#a few years ago i was so drunk that i cut my finger pretty badly while trying to cut bread for my equally drunk friend

[microtyalm13]

i feel dangerous when i'm not sober

womanhood&addictions. im clean for 110 days! i rarely draw something that i put my genuine emotions into so this was a very healing experience <) pretty dark imagery but i feel so good you don't even know... very satisfied with how everything came out.

[v-hope]

Wineless

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: What do you do when you’re out of whiskey and there’s a fancy bottle of wine lying around, which belongs to your girlfriend who just so happens to be out of town? You drink it. And then replace it before she gets back. Or well, at least you intend to, for there’s no way of replacing it when she arrives one night earlier and catches you red-handed.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (kind of obvious but still)

A/N: Hellooo, I had this request in my ask box for a longgggg time and I had wanted to write it ever since yet never found the right timing, until last night at 2am lol. I hope you guys enjoy!

Whiskey. Whiskey. Whiskey. Whiskey.

Yoongi hummed inside his mind, tapping on the counter a couple of times as his eyes searched for the bottle of strong alcohol he could’ve sworn he had left on that very shelf three weeks ago. Or maybe it had only been half of it, now that he thought about it, for he had drunk some of the expensive liquor that same week you got it for him, when he had been struggling with one particular verse he could just not feel contented with.

Although there was also that one other time last week when he came home not feeling his best after a bad day...

He pouted, defeated eyes still searching around as realisation hit him that there was no bottle of whiskey on sight and there would apparently be no whiskey at all for him that night.

Bummer.

You wouldn’t be home until the next day and he would have a long, lonely night. Hoseok had called him a few minutes ago informing him the bridge of the song he had taken upon writing and needed to turn in by the end of the week was now needed by midnight tomorrow. So, there were only two ways to get the inspiration he so badly needed:

You.

Whiskey.

And right then, he had none of them.

Or well, maybe not precisely, but he could always use some variety, right? So he thought when his eyes fell on the fancy bottle of wine your mum had gifted you when you got the promotion you had so determinedly worked for — the one that had now taken you on a one week business trip to Tokyo, and far away from him and your shared place.

He thought about it for a while —that being three seconds—, before his hand was grabbing it and his feet moved over to where you kept the glasses, grabbing one of them as well before he made his way over to his home studio so he could get started on the new track right away.

Now, he knew how bad it looked, even more when he knew you had been saving it for a special occasion — what special occasion exactly, he had no idea, and he was pretty sure neither did you. But, in his defense, you would be back home tomorrow evening, and that gave him a good couple of hours to drive around the city looking for the same brand —and year— of wine he had stolen from you. Come on, he wasn’t leaving you wineless, of course. He wasn’t a douche. He was just drinking it without your permission… and then replacing it so you would never notice.

Yeah, that was it. That was perfect.

Only he didn’t count on one little detail, and that was you making it home one day earlier. Not wanting to have him worry and make some time out of his busy schedule to go pick you up at the airport like you knew he would, you had decided not to tell him — never having guessed such decision would end up backfiring on both of you. On Yoongi, for he would have no way to replace the bottle before you found out, and on you, for you were now left without that fine wine you had been looking forward to drinking at some point.

“Working so late?” your sweet voice had his head snapping in your direction in a heartbeat.

And maybe if you weren’t so caught up on the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, you would’ve noticed that part of them held some kind of panic in them — turning around on his chair and rolling it ever so slightly to his right so his body would block the empty bottle from your visual range.

“B-Babe…” he stuttered, partially because of the surprise your unannounced arrival had caused him, partially because of the alcohol having already started to hit. “You didn’t, um… I didn’t know…”

“I know,” you cut him off, knowing well enough what he meant. “Sorry I didn’t let you know, but I was getting here late, as you can see, and I didn’t want you to worry about having to go get me and all that…”

Just like that, he forgot about the wine of yours he was trying to hide altogether, smiling softly and stretching his arms out for you to hold his hands — that being exactly what you did not even two seconds later, having now fully entered his studio and letting his warm hands pull you close to him.

Not really giving you a choice —and not like you would’ve chosen any different—, he pulled you onto his lap, allowing you to sit comfortably on his legs before his hands left yours so they could rest on your back instead, smiling when you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and leaning in just enough to give your lips a lingering kiss.

“I missed you” he mumbled against your lips, earning a giggle from you and another small kiss to be pressed on his mouth. “Felt so lonely without you…”

“Have you been drinking?” you teased him, both because of his sweet words and because of the way his lips held a rather familiar bitter taste to them.

Of course you would notice right away.

He chuckled, because it was either laughing it off or panicking right before the inevitable happened. And that’s exactly when your eyes fell on the already emptied bottle resting next to a glass on his desk. The one bottle of yours you had been saving and that was now long gone.

It was fair to say, your previous smile was quickly erased from your face — an upset frown taking over your factions instead.

“Tell me that isn’t the one my mum gave me last month”.

And, you see, laughing in these kind of serious situations is never the best thing to do, especially when you know your significant other is upset. But, in both his state and how nervous he was at the idea of you being mad at him, it was all he could do.

“You’re laughing?” you scoffed. “You’re seriously laughing right now?”

He shook his head no, resting his forehead on your shoulder as another chuckle escaped his mouth instead of giving you a proper answer.

“Yoong—”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he slurred.

Although inevitably feeling your heart flutter, you rolled your eyes. “You are not trying to get out of this situation with that lame ass line”.

“But you truly are so, so beautiful, baby” he nuzzled that one soft spot in your neck, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

“Yah, Yoongi. I’m serious” you called him out, placing your hands firmly on his shoulders and gently pushing him away so you could stand up.

“No, no” he stopped you by wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. “I’ll replace it”.

“That’s not the p—”

“I’ll buy you all the wine in the world if you want” he promised. “I was going to replace it to begin with. You were supposed to get here tomorrow”.

“So now it’s my fault for getting here earlier?”

“I mean,” he shrugged. “If you had let me know beforehand...”

Another scoff came out of your mouth, this time crossing your arms over your chest. “Unbelievable”.

“Please don’t…” a tired sigh escaped his mouth. “Please don’t be mad…”

You stayed silent, eyes fixed on the still half full glass next to the empty bottle as you could not help but sulk over the spilled milk, or well, the already drunk wine.

“You just—”

“Please,” he cut you off once more, this time speaking in that cute pouty tone of his you could never help but melt at. “I love you…” his words came out muffled as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t be mad... I’m sorry”.

This time, a sigh escaped your mouth. What else could you do anyway? The wine was already gone and you were left with a soft, drunken boyfriend who was really trying to make the situation better. Or well, at least trying as hard as his current state allowed him to.

“You better get me the exact same one, Min Yoongi” your threatening words didn’t match the way your face was now resting on his head, as he had buried his face in the crook of your neck by then.

“Mhm…” he breathed, eyes closed as he somehow managed to pull you even closer.

“I mean it, Yoongi” you stood your ground. “Tomorrow”.

He chuckled, planting one more kiss to the spot his mouth had been resting on before he went back up to your eye level. “Tomorrow” his lips parted into a gummy smile. “Don’t keep saving it for too long though…” he lovingly pinched your sides. “Might have to drink it on my own again”.

“Yah!” you pulled slightly away, squinting your eyes in a threatening way the he couldn’t help but find the cutest. “My wine. I will see when it’s the right time to drink it”.

“Our wedding night”.

You froze. “Huh?”

“Our wedding night, tops” he stated, and you were not sure if that was the alcohol speaking or he had really been thinking about marriage with you for a while now. “If you haven’t drunk it by then... we’re having it that night”.

A light, breathy laugh escaped your mouth. “Will we even be home that night?” you questioned, his eyes staring into the wall behind you letting you know he had not taken that into consideration. “Besides, in that case I would only get to drink half a bottle, whereas you’d technically had downed one and a half”.

“Pft,” his shoulders went slightly up. “Okay then, alcohol measuring police”.

Throwing your head back as you now let a throaty laugh out, you went back to him, running your fingers through the short strands of hair falling over his forehead and pushing them back, earning a smile and then a muffled giggle from him when you caught his bottom lip in between your longing ones.

“I will get you two bottles then” he quietly proposed when you pulled away. “One for you to share with me and one for you to get drunk on your own whenever you want”.

“Okay, okay” you giggled, not really minding the whole wine incident anymore as he pressed his lips tenderly on your cheek. “Isn’t there something you’re forgetting, though?”

His eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought at your question — eyes travelling to his left and wasting no time in grabbing the glass that still contained a good amount of wine in it. “You can have what’s left”.

You rolled your eyes. The proposal, he was forgetting the proposal. And you couldn’t help but find amusement in the fact that he had been so quick to talk about your wedding night when there had never been a proposal to begin with. Bold of you to believe you would get your drunken boyfriend to talk about it, though.

Nevertheless, all that aside, you did not hesitate for even a second before you took the glass from his hand.

“Oh,” he blurted out when you were taking a small sip, a smile once again parting his lips as he suddenly seemed to remember something important. “And you just wait for the ring”.

[sunlightheidi]

Life Worth Living

Jihyun Kim "V" | MC / Reader

*NSFW (under cut)

Happy Sunday friends! Enjoy this very fluffy smut ~

Jihyun’s studio is your favorite room in the house.

Everything about it is light. Light wooden floors and walls a pale shade of ivory, both speckled with remnants of paint that neither of you have ever bothered cleaning. The windows are tall and give you a perfect view of the fluttering hummingbirds drinking water from the feeder you’d hung from the maple oak tree (had sat on Jihyun’s shoulders to do it – swaying and giggling).

The sun filters through the sheer curtains, illuminates the room in golden hues all through the day. It’s the perfect amount of light for Jihyun to work clearly and peacefully (whether he’s drawing, or painting or taking silly photographs of you) and lets you linger quietly in his space as he does so – content and warm in the little blue sofa and the soft blankets he’s placed in here just for you.

This little nook Jihyun has created is where you spend most of your free time. You love to lay down and daydream as you watch him work. His art is wonderful, you’ve always thought so – every piece sketched, every canvas painted, every picture taken leaves you in complete wonder of him, of his talent.

But what you love best of all is watching him create these dreamscapes; shirtless and muscles rippling as he sways freely, careless hair glittering in the light, tools in his gentle paint-stained hands – he’s beautiful.

You could lay in this little corner of yours forever; learning the names of his favorite paints, about which techniques he prefers to use, listen to way he moves and all that he dreams of.

There are days however, when minutes feel like hours and your heart feels weary because everything has gone pear-shaped and wrong. A long warm shower makes you feel a little more like yourself, but you struggle to keep your eyes open as you stumble up the stairs in your robe and nothing else, to the man you’ve given your heart and whole life too.

Ah, there he is; his back to the door and sitting on a spinning stool, paintbrush in hand and a palette in the other.

You go to him instantly, wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his back in greeting, say nothing because you don’t want to distract him from his work. You nuzzle his neck and peek over his shoulder at his current project. A landscape this time – cherry blossoms from the trip he had surprised you with for your anniversary a few months ago.

As you begin to pull away, he pulls you back and wraps his arms around you – kisses you dizzy, calls you darling and sweetheart and tells you how much he’s missed you.

You stumble into your little sanctuary afterwards, lips swollen and a little off balance but warm and happy; fall asleep the moment you wrap yourself in the coziness of your blankets.

You dream of a night in spring, of cherry blossom trees and a quiet breeze and a starry sky – a memory of gentle hands caressing your softness and making love to you under the moonlight.

The dream vanishes, colors and hues of blues and golds fill your vision – you wake to soft kisses along your thighs, on your hips. You shift a little, yawning and chest rising. Then, a gentle tap on your thigh; the solid end of a pencil. Warm, turquoise eyes meet yours as they open.

Jihyun is sitting on the sofa with you, has made room for himself at the very end with your feet on his lap, his earlier work long forgotten.

“Stay still for me, darling.”

You shudder under the weight of his gaze, seeking it even as his attention shifts back to the sketchpad in his hand, charcoal pencil in the other. Those same graceful hands that are always so careful when they take you apart; so careful and memorizing when they trace the outline of your figure on paper, and smooth an array of charcoal down the lines of your body.

Jihyun loves to spill you onto his art – pictures drawn and photographs taken of you, they are strewn all over his studio, displayed on the walls of every room in your home. They are beautiful, just like everything else about him, like everything he graces with his touch.

But hanging right next to them is your own work, a disarray of candid pictures you’ve taken of him. They are your absolute favorites because he’s always radiant and flushed, always giggles shily the moment you turn the camera on him.

“Your thoughts are spinning,” he says, eyes flickering up to you, a soft smile on his pretty mouth. “What did you dream about?”

“The night we camped underneath the stars, when the cherry blossoms were blooming.”

“Mmm,” he hums, a soft agreement. He remembers it perfectly – the night you’d laid naked with him underneath the stars and he’d made love to you until the sun rose. “A good dream then. Spread your legs a little wider, sweetheart?”

You do so, at peace with the warm flush that’s worked its way through your insides. It is still new to you, being bared like this for him to draw you, but you are comfortable. More than comfortable with him, if only a little shy at his attention, but he’s always tender with you.

His gaze flickers down your body; the blankets have long fallen to the floor, your robe in disarray and hiding nothing from him. You don’t fix it – let him watch every bit of you instead. “Are you getting a little restless, darling?”

“A little,” you admit, “but I can stay still a little longer for you.”

Jihyuns nods, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “Are you sure?” he asks, using his thumb to massage your inner thigh.

“Jihyun, dearest, you’re not meant to be making this harder for me,” you remind him, lowering your eyebrows in a faux-scowl, lip pouting. Your body shivers in delight as you witness his eyes darken – you know he loves your mouth, know it makes his fantasies unwind like nothing else.

He laughs, something dark and hoarse, but always as warm as the sun. “My apologies. You know I am just as tempted by you, if not more so.”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” you tease, letting your eyes fall closed once again as you slip into a steady daze. “Please finish quickly Jihyun, I’ve missed you terribly.”

And you have. All day long have been feeling a little heartsick for him.

You don’t open your eyes again for a while. Occasionally, you feel him moving you around; a hand adjusting the position of your arm, brushing hair from your face, or ghosting against your thighs.

It’s a while before he moves again, and you feel the sofa cushions shift as he slips his legs from beneath you; hear him place his sketchpad and charcoal down.

You open your eyes when you feel Jihyun hover above you – plush lips, soft lashes, smiling mouth, adoration in his gaze. You don’t need a single star or planet to align if only he keeps looking at you in this way for the rest of your life.

“Can I see the sketch?” You whisper, your body writhing at the wild, desperate look he gives you; know that he needs you just as badly as you need him.

You feel dizzy, drunk as you try to regain control of your body that never, never, never has enough of him.

“Later,” he answers, finally brushing his lips against yours, swallowing your moan as he presses every inch of his body against yours. He can’t ever have enough of you either.

Jihyun loves to capture these moments between you, has taken photographs of him pleasing you, of you pleasing him, of you two together; you wish he would paint this moment, the two of you intwined so tightly that you looked like one.

There is no need for preparation; you’ve been wet since he’d pressed you back into the blankets and asked you to stay there. Jihyun releases a shaky breath as he thrusts up and over your mound, coating himself in your arousal. You press his face into your neck and drape one leg over his hip, opening yourself up fully and giving unspoken permission at the same time.

You both gasp as the head of his cock notches at your entrances. His hips tremble slightly as he drives in, only stopping once his hips are tights against yours. You can’t help it; you squeeze around him, arch a little and writhe at the delicious fullness you feel.

“Thank you for waiting for me, my love” he says, and you know he doesn’t just mean today, or every other day you’ve watched him work while basking in the sunlight.

He means that period so long ago, when both of you were lost and stumbling through life but had fallen desperately in love with each other. When he’d left to learn how to live with mistakes made and figure out himself and his dreams.

You stayed and tried to make sense of what your life had become. Had spent so much of your time praying to the stars, to the moon, to the sun that he would come back to you.

He pulls backs to look at your face, brushes wild hair from your forehead and presses a kiss where his fingers had been. He only moves once he is sure you won’t look away. The first time he draws away and presses back in is enough to make you whine, enough to make you cry with the tender way he is looking at you.

Jihyun fucks into you at a gentle pace, loves to draw out the pleasure and just feel you beneath him. You understand why, too. All those years of secrecy and lying had left his body tired and his soul weary, and now he is eager for a moment of respite. He’s found that peace, the calmness he’s searched his whole life for, in you.

You can feel your wetness coating your inner thighs and his. You suck in a breath as Jihyun slicks your wetness up, fingers grazing your swollen, sensitive clit. A broken gasp leaves you as he presses harder, circling around you and you press yourself against his hand, rocking into him as he thrusts into you. You begin to flutter around him and he groans, his pace finally stuttering, his hips shaking against yours.

“Come on, baby,” he urges, flushed and eyes dark and shining. “Let me hear you.”

And you do. You let yourself vocalize everything that he makes you feel – the adoration, the love, the coursing desire that has lit a burning fire within you. He presses his mouth to yours and tastes every sound you make, pupils blown and completely blissed out in the knowledge that it’s all because of him.

He continues to stroke you through the aftershocks of pleasure, joins you with a jerk of his hips – brows furrowed, eyes shut and his lips parted as he moans your name.

When he finally pulls away, your thighs are shaking and your eyes are dropping with fatigue. He kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, pulls back to look at the mess between your thighs and sings you quiet praises.

“Come here, honey,” he whispers, slowly standing up and hooking one arm beneath your knees, the other under your shoulders and lifts you up effortlessly. You lock your arms around him and nuzzle into his neck, sigh in quiet happiness. “Let’s get to bed.”

He carries you through the hallways of this home you’ve built together. Photographs of you two line the walls, kissing and smiling and always looking at each other with joy in your eyes.

There are pictures of your friends too, posters of Zen’s productions, blurry images of Jumin with Elizabeth the 3rd, Jaehee in front of her new café, Yoosung at his recent graduation, and plenty of the reunited Choi twins on their many adventures (because Saeyoung has taken it upon himself to hang pictures on your walls too).

Days can be long, and sometimes you don’t feel like yourself; but these still images that capture the life you once dreamed of help you remember: you have Jihyun, you have a family – you need nothing else.

You lean closer to Jihyun, kiss up his neck and across his jawline. Press your lips against the corner of his smiling mouth. “I love you.”

I would have waited a lifetime for you, you think. You have made my life a living dream.

[willwriteforhugs]

in vino veritas - song mingi

bestfriend! mingi x reader- part one of two !

~childhood friends to lovers au~

word count: 1.5k

genre: angst, fluff, sad boi hours

synopsis: your lifelong best friend gets a little too tipsy, and reveals a little too much.

warnings: mentions of alcohol/heavy drinking, drunkenness, some swearing

a/n: thank you for reading :) i hope you enjoy!!

edit: part two is *finally* up! read it here <3

- - - 

the day had been long, and work had been exhausting - you’d spent most of your time there just wanting to return home. but you’d completed everything- the filing, the last of the paperwork, the emails that had piled up...you’d finished it all. now you had two entire days off. two days to yourself. finally.

in the moment, you hum idly as you wipe your kitchen counter with a damp cloth. you’d eaten dinner alone in your apartment, as you often did- but you always cleaned up anyways. old habits die hard, you guess.

you continue to straighten up the kitchen, hoping to binge watch some tv when you’re done. you glance up at the clock, and do a double take. is it really already ten o’clock? where did the time go?

you shrug it off, tossing the used rag in the sink. then you head to your bathroom, eager to finally shower and get rid of the day’s gunk.

- - -

an hour later, you find yourself sprawled on your small couch, hair wet and television on. but only a few minutes into your drama episode, you hear a quiet tapping sound. it strikes you enough that you reach over and pause the tv, curious. the tapping continues, but louder this time.

you realize with a start that it’s coming from your front door. what the fuck? who’s knocking at your door at 11 pm on a friday?

you frown and force yourself out of the love seat. you groan audibly as you trudge to the door. this is ridiculous...

mumbling incoherently, you yank the door open.

“oh- oh my god. what are you doing here?” you stutter.

your best friend of fifteen years, mingi, stands before you. his dirty blonde hair is mussed, and his shirt is wrinkled in odd places. he looks dazed. “what?”

you frown, craning your neck to look up at him. “i said, what are you doing here? do you know what time it is?”

mingi just looks down at you, blinking rapidly. he smells- oh god, he smells like alcohol.

you groan. “oh no- mingi, really? are you drunk right now?”

he takes a step towards you, moving to support his lean body on your door frame. “no.”

you glare.

“yes.” he mumbles. 

you sigh heavily, debating internally. as one of his closest, and oldest friends- it should be your obligation to let him stay over and take care of him. but the bitter, logical side of you wants to slam the door in his face- let him lie in the bed he made. 

then the thought finally lands. a chill runs through you, and you gasp. “mingi, did you drive here?”

he grabs your arm. “no, no y/n, i didn’t! i got a ride, i swear!” his words slur together, and you wince. he only slurred his speech when he was *really* drunk. dammit. 

“get inside, you ass-hat.”

- - -

after placing mingi on the sofa, you shuffle around the kitchen, looking to find him a glass of water. you can’t see him, but you can hear him singing quietly in the other room. your heart twinges, wondering if if he’s alright. usually he’s not a huge drinker, so he might have been upset about something... but the most you can do is just hope that wasn’t the case.

now, you wander back into the front room, holding a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of advil in the other. “for later,” you say, placing the bottle on the coffee table. 

your friend isn’t listening. “hey,” you try again.

no response. he’s lying on his back on your sofa, squinting his eyes at the ceiling. 

“mingi-yah.”

nothing. good grief. 

then, without warning, mingi shoots up into a sitting position, startling you. “what is it?” you ask.

he mumbles something you don’t catch, and you lower yourself onto the seat next to him. 

“just don’t drink too fast,” you remark, handing him the water cup. he nods and takes it from you. for a moment, the room is quiet as he takes a few small sips. then:

“you smell really good.” 

mingi’s low voice is startlingly clear, considering how tipsy he is. 

“wha-what?” you manage.

“you smell nice,” he repeats. “you must have showered.” he continues, leaning back into the couch.

you hum vaguely, no longer concerned with his antics. “yes, as i do every night.”

but mingi plows on as if you hadn’t said anything. “you always smell good, though.”

this makes you pause. so he likes the way you smell? like, all the time?

you turn to look at him, curious. “do i? you’ve never told me that.”

he’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, it’s barely audible: “well, there are a lot of things i don’t tell you.”

your brow creases. what the hell did that mean?

“for example,” mingi says, sitting upright again, and he isn’t looking at you. “i have never told you what a bad cook you are.”

“hey!”

mingi bursts into laughter, but he holds up his hand as if to continue. when he recovers from his giggles, he does. he holds up two fingers. “secondly, i have never told you how looking into your eyes reminds me of the stars.”

wait, what?

you stare at him, probably wide eyed. you open your mouth, but he cuts you off again. 

“also, last week at the lake? yeah, i didn’t tell you how badly i wanted to hold your hand then.”

you have a physical reaction to his words. what is he talking about? this sounded- no. no, no, no. too familiar.

“mingi,” your voice comes out raspy. “you’re drunk.”

he looks over your shoulder and grunts in confirmation. “yeah, i can feel it. i’m also pretty sure i didn’t want you to know those things.”

you stand up suddenly, overcome with insecurity. “mingi- why did you come here? when you knew you were drunk- why me?”

he finally meets your gaze. sighing, he reaches up waves an arm around vaguely. god, he's hammered... 

“because i trust you, y/n-ah.” his words have begun to mingle again. “i trust you and i love you.”

you take a step back. he’s drunk he’s drunk he’s drunk he’s-

- - -

four years ago:

“mingi-yah!” your voice was young an clear and full of laughter. your legs ached as your pace began to slow. “stop!” 

fifteen feet in front of you, your best friend stopped and glanced back. his eyes glittered with pleasure. “you’re giving up?”

you slowed to a stop near him, panting. you were never as good a runner as he was. “yes, god. you win.” 

mingi grinned and danced in a circle around you. “yes! i win, i win, i win-”

you reached out and smacked his arm. “knock it off,” you laughed. “you sound like a middle-schooler.”

“i can live with that.”

you rolled your eyes and began to walk again. mingi jogged to catch up, already talking about something else.

- - - 

the two of you came to a stop in front of your house, and began to bid your farewells. but as mingi turned to head home, you bit your tongue, unsure of your next action.

“mingi, wait!”

he spun around again. “what? spring break isn’t that long, y’know. and i’ll come hang out if you’re that lonely.”

you sighed heavily. “stop it, it’s just-” you hesitated again. but finally you reached into your pocket and took out the note. the note that had been there for months already. the love confession. 

you shoved it at his chest, face burning.

“what?” he mumbled, grabbing the little slip of paper. he unfolded it, and a few moments passed in utter silence. finally, he looked up. “y/n-ah...”

you scrambled for an excuse. “no, it’s okay. i know you don’t-”

“y/n-ah, listen to me.” he had grabbed you by the shoulders an was looking into your eyes. “that isn’t true.”

“wha...what?”

“you don’t love me.”

“how would you know?” you felt almost offended. 

“i just do, alright? i don’t want to be mean- and i’m sorry, but i just don’t look at you like that. i never have.”

your eyes burned as you looked at the pavement. you nodded.

“but it’ll be fine, you hear me? cause this, y/n- this isn’t love. this is just a crush. you’ll be over it soon enough.”

you nodded again.

just a crush...

if only he knew.

- - -

“you...love me?” back in the moment, you can’t even comprehend your situation. your heart aches, and suddenly you’re seventeen again. “this isn’t love...” he’d said.

“well that i definitely didn’t want you to know. stupid, loud, loose-lipped mingi...” his voice trails off.

your own words come out in a rush. “wait, mingi. no, no you don’t. you don’t love me. never have, never will.” your voice cracks. “quit talking, alright? you’re just drunk, you need to sleep. i’ll-”

without warning, your counterpart stands up and crosses the room in a few strides. you take an instinctive step back, and he grabs your wrist. he pulls you towards him, and places your palm on his chest, letting his hand rest on yours.

