#and the fact is -- no matter how much people like him

[logansbaby]

Worst Logan is probably so touch starved

oh absolutely!!!!! thank you wonderful anon for sharing bc you’ve inspired this tiny drabble <3 extremely short but completely spurred on by my need to hug worst logan ty!

no warnings! just one use of slut by wade (ofc)

word count - around 1k

also, the song hear you me by jimmy eat world kept coming to me during this so! vibes maybe?

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

Logan Howlett hates physical touch.

He hates the way people often go about trying to touch him, whether it be a brief tangle of fingers or a simple hug, he hates it.

He’s not entirely sure where it’s stemmed from, especially considering that as a younger man, he didn’t mind it. Maybe it’s because of the fact that people he cared for were always too far out of reach, leaving him a swirling mess filled with the aches that follow with unrequited feelings. Or, maybe its the fact that once he’d begun to open up to the people he considered family, he’d failed to protect them, only left to ruin their legacy with his destructive, lethal grief.

The reason doesn’t matter, not really, because he’s okay with being alone, nursing copious amounts of whisky shots to numb his loud thoughts.

His plan of rotting away in a bar alone goes to shit the minute Wade shows up and drags him into the shit show he’d landed himself in.

And somehow, after everything settles down, he finds himself stuck in a new universe, living with far too many bodies in Wade's apartment. He wonders why he stayed to begin with, especially with the way Wade pisses him off like no other, but he knows. In the back of his mind, he knows that the group of people he’s come to know have weaseled their way inside his guarded heart. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept, though.

The red masked man often tells him he needs to get laid, get up and find someone to fix his grumpy, brooding act he has going on if he’s not going to let Wade do it himself (his words, not Logan’s).

And whenever he presses too much, Logan’s claws will unsheathe with that unmistakable snikt! before they dig into whatever limb of Wade’s is closest.

People had caught on very early that Logan dislikes physical contact, so it’s an unspoken rule by everyone to not push the man. Well, everyone except Wade— the man has been impaled by adamantium far too many times and never learns. That, or he just likes the pain a little too much.

So, it comes to a surprise to everyone when Logan doesn’t yell at you, sink his claws into a nearby surface in warning, or growl when you wrap the man in a hug the first time you meet him.

It’s at some party thrown by Wade— purely an excuse for the man to see Vanessa under the guise of a celebration for his newest hair system— or whatever the fuck he’d rambled on about, Logan wasn’t listening.

He’d been on his way out, the ghost taste of whisky tingling his tongue as he plans to waste away at the closest bar, when he catches a glimpse of something akin to an angel.

That something is you.

You— in all your pretty glory, a beacon of light that glows through the entirety of the dull apartment with just a single smile. Hair frames your face with wisps that kiss rosy-painted cheeks as you laugh at something someone says. A floral dress sits atop of curves that will absolutely haunt his nights. The scent of you tickles his heightened senses— a swirl of vanilla and honey so sweet that he suppresses a groan.

Logan believes then and there you’re a princess, an angel, something ethereal and enchanting. He wonders then why you’re friends with Wade.

He’s already speechless at the sight of you, wrapped up in thoughts, that he doesn’t realize you’re suddenly in front of him until an obnoxious voice startles him from the depths of his mind.

“Peanut! How could you leave without saying hi to sweetness here? Horribly rude if you ask me.”

Under any normal circumstance, Logan would’ve growled at the man before him, followed by a string of curses. However, he’s too occupied with his body thrumming at the sudden proximity and closeness to you.

“Hi!”

Of course, it makes sense that your voice matches your looks; sweet and syrupy with an addictive lilt.

Before he can utter a poorly spoken sentence, his body goes rigid, every muscle within him immediately tense as an unfamiliar weight is on him.

“Oh, peaches, you don’t want to do that, Wolvie isn’t much of a hugger—“ Wade’s warning comes too late, given the fact that you’re already wrapped around the man frozen in place.

And in an instant, the entire room is silent, because everyone here has witnessed Logan’s distaste when being touched, usually at the hands of Wade.

Logan’s body tingles with how still he is— waiting for that awful feeling to consume every bit of him at the touch of another.

Except, the feeling never comes.

Oblivious, your arms squeeze Logan’s waist as you hug him tightly, head resting against his chest, where his heart hammers maddeningly.

Why is he resisting the urge to bury his nose in your hair?

“I just want to say thank you. I don’t know how you did it, Wade won’t tell me. But I know you saved this universe and I couldn’t be more grateful!”

And, what?

He's confused. You’re speaking to him like you’ve known him your whole life, and he’s not used to this. He’s familiar with people regarding him with disgust or poorly conceived opinions, not this.

“I love my life, truly! My sweet little dog, my friends, my bakery, I couldn’t imagine it being taken away quicker than a breath, so thank you, Logan. Thank you so much!”

Genuine gratefulness coats your rambled words; it’s s then Logan realizes that you’ve pulled back, though your hands still rest causally on his hips, a kind smile gracing your face.

It also dawns on him that the dreaded feeling that often follows people touching him never came Instead, a pleasant tingle kisses the skin that your hands and body touched. Logan has never been more perplexed in his life.

The feel of you is taken away promptly, Wade yanking your body away from his and pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry sweetness, but Logan isn’t known for his love for hugs. He doesn’t like people touching him, it doesn’t end well. And, considering you’re you, I prefer you alive and healthy, not being turned into a human kabob.”

And at that, you feel horror fill you up, your heart sinking, face flushing.

Because oh my gosh, you never would have done that if you had known! but why did you anyway?! you always acted without thought and clearly it had caught up with you!

“I’m so, so unbelievably sorry! I— I didn’t mean to cross boundaries or make you uncomfortable! I’m so—“ before you can ramble yourself into further embarrassment, a deep voice cuts you off.

“S’okay.”

The words are simple, quick. Yet, the delivery of them shakes every person in the room to their core. The implication isn’t to be missed— Logan has never reacted that way to being touched before.

It’s quiet— the room watching with curiosity pooling their eyes and you’re filled to the brim with mortification. And then, the silence is gone when Wade gasps dramatically.

“Peanut, I’m hurt! I thought we had something special, I’ve been playing the long game. And now that’s ruined because some slut stole you away? With a hug? No offense, angel face, but I’m feeling catty.”

His nonsense snaps you out of your head and you roll your eyes, muttering a ‘shut up!’ before focusing on Logan’s face, the man currently glaring at Wade’s face.

“Logan, I’m so sorry. I really am—“

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, but what he really wants to say is please don’t be, your hug felt like home and didn’t make me feel sick for the first time in a long, long time.

You smile, weariness still present. The way your pretty lips stretch into a tiny grin, at him no less, he knows he’s got to get out of there, or he’ll spiral.

You’re about to speak again, but he can’t stop himself from following his instincts. He doesn’t say anything else before practically running out the door, his breath only releasing once he's out of your presence.

And while the man is gulping down numbing alcohol, mind a whirlwind of confusion at himself and youyouyou, the apartment is loud due to Wade having a breakdown.

“—Seriously! I get a claw to the stomach anytime I get to close but you waltz in and suddenly Logan is all for touch? I feel cheated on.”

“Wade, you’re completely overreacting. Maybe you should’ve warned me! I made a complete idiot of myself!” You huff, pacing the tiny living room to expel the anxiety coiling in your abdomen.

“No, baby. The only idiot is me for thinking he’d want me back!” Wade whines, dramatic as usual, and throws himself onto the couch, a move that lands himself in Vanessa’s lap. The woman pats his head in fake sympathy.

“Wade! Shut up, oh my god! He’s never gonna talk to me again!”

And unknowingly, both Logan and you are worrying yourselves sick about that damn hug and the spark that spread from your heart to his.

And maybe, just maybe, Logan doesn’t hate touch after all.

[lovecla]

TEACH ME (HOW TO MAKE HIM COME) | jack hughes.

nsfw, @lovecla’s kinktober collection, chapter five:

<last chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this kids), semi-public sex (don’t do this either), jealous jack, dirty talk.

➴ word count: 3.7k

💌 from me to you: you asked, and you shall receive. thank u so much for all the love you all gave to TM(HTMHC) and i hope this final chapter can make u guys happy. sorry if it sucks, though. hope y’all still like me :,)

𖧷

AS YOU put on Trevor’s jersey, you contemplate tonight's game.

It’s November again; the leaves keep falling from the trees, the wind is still cold and impersonal. You’re still tired from all the studying, constantly reevaluating yourself and staying up until late at night to write papers.

Life is still as simple as it was before everything. Before crushing on Zack, before going back to Newark in Summer, before sleeping with Jack Hughes, although— Is it really?

You and Jack hadn’t done anything in months. After fucking him for the last time, you woke up with a Trevor Zegras holding a Hockey stick and ready to break it in half with the help of Jack’s head, which made you snap at him.

“What is your problem, Trevor?!” You yell, barely awake and already pissed off at your brother’s doing. “Why are you here at seven in the morning, yelling at Jack and— is that a stick?”

Trevor lifts it up proudly, like he’s okay with beating Jack up. “Yeah, it is! And it’s about to see Jack’s pretty face.”

“Well—” Jack tries, but you’re not hearing any of it.

“Stop acting like I’m fifteen or whatever. If I want to have sex with him, then I will.”

“What— oh my God. See, this is why I never wanted you to be friends with her. They always end up falling in love, man,” Trevor shouts at Jack, who’s doing his best to hold in his laughter. It isn’t doing much, though. “Sarah, Jack isn’t the right guy for you! He’s a man whore!”

“Y’know I’m still here righ—”

“I don’t care, Trevor, geez,” you sit down on Jack’s couch, covering your face with your hands before speaking again. “I understand why you’re upset and I appreciate the fact that you’re taking care of me, but I’m an adult. I know how to take care of myself.”

“You’re twenty—”

“Besides,” Jack starts, this time his face is serious and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. “I’m not gonna hurt her, you asshole. Have a little faith in me, no?”

“No?” Trevor scoffs, putting the stick down. “This is ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is you thinking Sarah can’t stand up for herself, or that I will do anything to hurt her, intentionally. Like she’s just another one. Fuck off, Z.”

Trevor wouldn’t stop commenting about the two of you together, even when Jack wasn’t around you. It was tiring to say the least, so you decided to take the matter into your own hands and tell Jack that you were both done.

