P-I-E, and the double word score, gives me 26 points, right?" Dionne glances up from where her pen is poised over the notepad.

Three disbelieving stares gape back at her. Blaine's frozen with a drink halfway to her mouth, Kennedy appears exhausted, and Peter looks like he can’t decide between impressed and amused.

"What?" she says, bending over the notebook again. "I had to be well versed in classic literature and poetry. Part of being a princess."

____________________________________________

"Left hand, red."

"Seriously? Red, again?"

"Yep."

Kennedy suppresses a sigh and looks around the mat. The closet circle is right next to the one Blaine has occupied, which would put him right beside her. On second thought, this was a terrible idea.

As he struggles to manoeuvre himself into the free spot, Blaine calls out to him, "Give up, Rutherland."

"Never, Ardona," he scoffs, settling into his new position. As he glances back at Dionne to ask for the next instruction, she jumps up. "Crap, my phone died—I need to plug it in. Come with me, Peter?"

Great. He doesn't know how long he can hold on in this awkward pose. His arms are already quivering. Blaine smirks from beside him. "Just let go, Rutherland."

He ignores her, focusing on keeping steady. And then, as if he doesn't have enough to worry about, she leans in. He tenses, feeling the warmth of her body. Just her proximity is enough to send his heart-rate into a frenzy. "Blaine," he warns.

She doesn't listen, moving closer. He catches a faint whiff of her soap—she must have showered earlier—now familiar and comforting. It's intoxicating, with the promise of more. With effort, he brings his head back to the game. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her off, he feels a gentle brush of lips on the exposed skin of his neck.

The gesture is the final push. His arms buckle and he collapses onto the mat. From the corner of his eye, he sees her stand and stretch. "Good game, Rutherland," she says.

"Good game?" Kennedy flips around onto his back, the strain of the game combined with the kiss leaving him breathless. She's grinning at him. "You cheated!" he complains, though he can't bring himself to be angry as he takes in the glee on her face.

"It's all in good fun," she responds. She hops onto and sprawls across the couch just as Dionne returns. "Okay, I'm done," Blaine announces.

Kennedy flops down beside her; playing Twister had tired him out more than he thought—which had nothing to do with Blaine of course. Dionne looks at them with disappointment. "I expected more drama from you two."

Their heads snap to her. "What are we, your entertainment?" asks Blaine.

"I did tell you my love life is pretty dry right now," Dionne shrugs, unrepentant as she takes a sip from her champagne glass. Kennedy's just glad Peter hadn't returned yet so he couldn't hear that; it isn’t that hard to see that there’s something between them.

He meets Blaine's eyes and looks away just as swiftly. The technicalities of whatever was going in between them was not something they wanted to hash out today. Not missing the exchange between them, Dionne hides a smile.

"How about a movie?" She grabs the remote. "There's a Pavadenian classic airing now." She finds the channel in response to assenting hums and settles back on the couch.

____________________________________________

"Is that a good idea?" Peter asks, his eyes on Dionne's champagne glass.

"Peter, we're celebrating," Dionne emphasises, her words slurring slightly. Kennedy isn't sure how many times he's heard that by now.

Blaine chuckles, amused. "He means the fact that you're on your third glass."

Dionne blinks slowly at her. "So?"

As she tries to focus on the television screen, Kennedy makes a point to grab the bottle and stash it away.

Kennedy looks down at the couch where Peter and Dionne have fallen asleep cuddled up next to each other. They look too comfortable to disturb, and rousing them would mean that the night would end. Which would mean Blaine would leave. And Kennedy doesn't want Blaine to leave just yet.

"Should we wake them?" Blaine asks, coming up beside him. Kennedy glances at the clock on the mantel—it's almost midnight. They hadn't meant to celebrate this long, and he definitely hadn't planned for two of their group to fall asleep on the couch.

He shakes his head and drapes the spare blanket over them.

"I guess I should get going then," Blaine says. Kennedy takes her in. Her hair's mostly come out of its bun and her clothes are rumpled. Her eyes are tired—no doubt because of the stress of exams but also from the late night—but bright. He doesn't want her to leave.

"No," Kennedy says, surprising himself. "Stay."

Blaine's shoulders sag. Kennedy wonders if it's too much to hope that she was waiting for him to ask her to stay. He flicks off the light and opens the door to his room, nodding at her. She gets the hint and trails after him.

Kennedy flops down onto his bed and watches Blaine, her cautiously curious gaze roaming the room as she perches on his chair at his desk. He almost wants to invite her to sit beside him, but squashes the idea, deeming it too forward.

"So," he begins, "did you have fun?"

Her eyes snap to his, startled before a slow smirk spreads across her face. "I did, actually. Who knew you'd know how to have fun?"

"Hey," he grins. Talking with Blaine is effortless somehow. They click, and he feels that he can open up to her. It helps that Blaine is an open book. "I do know how to have fun. You'd know that if you spent more time with me." Immediately, he wonders why he said that. His mom doesn't make it easy, but they do spend time together—a lot actually. Somehow, it never is enough for him.

He can't deny it anymore: he likes her. But the timing can't be worse, and so he's been keeping it buried, though he can't help his feelings and the consequent longing glances and stomach butterflies. Dionne argues that this is a terrible idea, but he knows he has to prioritise his mother's reelection campaign.

Blaine leans forward, that smirk still gracing her face, and Kennedy’s heart speeds up. "Don't we hang out enough?" she asks. "You really can't get enough of me, can you?"

No.

But she doesn't wait for his answer, turning back around to his desk and fiddling with a pen. Then, her shoulders begin to tremble, and a mixture of panic and dread creeps over Kennedy. Is she crying? Or possibly laughing? But unless she's lost it, there's nothing to laugh at.

Maybe she did want to leave then, Kennedy thinks miserably, and she felt obligated to stay when I asked. He gathers his courage and asks, "Are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then... why are you shaking?"

She whirls around so fast that it startles Kennedy, before pulling her legs up and hugging them. She's still shivering as she speaks in an indignant voice, "Your room is freezing."

Caught off guard and slightly alarmed, Kennedy stares at her for a second before letting out a laugh. "That's it? I thought—" He decides not to complete that sentence in order to maintain his dignity and instead gets up to rummage through his closet. He pulls out a clean hoodie and tosses it to Blaine. "Here."

She regards the clothing for a moment before tugging it on. It's big on her, like the top she's wearing, and Kennedy ignores how his heart flips at the sight. Not dwelling on it too much, he decides to take the leap and pats the bed next to him. "Come here."

Shoving her hands in the pocket, Blaine eyes the spot before crawling into the bed beside him and leaning her head on his shoulder. Kennedy tries not to tense in surprise and relaxes into it, hesitating before sliding an arm around her. To his insurmountable relief, she snuggles closer.

They settle into easy conversation late into the night, until Blaine's speech starts to slow and her eyelids begin to droop, and she falls asleep with her head on his lap. Blinking back his own sleepiness, he smoothes back her hair and smiles down at her.

They may not be able to be together, but he could treasure these moments that only he is allowed to see—and just maybe, that would be enough.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

"Kai-" You whined holding the box up "Please love I never once played this in the forst place!"

"Is a game for kids (Y/N), we are adults." He showed with his palm at both of you, arching one eyebrow up "See the difference? So that's still a no."

You sighed in defeat, holding the box in one hand while getting up from your bed to quit the room.

"Where are you going?" He more demanded than asked, but the feeling was still there.

"Tell Kurono and Irinaka that you aren't going to participate." You pointed innocently at the direction of the living room.

He deadpanned at that explanation... no, no they didn't just...

"They agreed on playing... this?" He pointed at the box in your hands while you nodded.

"I gave them the idea and Irinaka's words were- wait a minute," you lifted one of your fingers up before coughing " 'HeLL YeAh A BiT oF FuCKinG FUn On ThIS DaMN HoUSE!' While Kurono just sayed 'Yeah sure why not?'"

Okay, first; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to contain his chuckle at your own immitation of Mimic's voice.

Second... did the most trustful commurates of his accepted on playing such a childish game? WITH HIS ANGEL WITHOUT ASKING HIM FIRST?

Oh not fucking happening.

"There is no way that you're going to give up on playing this, right?" He sighed in annoyance before you shook your head.

"I never played 'Jenga'..." you pouted and made those puppy eyes once again in a last attempt of tagging your boyfriend along "Please my devil?" You cooed "I promise I will play with you all the rounds of Shogi with you but please just this once?"

He hated those puppy eyes with such passion. Not because they were disgusting or anything related, no, it was because he couldn't say no to them. He just COULDN'T.

He sighed through his mask and llacedd his gloved hands on the inside of his pocket while walking towards you.

At least he got a time alome with you after, and as a bonus his favorite game, which he not only admired by the rules but he could see that adorable pout of yours whenever you losed.

Which was almost all the time.

"One round. And we call it night. Understood?" He rolled his eyes at your happy expression as you thanked him with a kiss on his mask, surprinsing him for a bit.

"Yes Kai I did brush my teeth and showered..." You huffed while he sighed a relieved 'thank god'.

~

"You three better not use your quirks on this I swear." You mumbled as you positioned the pieces together, ignoring Mimic's snickering.

"My quirk is not exactly suitable for this, and I am not in the mood to be killed or to be screamed over later." Chrono said pointing at on one his arrows in his head.