“mingi-” your voice is pained. you don’t want to hear it, because you can’t take the thought of loving him- you can’t take the thought of him loving you. years of rejection and denial burn in your gut.

“y/n-ah, please.” his voice is raspy and sad. 

“please. please love me again.”

[lyssismagical]

would you be so kind (as to fall in love with me)

Flash knew he shouldn’t have thought what he did when he saw the nerdiest kid in school, but damn the boy was cute. With curly brown hair and doe brown eyes and the biggest heart and endless intelligence. It really wasn’t Flash’s fault for finding himself with a mild crush on his classmate.

He knew he was gay. He’d known for a very long time, but it’d been easy enough to keep a secret when he’d never seen someone that caught his eye. It’d been easy enough to pretend to think girls were attractive to him and that boys were just boys and not crushes.

But then, on a dreary autumn morning, he’d seen Peter Parker wearing a dorky outfit and thick glasses and carrying a stack of books in his arms, a ratty backpack slung loosely over his shoulders, and laughing at something his friend had said.

It really wasn’t Flash’s fault for his crush, he blames Peter entirely.

*

He wants to be Peter’s friend. He just hasn’t worked up the courage to talk to the boy in his AP Chemistry and English. He doesn’t know how.

But all of his long-distance pining comes to an end one day when his father picks him up after school.

He sees Peter sitting on the front steps of the school with Ned, a stack of books at his feet and glasses crooked on his nose, looking just as pretty as ever in the afternoon sunlight to Flash.

“Don’t cross paths with those kinds of people,” his father says. Flash hates the way he stresses Those Kinds like Peter is less than them.

Outside, Peter laughs, bright and innocent at something Ned says.

“Of course not,” Flash agrees because he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“What a fag,” his father mutters before they’re peeling out of the parking lot and away from the school.

Flash doesn’t know how to do anything but agree, shame filling him to the brim.

*

His father’s never hit him, has never laid a hand on him, but the way he shouts, the disappointment in his eyes when he sends Flash up to his room, the shame.

It feels worse than a punch would.

*

Something inside him snaps when he sees Peter one day, riddled with guilt over his hidden secret and angry because his father shouted at him for hours the night before.

He shoves Peter when they’re walking down the stairs out of school.

He’ll never forget the sad and confused expression from Peter, rubbing his bleeding palms and staring up at Flash, making Flash feel like he kicked a puppy.

But his father smiles at him when he gets into the car, congratulating him for putting the freak in his place.

Is it worth it? No, he shouldn’t be so selfish as to ruin another kid’s life just to get his father’s approval. That’s not who he is. But he doesn’t care. His mother will be home in just a few days and all hell will break loose.

He’s right, of course he was.

As soon as his mother arrives home, the shouting begins once again.

“I can smell the cologne on you!” his father shouts, grabbing his mother’s discarded jacket off the back of the couch. “You were seeing another man!”

“You’re just jealous because I’m the only woman who would ever be with you!” his mother screams back, ripping the jacket out of his hands. “And I didn’t sleep with anyone! I went to an office party!”

“Like I’d believe any of your lies,” his father snarls. “And for your information, I could get any woman I want! I saw somebody just a few weeks ago!”

There’s the echoing noise of shattering glass, probably his mother throwing another dish. “You saw another woman?! Probably some drunk twenty-something-year-old slut you dragged to bed in exchange for a couple hundred bucks, right? You don’t deserve me!”

“I don’t deserve you?! You don’t deserve anything!”

The shouting is endless. Almost always escalating to throwing things, slamming doors, and Flash cleaning up the mess left behind.

Flash knows he can’t take out his pent-up anger on Peter, but the last thing he needs right now is for his family to find out about his crush on the nerdy dork from his high school. The last thing he needs is for them to find out he’s gay.

*

No matter how much Flash tries, Peter won’t hate him. He won’t fight back. He won’t shout at him or call him out or punch him. He just takes all of it with so much ease. He’ll listen to the words Flash throws at him and he’ll pick his glasses up off the floor and wince at yet another crack in the lenses. But he never fights back.

And no matter how hard Flash tries, his crush on Peter won’t fade away like he hoped it would.

Every time he sees the dork in his AP Chemistry or in English, his heart skips a couple beats and his breath hitches because somehow, every single day, Peter manages to look wonderful and smart and nerdy and cute and beautiful. And every single day, Flash has to endure two hours of trying not to stare.

*

He took it too far.

He knew it would happen eventually.

Tired of all the fighting happening in his home, including his father going as far as inviting his new fling over to make Flash’s mother jealous which ended in Flash driving the woman home and his father to the hospital to stitch up his hand where a shard of plate had cut him open when his mother threw it.

He knew he’d be angrier than usual and he knew he’d take it out on Peter for looking so fucking pretty in spring colours, hair tousled and messy.

“Stop- please- I can’t-” Peter’s sitting on the floor, head between his knees as he tries to get his breathing under control. There are tears staining his flushed cheeks and his hands won’t stop shaking, nearly as badly as his shoulders when a sob is pulled from his throat.

Flash reaches out to comfort the teenager, but Peter flinches harshly away from the hand, nearly smacking his head into the lockers behind him, and Flash pulls his hand away like it was burned.

“I’m sorry- I’m- I’m sorry,” Flash tries, guilt welling up inside him like it always does.

He locked Peter in a locker. It was supposed to be just another thing, like he always does. Something to take the edge off his anger and to make his feelings a little less intense. But Peter had started to cry when he’d gotten the door closed. And by the time Flash was able to open the lock again, Peter had already fallen pretty deeply into a panic attack.

Ned’s sick and Peter doesn’t really have any other friends to Flash’s knowledge, so either Flash leaves him totally alone or he stays.

“I’m sorry. I- I didn’t know- I didn’t-” Flash tries again, hands hovering uselessly in the air between them as Peter continues to steady his breathing carefully.

“Go. Please. Just- I- I just- I can’t- Please go.”

That answers his question for him. Flash isn’t about to push more than he already has, so he apologizes a few more times as he backs out of the room.

*

“I can’t do this anymore!” Flash shouts over the chaos between his parents.

“This isn’t for you to deal with, Eugene,” his father spits, barely looking over at him.

His father’s never been anything but angry with him, so Flash might as well push it over the edge, right?

“I’m gay,” Flash says, clenching his jaw and fists, trying not to let the emotions show on his face. He repeats it, more confidently to their shocked and confused faces, “I’m gay.”

*

He touches the swollen, purple skin around his eye, wincing at the spike of pain. He dabs away the blood on his split lip, frowning at his reflection in the dark window of a closed shop.

His parents finally agreed on something. Flash can’t really count that as a win, considering now he’s wandering the streets of Queens by himself in the middle of the night, nowhere to go.

No home. No family. Nothing.

Just his own shame and guilt.

The tears start falling before he can think to stop them, slipping down his cheeks and mixing with the blood on his lip.

A squeal of tires catches his attention and a sleek, black car pulls up on the sidewalk beside him. His first thought is that he’s getting kidnapped or mugged or murdered, just to add the cherry on top of the godawful day.

But then Peter fucking Parker steps out of the car, eyes wide and worried, reaching out towards Flash.

“Are you okay? What happened to you?” the younger boy asks with the kind of wide-eyed innocence Flash would hate to ruin. “Were you jumped?”

Flash can’t help but roll his glassy eyes. After everything, Peter still cares. “It’s nothing, Peter.”

A smile somehow spreads across the younger boy’s face.

“You called me Peter,” he murmurs before quickly snapping out of it. “Do you need a ride home? You live nearby, don’t you?”

“No,” Flash says. “I don’t live anywhere.”

He tips his head to the side in confusion, bambi eyes wide with concern. “What do you mean?”

“I got kicked out,” Flash admits. He gestures to his face carelessly. “My father’s doing.”

Peter’s face falls and before Flash knows it, he’s being gently nudged into the black car.

There are two men sitting in the front seats. Flash is too tired to try to introduce himself so he lays his head against the cool window and finds solace in the warm fingers on his forearm, grounding him.

The car pulls away and soon, they’re parking outside a shabby apartment near the heart of Queens. Peter’s place probably.

“C’mon,” he says, voice warm and low. “You can have my bed for tonight, I’ll take the couch. We can figure out what to do in the morning.”

Peter gets out of the car, but before Flash has the mind to follow, the man in passenger turns around, revealing Tony Stark.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says softly. “Your dad did that to you?”

Flash nods wordlessly, touching his swollen eye with cold fingers.

The hero nods like this is just what he expected. “I don’t do the whole heart to heart thing, but I get it. My dad never said he loved me, never even said he liked me. I would take out my anger on the people around me and on myself. I hurt a lot of people before I realized I needed to break the cycle.”

“This was the first time,” Flash finds himself admitting. “He’s never hit me before.”

Tony offers a sympathetic smile. “What did you do? Forget to do the dishes? Failed a test?”

“Came out as gay.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and wrong.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

“Me too.”

*

Flash sits down on the edge of Peter’s bed. His room is exactly how he imagined it to be. Nerdy and dorky and small.

“You can sleep here for tonight,” Peter says, collecting some extra blankets from the top shelf in his closet. Flash hates that he watches Peter’s shirt lift and show off his pale slender hips. “I’ll take the couch.”

Flash wants to say that it wouldn’t be fair, after Everything. But he’s too tired to argue.

Peter’s suddenly there, kneeling down in front of him, eyes wide and soft and brown like coffee, small warm hands on his knees, worry seeping out of him.

“Are you okay?”

How is Flash supposed to answer that?

He’s spent two years bullying the teenager in front of him to hide his own sexuality. He’s made the boy cry more times than he can count. He made him have a panic attack. How is any of that okay?

And yet, at the end of it all, Peter’s the only one here for him, the only one he has.

How is that okay?

Flash’s voice is hollow. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay too,” Peter murmurs. He moves away from the bed, back to the closet and pulls out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He pushes them into Flash’s hands and offers another one of his gentle smiles.

“I’m sorry-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Peter says, voice soft as ever, like a blanket settling over him. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Flash repeats. He needs Peter to understand the amount of guilt that’s filling him up and making him sick to his stomach. “I’m so fucking sorry and I- I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you.”

“It’s okay,” Peter repeats, just as sincerely as before. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I just hope we can move on from that.”

Flash nods quickly, that’s the only thing he wants. He wants to forget about the past two years of hatred and fighting in favor of friendship.

“I’m gay,” Flash admits. He might as well. If Peter hates him for it, he might as well get it over with now. His head is murky and he’s tired. He doesn’t care about anything anymore.

But Peter smiles instead of all the other possibilities. “Hello, Gay. I’m Bi.”

And then he laughs, still quietly but full of so much life, Flash wishes he could have some of that life that Peter seems to have endless amounts of.

“Get some rest, Flash. Bathroom’s across the hall and I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

He’s never loved anyone, has never been loved before. His parents barely gave him a second thought, his friends are all just acquaintances, he’s only ever had one crush.

But he’s overcome right then and there, sitting in Peter’s bedroom and looking into Peter’s bambi eyes, that he loves him. He loves Peter Parker.

*

Walking into school, side by side with Peter, turns a lot of heads.

Flash is wearing Peter’s jeans and Peter’s shirt with a nerdy science pun written on the front and he smells like Peter’s shampoo and body wash, a mix of vanilla sugar and mango.

And Peter’s at his side, arms touching they’re walking so close together. The bruise on his eye is still there, still swollen, still a dark purple color, a reminder of what happened the night before.

But if he had to take a few punches to have the courage to apologize to Peter and to admit to himself that he loves him, then so what. He’d take a beating every day for the rest of his life if it means being allowed to walk the earth with Peter at his side.

“What are you doing?” Ned demands when they reach Peter’s locker.

Flash looks up, knowing he must look like shit, but Ned recognizes his jeans and shirt and the bruises on his face, and something must click.

“What happened?” he asks, a lot quieter. People seem to always want to talk to him quietly now.

“It’s nothing, Ned. Don’t worry about it,” Peter jumps in. “I’m going to go to the bathroom before class. I’ll be back in a few.”

The moment he’s turned the corner, Ned turns on him angrily.

“If you’re using him or if this is some fucking joke, I want you to back off right now. Peter’s too nice for his own good and he’s too naïve. So please, for the love of god, just leave him alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Flash says. He has a lot to apologize for, but he hopes this will be enough until he can get his thoughts straightened. “I don’t want to hurt him. I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing then? If you don’t want to hurt him, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Flash doesn’t know how to answer without outing himself. “I’m sorry.”

“You sound like Peter, jesus, I don’t want an apology. I just want to know why. Yesterday, you called him more names than I can count and you locked him in a locker. And now you’re best buds? I don’t get it. And Peter’s my best friend, so I need to know why.”

“I got kicked out,” Flash whispers, eyes dropping to the floor, watching Ned’s tapping shoes. “My parents kicked me out and he- he let me stay with him… I- I’m sorry about everything.”

Ned’s face falls. “Oh. Jeez, Flash, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s- It’s whatever. I just- I’m sorry.”

“Do you mean that? Are you really sorry or are you just sorry because you need him?”

There’s a long few tense moments of silence before Flash admits it, panic and desperation engulfing him. He just needs to say it.

“I love him,” Flash blurts. “I- I’m gay and I- I’ve liked him for a really long time. I just- my parents and I- I-”

“You don’t have to explain, Flash,” Ned mumbles. “I believe you. You’re an honorary part of our Losers Club. But if you fuck anything up, that’s it, okay? Peter would forgive you in a heartbeat, but I have to protect him.”

Flash nods. He understands. He’s been hurting him for years, it’s fair that nobody will trust him. He doesn’t even deserve this much from this, let alone genuine friendship from them.

“Thank you,” he says before adding another. “I’m sorry.”

He wonders if he’ll ever stop being sorry.

He doubts it.

*

Peter’s a great friend. He’s genuine and sweet and forgiving and he’s always making jokes and smiling. (And he just looks so pretty and beautiful, wide bambi-brown eyes sparkling, tousled curls- Flash can’t help himself from staring.)

Ned’s hesitant and he watches Flash watch Peter as the younger boy laughs and reads and talks and does his homework and smiles and answers all the questions in class.

It’s different and everyone stares, but Flash is too busy staring at Peter to really notice any of it.

*

Flash stays at Peter and May’s apartment while he tries to sort everything out. He can’t go back home, he tried to call his mother, but she didn’t even bother to pick up the phone let alone pathetically listen to him plead.

He doesn’t really have a lot of family he can rely on. His father doesn’t really have any family, all of them alienated from their rich lifestyle, and his mother has one stepsister who has dual citizenship in both Canada and the US while pursuing her acting career.

He’d somehow have to convince her to move to Queens just for him to stay somewhere until he can graduate and live by himself.

Peter says she’ll say yes, of course she will, but even if she doesn’t, it’s not as though he’ll be back on the streets again. He’s allowed to stay with the Parker’s for as long as he needs to.

He could never be more grateful for what they’ve done for him.

*

“Hey,” Flash starts, sitting anxiously on the edge of Peter’s bed. They’ve been taking turns on the bed and couch after it turned into a more long-term thing. “It’s, um, it’s Flash.”

“Flash?”

“Eugene,” he rephrases. “I go by Flash now.”

Tessa lets out a quiet laugh. “Don’t like the family name anymore?”

“I got kicked out,” Flash admits quietly. He knows this isn’t a good place to start, but Peter’s comforting and warm at his side, bambi-brown eyes a constant safe haven. “I came out as gay and they kicked me out.”

He’s found that the more he says it, the easier it is to say. He’s had one bad and one good experience. He doesn’t really care how Tessa reacts because either way, he has a place to stay here with Peter.

“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry. I thought my sister was better than that, but I guess not,” she says, an obvious eyeroll in her tone. “Your father, though, I didn’t expect much more than the worst. Do you need somewhere to stay? I’m in Toronto right now, but it’s only a few hours flight to get down to Queens.”

“Would you?” Flash asks, hating how pathetically young and small he sounds. Peter’s hand tightens in his.

“Yeah, of course, you shouldn’t have to go through something like this. That’s awful. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Flash explains how he’s been staying with Peter for the past couple weeks and how he just needs someone a little more permanent, but that she can take her time since she’s moving her whole life just for him.

“I’ll get a flight down this weekend then, honey. No worries. I’ll let you know when I get there, okay? I love you, kiddo. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Tessa says. “I’ve gotta go to talk to my manager, but I’ll book flights as soon as everything’s settled.”

“Thank you,” Flash murmurs. “I love you too.”

When he hangs up, he wants to say it to Peter too, who’s sitting right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, but he doesn’t. He settles for a simple thank you.

*

It felt like it was turning into an obsession.

I love you he’d think when Peter would get him breakfast before school.

I love you, on the tip of his tongue when Peter would smile and lean over to help him with their AP Chemistry homework.

I love you the only thing on his mind when Peter would laugh at his jokes and let him borrow his clothes and cover for him whenever his thoughts dragged him back to bed in the mornings before school.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love-

He loves Peter Parker more than he can handle.

*

He meets Tony Stark for real the day before he’s supposed to be moving into his aunt’s new apartment which just so happens to be the building over from Peter’s.

Peter takes him to the tower to visit Tony who’s apparently been asking about him. It’s just for a few hours before he’s getting picked up by Tessa to start shopping for furniture.

“Hey, kiddos. It’s been a while since I’ve seen either of you,” Tony greets, sitting them down at the dining room table and opening up two boxes of pizza. “Everything going alright?”

“I’m moving in with aunt officially tomorrow,” Flash explains quietly, averting his eyes. Peter’s warm at his side, having dragged his chair a few inches over to sit shoulder to shoulder. “I couldn’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me-”

“I’ve said it a thousand times,” Peter says, softly and breath warm where it fans out against Flash’s shoulder when he turns his head. “You don’t need to thank me for this. It’s the least I could do.”

“I was awful to you.”

Peter shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like he hasn’t cried dozens of times because of Flash, like he hasn’t sported bruises Flash gave him, like Flash hasn’t caused panic attacks and breakdowns in the school hallways.

“You were trying to protect yourself; I understand why you did what you did. I did some pretty awful things after my uncle… And anyways, you’ve apologized, and I forgave you,” Peter says, offering a smile, looking pretty and eyes sparkling, so close to Flash, all he can think about is Peter’s warm breath and trusting bambi-brown eyes.

He wants to kiss him. He wants to say the words aloud.

I love you, he thinks. I love you, I love you, I love you.

*

Flash moves in with Tessa in the apartment across the alley from Peter.

They walk to and from school together, they hang out at Peter’s apartment after school, they go to Academic Decathlon together, they even hang out on weekends frequently.

And Peter with his sparkling wide bambi-brown eyes and his tousled curly hair and the biggest heart and endless intelligence, has all of Flash’s love.

Flash wouldn’t want it any other way.

*

I love you.

I love you too.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideyspeaches @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl101 @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames @you-did-it-sir {Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed}

[jaimehwatson]

I made another Snowpiercer playlist!

After posting my Wilford/Audrey playlist a while ago, I added some songs that didn’t quite make the cut to a different playlist, intending to put together another similar one. But rather than focusing on just one ship this time, I also ended up getting really interested in theorizing about what Wilford’s relationship with Melanie might have been like before the Freeze, and exploring the idea that maybe there was something going on there and some kind of love triangle with Audrey.

So here’s my new playlist, full of absolute jams that could apply to any combination of relationships involving Wilford, Audrey, and Melanie, and/or just general Snowpiercer vibes! Read on for more detail about the songs I selected, and as before, content warning for references to canon abuse & self-harm/suicide.

1. “The Tradition” by Halsey

Oh, the loneliеst girl in town Was bought for plenty a price Well, they dress her up in golden crowns His smile hides a lie

She smiles back, but it's a fact That her fear will eat her alive Well, she got the life that she wanted But now all she does is cry

Thanks @onetrainsnowpiercer​ for getting me into this excellent album! I thought it would be fitting to kick off the playlist with one that could suit the earlier days of Wilford’s relationship with Audrey, like my previous playlist was more focused on.

2. “cardigan” by Taylor Swift

'Cause I knew you Steppin' on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I

I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy, I

I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Did you think I would make a Snowpiercer playlist without Taylor Swift on it? Not a chance. I picture this one being more from Melanie’s perspective, reflecting on possibly having had some kind of ill-fated romance with Wilford when she was young and naive.

3. “No Children” by The Mountain Goats

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow I hope it bleeds all day long Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises We're pretty sure they're all wrong

I hope it stays dark forever I hope the worst isn't over And I hope you blink before I do And I hope I never get sober

The only reason this perennial favourite of mine wasn’t on the first playlist was that I had too many Mountain Goats songs already and wanted to keep things balanced. But this one got all the ones that didn’t make it to the first playlist plus some more I thought about later, so I’m kind of giving up on that balance by now. They just have a lot of great songs about terrible relationships, and I love them all so much.

4. “Gold Guns Girls” by Metric

I remember when we were gambling to win Everybody else said, "Better luck next time." I don't wanna bend like the bad girls bend I just wanna be your friend Is it ever gonna be enough?

This is another one that I can picture being about young Melanie, gradually growing more aware of everything that’s terribly wrong with Wilford and his approach to life, and of how little he cares to try to fix it.

5. “You’ve Haunted Me All My Life” by Death Cab for Cutie

And there's a flaw in my heart's design For I keep trying to make you mine

You've haunted me all my life You've haunted me all my life You are the mistress I can't make a wife And you've haunted me all my life

And this one I can see being Wilford thinking about either one of the women, and his unhealthy attachment to them and inability to keep them around for very long—maybe once he’s finally reunited with them both on some level in season 2, but still can’t fully persuade them both over to his side.

6. “Old College Try” by The Mountain Goats

From the cities to the swamplands From the highways to the hills Our love has never had a leg to stand on From the aspirins to the cross-tops to the Elavils

But I will walk down to the end with you If you will come all the way down with me

Another Mountain Goats classic. If you divorce it from its context of being from a concept album about a horrible marriage, I actually think this song is kind of sweet in the way it describes a couple still committing to try to make things work despite a whole host of problems. But never mind that now, because I’m putting it back in the new context of a whole collection of horrible romantic relationships!

7. “Risk” by Metric

So you're beaten up but you bounce back It’s all part of the pull And the story runs like a soundtrack We repeat 'til we're full Started slow, started late Started strong, then we lost faith Started slow, started to lose control The more we accelerate, the more we accelerate

Half of arranging any playlist I make is just trying to split up the Mountain Goats and Metric songs so that they aren’t always clumped together. Anyway, this one seems especially fitting to me in its imagery of a speeding vehicle of some kind (it’s a train, I’m always picturing a train) alongside its description of a relationship going badly.

8. “Big God” by Florence + The Machine

You know I still like you the most The best of the best and the worst of the worst Well, you can never know The places that I go I still like you the most You'll always be my favourite ghost

I think this one could be any one of the three of them contemplating their complex feelings about the past at some point around season 2.

9. “I Still Do” by The Cranberries

I don't want to leave you Even though I have to I don't want to love you Oh, I still do

There aren’t as many specifics that match the characters going on in the lyrics here, since it’s more of just a general break-up song, but I also really like the creepy way it sounds.

10. “Fault Lines” by The Mountain Goats

But none of the money we spend Seems to do us much good in the end I got a cracked engine block, both of us do

Yeah, the house and the jewels, the Italian racecar They don't make us feel better about who we are I got termites in the framework, so do you

This one feels really fitting for pre-Freeze Wilford, especially the engine imagery!

11. “I Don’t Care” by Fall Out Boy

Say my name and his in the same breath I dare you to say they taste the same Let the leaves fall off in the summer And let December glow in flames

Erase myself and let go Start it over again in Mexico These friends, they don't love you They just love the hotel suites

Another song that is simply a) an absolute jam, and b) generally fitting for my favourite obscenely rich asshole and his terrible relationships

12. “You asked for this” by Halsey

I want my cake on a silver platter I want a fistful in my hands I want a beautiful boy's despondent laughter I wanna ruin all my plans I want a fist around my throat I wanna cry so hard, I choke I want everything I asked for

This one I can picture as Audrey—or maybe Melanie too, but especially Audrey—beginning to regret getting involved with Wilford, but only once she’s in way too deep for leaving to be a safe or easy decision.

13. “my tears ricochet” by Taylor Swift

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

Much like several other Taylor Swift songs, I just know in my heart that it’s the type of music Wilford listens to in secret, while possibly drunk and definitely singing along very dramatically. This one he dedicates to Melanie once they’ve met up again in season 2.

14. “Speed the Collapse” by Metric

All the way from where we came Built a mansion in a day Distant lightning, thunder claps Watched our neighbor's house collapse Looked the other way

This one has a lot of good apocalyptic imagery that I can imagine scoring Wilford’s life in the last few years before the Freeze, as he makes his plans to save himself and let so many others die.

15. “Ox Baker Triumphant” by The Mountain Goats

I will thank my ride and crawl my way back inside To the guts of the building where my enemies Hide in the dark like roaches And I will signal the camera crew and everyone will do What he's been trained how to do Sweat dripping from my face as my moment approaches

Click your heels, count to three I bet you never expected me A little worse for wear Practically walking on air

I love this song a lot, and listening to it lately makes me imagine Wilford plotting his revenge while on his way to catch up with Snowpiercer before the end of season 1.