It was ridiculous, really, since you’ve grown to appreciate Jack’s company, not only as a friend, but as a possible future partner. Getting away from him wasn’t ideal, but if that was you needed to make Trevor shut up, then you’d do it.

Occasionally, you’d text each other, just normal conversations about how you’re doing, and how you’d wish you were together rather than studying for finals.

But today, the Devils were in Anaheim, playing against your brother’s team and you were going to watch them, for the first time ever. Not only you, though. It looks like all of your colleagues and friends are going— you’ve lost count of how many people texted you asking for free tickets.

You were agitated, since everything could go wrong tonight: your brother could go crazy and risk a penalty for punching Jack in the face, you and Jack would see each other after months and Zack was also going to be there.

In your defense, it hadn’t been your idea in the first place. Kiara suggested that you give the extra ticket Trevor gave to you to him, because it’d be a good excuse to talk to him and to leave the whole Jack situation behind.

But the truth is, you’re not really sure if you want to “leave the whole Jack situation behind”. You like him and you know he likes you back. Even though you had the biggest infatuation for Zack, it didn’t hold a candle to what Jack made you feel whenever he was inside you.

But, oh, well.

Now, it’s probably too late to ask Jack to try again. And even if it made you feel a little weird, you knew it was probably best this way.

𖧷

“OH, MAN, I can’t believe we lost.”

Zack’s complaints make you laugh. “I mean, it was kinda obvious. But, yeah, losing 6-2 is really tough.”

“We played well, though,” Kiara adds, trying to sound convincing. You and Zack both funnily stare at each other, choosing not to say anything. “Y’all are just mean. Sarah, it’s your brother’s team!”

“I know, I know,” you snicker. “Sorry. I’ll tell him he played well.”

“You’re seeing him tonight?” Zack asks, his brown eyes expressing curiosity. “Can I come? The Devils are fucking awesome!”

“Yes, we have, like, a little get together party, if you know what I mean,” you shrug, biting your lips. “I mean, you can definitely come if you want.”

Kiara eyes you eagerly as Zack smiles brightly at you, saying “thank you” at least a thousand times and rambling about how excited he was to meet actual NHL players in person.

You didn’t know if it had been a good idea to invite him, but you just felt bad to leave him out of the celebration— or what was supposed to be a celebration before Anaheim lost 6-2— since he was a huge Hockey fan. And even if you’re not all that interested in him anymore, he’s cool to hang out with.

Ever since you came back from Newark you’ve been spending more time with Zack. If anyone asks you anything, you won’t be able to tell them why is that, but you’re not complaining. It’s probably due to fact that you’re not that interested in him anymore, so you don’t have to worry about pleasing him all the time.

Now, you had much more interesting people to please.

You all walk to the dinner hall, where a bunch of players and coaches were talking and dining together, the Devils being loud and proud after a well played game, while most of the Ducks had pouty lips and frowns.

You walked around with Zack and Kiara, and quickly finding your brother, his loud voice outstanding everyone else’s.

“Holy fuck, that’s Jack Hughes.” Zack said, his tone not hiding his surprise and admiration.

You immediately turn your head to the side, confirming that Jack Hughes is, indeed, just a few steps ahead of you, chatting with your brother and a bunch of other players.

“Well, well, well…” Kiara whispers beside you and you discreetly shove her with your elbow, making her shove you back, playfully.

“I mean, we don’t have to talk to them right now, right?” You say, trying to find a way out. “They’re probably sad. I’d be sad if I lost a game.”

“Girl, what are you talking about?” Kiara rolls her eyes, clearly not taking a hint.

“Sarah, you can’t be serious!” Zack laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward. You widen your eyes, staring at his hand covering yours and then looking back at Kiara, who just looks like she’s having the time of her life.

Zack keeps his hand around yours as you approach your brother’s group, Jack’s eyes finding yours immediately before falling to your hands.

“Oh, hey there, ugly duck,” Trevor smiles at you, and you take advantage of the opportunity so you can separate your hand from Zack’s, walking until you’re hugging Trevor tighter than you had ever done before. “What the hell, why are you squeezing me?”

You wanted to punch him. “Oh, I just feel so sorry for you guys!” You try to sound devastated. “Losing is tough.”

“They’re used to it, aren’t you, chickens?” Bratt says, making people around you laugh, as your brother’s frown deepened.

“Fuck you.” Vatrano hisses back, and you let go of Trevor, standing beside him.

Someone calls some of the guys, and you almost yell at them so that they wouldn’t leave, but they do, leaving you alone with Trevor and. Well, Jack.

“I’m a huge fan!” Zack starts, smiling at Jack like he’s God almighty himself.

“Oh, really.” Jack says, and you can tell he’s not even trying to sound nice. You frown.

“Yeah. Ever since you joined the NHL. A long time ago.” Zack probably doesn’t notice Jack’s lack of manners, or if he does, he doesn’t say anything, continuing the conversation eagerly.

“Are you calling me old?” Jack raises his eyebrows, and Zack laughs, clearly oblivious.

Trevor eyes you weirdly, already familiar with Jack’s attitude problem.

“This sassy mean apocalypse needs to stop.” Kiara whispers in your ear and you’re seriously just two steps away from shoving her again.

“I was talking to my girl over there, you guys are fucking awesome and—”

“Your girl?”

You see, usually you’d expect this question to come out of Trevor’s lips, since he’s the most annoying person in the world. But once you saw Jack’s eyes turning a deep, ocean blue shade and his face starting to get red, you realize, with surprise, that Jack was the one who asked that.

You stare at him, but he wouldn’t look at you. He was staring at Zack, with his hands in his pocket.

“Oh, yeah, Sarah.”

A year ago you wouldn’t believe if anyone told you that you would want to kill Zack Brian with your own two hands, but at this moment, it’s all you want to do.

Why the hell is he talking about you like that?

“I didn’t know you were dating, Sarah.”

You gulp, looking up at Jack’s upset face, shaking your head immediately.

“Yeah, little sis, I also didn’t know you were dating.” Trevor said, wanting to sound angry, but you knew him well enough to realize that he was holding back his laughter, just like the little shit he is.

“I’m not— Zack and I aren’t dating.” You stutter, alternately looking at Jack and Trevor.

“Oh. You’re Zack?”

Jack can’t fucking be serious.

Zack is happy and smiling again. “Hell yes I am! Can we, like, take a picture together or something?”

This time, Trevor steps in and coughs, politely interrupting the conversation and finally— finally— doing something about this whole mess. “Sorry, man, can’t do it. We have to head back to the party, otherwise our coaches will kill us.”

You knew it was a lie, Keefe and Cronin didn’t care whether their players took pictures with people or missed parties. As long as they stayed out of trouble and played well, they didn’t really mind their players’ personal lives.

But you wouldn’t say anything, not when you were already in trouble.

“Oh, that’s fine, it’s cool,” Zack shrugs, not hiding his disappointment. You almost pass out when you catch a glimpse of a smile on Jack’s lips. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of other opportunities.”

“Sure, sure,” Trevor smiles, throwing his arms around you once again. “Are you coming?”

“Oh, I—” you look around, biting your lips. “I don’t want to leave Zack alone.”

Even though you did want to leave him alone, you just couldn’t. He had been so excited when you invited him to the game, talking about it for an entire week before tonight.

“He can come too.”

You stare at Jack, not missing the way his lips curled up, and his eyes still looked darker.

“Type shit? You really are the goat, man, fuck yeah!” Zack celebrates and you stare at Kiara, who’s also looking a little bit worried now.

“Great,” you say through your teeth, stepping away from Trevor. “Let’s go, then.”

God, please help me.

𖧷

“SO, FOR how long have you and Sarah been friends?”

You wanted to smash Trevor’s face against a wall and twist his arm until he started crying.

You were sitting at his table, surrounded by other players, Kiara, Zack, Luke and Jack. Fortunately, Kiara had been successful at keeping Jack and Luke bored with her stories about college drama, so Jack wasn’t really focusing on you, or Zack for that matter.

Unlike Trevor, who’s constantly making remarks about your friendship.

“Not long.” You answer, shooting daggers at him with your eyes.

“But you seem really close.” He insists, smiling innocently.

“Sarah’s really cool,” Zack starts, and again you remind yourself that if he had said this not even seven months ago, you’d be smiling and dancing. But now, all you want is to tell him to leave. “We get along really well.”

“She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she? I’m glad to call her my sister.”

“Trevor,” you smile, kicking him under the table. “Stop it.”

“No, no, I like when people compliment you. Makes me proud—”

You get up abruptly, making at least five people look at you, Jack included. Blushing, you smile awkwardly. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Excuse me.”

Walking fast, you make your way to the bathroom, walking down an empty hallway, finding the bathroom quickly. You got in, thanking God that no one was in there.

Jesus. What the hell is going on with both Jack and Trevor?

You understood if Jack was upset with you, because if it was the other way around, you would be just the same, even if you weren’t an actual couple. But Trevor helping the fire grow? He’s just being a child.

“He’s so obvious it’s embarrassing.”

Letting out a yelp, you stare at the man you’ve been thinking of everyday since the Summer, who’s now leaning against the bathroom door and smirking at you.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, crossing your arms in front of you.

“Well, you’re clearly not peeing,” he starts, approaching you slowly. “And I can’t stand that dick face anymore. Does he not know that complimenting you to your brother won’t get him anything?”

“Leave him alone, Jack,” you roll your eyes. “He’s just being nice.”

“He’s into you. You know that, right?”

You scoff, finding it genuinely funny. “Of course he isn’t. We’re just friends. He’s just being nice, I just told you.”

“I thought you were a smart girl.” He wets his lips and not looking at it feels like fighting against ten thousand demons.

“Are you calling me dumb? To my face?” You raise your brow, watching as he frowns.

“I’m just saying that I thought you weren’t so oblivious, baby. When I told you you’re everyone’s type? I meant it.”

“Jack,” you sigh, defeated. “Why are we having this conversation?”

“Because,” he steps closer, looking down at you. “It drives me insane to think that there’s a fuckhead sitting just a few feet away from us that thinks he’s the shit and won’t take your name out of his mouth.”

Your eyes softened, and you smile at him. “You’re jealous.”

“That’s for people who are insecure, baby. And that you already know that I’m not,” he smirks, resting his right hand on your chin, and you can feel his breath hit your face, making you hold back an embarrassing sound. “Do you need me to remind you how good I am?”