"Can't say the same for me though. These things are smaller than a fridge so-"

"So you better shut your mouth Mimic, and do not dare to enter those things." You and Chrono snickered at the way Mimic flinched at Chisaki's tone of voice as he stared at you building that tiny little tower.

"Ridiculous..." he mumbled through his mask before pushinh you to sit on his lap instead of the cushion.

You blushed at the avtion awhile Chrono and Mimic only satred for a couple of seconds in disbelief and yet finding that scene extremely hilarious.

"Any words spoken about this that left of either of you two mouths expect that your bodies will be found in nine dofferent countries." He said darkly before tapping your thigh. "You start."

"A-Ah! Y-yeah I forgot!"

~

Ok, he had to admit it. This game was way tense and stressful than he thought bit incredibly at testing your physical habbilits.

He also lost count of how many times you send him a look whenever he threatened to use his quirk when he thought the tower was just too trembling and at the point of falling.

"Shit. Why you bunch of people leave the harddest for me?" Hari complaimed as he eyed the atrocity of the tower, thinking of how and which one he was going to push without being prejudiced by it.

"Hurry arrow haired you got only one minute left." Mimic said between laughter as he holded the timer.

"Shut the fuck up Irinaka." He mumbled in response as you giggled, the vibrations hitting Chisaki's chest in the most glorious way.

Huh... this was actually kinda nice.

"Twenty seconds blockhead." Kai said monoustly bit with a hint of arrogance and teasing om his voice.

Which happily you were the only one that got it.

"Kai he is your childhood friend. Don't be so cruel." You whispered to him with a smile whole he arched one of his eyebrows.

"I am being realistic and he is being a idiot, there is at least 45 per cent that this thinh will fall." He whispered lowly back in your ear while you mumbled 'is that so?' With a evil smirk.

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6-" you counted along with Mimic, whoose was almost dying from laughter.

"Oh screw you (Y/n)." Chisaki's hold on you tighten as his eyes narrowed at Kurono in a murderous way.

"What did you just said Chronostasis?" He went to take his glove off before you stopped him with a smile.

"Relax, is just a game and I poked him. It happens."

"That doesn't mean he has the right on talking with you like that." He growled before Kurno just mumbled a 'fuck it' a d just took one alleatory block of the tower.

Which didn't fell.

"SUCK THAT MIMIC!" Kurono almost throwed the block on Mimic with his enthusiasm while Irinaka just looked at the tower with a look that screamed 'I'm fucked.'.

"See why I prefer Shogi instead? It isn't this loud." He said numbly as he secretly carresed your hair from behind, se ding goose bumps onto your whole body each time his gloved fingers touched your scalp.

"Ah come on!" You turned your head to look up at him from his shoulder "I caught you smilling when you were passed without destroying the tower and not using your quirk." You said the last part in a joking manner as he rolled his eyes before both of you jumped at the shout Irinaka just gave it while throwing the block on Kurono's head.

Yeah, he didn't back down.

"My turn!" You chirped as you eyed the tower, choosing the best one to not ruin it for your victory.

While Kai was mentally expecting that things fall, Kurno and Mimic were being very... vocal about it before Chisaki sended them a glare.

Hypocrite.

You successfully and slowly took one of the blocks away with a 'yes' as Kai carresed your side as a reward bjt still a bit dissapointed that it didn't fell.

"Your turn boss."

Chisaki arched his back a bit, covered chin almost resting over your shoulder as he analyzed and prepared his strategy with the little time he had.

The base was a totally forbidden area, the sides were too unstable, and the top completely destroyed ... he looked more carefully until he noticed a piece in the middle that could easily be removed without the tower falling... he smirked underneath his mask and went to pick, already claiming his victory because there was no way that Kurono could take another piece without making the tower fall.

You three weren't even surprised at that, Kai was way too smart for these things but still was fun, and in your case cute and hot as hell, seing his concetrate face.

Before he could even push it from out of there a voice echoed on the room.

"What is going on here?" Pops asked with curiosity but still smirked at the sign.

This took Chisaki's concentration away and he accidentally let the tower fall... making him, Mimic Chrono and you go wide eyed as you three jaws almost hitted the floor.

Did... did Overhaul just... lost?

"HoLY SHIt ThIS Is FoR ThE REcoRd! OvErHaUL JuST LoST!" Mimic broked the silent while screaming in laughter, making you and Chrono crack into your owns as Chisaki stared at it... disbelief lrinted on his face.

"I swear I never once saw that this day was even going to become reality holy shit!" Kurno said between laughter, not caring about the death glare he was receiving from Chisaki.

"W-what-" you tried once "What did you say about this being a game for kids my devil?" He pinched your side and one of your thighs for that, bit you only muffled your laughter on his neck, feeling the vibrations while he growled in irritation.

"Place that thing back together again, it didn't count."

"It didn't count my-" Chrono punched the back of his Mimic's neck before he could say any thing as he mumbled a 'sure'

"Will you four mind if I join you? A bit of distraction is never a bad thing." Pops asked while taking a sit between you and Irinaka, since you had gotten off of Chisaki's lap for respect at the old man.

Pops participating or not, he was going to crush his enemies mercilessly...

Ah, he felt your hand on his gloved ones... adorable but that wont save his angel.

[nubnubblr]

If You Do. 30 Game Night

SAM

         "Did they fight again?" I frowned.

"It wasn't loud enough for them to fight," Jae shook his head.

"Thea probably told him to leave," Charlie added.

"Can someone please give me a hand?" Thea asked hobbling down the hallway. Jae started clapping.

"I have no problem throwing the rest of the food in the bin," she warned.

"Are you okay?" Jackson asked.

"I'm fine," she nodded.

"I'll help you," he smiled at her.

"Clearly, BM opened his mouth again," Jae commented.

"When does that idiot speak when he shouldn't?" Charlie commented.

MARK

         It was pretty clear that Sam had a huge thing for Charlie, I wasn't sure she had any idea about it though, I think she might have been to preoccupied with her jealousy over the girl Sam had brought over. Whether that meant that she also liked him back or just didn't like to share her toys was another story.

"You should see how much she cooked," Jackson stated bringing in plates of food, followed by a hobbling Thea who also had plates of food.

"You think this is a lot of food?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Cooking is basically the only thing she is good at, next to causing harm to herself," Jae shrugged.

"I'll hurt you in a minute," Thea frowned at him.

"Scary, what are you going to do? You're crippled and tiny," he seemed to be baiting her.

"Dude, stop," Charlie frowned at him. I think maybe she noticed the uncomfortable face Jackson was pulling.

"You're so lame," he sighed but stopped making fun of Thea.

"So," Jae stretched the word out once everyone was finally seated.

"What?" Charlie raised an eyebrow at him.

"Did you really make BM leave?" Jae asked.

"What?" Thea asked.

"Is that what he said?" she frowned, clearly confused.

THEA

         "No, he just said he was leaving, but I assumed that you two had another fight," Jae shrugged.

"Well, you know what they say about assuming," I shrugged.

"I also know that BM has been an ass lately and no one would really blame you if you did kick him out," Jae retorted.

"Ew, are you siding with me?" I pulled a grossed-out face.

"What? Gross,"

"Sure sounded like it," Charlie muttered.

"I was just saying, you know what? Whatever," he rolled his eyes.

"Look, I didn't kick him out, I told him that he was welcome to stay, all I did was tell him that I was done with fighting and that I was tired of putting you all in a situation where it seemed like you had to choose sides. So, maybe it was better if we just stopped talking to each other," I said, even as I was saying it I was regretting it, it made me sad to think that BM and I were no longer friends, it was upsetting that we ever came to this point, but it did and this was the better choice than destroying the group completely.

"You broke up with BM?" Sam sounded shocked.

"We're here to eat and play games not discuss my relationship with BM,"

"Okay grumpy," Jae rolled his eyes.

"What should we play first?" Jackson stepped in before I could make a retort.

"Your mum," Jae retorted.

"What?" Jackson frowned.

"Ignore him, his mouth isn't actually connected to his brain,"

"And what's your mouth connected too?" he shot back at me.

"Jenga!" Sam stated, I think he was just trying to resolve the bickering, probably for the sake of his new side piece which he hadn't noticed was missing yet.

"You want to play Jenga?" Charlie frowned.

"Why not?"

"Maybe because your shoulder is still in the recovery stages and you're probably going to be the first to lose," she shrugged.

"No way, Thea has terrible hand-eye coordination, and we don't know how well the newbies play," Jae took the opportunity to attack me again.

BM

       "So how long did it take you to figure out Sam's in love with Charlie?" I asked breaking the silence.

"Almost as soon as we walked in, you can tell by the way he looks at her,"

"Most people can," I corrected.

"Most? It's not like he's doing a good job at hiding it,"

"Charlie is oblivious to his feelings,"

"Seriously?" she frowned.

"Yeah, or at least that's the way it seems. Honestly, I think she knows exactly how he feels but she likes the attention and doesn't want to share him with anyone but at the same time she doesn't want to date him so she just strings him along,"

"That sounds a little harsh," she continued to frown at me.

"Her and I have never really seen eye to eye," I shrugged.

"Is that because you have a little thing for her?" she raised an eyebrow.

"What? No,"

"Right, she looks like that, if you haven't had a thing for her at least once you're a liar. Hell, I think I have a thing for her,"

"I don't have a thing for Charlie,"

"Oh come on, you have issues because of unresolved sexual tension, I think that maybe you don't want her and Sam together because you're mad that there is more of a chance of her dating him than you, it's probably been sitting just under the surface since you were in high school," she tatted matter-of-factly.