16. “Firewood” by Regina Spektor

The piano is not firewood yet But the cold does get cold So it soon might be that I'll take it apart, call up my friends And we'll warm up our hands by the fire

Don't look so shocked Don't judge so harsh You don't know You’re only spying Everyone knows it's going to hurt But at least we'll get hurt trying

This has to be one of my favourite songs of all time. It’s very beautiful, and I love the piano in it. I’ve always personally interpreted it to be at least partially about someone surviving a suicide attempt, and the overall imagery about burning a piano for warmth—and this bit about not judging someone for doing that—reads to me as more of a general statement about the difficult choices people struggling with mental illness and other similar issues have to make to survive. I listened to it recently and I could picture Audrey singing it in the nightcar. I think it suits her well.

17. “Cry for Judas” by The Mountain Goats

But I am just a broken machine And I do things that I don't really mean Long, black night Morning frost I'm still here But all is lost

I think the imagery of this song suits the show a lot in general, but I can also particularly imagine it being Wilford in a rare moment of self-awareness about how much damage he’s caused to the world and the people around him.

18. “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” by David Bowie

Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette The wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget Oh oh, oh, oh, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide

I love Wilford a lot. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him ever. I hope he kills more people, and I hope he gets his train back, and I hope he wins. But if he does eventually die in the show, I hope he’s found in the bathtub with there being some ambiguity about whether he really killed himself or whether one of his victims turned the tables on him, and I hope the climax of this song swells as the camera pans over his dead body. That’s the only Wilford death I will accept, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

19. “Source Decay” by The Mountain Goats

I park in an alley And I read through the postcards you continue to send Where as indirectly as you can, you ask what I remember I like these torture devices from my old best friend Well, I'll tell you what I know, like I swore I always would I don't think it's gonna do you any good I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok Down toward the water

Okay, I promise this is the last Mountain Goats song on the playlist. It’s just—it’s perfect. It has a train in it. And on the podcast “I Only Listen To The Mountain Goats,” John Darnielle commented that there’s barely anywhere you can go south of Bangkok before you hit the water, it’s a train going nowhere, it’s so good. It’s also one of the songs I’ve previously ripped a line off for my fanfiction titles!

20. “Sellers of Flowers” by Regina Spektor

The sellers of flowers Buy up old roses They pull off dead petals Like old heads of lettuce And sell ’em as new ones For cheaper and fairer But they die by the morning So who is the winner? Not the roses Not the buyers Not the sellers Maybe winter

And Regina Spektor closes out the playlist again! This song is another one I picked more on imagery and vibes than anything else. But since it’s about a young child in a world that seems to be moving inexorably toward an all-consuming winter, if it suits any of the characters, maybe it’s an appearance of Alex here at the end!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the playlist!

[sweeethinny]

The One - Chapter 2

ok, this one I took a LOT to update (I won't lie, I gave up, but someone asked me about it, and I came back)

part one for those who don't even remember

tw: drugs and alcohol (I do not encourage or support the use of any of these substances :))

‘’May I know why we’re inviting my sister to drink illegally with us?’’ Ron asked as soon as he entered Harry’s room, throwing himself on the bed and looking at the ceiling. The boy finished putting on his shirt, buttoning his muggle jeans and trying to straighten his hair

''Because she is alone, and it would be nice'' Harry shrugged, pretending that it was normal for him to be wearing a lot of perfume and worrying about the look ''I didn't force you to call her, I just commented. You who invited her’’ Ron groaned in disapproval, running his hand over his face and ruffling his hair

‘’You’ll take care of her if she gets sick’’ The redhead pointed a finger at him, trying to be threatening

''Okay, I already took care of you'' Harry shrugged, sitting in the armchair that was nearby, stretching his feet on the open window sill ''Mione coming?'' He raised his eyebrows maliciously, just licking his lips to provoke Ron. Which worked, since he had turned red like a chili

'’Shut up, Potter. Of course she comes, you invited her’’ Ron countered

‘’But you were the one who insisted .. maybe today you’ll take courage and kiss her’’ Harry commented happily, enjoying the discomfort of others

‘’In the same way as you did with Cho? What did it take? A year?’’ His friend had his point, Harry knew that, but it was still embarrassing to remember that

‘‘Fuck you’’ He threw the pillow at the redhead, making him fall down again, laughing at his misfortune.

‘’But seriously, if Gin wants to come, we’ll have to take care of her. Mom would kill me if something happened to her precious girl’’ Ron continued to lie down, hugging Harry’s gray pillow, but looking serious

‘‘I’ll take care’’ Harry said, not wanting to show much enthusiasm ‘’My dad will send us to the basement as soon as Sirius steps in here, so we just left there after a few good hours’’ He smile excited.

The basement was an activity that had started a few years ago. Since the first year of Hogwarts, when the holidays came, Ron and Harry would take shelter for a few hours to talk or play the muggle video game that his mother had given to him. Then they added horror movies. Then, it became the place where they kept seeing magazines that clearly weren't for their age, commenting and making stupid jokes that 13/14 year old boys make. Finally, it became the place where the two spent hours when there was a dinner that Harry wanted to escape.

Lily worked as a healer at St Mungus Hospital, while James was in the Ministry, and for two years he was Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games, so it was common for dinners to be held with friends from work, or just a meeting of the Marauders. And as much as Harry loved his mother's food, and the stories from school time, he was a teenager who preferred to stick in the basement with his friend, and not have to care about etiquette or any of those things.

The increment of drinks, had happened in the Easter vacation of last year, when Harry stole one of the liters of mead that the father had kept in the office. He and Ron were lying on the old sofa that his mother left there, drinking and watching another horror movie, during all the hours that dinner with his mother's co-workers (The Girls' Night, as she liked to call it) 

‘’Today’s what night? Men’s Night?’’ Ron asked, throwing the pillow up and then picking it up, Harry continued to look at the trees in the back of his house, wondering if Ginny would be too long to come ..

‘’Something like that, I think other guys will come too ..’’ Would she wear skirts? Girls were fucking hot in skirts…

‘‘I find it kind of impossible that they don’t suspect a bit of what we do down there’’ Ron sighed ‘’Your dad isn’t stupid’’

''I bet they think we’re dating each other'' Harry said, laughing and winking at Ron, who looked at him like he was the craziest person in the world ''Mom has already commented that it's okay if I'm gay .. Not that I'm despising you, but you're not my style.'' His friend hit him with the pillow, fighting back the last attack, and Harry laughed out loud at his fury.

‘’As if I would want to be with someone like you .. What’s your problem with redheads?’’ Well, Harry thought, it isn’t all the redheads.

‘’Boys?’’ His mother’s low voice came from the other side of the door, and the boy almost laughed when he saw Ron adjust himself on the bed. The woman came in, smiling at them, waving to the redhead ‘‘Hello dear .. Are you going to stay in the basement?’’

''Yes, I think Mione and Ginny will come too'' Harry knew in that second that he should have shut up, just from the look his mother had given him, he knew he would probably get one of those shameful sex conversations soon ''Nothing confirmed!'' He raised his hands, almost begging her to forget the slip.

‘’I’ll leave you enough food. Have fun!’’

[...]

‘’Mom almost didn’t let me come’’ Ginny said, sitting next to Harry on the old light blue sofa, folding her legs and smiling at him, who should be looking at her like he was an idiot.

Ginny was… pretty would be an understatement. Her pants were made of red plaid, gloriously covering her thighs and tightening at the waist with the help of a black dragon leather belt. The top showed a piece of skin on her belly, it was white and looked as if it had been cut and sewn to give her the thin straps and straight neckline that showed the entire bust covered with freckles, which had been very present in the boy's imagination since he had seen one of the afternoons they swam together. The red hair was tied in a high ponytail, leaving the whole neck exposed. And Ginny had gained a few inches in black sneakers.

‘’Maybe it’s because you forgot the rest of the fabric on the shirt?’’ Ron pointed at her bust and her belly shows. ‘’It’s a respected house, girl!’’ He joked, but if Harry was sincere, he couldn’t care less.

‘’Shut up, Ronald’’ She said, rolling her eyes and smiling at Harry ‘‘So, drinking illegally huh?’’ Her red eyebrows rose maliciously as she licked her pink lips ‘’Since when do you do this? And why was I never called?’’

‘‘Because Ron worries that you’ll see him vomiting all over the place’’ Harry teased, dodging the pillow his friend threw at him, and laughing along with Ginny.

‘’Watch out Ron, Mione doesn’t like disgusting boys’’ She warned him ‘’She’s coming, isn’t she? Her mother said she was coming’’ Harry nodded, stretching his feet on the coffee table, not wanting to pay much attention to the contour of her breasts or her neck, using all of his brain power to turn on the video game.

He would be a dead man if he let his other head command him.

[...]

‘’Do you think they’re kissing?’’ Ginny asked, sitting across from him on the floor, looking closely at his fingers rolling the joint

‘’No’’ Harry continued to concentrate on work ‘’Ron isn’t too drunk to offer this’’ She laughed, shrugging her shoulders and slightly denying it, making him lighter and looser. He could even look at her neck without thinking how good it must be to put his mouth there.

‘’Since when do you do this?’’ She took the joint in her hands, still curiously evaluating it ‘’And what’s the fun of smoking?’’ Harry took it again, not wanting to pay much attention to the shock that burned his nerves

''You will see .. Mione must have curled up with my mom'' He said, looking at the stairs and not listening to any steps that indicated his friends were returning from the task of getting more food ''She is more nervous than me when we need to lie''

‘’This is’’ Ginny looked at him provocatively ‘’Every time you get together?’’ Harry laughed, amazed at how beautiful she looked in the yellowish light and the purple and blue reflections on the TV

‘’Almost always .. And we started last Easter, along with Seamus’’ The boy lit the joint, inhale it under Ginny’s steady gazes, almost cutting it in half. He even thought he was going to choke on her attention. ‘‘Want?’’ Harry hoped she was just going to take - or refuse - where she was, but the redhead moved out of her place to stand beside him, placing the pillow dangerously close and taking the joint from her hand

‘’How do that?’’ She raised the cigarette to look at it better before putting it on her lips like Harry had done, making him feel things he normally felt when he was alone at night.

‘’Gulf and .. this... how do you know how to do it?’’ He laughed, seeing her cheeks flush almost immediately, the hot smoke rising from her lips and her eyes getting slightly lighter, shining in the light

''Instinct, I guess?'' Ginny laughed, returning the cigarette to Harry and looking at him ''That's good'' Her brown eyes looked like the caramel candies he ate, so sweet they would give him teeth pain if concentrate too much. ‘’It’s fun’’ Her freckled nose wrinkled, a lovely smile on her face.

Harry didn't know if it was marijuana thinning his neurons or if Ginny was really approaching and looking very close to kissing him, with parted lips and the tip of her tongue showing. He wanted to do this so badly, and it only took a little movement to make it happen like in the perverted dreams he had of the night.

‘’Very good’’ He said, not sure if he was saying about marijuana, proximity, or her entirely.

When Harry thought about making the move, grabbing her right there, the noises on the stairs rumbled throughout the basement, the voices of Ron and Mione filling the room and making her jump back as if she had just seen a dragon or worse.

‘’Hey you… oh, have you started without us? Damn man, I thought we agreed’’ Ron threw himself in front of them, dropping the packages of chips, cookies and pieces of pie on the table

‘’Are you two okay?’’ Mione asked, looking closely at them and stopping at Ginny ‘‘You look like you did the wrong thing’’

‘’I just smoked weed in a cellar, Hermione’’ The redhead said, laughing quietly as she took her piece of pie ‘‘Of course I look like someone who did the wrong thing’’

‘’If you say...’’ Hermione said, shrugging ‘’Gin, and Michael? I heard you were very friendly on the train’’ Harry’s chest seemed to wither like an old bladder, feeling kind of stupid for believing she wanted to kiss him

‘’Michael? Which Michael?’’ Ron asked, passing the cigarette back to Harry, who swallowed it with pleasure, wanting his mind to stop working on making him feel pathetic.

‘’ Corner...Ravenclaw.'' Ginny replied, laying her head on the sofa and looking even more flushed than before ''And we weren't friendly on the train, he just sat with me'' Harry never thought he would be envious of one of the Ravenclaw students, as he felt now, which was quite depressing if you were to analyze.

Maybe he had just imagined that whole moment when she looked like she was about to attack him.

[pagingevilspawn]

You Said You’d Grow Old With Me

again, another one-shot that i never posted on tumblr, only the link, so yeah! im also pretty sure this fic makes no sense, but my 4 am brain wrote it so...

____

"thought we had the time, had our lives, now you'll never get older, older"

~*~

TW// major character death

takes place some time after 16x15, before 16x16.

____

Jo was laying in her bed. Their bed. The bed that felt too cold. The bed that felt too empty. The bed that felt too big. After crying she felt better, having Link comfort her while she broke down. She wanted him back. She wanted him to answer her calls. She needed to know if he was okay. If he left her like she thought he did she at least needed to know if he was okay. One call. One text. Thats all she was asking for.

Except she wouldn't be satisfied with that. The five different positive pregnancy tests to the side of her were an example. She was pregnant. They were pregnant. How the hell did that happen? She was just pranking him about having a baby a two months ago, and now she really was going to have one? And at the best of times too. Right when her husband decides to go MIA.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there for, staring blankly into the distance, her body incapable of feeling anything. Numb. Thats how she felt. She felt like she was bathing in a tub of ice and all her sense and nerves had just shut down. Numb.

She'd only been numb once before, after seeing Paul for the first time in five years. Bu this was worse, oh this was so much worse. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She couldn't talk. She couldn't do anything, she was just numb.

She wishes she could say she was startled by the sound of knocking her door, but she wasn't. She'd gotten used to Meredith and Link coming over at random hours of the day. Sometimes to rant about anything, or sometimes to just talk with her.

Maybe it's Alex, she thinks, and with that thought she gets up from the too big bed and makes her way to the loft's wooden door.

Please be you please be you.

The door opens and the sight she sees is one she wishes she didn't.

In one second she knew that her whole world was about to crumble under her feet. Oh god, how badly she wished she stayed in bed, how badly she wished she was at the hospital.

"Ma'am is this the home of Alexander Karev?" the officer asks, looking up from his notepad, his partner standing next to him dutifully.

Jo gulps visibly, already feeling the tears burning in her eyes. "Y-yes, he's my husband, i'm his wife."

The two officer share a sympathetic glance. "We're afraid there's been an accident.

____

After a short phone call with Meredith and one plane ride to some place in Oregon, Jo is standing outside some hospital she's never heard of, Meredith right by her side, holding her hand so tightly, like it was a life-line. Because it was. They knew nothing. All they knew was that Alex was involved in a ca accident that involved a drunk driver, and they hadn't been able to identify him for the past two weeks. They didn't know anything. Was he alive? Was he dead? Had they simply only contacted her so they would know what to do with his body? Was he seriously just okay and he was in a medically induced coma? Did he have amnesia? Did he not remember who he was?

For two weeks her husband had been just another John Doe. One that they see in the pit nearly every day.

He wasn't Doctor Alex. He was even a doctor. He wasn't her husband. He wasn't a best friend, a companion, a lover. He wasn't a surgeon who saved the lives of tiny humans. He wasn't a guy who made little kids less scared of the hospital. He was just another meaningless John Doe, taking up space in the ICU.

But oh, she felt guilty. So guilty. She was worried that he was having some kind of secret affair while he was really just in the hospital.

Meredith squeezes her hand, "You ready?" she croaks out, her red rimmed eyes string up at the hospital in front of her. Meredith wasn't ready. She wasn't ready for what stood behind those doors. She wasn't ready.

"No." Jo shakes her head, a few stray tears already coming down her cheek. She hadn't gotten them to stop. She physically couldn't get them to stop. Ever since those six dreadful words came out of the officer mouth.

Meredith sighs in understanding, "I know." she says, stepping forward and taking the first steps, Jo following behind her robotically.

No, not robotically. Numbly.

How naive she was, thinking that what she felt earlier was numbness, this was a whole new level. This was paralyzing. This was frightening. This was feeling her body start to disintegrate piece by piece.

Without knowing it she was standing on the sixth floor, the ICU. Meredith leans over the nurses station, asking for the room number for Alex Karev.

Jo doesn't see the sad, sympathetic smile the nurse gives the two, but Meredith does. And that's when she knew that things weren't going to be alright. Nothing was going to be bright and shiny and happy with unicorns and rainbows.

Somehow, they end up on the other side of the Alex's room, but Jo had yet to look up from her gaze on the floor. She's never noticed how white the linoleum of hospital floor were. They were shiny too. So shiny that she could see her reflection.

It was when Meredith lets out a soft sob that she finally decides to look up, not at all prepared for the sight in front of her.

The sight of her husband, the love of her life, lying in a bed, tubes sticking out of every possible place in his body.

It was then she felt her whole world crash down. Crash down and burn. A gut wrenching sob escapes her throat, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as the tears come down her face. They come down so fast she cant even wipe them away until her face is soaked again.

"Mer I-i," she chokes out, feeling her breathing start to pick up as she tries and fails to form her words.

Meredith nods, "Go in." she whispers brokenly, watching as a doctor makes his way towards.

The doctor holds out his palm to the blonde, "Hi i'm Doctor Kelsey, i'm the neurosurgeon on Mr. Karev's case-"

"It's doctor." she interrupts him. "Doctor Karev. Doctor Alex Karev." she says slowly.

The man nods, "Okay, Dr. Karev has been here for fifteen days now. There was an MVC on the 45 with a drunk driver and he ended up getting very severely injured-"

She cuts him off again, "I'm sorry, let me introduce myself. I'm Dr. Meredith Grey."

She watches as the man's eyes widen in surprise. He was standing in front of Meredith Grey? The Meredith Grey? Catherine Fox Award Meredith Grey? Daughter of two time Catherine Fox recipient Ellis Grey?

"W-wow. I-its an honor to meet you Doctor Grey, i'm a big fan." he says, smiling brightly.

Meredith jolts back in shock, eyes narrowing at the man who was about ten years older than her. "It's an honor to meet me?" she hisses, watching as the fellow surgeon's smile falls as quickly as it appeared.

"I-its an honor to meet me? That's what you have to say? You have the audacity to say that, as i stand here, outside of the room of my best friend, who is alive because of tubes and vents? It's an honor to meet me, when the only reason i'm here if because my best friend, my person, is lying there, unable to move or breathe, or talk? It's an honor to meet me?" Meredith yells , tears escaping her eyes, earning the attention from the others in the ICU, but she didn't care.

The man nods furiously, "O-of course, i'm so sorry Doctor Grey, that was very disrespectful of me." he says, going on to explain the extent of Alex's injuries.

___

Jo stumbles into the room lifelessly, seeing the unmoving body of her husband lying on the bed.

The sight causes a whole new round of tears to spring into her eyes and down her cheeks, "Oh Alex," she chokes out, grabbing ahold of his left hand, clasping it firmly in her palm.

it was cold. Way too cold. Normally his hands were warm. Not sweaty or clammy, they were just warm and soothing, perfect for her's to slip into at any time of the day.

She feels the cold band of his wedding ring touch her fingers and that's when she lets the sobs take over.

The gut wrenching, heart breaking, deep sobs as she collapses on the side of his bed and onto her knees, completely ignoring the chair next to her.

She couldn't hold herself up. its like her legs could not longer support her, like they had turned into helpless piles of water, "Alex please." she begs, lips trembling as she places kiss over kiss on his hand.

She wasn't stupid, she was a doctor. She knew what all the tuning and the wires and the ventilators meant.

"Please tell me this is just some joke. Some really mean, really awful joke. Please Alex. Please." she cries.

"Please tell me this is just a nightmare, an awful, awful nightmare. Please tell me this isn't real Alex. Please." she begs, holding his hand so tight as her body shakes with sobs.

She shakes her head, laughing softly at first, then louder and louder, "Oh god." she sobs, her laughter coming to a halt. "This is real." she whispers, feeling as her tears drop from her eyes to the floor.

"No Alex. you don't get to die on me alright? Because, because i cant live without you okay? You-you need to know that. If you, if you die, i die." she says, taking both of her palms and clasping her tiny hands around his big one.

She shakes her head, "No Alex. You don't get to do this to me. You don't get to leave me. We-we meed to grow old a and grey, and we need to have kids. So many kids. We need to have at least three kids. We need to get a dog a-and travel the world. We still need to do that Alex."

Jo sniffles, "But it's not only you that needs me Alex, this baby needs you too." she sobs, standing up and sitting down on the bed, taking Alex's hand and placing it over her stomach, hoping that this would be enough. That this would be enough for him to wake up, to defy all medical standards and wake the hell up.

"Please Alex, this baby needs you." Jo sobs, "Because, i sure as hell can't do this without you. Y-you're the peds surgeon Alex, you were practically born to be a dad." she wipes her tears to no avail, since they just kept coming. "You need to hold this baby in your arms, you need to be there with me to tell them about how we had sex in a shed next to a corpse on our wedding on their wedding day. You-you need to see them grow up and graduate Alex."

"Y-you need to be there Alex. I need you, Mer needs. Zola and Bailey and Ellis, they need you. The tiny children that you save all the time need you. They need Doctor Alex. I need Doctor Alex."

"I-i need you to get so overprotective if it's a girl when she has her first boyfriend. I need to watch you teach our baby how to wrestle if he's a boy. Or a girl, i'm not judging." she chuckles soft'y, holding his palm against her still flat abdomen.

She lays down beside him, laying there in silence for a long time. She lets the thoughts roam in her mind.

Jo sighs, "I hated you at first." she starts, absentmindedly threading her fingers though his hair like she had done so many time before. 'Like seriously, you were one of the biggest assholes I ever met." she chuckles softly.

"And then there was the teen mom who was just going to abandon her baby that i went al crazy on, rightfully so by the way." she smiles slightly, knowing that if he could somehow hear her he was probably rolling his eyes. "And then suddenly, i told you my whole life story, just like that. I'd never done that with anyone before." she sighs, glancing back down to her stomach, where she had her hand clasped in his in a hold over her stomach. "I'd never opened up to someone so easily before. It was like... my heart knew I could trust you before any other part of me could."

"I know i know, you're laughing at me. I sound like something out of a cheesy lifetime movie." she smiles softly. "And then came Ben and Bailey's wedding, and then, before i knew it, you were my best friend."

She starts to trace his fingers, something she always did to calm her down, "And then, one day, i was drinking a beer at Joe's with Jason, and all i could think was that i would rather be with you, on the couch that I bought, and watching action movies with you. That's when i realized i was i love with you." she whispers, some new tears building in her eyes.

"And then we wen through crap. So much crap Alex. That's why this can't be the end. Thats why this can't be the end of us okay? Because we've been through too much crap to let a drunk driver end us."

"Please Alex, i'm begging you, come back." she sobs, starting to pound her fists on his chest.

"Come back! Come back you son of a bitch! Come back!" Jo cries, unable to atop the steady flow of water coming down her face.

"Please Alex." Jo begs, her eyes so red and puffy that they looked like she had been crying for years. "You-you have my whole heart Alex. And i-if you die, you will crush it, and I wont make it. I cant live without you okay? You hear me? I need you Alex. I- i cant breathe. I cant breathe, ii cant exist in a world without you in it, okay?" she sobs, hyperventilating as she trues to get her words out, which only came out in barely audible sobs.

Somewhere along the way she cries herself to sleep, waking up a nearly a whole day later to a view of Meredith, Amelia, Tom, Jackson, Arizona, Callie, Link, Cristina, Bailey, and Richard standing outside the ICU.

And for one second, before she opens her eyes, she forgets everything, simply snuggling into the body and the scent she missed so much, a combination of aftershave and spearmint.

And then she remembers.

And oh god, she just wants to die.

She feels like a knife is being driven through her heart, stabbing her again and again and again, with absolutely no intention to stop.

Eventually Meredith breaks her out of her trance by knocking on the door, in which Jo responds by a head nod, letting her know that it was okay to come in.

The blonde enters, flowed by Amelia and Tom. "I called them. I wanted them here to consult, look at all his scans, everything." Meredith mutters, her voice hoarse and broken from trying to hold in her tears.

Jo looks up at the two, a small glimmer of hope shining in her eyes, "P-please." she stutters out, her voice high pitched and squeaky, sounding more broken than they'd ever heard her before, "tell me you guys can do something."

Amelia takes a deep breath, letting a few drops of water pool in her eyes, "Jo-"

"No," she sobs, shaking her head. "It took me twenty-seven years to find him, longer to realize i loved him, and even longer to be able to marry him." she starts to shake, trying to take in every detail of his face.

His overgrown stubble.

The soft creases around his eyes.

The slight wrinkles etched into his forehead.

"Jo, we can't bring him back. I'm so sorry." Tom says, trying to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, which she shakes off.

She slowly nods, unconsciously mumbling something about how she was going to let everyone say their goodbyes before she said hers.

So thats what she did. One by one the said their tearful, heartbroken goodbyes, still i denial that the man they loved would soon be gone.

Jo goes in one last time, lying down next to him, holding his figure in her arms. "I love you." she sobs.

"I haven't said that enough. I love you Alex. God, I love you so much jerkface. I didn't know it was possible to love someone as much as i love you." she cried, her tears an endless flow into a river. "I love you, i love you, i love you."

"And, please, please love me enough to come back." she begs him, still holding onto that tiny bit of hope.

"You said we'd be together forever Alex. You and me. Please, please let there be forever." she pleads with him one last time, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek.

With one deep breath she gives a nod to the nurse, who slowly begins to remove the ventilator. Then she unplugs him from all the machine.

She lays her head on his heart, feeling as he breathes one last time under her.

And then, she places a kiss on his lips, one last time

and all of a sudden,

he was gone.

"we had plans, we had visions, now i cant see ahead. We were one, were golden, forever you said."

"didn't say goodbye now I'm frozen in time getting colder, colder. "

"One last word. One last moment. To ask you why, you left me here behind."

"You said you'd grow old with me."

[snarkwrites]

blindsided | steve harrington.

Authors Note:

Okay, whoa, hi.. I was writing that oneshot with Jonathan the other day and in the back of my mind, I kind of briefly toyed with the idea of playing the OC there off of Steve Harrington. Welp.. cue about fourish hours ago, this idea hitting me out of the blue and me writing it all out in a hurry. I edited a little, but yannow how that is.