Your eyes double in size and you shake your head.

“Are you insane?” You shout-whisper. “You’re supposed to be back in New Jersey in a few hours. This is your team’s celebration dinner, for God’s sake. You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“And yet, here I am.”

He kisses you bruisingly, your teeth touching with the agressive yet extremely sweet action, and you moan inside his mouth, not realising, until now, how much you’ve missed him.

It was wrong but not kissing him felt even more wrong.

He gently pushes you further into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and putting you on the counter, making you hiss with the coldness of the marble against your exposed thighs and throbbing core.

“Jack.”

“Fuck, I missed hearing you say my name. One more time for me, pretty.”

“Jack.”

He kisses you again, and you busy yourself with messing up his hair, still a little bit damp from his previous shower. It smells nice and fresh, just like the rest of his body.

“We need to be quick,” You whisper against his mouth, his eyes staring at you, lust and desire written all over his face. “We’re not even supposed to be here and we don’t have time—”

“Put your hands on that wall over there,” he whispers, signaling to the wall on the other side of the bathroom. “I’m gonna fuck you from behind. Is that okay?”

“As long as you fuck me.” You shrug, getting off the counter and doing as he says.

He laughs. “I’ve created a monster.”

He’s quickly behind you, and you hear the filthy sound of his hands unzipping his fancy pants, as you quickly lift your skirt, putting your panties to the side.

“Spit.” Jack asks— orders—, putting his hand in front of your lips, and you do, the red that painted your cheeks deepening.

He’s inside you not long after that, and you both moan loudly, forgetting for a few seconds that there are at least one hundred people outside. You can feel your walls squeezing his cock as you try to find some kind of support on the wall in front of you.

“Jesus fuck, Sarah, how are you even tighter than last time?”

“Because, ah,” he’s pouding against you, the sound of his crouch slapping against your ass making you feel dirty and so fucking good. “Haven’t been with a-anyone else.”

“No?” You can hear the smirk on his face. “Just your little fingers then?”

You nod with your head, eagerly moving it up and down, moaning loudly and just a few seconds away from ruining your makeup.

“Baby, you need to be quiet,” Jack says, and his hand slowly leaves your waist, making its way to your mouth, caressing your entire body before it covers your lips completely. “I love it when you’re loud but have you forgotten we’re not alone?”

You roll your eyes at him, as he keeps hitting that spot inside you that makes you see the entire galaxy without needing a telescope. His dick is deep inside you, so fucking deep.

“Jack, fu—”

“Sarah?”

You and Jack both freeze as Zack’s voice echoes through the room. He removes his hand from your mouth and rests his forehead against your head.

“Oh my God.” You whisper, ready to remove yourself from Jack’s grip and leave the bathroom.

Jack doesn’t have the same thought as you, though. He removes his length until just the tip is inside you, just to slam his cock inside of you again, reaching deeper than before.

You bite your lips hardly, feeling the taste of coper fill your mouth, the pain of tearing your lips hardly noticeable— your heart was beating so fast inside your chest that it seemed too insignificant to be preoccupied with a little bit of blood.

“Sarah, are you okay?”

“Answer him,” Jack whispers, as he keeps fucking you, this time reaching down and rubbing your swollen clit too. “Sarah. Answer him.”

“I— I—,” stuttering, you try to focus. “Y-yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”

Jack pinches your sensitive nub and you can feel the tears start to form in your eyes.

“Pretty.”

“I’m, f-fine, ah,” you shake your head, putting your hand on top of Jack’s but not making any move to stop him. “Just— headache.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want any help?”

“Fucking asshole,” Jack mumbles, your orgasm building up quickly than ever. “Tell him you’re fine, baby. Come on.”

“I’m fine, ah, thank you.” Biting your own hand, you feel your body shivering underneath Jack’s. “I’ll be b-back in just a second.”

“Alright,” Zack sounds convinced. “I’ll warn your brother.”

Even with your loud breathing you can hear Zack’s steps as he gets further away from the bathroom, and you barely have time to think properly before Jack is slamming his cock hard and fast inside of you again.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby, tell me. Does it turn you on the fact that anyone could catch us at any moment?”

Yes.

“Too bad I don’t share what’s mine.”

“Jack—”

��Fucking asshole wanted to be the one inside you right now,” he snarls. “No one will ever fuck you like I do, baby.”

“Hmh,”

“This pussy here,” he pinches your clit again, twisting it between his fingers making you gasp for air. “Will only get this wet for me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“You were made to take my cock, baby. Made to be mine.”

Your makeup was most definitely ruined by now. It didn’t matter. Your mind was too focused on coming to care about anything else.

“Say it, baby, come on.” Jack whispers in your ear, kissing your neck afterwards.

“It’s yours, Jack,” you nod with your head, feeling your orgasm closer than before. “I’m yours, and I missed you so bad and—”

You come on his fingers, your thighs shaking as he continues to poud on you, not caring if you’re sensitive or not. He takes his dick out of your pussy after a few more thrusts, coming all over your cheeks.

Your uncontrolled breathing fills up the entire room, the smell of sex and sweat making you blush. Jack’s forehead is on your shoulder, and you can sense he’s just as tired as you.

“Sarah,” he mumbled, and you sigh, humming. “Be my girlfriend. I don’t care about Zegras, I never did. I’ll let him beat me up everyday if that means you’ll be the one helping me get up at the end of the day.”

You chuckle tiredly. “So romantic, aren’t you, Hughes?”

“I try my best.” He murmurs against your skin.

“I will be your girlfriend. But just know that if you cheat on me, or anything like that, Trevor will fuck you up, and I’ll let him.” You say, laughing quietly.

He moves so he can grab a piece of paper, wetting it and cleaning you, making you shiver with the cold water on your back.

“If my own brothers don’t kill me first.”

“Touche.”



[meowcifer-nails]

I think some might make the argument that he wanted to (kill) destroy himself rather than change but here's the thing... that's exactly what a good amount of (if not most) suicidal people want! They don't *actually* want to die, they want their situation to change so badly, they hurt so much because something HAS to change that they can't take it, it's just they can't see a way in which that change can happen and the pain becomes too overwhelming.

Suicidal people desire change so much, they cannot cope with the fact that things are not changing for the better. Whether Harry was intentionally trying to destroy himself (there's the whole thing about the tie looking like a noose efc, though what you then find out about how he "lost" his gun seems to indicate that until the last moment at least part of him wanted to live) or "just" using every possible drug and other escapism tool at his disposal at once to desperately escape the situation, he obviously was coming to a breaking point where nothing changing was no longer an option. Everything indicates he was not okay with how things were and with how he was, even pre amnesia. It's not a coincidence that, no matter the player choices, he is distressed upon learning what he did during his career when you read his case files.

(If you take into account that one case that was cut out of the game about him trying to save people from the doomed building that becomes even more painfully clear)

any analysis or like. just a description of Harrier Du Bois that ignores that his desire to change is literally the inciting incident leading to his amnesia is in far too bad faith to be taken seriously

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A follow-up to my Hanahaki Platonic Stobin drabble