"Do you mind if I call past the bar before I drop you off at home? I just have to make sure my sister hasn't destroyed my business," I ignored her statement.

"And that is called avoidance," she commented.

"Who are you?" I frowned.

"I work as a phycologist," she shrugged as if it were nothing.

"Seriously?"

"It's not that different from being a bartender,"

"How?"

"I mean, you're basically a therapist, but you don't get the pay. But therapy and phycology aren't that different,"

"You never answered my question,"

"I think I could use a drink,"

CHARLIE

         "This is really good," Jackson commented on Thea's cooking. Again.

"Why don't we change games? This one is getting boring," Sam stated at the same time.

"I think it's quite entertaining," Jae shrugged, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

The rest of the group was feeling a little tense, we were still playing Jenga, Thea had given up after the first round after she lost and Jae made fun of her, Jae lost next, of course, that could have had something to do with Thea sabotaging him but the only proof of that was him saying she bumped him and our knowledge of her personality. Jackson was the next to go followed by Sam. Which, just left myself and Mark who were not in an intense one on one and I refused to lose to this trust fund douche bag.

"Yeah, come on guys, it's just a game," Thea said cautiously.

"I'm not going to lose to this trust fund douche bag," I spoke my insult aloud.

"Charlie," Sam frowned.

"I don't have a trust fund," Mark roll his eyes.

"Sure you don't," I shrugged.

"I work hard for my money," he retorted.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I frowned.

"It means exactly what I said, my job requires actual work,"

"You don't even know what I do for work,"

"I can only assume,"

"You know what they say about assuming," Jae commented.

"Can one of you just lose so we can stop playing this stupid game?" Thea sighed.

"You only think it's stupid because you lost," Jae stated.

"So did you,"

"Yeah, but you lost first so," he shrugged.

"Are you two always like this?" Jackson frowned.

"Yes," we all said at the same time, well, all but Jackson and Mark.

"Why?" Jackson asked.

Jae and Thea launched into blaming each other, I'm pretty sure they don't even remember why they attack each other anymore. I know the rest of us don't. Mark pushed out another block, the Jenga tower was basically a skeletal structure at this point, I held my breath hoping that what was left of the tower would fall down because I had no idea how I was going to remove a block without losing. I had to bite back my frustration when his stupid dainty little fingers managed to remover the block without so much as swaying the tower.

"This is the most intense game of Jenga I have ever witnessed," Jackson commented.

"You're an intense game of Jenga," I rolled my eyes.

"That doesn't even make sense," he frowned.

"You don't make sense,"

"Just lose already," someone mutter, I wasn't sure who it was but it only made me more determined to beat Mark.

I held my breath again as I slid a block out from the tower, it shook slightly and I swear I almost threw up, I finally relaxed when the tower steadied, there was a small jolt of victory when I saw the flash of irritation through Mark's eyes. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to beat me.

My phone buzzed in my lap and I figured that it was Thea texting me telling me to stop being an ass. Instead, Doobin's name flashed across my screen after the notification of a new message.

Doobin: How's game night? Fallen asleep yet? ;)

Charlie: I'm busy winning at Jenga.

Mark just sat there staring at the tower for a while. I was getting impatient.

"There is no harm in forfeiting, I mean you're going to lose anyway," I baited.

"I'm not going to lose," he stated without looking up from the tower. I watched as he pulled the block slowly the block was halfway out when my phone buzzed again.

Doobin: I have a tower you can play with ;)

I quickly closed my phone and turned my attention back to the game. Mark was sitting on the other side of the table with the biggest smug grin I have ever seen on a douche bag. He was holding the block he had been removing before I get distracted by my phone.

"Your turn," he smirked.

"Tool," I sighed.

I decided on a block and started to pull it from its place, I was almost there, I almost had it and I was sure that there was no way that Mark was going to be able to pull another block from this tower without it toppling over. Then, my phone buzzed again and the nervousness and let's be honest, excitement that Doobin brings me, hit me all at the same time and I jumped, block still in had. The sound of the blocks crashing on the table replaced the nerves and excitement with pure irritation and the look of triumph on Mark's face had me seeing red.

"Shit," I heard Sam and Thea mutter.

"Well, that was unexpected," Jae commented.

"New game?" Jackson suggested.

"I win," Mark gave a small shrugged like it was nothing but the smirk on his face said something else.

SAM

         Charlie glared at Mark and looked like she wanted to leap across the table. She opened her mouth to speak, I was sure that when she started it would only escalate and then it would be likely that the night ended early.

"Hey, where did Oliva go?" I frowned. I hadn't noticed she was even missing until that point.

"Dude, she left with BM," Thea stated.

"Yeah she's been gone for over an hour," Jae nodded.

"Seriously?" I frowned.

"Yeah,"

"Why would she just leave without saying anything?"

"Maybe because your attention was elsewhere?" Jae suggested.

"I was just talking to you guys," I shrugged defensively.

"Sure," Thea nodded.

"Who cares why she left? She's gone, BM's gone, and there are a few other people I wish were with them," Charlie glared at Mark.

"Are you leaving?" Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, enough," Thea sighed.

"He cheated," Charlie muttered.

"How exactly did I cheat?" Mark looked amused.

"Because of your dainty girl hands," she shot back.

"You have actual girl hands, so would that just even out the odds?" he questioned.

"You're girl hands," she huffed.

"Right," he rolled his eyes at her.

"Okay, seriously, new game," Thea interjected.

"Like what?"

"Umm," Thea took a deep breath then made a pop noise. She froze, Charlie, Jae and I looked at her as she continued to hold her breath and think of a word.

"Hurry up, you don't want to pass out again," Jae commented.

"What is she doing?" Jackson frowned.

"Thinking of a word that starts with pop," I stated.

"Why?"

"Because she just made the pop noise,"

"I'm confused,"

"Shh, if she doesn't think of a word she has to keep holding her breath and she'll pass out,"

"Padom," she finally breathed.

"Poppadom is not a word," Jae frowned.

"Yes, it is,"

"No, it's not, you just made it up,"

"Look it up, it's a word, maybe you should expand your vocabulary," she shot back.

"What does it mean then genius?"

"It's Indian flatbread," she stated matter-of-factly.

"You're Indian flatbread," he rolled his eyes at her.

BM

         "I don't think that is really your fault," she agreed with me.

"That's what I thought!" I almost yelled. Finally, someone was on my side.

"But it's not her fault either, and honestly it sounds like you were kind of a jerk about it. I mean it's one thing to attack her for sleeping with your friend and keeping it from you, but I mean he was also her friend so it wasn't really as bad as you make it sound. Also, the second friend she slept with she didn't know he was your friend, I mean if you really think about it, it kind of sounds like she has fallen victim and that your friends have a habit of manipulating her into bed," she continued.

"She doesn't really need that much manipulating," I shot coldly, I hadn't actually meant it but I was sick of people defending her and attacking me.

"Yeah, see, saying stuff like that to someone who is supposed to be your best friend, I'm not surprised she doesn't want to be your friend anymore, and I'm also not that shocked that everyone is siding with her instead of you,"

"I liked you better when you were agreeing with me,"

"I'm not disagreeing with you, I think that it's possible that you have other things going on in your life and you're using this as a way to get all of your frustration out,"

"You got all of that from this conversation?"

"No, I got that from the flash of guilt that goes through your eyes when you insult her," she stated downing half her beer.

"How do you know it's guilt? You don't even know me," I raised an eyebrow.

"I've seen enough guilt in my life to recognise it," she shrugged.

"Here," I handed her another drink.

CHARLIE

         "Ew, no I'm not playing that," I frowned when Thea brought the box into the room, well she tried, Jackson had gotten up to help her which she had tried to avoid but gave into.

"Come on it will be fun," she stated.

"I'm not stopping you from playing it, but my idea of fun isn't eating something I don't like the taste of," I shrugged as Mark scoffed.

"What?" I shot.

"I don't think you like the taste of everything you put in your mouth, I mean unless you do," he commented.

"I think maybe you should stop talking now," Jae warned.

"And what are you going to do you, twig bitch?" Thea shot, I think it was more to ease the tension in the room rather than actually attacking him,"

"I'll use our handy little pocket hulk,"

BM

         "You can't drive home," I frowned at both of her, both of her?

"Well you can't drive me home," she giggled.

"I'll call you an uber," I blinked to try and get her to morph back together.

"Ew, no, I don't want some creeper taking me home," she stubbled backwards, I reached out to stop her from falling but I reached for the wrong her.

"Ow!" She frowned up at me from where she had landed on her butt.

"Well if you would just stay together I would have been able to grab you, how am I supposed to know which one of you is you," I huffed defensively.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she brushed herself off.

"I'm talking about the fact that I can see two of you, no wait, three, now there is three of you,"

"You're drunk," she laughed.

"Coming from you?"

"Which one of me?" she winked.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs," I laughed.

"I am not that type of girl," she gave a flirtatious smile.

"And I'm not asking you to be, that you may be," I joked.

"That's a little forward," she raised an eyebrow.

"I was only kidding, Let's just get you upstairs so that go can sleep off some of your drunk and not put yourself in danger getting yourself home,"

"And you don't think me coming upstairs with you would be dangerous?"

THEA

         "Seriously? What are we? 12?" Mark frowned.

"If you don't want to play then don't," I rolled my eyes.