Now here’s what I need.. If anyone would like to see either this one shot or the one with Jonathan [ link here ] turned into an actual fic using Charlotte, pls.. I beg of you.. tell me which guy. Because I’m curious.

Pairing:

Steve Harrington & OFC, Charlotte

Warnings: Uhh.. Steve being an idiot, swearing, intense fluff, one hell of a long build to a first kiss, that’s about it?

Tagging:

@rampagewriting​ | @chasingeverybreakingwave​ | I didn’t know who else to tag here but hey, if you wanna be tagged in my stranger things stuffs, pls go to my tag list doc and add your name? Pls?

Other:

[ tag list doc ] | [ other one shots with this oc ] | [ oneshot masterlist ]

The knocking on my grandparent’s front door had me glancing up and over the back of the couch through a curtain of hair just to see if anyone else was going to get the door. When I realized that neither of my grandparents were coming down to get it I rose up, stretching as I stood. 

“Sweetie? Can you get the door? I’m trying to give your grandpa a massage up here.” my grandma Ginger called down the stairs finally and I called back up, “Going right now, grandma!” as I stepped over to the front door, raising onto my tiptoes to peer through the little glass window at the top.

As soon as I saw who it was, I leaned against the door and muttered mostly to myself, “What in the hell is Steve doing on my porch at almost 10?” just as he knocked again, louder this time.

“I saw you look out here, Charlotte. C’mon, open up… Please?”

He sounded like he was in pain - or drunk and I raised a brow, wondering what on Earth and why in seven hells he felt like my grandparents place was somewhere he needed to be right now. We didn’t really know each other well. I mean yeah, Nancy’s kind of a friend and they’re kind of involved, but beyond that, I know zilch about the guy.

He knocked again and I turned the knob, opening the door and stepping out onto my grandparent’s porch. “What the hell, Steve?”

“You’re at home? On Halloween? That’s lame.” Steve stepped closer to me, staring down at me intently. He snickered to himself and I looked down, groaning quietly when I realized that I wasn’t wearing any pants. I raised a hand, gently popping his upper arm.

“You’re the one who came over here when I was all nice and settled on the couch.” I reminded him with a pout, folding my arms over my chest and tapping my foot. I tilted my head slightly, staring up at him, completely unamused. 

“I know.. Trust me,  I know. Just wanted to see you.” Steve was swaying a little as he moved to stand closer to me. I’d shivered because the wind picked up outside and the chill in the air was cutting right through me. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly dressed for company.

“Why exactly?” I bit my lip as I eyed him suspiciously. 

Steve shrugged and muttered something I couldn’t quite make out and when I shivered again, he chuckled and nodded towards the door to my grandparent’s house. “Can we move this inside? Before you freeze your ass off?”

“I guess?” I muttered quietly. I opened the front door and stepped into the little hallway, letting Steve step inside too. Only when he went to step in the door, he lingered in the doorway, our bodies brushing.

I gulped and I tried to ignore the fact that for some weird reason, my stomach was all fluttery inside. And my heart was beating just a little faster. He stared down at me for a few long seconds that seemed to stretch eternal and I cleared my throat when the tension got so thick between us that I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Steve… In or out.”

He stepped in past me and I slunk into the living room, flopping back down onto the sofa, smart enough to grab the plaid throw draped over the end to at least halfway attempt covering my legs.

“What the hell are you watching?” Steve sat down right next to me and my breath caught in my throat. For a second or two, I found myself wondering if I’d fallen asleep and this was some kind of bizarre fever dream.

He repeated the question and I turned a little to look at him, shushing him. “Halloween. Shh. It’s getting good.”

I reached out for the bowl of candy corn on the heavy wooden table in front of the sofa and dug into it, raising my hand to my mouth. Partly there, Steve’s hand shot out, circling my wrist, guiding my hand to his mouth instead as he gave me that cocky smirk.

The feel of his lips against the palm of my hand affected me way way way more than it should’ve. I found myself caught on the receiving end of an intense stare and I raised a hand, dragging it through my hair, tousling it up a little as I asked quietly, “What? You’re acting really weird tonight, Steve.”

“ You’re so fucking pretty. How did I not see it last year?” Steve muttered mostly to himself as he leaned in just a little more, raising his hand and smoothing my hair back out of my eyes. “Those big brown eyes…”

“Steve..” I gulped out the word. I tried to shove the way his tone and the soft look in his eyes were affecting me deep down but they just wouldn’t be ignored. “You have a girlfriend, sir.”

He gave a quiet groan and I took a shaky breath. “Hello, remember Nancy?”

“We’re done, actually. She left Billy’s with Jonathan Byers.”

I tensed a little at his words and sighed, shaking my head. “No surprise there.” I mumbled quietly, reaching down into my bowl of candy corn for a few more pieces. I needed something to distract my hands and my mouth right now and I needed it badly.

Otherwise, I was going to break the cardinal rule of friendship and I didn’t even really know why to begin with, beyond spur-of the moment want.

And no, that was not a good enough reason in my mind. ,, and then there’s Jonathan and this misguided notion you have that maybe one day, he’ll feel the same way about you that you feel about him. Obviously, he wants Nancy.”  - and that thought was the beginning of my descent down a very slippery slope.

Steve was looking down at his hands and he spoke up again. “I know you don’t believe me, but I meant what I just said… about you, I mean. The whole time Nancy was drunk and dumping me earlier, I just kind of zoned out. I was thinking about last year… when we had Bio and I totally caught you before you fainted when we were dissecting the frog? You were kinda woozy and you gave me this weak little smile right before you barfed everywhere? I held your hair out of your way...” he laughed at himself, shaking his head, muttering something I couldn’t understand quietly under his breath.

I raised a brow, giving a soft laugh as I shook my head. “I think you’re hurting really bad right now and you want to hurt back. Am I even a little wrong in thinking that, Steve?” I tried again to discourage him, even pressing my finger against his lips so he’d stop talking.

But Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he knew when to shut up.

 With a chuckle, he reached up and lowered my finger from his mouth and continued to dig the hole he was getting himself into even deeper.

“Maybe it wasn’t that day in the lab… Maybe it was the quarry when you were swimming with everybody. The way you throw your head back to laugh. The breeze in your hair. That cute little flowered bikini and that grandma sweater thing that’s entirely too big for you and covers up your hands.” Steve mused, watching my face carefully, almost as if he were trying to stir up some kind of reaction.

And I have no doubt about it, he probably was.

I tried to keep myself neutral, but at the same time, I found myself wondering just how in the hell he noticed that much about me. That question wouldn’t be ignored.

I was so caught up in it and the struggle not to ask that I missed him leaning in a little more.

“Hey, Charlotte?”

“Yeah?” I jumped a little when I came back into reality and not my thoughts and I found him inching closer and closer to my face. “What?”

“Jonathan wants Nancy. Nancy wants Jonathan. Maybe somewhere in all this, I decided I want you. Why’s that so far out there, huh?”

“Because..” I fumbled for an answer. I also noticed that despite my best attempts, I was not pulling away. My face was inching closer to his too. I’d turned completely so that I was almost in the guy’s lap.

And the weird part of it was that there was absolutely no guilt whatsoever as this all took place. I should’ve felt guilty, I mean… Until a few minutes ago, I thought I was head over heels in love with my best guy friend Jonathan. And I’d never do this to someone I called a friend behind her back either.

Why the hell did he have to show up on my grandma’s porch and make me question everything I thought I knew?

More importantly, why did I like the fact that he’d done it just a little more than I probably should have, even though I knew this was probably a disaster in the making.

My gaze shifted down, settling on the plaid throw draped over my bare legs and his finger shot out, tucking beneath my chin and raising my face so that I had to meet his gaze. “Hey.. If you tell me you don’t feel anything, I’ll go. I mean it. I’ll go right now and we’ll just forget this whole thing.” his voice was whisper quiet, thick and laced with emotions I couldn’t easily write off. He eyed me anxiously, going quiet for a minute or two. 

I meant to say something, anything but I just couldn’t. I literally couldn’t come up with anything. I couldn’t just lie and say I didn’t feel anything because obviously, I felt something.

I just wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

“You’re not saying anything.” he muttered as he moved in closer.

“Obviously.” I mumbled back, moving in closer.

On the television set, screams echoed, puncturing the silence. I looked away quickly and Steve guided my face so that I was looking at him instead of the tv. “Eyes on me, okay? Ignore that… whatever that is.”

I nodded, licking my lips. He closed the distance between our mouths and I raised a hand, tangling my fingers in thick dirty blond hair, tugging at it as he pulled me into his lap and deepened the kiss. His tongue parted my lips and I whimpered a little, nipping at his bottom lip with my teeth. He did the same, tugging a little bit. 

The kiss broke and we sprang apart, struggling to catch our breath, panting. I stood on shaky legs and spoke up in a daze. “I.. Kitchen.. Water.. You want any?”

“Yeah.”

I hurried into the kitchen -only after almost walking out into the hall in a daze, reaching into the high cabinet my grandma keeps the glasses and plates in, grabbing two glasses, filling them with water from the tap. And for a few seconds, I stood there, gripping the edge of the sink tight, trying to take a few seconds to pull myself together, process what exactly was happening and calm myself down.

,, okay. Alright. When he kissed me, it was beyond fireworks. What the hell?” 

I heard him walking into the kitchen and he chuckled, reaching out to take the glass of water from the counter.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I mean I think. I don’t know? I wasn’t expecting this.. Uhh.. whatever it was.”

“I kissed you. You kissed back.” Steve answered, raising the glass to his lips and taking a long drink. He sat the glass back down on the counter and he stood there, staring at me. “ Did you feel anything?”

Oh, I felt something alright. Mind blown.

Not only had I not been expecting this, I hadn’t been expecting to like it so much. I hadn’t expected it to feel so good. To make as much sense as it did.

It was a lot to unpack.

I stepped closer cautiously and I placed my hand against the black button up shirt he was wearing. “If I say I did, Steve… what’s that even mean?”

“ It means that I want to get to know you better. It means that I wanna at least give this a chance. What’s it mean to you?”

I shuffled my feet, eyes darting to the tiled floor of my grandparent’s kitchen as I mulled it over. I could feel his stare the whole time and when I looked up to meet his gaze again, he let out a ragged breath as I moved closer. “Me too.”

He grinned and reached out, taking the glass and taking another sip. “Do you think it’d be okay if I picked you up for school tomorrow? I know I’m not your grandpa’s favorite person.” he chuckled in amusement as he said it and I laughed quietly, biting my lip as I thought about it.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“And now… It’s okay if I stay and we finish the movie, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Awesome.” he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against him as he embraced me. His nose rested in the crown of my head and I heard him sniffing my hair. I raised my head and eyed him, laughing softly. “Did you just sniff my hair? Weird.”

“You realize you smell like...really good… right?” he shrugged it off and I bit my lip, shuffling my feet. “Thanks?”

I grabbed hold of his wrist and started to pretty much drag him back towards the living room and this time, when he sat down right next to me, I grabbed the blanket and put it over my legs again, but only after I slipped them across his lap.

As Michael Myers claimed another victim on my tv screen, I buried my face in the curve of his neck, making him laugh and look down at me, asking the question, “Not that I mind, but if this is so scary, why are you watching?”

“Because it’s Halloween.”

“Oh. Okay, that makes sense.” Steve laughed, shaking his head at me, nodding to the screen. “You’re not gonna want to look yet.”

“Tell me when it’s safe?”

“You realize I could just pretend it’s not safe at all just to keep your head there.”

“Steve.” I grumbled, glancing up at him and smiling. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I can’t help that I like it when you get scared and go a little clingy.”

“I’m not!”

“Says the girl whose sitting in my lap with her face hidden in my neck. Oh shit. Fuck.” Steve looked down, using the top of my head to hide his own eyes. “Fuckin jumpscares. They’re bullshit.”

“Mhm.” I pulled back, staring up at him as I dissolved into a fit of giggles. Steve pouted and asked “Hey, what’s so funny, huh?”

“Oh, nothing. I mean aside from the fact that this is not how I saw my Halloween going at all?”

“Is that really a bad thing?”

I thought about it, shaking my head. “Nope.”

[lunar-jimin]

i am my mother’s child, i’ll love you til my breathing stops                                     i’ll love you til you call the cops on me

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: smut, tiny little glimpse of fluff, a lot of angst, stalker!reader, ex!namjoon

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: penetrative sex, softdom!namjoon (kinda), sub!reader (also kinda), quickie in a bathroom, lots of feelings, generally sad ones, this is fairly depressing, reader is stalker, so there’s that, also she has drunk sex with a stranger, but she propositions him so

Summary: It was your obsession with your job that drove him away. It’s your obsession with him that drives you.

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The world outside your window was dyed in the murky blue of four in the morning. You didn’t notice. Your eyes were glued to the glaring screen in front of you, begging for your undivided attention. Instead of working like you should be, you’re creeping through your ex’s Instagram page, desperate to know every minute detail of his life after you. The couple staring back at you from the screen made your stomach twist itself into knots. You had known he would move on, find someone to love him better than you could, but you never thought this would happen in a million years.

Engaged? Really? They had only been dating for a year, only a year and a half since he had left you, but sure enough, the giant diamond on her ring finger spoke for itself. Jealousy tore through you. You knew you didn’t deserve his affection, but that hadn't stopped you from holding on to the small glimmer of hope that one day you would find a way to be together again.

Despite it all, you had long ago admitted to yourself that she was a much better match for him. Your mutual friends would often regale you with their complaints of how clingy they were, how much they loved each other. The pictures of them that filled your feed testified to this. She made sure the world knew how much she loved him. A twinge of regret sparked in you when you thought of your own Instagram page, bare of any images of the two of you. You were never one for shoving your relationship into other people’s faces.

Your eyes flicked from the post to the clock in the corner of your screen and you groaned inside at the prospect of getting only two hours of sleep. Turning back to your computer, you noticed the tired burn in your eyes and the lethargy that spread throughout your limbs. With the last bit of energy you could muster, you drug yourself out of your way-too-comfy computer chair and into your welcoming bed. You fell asleep before you made it under the covers, still in your jeans.

The next thing you knew, your alarm was blaring out some loud pop song you had picked a long time ago and never bothered to change, uncouthly interrupting your precious slumber. Sitting you, you already began to feel the consequences of too little sleep: today was going to be a long one. You silently swore to yourself that you were going to fix your sleep schedule, before managing to drag yourself out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom. The warm water from your shower did little to wake you up, but it did sooth your tense muscles. A half an hour later, you were at the bus stop, apple in hand, trying valiantly to keep your eyes open.

Your morning passed quietly. Somehow words appeared on your screen, despite the fact that you didn’t recall typing them. You had never been more grateful for your lunch break in all your life. You wearily made the slow trek to the cafe three blocks down from your office. All you could think of was the toasty panini and cup of coffee calling your name. The apple you had gulped down for breakfast wasn’t doing much for you anymore.

The cafe cheerily greeted you with the smell of espresso and a warmth that comforted your bones. You had been coming here since you began your career as a journalist for the newspaper. You swore they made the best sandwiches in this hemisphere, and the shy barista, Jungkook, never failed to make you smile with one of his cheeky stories from college.

You quickly ordered before taking your usual spot by the window. You had only been sitting for three minutes when your day went from bad to terrible. You blinked twice when you saw him. You were sure it was an illusion, your lack of sleep finally taking its toll on your mental health. You close your eyes and count to ten, praying that he would be gone when you opened them again.

There was now way it was coincidence that he was here. There was no way that he could possibly have come to the same cafe you had been a patron at for five years by accident. There was no way.

You froze in place. You internally debated if you should get his attention. A large part of you wanted to leave before he saw you, have Jungkook sneak you out the back, but a small part of you wanted to run to him, take him in your arms, and promise to love him right. Instead, you sat there like a deer in headlights, letting fate take its course.

You hated that he looked better than the last days of your relationship. He had found his style again and he had cut his hair. He looked healthier, and you knew from your midnight ventures on his Instagram account that he had started to workout. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew deep down that the toxicity of your relationship had been detrimental to his well-being.

The guilt was eating you up, when he turned to look at you. If you were frozen before, you were solid ice now: muscles locked up, eyes open wide. You gulped slowly, praying to whatever god was out there to make you invisible. Unfortunately, the gods weren’t having it today, and he gave you a quick wave and a smile before turning back to the menu.

You prayed that would be the entirety of your interaction, but five minutes you looked up from the phone you were taking refuge in, to find him walking towards your table.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

His voice was deeper than you recalled

"Uh, yeah, sure."

You looked out the window in a desperate attempt to avoid conversation and eye-contact.

"How are you?"

You managed to look up at him.

"I'm fine."

You hoped that he wouldn’t see through the lie. You hoped he wouldn’t see the dark circles under your eyes and realize you still weren’t getting enough. You hoped he wouldn’t see the stain on your shirt and realize that you still couldn’t find the time to do basic chores. You hoped that somehow, he wouldn’t realize that you were just as addicted to work as when he left you. That you were still failing at being a person.

"That's good."

You gave a small smile.

"How 'bout you?"

"Pretty good."

He grinned. You guessed he was thinking about his engagement but was hesitant to bring it up in your presence.

"Good."

You took a sip of your coffee and looked out the window again, uncomfortable down to the soles of your feet.

"I, uh, have some big news that, uh, I wanted to share with you."

Maybe not so hesitant, and not here by accident. You raised an eyebrow.

"I'm, uh, engaged."

The sheepishness that poured over his face was almost adorable.

"Oh."

You were silent for a moment.

"Congrats then."

Behind his eyes, there was a glimmer of disappointment, as if some suppressed sadistic part of him wanted you to be hurt. You were glad that you came off as unbothered, even though your heart ached every time you thought of that stupid engagement post.

"I love her."

He was desperate. You were surprised. Namjoon was never petty, yet here he was trying to make you jealous. Had you really hurt him so badly?

"I would hope so."

You looked back out the window.

"She's really amazing. She cooks for me and goes on trips and she’s even going to quit her job to take care of our kids."

It would have hurt, if the chauvinistic ideals behind it hadn’t made you roll your eyes. But the point was still there: she was actively loving him, taking care of him, showing him that she wanted a future with him. That stung.

"Okay."

He looked at the window, resigning to the fact that he wasn't going to get a rise out of you. He should've known. You had never been very expressive of your emotions.

"I would have married you."

That made you flinch. A spark of delight ignited in his eye. Asshole.

"Okay."

"I loved you."

"I know."

"Did you love me?"

"I don't know."

A lie. You had loved him to the moon and back. Hell, you still loved him. But you wanted to hurt him just a little bit for making you sit through this torture.

"Oh."

A blow to his ego. If he wanted to parry, he best have come prepared.

"Have a good day then."

"Okay."

With that he left, without even bothering to pick up his order.

Before you knew what you were doing, you followed him out the door. You weren’t sure what had come over you, but you knew you were no longer in control of your being. You followed him one block after another, making sure you were far enough behind him that he wouldn’t notice you. You weren’t sure what you were seeking. Closure perhaps.

Soon, you found yourself standing outside a familiar, red, brick building. During your relationship, Namjoon had moved in with you, but still rented his apartment. In the beginning, you had stayed the night a few times. The apartment was small, but the view was to die for. You missed it.

He was already inside, but you knew which window was his. You stared up at it for a couple minutes, before something snapped inside you and you realized what you were doing. You felt nauseous, but that was quickly forgotten when you noticed the time. Panic shot through you, as you began to run back to the office. You could only hope that your boss wouldn’t notice your extended lunch break.

At first, it was a rare occurrence. Ever so often you would find yourself standing in front of those red bricks staring up at that window. Nothing would ever happen. You would just stare, part of you hoping to catch a glimpse of him and another part of you dreading the idea of ever seeing him again.

As your addiction to your job continued to consume you, it became a more frequent occurrence. Once a month turned to twice and then to once a week. Your mental health slowly deteriorated, until you were at risk of losing it completely. Somewhere in that time, you managed to pull yourself enough to end up at a shitty dive bar in the heart of the city with the few friends you had managed to keep. You weren’t that close to them. You doubt they knew your middle name or your birthday, but they were company you didn’t get much of that these days.

The beginning of your evening was spent slowly downing alcohol and catching up about the dullness of each of your existences. You spat out lies, hiding the fact that all your life was anymore was work and stalking your ex. You put on a front. You had other friends. You had been on dates but nothing had worked out yet. You had started dieting and working out. Lies, lies, lies.

Somewhere around your third beer, the fragile illusion you had created for yourself, came crashing down. You were well aware that these girls were friends with Namjoon and that they had undoubtedly received an invitation to his wedding, but while they were relatively sober they had been kind enough not to remind you. Now, however, their blood-alcohol levels were through the roof and as a consequence, they began to discuss the details of the wedding.

At some point, someone asked you what you were going to wear to the event. You stared at her dumbly before she realized what a stupid question it was and turned back to whoever she was talking to. You hadn't received an invitation to the wedding but a small part of you was glad.  You didn’t really want the reminder, and you wouldn’t go anyway, you weren't that masochistic.

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. There was a part of you that did want to go. A part of you that daydreamed of standing up in front of the entire church and begging him not to marry her. Begging him to come home with you. Begging him to love you again. But it was a stupid fantasy, and not one you should indulge in.

Lisa, the only person there who you really gave two shits about, turned to you and began to talk about your job again. When you let it slip that you had ran into Namjoon at lunch awhile ago, she looked like a little kid on Christmas. With her filter gone, she began to pester you with questions. Then she lit up.

“I have an idea.”

You internally groaned. Lisa was famous for her drunk ideas and none of them were ever good.

“You should come with me to the wedding as my plus one.”

Your eyes went wide.

“Lisa, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. You can get all dressed up and make him see what he’s missin’.”

It did sound tempting.

“Okay.”

You didn’t sound very sure, but Lisa was too drunk to care. She squealed before giving you a quick side hug and turning to talk to someone else. As the gravity of the situation hit you, you found yourself longing to forget everything. You threw back two shots of tequila before marching out onto the dance floor.

It didn't take long for some random stranger to come grind up on you, but you were too drunk and upset to care. In fact, feeling someone touch your body again was somewhat soothing. It didn't take long for your lips to find his and it didn't take much for you to convince him to come home with you.

You barely noticed saying goodbye to you friends as he dragged you out the door and into the back of an uber. You barely remembered anything else until you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a strange man in your bed.

It was the first time you had really seen him, too inebriated the night before to really notice his features. You didn't want to admit how similar they were. It was the dimples that gave it away. Even drunk, you still seemed to have a type.

He was adorable, lying there, so unaware of the rest of the world. It reminded you of your first date with Namjoon. While he began the night full of energy, he ended it passed out with his head in your lap.

5 Years Ago

You met him through mutual friends. He asked you out at a party and you still remember the red tinge on his cheeks to this day. You had developed a crush and you were delighted to oblige him.

Namjoon was a very simple man, and you didn't expect much more out of your date. Just dinner and a movie. However, he obviously wanted to impress you when he drove out of the city and to a beautiful flower field overlooking it. Halfway into your picnic dinner, he sheepishly confessed to having no cooking skills and that his best friend Jin had prepared your dinner. But that didn't matter, because for what Namjoon lacked in the culinary arts, he made up for with his mind. Namjoon blew you away with the shear capacity of his brain. He was obviously a nervous talker, and so you sat in awe as he spilt facts about whatever subject you were talking about.

"How do you know so much?"

"I don't know that much."

You gave him a look.

He sighed.

"I don't know, I just do. I consume information and I never really forget it. Most people find it annoying. At least that's what Jin tells me."

"It's adorable."

You both blushed.

"Thanks."

He looked sheepishly at his lap.

"So are you."

"What?"

You looked up at him confused.

"You're adorable too."

You're cheeks blazed scarlet.

When you mustered the courage to look at him, he was staring at your lips. His eyes quickly flitted back to yours when he noticed you looking at him. He coughed uncomfortably.

You weren't sure what came over you, but you found yourself tentatively placing your hand on his thigh. You looked at him nervously, while trying to muster the confidence to close the gap between you.

Luckily, you didn't need to. One second you were staring at his lips, the next they were on yours. You were happy to find that they were just as soft and plush as they looked. He moved rhythmically, and you prayed to god that you were as good of a kisser as he was.

Then the rain started. It was just a drizzle at first, but by the time you had packed up the picnic, it had begun to pour. You dashed to the car, soaked to the bone. When Namjoon pulled up to your apartment building, you invited him in to dry off. While his clothes were in the dryer, you started a movie, some cheesy rom-com. You weren't even thirty minutes in, when Namjoon fell asleep in your lap while you played with his hair.

The memory faded and instead of Namjoon, you found the mystery man whose name you didn't know. You woke him gently, offered him some coffee- which he declined- before sending him on his way. You weren't trying to be rude, but the longer you looked at him, the longer you were reminded of Joon, and you only had a limited capacity for heartache.

This time you didn't even bother to change out of sweats and a t-shirt. You must have looked like a mess as you rode the bus to the red-brick building. You were smart enough to bring a coffee and a book so that you had something to occupy yourself, as you sat on the bench across the street. You didn’t even look at the window anymore, just being this close to him was enough to satisfy your weird urge.

You had been sitting for an hour before he appeared. He didn't even glance your way. Your nerves twittered, praying that he wouldn’t see you. You quickly stored your book and coffee in your tote, before following him down the streets.

He led you downtown. You were always jealous of how close his apartment was to the hub of the city. The cars whizzed by you as you followed him down a boulevard of shops. Your heart stopped as you watched him walk into the jewelers. It made sense: he was getting married, rings were involved, but somehow this made it more real. He was investing thousands of dollars in this woman. He was investing his life.

The fact that it was the jewelers that you had visited back when you thought you were going to get married only made it worse. Your heart began to beat faster. Was he going to give her your ring?