Platonic Stobin, Steddie, past Stancy || rating: T || wc: 2.7k || tags: dialogue heavy, VERY excessive use of italics, fluff and flirting and humor, no beta

~~~

His sides are ripped to shreds, insides only kept inside because of the torn, dirty scrap of sweater Nancy wrapped around him. Steve’s been downplaying it as much as possible, mostly to keep Munson calm, but Robin knows better.

What’s wrong with your back?

Steve sighs, trying to mute his thoughts into a scramble like they’ve practiced so well over the past nine months, but the scorching pain on his shoulder blades, feet, and arms makes it rather difficult.

Don’t you dare ignore me Steve Harrington.

She glares back at him from her spot next to Nancy. They’ve been walking for miles, every rock and crack in the ground digging into his feet with every step. Munson’s next him, going on about something like bats, or metal music. Steve’s not sure, he’s having a hell of a time focusing.

But the guy crowds into Steve’s space, dipping in and out of orbit like he can’t help being as close as possible. Eddie keeps looking at him. Steve’s never been great with eye contact, but can’t help it when Eddie starts saying things like “the kid worships you, dude” and “insists on the matter, in fact.”

Told you the kid loves you even though he has another older adult male friend.

Steve can practically hear her giggling, but she’s just balancing her out-loud conversation with their mind-reading conversation. She’s better at it than he is, talking to two people at once. Hell, sometimes Steve has a hard enough time keeping track of just one conversation.

Their new super powers had been a learning curve, to say the least. It’d taken them months to learn how to tune each other out when needed, which was more often than not. Working Family Video shed a new light on how absolutely down-bad horny Steve was for almost every mildly attractive woman who walked through the front door. Including Joyce Byers, to Robin’s horror.

Steve was cursed with Robin’s almost near-constant thoughts about her newest crush, Vickie. He’s never met her before, doesn’t remember her from school, but could describe what she looks like down to the small, rust colored freckle on the corner of her left eye, just below the lash line. 

But even with the extensive learning curve, they discovered some severe consequences of their powers almost immediately. 

The first day Robin came over, bloodied and crying, with him no better off, Steve was so shaky he’d dropped a mug, slicing his hand as he scooped up the pieces. She rushed over, said she heard his pain more than felt it, like loud static. 

So, no sharing physical sensations, just mind-reading. Which is great for me, considering how slutty you are. She’d laughed when he lightly knocked her on the shoulder, but she’d thought it with such fondness that he couldn’t be mad if he tried.

The worst of their situation came to light when Robin’s parents called her home, said a weekend away after Star Court was more than enough. So she’d left him alone in that big, empty house, suffering from a severe concussion and dizzy spells.

Which only grew worse the longer they were apart.

Steve didn’t have anywhere to go, now jobless with the mall gone, and none of the kids came to visit. So he’d holed himself up in his room. The headaches grew worse, handfuls of pills doing nothing to help.

By the fifth day, he was vomiting again, shaking and crying, head throbbing, nose bleeding into the toilet bowl all over again when there was a knock on the door. The knock might as well have been inside his skull, but he couldn’t move, could barely see past the haze clouding his periphery like it had after his fight with Billy. He cried as the knocking grew louder, more persistent, until it finally stopped.

He slumped forward, pressed his head into the cool porcelain. Lifting his hand to flush, he noticed a small, vibrant white petal floating amidst the red and black water, all of which, presumably, came out of him.

–can’t find it. Must be… rock. The mat?

Robin?

There was a click, then the sound of his front door opening. Slow, heavy footsteps up the stairs.

Dingus where the hell are you? Not in the bedroom… Please, Steve, I need help.

That got his attention, but as he’d gone to move, the bathroom door opened to a bloodstained Robin, eyes rimmed red, hair a mess, pale and gaunt like a ghost. She dropped to the ground next to him, practically draped herself over his back. And just like before, the pain receded so violently he vomited one last time. A full, yet slightly crumpled, flower floated amidst the yuck inside the toilet. 

It was a daisy.

“Daisies are my favorite,” Robin whispered. She held out her hand to him, dirty and covered in the same green stains as the ones on her shirt, and handed him a very small, miniature sunflower. “So I’m guessing–”

My favorite.

Eventually they’d figured out what works and what doesn’t. Talking on the phone everyday never helped, back to throwing up flowers after only a week. He’d started to pull the daisies out to dry, which Robin said was gross. She took them home with her anyways. 

But he’d borrowed Robin a sweatshirt that she took home with her, and by the fourth day, she was in better shape than he was, only a slight headache instead of Steve’s encroaching migraine. So they started exchanging clothes and quickly learned it wasn’t necessarily their clothes or possessions, but their scents. 

You smell kind of like sunflowers

“Robin, sunflowers don’t have a smell.”

She was face first in his pillow, day seventeen after a two-week family vacation to Key West, returning his comforter, and a myriad of t-shirts. They’d both gotten migraines, but no vomit-soaked flowers or bloody noses. So it was an improvement, overall.

I know they don’t. It’s more like, I don’t know, sunshine. Or fresh grass. A warm rain… like summer.

He’d jumped on her then, smothered her into his mattress until she was tickling him to get off her.

“What do I smell like?” she’d asked, casual but not quite casual enough. He smiled.

Like daisies. An open field full of wildflowers. A new song, or driving with the windows down. 

She smiled back at him, wide and genuine, packed full of love. And he knew, in that moment, he was happy to spend the rest of his life with her.

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts through his reminiscing. The guy looks like he’s trying not to be annoyed, which makes sense considering he’s attempting to be nice and Steve’s completely zoned out. 

Do you have another concussion? Is it rabies?

He sighs, quiet enough that hopefully Eddie doesn’t assume it’s aimed at him. No, Robs. Just a normal dingus-where-did-you-go zone out. Relax.

She shoots him another glare over her shoulder, but ultimately lets it go.

“Harrington, you still with us?” Eddie laughs it off like a joke, but his eyes are wide, and he’s pressing in close again.

He’s warm, and without thinking, Steve finds himself leaning towards him, too– like magnets.

What magnets?

Never mind, Robs, shut up.

“Yeah Munson, I’m still here.” Steve chuckles, and Eddie relaxes a tad. “Can’t get rid of me that easy. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Worse than an under-water tentacle monster dragging you through hell on your bare-back and almost choking you to death?”

When Eddie puts it like that, Steve really does have to think about it. “What about throwing fireworks at a giant, mind-controlling flesh monster and getting tortured under Star Court by Russian spies who shot me and Robin up with mystery drugs?”

DINGUS! If we haven’t told the Party about our super powers you can’t tell a goddamn stranger like Munson!

Eddie’s eyes are wide and dark again. He chuckles a little too loud, almost deranged. “Yeah, you know what, Harrington, that might be worse.”

They continue to walk in silence. Well, Steve’s silent. He lets Eddie ramble, talking about Dustin, something called a Munson doctrine. He calls Steve a ‘good dude’ at which Steve hopes the sky is dark enough to hide his embarrassed flush.

Eddie says something about the girls jumping in to save him, but he leans in again when he says it, and all Steve can think about is how close he is, the light brush of Eddie’s knuckles against the back of his hand–

What…?

– and the comfort that settles over Steve when he catches Eddie smiling at him. They stop in unison, Eddie leans in close to whisper like it’s a secret.

“But Wheeler, right there, she didn’t waste a second. Not one second. She just dove right in.”

Eddie’s barely shorter than him, just enough that he looks up at Steve through his dark lashes, big, brown, puppy-dog eyes hooked onto his own. He knows guys can be handsome, but he thinks Eddie might be more pretty than handsome.

I’m sorry? What the fuck is happening back there!

“Now, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Eddie says, low and slow. His voice full of honey that soaks into Steve’s brain, the actual words lost in the overwhelming sweetness of everything that is Eddie. “But if I were you, I would get her back. ‘Cause that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.”

Steve can’t stop staring at his lips. They’re so pink and fluffy and biteable, so he leans in, like instinct tells him. Eddie looks surprised, but brushes his finger tips against Steve’s own. He whispers, “Steve…?” like it’s more revelation than question. Eddie’s so close that Steve just–

“Are you fucking kidding me, Steven?” Robin shouts, incredulous and much too loud. Eddie flinches away from him, hides behind his hair like a turtle shrinking back into its shell. Steve’s shoulders droop in disappointment.

Disappointment? Wait. Did I almost just kiss–

“Eddie Munson?” Robin finishes his not-out-loud sentence.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks, nervous as the girl marches towards them, her eyes locked on Steve.

“Yes, Dingus!” Robin completely ignores Eddie’s response in favor of barreling up to Steve, finger so close to his face he goes cross-eyed. “Yes, you were, and oh my god I can’t believe you!”

Robs, I’m kind of freaking out right now. Can you please relax?

“You’re freaking out?” she shouts. Nancy shushes her, but it goes unnoticed. “I’m freaking out! After all this time, after Tammy fucking Thompson, this is happening right now? With– with– ” Robin wildly gestures to Munson. “Goddamn, Steve, you reek of sunflowers right now, oh my god! Just like when Joyce came into the store.”

It’s as dark as it always is, but a flash of red lighting illuminates the red painted across Eddie’s cheeks as he bites on his lip, looking nervous yet almost bashful as he pulls another larger strand of hair across his face.

“Sunflowers? What’s happening right now,” he whispers to Nancy, who shrugs. She answers with a casual, “I’m not sure, they do this a lot.”

“That’s not fair!” Steve quietly shouts back at her. “What’s wrong with–” he glances at Eddie, who flushes again. He’s so pale I bet he’s red down to his…

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Robin throws her hands over her ears and pinches her eyes closed.

Steve forces a smile to cover his gay panic. Shit, am I gay?

“No!” Robin slaps both her hands on either side of his head, mushing his cheeks together. “You’re not g–” she mushes her mouth shut, catching her slip-up just before it tumbled out of her. “And that’s not what that kind of panic means, so don’t call it that.”

“Panic?” Eddie asks, stepping towards them. His eyes are trained on Steve, flashing down to his lips, then back up to catch his gaze. Steve sees something like hope buried beneath Eddie’s tough guy demeanor. “But I thought–” he glances at Nancy before quickly looking away.

Robin rolls her eyes at him, and Eddie backs off a bit. Except his look doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Me?” Nancy asks. “What about me?”

Robin, don’t–

But it’s too late, because at that question, everyone turns to look at Steve.

Over the past few months, Steve’s started growing out his hair. It’s not really in style, but he’s seen a few guys with long hair, and they looked really good. Right now, he wishes it was long enough so he could hide behind it like Eddie. But, then again, he’d also tried growing a mustache, since Freddy Mercury had amazing style– Steve’s always like Queen.

Except my mustache never looked as good as his, so I bet long hair wouldn’t either. Maybe the short hair helps highlight it, like his cheekbones.

Jesus Christ, you’re so obvious. I can crack Russian spy code phrases enough to break into an underground military base but apparently I can’t spot a bisexual within five feet of me.

Steve sighs, dragging his hands down his face at Robin’s inside-mind rambling. Nancy, however, takes it to mean something much different. “Oh, Steve, no.” Her voice is pitying and too nice and it reminds him painfully of the last few months of their relationship. Like she’s talking to a child. “Steve, I’m so sorry, but– I still love Jonathan.”

“I know, Nance, that’s not–”

“Are you kidding me, Wheeler?” Eddie screeches. Steve really doesn’t understand how they’re so lucky that they haven’t been hunted down and eaten by now. 