"He'll play," Jackson stated.

"Says who?" Mark turned his frowned towards his friend.

"Say's me, stop being a party pooper," he huffed.

"Can we just stop bickering with each other an enjoy a nice night?" I sighed.

"Doubtful," Charlie was glaring directly at Mark who was frowning back at her.

"Okay fine, think of it this way, playing 'I Never' will give you more information to attack each other with," I reasoned.

"I'm pretty sure he can't become much more of a douche," Charlie shot.

"Funny, because I'm pretty sure I can't imagine you being more of a,"

"Stop," Jackson frowned at his friend.

"Fine, we won't play," I shrugged sinking back into the lounge.

"Now look what you've done, she was nice enough to cook you food on a broken foot and all she wants to do is play 'I Never' and you've upset her," Charlie shook her head disapprovingly.

"Fine, whatever," Mark huffed.

"Way to guilt trip," Jae muttered.

"Who wants to start?" Sam asked.

"Does everyone know the rules?" Charlie raised an eyebrow are Mark.

"Are you asking because you don't?" he retorted.

"Aright, either play nice or everyone can go home," I snapped.

"How about we get you a drink," Jae commented.

"How about you bite me," I sighed.

"Doesn't the whole playing nice thing apply to you two as well?" Jackson questioned.

"No," Charlie and Sam commented.

"Why?"

"Because if these two start being nice to each other the whole world will implode," Sam stated.

"He's not wrong," I agreed.

"Whatever, so are we going to play or not?" Mark asked.

"Sure, why don't you go first?"

"Wait, are we going with 5 or 10?" Jae asked

"5," everyone said in unison.

"Okay,"

Everyone held up their hand, all finger straight.

"I've Never had pink hair," Mark was directing the comment at Charlie, but Jae and I also put a finger down.

"You've had pink hair?" Sam frowned.

"Yeah, after Thea attacked me with bleach, the first time, and my brother decided to fix it," Jae nodded before going quiet, which wasn't abnormal for him after mentioning his brother.

"Sam, your turn,"

"I've Never had a job I needed to wear a suit for," he stated nonchalantly but at least three of us knew that it was a subtle stabbed at Mark for his attack towards Charlie. Mark sighed and folded a finger down, but so did Jae.

"You know what a suit is?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Some of us know how to dress up,"

"Oh, I bet you dress up," I retorted.

"Jackson," Charlie encouraged.

"I've never been in a band," he said slowly after thinking for a few moments. Charlie, Sam, and Jae all put a finger down.

"I've Never ripped of a ninja turtles head and flushed it down the toilet," Jae looked directly at Charlie.

"It was your own fault for liking a lame ninja turtle and for hating on Michaelangelo," Charlie defended herself but folded a finger down anyway.

"Donatello is clearly the better turtle,"

"You're right, he's a great turtle, but he's a sucky Ninja Turtle," She retorted.

"You're mum is a sucky ninja turtle,"

"No shit," she rolled her eyes.

"I've never, been arrested," I interjected, Sam sighed folding a finger down, Jae also folded a finger down but unfortunately for everyone else wasn't capable of also keeping his mouth closed.

"You liar, you've been arrested," Jae was looking directly at me.

"No, I haven't" I frowned.

"Do you not remember last year? On BM's birthday?" he stated.

"I was brought home by the police, I wasn't arrested," I rolled my eyes.

"Only because you somehow managed to talk your way out of it," Sam stated.

"She cried her way out of it," Charlie added.

"Either way, I wasn't arrested. Your turn Charlie,"

CHARLIE

         It would have been so easy to target Jae so that he lost, but my pride and some of my stubbornness decided it would be a better idea to attack Mark instead. In hindsight, I probably should have just targeted Jae and been over with it, but I didn't want Mark to win again and he only had one finger folded. The only problem was that I didn't know him that well.

"I've never, left the country," I was looking directly at Mark but out of my peripheral I noticed Sam, Jackson, and Jae fold a finger. I had momentarily forgotten that none of them were actually born here. I just registered that Mark was American.

"Thanks, bro," Jae frowned at me

"My bad," I shrugged.

"Do you want to reset or just continue on until we have a winner?" Sam asked.

"Let's just continue or we're going to be playing this gave all night," Thea stated.

"Easy for you to say, you only have one finger folded," Jae commented.

"Yeah well you're out so shut up," she retorted.

MARK

         It was clear that she was out to make me lose, so I figured it only fair for me to target her anyone else was just collateral damage. I thought back to her Instagram and tried to remember things about her.

"I've never quoted Lord of the Rings," I stated. Her face went from shock to looking more than pissed off.

"How do you even know that?" she frowned but folded a finger.

"You look like those geeky types," I shrugged. Honestly, she kind of looked like one of those girls who pretended to like something because they thought it was cool, or they heard someone talking about it so she clearly knows everything about it. But I figured if I said that she would just get all pissy again. Not that I think she actually stopped.

"Sam," Thea stated quickly.

"I've never owned a piece of jewellery that cost more than the average of a first car,"

THEA

         Sam was clearly targeting Mark. Though I'm not sure how he would know that, anyone would tell you that he was going to take Charlie's side no matter what. Mark frowned and folded a finger, so did Jackson which surprised me.

"And you're not a trust fund douche?" Charlie raised an eyebrow at him.

"I earnt every cent," he shrugged not taking any offence.

"I'm sure you did," Charlie stated sarcastically.

"How did you even know that?" Mark turned his attention towards Sam.

"Because there is no way that bracelet didn't cost more than my car," he pointed at the diamond-encrusted chain bracelet that Mark was wearing around his wrist.

"Some people have more sense when it comes to money," Charlie commented.

"Thea can you just ask your question so that Charlie over here can lose. Again," Mark asked not breaking eye contact with Charlie. If I asked a question that had Charlie lose I was a little worried she would kill me. So rather than facing her wrath, my brain decided to expel the only question I could think of that she wouldn't have ever of done. In the process though, I didn't think of the fact that Sam might be the only person to fold a finger.

"I've never harboured feeling for a friend for years without telling them how I feel,"

[seizethecarpe]

Deep Sea Blues || Dave and Adam

Timing: Around 2 months ago during the Sand and Glass plot of the week. Parties: @walker-journal @seizethecarpe Summary: Bloody Mary sets her sights on two murderers. Triggers: vomit mention, body horror mention, drug use, lots of blood mentions

Dave came to with a groan. This whole waking up in the middle of nowhere shtick was getting old. He’d thought the sleepwalking was over and done with, but no, here he was, in a dark cavern with a flickering light in it. Everything smelled of salt and rotting seaweed, thick and heavy in the air. The air itself was thick and heavy, popping his ears like a clan. The rocky floor beneath him was slick and wet too. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Dave stood slowly, trying to take in everything. There was a prone figure not too far away - he could feel them breathing through the water on the floor. The lantern, the only source of light here, was red, lit with oil, impossibly, looking for all the world like it’d been here for decades. It had rusted, the paint peeling and staining the rock around it, but still it was lit. It didn’t illuminate too much of the cave around them, but enough to get a feel. It was more like a tunnel, really, and they were on some sort of raised bit - on either side the floor dropped away into water lapping at the edge. The air tasted stale, there was no breeze rustling through here. Limited oxygen supply, maybe. He stepped into the water, getting a feel for what was nearby. Something as big as a tuna swam a hundred feet away, which by itself wasn’t weird, but Dave couldn’t feel any water crashing against the surface of a beach or against the edge of a cliff face. There was no water churning in air nearby at all. For a second, he thought he saw a pair of eyes looking back at him, but with a flicker of the oil light, they were gone. His lips pressed in a firm line, he stepped back out of the water. “Hey, you waking up back there?”

 The dampness of the cove’s stone was the first sensation that registered to Adam's mind, unyielding but unpleasantly jagged and moist with tide scum against his cheek. The sharp smell brine in the cave’s thick poorly filtered air filtered into. Lantern light pierced his closed eyelids, and Adam’s body clicked into pure trained reflex before conscious thought even began. 

 Adam sprang to his feet in gymnast’s kick-up, green-hazel eyes immediately hard with hostility. “Who are you! Why’d you bring me here?” The snarling words were accompanied by Adam reaching behind him to draw a concealed knife. But the impending threat was cut short by Adam’s hand finding nothing there 

 Dave’s eyebrows rose slightly. Now that wasn’t something you saw every day. He raised a hand to show he wasn’t armed or intending to hurt, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t. Not too sure how I got here myself. Name’s Dave.” He looked back around the space, but kept his senses attuned to the other man. “One moment I was fishing, the next, I woke up here.” Fishing was one thing to call it, but it had involved a net, and his prey was living in the water. Dave ran his tongue over his teeth in thought, before realising he wasn’t wearing his teeth caps. He’d have to be careful with how he spoke, then. 

 “If I had to guess, we got caught in some sorta rip tide.” That didn’t really even begin to make a lick of sense, but the disbelieving folks bought anything, these days. “Do you have any idea which way might be out?”

 “No clue,” Adam admitted. “Like on the way down did you…”

 Light brown eyes gazed up at Adam from the still water, belonging to a smooth face with a high forehead and cascades of red-gold hair that framed lithe shoulders in way even Adam’s groggy brain appreciated. She was a tall woman, nearly six feet of trim athleticism gained from a lifetime of riding, tennis playing, and dancing at court. The woman in water wore a mourning gown of black and white whose cut was cut was severe despite the richness of the fabric. 