3 Years Ago

"Which one do you like?"

You looked over the case carefully inspecting each ring for flaws. After five minutes, you pointed at a sapphire and diamond ring near the back. It was relatively simple, but that’s what drew you to it.

He smiled.

"Well, someday, when you're Mrs. Kim, that ring will be around your finger."

You grinned and lifted up to meet his lips.

"I love you."

"I love you more, Joonie."

"I seriously doubt that."

You giggled and followed him out the door for lunch.

As soon as he came out of the shop, you rushed in. You went straight for the case that you knew had held your precious band. It took you a minute to spot it, but when you did, you felt relief flood your body. It was still there, he wasn't forsaking you for her.

As the relief washed over you, you began to connect to reality again. You realized what you were doing. With it came the nausea. Coming back to reality was always painful. You hadn't deemed yourself a stalker yet, even know though you knew you should. The self-hatred followed you home, up the stairs and through your apartment door.

You didn't mean to follow him. Somehow, the part of you that still loved him (which was a larger part of you than you cared to admit), had gained the ability to control your actions, while the logical part of you sat in the backseat screaming. The shame continued to throb inside you as you curled up on your couch. You knew you needed to stop but you didn't know how.

You didn't and as the months passed you found yourself following him whenever you had spare time. You were careful, staying a good distance behind him. If he had noticed you, he didn't let you know. He seemed blissfully unaware. The worst part was that as you followed him, you began to realize he was truly happy: something you hadn't witnessed since the early days of your relationship.

At some point, you started bringing your camera along. You weren't sure how the pictures of him ended up on your camera roll, and then pinned to your bedroom wall. You would lay in bed at night, touching yourself with one hand, while another tightly grasped a photo of him.

In the morning, you would be so sick with yourself, you would vomit in the toilet. Three months passed like this before his dreaded wedding day arrived. The sane part of you didn't want to go, but the creepy, deviant part of you had more control, and thus you found yourself in front of the mirror in a simple sundress.

Lisa had attempted to convince you to wear a skimpy number in order to make Namjoon jealous, but you knew that Namjoon always found you sexier when you looked innocent. You had often teased him about it. So you settled for a simple floral piece and some kitten pumps.

When you walked into the venue you felt another twinge of jealousy at the grandeur. The church was old and gorgeous and you felt like a sinner just by existing in it. You sat in the back. Your nerves kept you calm enough to decide you didn't need Namjoon knowing about your presence just yet.

You blacked out for most of the ceremony. It was only when Lisa waved her hand in front of you that you realized that instead of witnessing the union of 'man and wife', you were busy daydreaming about said 'man' taking you in front of the whole church.

You stared out the window of Lisa's care wistfully as she drove to the reception. When you started to tear up, she pulled over in a park parking lot.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

You almost pulled it over, but the slight quiver in your voice gave you away.

"Sis, if you don't wanna go, we don't have too. We can just head to my apartment, order Chinese food, binge Netflix, and do facemasks."

It sounded so, so tempting, but you know you needed to make it through it. You needed to prove to the part of yourself that was going insane, that you didn't need him anymore.

You thought back to the day you came home from work to find his bags packed in the living room. You thought about the tears that streamed down your face as you tried, and failed, to convince him to stay, that you loved him more than your job.

He cried too, pulling you into a hug, the last one you would ever have. You remember how his chest, which was usually so strong and comforting, trembled against yours. How you weren't sure if the wet warmth on your cheek was from him or from you.

You must have stood like that for thirty minutes, before he pulled away, gave you a last kiss, grabbed his bags and left. It wasn't until later that evening that you discovered his letter.

My Love,

I don't want to do this, but I am no longer happy. We are no longer happy. There isn't much left to us in all reality. I love you to the moon and back, but I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for you to come home from work. I know it's important to you and I would never ask you to leave it, but I have a life to live too.

You made me so happy for such a long time, but you are a writer in the dark. You stay up all night on your computer and leave me with a cold empty bed. When I wake in the morning, you're gone. I can't stay in a relationship that barely exists.

Someday, when you feel like you can put your job aside for a family, call me. I'll be here because I love you. I love you so much, it makes it hard to breathe. Be happy for me.

Love,

Namjoon

And so here you were, in a passenger seat on the way to his wedding reception. Just a girl with a broken heart and a broken promise. You needed to go. You needed to see him. Confront him.

"Drive."

You sat through dinner, barely touching the food on your plate. You listened to your friends chatter away and make snarky comments through all the speeches. When the dancing started, you were hesitant to move, but Lisa dragged you to the edge of the dance floor and forced you to witness the first dance.

You spent most of it staring at the floor nursing a martini that was almost straight gin. You finally looked up at the end of the song, some cheesy pop shit you knew Namjoon loved, and locked eyes with him. His hand was delicately placed over her waste and you secretly wondered how many hours of practice it took for him to be able to dance to this song. The waltz was never his forte.

His stare never left you and as soon as the song was over, he whispered in her ear before walking straight at you. You drowned your drink quickly, praying the alcohol would be enough to get you through whatever was coming. He grabbed your arm without saying a word and dragged you out of the ballroom and into the nearest bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

His voice was harsh, but there was a touch of tenderness to it.

"Lisa made me come. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me."

"Bullshit!"

You raised an eyebrow at his retort, signaling that you knew he knew you were lying, but you weren't going to tell him the truth.

"I just can't deal with seeing you right now. Do you know what you being here is doing to me?"

You felt a spark of anger go off inside you. He had an issue with being here? That's swell and all, but he was the one who broke up with you. He was getting married, you being here should be nothing more than a footnote.

"I don't care, Namjoon, I don't care if you're hurt or not. I don't care if it's ruining your big day. You leaving ruined my life. I have spent the last year and a half dying because you're not in my bed when I wake up in the morning. And I know that I fucked up and that I needed to be there for you, but you left me without giving me the chance to change! You. Left. Me."

Somewhere in the middle of ranting, hot tears had begun to fall down your cheek and you were once again thankful that you had splurged on waterproof makeup.

"Don't act like such a victim. At least I know that the woman I'm marrying actually loves me."

His words fanned your little spark into a full blown flame and you raised your hand to slap him, but he grabbed your wrist before you could. You looked to his face expecting to see anger, but instead, his eyes showed a mixture of sadness and disappointment.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, soft as you had remembered them. Shock ran through your body and you froze as he continued to kiss you slowly. When he realized you weren't responding, he pulled away, a faint blush apparent on his cheeks.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, you found his lips again. You immediately felt his body relax against yours as his arm snaked around your waste to pull you closer. A bittersweet feeling floated through you as you relished in his taste again. You hadn't realized how much you missed kissing him, how comforting he was.

Somewhere deep inside you was yelling that this was an illusion. That at some point he would have to leave the bathroom and go back to his new wife who would love him and give him children and grow old with him.But you squashed the voice, desperate to live in the moment. Desperate to believe that just for this time, he was yours. That you were his new wife, that you were going to have beautiful children and that in sixty years, you would be two old people stupidly in love.

The kissing quickly became messy and desperate. You unabashedly moaned to his mouth and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in his tongue. Your arms were wrapped around his neck in an attempt to keep him as close to you as possible, as if letting go would mean losing him forever.

He pulled away from you and looked you in the eyes.

"You always look so beautiful."

The comment was quiet and under his breath, but you heard him nonetheless, and warmth crept onto your cheek. Before you could respond, he picked you up and set you on the sink counter.

You welcomed him, as he stepped between your legs, returning his lips to yours. As his lips moved down your neck, his hand traced its way up your thigh, slowly moving your dress up your leg. You moaned as he began to trace circled in your inner thigh, feeling your underwear soaking through.

"Dear god, Joonie," you whine,"don't tease me."

The nickname slipped out without your awareness, but you noticed him pause subtly at the sound of it before returning to his ministrations. His lips returned to yours as he shifted your panties to the side and used his pointer finger to tease your clit.

You whined out at the sudden pleasure, legs tightening on his waist, trying to bring him closer. Trying to bring him home. When he slips a finger inside you, you throw your head back against the mirror. Your eyes squeeze shut, attention completely focused on the digit inside you.

Despite the time that had passed, he hadn't forgotten how to make you see white. With the exception of the man you had dragged back from the bar, you hadn’t been laid in forever, and as a result, you were incredibly sensitive. Right when he was about to tip you over the edge with no more than a finger, he pulled back, lust clouding his eyes, finger soaked.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me?"

You whined at the old nickname, clenching your thighs together in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache between your thighs. Namjoon's hand drifted to the front of his slacks to massage the tent that had formed in them, while admiring your fucked out form slouched on the hotel bathroom sink.

"Answer my question baby."

A yes slips out of you and he grins like the devil.

"Look, at you, such a dirty girl, all fucked out in a public bathroom, desperate for me to fuck her."

Nothing had changed. He was still the tease who manipulated your body until you experienced cloud nine. And you were his good girl who obeyed every command, desperate to please.

You dipped your fingers into yourself in an attempt to stretch your pussy open for him, while he slowly dragged down his zipper, and pulled his cock out through the fly. Your memory served you well, but he still seemed bigger than you remembered. The tip was flushed red and dripping pre-cum. For a split second you were worried about him staining his slacks, before dashing your concern away to the depths of your consciousness.

You knew you should, but you felt no guilt for what you were about to do. As far as you were concerned, this was Namjoon’s mistake, not your’s. Sure, there was a beautiful bride dancing in the ballroom, and sure, she didn’t deserve this, but no matter what the certificate said, Namjoon would always be yours.

The realization hit you, as he kissed you again, moaning into your mouth as he rubbed the tip of his cock against you. There would always be a part of him that would belong to you. There would always be a part of his heart, no matter how small, that loved you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here, now, about to fuck you in the small, but beautiful bathroom, at his own wedding reception.

The notion made you feel powerful. Your hand quickly replaced his, and you gave him a few quick strokes before lining him up. You both moaned as his tip pressed into you. When he was fully inside, you couldn’t help but feel complete. Months of emptiness completely forgotten as he slowly pulled out before thrusting back in.

“Fuck, baby, I forgot how tight you were.”

Tears pricked in your eyes as he began to pick up pace, moving faster and faster. Despite trying hard to pretend like this moment could last forever, you knew that she would notice him missing soon, and that this moment was doomed to end. You squeezed your eye’s shut, tried to focus on the feeling of him drilling in and out of you.

It didn’t take long for his pace to become unsteady. You opened your eyes to find him staring at your face. You couldn’t read the look on his face, but it carried a strangely familiar emotion. It wasn’t until he reached down to rub quick circles on your clit that you realized what it was: love The realization had you coming around his cock. You screamed silently, tears finally falling down your face. He was close behind, burying his head in your neck as he filled you up one last time.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet. They were words that weren’t meant to be said out loud. They were words that would haunt him for the rest of his life. But they were the truth, and the truth deserved to be spoken.

“I love you too. I always will.”

You looked him in the eyes, while he softened inside you. There was a silent acknowledgement between you. An acknowledgement that neither of you wanted to admit. That you would never be together. That it would never work. That he was married.

So, while remaining completely silent, he slipped out of you, tucked himself into his slacks, fixed his hair and left. You sat there for minutes, tears rolling down your cheek. Finally, you gained enough energy to pull yourself off the sink, shift your panties back into place and walk back out into the world.

You quickly went to your table, grabbed your purse, and said goodbye to Lisa. If she smelled the sex, she didn’t say anything. When you were at the door, you looked back for half a second. He was dancing with her, laughing at something she said. He looked happy, and you prayed to God that he was.

That night you sat down at your computer and began to write your grand, tragic love story.

__________________

seven years later

You laughed as you walked out into the chill autumn air. Hoseok had that effect on you. Always had. He had just treated you to a wonderful celebration dinner in honor of your first best selling book, a novel about a woman unable to let go of her former love.

As you were about to leave your daughter tugged on his hand informing Hoseok of her need to go to the bathroom. Your husband gave you a quick kiss, before taking the four year old back inside. You stood on the sidewalk, breathing in the air and admiring the city lights, reflecting on how you got there.

A month after Namjoon’s wedding, you met Hoseok in a coffee shop you were writing at. You had hit it off pretty quickly, and two years later you were married. Your daughter, Marie, followed soon after. A month ago, your novel was finally published for the world. And so here you were, celebrating with the family that you loved so much.

“Hi.”

You looked up, startled.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, “what are you doing here?”

“I was, uh, going for a walk.”

Your gazed washed over him, and you noted that he didn’t look too good. His hair was long and unkempt, dark circles under his eyes, and his usual impeccable sense of style was thrown away for some sweats and a hoodie.

“Are you okay?”

You couldn’t help the concern that painted your face.

“I’ve been better.”

He gave you a sad smile.

“Oh?”

“We’re going through a rough patch. I think she wants to get a divorce.”

“Oh.”

At one point, those words would've made your year, but that part of you had died a long time ago.

“Maybe we could go out for a cup of coff-”

His words stopped when he saw the diamond and sapphire ring on your finger.

“Oh.”

His face fell. It was then that Hoseok decided to grace the two of you with his presence. Namjoon quickly looked from you, to Hoseok, to your daughter, as he slowly began to put the picture together.  He looked pained. You knew the look, the look of loss.

“Who’s this?”

Hoseok’s voice was cheery and you were once again grateful for your husband’s consistant happiness.

“An old friend. You take Marie to the car, and I’ll catch up with you in a sec.”

He nodded, happy to oblige. When he was out of earshot, you turned back to Namjoon.

“You were supposed to call.”

You stared blankly at him.

“What?” you finally ask.

“You were supposed to call when you were ready to have a family.”

You looked at him in shock.

“Namjoon, you got married.”

“I know, but I would’ve left her for you.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m not. I still love you. And you still love me. You promised me you would forever.”

“Well, it was a naive promise to make.”

He looked like he was about to cry.

“Look, Joon, go home. I know you loved your wife, and I’m willing to guess you still do. Relationships take work, you know that. You’ve alwayknown that. Show her that she means the world to you. Whatever’s going on, you can make it through it. Whatever part of you still loves me, kill it.”

He nods

“I have to go. But call me when you’re in a better spot, okay?”

You hand him a business card, before walking away into the night.

A month later, you get a text.

“We made it work. Coffee on Wednesday?”

You smiled.

series m.list       m.list

[dixie12]

third little ficlet

teenage patrick kane is dangerous

“Jonyyyy” Patrick whined. Jonny shoved his headphones down over his ears firmly. Patrick was the only person above the age of six he knew who whined with regularity. Sometimes, if he ignored Patrick for long enough, he’d get bored and wander away to annoy Sharpy, and Jonny desperately hoped this was one of those nights.

No such luck.

“Jonny, I’m bored. Entertain me,” Patrick wheedled, batting his eyelashes up at Jonny. Jonny had seen him use that look on multiple teammates, girls, and bartenders, and it never seemed to work, but Patrick didn’t quit at hockey, and apparently, he also didn’t quit at trying sad, pouty looks to get his way, either. 

Jonny sighed, admitting defeat. It was only 10:00, and they had a day off tomorrow, so there was probably no way that he could convince Patrick to go to sleep. Patrick was fresh out of the shower, though, so it seemed like he was content to stay in their room for the rest of the night. 

“What do you want to do, Pat?” he asked, trying to convey just how grumpy he was. 

“Jerk off with me,” Patrick responded immediately. 

Jonny’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Patrick. He couldn’t even blink. “What,” he managed.

“Come on, man, you went to boarding school. Don’t tell me you and your buddies never put on some porn and jerked it together?” Patrick answered, looking genuinely confused.

“What the fuck dude, we never did that!” Jonny’s voice came out higher than he intended, but he figured he was allowed. Was that really what Americans thought happened at boarding school? Some of the shifty looks he’d received from teammates when he told them about Shattuck suddenly made more sense. 

“Oh,” Patrick replied, shrugging. “I guess I assumed you did. No biggie, we can still do it tonight. Gags and I jerked off together all the time last year.” Jonny could not believe that he was hearing this. His mind supplied him a picture of Patrick stretched out on his bed, hand down the front of his boxers, and dick twitched traitorously in his own shorts.

“I don’t care what you and Sam did, Pat. There is no way in hell I’m jerking off with you.”

Jonny didn’t like the gleam in Patrick’s eye. Not at all.

Patrick rolled off the bed, padding over towards the minibar in his bare feet. He opened it and grabbed as many of the tiny bottles as he could, then dumped those on the desk and grabbed a few more. He picked up three of them and carried them over to Jonny’s bed.

“Here, drink these,” he said. Jonny just stared at him. “Come on, we have the whole day off tomorrow, Jonny.”

“Why do you want to drink all of a sudden,” Jonny asked, suspicious. He glanced down at the bottles in his hand- flavored Absolut vodka, gross.

“Because you can act all shocked now if you want, but you’re the horniest drunk I’ve ever met. So, drink, and then you can jerk off with me in like half an hour.”

“I. No I’m. That doesn’t even..” Jonny couldn’t finish a sentence. “Why would you even tell me that?” he finally demanded.

“Dude.” Patrick looked affronted. “I’m not gonna like, roofie you. I just know you, and I know how badly you’re gonna want to get laid once you down those shots.”

Jonny started to say that maybe he just wouldn’t drink them, then, when Patrick cut him off.

“Come on, don’t you want to prove me wrong?” Patrick really did know him well, because there was no way Jonny was going to pass up a challenge like that. 

“Fine,” he said shortly, twisting the cap off the first bottle.

“Cheers!” Patrick yelled, grinning happily at him. 

“Whatever,” Jonny mumbled. He downed all three bottles in quick succession, watching to make sure Patrick drank his, too. All he had to do was not jerk off, and tomorrow, he could tell the guys how Patrick tried to like, seduce him or something. 

“Why do you even think I’m, you know. When I’m drunk?” He asked Patrick a few minutes later.

“Remember a few weeks ago, we were at Rockit?” Jonny remembered. They were at Rockit a lot, actually, but he thought he knew the night Patrick was referring to. “That hot blonde was hitting on you all night, man. Every time you went up to the bar she was right there, running her fingers down your arm, giggling at everything you said. You are not that funny, but she wasn’t giving up.”

Jonny nodded, closing his eyes. She’d been stacked, and with her heels was almost as tall as Patrick. He could imagine the curve of her pink lips as she leaned in and whispered in his ear a few times, breasts pressing up against his side each time.

“Yea, so,” Patrick’s voice startled him out of the memory, and his eyes shot open. “You were barely paying her attention at first, so focused on team bonding and shit. But she was persistent. And then Sharpy brought those shots over.”

Jonny recalled that, too. He and Patrick still couldn’t get served, though he’d tried his luck with a few different bartenders that night. Sharpy had come over with an entire tray of shots, passing them out to everyone. He took two right away, caught up in the celebration from a good win that night. When he looked back down in front of him a little later, though, there were two more empty shot glasses that he didn’t even remember taking.

“You took those shots like a champ, and then you got up. And that girl must have had laser eyes for you, because as soon as you were standing, there she was. And this time, you let her pull you out onto the dance floor.”

Jonny felt his eyes fluttering closed as he sank into the memory. Patrick was right, he had ignored her at first, but when she got him out dancing, he couldn’t resist any longer. She was shaking her ass right in front of him, and he let his hands drift down to her waist, pulling her even closer. He had been glad, then, for the low lighting on the floor, because he was hard, and rocking up against her ass felt too good to stop. She seemed to agree, because she twisted in his arms, turning to face him and getting one of her thighs in between his. Jonny could feel his dick twitching at the memory. She’d been in a short dress, despite the cold weather, and it was riding up, exposing her smooth thighs and she ground against him.

“You were practically fucking her out on the dance floor man,” Patrick continued, voice, dropping lower than Jonny remembered hearing it. Jonny didn’t open his eyes this time, just nodded, cleared his throat. “You bent your head down, sucked a spot on her neck that made it look like she was gonna come right there.” Jonny could hear the moan she made at that, had jerked off to the sound of it more than once since then. “Then you grabbed her hand and just led her out, didn’t even say goodbye to us. It was, uh, pretty obvious how hot she got you.” Jonny refused to be embarrassed by it. She’d been a total smokeshow, and he didn’t think anyone would have walked out of there with her unaffected.

“Anyway,” Patrick said, “I assume you had a pretty good night with her afterwards.” Jonny shivered partly at Patrick’s tone, and partly at the memory of the night.

“Tell me,” Patrick demanded. “Tell me how you got her off, what you did.”

Jonny let out a low groan, but he was already so turned on by hearing Patrick talk about that night.

“I went back to her place,” Jonny started. “I think she’s older than us. I thought she’d offer me some water or coffee or something, but we barely had our shoes off and she dragged me to her bedroom.” Jonny could hear Patrick’s sharp gasp at that, and he went on, “she didn’t even take her dress off. Just pushed me down on the bed and climbed up over me. She said.” Jonny paused, breathing shallow. Fuck this part still got him hot. “She said she wanted to ride my face.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick moaned, and Jonny could hear him start to let out little grunts. He looked over and yea, Patrick was jerking it. “Keep going.”

“She put a pillow under my head, took my hands, put them on her waist. Left her panties on to start, and god, they were already soaked. She smelled so good, could tell she was hot for me.” Jonny was practically gasping now, and he could see a flush high on Patrick’s cheeks.

“Fuck, take it out Patrick. Let me see you,” Jonny whimpered. Patrick moaned again, sliding his shorts down his legs. His cock was big, thicker than Jonny would have thought. Precome was pearling at the tip, and Patrick would gather it with a finger, slide it down the shaft, working it in.

“I got her off once right away, barely took a minute, and the way she moaned.. I thought I was gonna come, too. But I held it together. Didn’t give her much time to catch her breath, just worked her panties off, went right back at it. Ugh the sounds she made the second time, so fucking hot,” Jonny was jerking off now, too. How could he not. “She sucked me off, after, said I’d earned it,” and Patrick groaned loudly at that. “Said I’d been good for her and I swear she didn’t have a gag reflex, took me so deep,” Jonny twisted his wrist at the end of one stroke, could feel his orgasm building in the base of his spine, just like he did that night.

He lost his words, then, just panting loudly as he and Patrick jerked off together. Patrick’s noises somehow turned him on even more, driving him towards the edge, and before he knew it, he was striping up his chest, staining the shirt he hadn’t even bothered to take off. On the bed across from him, Patrick had collapsed back. 

“Told you it was a good idea.”

[wildwarcat]

Okay, I caved in to my own personal peer pressure and decided to post the first chapter of Warhawk. If you’ve got questions, or just wanna chat because you’re slowly slipping into madness due to social distancing, shoot me a message!

Words: 4k 

Warnings: Fluff, partial nudity, maybe some cussin’

Prologue 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Reunion

"If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown. But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

New Orleans, Louisiana, May 1995

Had I known what events would transpire over the course of the following twenty-four hours, I would have had less to drink at my usual watering hole. Not that it made a difference. After the crash in 1989, I found that I was physically incapable of ever getting drunk again. What a horrible way to grieve... sober, that is. Had it not been for my level of clearance at S.H.I.E.L.D., I never would have known the details surrounding the crash, the details regarding why Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. was terminated. Lawson was dead, her body recovered at the site. But Carol...

Carol was nowhere to be found. There was no evidence of a body at the crash. We were forced to believe that when Lawson's light speed engine exploded... we were forced to believe that her body disintegrated on contact as a result of the blast. Maria was given the remaining half of her dog tags, which she in turn gave to me. It sat around my neck everyday, next to mine. But it didn't do much to take away the pain, the hole in my heart that had been growing wider with each passing day over the course of six years.

"Foxtrot to Warhawk."

I pressed the comm in my ear as I flagged down the bartender and pointed at my empty beer glass, "Go ahead, Foxtrot."

"I'm gonna need you to swing by a set of coordinates not too far from your location. I've sent them to your pager."

"What for? On account of me being S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top asset, I believe I have the right to know what I'm walking in to, don't you?" I asked him with a smirk, despite the fact that he couldn't even see it.

"Well, if I told you what it was about, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

I laughed, taking a sip from my glass as I did, "All right. I'll be there in an hour. Want me to bring my briefcase?"

"And your Sunday best."

I straightened up, my light tone turning serious as I threw forty bucks down to pay off my tab, "I'm on my way."

Chugging the remainder of my lager, I grabbed my leather jacket and keys before exiting the bar, making my way toward my now rusty truck. I had been given the option of upgrading it shortly after the crash, but there were too many memories in it for me to simply let it go. I would drive that old Chevy into the ground if given the opportunity. The engine roared to life and I slammed the driver's door shut, whipping my pager off my belt. Sure enough, Fury had sent me a set of coordinates along with the message, 'Look for the jet parked out front.'

I pulled out a map from my glove compartment and tracked down where I needed to be pretty quickly before throwing the truck in reverse and speeding out of the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finding the place that Fury wanted me to go wasn't that hard. It was what came after I got there that made things interesting. When I put my truck in park outside of a small house not far from the Louisiana bayou, I immediately went to my truck bed and pulled out a large steel trunk. Having enhanced strength certainly had its perks because with one arm, I was able to carry one hundred and fifty pounds of reinforced steel without trouble to the front door.

Not knowing what was on the other side, I decided to give a S.H.I.E.L.D. approved code through the door.

Knock... knock, knock, knock... knock... knock, knock.

The door swung open wide, revealing Nick Fury. His left eye had been patched up, looked like it had been cut just above his brow, and he looked exhausted, but aside from that, he seemed okay.

"What happened to you?" I asked him, "I thought you were in California."

"It's a long story." He sighed, "You brought your stuff, right?"

"Everything's here." I replied, lifting the trunk a bit higher. Fury stepped aside and let me in, but stopped me before I could go any further into the house.

"There's something you need to know, Mac." He said quietly, his tone serious. I arched a brow at him and took a hesitant step back.

"Then tell me."

"That pilot you told me about, the one who died in a crash six years ago. Her name was Carol Danvers, wasn't it?"