Eddie’s thrown his hands up in the air, all theatrics as he gawks at her. She backs off, surprised, but quickly recovers and squints her eyes at him, crossing her arms as he continues to ramble. 

“After everything that’s happened? Steve ripping off his sweater, jumping out of the boat and beating a bat to death, then biting its head off, all while soaking wet. I mean, the way he spit that blood out.” Nancy cringes, and yeah, Steve feels the same way, can still taste the black sludge in his nightmares. 

Now that’s gay panic.

I thought that’s not what that means, Rob

Ugh, I regret teaching you things.

Eddie’s still on a roll. “He was so… I mean,” Eddie throws his arms out towards Steve, showing him off like he’s a prized cow, “look at him, Wheeler! And you’re picking Byers?”

To Steve’s surprise, the glowering ferocity in Nancy’s face morphs into a coy smile, eyebrows raised in question to an answer she’s already figured out. Because that’s how Nancy Wheeler, journalist extraordinaire, gets her story. She reads people.

Before Eddie well and truly freaks out at the turn in Nancy’s demeanor, she winks at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “Risky Business?” She giggles and rolls her eyes. 

Then, in a mortifying turn of events, Nancy pulls a strand of her curly hair in front of her face, forces her eyes open, doe-eyed and dark brown, looking up at him through her lashes, then darts her gaze to Eddie. 

Ha! You have a type! Wait, how did Nancy clock you faster than–

“Okay!” It bursts from Steve’s chest, loud enough it shocks the rest of them. They stand quiet, listening to the mundane noises around them, and breathe a sigh of relief at the resounding silence. “This has been fun, really, but why don’t we all just keep going so we can get the hell out of here and go find my– I mean our– no, the little shits.”

This is why they call you mom.

“I’m not a goddamn mom, Robin, how many damn times do I have to tell you guys that?”

“If you’re mommy, does that mean I’m daddy?” The words slip through Eddie’s mouth and, unfortunately, bury themselves into Steve’s brain. Now Steve’s not sure who’s blush is hotter, his or Eddie’s. He’d guess maybe Eddie’s, judging by the way the man grabs Nancy’s arm and hauls her away at a half sprint. 

She laughs at him, lighthearted, and slings her arm through his as they walk side by side. Steve watches as she leans her head towards Eddie’s whispering something into his ear that finally has the man’s shoulder’s relaxing. He bumps his shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture.

Robin turns to look at Steve, really look, with sad, concerned eyes and a twist to her mouth.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It just caught me off guard I guess.

Steve places a light kiss on her dirty forehead. She smiles, grabs his hand in hers, and squeezes once.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[drabblejester]

I love your impression of Sampo!! Like yeah, he'd do This™ and That™ as according to your posts. Like, I think yours has the most simplest yet most accurate depiction of Sampo here!

Could I request Sampo, Gallagher, and Mr. Reca would do on their first date? Inspired from the other ask you did for 'overhearing the confession'

-G⭐

what VARIOUS HSR GUYS would do on your FIRST DATE!

requested by: G⭐️ !!

pairings: sampo, gallagher, and reca x gn!reader

content warnings: none!!!

comments: TYSM FOR THAT MY LIEGE.. i usually ‘dumb’ my sampo down actually bc theres no way i can fit all my thoughts on him into one little postHEEHE!!!

GALLAGHER:

he’d take you to his bar!! easy as that. it’s nothing grand or special, just his good ol bar. he serves you up a few drinks and you have a great time!

mostly, you guys talk. gossip about people, random tabloids you both found, fun facts about the other, etc. that’s also how you get to find out about misha and sleepie (and you adore both of them <3)

he’s much more gentle and warm towards you, quieting down his voice a bit so he isn’t that startling. he still has his drawl and everything, just in a lighter tone. in general it seems like he just got a bit younger!!

he jokes about you helping him out with the bar later, and you agree. so as a ‘second’ date, you guys get to work together! yippee! you get paid with free drinks and your first kiss with him <3

SAMPO:

you guys go visit some historical sites in belobog together!! he’s VERY knowledgable in them, and takes his time with you. you cruise through museums and even out in the cold, pointing at abandoned machinery and cool architecture

he absolutely talks more than you no matter how talkative you may be. partially out of ‘i want this date to go well and for them to see how cool i am’ and also out of ‘I AM SO NERVOUS RN’. thankfully he has a very engaging voice, and you love listening to him ramble :3

he tells a few tall tales in between, typical stories and fairytales that kids would like to hear. makes sense seeing as how he does talk with hook a lot.. and even at your age, they’re still fun and interesting! he’s an incredibly good storyteller

and at the end of the day, he wraps his dingy little jacket around your shoulders and takes you back to wherever he lives. he gives you a few snacks and the most delicious DIY hot chocolate ever before asking you SO many questions about how you thought of the date. you mumble something good before you fall asleep, which is enough for him <3

MR. RECA:

as he said before, he wants to cast you in the starring role of a romance movie with him as your lovely boyfriend. he makes PLENTY of jokes about it too, constantly rambling about how fun it’ll be. it counts as a first date i guess???

you two are an AMAZING duo together onstage and offstage!! his performance is amazing to the point where you actually feel like you’ve fallen for him impossibly more… the role he’s playing is a cheesy romantic ol guy, and AEONSS ABOVEE if you don’t treasure it

he lets you customize your role however you want! so you decide to simply play as yourself to max out your reca romance exposure. he plays along and switches the script around just for you, before going on set to dance around with you a while more

at the end of the day, both of you make lovely comments on your acting (although you weren’t really playing a character), laughing about certain moments in the scenes before he sends you home. and of course, he waits for you to enter your house before he leaves, just like his little gentleman role in the movie <3

i’m going to make some ramen my lieges do you want any

[stllmnstr]

easy mode

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: brother's best friend au

word count: 2.9k

warnings: not explicit but veeeery suggestive, alcohol consumption, swearing, lots and lots of jealousy aka very bthb coded

note: Another reupload! I wrote another ~3k of sacred monsters today and saw this in my drafts and realized I never posted it. If you read it before, I hope you like it just as much! If you haven't, I hope you enjoy!

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung likes to do things the easy way. 

It’s not that he’s lazy, just... efficient. A fan of the path of least resistance. He knows how to pick his battles and does so sparingly. 

Heeseung minds his own business, keeps his eyes on the path in front of him and rarely lets them stray. And he definitely, definitely never pokes his nose into other people’s problems. 

It’s a philosophy that keeps his head on straight, that allows his friendships to remain low-maintenance and sans drama. It’s what’s kept Jay at his side for the last fifteen years, even through the trials and tribulations of elementary school playground altercations, puberty-fueled fights in the middle school locker room, and most recently, the frustrating misalignment of their post-graduation work schedules. 

Four years ago, Heeseung thought a bachelor’s degree would be his ticket to success, not a soul-sucking nine-to-five that leaves him itching for a drink or three most Friday nights. Luckily for him, Jay’s in the same boat. 

But tonight, sitting next to his best friend on his favorite slightly wobbly bar stool, Heeseung almost misses the monotony of their usual Friday evening happy hours. 

He’s nursing his third beer, which would usually go down like cold water, even though time and tipsiness have turned it lukewarm. Tonight, though, Heeseung’s eyes keep wandering towards the same corner table just over Jay’s shoulder. 

And every time they do, the muscle in his jaw strains a little further. The beer on his tongue tastes a little more bitter. 

Heeseung hates making things complicated. He doesn’t get involved. He doesn’t. But–

“Are you gonna do something about that?”

On the adjacent bar stool, Jay glances at Heeseung. “About what?” 

Heeseung just keeps his eyes trained on that table, that spot over Jay’s shoulder. 

Picking up on the hint even through the pleasant haze in his mind, Jay turns his gaze to follow Heeseung’s nonverbal cue. It takes him only a matter of seconds to locate what has his best friend in such a mood. Or rather, who. Although Jay isn’t quite sure why. 

He’s digging for clarification when he looks back at his friend. “What do you mean? Did she do something weird?” It wouldn’t be exactly unlike his younger sister to do something slightly embarrassing in public. 

Heeseung’s jaw just tightens further, betraying annoyance. Finally, he puts words to his irritation, saves Jay from his suspense. “You’re gonna let that idiot put his hands all over your little sister in the middle of the bar?”

Jay frowns, turns over his shoulder once again to make sure he isn’t seeing things. 

He’s not. From this angle, at least, Sunghoon’s hands are at a perfectly respectable distance from you. Not that Jay could do much about it either way. 

He tells Heeseung as much. “What am I supposed to do? Drag her out by her ear and force her to join a convent? Ship her off to a girls only boarding school?” 

Jay laughs humorlessly. He’s not exactly thrilled that you and your friends chose to patronize the same bar as him and Heeseung tonight, but he doesn’t want to linger on it either. In fact, he doesn’t want to do anything but forget his woes this evening, drown his sorrows in overpriced pints of whatever’s on tap. 

He’s perfectly happy with his back turned towards you. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. “She’s twenty-two.”

And that wasn’t what Heeseung was suggesting exactly, but now that Jay mentions it…

“You’re okay with Park trying to play tonsil tennis with her then?”

“Dude,” Jay winces, setting his beer down on the bar, stomach suddenly queasy. “Gross. That’s still my little sister.”

Which is exactly the card Heeseung is hoping he’ll play. But all Jay does is sigh. If Heeseung didn’t know better, he’d think the exasperation was directed at him instead of the loser he’s pretty sure is currently trying to make himself Jay’s future brother-in-law. 

Jay checks over his shoulder one final time for good measure. It confirms whatever he’s looking for. Mostly the fact that Park Sunghoon’s lips are too busy cracking mediocre jokes to be making sloppy passes at his sister in public. 

Hoping to put it to rest once and for all, he turns back to Heeseung. “Besides, it’s Sunghoon,” Jay reasons. He finds it in himself to reach for his beer again. “She’s known him since preschool. He’s practically like a second brother to her.” Jay takes a sip, misreading the rise in Heeseung’s agitation as familial affection. Trying to soothe it over, he concedes with a nod, “Or third, I guess. I’ll let you be her second.”

Like always, Heeseung lets it go. He goes with the flow, rolls with the punches. 

Well, at least on the outside. 

But even if he weren’t so committed to never rocking the boat, this is hardly the time or place to correct Jay’s assumptions that his feelings towards you are anything but brotherly. 

That, he decides, will have to be a revelation for another time. Preferably in a situation where Heeseung is well out of arm’s reach and Jay is in restraints of some sort. 

Those, after all, are the only circumstances in which he could ever disclose just how decidedly not brotherly his feelings towards you are. 

In fact, his feelings are a lot more aligned with that stupid game you used to make him play as kids. The one where you put on the white dress you’d gotten from your cousin as a hand-me-down, an assortment of grape juice, finger paint, and pasta sauce stains scattered along the hemline. 

The one where you’d gather a bunch of dandelions from your overgrown backyard and call them a bouquet. 

The one where you’d live out all your grandest six-year-old dreams of walking down the aisle towards a handsome prince with the latest Kidz Bop rendition of whatever love song was most popular on the radio crackling through the cheap speaker you stole from Jay’s bedroom. 

The one where you’d drag Heeseung away from the player number two console, much to Jay’s unending annoyance, and force him to play the part of your groom. Even at six, you were a force to be reckoned with. An argument-winning fiend that even your older brother could rarely best in a fight. 