 She seemed to not look at Adam so much as directly within him, a primal understanding between two murderers whose fair features and self-effacement had masked bloody intentions until it was far too late. 

 A blink, and it was just a cavern pool, dark and featureless in dim claustrophobia of this chthonic cove. 

 “Um,” Adam tried to collect his thoughts, forgetting what he’d been about to ask. “I’m Adam by the way. Let’s try this fork over here, see if it goes anywhere.” 

 Adam, whatever else he was, seemed real distracted. Dave hadn’t seen whatever he’d been looking at but nodded silently as he followed Adam through the caves. It was like they were walking on a ledge, and the water was always to their left, this unnaturally thick air holding it at bay. There was the smallest ripple in the water behind them, enough to make Dave turn. She was hovering out of the surface of the water, looking delicate as jellyfish, her skin so pale it was translucent. She met his stare with eyes that practically glowed with loathing, like she had been digging through his entrails and hadn’t like what she had found. A moment later, she sank back below the water surface. 

 Dave put his hand in the water and didn’t feel anything. He had a sinking feeling in his gut, about a type of ghost that he’d really fucking like to not deal with in a cave. He looked back at Adam, who was unavoidably a young, handsome man, which didn’t help his suspicions. Rusalka often targeted Adam’s sort, and they were a nightmare to deal with if you didn’t have someone with incredible strength to match theirs. Shit. There wasn’t much else that Dave could see

 “Might be worth avoiding the water.” Out of arm’s reach if a ghost decided to jump out in the first place. 

 “Joseph Jolly,” a voice whispered, but somehow the whisper echoed in the cave, a woman’s voice dripping in judgement. A name belonging to a renowned spellcaster, who had in the end deserved to have his skull cracked open like a chicken egg, fifty feet underneath the water surface. Dave narrowed his eyes, looking around and wondering if the goddamn guilt ghosts were back. Nothing. 

 Adam was surveying a small trawler that lay quietly rotting in one of the coves’ erosion-smoothed curvatures. The damp decades had turned the hull into mass of rust and barnacles. The footballer hoisted himself over the corroded railing up into the cockpit with the ease of a born athlete who wasn’t overburdened by caution. 

 Footsteps echoed dulled in the hull as Adam dropped down out of sight to root around in the hold. Whatever dereliction or treasures the young man found elicited only a disappointed “well shit.” After several scraping sounds against oxidized metal, Adam’s wet tawny hair reappeared again as he clambered back up into the half-intact cockpit. 

Adam had jumped down onto the cove floor when there came a whisper. The college student tensed instinctively and scanned their premises in the manner of one used to searching for strange noises with a rifle to back him up. “So, uh...are you Joseph Jolly?” 

 “No. I’ve never heard that name before,” Dave lied, like he hadn’t spent weeks tracking the man down, concocting an elaborate trap so that one day when Joseph was looking for seaweed for a spell, Dave had lunged out of the water to bite his ankle and dragged him down to the depths. He clambered over the trawler to get to the other side of the path, walking until he reached the water. “Still just Dave.”

 “Dead end this way.” It might not be, of course, but if there was a way to get out without risking facing a Rusalka under the water, and like hell was he leaving the kid here if he could avoid it. They had to have gotten here somehow. “Let’s circle back and try the other path at that fork. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” He looked at the trawler suspiciously. The lantern lights flickered on the water surface and the whispering returned, bouncing off the cavern walls, ringing off the rusted metal. This time, the quiet British voice didn’t just talk about Joseph Jolly, but dozens of names. Dave knew too many of them, just not all.

 ‘James Ross’

 Adam whirled at the from where he’d been inspecting an overturned paddle boat that been irretrievably shattered by whatever vortex forced had sucked it down into this air bubble. James’s name pushed all the MacGyver-esq musing right out of his head, filling him only with memories of the night the Jenga Tower of a holy cause finally came tumbling down at the sight of his friend’s slit throat. 

 ‘Winn Woods’

 “Who the fuck are you! Show yourself!” But the cavern only echoed Adam’s following stream of a profanity back at him, punctuated only by the slow drip of water in the dark. 

 “Ok, Dave, the hell is going on,” Adam demanded, tensing as heat built in his chest. 

 “Like hell if I-” Dave paused, looking at the oil lamp light flickering on the still water behind Adam. 

 The figure was beautiful, water lapping at her ankles as she walked forward. Rusalka often were, which was half the damn danger. She wasn’t soaking in her ethereal figure, but blood stained the edges of her garments. She had a long silver shard of mirror in one hand. Her lips moved as her voice echoed more names. Sylvia Pevensie, Jason Nakamura. She didn’t look happy. “Adam,” Dave said in a quiet growl, picking up a piece of driftwood that was too sodden to be any kind of useful weapon. “Get behind me.” 

 The ghost smiled slightly, and then lunged, her mirror shard raised. 

 Adam’s thoughts raced as the Euro-LARPer monster started going all The Shining on Dave. It was galling to put this dude in danger, but Adam had no weapon at the moment and getting shived for the sake of macho pride didn’t do either of them any good. This thing was fast, like really fast. Adam kept to Dave’s flank as the bloody spirit blitzed forward in a madhouse whirl of slashes, the surgical edges of glass as more names issued forth in an echoing threnody through the cave. 

 Adam’s water-logged brain, still dizzy from whatever barotrauma of pressures he’d gone through while being dragged down here, went through everything he knew about Rusalka, Nix, and other swimmer babes who might want to do a Little Mermaid and American Psycho crossover. He kept drawing blanks and contradictions before Blanche’s theory a few days ago and stuff Dad had said way been they’d been stationed in Westminster came together. 

 Much as Adam was averse to out himself to Dave and tended to keep his nature on the DL. There comes a time when things get a little too Lord of the Flies to really justify remaining silent. 

 Adam tried to duck and roll as her murderous majesty pivoted from Dave suddenly, but she landed a long slash down the Hunter’s back. Seawater from his damp clothes made the jagged wound sear through him, and Adam struggled to regain his feet on the damp stones as the deep laceration made his leg muscles spasm and grow dangerously numb. 

 “She’s Bloody Mary, like the creepy kids’ game. She goes after murderers,” Adam stated hoarsely as watery blood slid freely down his back and legs, leave a dark red trail across the cove sand as he tried to avoid Mary’s attempts to hamstring him. 

 The flickering oil light was as much help as hindrance, always highlighting the mirror shard as she arced it through the air. Dave moved with practiced dodges and while she was spirited and fast, her body signalled her intentions as much as any other fighter. Fortunately, Adam had the sense to stay just as much out of the way as the ghost and her blade danced through the cave with the vicious temper and grace of an electric eel. As soon as she was almost fully out of the water, Dave tried to body slam her to the ground, only to move right through her. Not Rusalka. Well, shit. With that in mind he left himself duck and weave his way into knee-deep water, breathing deeply to catch a hint of fresh air and a way out. Even where he was more comfortable, her blade drew red lines across his body, cutting his shirt to ribbons one swipe at a time. 

 His selkie nature may give him an advantage with water, but Dave was not immune to the laws of physics. The algae clad slippery rocks offered no friction as they moved, and it only took one underbalanced dodge for Dave to lose his balance. Fortunately, instead of landing in the rocks, he landed in the pool, feeling the ripples against the most sensitive hair of his face, and seeing in the dark a subtle shift of the light, twenty feet away, where the flickering oil light didn’t bounce off under water cave holes but instead gave way to darkness, and a way out. He pushed himself onto his feet, blinking as his eyes adjusted back to the air and the bright firelight. He had been about to push himself out in front of Adam again when he saw the kid’s moves, while hampered by injury, were strategic and trained. Not in need of as much protection as thought. 

 Dave only caught the tail end of what Adam was saying, that the figure in front of them only went after murderers. He only nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard, not wasting fractions of a second in questioning the information or the implications thereof. Miss Murder might have been untouchable, but the mirrored glass in her hand was as real as anything. Dave grabbed a broken rock from the seabed and raised it as she whipped her own blade back. He brought it down, through her arm until it cracked through her glass weapon, breaking it in half. It wasn’t destroyed, but the largest part was still shrunken in her hand. Bloody Mary retaliated by clawing her nails across his face. Dave yelled, covering his face as he retreated into the water, Bloody Mary taking precious seconds to readjust her grip. 

 “Get in the water,” Dave growled as he staggered back, blood seeping from his eyelid into his eye. “How long can you hold your breath?”

 Normally Adam might question the wisdom of going out into an unknown distance below sea level while wounded and with a Catholic Supremacist ghost on their tail, especially since the salt in the water didn’t seem to give her any trouble. But they had no way to actually hurt Mary in here, so sure, let’s Ironman Lanzarote this thing. 

 Mary caught Adam deep in the right shoulder with the sunken remnant of a shard as he made a staggering break towards the water. She tore the broken mirror out of the Hunter with the deft precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, whispering an all-too-familiar name in his ear. Black spots blossomed and quivered in Adam’s vision as he waded off the cove’s drop off, salt flared across his open wounds like a whip. 

 “Longer than I’ll make in here,” he gagged. 

 That sure filled Dave with confidence, but neither of them could afford another stab wound. Hell, Dave wasn’t sure if he waited much longer without medical treatment that he could do the swim for the two of them, as blood stained the water around him, thick and heavy considering how much blood his body held. 