My expression faltered, went from steely to heartbroken and back in an instant, "Yeah. And I thought I told you to never bring it up. So why are we talking about it?"

"Well, that's the thing. Turns out-"

Someone stepped into the hallway, well, multiple someones did. What I saw sent my head spinning. There was Maria Rambeau, standing with her daughter, Monica, now twelve years old. And there with them...

"That's impossible." I breathed, my voice cracking uncharacteristically, "You're dead."

But she wasn't. Standing there right before my eyes was Carol Danvers, still stunningly beautiful, still as fiery as an F-15 afterburner. But there was something different about the way she was looking back at me. It was as though she didn't recognize me at all, as if I was a stranger to her. Then something seemed to click, and recognition flooded her beautiful brown eyes.

"Paige?" She asked gently, her voice like music to my ears. I set my trunk down and opened the front door, motioning for her to follow me outside. She did, and as soon as we were far enough away that I was certain no one would see or hear us, I turned around to face her again.

"How are you alive?" I asked her angrily, tears stinging the backs of my eyes, "I saw the photos of the crash, there's no way you could have survived!"

She took a step toward me, reached out to set a hand on my shoulder, but I slunk back, wanting to keep my distance from... whoever this imposter had to be.

"Lawson and I both survived the crash. We were shot down by a Kree ship; they're an alien race hellbent on getting their hands on Lawson's lightspeed tech. They killed Lawson and kidnapped me."

The more she spoke the less I believed. Every word that tumbled out of her mouth just added to the insanity.

"How can you expect me to believe that?" I demanded, my hand drifting to the pistol attached to my belt, "How can you possibly expect me to believe anything you say?"

"Then ask me something." She begged, tears welling up in her own eyes, "Ask me something only I would know."

I took a shaky breath and drew my pistol, "Tell me about the night we first kissed."

She paused, looking as though she was searching for the memory, her eyes drifting toward the ground. I wrapped my index finger around the trigger. Then her eyes shot up to meet mine.

"We were at your place after karaoke night at Pancho's. Maria had gone home early because her babysitter bailed on her, so it was just the two of us. We were standing on the front porch of your house and we were both drunk off our asses, but we still managed to remember every single detail when we woke up the next morning. After I kissed you, I said, 'I've never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I've wanted to kiss you.' And then you kissed me."

I had never told anyone about that night... not even Maria, not even Nick. It was really her. My entire body tensed, I dropped my gun and let the water works run.

"Carol?"

She nodded, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she began to smile. I strode over to her, my arms snaking around her, her hands making their way around my waist. Time seemed to speed up as we stood there, holding tightly onto each other, both of us fighting the urge to kiss each other. It wasn't until Maria called us both back inside that we finally separated, though that didn't stop Carol from keeping her hand in mine the entire walk back to the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So let me see if I've got this straight." I said, recapping the events that had just been described to me, "After you shot Lawson's light speed engine, you absorbed the radiating energy from the blast and got kidnapped by the Kree. On their home planet you were given a blood transfusion which makes you a human/Kree hybrid. And after being kidnapped by the Skrulls, including this guy over here," I pointed at the Skrull, who had introduced himself as Talos, "You ended up back on Earth with no recollection of your past life. Then you managed to break into Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S., escape S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, realize that the Kree are actually the bad guys and regain your memories. And now, you're asking me to go with you into space in order to find Lawson- sorry, Mar-Vell's lab, where she hid the energy core that the Kree are after. Sound about right?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Though when I got my memories back, I definitely didn't remember you being taller than me though." Carol remarked with a lopsided smirk. She and Fury had filled me in on what had happened and why two green, monstrous-looking aliens were in the Rambeau house, but I was having a bit of trouble wrapping my head around everything. So rather than ask a million questions, I turned my attentions to Carol's comment.

"The last time I saw you physically was the day before I went in to receive the Super Soldier Serum. As soon as the procedure was over, I was sent to D.C. for S.H.I.E.L.D. training. We spoke on the phone a few times, but I never saw you again after that day. And next thing I knew, you and... Mar-Vell were both dead." Lawson's true name still didn't sound right coming out of my mouth. The look on my face made both Carol and Talos, chuckle.

"So what have you been doing then for the past six years?" Carol asked me out of genuine curiosity, "They didn't stick you behind a desk like Fury, did they?"

It was my turn to laugh, "God, no! Director Carter assigned a S.T.R.I.K.E. team to me as soon as my training was complete. I've been leading covert ops missions all over the planet for the past seven and a half years."

"Did they dress you up like Captain America?"

I narrowed my eyes at her and got up from my chair at the dining room table. The trunk I had brought in was still sitting by the front door, so I brought it into the dining room and set it down in plain view for everyone. I unlatched the lid and lifted it open, revealing a custom uniform, similar to Rogers' design. It was mainly blue, a navy blue, darker than Rogers' uniform and on the chest was a navy hawk crest set atop red and white stripes. Deep red leather gloves, matching navy pants, a utility belt and simple military combat boots completed the ensemble. I reached underneath the uniform and drew out the icing on the cake.

I don't know how Howard Stark had managed to get his hands on more vibranium and, frankly, I didn't ask. But before going out into the field, Stark had given me a vibranium shield and, aside from the hawk crest replacing a star, it was an exact replica of the original. I held it out to Monica, who had been sitting quietly, awestruck the entire time. She dipped a bit under the slight weight of the shield, but her smile went from ear to ear.

"I may be an enhanced soldier, but I'm no Captain America. They call me Warhawk." I said, turning my attention to Talos, "My job is to look out for the little guy. The ones who're stepped on and persecuted by those who believe they're superior. I'll do what I can to help you get the Kree off your tail."

"Thank you." Talos said, bowing his head slightly. The grandfather clock against the wall began to chime. It was late, midnight in fact, and going off of the original plan, we would be heading into space at dawn. We needed rest. After everyone figured out their sleeping arrangements, we bade each other goodnight. I began to make my way toward the living room couch, but a hand grabbed my wrist and tugged me toward the stairs. I smiled when I saw that it was Carol dragging me toward one of the guest rooms upstairs.

As soon as we were behind closed doors, Carol's lips crashed on to mine. My hands immediately made their way into her hair, hers around my waist. My heart soared at the contact, at the thought that Carol and I were once again reunited after all those years. Her tongue darted out, running over my lower lip, asking for entrance. I complied, and together our tongues began to swirl and dance in an elegant battle for dominance. The Nine Inch Nails t-shirt that Carol was wearing suddenly became too restricting, as did the plain navy thermal I had on. Both were gone in an instant, tattered remains on the hardwood. She certainly didn't seem to mind that I ripped her shirt in half, discarding it lazily on the floor. If anything, the passion that had been recreated between us began to burn even brighter, as a soft glow began to break through my closed eyes. I pulled away gently, my eyes opening ever so slightly.

"You're glowing." I whispered huskily. It was a sight to behold, pale rays of blue, purple and gold light danced off her skin in a stunning array of color that lit up the dark bedroom in an elegant display. From a distance, she must have given off the appearance of a fallen star, but here, up close, she was a woman on fire; radiant, beautiful, powerful.

"I've dreamt about this moment. About us." She admitted quietly, setting her head in the crook of my neck, listening closely to the sound of my steadily beating heart, "But I couldn't remember who you were. I wanted to, so badly. Even if it was just your name... that would have been enough. At least then I would have one part of my life that I could still hold on to."

"Well, if it makes up for anything, it's been hell without you here." I replied, my hands shifting down to her waist, taking note of the muscle that she had put on in the years that she had been gone, how warm her skin felt beneath the pads of my fingertips, "Not a day went by when I didn't wish you were with me. Even before the crash, not being able to see you, not being able to hold you like this... it was torture unlike any other."

"I love you, Paige." She muttered tiredly.

I smiled, leading her to the queen-sized bed and pulling back the covers. I pressed another kiss to her lips, this one gentle, sweet and loving, but still filled with passion.

"I love you too, Carol."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dawn came earlier than I had hoped. But it came nonetheless, and with it came the mission at hand. Carol was still asleep, and rather than wake her up right away, I thought it best to let her rest. My trunk was still downstairs, my uniform and shield still with it, so I grabbed a spare shirt from the nearby dresser, slipped it on and ducked downstairs without a sound. When I got down there, Talos, Fury and Maria were already awake.

"She still asleep?" Maria asked me, handing me a steaming mug of coffee.

"Of course. That much certainly hasn't changed about her." I replied, taking the mug and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl that sat on the dining room table. I turned to Fury, "So that new guy let you guys go, huh? What's his name again? Coleman?"

"Coulson." Fury corrected, "Yeah, looks like he's gonna be one hell of an agent. Already going against protocol, breaking the rules."

"Sounds like he learned from the best."

"Very funny."

"Not as funny as that time you wiped out trying to chase a couple of Soviet spies in Budapest in '91." I smirked. Fury didn't reply, he just glared at me and walked away. I polished off the coffee and the apple, grabbed my uniform and went back upstairs to change.

Sure enough, not only was Carol still asleep, but she had taken over my side of the bed, limbs sprawled out covering the entirety of the bed. I changed quickly and quietly before making my way over to her. I sat down on the bed next to her feet and shook her on the shoulder.

"You know, as adorable as you look right now, we have an entire alien race to save, so I'm gonna have to ask that you get your beautiful self out of bed."

"Fi mo ins." She grumbled into her pillow.

"Come again?"

She rolled over and groaned, "Five more minutes."

I leaned over and pressed my lips to hers, making her smile softly, "No can do, baby. We've got lives to save."

She sat up, meeting my lips lovingly on the way, then took a moment to drink in the sight before her.

"Nice outfit." She grinned, setting a hand on the hawk head on my chest, "It suits you."

"Thanks, beautiful. Now get dressed, we've gotta go."

Going to space was definitely something on my bucket list. Going to space to fight a technologically advanced race of aliens... not so much. But hey, how many opportunities was I gonna get to go to space? As I stood outside the stolen P.E.G.A.S.U.S. quadjet with Maria, Talos and Fury, who held Goose, a creature that looked like a cat, though Talos insisted she was a dangerous alien called a Flerken. I watched as Carol interacted with Monica, who had made sure to get herself out of bed before we left. She was fiddling with the color scheme of Carol's suit, before settling on the colors of the original Air Force logo.

"She's somethin', isn't she?" Fury asked me when he saw the way Carol suddenly locked eyes on me.

"Just somethin' doesn't do her justice, Fury. She's... amazing." I smiled, lifting my shield up and attaching it to the electromagnets on my back. I pulled out my Colt Mustang and checked the magazine. Six rounds, plus five additional magazines attached to my belt, perfect. Carol made her way over to the quadjet, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading the rest of us on board. We all took our seats, Maria and Carol in the pilots' chairs, Fury, Talos, Goose and I all behind them.

"Hope your science guy knows what he's doing." Fury muttered to Talos as the quadjet lifted off the ground. Talos grunted, his violet eyes staring straight ahead. After a minute or two, Carol spoke up.

"Passing five hundred and climbing."

"Maintain speed. Any change in speed will turn this old junker into a fireball in the atmosphere." I remarked, letting the familiar feeling of pressure wash over me as we climbed.

"You know you really shouldn't have that thing on your lap." Talos said to Fury, pointing at Goose who was lounging comfortably on Fury's legs.

"Our little alliance with you is tenuous at best." He replied, lifting Goose up and holding him out toward Talos, who shifted away uncomfortably, "And as long as she continues to freak you out, I'm gonna keep giving her all the love and hugs she needs."

I laughed, "Didn't know you were a cat person, Fury."

"Didn't know you were gay until yesterday, Mac. Looks like we're all learning something knew about each other."

"Guess so." I smirked, leaning back in my chair.

"Can I ask you something?" Maria asked, glancing over her shoulder to look at Talos, "Do you just turn into anything you want?"

"Ah, well, I have to see it first." The Skrull replied, surprised at the interest in his shapeshifting abilities.

"Can all of you do it?"

"Physiologically, yeah. But it takes practice, and, dare I say, talent, to do it well."

"Can you turn into a cat?" Fury asked him.

"What's a cat?"

"What about a filing cabinet?" Maria asked him.

Talos gave her a confused look, "Why... would I turn into a filing cabinet?"

"Oh! Venus flytrap! I'll give you fifty bucks right now if you turn into a venus flytrap." I smirked. Talos gave me an unamused look and I heard Carol chuckle under her breath in front of me.

"Switching engines from Scramjet to fusion." Carol announced, "Buckle up, folks."

The sudden shift in propulsion made me suck in a breath. The jet began to shake as we rose higher, everyone was pushed back in their seats. Fury began to grip the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white.

"Hey, is this normal, like space turbulence?" He asked over the sound of the roaring afterburners.

"Pretty much!" Carol called back to him. Talos looked over at him and then at me and shook his head slowly. Suddenly, the propulsion came to a stop, everything that wasn't strapped down to something, that included Goose, began to float from the lack of gravity. I held back an audible gasp as I looked out on the vast emptiness of space for the very first time. Something that seemed so dark, so endless, and so monotonous, and yet it still managed to take my breath away.

Maria switched on the artificial gravity and everything fell back into place as the jet came to a halt.

"Locking in coordinate grid." Carol said.

"Where is it?" I asked, seeing only the black void of space and a clouded corner of the western hemisphere.

"It's here," Talos muttered under his breath, "It's gotta be here."

"Well, is it in front of all that nothing, or behind it?" Fury asked him, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I rolled my eyes as Carol pulled up a holographic computer from her wrist gauntlet and punched in a code.

Suddenly, the void wasn't a void anymore as a massive ship appeared out of nowhere. My mouth fell open as I beheld the sight before me. Totally worth getting only four hours of sleep. Carol navigated the jet easily into the central hangar, where, once everyone was out, we went over our plan one final time. I grabbed my shield, attaching it to the electromagnetic plates on my left arm and took a deep breath, following Talos as he took off running into the bowels of the ship.

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff 

Pairings: Calum Hood/Male reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Requested: by anon

this is really cheesy but, i would love a blurb about calum bringing his boyfriend around the rest of the band for the first time. seeing all of their reactions. obvs they know about the boyfriend but have never met him.

Trigger Warnings: Strong language, alcohol

A/N: I’m taking a little tiny break from Hogwarts!sos to post this little blurb for all of the guys in the fandom that want a lil imagine. I felt super honoured to get this request and I hope you all enjoy it.

***

Your phone’s perched in your hands, the screen displaying some random twitter thread so that you can pretend to be busy. Luckily, the Uber driver’s feeble attempts at making conversation with you fizzled out after just a few minutes, leaving you to fret over tonight’s party in silence. 

Meeting your boyfriend’s best friends had been on the horizon for a while, ever since Calum had officially asked you to be his boyfriend around a month ago. However, the fact that you’d been anticipating the meeting, isn’t making your anxiety any less crippling.

Perhaps your nerves would be more understandable to most people if you were about to meet your boyfriend’s parents or immediate family. Although, Calum’s band are the closest thing he has to family here in LA. Michael, Luke and Ashton have always been like brothers to the Maori man and that made tonight all-the-more important. Your boyfriend has proudly proclaimed how close he is to his band on numerous occasions throughout your relationship so far. In fact, Calum has unintentionally made tonight feel like a whole lot of pressure, to the point where you’re sure he’ll break up with you if his friends do not instantly love you.

Your mind’s racing with all of the possible outcomes of the party, the vast majority of them ending very badly. It’s entirely possible that you could screw up so badly that you’ll end up alone by the end of the evening. You’re so caught up in the terrifying prospect of being dumped by the sweetest guy you’ve ever dated, that you don’t even notice the car has stopped moving. It’s only when the driver clears his throat and announces, “this is it, man…” That you realise you’ve arrived at Calum’s house.

“Oh!” You splutter, hastily shoving your phone into the pocket of your jeans. “Thank you…”

The Uber driver nods politely at you in the rear-view mirror before you scramble out of the car. A light in Calum’s hallway flickers to life as you swing the car door shut behind you. Duke’s little bark echoes down the quiet driveway before the front door opens.

Calum looks effortlessly beautiful as always, framed by the light in his hallway as he picks up his dog. His latest buzz-cut seemed to have taken away the last of the blue hair dye he’d been using lately, leaving what was left his natural black. The style suited him so well and it gave his simple outfit, made up of skinny black jeans, heavy boots and a stylish white shirt, a kind of edge. The sight of your boyfriend looking so handsome seemed to put your nerves a little more at ease.

“It’s just me, Duke…” You giggle as you make your way over to the house, faintly aware of the cab driving away behind you. “You silly boy, c’mere!” You reach out for Duke, the little fluffy pup helping you to temporarily forget just how much you’re dreading the rest of the evening.

There’s an undeniable fondness in Calum’s eyes as he hands you the tiny dog. “He’s gonna get fur all over your shirt…” He smirks, dragging his eyes over your body for a moment the way he always does. It still brings butterflies to your tummy when Calum subconsciously licks his lips as though he’s remembering what you look like beneath the skinny jeans and simple black shirt.

Shrugging to mask your mess of underlying feelings, you cuddle Duke close. “I didn’t realise you were taking me to meet the queen, Cal.” You quip. “I don’t think your friends will think less of me because I love cuddling your dog.”

Your boyfriend conceded your point with a thoughtful nod. “That’s true, they always leave here covered in his fur, too.” He giggled, pecking a kiss to your cheek as he stands aside to let you in before closing the front door behind you. 

“Are they all dog people, then?” You inquire, trying hard to make a mental checklist of things that you can possibly make small talk about.

“I guess so.” Calum replied, “Well Mike and Luke love all animals really and Ashton tolerates Duke because he knows I love him so much.” 

Adding ‘talk to Michael and Luke about pets’ to your mental list, you ask if Calum’s ready to leave.

Nodding, the bassist grabs a leather jacket from the coat hooks near the door “I just need to pee and then I’m ready to go.” He pecks a quick kiss to your lips before disappearing into the downstairs bathroom.

Keeping Duke close to your chest, you wonder down the hallway towards the kitchen, hoping that keeping your legs moving will stop your brain from racing through more, possibly tragic, outcomes of the night ahead. “Have you got any good advice for me, boy?” You ask the pooch, nuzzling Duke’s head as you pause to look at a framed photo of Calum and his best friends perched proudly on a side table. “I bet you didn’t have to worry about them liking you, did you?” 

The tiny dog wriggles in your hold, urging you to put him down. “Fine, you impatient little pup.” You sigh as you crouch down to let him go. “I thought I could count on you for some good advice.”

Duke barely gives you a second glance before scampering off into the kitchen towards his water bowl. “Guess I’m back to worrying on my own...” You sigh, getting back to your feet and picking up the photo to look at it a little closer. It’s a fairly recent picture, taken within the last year if Calum’s shaven head was to be taken into account. The crowd of people and the flurry of balloons in the background of the photo suggested it was taken at a birthday party or something. It’s obvious by the way the four men have their arms slung casually around each other’s shoulders and the easy smiles on their faces, that they were incredibly close friends. There’s no way that anyone would get away with hurting one of them whilst the other three were around to protect them.

“Ugh don’t look at that…” Calum groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “I look gross, I only have it on display because it was a gift from Luke and he’s a sentimental little hoe, he’d cry if he thought I didn’t like it.”

You giggle, trying to keep your fingers from trembling as you place down the photo. “So Luke’s the sensitive one, got it. Any more pearls of wisdom before we go?” There’s a hopeful note in your voice that just couldn’t be fully held back.

Gently spinning you around to face him, Calum smiles encouragingly. “Stop worrying.” He groans softly, cupping your cheek in one of his large hands. “The guys are gonna love you as much as I do.”

It’s highly unlikely that you’ll ever get used to hearing such an incredibly beautiful man saying that he loves you. You melt into his touch, allowing the soft gesture to calm you. “But what if they don’t?” 

Calum’s eyes sparkle with love as he pecks a fond kiss to your lips. “If they’re dumb enough to overlook how amazing you are at first, we’ll just meet up again another day and hope they see you for the treasure you are.” He explains, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’d do all that for me?” You ask, still finding it hard to believe that Calum Hood thinks this much of you.

Your boyfriend nods, “I’d do anything for you, but even those idiots will be able to see how incredible you are, trust me.” He placed a kiss to the end of your nose before pulling you towards the front door. “They’ve been texting me all day saying how excited they are to meet you so I’m not gonna keep them waiting any longer, c’mon.” 

As much as you’d love to stay within the safe solitude of Calum’s pretty house, you know that there’s no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. You allow your boyfriend to lead you outside as you both yell goodnight to Duke before Calum closes the door and locks it.

“I think you’ll enjoy tonight.” Calum smiles as he leads the way onto the street. “Ashton’s parties are always fun, although, you should be prepared to drink your weight in tequila.” He laughs nervously. “I swear he won’t rest until he has to send someone out to the supermarket for another bottle.”

Ashton’s house is only a very short walk away, you know this because Calum’s boasted about how happy it makes him to be close to one of his best buddies more times than you care to count. “So your best friend’s gonna get me hella drunk, huh?” You smirk, loving the way that Calum loops his arm around your shoulders as the two of you make your way along the street. “That wouldn’t be by your instructions by any chance, would it, Hood?”

Gasping in faux offence, Calum hugged you close. “You do a great job of that on your own usually, babe.” He counters.

It’s not really a lie, you have been known to take a shot or three too many on occasions. “I’m definitely no worse than you, Mr I’ve-only-had-six-beers-three-shots-and-a-couple-of-double-whiskeys.” 

Calum plants a kiss to your forehead, giggling a little at your expert retort. It dawns on you suddenly just how much you smile and laugh when you’re with Calum. It’s hard to think of another time in your life that you’ve ever felt this happy, safe and content. 

As you turn into Ashton’s drive, the two of you still giggling, you realise that tonight doesn’t have to be that daunting at all. Calum loves you, against all the odds, he adores you as much as you do him and at the very heart of things, it doesn’t matter at all what anyone else thinks.

Of course that brief moment of clarity and resolution melts away into a fresh flurry of nerves when Ashton appears in his doorway. “You made it!” He chimes cheerfully, stepping aside for the two of you to enter. “I’ll just grab Lu and Mike so that you don’t have to do the whole intro thing more than once.” He smiles at you brightly before turning to Calum. “Go and get your man a drink, Cal! We’ll meet you both in the kitchen in a just a sec.”

As Ashton disappears into his living room, Calum takes your hand, leading you towards the kitchen at the end of the spacious hallway. 

The drummer’s house is bigger than Calum’s, the hallway and kitchen alone seem to be the size of the entire downstairs of Calum’s luxury home.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Your boyfriend asks when he catches you admiring the sweeping staircase leading up to the first floor. “He has a mini recording studio too, y’know.”

You nod, recalling Calum mentioning it on one of your earlier dates when he’d talked about recording their latest album. “Yeah, very…” You reply. “I hope I can get a full tour later.”

Calum smiled, apparently happy about your interest in his friend’s house. “I’m sure Ash would love to show you around, he’s very house proud.”

The kitchen wasn’t as empty as you expected when you entered the large tiled room. There’s a little group of women hanging around one of the counters, each of them offering Calum a brief wave when they notice him.

“Do you know them?” You ask, starting to feel nervous again at the prospect of being the only one that doesn’t know everyone else at the party.

Calum shakes his head. “Not really… I think the girl with the red hair is in Ashton’s yoga class, I’ve seen her leave the gym a couple of times when I’ve met Ashton for coffee after his workout sessions. I don’t really recognise any of the others.” He leads you over to one of the counters near the back window before grabbing a couple of the red paper cups that are stacked neatly next to an impressive range of alcoholic beverages and mixers. “What do you want to drink, babe?” 

You quickly scan the labels of each bottle displayed on the counter before ultimately reaching for the Jack Daniels. “My old favourite, please…” You reply, handing it to Calum.

As your boyfriend pours the drinks, you survey the room carefully. From what you’ve seen of the house so far, it’s pretty minimalist, there aren’t many decorative items. Everything in this room at least, seemed to have a function and a purpose. You wonder if that’s a conscious decision that Ashton’s made or whether he just hasn’t had the time to fill his house with things he finds interesting or pretty.

“There you go, gorgeous.” Calum chimes as he hands you the red paper cup, now filled with JD and cola, before draping his arm around you again to pull you into his side. “Y’know, I heard you talking to Duke earlier… I had no idea you were that nervous about meeting my friends.” He confessed, placing a kiss to your forehead,. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, I promise, they’ll absolutely love you.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” You pout, taking a sip of your drink. “What if they think I’m too much of a dork, or not fashionable enough, or too boring, or just not right for you…”

Calum cuts you off with a soft kiss which you instantly melt into. He holds you close for a long moment before finally whispering “There’s no such thing as ‘too much of a dork’, plus you can never be dorkier than any of my friends, I’m literally the only cool one.”

Giggling, you allow Calum to kiss you again, melting away more of your anxiety. You were interrupted a second later by someone clearing their throat. You pull away hastily enough that a little of your drink spills over onto your hand. You barely get a chance to wipe it on your jeans before you notice that you’re suddenly surrounded by the rest of your boyfriend’s band.

“Put him down for a minute, mate!” Michael smirks at Calum, clapping his friend on the shoulder fondly. “How are we supposed to get to know your new man if you’re attached to him like a fucking limpet?” 

“Yeah, keep it clean, lads, we don’t want Ashton’s party turning into a huge orgy…” Luke quipped, “not this early, anyway!”

You laugh, your cheeks blushing with embarrassment at being caught making out with Calum. It’s not the first impression that you’d hoped to give.

“Ignore all of these idiots…” Ashton sighs, shaking his head. “I’m Ashton, by the way, the only one of Calum’s friends that matters.” 

“Ugh, would you listen to him?” Luke huffs indignantly as he nudges Ashton’s hand out of yours. “Our Ash has such an inflated ego. The truth is, he’s much less fun than me and Mike, so don’t listen to him.”