Heeseung played along, more than anything, because he was scared to face your wrath if he declined. But he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t feel a little funny in his chest every time he watched you walk down a makeshift aisle made from your mother’s missing tablecloth. 

So no, Heeseung doesn’t give a shit how long you’ve known Sunghoon. After all, what does Sunghoon know about your childhood dream to get married in a garden full of roses? Judging from the way it looks like he keeps trying to get you to take a sip of his drink, he doesn't even know you can’t stand the taste of Coke mixed with liquor. 

But Heeseung knows. He was there the night you developed the aversion. The night you decided bottom shelf tequila and the soda you snuck from your parent’s fridge were your best friends for the evening after junior prom. The night he held your hair and rubbed soothing circles into the skin between your shoulders as it came back up a few hours later. 

And he was there for the rest of it, too. All of the little moments, the big moments, and everything in between that spun the tapestry of your formative years. 

The day you finally got your braces off and didn’t stop smiling for three weeks straight. The time you sprained your ankle trying to hide Jay’s favorite pair of sneakers in the alarmingly tall tree in your backyard. The night you cried for four hours straight when you found out Jake Sim from biology was a big, fat, liar that was indeed texting other girls for homework answers. 

There may have been moments, tangled up in that swirling mix of memories, when Heeseung felt nothing but a brotherly sort of affection for you. A desire to protect you from the world and a distinct sort of pride when he inevitably failed and you rose to the challenge anyway. 

But Heeseung also remembers what it felt like to stand across from you as you recited your six-year-old attempt at recreating marriage vows, and he thinks he never really stood a chance. 

So tonight, glancing over Jay’s shoulder again, Heeseung watches as you lean a little further into Sunghoon, straining to hear him over the cacophony in the bar. 

And the anger he feels in his gut is not brotherly in the slightest. Nor is the red, hot, scalding jealousy that burns his throat every time he forces himself to swallow it down. 

Searching for a distraction, he busies himself with his beer once again, letting Jay’s unwanted evaluations fall to the wayside for the time being. 

Immersed in the dregs of his own despair, he almost misses it. The flash of movement as you slide out from your seat next to Sunghoon. 

His eyes track your movement with the quiet focus of a predator on the hunt, watching as you disappear around the corner. 

Heeseung mumbles some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom that Jay only partially hears before he’s stepping off of his bar stool, beer forgotten on the counter behind him. 

Your footsteps are easy to follow as he traces the predictable path you forge to the opposite corner of the bar. Heeseung’s bathroom excuse was a good one, he’s pleased to discover, once he realizes that’s precisely where he’ll be meeting you. 

The line is long, but it moves quickly. Only a handful of minutes have passed when you emerge again. This time, Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give you the chance to walk back and make him watch you from a distance for the rest of the evening. 

Doesn’t give you the chance to so much as look at Park Sunghoon again. 

Instead, he wraps long fingers around the skin of your wrist, dragging you to the adjacent hallway where it’s empty, quiet. Secluded. Away from any wandering eyes or unwanted ears. 

Any protests of yours are overtaken by surprise, and by the time you finally find them again, they’re replaced by questions. 

Heeseung may be a captain of a steady ship, a firm believer in the merits of smooth sailing, but he’s never been able to resist the urge of liminal spaces like these. Moments with enough plausible deniability that Jay won’t have a reason to give him a bloody nose or threaten his life if he so much as looks at his little sister again. Exchanges that he hopes will linger with you long after the two of you have parted ways. 

Desire for ambiguity aside, the position he puts you in is compromising no matter how you spin it. Your back against the wall, Heeseung leans over you, cages you in like he’s after something other than your answers. 

Something more. 

But the gap between your bodies is deliberate, a way for him to backtrack if the situation calls for it. An escape route if he needs it. He really, really hopes he won’t. 

Your wrist is still in his grip, light but demanding, when he finally says, “Park Sunghoon? Really?”

He can’t help it, the way his words are warped with poorly disguised venom. He really cannot stand the guy. 

“What?” You hope you can blame the obvious breathlessness in your voice on shock. “What are you–?”

Heeseung won’t leave you wondering for long. “You think he can handle you?” With the way you’re wrapped up in Heeseung’s hold, the challenge, the comparison, is apparent. 

Your shock morphs. Hardens. Gaze narrowing, you relax a little into his grip. 

Your words, however, remain combative. “Handle me? Am I a wild animal?” You scoff. “I don’t need to be han–”

And, oh, this is Heeseung’s favorite kind of tightrope. His very best balancing act. He loves it, thrives on it, revels in it. 

This exchange of heated words that never go anyway but to your head. He hopes you’re seeing fucking stars. 

Heeseung leans an inch closer. He’s breaching dangerous territory. He’ll blame it on the alcohol if he has to. Glancing at your eyes, holding your gaze, he doesn’t think he will. 

“Who said anything about you needing it?” He’s so close that you feel his breath on your cheekbone, ghosting across your temple. It’s warm, leaves your skin tingling in its wake. “I’m talking about what you want.”

Something unreadable flickers through your gaze. If Heeseung didn’t know any better, he’d call it desire. But it disappears before he can name it, replaced with contempt. As if Heeseung is nothing but a pest, a fly to swat at until it stops buzzing. “Awful presumptuous, don’t you think?”

Heeseung only grins. He’s not like this, usually. Even when his intentions are less than pure. Just like everything else, he flirts in obvious ways. He doesn’t play games or speak in riddles or hope that subtleties will do the job for him. 

But it’s just so easy with you. “I don’t know.” He leans in closer. “There are a few ways we could find out, though.”

If your breath stutters, you’ll disguise it as another scoff. “Pray tell.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Heeseung inclines his head in a mockery of an apology. Pet names are another thing he keeps reserved for these stolen moments with you. Another exception to the rule that he refuses to examine further. 

For a moment, he lets his eyes do what they want. You feel the heat they scorch in their path from your nose to your chin back up to your molten gaze. 

“I’d rather show you.” Heeseung pauses, biting at his bottom lip. “But I don’t think I can do any of the things I want in public.”

You hate the way he does this. The way he never says what he means. The way he skirts around his desires with such heavy footsteps but still leaves you feeling foolish for drawing obvious conclusions. 

The way your heartbeat stutters regardless. But tonight, you’ll hold firm. If he wants anything from you, he’ll have to spell it out. “What are you saying?”

Heeseung is as evasive as always. “I’m saying that Sunghoon’s too nice for you.” There’s a hard edge in his eyes when he adds, “You’ll eat him alive and still be begging for more.”

Fine. If he wants to play games, then you’ll roll the dice too. Make scathing comments and heated taunts with whatever numbers you land on. 

This time, it’s you that leans in. “Should I make sure to find you, then? When I’m all done with him?”

Heeseung’s eyes light up with a renewed vigor. You can’t tell if he’s furious or the most delighted you’ve ever seen him. “Careful,” he breathes. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing at.”

You smile. Sweetly. Innocently. Leaning in further, your mouth is scant inches from his. 

“I’m not playing at anything.” It’s a blatant lie, but you’ve become well acquainted with denial, too. Picked up a few tricks from the master himself. “You’re the one that dragged me here and started demanding that I ditch my friend.”

Heeseung grins as if you serve no purpose but to amuse him. But there’s a hard edge in his voice when he asks, “You let all your friends look at you like that?”

“Only the ones I really like.”

And now you’re under his skin. Exactly where you want to be. “Careful,” he repeats, even lower this time. “I’m not as nice as him.”

You won’t heed any warnings, and especially not ones given from him. 

Heeseung is all talk. All bark and no bite. You almost wish he would bare teeth, just once. 

But Jay is still sitting on a barstool just one room over, and no matter how much he likes toying with you, you have the sinking suspicion that Heeseung’s loyalty will always begin and end with his best friend. 

He’ll press up against the line, will skirt the edge of the boundaries between you every chance he gets, but you’ve yet to see any indication that he’ll ever cross it. 

Just once, you want to be the one with him wrapped around your finger. Want to watch him become putty in your hands. 

“What are you gonna do?” Unblinking, you hold his gaze. “Handle me?”

A blurred line dissolves completely. Heeseung’s resolve slips, just a fraction. His eyes are still guarded, yes, but there’s a desperation that wasn’t there before. “Is that an invitation?”

“A challenge,” you correct, taking advantage of his sudden surprise to slide out of his grasp, maneuvering away from his hold. This time, he has no choice but to turn as you begin to back away, to let his eyes follow your lead. 

The misstep might have been miniscule, but it was enough to tip the balance.

For once, the results of this game are under your sole control. You have choices, ones that would leave him in the dust and ones that would put a trophy in his wandering hands. 

In the end, you discard it all. You have only one final demand for him. It’s a whisper that’s barely audible, “Rise to it.”

Heeseung doesn’t need to hear it twice. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Thanks for reading :) If you enjoyed, let me know!

[smiletimeisrunningout]

Ben's words and expression reminded Emma of the way he spoke of his youth, of his lack of experience with women, how he believed himself to be not quite the looker as a boy. He clearly didn't enjoy being easily embarrassed now, especially when it came to bedding people, and she knew as a man he'd hardly find people encouraging that side of him. It was so silly, to think of how they were encouraged to act like they had no weaknesses, and she may have felt the same about the matter, had she not been raised by a man like her father.

"Make no mistake, I would not want you to be any different," she decided to say then, bringing a hand to his cheek and cupping it gently, "Even the parts of you I can't read because I'm all sorts of confused by my own feelings. If you'll ever choose to come home with me, you'll be welcomed to spend your days reading to kids and looking for new poems and books. You'll never have to be calm and collected unless you wish to be."

Although there was something funny about thinking of Ben living the life of retirement and lazy days that she had planned for her hypothetical future old husband, and instead of that happening because she only needed a husband to have her throne it would be because she had a husband she liked.

"Or you could do whatever you want, I'm making it sound like I'm going to... hold you hostage like some sort of beauty in the tower." God, she had almost said 'marry you'. So much for going as slow as possible. "I just meant to say that I don't want you to change one bit for me, I like you the way you are. Besides the part where you grow double the patience you have now, so you can withstand my moods."

"Oh, come on, it can't be that bad, I would love for you to show me and prove me wrong."

"The side of my bed has a few canvas, you have my permission to check because they are landscapes and, unlike faces, they actually look decent," she offered, adjusting her position on the bed; it hurt, again, and Emma wondered how long it would take before she'd be able to just kiss him as much as she'd like. He was so interested, and so damn kissable. "The next time I'm not dying and we can go out, we'll find a place where I can sing, then. I doubt the rest of your army would be keen. They have more important things to deal with... you don't, anymore, because you have chosen to court me and you must act accordingly," she teased, giving his cheek a light tap.

"I'll finally convince you that books aren't so bad -- or at the very least, listening along to a good story?"