 “Great. Deep breath.” Dave said, filling his lungs one last time as he grabbed Adam’s body in warning before pulled him under, kicking deep into the dark water. He pulled Adam’s arm firmly across his own chest, the speed through which he was already moving them through the water emphasis enough as to why Adam should let him do the swimming. He could taste their blood in the water as he began to manoeuvre through the crevices of the cave channel. The salt water didn’t slow Bloody Mary, whose knife Dave felt ripple through the water behind them, slicing at his ankle. Dave jolted and contorted away from it, trailing more blood behind him as he kicked to the surface. By the time they emerged from the cave mouth there were 50 feet between them and the surface. The seconds ticked by as Dave tried to swim towards the distant shore as he ascended, treading the tightrope between not drowning Adam, not letting the ghost catch up with them, and not killing Adam with the bends. He could feel the waves breaking overhead, adjusting his angle again to push Adam into the air first.

 Adam choked on his own blood in the water. The autumn-chilled water was a frigid vice of sensory deprivation and pressure all over his rapidly numbing body. Salt water flensed his wounds like icicles sinking between ribs until even pain became lost in the current. 

 James Ross, Winn Woods, Iris Canidy, Elias Angelopoulos... 

 The names went on, a litany of sin chasing Adam down in the cold darkness and dreams of sanguine mirrors.  

 Adam’s eyes opened blurrily as oxygen and the sound of the surf crashed through the nightmare fog of red glass. He faintly felt sand against his calmly skin, grainy mounds that made faintly audible rustling sounds as Adam tried to fight against the leaden feeling in his limbs. 

 The Hunter tried to speak, but spent a bit just urping up bloody salty water on the beach before benign able to hack out: “Dave?”  

 “That’s a relief,” Dave said as Adam managed to speak, hefting himself onto the sand and looking out at the water, blinking to adjust to the loss of certain colours in his vision and the bright light in his eyes. Still, he would have seen the ghostly figure on the waves by now. “I don’t see her. Jesus fucking Christ.” 

 They needed an ambulance. Dave only had to contend with the sort of bleeding that would give a doctor a heart attack, but human-smelling Adam had the icy cold and the pressure changes to contend with too. Dave could barely summon the strength to hold his own weight, though, as he tried the stem the bleeding along his chest, but the sand around him continued to darken. He needed the shit in his van. Dave rubbed his face and looked over at Adam, cursing softly under his breath as he moved back closer, taking stock of Adam’s injuries, his blue lips stained with his own blood. Shit. The kid was too damn young to have the number of names that ghost had attached to him.  “Your back’s in bad shape. I wanna try’n stem the bleeding before I get to my van to call for an ambulance. It ain’t far, alright?”

 When Adam had thought his current loss of powers had been due to something related to the werewolf bite, he’d trade Alain for some Zombie adrenal glands. The plan had been to trade yet more favors with dubious sources in the underworld to get those adrenal glands treated into some Doctor X elixir. Maybe the transitive regeneration of the Elixir could kickstart his own Hunter healing? Admittedly desperation makes you open to some ridiculous longshots. 

 Heh, he’d done a legit science experiment, injecting himself with chemically altered necrophage tissue...Regan would be so proud. 

 Sample Size: This still powerless dumbass. 

 But many Babineaux’s generosity wasn’t pointless after. 

 Focus, need to focus. Keep eyes open 

 “Dave,” Adam managed quietly, “when you go the van...in a sand pit by the tide pools there's a backpack. In the font pocket there’s a bottle of black tarry stuff,” Adam continued, breathing labored and shallow as he struggled to keep upright on the sand. “Drink some...and if you could bring the rest back that’d be poggers.” 

 What the fuck was poggers? Dave wasn’t even sure he’d heard it right, Adam was so quiet, but the consonants were pretty fucking distinct on his lips. He hesitated for a second before nodding.

 “.... I’m calling an ambulance first. If I get back and that stuff works, I’ll call them off. You ain’t bleeding out out here, you hear me? You’re gonna hold this here,” Dave slipped off his blood-soaked shirt, bunched it up in his fist, pressed it against the back of Adam’s shoulder where he’d been stabbed, and pushed Adam’s hand against it, “and you’re gonna stay awake.” And Dave was going to push himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain of his ankle, and he was going to hobble as quick as he damn well could back to his van. One mile. There and back. He wouldn’t be, couldn’t be more than a few minutes. 

 Dave grabbed the bag and hefted it back to his van, his legs buckled by the door as the white-hot lacerating pain cut through him again. Had it been front pocket? Back pocket? He rummaged a little, but he knew it the second he pulled out the black bottle. Fucking elixir. Even perfectly sealed, the bottle stank of death and decay. Dave didn’t know what exactly was in it, knew it was bad and that he didn’t want to know. He’d also seen the effects on dependent folk, their own flesh rotting decomposing as they looked for the next dose. Dave gagged as he unscrewed the lid, taking the smallest sip. Worse than eating rotting squid, worse than a haul out. The elixir slid down his throat like slime, with disconcerting lumps in it. With a grimace, he closed the bottle and got back in the van, already feeling his skin begin to stitch itself back together. By the time he was back, he was hardly bleeding at all, his head clearing up. “Still awake, kid? Here’s your damn elixir.” In the state Adam was in, Dave was ready to force feed it down his throat. 

 The Elixir tasted like meat so rotted that it’d turned brackish, laced with spices and formaldehyde. Adam’s veins ran black with the unnatural necrophage blood he’d taken into his system, dark lines spreading like tainted roots along his face, neck, biceps. But the bleeding stopped at least and that ghastly sense of lightness through his body seemed to recede. Adam’s lips parted to thank Dave, but his eyes drifted coastline. 

 A woman rose from the sea as if she was ascending the stairs of a royal dias. Waves broke through here unhindered, the rolling surf not stirring a single fold of her elegant black and white silks. She strode towards the pair with unhurried dignity, like something implacable, feet leaving no marks on the sand. 

 “Mary’s here,” Adam said quietly, from where propped up against a mussel-covered rock. 

 “You gotta speak up, kid, can’t hardly hear you-“ Dave turned to follow Adam’s line of sight, cursing as he scrambled to his feet. She walked without hurry, her features calm. She was listing names again, as even and clear as the bells at a funeral. Paul, Zihui, Joseph, James, Iris. A claxon of murder. Dave’s chest sank. He reached down to help Adam up, heave him to the car or something. He had no idea how well that elixir worked, but just because ther was some colour back in Adam’s cheeks didn’t mean he was ready to run, and if Bloody Mary was intent on them, well…

“We gotta move,” Dave said, bringing that thought to a sharp close.

 Bloody Mary crossed the distance in between the blinks of Adam’s eyes, hauling the Hunter to his knees as he stumbled up a dune towards Dave’s car. Whether it was the X-elixir still rushing through his veins, exhaustion, or some subtle influence of Bloody Mary, Adam saw more than his reflection in the glass shard the spectre pressed against his throat. 

 In the mirror, Adam saw a boy with shaggy brown hair look through though empty rooms in a neighbor’s house. He called out his friend's name but reviewed only muffled sobs in answers. The boy followed them into a spotless kitchen where steam wafted from a single pie on the countertop. The crust pie’s texture was that of skin, topped with too familiar tufts of hair. A quavering voice whispered the boy’s name.

 Adam met Mary’s tawny-colored eyes. A moment of silent understanding passed between from one killer to another as blackened blood ran down from where the glass shard was pressed against Adam’s throat. “I used to think it was my powers that set me apart, my calling or whatever,” he confessed to her majesty. “But gone and I’m still fucked up in the head. 

 Mary remained silent but didn’t press the shard in further. Her regal aquiline features cold yet knowing. Perhaps the Bloody Queen of the Scots knew better than anyone how the curse of Cain so often spreads from one life to another. 

 In the mirror, Adam saw a shaggy haired boy swinging an axe down on a mangled body he’d pinned to the floor of a woodshed. The shed’s door creaked open, but the boy just kept wordlessly splitting lifeless limbs like kindling. “They’re dead, Adam,” came a low voice as calloused hands tried to grab the axe as it came down over and over on what'd once been a person. The frenzied young man felt scarred muscular arms encircle him, holding him fast till the gory weapon was finally pried from a death-like grip. The Hunter quietly held his son as the crazed boy punched and struggled in a blind frenzy, staining his shoulder with tears. 

 “The stuff I saw it like...changed me I guess,” Adam said as more reflections danced across the mirror’s edge. “I’ve been fighting the worst of the worst for so long that it’...it’s what I automatically expect now I guess,” Adam said as blood being repaid with blood flickered across the glass.”

 In the mirror, Adam saw a familiar face with dark eyes that’d seen the depraved and unspeakable so often it was simply a numb day at work. The boy who’d found his friend baked into a pie was still in there somewhere. But the horror and anguish had been tempered like iron, shaped into deadly focus by those who’d clothed him Kevlar and replaced the axe in his hands with an assault rifle. 

 “I tried not to let evil be all I see but it changed me so much that…”

 “Winn Woods,” Mary interrupted, seeming to already know.

 Adam’s swallow deepened the blooming cut on his neck. “Yeah,” he agreed. “When he confessed it just confirmed the world I knew. I dunno when exactly I’d stopped hoping for something better but…” 

 The queen who’d made pyres out of Protestants waited Hunter shrugged helplessly, wincing as his lacerated back protested. 