Another chuckle escaped you as you shake Luke’s hand finally introducing yourself to the group before deciding that the best way to get on their good side is to compliment them. “Calum’s told me a lot about all of you…” You begin, still trying to fight the anxiety threatening to overwhelm you. “I don’t think any of you sound less fun than the others.”

“Ooohh, what stories has he been telling you?” Michael asks, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “I promise that any embarrassing things he’s told you about me aren’t true! I’m the absolute fucking king of elegance and grace.”

Despite the fact that you’ve only been with the band for a minute or so, their individual personalities become abundantly clear and you instantly understand why each of them mean so much to Calum. The way your boyfriend regards his friends with such a sincere fondness is enough to let you know that you’re in the presence of three of the most important people in his life. That prospect doesn’t seem as terrifying now that you’ve met them, though.

“If you believe that, you’ll believe anything!” Calum interjects, pulling you into his side again, a silent display of his love and support. 

“Wow, the rhythm section are really coming for us tonight, Mike.” Luke jokes as he turns his attention back to you, his caramel coloured curls falling into his face as he turned his head. “I hope you’re not gonna be following your boyfriend’s example, mate…”

Before you have a chance to reply, Michael muscles his way in between you and Luke, sliding an arm around your shoulders as he did so. “You definitely won’t be on Calum’s side when we tell you about how he cheats at like, every game ever, computer games and board games alike… He’s a fucking sore loser.”

You already know this fact, having been told as much by his sister, Mali, when she’d insisted on speaking to you after you’d accidently walked in on her FaceTime chat with Calum a couple of weeks back. “So I’ve heard.” You reply, side-eying your boyfriend in mock disgust. “I guess that’s why he’s refused to play anything with me so far.”

“Yeah, it’s ugly, bro.” Luke confirms, his face set into a pretend-serious expression. “It might undo all of the hard work he’s put into making you think he’s the sweetest guy on earth.”

Just as Michael opens his mouth to add to Luke’s statement, Ashton cuts him off. “Well there’s no time for games tonight, this is a grown-up party. I know that's hard for you two dorks to process but if you harass my V.I.P guests anymore, I’ll throw you both out.”

It feels nice to be addressed as a V.I.P by the party host and you smile thankfully. 

“How come Hood gets to be a V.I.P?” Michael pouts, “Since when did you love him more than us?”

“Since forever.” Ashton replies flatly, “He’s much less annoying than you and the bread stick, now go and get my good tequila from the liquor cabinet so we can really get this party started.”

“Why don’t you get your favourite to do it?” Luke asks sulkily. 

Calum shakes his head, a smug expression on his handsome face. “Because I have a date.” He replies, “You know the rules…”

“Actually, that’s a good idea.” You cut in. “I want to hear more embarrassing stories about you, without you interrupting every few seconds.” Your sudden burst of confidence surprises the whole band, including Calum who merely blinks at you in disbelief for a long moment.

“You want me to leave you alone with this lot?” Calum asks sceptically, apparently still worried that you’ve lost your senses.

Nodding firmly, you gently untangle yourself from Calum’s arm and nudge him away playfully. “That’s what brothers do best isn’t it? Embarrass one another?”

Your boyfriend visibly melts at your words, his dark brown eyes sparkling with love at the way you just described his best friends as his family. “I guess so…”

“I like you a lot!” Michael grins fondly at you as he tightens his arm around your shoulders. “Are you any good at playing bass? I think it might be time we replaced Calum.”

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[scribomaniac]

Something Wicca This Way Comes Ch 3

@andiirivera @blackwidownat2814 @gryphbear @meredeph @jonesfandomfanatic @forget-me-not-s @groovyfoxpeace @superchocovian @therealstartraveller776 @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook

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The police station was a drab and depressing building, built from gray stone and accented with iron steel. However, not even it’s ugly facade could dampen Killian’s good mood. Thoughts of the Savior had quickly left his mind as soon as he finally escaped the manor, and the only remaining thoughts  revolved around a beautiful blonde and whether or not she might want to take an early lunch with him. 

Brushing past several uniformed officers and a few suited bodies, Killian stopped right in front of a desk that was topped with a placard reading Detective E. Swan. “Hello Swan,” Killian all but purred, bracing his hands on the edge of her desk and leaning forward.

Emma glanced up from the file she was reviewing with raised brows. Looking at her watch she said, “You’re early.”

“Well you know how the saying goes,” Killian grinned, “the early bird catches the worm.”

“And what,” Emma asked as she leaned forward herself, her long, golden hair slipping past her shoulders, “is the worm in this metaphor, exactly?”

“Lunch perhaps? Just you and me?” Killian raised a brow, his blue eyes meeting her green ones. “What do you say, Swan?”

“I say,” Emma smiled, a small, hesitant thing, “I should take your statement.”

“Right, that.” Killian nodded then pushed himself away from the desk and plopped himself into the chair on the side of her desk, the one that criminals usually sat in while awaiting processing. "Very well. Statement first, then lunch." 

Ignoring him, Emma pulled out a form and asked, "Name?"

"Killian Jones."

"Address?"

Scratching at his ear, Killian replied, "1329 Prescott Street."

"Have you always lived there?"

The question surprised him, as he didn't think it was something the form had asked. Sitting up straighter, emboldened by her interest, Killian answered, "Since I was thirteen or so, but before that I lived in England with my brother.”

Emma sat back in her chair and tilted her head, "What made your family come to San Francisco?" 

"My father remarried. She was American and they wanted to start a life in her hometown." 

That was mostly true. Lilian had been born and raised in San Francisco, but by the time she'd met his father, everyone who knew her had thought her dead for at least fifty years. She'd been a white-lighter to his witch father, and they'd fallen in love. 

Unfortunately for them, relationships between white-lighters and their charges wasn't allowed. No one was supposed to know, and no one would have ever known, probably, if it hadn't been for William. Who knew a white-lighter could get pregnant? Not Lilian and certainly not his father. Once the Elders discovered the relationship, and it’s intensity, his father and Lilian went on the run, leaving Killian and Liam behind for their own good. At least, that’s what they were told by Brennan the night he left. 

Then, nine years later, after Lilian died at the hands of a dark-lighter, the Elder’s forgot their anger, and Brennan remembered his two other sons.

"Occupation?"

Sniffing, Killian averted his eyes and took in the surroundings of the station. Not much was going on. David's desk was empty, as was the conference room and Captain's office. There were a few people in the holding cell at the back of the room, but he could tell they were mostly drunks just sleeping off the alcohol.

"Mr. Jones?" Emma's voice caught his attention.

"Killian, love. I insist," He gave her a small wink, as an added touch.

"Killian," Emma said with a faint smile, one that could easily be overlooked. "What do you do for a living?"

Coughing to cover up a wince, Killian told her, "I was in the Navy for a while. Left about three or four years ago."

Emma wrote down what he said, then asked the dreaded follow-up question, "Honorably discharged?"

"Liam was, aye," Killian looked down at his fingers, intertwined on his lap. "Me, not quite."

"Oh." Blue eyes snapping up, Killian noticed Emma's knitted brow and surprised frown. "Sorry," she shook her head, "it's just I would've thought--" she cut herself off suddenly, darting her eyes back down to the paper before her. "What do you do now?"

Vanquish demons, he wanted to say, conjure spirits, brew potions, oh and occasionally I box, too. 

Instead he said, "I bartend every now and then at my brother's pub."

"All right, now that that's over," Emma flipped a page over in the form, then looked back up at him, “Tell me what happened.”

Killian regalled her of the story he and Liam had decided upon the night before. He told Swan of how they were on their way to meet up with Nolan for a pint when they heard something suspicious in the alleyway. They soon saw the crazed, bald headed man standing over Nolan with a knife and the two of them acted immediately. Tackling the offender to the ground, disarming him, and subsequently rendering him unconscious.

“That was pretty brave of you two,” Emma said, “not many people would’ve stuck their necks out like that--even for someone they knew.”

“Ah, well you see, Swan,” Killian smirked confidently, “if it’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving. Now that that’s all finished, what do you say to a bit of lunch?”

Emma laughed, averting her eyes and shaking her head, “You sure are persistent, Mr. Jones.”

“Killian,” he corrected again. “And I’ve learned from experience that you’ll never get anywhere in life without it.”

Looking at her watch, Emma hummed, “I’ll have to pass on lunch, but I can spare a few minutes for a walk.”

“Wonderful,” jumping to his feet, Killian began to lead the way. “You’re new to this station, aye? Are you new to the city as well?”

“Yeah, I, uh,” she took a moment to lock his statement up in her desk drawer, then followed him out of the station, “I just moved here last month.”

“From where, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

Chuffing out a light laugh at his small tease, she answered, “New York, and Boston before that.”

“An East Coast girl, eh?” They took a turn to the left outside of the police station. It was a shame Swan could only spare a short walk. There was so much in the city he’d love to show her, but Killian supposed that would just have to wait. “What brought you all the way to California?”

“Work,” she said vaguely. Then, as if an afterthought, added, “I mean, I was transferred here after making Detective.” She shrugged, “You gotta go where the jobs are.”

“Oh, aye, I understand that. Do you enjoy the city?”

“It’s not too different from any of the others I’ve lived in.” She looked up and squinted at the bright, blue sky, “The weather’s pretty nice though.”

Biting the corner of his lip, Killian turned a corner and pressed his luck, “You didn’t mind leaving your loved ones behind? Family, friends,” he paused, “a boyfriend, perhaps?”

Emma snorted, “Smooth, Captain obvious.” Shoving her hands into her pockets, she let out a long sigh and said, “Look, I’m kinda a loner. Always have been.”

“You don’t like your parents then?”  Killian winced at his blunt question, but he could understand that feeling quite well himself. Before his death, Killian and his father hadn’t been on the best of terms. That’s what happened, he supposed, when a father leaves his two children in the hands of a brute while he went off with his pretty new wife and child to a new country.

“Don’t have parents.”  The words were short and practiced, like she’d said them many times before.

Wanting to kick himself, Killian tried to apologize, “Shit, Swan, I’m--”

Emma smiled at him courteously. It wasn’t a genuine smile, but a mask people put on to make others at ease, “Don’t worry about it. You can’t miss what you never had, right?”

They turned another corner, and a gust of air blew into them, causing Emma’s golden curls to fly about her face. She stopped to push her hair back and before Killian could help himself, he reached out and tucked a small tendril behind her ear.

She froze at his touch, looking up at him with wide, green eyes and her lips pulled down into a surprised frown.

Snatching his hand back as if it’d been burnt, he said, “Sorry, I didn’t--ahh--” Bloody hell he was making a mess of this.

“No, um,” Emma looked down and retucked the hair behind her ears. “Thanks.”

They continued on in awkward silence until they made another turn. They were more than halfway through their walk now, almost back to where they started. Having already shoved his foot as far into his mouth as he could, he figured he had nothing more to lose by asking, “Do you have any plans this weekend, Swan?”

“Just helping out with the arraignment hearing tomorrow.” She let out a half heart chuckle and added, “Great way to celebrate my birthday, huh?”

“Surely you have more planned than that,” Killian’s brows furrowed. She’d said she was a loner, and she was still very new to the city, but still--it was her birthday. She deserved to do more than spend the day in a courtroom. When Emma did nothing more than shrug, Killian made up his mind. “We’ll do something, then.”

Seeing Emma’s raised brows, and remembering just how badly this walk of theirs had gone so far, Killian quickly retraced his steps and added, “I’ll bring Liam and my other brother, Will. And Tink, too! We’ll all go out to Liam’s pub after the arraignment for a few drinks.” Realizing he was rambling, Killian gave her his best, most charming smirk, and said, “What do you say, Swan?”

Emma stopped, and Killian realized they’d finally made it back to the station. 

“Sure, why not?” Emma tilted her head and looked him up and down. “Your brother’s bar isn’t far from the courthouse, right? Let’s meet up there around five.”

Surprised that she’d agreed--surprised, but immensely pleased--Killian nodded his affirmative. “We’ll see you then.”

“Killian!” Liam called out, walking up for his own appointment with Emma. “Hello Detective,” he smiled, “I hope I’m not late.”

“Not at all,” Emma said, taking a step up towards the station’s entrance. “Come follow me.”

“Will this take long?” Liam asked, looking between Emma and Killian, “I was hoping Killian and I could ride home together,” he locked eyes with Killian as he said, “we have some family matters to discuss.”

Closing his eyes to prevent Emma from seeing them roll, Killian was immediately reminded of their conversation this morning and how they were meant to find the Savior. 

“Won’t take long at all,” Emma assured him, obviously missing the sudden tension between the two brothers. “Killian,” his eyes snapped up to her, his heart pounding in his chest at her use of his name, “you can either wait out here or in the lobby.”

“Here’s fine, Swan. Thanks.”  Looking back towards his brother, he said, “Take your time.”

After giving his brother a very unimpressed look, the eldest Jones brother ascended the station’s steps and disappeared inside to give his statement. Leaning against a handrail, Killian scanned his eyes over the passing crowds to pass the time. 

Soon a familiar face appeared. David Nolan walked towards him, his hands holding a cup of coffee from the nearby diner, Granny’s. 

“Nolan,” Killian nodded in greeting.

“Killian,” the older man nodded back. “What are you doing out here?”

Jerking his chin towards the direction of the station, he answered, “Liam’s just finishing up his witness statement.”

“Oh yeah,” David’s brows rose with realization, “the arraignment hearing for that guy is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Frowning, Killian wondered at the detective’s forgetfulness. “Aye, mate, the one for the lunatic who tried to kill you. That guy.”

David laughed, but it was a quiet, hollow thing. “Guess I need caffeine more than I thought.”

“Right,” Killian said slowly. Then, as David took a step up to pass by, Killian asked, “You don’t have any plans for Emma tomorrow, do you?”

Tilting his head, David frowned and shook his head, “No, why?”

Killian wondered if Emma was still too new as a partner, or if she just hadn’t told David about her birthday yet. She didn’t seem to be hiding it, but she wasn’t promoting it to the world either. “It’s Swan’s birthday so I just wanted to make sure,” he paused, “you and Mary Margaret used to bring Humbert over for dinner for that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” David stood taller, “oh, I didn’t, um,” he furrowed his brows and looked down at his feet. “No, I didn’t know it was her birthday.”

Killian shrugged, “No matter. I’m getting a few people together for her so it works out. After the arraignment we’ll go to Liam’s. Want to join? The invitation is open to your lovely wife as well, of course.”

“No.” David said quickly. “Sorry, tomorrow’s no good. Maybe another time.” Before Killian could say anything more David was up the stairs and inside the building.

What a strange day this was turning out to be.

Not long after Liam reappeared by his side. “Ready?” He asked, “Or did you need to get one more flirt in?”

Killian snorted, “I’m not that bad. Besides, need I remind you how much flirting went on between you and Tink?”  When his brother’s cheeks darkened to a ruddy red, Killian nodded, “Exactly.”

They headed for the parking lot, and Killian quickly spotted the car. Wanting to delay their supernatural discussion as much as possible, he said, “It’s Swan’s birthday tomorrow. It turns out she’s new to town so I offered for us all to meet up for some drinks.”

“Define all,” Liam said, pulling out his car keys and pressing the button to unlock the doors. 

Killian waited until he was seated before answering, “You, me, Will, Tink.” He reached for his seatbelt then added, “I invited Nolan, too, but he can’t make it.” Liam grunted, turning the key to start the engine. “He seemed off just now when we spoke,” Killian thought about his most recent brush with the Underworld. “You don’t think that Guardian demon has anything to do with it?”

“The Guardian?” Liam asked, his attention mostly on the rear window and he backed out of the parking spot.

“Aye, you know, maybe his behavior is being affected somehow?”

“Killian, you can’t be serious,” Liam looked away from the road to give his brother an incredulous look. “Nolan’s behavior has nothing to do with demons.” Looking forward again, he sighed and said, “It’s the anniversary of his daughter’s death.” Glancing over and seeing Killian’s stunned face, he said, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“How the bloody hell was I supposed to know?” He and David weren’t that close, and the only photo he’d ever seen on the detective’s desk were of his wife and son, Neal.  “Why doesn’t he have any pictures of her?”

“Because he doesn’t have any pictures of her,” Liam shook his head. “She died the day she was born, or something like that. I’m not too sure. Have you never noticed,” he looked directly at his brother again, “over the past three years how depressed he becomes around this time?”

Killian winced, realizing that he hadn’t. To his credit, though, it wasn’t as if David ever spoke about this directly with him. Never once in all the years Killian knew him did David ever mention having a daughter.

Leaning his head back against the seat rest, Killian closed his eyes, suddenly very tired, “Bloody hell what a day this has been.”

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Hope you all enjoyed! The next couple of chapters will be Emma focused and we’ll even get to see her interacting with some demons. The next chapter I’ve already mapped out in my head, and I don’t think it will be pretty long so it should be up before next weekend. Then I hope to have another chapter after that one finished for next weekend.  

Will, the youngest brother, is Liam II btw. Sorry I didn’t make that clearer before! Wil-Liam, get it?

How might a dead white-lighter have a child? How could Leo? How could Sam? In this case, the existence of the Charmed Ones/their destiny surpasses the laws of supernatural physics. The universe just said one day, we need a third jones boyo and there you have it.

Killian is kind of a clumsy mess in this chapter, but 1) Emma throws him off his game 2) in OUAT Killian was not always some heartbreaker, especially with Emma 3) it took a LONG ASS time for Emma to open up to him. The same goes for an Emma raised by Demons.

[recurring-polynya]

Hey, we made it through another week! Because I am your friend and I love you and @diademchiofthetripod​ told me that all RenRuki fans deserve nice things, here is a short and sweet little fanfic about Renji proposing very badly. Please enjoy. I have included AO3 and ff.net links for those who enjoy leaving comments, or you can just read it under the cut like an animal.

Any Proposal You Can Walk Away From | AO3 | ff.net |

Summary: Renji pops the question a day early... or possibly 40 years late.

Rating: The AO3 version is T for cussing. The ff.net version is cuss-free.

Rukia usually took Renji up to the hill on the Thirteenth Division that overlooked the training grounds whenever they wanted to do some chill outdoor boozing. Tonight, though, she had gone to the trouble of staking claim on the other hill, the one that had a romantic view of Ugendou Pond. It was especially romantic tonight, with the moon bright and full, reflecting silver in the pond's surface. A bit of fall chill had crept into the air, just perfect for snuggling up close to someone else (assuming you were bothered by cold, which Rukia was not, although she was not above pretending when snuggles were at stake).

They weren't snuggled together though, or groping each other, or engaging in an extremely competitive match of tonsil futsal, as they usually did these days whenever that could find a spare moment and a place that offered even the most tenuous veneer of privacy.

Instead, they sat side-by-side, silent, gazing out at the ripples of the lake, a little bit unsure of what to say to each other. They had already blasted through two bottles of sake, and were paused in a foggy, peaceful haze. Rukia reached out, and started groping around without looking down. Renji thought she was getting ready to crack open the third bottle, but instead, her hand found his, and settled gently atop it, her sword-roughened fingertips brushing gently over his own scarred knuckles. He looked down at their hands for a moment, thinking about how much he liked the way they looked together. His gaze traveled upward, only to find that she had turned her head and was looking at him now, eyes shiny with drunken affection.

Renji wasn't sure his heart had ever felt so full.

"How are you feeling about tomorrow?" Rukia asked gently.

Renji rolled out some of the stiffness in his neck. "Fine. I'm sure it will go fine."

Rukia, who had never fallen for his bullshit, not even once, quirked a smile at him. "Oh, yeah? Gonna go home and get a restful, full night's sleep after this?"

With that, Renji tackled her, rolling through the grass until they both lay on their sides, faces so close that they could each tell how terribly the other smelled like booze. "Who cares?" Renji declared. I'm gonna sleep so good when I have you in my arms again every night."

"Yeah," Rukia agreed, "I'm the one who's gonna be up all night listening to you snoring."

Renji buried his face in the join of her neck and shoulder, nipping at her collarbone. "I am not the one who snores and also, that's not what's gonna be keeping you up all night."

"Mmm," Rukia agreed, threading her fingers into his hair. "I can tell by the way you are trying to distract me that you are not fine about tomorrow."

"Is it working?" Renji mumbled.

Rukia disentangled her fingers from his hair and bopped him on the head. "It's a big fucking deal, you dummy, it's okay to be nervous about it."

Renji pushed himself up onto one elbow. "I'm not nervous . Your nervous-ass brother made me practice with him all afternoon, I can do my lines in my sleep."

"Buuuuuut?"

Renji sighed. "It's stupid."

Rukia lifted her head up to kiss his nose. "So what? Stupid or not, I'm your best friend, tell me."

Renji smiled fondly at her. "You are my best friend, so I guess I gotta." He sighed. "I dunno, I've been thinking about this moment for a long time. A really long time, actually. And I had sort of a plan, y'know, and some stuff I was gonna say, except that now there's a script and a bunch of people I don't even know are gonna be there…" He trailed off. "It's fine. It'll be nice. We'll be all dressed up and I'm much less likely to make a bonehead of myself, and of course, your brother will be there, as he somehow manages to be at all the important moments in our relationship--"

"Renji."

"--and if we get real lucky, there could be some drama, one of the Gotous flippin' their shit and throwing a vase at me or something--"

"Renji!" Rukia tried again to cut him off, although she was having trouble not laughing. "I get it. So why not just do it, y'know, now?"

Renji stared at her. "You want me to propose to you right here? Right now?"

"Sure, why not?" She gestured around. “We got, like… the moon. The lake. Very romantic, thank you, Rukia, you’re welcome, Renji.”

Renji ignored this. "Why not? 'Cause I'm utterly pasted, f'r one, and f'r two, if I ask you now, what am s'posed to do tomorrow when it's time to ask your brother for your hand all formally and shit?"

F'r one," Rukia shot back, "I think we've made some of our best relationship decisions while sauced. And f'r two, you can ask me again, you moron. No one has to know you've already scandalously elicited a promise from me before formally petitioning my Honored Brother."

"Wow, you made that sound kinda hot. Okay, okay, you've convinced me. Let's do this. You better say yes, or it's gonna break my heart, okay?"

"I told you weeks ago I would say yes! Get on with it!"

With a great deal of grunting and groaning, Renji heaved himself to his feet. He swayed for a few moments until the world stopped spinning, and then glared down at Rukia, still stretched out languorously on her side.

"Would you mind at least sittin' up for this, your Majesty?" he grumbled.

Rukia stretched as she sat up. "Would you rather I stood? You're kinda far away. I'm not sure I can hear you from down here."

Renji rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, if you don't mind. That's always the way it was in my head."

"I don't mind," Rukia replied kindly, and held out her hands, wiggling her fingers, so he could help her to her feet.

Renji paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. He seemed to have become distracted by the pleasant sensation of holding her hands in his.

"Everything all right?" Rukia nudged.

"Ah, uh, yeah. I just realized that, well, I wrote this with a certain game plan in mind, and then it got boogered up, and I didn't really… I mean, I wasn't sure when… or even if I was ever gonna get to do this, and it seemed like bad luck to be updatin' it all the time and,  well… it's kinda outta date."

"I am stupid drunk right now and I don't care," Rukia announced firmly. "Just hit me with it."

Renji nodded slowly, working himself up to it. "Okay. Okay. So, first of all imagine I'm dressed nice and I've just loaded you down with an inconveniently large bundle of flowers."

"Like your dress uniform?" Rukia asked hopefully. She was a great fan of Renji in his dress uniform.

"Oh, no, way shittier than that. We're talking back before I met Yumichika, I didn't have any taste then." He sucked his teeth. "Imagine I'm wearing something I borrowed from Kira."

"What, like, with your ankles and wrists hanging out?"

"Yes. Precisely." Gently, he placed her hands back at her sides before boldly putting his own on his hips and puffing out his chest. "Inuzuri Rukia!" he began.

"Oh, no," Rukia giggled.

"Inuzuri Rukia," Renji started again, furrowing his brows in mock crossness. "As of…" he thought for a moment, "Thirty-nine years and five months ago, I have passed the last of my exams, therefore completing the requirements for graduating with honors from Shin'oureijutsuin. Furthermore, I have been offered a position in the Fifth Division of the Gotei 13, under Captain Aizen Sousuke (I hear he's very nice.)"

Rukia clapped her hands over her mouth delightedly.

"I will be getting a salary of 50,000 kan per year," Renji continued, affecting a bit of nervousness. "It's not a lot, I know, and this dumb city is so expensive, but that doesn't count bounties for killing Hollows, and after a year, I'll be able to try for a seat, which pays a lot better."

"What do I care about your paycheck, you fool?" Rukia interrupted, her voice bristling with the defensive thorniness of her youth. "I'm gonna get a position in the Gotei, too, y'know. I can take care of myself."

Renji's eyes softened, and Rukia could tell it was real emotion, not just part of the act. "I know that. And it's not because you need it, it's just that I want to. The fact is, I've never had anything worth having before, but if I did, I would give it to you. All this work, I did it for you, Ru, because the only thing I want is to be able to give you the life you deserve." He took a deep breath and screwed up his face like he was about to do a terrible job casting a kidou. "I love you more than anything, Inuzuri Rukia, and I'm asking you if you'll marry me." Renji stood there for a moment, blinking, as if surprised that he had managed to get it out. Belatedly, he dropped to one knee and smiled hopefully at her. "Don't forget, you promised to say 'yes'," he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

Rukia rubbed her chin. "So, in this scenario, as envisioned, had you already told me at some point that you loved me? Or am I getting this all at once?"

"Oh, no," Renji clarified. "No lead-up. Going in cold. This is for the whole ball of wax, here."

"Ah, I see," Rukia grinned. "Well, on one hand, Abarai Renji, that proposal would probably work on the Rukia it was intended for. She would have beaten you about the head and shoulders before accepting, of course, but the fact is, you had her at 'an inconveniently large bundle of flowers.' "

Renji regarded her suspiciously. "Buuuuut…?"