"See, the compromise is right there: you read a book you like, you tell me about it. Much better if you want me to pay attention from beginning to end. Plus, it won't harm me like reading. The headaches just aren't worth it, when I can be told the story." She was surprised whenever she met people who were so dedicated to books; her father loved reading, but he didn't have enough time to do so, so she figured he didn't have to battle with the inevitable headaches as much, but August and Ben? Masochists.

I'm not so sure I can reciprocate, but that's because I only tend to fall into bed with those I...w-well, I prefer meaning to my dalliances-" "Oh, sweetie," she whispered, smiling in reassurance. "-And clearly, I hadn't found that before you, since you were...y-you were my... My first."

"No, I know that, and that's lovely, really. I would never expect you to drop your values for me," she assured him, "There is nothing wrong with you waiting, you know that. In fact, you should be proud: you did it the way you wanted, when you wanted, and not because you felt you had to. That takes guts. I may not share the... uh... philosophy behind it, but I will defend it until the end of days." Though it was still odd to her that he hadn't been taken aback by her history. "I don't... I think I don't really kiss much, if there is no feeling behind it? Even if, in my case, generally the feeling was friendship, I suppose to me it's kissing that required some meaning. It feels so intimate. Like holding hands."

She took his hand, not just to make a point but to feel just how natural it was. She may lay with a stranger, but she certainly would not hold hands with him.

"In fact, I've been told I'm rather hotheaded, and despite my father's valiant efforts, I'm not the best with sharing, either. Not that I intend to."

Her gasp was far too intrigued, "You are jealous?" she asked in delight, "Oh, that sounds fun. We have to revisit that once I have healed enough... Naturally, you know you don't need to worry about me looking at other men, I find the thought of cheating repulsive." That and when she had met Selah Strong in passing and had properly ogled him, she had almost died on the spot after Caleb had explained he was married to their friend Anna. Her horror at having looked at the man for too long had even entertained James, who had apparently expected her 'not to care' on account of her being 'so carefree', which he had not meant as an insult, but had horrified her even more. No, taken men were off-limits, and so was she as a taken woman. "But if you wish to deck someone because they cross a line with me or something of the sort, please make sure I'm there."

"Perhaps my fear made you appear more... calm and collected about the whole ordeal than you actually were," she suggested, which wasn't an unfair assumption. "I do hope I'll get to see that... gollumpus you speak of. He seems just my type."

Benjamin grinned, his eyes shining self-consciously. "Trust me: no one has ever called me calm and collected, and least especially when it comes to protecting those I love. But if my gollumpus side is the one you're yearning for, I just might have some competition on my hands."

All the naked things?

Yet again, Benjamin felt a damnable spread of heat searing across his face as he laughed, darting his eyes in between her face and the ground. He wasn't sure why after all this time he was still shy at such talk -- especially since she'd never exactly been withholding when it came to her candidness -- but with a shake of his head, he softly reassured, "No, I...w-well, according to Caleb, I'm very much like an open book. If I like someone, or dislike them, it's plain as day... But apparently not to those who truly matter."

Emma was quick to dismiss any artistic pursuits. Despite her typical self-deprecation (something that he, himself, tended to mirror in his own behavior), Benjamin found himself laughing at the idea. "Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," he said. "I would love for you to show me and prove me wrong."

When she brought up singing, he perked up. "I've heard you were fond of it," he allowed, "but I've never actually been privy to a concert. I was always out and about, or busying myself with papers, and...other tasks."

It occurred to him then that Emma wasn't wholly privy to the ring. Perhaps he should tell her someday, he thought, if she wished to be given the ultimate sign of his trust and admiration.

Seemingly oblivious to his inner conflict, Emma continued, "Considering that, it's odd that I miss painting. But I... like the idea of doing that while you read... doing that sort of thing together, as in sharing a room. Or tent, in this case."

"I like that too," Benjamin softly reassured. "And maybe one day, one day, I'll finally convince you that books aren't so bad -- or at the very least, listening along to a good story?"

Emma appeared rather embarrassed, but before he could ask what he'd done, she was quick to turn around and embarrass him. "I assure you," she coyly said, "had you been inclined, I would have taken you to bed long before knowing you as a person. Just because of your looks. Multiple women being interested in you is not out of the realm of possibilities."

"I...thank you?" Benjamin stammered, his brows scrunching with a self-conscious chuckle. "I'm not so sure I can reciprocate, but that's because I only tend to fall into bed with those I...w-well, I prefer meaning to my dalliances. And clearly, I hadn't found that before you, since you were...y-you were my..." Awkwardly, he waved a hand before shyly concluding, "My first."

Emma rattled off all the ways other women could be jealous -- the idea seemed absurd to him, if he was being honest -- yet she was quick to denounce such thoughts. "That sounds horrible," she decided. "I hope my status will scare them away. You are lucky no one has tried to woo me here so you don't need to witness it, but I'll have to prepare so I can have a proper ladylike reaction, it's not as if I can fight them, they are ladies."

Benjamin scoffed. "You are lucky for that, too," he challenged. "I confess, I've never had to keep menfolk away from a woman, but I do know I'm not much for jealousy. In fact, I've been told I'm rather hotheaded, and despite my father's valiant efforts, I'm not the best with sharing, either. Not that I intend to." He flashed a lopsided smile. "I'll share your time here and there, but anything else risks that gollumpus we talked about coming into play."

[realvicoba]

Is Gon dense?

Is he oblivious to Killua's emotions? Or does he simply not care?

Well 🤓☝️ let's talk about it!

Gon loves Killua a bunch, that is something we know because he says so. He's his first friend, the way Gon is Killua's first, and he's important enough to make Gon want to spend the rest of his life with him.

1) He says Killua's the only one for him (volleyball match)

2) that he's fun to be around (stargazing on whale island)

3) he is more confident and is able to be more selfish with him out of trust (volleyball match)

4) he's able to calm down when Killua touches him, like water to a flame (jajanken against morel)

5) he listens to Killua as much as possible, even while lost in vengeful anger (not killing Pitou instantly and choosing to wait, believing Killua's judgment despite his own thoughts on the matter)

Just a few little instances where we're shown how important Killua is to Gon, and how he proves so by his words and actions. He definitely loves him, and while I do think it's a pure love not yet categorized into romance— does that mean he's dense to what Killua feels?

Whether it is romantic or strictly platonic, Killua's feelings for his best friend run incredibly deep. It's a profound kind of love that makes him selfless and loyal, a kind of love that makes him willing to die alongside him— it's something that's difficult to process, let alone speak of. We spend a lot of time in his head, enough to figure out that Killua has to resort to metaphors and idioms to describe those feelings.

"Gon is light."

And he's willing to go down in flames with that light, as lovers.

And we're always led to believe that everyone can see the extent of those feelings but Gon himself— while we're shown that Gon's usually the first to notice the littlest details.

The first time we really see that well is in the volleyball match. After the first throw, Gon looks surprised when Killua holds the ball again and gets ready for a second punch. Gon is well aware that Killua's hurt, and wasn't planning to go for a second time due to the fact— until he saw the determination from his best friend who'd mentioned that he had nothing to be determined for months prior. It's unspoken, and even Killua hadn't noticed that Gon knew about his hands until he had voiced it out loud.

Gon is perceptive, and a lot more emotionally intelligent than we give him credit for— just not necessarily adept at processing some difficult emotions with maturity and grace. Still, he's able to tell and understand a lot about other people, especially his best friend.

Another time we see him notice something about Killua but not voice it immediately was right after the date with Palm. Killua carried him out, and he noticed a difference in demeanor and the small injury on his forehead, which he later brings up. Though in that case, Killua was more dismissive.

So with Gon having noticed those little details that Killua was making some efforts to hide, we can tell that he's not blind to subtle changes. And with how he'd gone along with him and opted to not bring it up instantly, we can tell that he's aware of Killua's more secretive nature when it comes to his feelings— it wouldn't be far fetched to say that Gon was able to tell that there are things Killua can't talk about, emotions he simply can't afford to share. It makes sense that Gon wants to give him that space, because he's not one to force discomfort onto loved ones (at least not intentionally).

So, is he dense and oblivious?

I don't think so! 🤓☝️

If anything, he's the opposite! Killua just puts effort into hiding and avoiding certain topics, and Gon simply respects him and doesn't want to pry into uncomfortable territory. He's waiting for when it's necessary, when he's asked, or when he just thinks is the right time to bring certain things up— which could either be never or whenever Killua himself is ready.

After all, he must be pretty aware of Killua's more cold exterior, being the one who carried a lot of the emotional load at the beginning of the series (befriending and comforting Canary and Gotoh in Killua's place, being a more active voice of kindness with Zushi, and accepting Bisky's help for the both of them when Killua was still hesitant)

So you can say that while Killua is there to protect and care for Gon (mostly) physically, Gon is the one caring for Killua emotionally. He just can't do it perfectly when the boy is so secretive, and he himself is still a preteen who went through something he wasn't equipped with handling at all. In a way, the CAA also highlighted Killua's codependence on the emotional regulation Gon has (at least when he's not being a bit too selfish), and put Killua on the spot with his own underdeveloped sense of emotions.

Ughhh they're so silly....

What do you guys think?

[signanothername]

What do u think of the trope where Blue/Swap joins the bad guy???

I have complicated feelings about it?

I love the trope in of itself, I think it would be a really interesting trope to explore

The problem tho? I never once saw it executed in a way that grabbed my attention or made me actually love the story it was used in

It immediately goes to the “asshole” Dream and Ink and “kind found family” Nightmare gang trope

Which again, if you don’t know, I hate the trope of Dream being somehow an asshole or somehow treating Swap as tho he’s less than him

Ink is a whole different story where the fandom simply villainize him just cause he’s soulless

And the kind found family Nightmare gang is a trope I love, but just like the trope of Blue joining the Nightmare gang, it’s poorly executed most of the time (and I mean, how can you call it a “Blue joins the bad guys” when the “bad guys” are shown to be good guys????)

Like, I opened so many different fics only to be hit with the same execution of this trope over and over, eventually just losing interest bxhxhdhdh

The idea of Swap not being able to “keep up” with Ink and Dream or is somehow neglecting himself to take care of Dream just doesn’t really intrigue me (or even make sense to me)

Like don’t get me me wrong, I’m an absolute sucker for the “Swap is literally the only anchor Dream has left in his life otherwise he’d fucking break down” but I dare say Swap is more than capable of handling it without it weighing him down to a significant degree

This is Swap for god’s sake, he’s literally Papyrus’ personality but in a Sans body, if anything, he’s the one who has his shit together the most and is able to go on with a genuine happy and determined smile on his face, no matter the shit that happens to him, it would make a lot more sense for Dream to be the one to try and catch up with Swap than the other way around