 “I have to believe what I did was wrong,” Adam insisted hoarsely, “I rather have to atone for all this shit then be right,” was the paradoxical statement of faith. “Because if I’m right all along? There’s no hope for any of us.” 

 But the last word was spoken to empty air. He and Dave were alone with the rolling surf. 

 One moment Adam had been beside him, the next he was gone. Dave turned to see Adam and the ghost before him. It was an unnerving image, the ghost so pale Dave had to imagine that her skin had been translucent even in life, blood staining the hem of her time-worn dress, standing tall and proud over the bleeding, bedraggled boy. They were frozen in their moment, by the blade in her hand that she held against Adam’s shivering skin. There was iron in Dave’s van, but he stood frozen too, knowing it was too late to act, and Adam seemed to know it too. It looked like complete surrender, even from a distance. Dave did not see the images on the blade. He did not need to, when it was shown so clearly on Adam’s face. 

 There were all sorts that thought what made them different was what made them special, but few that referred to it as their calling, that saw their duty to fight the worst of the worst. There were bits that didn’t make sense, but with each word, a little more fell into place. The practiced rhythm to Adam’s movements in the cave, the knowledge, the bloody list of murders to his name. The air smelled like salt, and weeds, and the copper of Adam’s blood as it stained her knife and the ground all around him. Dave wondered for a brief, hateful second, if it was so wrong to leave Adam to die as just another hunter who had gone off the deep end. He did not move, and the air barely whispered as Bloody Mary moved on.  

 Dave breathed shakily, eyeing Adam. Bloody Mary’s knife might barely have cut through the tension in his expression. Few hunters knew the names in Dave’s own ledger, and none learned this fast. But it was true that had Mary turned her blade at Dave’s neck, there would have been no penance in him to stay her blade. Adam’s guilt had saved Dave’s life. He rubbed his face, grimacing at the smell of decay that now permeated every inch of him. “C’mon, kid,” Dave said eventually, offering Adam his hand once more. “I got your bag in my van.” And a first aid kit, too.  

[mattzerella-sticks]

Half-Priced Chocolate

The day after Valentine's Day is great for many things. Basking in the glow of a night well spent, sharing the joy of love with your family, and eating chocolate priced considerably lower than it was the day before.

Except Sam can't enjoy any of that, because Dean won't let him. Because Dean woke up in a sour mood and has picked up the banners of war against romantic love.

Albeit, the three aforementioned things might make his conflict the shortest in history.

           Sam sits with his granola and his pressed juice for exactly seven seconds when Dean walks in. Storms in, trailed by a dark cloud that thunders and readies to soak through anyone unlucky enough to cross its path. Grey dead man’s robe already looking dark and wet, clinging to his body. He passes Sam and the healthy breakfast he prepared as they marched towards the fridge with murder and hunger burdened on his tense shoulders.

           Mornings like these warn Sam of a day spent tiptoeing around his brother lest he accidentally set off a bomb. Ignore muttered grumblings if he wanted to be spared listening to Dean spend hours talking about everything annoying him except the real problem. Bury his head in a book or website so Dean would find his own outlet and wear himself into an approachable mood.

           Only he’s riding a strong high, drunk on Eileen and careless enough to stomp around with his happiness.

           “Morning Dean,” Sam says, chewing around the spoonful of granola, “How’d you sleep?” Dean grunts, backtracked by sizzling bacon being slapped onto the pan. Undeterred, Sam continues cheerily. “Me? I had an okay sleep, I mean when I actually went to sleep… I had a pretty late night.” Sam sips at his juice, letting Dean’s silence balloon for a moment until he pops it again. “Eileen and I stayed up chatting for a long time… didn’t really want it to end.” He then describes the date he planned, setting up the tablet in the library. Watching his reflection while the screen loaded, fixing his tie and mussing his hair until Eileen’s face popped up over his. Her hair perfectly cascading over one shoulder, hiding one of the straps of the purple dress she wore. In front of her was a mirror to Sam’s set up, a plate of food, a candle, and a little rose. Eileen waved at him in greeting, and in return Sam signed his. “I mean, it was kind of difficult,” Sam confessed, “I promised Eileen that I would only sign the entire night – even though she told me it would be okay. But, oh man… you should have seen her eyes light up when I recited The White Rose by John Boyle O’Reilly. Was scared I got something wrong but she said my fingers were fine… those hours spent hunched over the laptop watching YouTube were really worth it to see her smile…”

           “Big deal,” Dean scoffs, back still turned, “you got your fingers to make some neat shapes. I can do that, too…” Then, he extends his arm to show his middle finger to Sam. Even if he wouldn’t face him, Sam knows his pursed lips and heavy stare burn holes in Dean’s head.

           “Wow, Dean,” Sam says, “I take it there were no presents under the tree with your name on it for Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

           “Bite me Sammy.”

           “I already have someone I can bite, thank you very much –“

           “Not like she’s here, though, is she?” Dean asks, finally turning. He crosses his leg at the knee, mockingly rubbing his chin. “Wouldn’t an in-person date be more romantic than sitting alone with your computer all night? That’s just an average day for you.”

           His balloon springs a small leak, and he floats towards the ground. “Okay, you’re seriously bringing down my mood,” Sam glowers, pushing his bowl away. “Can you take whatever bullshit you brought in and wade through it somewhere else?”

           Dean scoffs, “What mood? Pent up sexual frustration? Or did you take care of that, too, with your magic fingers.” He mimes around his crotch, sticking his tongue out with a disgusting wink. Snickers when Sam’s lips curl.

           His grip on his juice tightens, and he drowns the furious remark burning his tongue with the drink. Instead of playing into Dean’s game, Sam stirs his granola with an almost forgotten spoon. Ignores another jab meant to shake up his Jenga tower of patience. Dean lucky that each piece he pulls doesn’t damage the structural integrity.

           Except the tower wobbles. “Probably gonna have to get used to it, though,” he continues, leaning against the counter, “with how long the sabbatical Eileen’s taking, you’re gonna need it.”

           He jumps onto the line like a fish to bait. “What is your problem –“

           “Dean? Sam? What’s going on?”

           Across the room, Dean stiffens and whirls to the entrance. Face pale, Sam watches his brother hands tremble before hiding behind his open robe. “Cas,” he says, “what’re you doing back?”

           Castiel’s hands are also out of sight. He glances between the two men with trademark confusion. “I only stepped out for a moment –“

           “A moment?” Dean hisses. He peeks at Sam from the corner of his eye – red and puffy, now that he pays closer attention to those kinds of details. “A moment,” he says again, stepping closer, “Cas you’ve been gone for –“

           “Almost an hour, I’ll admit,” Castiel sighs, meeting Dean halfway, “I didn’t intend to be away that long, but the line at the store was tremendous… and the register system was glitching –“

           “The store? What were you doing at a store though?”

           A smile blossoms from his pursed lips, Castiel finally revealing his hands and the heart-shaped box in them. “I got this… for you.”

           Dean falters, stunned. Stares at the present with trepidation and awe. He reaches for it, caressing the edges and following the trail until his fingers skim Castiel’s hands. Flinching away like he touched the forgotten pan of overly crispy bacon. “For me? Why?”

           “Well,” Castiel starts, “I was lying up thinking about how we sort of celebrated the holiday backwards yesterday and… I wanted to make up for it.” Sam sees the flower of Castiel’s lips wilt. “Do you… not like it? I’ll admit, it was marked considerably low…”

           He can’t see from how Dean angled himself. But the shaky shoulders and how a palm drifts up to rub his face, Sam feels glad for his obstructed seating. “That’s because it’s the day after, you idiot…”

           “Dean?”

           “Shit, Cas,” he huffs, “no note, couldn’t have texted me or something –“

           “I… I wanted this to be a surprise,” Castiel tells him, “besides, after last night I figured you would need the rest. Three times at your age is exhausting –“

           Dean cuts him off, Sam blushing fiercely while his mind shades in the crude drawing the angel began. Aided by his brother’s finishing remark. “Well maybe if you didn’t renovate my insides my spleen wouldn’t have been squeezing my bladder.”

           “Guys,” Sam chokes, the granola catching in his throat, “guys what are you –“

           “Dean,” Castiel speaks over him, “what is this about?”

           “What is this about?” Dean mocks, chuckling darkly. He inches closer, eclipsing the heart from Sam’s view. “I thought you… I thought you left…”

           A serene wave of understanding washes over Castiel’s features, smoothing the lines marring his face. Sam wishes for a similar stroke of clarity. “Next time,” Castiel says, “I will leave a note. And text. And wake you… although you can’t be mad if I do, okay?”

           The next laugh is much lighter, Dean sniffling between rounds. “Yeah… I promise.” He turns again, Sam tactlessly falling into his seat from the whiplash of his brother’s emotional rollercoaster. Gapes as Dean flicks the stove off and leaves the ruined bacon in the pan. “Come on,” he says, rattling the box of chocolates Sam failed to notice where in his possession, “let’s see what fifty percent off tastes like.”

           They’re so close to escaping, except Sam finds his words. Buried deep under shock and confusion, they’re there for him to dust off and shout. “What the hell was that?”

           Dean stops, a hand over Castiel’s on his waist to slow the other. He finally remembers Sam’s presence, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks. “Hey,” his face twitches, “you see all that?”

           “…Yes!”

           “Well,” he drawls, leaning into Castiel while he thinks, “it was a… a fight.”

           Sam feels his eyebrows recede into his hairline. “A fight?”