"Buuuuuut," Rukia continued, "I'm an Acting Captain, now, partner. You're pretty cute, but I need someone who's going to be able to keep up with me."

"Well," Renji hedged. "Like I said, it's a little out of date. You wanna hear some of my more recent achievements? Would that help?"

"It's worth a try," Rukia shrugged. 

Renji pondered. "I did eventually get promoted to Sixteen Seat."

"Okay…" Rukia drew out. "Was that better or worse than that weenie Kira?"

"Ah, he was Seventeenth at the time!"

"And my archnemesis, Hinamori Momo?" Ruki raised an eyebrow.

Rukia and Momo had recently struck up an affected and extremely melodramatic rivalry. Renji was personally in favor of this, felt it did both of them good, very much enjoyed listening to Momo attempting to trashtalk the most foul-mouthed woman he knew, and did not, under any circumstances, want to be caught within 100 spirit miles of it. His eyes darted to the side nervously. "Er, uh… moving right along, when I transferred to the Eleventh, I made Twelfth Seat right away, much less prejudice against people who are balls at kidou over at the Eleventh."

"Did that entail a raise? Rukia asked archly.

"It did not," Renji replied, "The Eleventh pays garbage. But! I did get used to withstanding nauseating maelstroms of reiatsu without getting nosebleeds (very handy for hanging out with you) and also I learned the secrets of growing just really killer sideburns."

Rukia nodded along. "I am not gonna lie, I am way horny for your sideburns."

"Does that mean you'll marry me?" Renji asked hopefully. He wiggled his knee around a bit. "Gettin' kinda uncomfortable down here."

"Eh, you might want to switch knees. The thing is, I also have this brother… 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And mostly, his opinions are bad, just like, the worst opinions you've ever heard, but I do care that he likes the person I marry."

"Okay," Renji agreed amiably. "I'm very likeable, y'know. What kinda stuff is he into? Sunglasses? Futsal? Siiidebuuurns?" 

Rukia pursed her lips. "Mmm… more like… poetry? Reciting the provenance of furniture he owns? Lecturing people? Orchids, of course, but who doesn't?"

"What about…" Renji paused for dramatic effect, "devotion to Squad Six, excruciating attention to detail with regards to Gotei paperwork, and bankai?"

"You know, you really could've led with 'bankai' when I asked you to list your accomplishments."

Renji raised his eyebrows hopefully. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes to the question of does my brother love all those things. To be honest, you're very close on the other yes, almost there, but there's one more thing." Rukia rifled around in her sleeve and pulled out her phone.

"Rukia, may I remind you that it's eleven at night and also, you are stupid drunk?"

Rukia flapped her hand at him. "No, no, it's cool. It's probably daytime in the World of the Living."

"The time difference is nonlinear, you have no idea what ti--"

"Oi, Kurosaki! It’s Kuchiki Rukia. I need to talk to Inoue, but she doesn't have a spirit phone! Can you, like, call her on your pathetic human phone and hold your two phones up next to each other so that-- oh? Oh, she is? Yes, that would be great! Thank yoooouu, Ichigoooooo!" Rukia covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "Apparently, she's right there. Wait, why is she right there?" She removed her hand again. "Orihime! Hi! Yes, I'm great! Yes, also drunk! Look, I need to ask you something! Mm-hmm. Right. Look, you remember Abarai, right?" She leered at him.

Renji frowned back, offended.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, he's over here asking me to marry him, d'you think I should?"

A very loud, very high pitched noise came out of the phone's speaker, followed by a rapid stream of excited talking.

"Mm-hmm," Rukia would agree from time to time. "True, true."

"Be a pal and help a guy out!" Renji shouted, hoping Orihime could hear him. "I'll let y'ride on my bankai next time you're in town!"

Rukia scowled. "You fool," she hissed. "Orihime is incorruptible."

The words "-- ride on Zabimaru!! " very clearly echoed out of Rukia's phone.

Renji waggled his eyebrows triumphantly.

Rukia listened for several minutes more, and finally said, "Okay. Okay, I will. Look, do me a solid, will you, 'Hime? It's not official until tomorrow, y'know, Kuchiki bullshit and all, so don't tell anyone yet, okay? Nope, not even Ichigo. He can think what he likes, just deny everything. I'll see if I can scam some daypasses and we'll come visit this weekend, okay? Tell everyone all official-like? Yup, love you, too, thanks for the advice!" Rukia flipped her phone shut. "Well," she said firmly.

"Yee-essss?" Renji sighed, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

"Apparently the most perfect person in all planes of existence thinks you are 'the best' and says if that if I turn you down, I am a 'huge dumbo.'" 

"Ouch," Renji sympathized.

Rukia took a step closer to him, and took his face in her hands. "Fortunately, there is no danger of that. Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Abarai Renji, because you are the best and I love you with all of my heart. I don't care how many bankais you have or which squad you're in and I would marry you even if we had to move back to Inuzuri and get good at stealing water again."

Renji jumped to his feet, scooping Rukia into his arms on the way by. “No backsies,” he murmured before kissing her soundly.

“No backsies,” she agreed, ruffling his hair. “Feel better now? Was it everything you hoped and dreamed?”

“It went so good,” he grinned. “Wow, that went so much better than it ever went in my head.”

“I am suddenly no longer comforted by your confidence in tomorrow,” Rukia replied dryly.

“Tomorrow’s gonna go great,” Renji assured her. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? We cause a huge rift in the most powerful family in Soul Society? My Third Seat, who derives all of his power from petty spite, discovers his bankai? The rest of us go to bankai, we destroy a bunch of buildings, get banished from the Seireitei? We have to teach your brother how to survive on the outskirts of the Rukon?” He pressed his nose against hers. “Who cares? You just said ‘no backsies’, what else could possibly matter?”

“You’re the worst,” Rukia mumbled, having lost interest in everything that wasn’t kissing him.

“And now you’re stuck with me,” he confirmed, and gave her what she wanted.

~end

[spicedrobot]

Mizu Shōbai

Fandom: Ovewatch Pairing: Zenyatta/Genji (Reverse AU) Warnings: costume play, spanking, dirty talk, light angst Notes: I’ve been sitting on this for almost a year, and I’m not sure if there’s anyone who’s still into the Reverse AU, but finally here’s my contribution. 

-

Genji hasn’t felt like this in years. 

He works late to stave it off, schedules more meetings, performs tasks he could easily delegate, anything to keep his mind racing. A decade ago, it was to stop the twitch, the chill of a dead man’s eyes on his nape. (Genji still has the ribbon, carefully folded in his nightstand, immaculate if not for the flecks of crimson. He doesn’t know if the blood is his or Hanzo’s.)

But the situation is better than it was then. The dead man isn’t so dead (even if he is confined to a shell of carbon fiber), and Genji has outlets. Ryū ichimonji bright with enemy blood. Warm, smooth hands bruising each hip, claws raising angry lines along his skin. A soft, demanding voice reducing him to a mindless, swearing mess. Genji scales his balcony at night, sometimes greeted by dark windows and a locked door, other times by an angry, loathsome omnic that would rather use him than kiss him, and hell, if that wasn’t what Genji wanted more often than not.

But Zenyatta can’t be his biggest distraction. He’s not always there: meetings, press conferences, deals on the other side of the globe. Family too, perhaps. His brother. Zenyatta talks of him little, but each mention reverberates like a bell.

Mondatta. The omnics. Zenyatta’s ambitions, threats, promises.

A worried sort of uneasiness settles as the days pass, leaving Genji sleepless. Strange habits rear their heads. Ones he never meant to outgrow, but just hadn’t needed anymore.

Pastimes that keep calls to a certain omnic from going to voicemail more than once. 

Zenyatta wouldn't be gone forever. Genji tries not to count the hours.

-

The club is Shimada-owned. Tasteful, compared to the establishments Genji used to frequent as a younger man. The hosts are...flamboyantly dressed, but not all. He chooses an old favorite: Fumi-chan, with long, dark curls and darker eyes. That'd always been his favorite feature of hers; a sharp gaze that said you couldn't hide anything. Not from her. The years had done little to wear out that spark.

"I hope they've given you a raise, Fumi-chan. You're too good for this place."

"This is an establishment you own, isn't it, Genji-san?" She gently intones as they enter the VIP section, quiet and intimately lit. He feels a twinge of nostalgia despite himself. He is not one to dwell on the past. "Don’t worry. I make more than I know what to do with."

"I sincerely doubt that. I remember your tastes."

She smiles then, one part demure and three parts wicked.

"Your patronage is very much appreciated."

Fumi-chan leads him into a room, spacious and secluded and just for them. He had loved this, once upon a time. It had been hard to trust anyone, even the ones he paid, but Fumi-chan's loyalty had never wavered. She lets her hands slip from his, gently urging him onto one of the leather couches at the room’s center. The soft, fuschia lights overlay everything, another plane of existence. A pretty, neon spectacle. He turns his eyes back to her.

"Would you care for a drink?" she asks.

"Please."

-

Fumi-chan’s eyes, long-lashed and devious, narrow as she asks him. They’d already polished off a bottle of gold label shochu, the smooth sweetness lingering on his tongue, soothing the bounce in his leg and the tapping of his fingers against the table.

They spend another half a bottle wiggling him into their largest uniform, still too small, though it does grant the illusion of a nice rack. It's mimicry of Fumi-chan’s outfit: bunny ears with one drooping, a black bodice with a sweetheart neckline, fabric cut high where hips meet stomach. The stockings itch, but Genji doesn’t want to half-ass it once he’s wearing the rest of the uniform. It’s fun in the way that alcohol can make most things, and Fumi-chan has a knack for conversation that requires little participation. 

Nothing like drinking with a beautiful girl that pours heavy and speaks pleasant ambience.

“So this is what an oyabun does in his spare time.” 

A startlingly familiar voice rings over the quiet rumble of distant, rhythmic bass.

Genji fights the urge to lick his lips; it would be a shame to smear the pink gloss that Fumi-chan had so meticulously applied. He leans a bit too heavily into the plush sofa as Fumi-chan, nestled at his side, stares at the intruder with pursed lips. 

“Zenyatta,” Genji says, grinning, a traitorous blush creeping along the bridge of his nose. “So you are following me.”  

Genji doesn’t spare a thought to how the omnic got past security detail. (Golden tongue or golden claws.) Instead, he takes him in like a painting.

Zenyatta cleans up well. Not that he ever looked anything less than perfect, not unless it’s well into the night, robes askew and chassis steaming as he puts Genji in his place. His suit is sharp, jet black, with a thin, gold tie that matches his chrome.

“You missed our meeting,” Zenyatta replies, array carefully posed on Genji’s face. “Perhaps you were too preoccupied to notice.”

The omnic’s stiller than usual, and Genji sits up a little straighter, freezing when his array tilts towards Fumi-chan.

“Miss,” Zenyatta’s voice is even and soft. Genji shivers. “Would you please excuse us?”

Genji knows better than to argue. Fumi-chan leaves with a single glance over her shoulder. Way too clever, that one.

The door closes without a sound.

“A meeting, huh?” Genji murmurs, plucking the half-drunk sake bottle from the table in front of him, taking a quick sip. “I don’t remember—”

Zenyatta’s array flickers, a timeless instant that turns Genji’s nervousness into a smug twist of his lips. 

“Oh, Zen.” His grin widens. “Jealousy does not become you.”

“Jealousy?” Zenyatta says the word like a novelty. “What would become of my reputation if I could not keep my sparrow caged?” The omnic tilts his head, array flaring. “You would do well to mind your tongue.”

The ice of Zenyatta’s retort tears into his body with unexpected bite. How many times had that same tone dropped Genji to his knees? They stare at each other, one unreadable, or so he thinks, and one open like a book, a secret lingering between its pages. 

Then, Zenyatta sinks onto the couch opposite him in a single, fluid motion.

“If you wished to play hostess, you need only ask, Genji-chan.”

Jarring, as if the room suddenly tilted a few degrees, Genji’s heartbeat picks up, the grin loose and stupid on his face.

“Heh. Sure.” 

He smooths his hair into place, brushed silken by Fumi-chan an hour earlier. Barefoot (there hadn’t been shoes that would fit) he kneels to survey the low shelf of alcohol beneath the table.

“So, Tekhartha-sama.” The honorific rolls easily off his tongue. They had played like this before, and the memory heats Genji deliciously. “Would you care for a drink?”

“The Junmai Daiginjo.” 

“Excellent choice.” He withdraws a navy bottle with a gold neck and a delicate mizuhiki knot. 

Zenyatta leans his faceplate into his palm as Genji pours, his array bright teal in the blacks and purples of the room. Genji feels each pinpoint on his body as he sets a glass in front of Zenyatta and takes his place next to him. Rather than comforting coolness, the space between radiates like stoked coals. 

“Describe its taste.”

Genji huffs, leaning to retrieve the glass, his uniform taut and clinging. He makes a show of it, and why not? Zenyatta’s buttons are difficult to press, but Genji knows the sequence. Rather than demurely slip, he tips his head back, neck long and exposed, bisected by a lace black choker that bobs as he swallows.

“Sweet, faintly rich. A wave of sakura on the wind. Honied like melted sugar.” Genji feels the ghosts of Zenyatta’s hands on his body, bruising, possessive fingers.

Zenyatta tsks. “I have no taste for sweetness.”

The way Zenyatta says it thrills him.

“Liar,” Genji singsongs, finishing off the eight thousand yen glass in a single go. 

It’s the drink; it’s Zenyatta hot against his side. 

He moves with the ease of honed reflexes, but Zenyatta does not startle, does not move an inch. His metal is warm, the hidden slit of his mouth widening ever so slightly at the press of glossed lips.

“Well?” Genji whispers against his chrome.

“All I detect is that cheap wax on your lips.” The words rumble from Zenyatta’s synth. 

Genji smiles, leans back just enough to see the pink shine smeared over the omnic’s mouth.

“At least tell me I’m pretty.” 

Genji drapes his arms around Zenyatta’s shoulders, slipping into his lap like he belonged there. Hostesses didn’t do this. They didn’t kiss their customers or want them so badly they could hardly keep still.

Oh. The thought slams through Genji’s mind, debilitating, dizzying. I have it bad.

“You are beautiful.” 

A hand settles low on Genji’s back, warm enough to startle. Then it slides up his spine, sinks into his hair, tugging just enough to set Genji’s teeth on edge, a groan shaken from his chest.

“Especially in your suffering.” He pulls harder, until Genji’s back is a bow arched at his mercy. “How soon you forget your place. Infuriating, how much you enjoy being put back in it.” 

“Y-you love it,” Genji wheezes, chest heaving, cock desperately trying to tent the impossibly tight fabric clinging to it.

Zenyatta doesn’t say a word, but the gentle hiss of steam kisses Genji’s throat, his skin shivering into gooseflesh. 

“What did you expect, coming here? Did you think I would be balls deep in pussy?” 

The omnic tightens his grip, yanks his hair, throws him to the floor. Ice and charm demanding penance, his life balanced beneath the slender curve of Zenyatta’s sole. 

At least, that’s what Genji expected. 

Zenyatta stills, lifeless as a mannequin. As if he had powered down without warning. Only his array burns and his systems thrum, companions to Genji’s confusion. In every past conversation, flirtatious and cruel, locked against one another, standing adjacent at a cocktail party, bathed in pre-dawn glow, as fragile as the single star in the light polluted sky, this is where Genji had misstepped, in this strange, offhand joke. Seconds from stumbling through an apology, a swear flies from Genji’s lips instead.

Thin arms twist around his back, tug him against the hot metal of Zenyatta’s chest, cheek pressed into the pistons at his throat. He doesn’t breathe. The omnic doesn’t move. 

But he doesn’t let go.

Slowly, he weaves his arms behind Zenyatta, settling his hands as gently as a question along the plates of his shoulders, intricate, familiar. How many times had Genji grasped them, held on like he would be lost? He relaxes into the embrace, seconds spinning into minutes. Maybe longer. (Who could say?)

“Zen.” The warmth of his words fogs the metal of Zenyatta’s pistons. “Don’t worry.” He grins. “Your pussy’s the best.”

The room shifts, pain blossoming, properly this time, along his scalp. 

“I think,” the crisp snap of a frozen branch rendered perfectly in synth. “That is quite enough of that.”

A claw scrapes beneath his choker and yanks, toppling Genji over his lap, a scramble until Zenyatta has him just where he wants him, Genji’s face smashed into the cushions and his hips squarely over metal thighs.

“Okyaku-sama, not here. Mama-san will be angry with me,” Genji wheezes in a half-baked falsetto. 

The first swing forces an embarrassing squeak from his lungs, his cock throbbing, dampening his uniform. The thin fabric does not protect him from the singing metal of Zenyatta’s hand; half his ass hangs out of the damned outfit anyway.

Zenyatta always leaves such pretty marks, each a sense memory burned into his flesh, like a tattoo, like scars, dangerously earned, a trophy for just the two of them. If only he could mark Zenyatta in the same way, scratch his chassis, dent that elegant face for his next televised speech—

The flurry of blows steals his breath, his thoughts a chaotic blur beneath Zenyatta’s hand. He writhes, the friction burning and stinging, but he needs it, some release, to be freed, to fall beneath the unwavering glare of an omnic array. His array.

“You are cruel,” Zenyatta bites.

Genji laughs, breathless and wild, before a deluge of whimpers and swears and painful, moaned pleas replaces it. His hands fist uselessly in the cushions next to to his face, itching to tug his arms behind his back, hold position like Zenyatta had commanded time and time before.

Cruel? Genji supposes he is, even when he’s the one helpless, trying to rub one off against segmented thighs as he’s spanked raw and stupid.

The pain abates, the slaps ceasing for a harried shifting. He feels Zenyatta unbutton his pants, shove his hand down, withdraw. The omnic tugs Genji’s uniform aside, the bunched fabric squeezing tender, inflamed flesh. His vision blurs, pain and pleasure popping and bursting, overshadowing and fading into each other. A frictionless slide, Zenyatta’s fingers, coated with his own blood-warm slick, smear between his Genji’s cheeks. The omnic spends no time teasing, a mean finger tracing around Genji’s opening once before pressing deep to the second knuckle.

“Please, more—”

“Don’t. Speak,” Zenyatta hisses. 

Genji buries his face into the cushions, angling his hips up, back, begging for the brutal touch, and a second finger presses inside much too soon, painful.

“Please, need it. Need you, Zen—”

The fingers curl, slowly, barely catching against that addicting spot that weakens his vision. Genji’s worst distraction, the touch, and the man touching him, laid bare, the only one who knows—

“You listen when it pleases you and disobey at whim. Perhaps I need to adjust your punishments.”

Genji scrambles when Zenyatta withdraws his fingers, does everything in his power to follow the motions of his hands. He reaches for Zenyatta’s cock, delighting in the harsh jut of it through his slacks.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Zenyatta orders, and Genji complies. 

So close, Zenyatta’s array momentarily blinds him as he plants his knees and arches, pressing them chest to chest. His cock throbs, nipples tight and sensitive against the stiff bodice, wanting more than anything to rub against Zenyatta, find his pleasure while his array burns a permanent afterimage in his mind. Seeing each of his imperfections, the secret knicks next to his lip and along the secret port just above, every time he closes his eyes—

Zenyatta cups his ass, spreading him open, and Genji groans, the smarting marks flattened and bright hot in his grip. The blunt press of cock brushes where Genji’s worked open and aching, and he tries to bare down, but Zenyatta holds him steady.

“You want me to fuck you hard. Hurt you?” He tilts his array. “I will not.”

There isn’t time for confusion as Zenyatta lowers Genji onto his cock. He bites his lips, spreads his thighs, waiting for the breath-stealing thrust that never comes. Instead, he sinks like quicksand, inch by inch, slow, way too slow, slower than Zenyatta’s ever taken him. Even when he edged Genji to tears, there was always a cruel speed to it, no nonsense like a one-two punch that kept him unbalanced and helpless, willing to give Zenyatta everything.

Zenyatta’s cock doesn’t feel like a human’s. The shape is right, but it has a strange give, the pre teal and copious, slicking up his insides. Even with what little preprepation Zenyatta granted, the first press turns liquid smooth in moments, a soothing, agonizing salve. Genji wants to feel it for days, even when Zenyatta isn’t there, to remember it when he sits, when he’s schmoozing elites, the omnic’s claim aching inside his body. He twists and strains, swearing under his breath.

“Zen, c’mon—fuck me, please.” The words are shameless, his balls drawn tight against his body.

Zenyatta tips his chin up a degree or two, never looking away from Genji’s face, his hands vice-like and unforgiving as they lower him. Another moment of agony and the backs of his thighs meet Zenyatta’s. A rumbling groan, eyelashes fluttering, head tossed back.

“That’s it, yeah…” Genji pants, licking his lips, clenching around Zenyatta, falling forward to bite along his pistons, drag his tongue over the soft black column of his throat.

Zenyatta laughs, two gentle huffs. Then he lifts Genji as slowly as he lowered him, precise, calculated motions. It’s not nearly enough, like they’re young lovers, though they never had such a gentle beginning. Men like them never did.

No dirty words. No orders. Zenyatta breathes and steams, groaning quietly every time he fills him completely.

Genji’s heart hammers in his throat. He keeps his face tucked where Zenyatta cannot see, painfully aware of each slow, even thrust, the sound of Zenyatta’s body, the waxing pain leaving only this soft, swelling pleasure. Genji’s leaking inside the uniform, afraid to even look at how badly he’s ruined it. Zenyatta starts to roll his hips, fluid pumps that meet Genji’s descent, harsh gasping replacing any silly, teasing jabs Genji can’t even formulate. Zenyatta, delicate-looking and light, easily overpowers him, had on so many occasions, but in his arms now, holding him upright, rocking Genji onto his cock with perfectly timed thrusts, Genji trembles. Trembles in the wake of each quiet, wet smack only for the cycle to repeat, waves reverberating, hypnotic. Flushed as if his whole body had been lashed, sweat beading, gleaming along scars and skin.

“Zen—”

He bites Zenyatta’ pistons, whines into the damp, shining metal, lower body liquid and bright hot. His gasps are quiet, hesitant things, weak but unstoppable. 

“Are you close?” The words are strangely devoid of normal sharpness, shockingly breathless. 

“Y-yeah. I…” Genji stumbles. His fingers shake as they come to rest on Zenyatta’s back.

There’s a tremble in Zenyatta’s frame, small at first, barely noticeable, lost as Genji is on the teetering, dangerous point of pleasure, motions singing in his blood but not enough to push him over. A single hand on his cock, a snap of Zenyatta’s hips. Something...anything...

“Please,” he whispers into the side of Zenyatta’s jaw.

A hitch. A quiet, synthetic gasp. He hikes Genji’s hips higher, takes all his weight, pumps into him with just a little force. Genji swears, deep and low; he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, only that it quickens Zenyatta moreso, a searing brightness ricocheting through his body, whiting out his vision. Endless, he writhes under its thrall. 

Softness at his back. Wet, sticky warmth at his front. His mind cobbling together the pieces. The teal of an array, lights flickering, closing the distance. He kisses Zenyatta, tasting pink, waxy gloss, warmed by the metal.

Another broken gasp, Zenyatta moving, still buried between his thighs.

“The costume really does it for you, huh.” 

After a moment, they both laugh, Zenyatta resting his array to Genji’s sweaty forehead.

“I will not be done until I steal that wit from you.”

“Better get to it, then,” Genji murmurs, wrapping his calves around Zenyatta’s lower back, urging him forward, deeper.

More, more. 

More.

-

Genji’s naked by the time they are finished, marked, aching and exhausted, splayed shamelessly on the ruined couch.

Zenyatta, only slightly less worse for wear, sits on the floor in front of him, the back of his head resting on the cushions.

Sated, it's easier to ignore the being that occupies most of his waking thoughts.

"Hey, Zenyatta."

The omnic rolls his shoulders incrementally, his array glowing and softening to an unheard melody.

“Take me with you, next time you leave.” Genji stares at the ceiling. "I think I need a vacation."

The omnic's quiet for a moment. Genji hangs onto every second.

"I believe you are correct." Zenyatta tilts his head enough to see Genji's face. "Where should we go?"

"Numbani. Rialto. Anywhere."

"A tempting thought. I have wanted to show you off. However," he hums. "You have business here."

“I can just leave Hanzo in charge while I'm gone." Genji’s voice is light, teasing.

“Maybe you should.”

Genji sits up, wincing from settling aches and pains. He wouldn't mind a smoke. Maybe he could steal one off McCree when that idiot isn't looking.

“And why would I do that?”

“He is loyal, keen on not bringing shame upon the family a second time." Zenyatta turns fully towards him. "I could have you at my beck and call always. My human pet.” He smiles without a face to show for it. "Give it some thought. I would certainly make it your while."

An answer to his restlessness, packaged with a bow. Genji remembers Hanzo's stilted words, modulated from his respirator, tight and formal and annoying as he'd ever been. Pathetic. Genuine.

"You'd say anything to keep me under your heel," he scoffs finally, more seriously than he means.

"You are blind not to take the olive branch he offers."

Genji works his jaw in the lingering silence. He watches Zenyatta in the gloom, suit mussed, array dim, and sighs. 

“Take me home?”

-

He dozes on the way back, tucked into Zenyatta’s side, lulled by the omnic’s promise.

Zenyatta standing along a sandy shore, backlit by the setting sun. Zenyatta sitting across from him at a private, three-star restaurant, describing each bite of food. Scaling a mountain to see endless3.

022 snowy peaks that remind Zenyatta of home. They could rent an entire hotel, watch five hundred movies, drink all the booze and ruin every bed.

Genji buries his cheek into his warm, firm shoulder, listening to the hum of Zenyatta’s body. 

It’s the most rested he’s felt in weeks.