           “Yeah, look,” he huffs, pointing at Sam with the heart box, “I know you and Eileen are still new but sometimes couples who’ve been together for a long time get into them every now and then. But then you make up and move past them.”

           “Oh,” Sam scoffs, “so you two are a couple now?”

           “Of course.”

           “A couple for a long time…?”

           “We only made it official last night,” Castiel says, tone easy despite the pitched voices of the Winchester brothers, “while you and Eileen were on your date, Dean and I sat and drank and shared a few words… among other things.”

           “But,” Dean carries on, “we’ve practically been together for over a decade. This is just an – an upgrade from our previous situation.”

           “An upgrade?” Sam asks.

           “Yeah,” he nods, “now I can do stuff like this.” Quickly, in a blink, Dean presses his lips to Castiel’s cheek. Rocking on his heels from the momentum of pulling back, face aflame like a bad sunburn. Almost laughable if Castiel didn’t gaze at Dean with heavenly wonder. “Whenever I want…” Dean adds, trailing off.

           The desire to tease Dean bubbles forth, but whether exhausted or blinded by the natural glow on Castiel’s face, it pops and dies in his chest. He grabs his spoon and stirs his granola. “Okay.”

           “Okay?”

           “Yeah, okay,” Sam smirks, “that’s it. Happy Valentine’s or whatever…”

           “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, Sammy,” Dean says, being led out of the room by Castiel, “later, you’ve got to tell me how your date went. I’m sure it was great – Eileen’s a really lucky girl!”

           “Bye!” he waves, waiting until the two men fully disappear behind the corner. Leaving him in relative peace for a moment. But then Jack walks in, focused on the hallway. Sam thinks he can accurately guess what captured the younger boy’s attention, only hopes that his brother has enough wits about him to maintain restraint. “Hey,” he says, startling Jack, “you want breakfast?”

           Jack strides forward, sliding in across from Sam. “Why was Castiel holding Dean’s hand?”

           Sam rolls his eyes, “Because they’re dating.”

           “They are?”

           “Apparently,” he chuckles, “it’s their day-iversary.”

           Jack cranes his neck and glances behind him once more before leaning forward, near conspiratorially. “Is this a good thing?”

           “Uh… yeah?” Sam tells him, chewing around the granola and words carefully, “Dean’s happy, and Cas is happy, too… don’t you want them happy?”

           “I do, I do, I just…” Jack frowns, staring at his fists, “I wasn’t sure the Empty would agree to nullifying Cas’s deal. But since they’re together and he’s still here...”

           Sam chokes again, spoon clattering against the bowl when he drops it. “Excuse me?” he asks, coughing fitfully, “Cas made a deal with the what?”

[ginnyzero]

Being Comfy in Your Writer Skin

I recently used the phrase “comfy in your writer skin” in response to a post by @the960writers. Being comfy in your writing skin is extremely important in your career as a writer and it’s something that you learn over time. In a nutshell, I was trying to convey being comfy in your writing skin is an author who is secure about themselves and their writing. Someone who is confident and willing to work on their writing, learn, and improve rather than someone who is arrogant.

If you’re comfy in your writer skin you know your craft and know that your craft is in a constant state of improvement. Each book/story is a new learning experience with new problems and new techniques to tackle. If you know your craft, you know the general guidelines, and which ones you can break, and which ones that you need to stick to because no one likes that holy batman where is the back button. (Passive voice, I’m looking at you. Grammar, I’m looking at you. Decent formatting, I’m looking at you.)

And if you know your guidelines and rules, you most likely know your audience. You know what the readers of your type of books like to read. And you know that not every reader is going to be down with what you’ve written and that’s okay. You might not know how to find the readers you need and want, but you know they’re out there somewhere. (Marketing is a different skill.)

I know that I’m looking most likely for a female reader who loves science fiction and fantasy, is into fan fiction, enjoys comic books and action movies that revolve around the characters rather than aliens invading or being attacked by zombies. (This is by the way called upmarket book club style fiction.)

This means, you don’t talk down about readers in general. You don’t whine and moan about ‘where are they’ and concurrently do no marketing. If your books aren’t selling, you don’t moan about ‘maybe this isn’t for me.’ You, as an author, realize there are things that are simply out of your control. You can’t make readers read your story, click the AO3 link, buy your book. You can’t force them to write a review or leave likes and kudos. All you can do is put it out there, do as much marketing as you can afford, and pray it find the right person at the right time. It’s a lot of luck.

And yeah, there will be down days where you feel like you’re a hack and you want what you think every other author is getting. You don’t know what the other authors are actually getting in sales. You only see what you perceive what they’re getting as sales unless they’re broadcasting each one. (Some do. Most don’t.) So, your perception might be wrong!

It’s okay to feel down. As long as you don’t wallow and keep on writing. Because the only way to gain an audience is to keep going.

Because not everyone is going to like your work, you’re going to receive criticism. If you’re comfy in your writer skin, you’ll be able to parse out the good criticism from the bad. It may sting. But you aren’t going to throw a tantrum over it. There might be reader biases at play. Or, you may need to improve.

Writing is difficult work juggling a lot of different pieces like dialog, characterization, world building, tenses, description, plot structure, and giving people valid grievances (aka conflict and stakes.) And you’re trying to put these together to make the Eiffel Tower and sometimes you end up with the leaning tower of Jenga and that happens. That’s what editing is for! And if you publish your book too soon, there are people who are going to tell other readers “if you don’t like passive voice, this book isn’t for you.”  Etc. So on. So forth.

As a reader, passive voice and no compelling characters with conflicts within the first chapter are the most common issues I see when reading indie books. (Indie books aren’t fanfic. I’m not invested in these characters. I need to be invested quickly. I give five chapters. Many readers give less.)

If you’re comfy in your writer skin and you keep getting rejections or bad reviews of your books, you’re willing to google or go to youtube and do the research on why you might be getting rejections and bad reviews! It may not actually be your writing or writing style. It might be that your genre is dead on arrival to the publishing world. It might be that your story concept is overdone and the agent is tired of it. It might be that your book is simply not marketable as written. Agents are readers too. And the reasons agents stop reading your books are the same reasons why readers stop reading your books.

(Having written a dead on arrival genre and queried it, this is frustrating beyond all reason because they just won’t tell you that. No. It’s “This isn’t for me.” I’d rather have like 3 form letters. “This genre is dead on arrival.” “This book is too long.” And “this book is not for me.”)

I get ‘bad’ reviews. (I try not to read them really. That’s why I have a best friend writer bestie to read them for me and tell me the highlights.) I get criticism in ‘good’ reviews. (I also try not to read them.) These reviews aren’t for me, the author. They’re for other readers. I can’t/won’t change the book that is published when I can and am writing the next book! (It is very easy to get stuck in a perfectionist writer loop.)

If you’re comfy in your writer skin, you will sit down with traditionally published books and figure out their voice (always active,) and how they write blurbs, look at the composition of book covers, and analyze the plot structure, and why are these characters relatable. (There is a certain alchemy to this that takes practice.) While there’s no shame in asking questions if you can’t find the information on your own, being comfy in your writing skin means you go looking for it on your own first.

Because you want to know, you’re driving yourself to improve and are willing to put in the work without prompting. It is no one else’s job to teach you, unless you’re at Uni and they’re being paid to do so. Don’t expect anyone to teach you for free.

Read the first chapters/openings of your favorite books. Look for what they have in common. Emulate!

There are plenty of kind people out there that are willing to help and have written (often contradictory) guidelines. Find the guidelines that work for you. Those are your readers/agents. If you sit down with books you love and book covers you love and really look at them and analyze why you love them, you’re going to be two steps ahead of everyone else.

The same can be said of books you don’t like or genres you’re tired of. Why are you tired of it? What can be done to make you less tired of it? What do you want to see in that genre? Are you capable of writing it? And so on and so forth. (I wrote my werewolf urban fantasy style books as a response to everything I didn’t like about werewolves and what I was tired of seeing in published urban fantasy books. Petty, maybe. Fun. Yes.)

Things outside your control are going to constantly give you reasons to feel insecure about your writing. And the only way to beat those things out of your control internally is to learn your craft, know your audience, and continue to write. As well as having low expectations, there are thousands of stories I can read for free on AO3, so your book better be the most polished and stellar thing if you want me to read and more importantly to review it.

People simply do not have time/emotional energy to waste.

Being comfy in your writing skin, being secure as a writer takes time and exposure to the writing community at large (fanfiction or original, doesn’t really matter.) While you need to know what other people are doing, you can’t let it affect what you’re doing in the long run. (You read other people‘s fanfics to know the trends. Same in for books. How can you follow/buck/subvert the trends/tropes of your genre if you don’t know it to begin with?) And if you’re thinking, “This sounds a lot like self-awareness and psychoanalysis” then, you’re not entirely wrong.

Outside validation is nice and often very needed. However, it’s never going to be enough to make you feel secure. The only way you’ll feel secure and comfy is if have a solid foundation on the inside of knowing your craft and being willing to listen and learn.

Once you’re comfy in your writing skin, lots of things will become easier and open up for you. You’ll be able to work with editors and other writers. You won’t worry about credit or having control of every detail. You know what you do well and you’ll be able to focus on doing that rather than having to micromanage the entire process. Criticism, or other people with similar ideas won’t call for emotional investment because there’s enough room for everyone!

Okay, this has gotten long. I hope it helps someone. Happy writing!