I get that the trope tries to show the limitations of Swap as a mortal compared to Dream and Ink who are both pretty much immortal, but what people tend to do is that they completely twist Swap to be absolutely pathetic just for this trope to work

Which *shakes the fandom* I promise you don’t have to completely change a character up to make a trope work

Like I saw stories that made Blue to be somehow a weak depressed anxious guy trying so hard and is failing and whatnot and I question myself whether that’s even Swap anymore hchcchcjvj

I think the problem I usually see when people try and write different tropes for different characters, is that they try to make the trope make sense, and so they twist the character around to fit around the trope

Which, imho, is ineffective, you should understand the character, and then think of how the character would deal with a certain situation and how that leads to the trope you’re trying to write, one step at a time without having to ignore/erase important personality traits of the character

Of course, that doesn’t mean the trope you’re trying to write can’t fundamentally change the perception, personality, or behavior of a character, but you have to show how it affects the character to such a fundamental degree, show how can the character be heavily influenced and affected in a way that makes sense for said character

For example, I’ve seen people write Swap neglecting to eat cause he’s trying to “keep up” or sometimes Dream and Ink don’t give him the chance to cause they pressure him to go on another mission or push him too hard

Here are some problems I see with this:

- why is the Nightmare gang even somehow attacking every single day? Have they got nothing better to do? Especially with the fact they’re a found family now?

- why is Dream and Ink going out for “missions” every day if the Nightmares aren’t attacking, like damn what are they even doing?? What are these “important missions”?? Since when was Ink so obsessed with “missions”?

- Swap would absolutely not let that shit stand, if anything, he’d be very vocal about it and tell Dream and Ink to sit down and eat his great delicious tacos (Swap’s voice always has power behind it, and his actions are a direct reflection of his beliefs not what others push him to do)

- Ink has a home in the doodlesphere, he wouldn’t even be around enough to push Blue, while Swap has an AU and a brother, there is pretty much no way he’d be with Dream and Ink 24/7, and if he was somehow, you think Swap Paps would let it slide? And even if we go with the idea of Swap not being part of an AU anymore, you think Swap himself would neglect himself just to please others even when it doesn’t align with his own beliefs?

And those are only few of the top of my head, I’m pretty sure if I sat down and thought about this for a few hours, I’d be able to write you a whole other set of problems

Not saying you can never write Swap neglecting to eat, you absolutely can, it’s just needs to make sense for Swap as a character, what would it take for Swap to start neglecting his health? It’s not others pressuring him or pushing him I can tell you that much

So yeah, good trope, not so good execution (for me at least)

I guess I’m way too focused on the logic of it to truly enjoy it for what it is, but then again I always love to complicate things way more than I need to

Not every trope or story has to make sense completely, but I guess seeing Swap be completely made into a pathetic mess with no actual grounds to support it beyond “he’s mortal and his friends aren’t“ just ruins it for me dhdhhdhd

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

he set my house on fire, you lit my heart ablaze; when the smoke cleared, you stayed, coughing up ash with me.

jh86 x reader: the revenge plot doesn't go as planned (ft. ex-fiance am34).

(warnings: blasphemous filth (it's on the tamer side, i think), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), spit and descriptions of bodies and stuff like that, hair pulling (big fan), lots of talk about toxic relationships and being mean and using people and sad moments (we can thank this fictional am34 for that), oh, and slight bullying of tz11). idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: round two? you liked this one a lot the first time around. i hope it's just as good as you remember. much love to you and your snakes).

since you were a young girl, you had known that your greatest motivation, your deepest truth, perhaps your fatal flaw, was just how deeply you felt.

when you were little, that meant tears came easily, anger festered like weeds in a prized garden, and happiness felt like flying.

it also meant you could read others' emotions almost as clearly as your own.

it made you different, it made you a good friend, it made you the person you were. for much of your life, you had made peace with the fact that your well of emotions went deeper than others. you had loved that part of yourself, even.

but the night you broke off your engagement to auston matthews, you wanted nothing more than for everything you were feeling to disappear, to evaporate into the air as if it had never been.

"you couldn't've at least tried to hide it from me?" you had said, willing your fragile voice not to break.

and he had sat at the kitchen counter, that massive body on the stool that you had carefully selected for the house that you shared, that you thought you would share forever. and he had sighed, sounded almost annoyed. "would that have made it better, angel?"

his indifference coated your bones like lead paint. that name, once one you felt would call you out of a coma, would lead you out of hell like a northern star, now felt like nothing but a condescending, patronizing taunt. silly, stupid angel, the god might as well have said, how could you think you could ever be enough?

understanding settled like ash on your eyelashes. "you think i'll forgive you," you said, little more than a whisper. "you think i won't leave."

he scoffed at that, then. at you. "and go where?" he asked, sounding almost genuine. "where do you have to go?"

how superficially he knew you, it seemed, at that moment. how had you not seen this before?

"you honestly think i could ever look at you the same?" you asked.

he shrugged, his shoulders so imposing, stature so suddenly frightening. a body you knew better than your own, suddenly foreign. a ghost. "maybe differently, but still looking," he said, "your eyes have only ever followed me, angel."

and maybe he was right, but you were done proving him so.

"send my things to my parents' place," you said, cold, devoid of anything. emotion welled up in you like a flood, but you froze it before it could crest through your mouth, come out like some mythical fire-breathing dragon. you slipped off your ring, placed it on the counter.

you didn't feel lighter without it, though. you felt so devastatingly heavy, like cinder blocks were tied to your ankles, like liquid stone filled your head.

"are you kidding?" he asked. to your silence, careful pause, he tilted his head, shook it once. "you're just gonna quit?"

your hands were shaking. you could feel rage rattle through your body, shake your bones. you clenched your fist so tightly you wondered if blood would drip from your palms, stain the light hardwood floor that you had spent so long deciding on. "how dare you," you said, begging your quivering lip to still.

his smirk was cruel. "not like it matters," he mused. "you've never been able to quit me."

you had seen him mean. on the ice, sometimes to journalists, sometimes to fans, sometimes to you, even. but this was past mean. this was past elementary bullying, past joking insults that don't land. he was trying to call your bluff, trying to push you into forgiveness, trying to hurt you.

"watch me," you said, your voice made of ancient rock.

"are you mad because she's hotter than you?" he asked, his brow contorted in false concern. "is that it?"

despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your mouth. a smile that made your eyes glitter. a smile that should have scared him. a warning.

"she is beautiful," you conceded, because she was. what good would it do you to deny that? you approached him, then, in his personal space for what you believed would be the last time. he turned to you, your eyes meeting in a clash, like sword on sword. cruel, brutal arrogance and pure, pretty wrath. you held the side of his face in one palm, the other hand resting on his shoulder. "but when a beautiful person hits on me, auston, i say no."

his eyes flickered down to your mouth, simmering with lust. you laughed at this, at him, raw and true, let pity soak your tone like acid. "i'm not mad at her, auston," you admitted truthfully. "i'm not even mad at you." you patted his cheek, perhaps a little harder than you needed to. "i'm just so disappointed."

that had been weeks ago. you had moved back to the states, so embarrassed on the plane at how you couldn't stop the tears from flowing, until finally you were back with your parents in new jersey. they had welcomed you so warmly, so easily. it had taken a few weeks for the tears to finally slow, for the utter devastation to fade, for your red eyes to brighten again.

at first, it had been hard to remember anything but how his embrace felt like home, how tightly he hugged you after games, how his eyes shone when he laughed, how he had teared up when you had accepted his proposal, how he had gushed about picking the right ring.

but as the sadness faded, as it festered into something much more serious, you remembered less of the fairytale moments, less of his perfect smile, less of the "pretty girl" utterances in his rough bedroom rasp. soon the sadness gave way to steely rage, to an almost bloodthirsty need for revenge. for him to hurt the way he had hurt you.

and no one does bloodthirsty like a group of university-age girls. after catching up with your childhood friends, and getting them caught up on your situation, you looked at your confidants with eager eyes. "what do i do?"

your best friend from high school spoke first, banging her fist on the table. "burn his house down?" she offered. "steal his dog?"

her friend from college put a gentle hand over her fist, "i think for now we try to avoid the federal crimes," she said, then turned to you. "when my ex cheated on me, i got with the lead singer of his favorite band." her eyes shimmered. "and then bought his dream car and wrapped it pink."

you giggled in delight. "oh, you're good."

your childhood friend nodded. "pyschological warfare." she looked at you. "who's his idol?"

you thought for a moment, tapped your fingers on the table. "i don't know if idol is what i should be going for," you thought out loud.

"who's someone who would make him uncomfortable? insecure?"

"his dad!" your friend said, making you shake in a laugh.

"his biggest insecurity is the spotlight leaving and not coming back," you told them. you had known that for a long time.

"being forgotten?" your friend asked.

"being replaced," you said, your eyes widening with understanding. "with someone better. more promising." you shared a look with your friends, felt anger solidify into a plan. into hope.

"you look like you have someone in mind."

a memory flashed across your mind like a shooting star, engulfed in flame.

"how was the game, aus?" you had asked when he got home, stirring the pot of soup on the stove.

you heard some kind of grumble as he dropped his things in the mudroom, made his way into the kitchen.

"what's wrong?" you asked when you met his eyes, sensing something wrong like smoke in the air.

"just this young kid," he muttered. "'s nothing, really."

and you knew then that it wasn't just nothing, because he never tried to hide things from you, to diminish his feelings, unless it was really bothering him.

you turned the stove off, approached him, wrapped your arms around his middle and hugged him tight. "who's this new kid?" you asked, muffled by his chest.

his arms pulled your closer, tighter. this had always been where you felt warmest, safest. "some h name," he muttered. "hicks? hughes, maybe?"

you smiled into his chest, knowing him, and knowing he would never have forgotten the name of this kid. knowing auston matthews never forgets people who make him feel like anything other than the world's brightest star.

"whoever he is, probably just had the game of his life," you had said, your voice a comforting lullaby. you had pressed yourself up on your tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "nothing to worry about, yeah?"

he had smiled back at you, but something dark had swirled behind his gaze. something like knowing, like ominous understanding, like an empire, falling. "already forgotten, angel," he had said, but you knew, even then, that he was lying.

the memory fizzed and dissolved like baking soda in vinegar.

you looked at your friends and smiled. "what do you guys know about jack hughes?"

from there it was surprisingly easy to shift from a tangent line outside jack hughes's circle to someone inside of it. you were patient, too, careful not to rush. you wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect, after all, refused to enact any plan that wouldn't end in exactly the revenge you sought.

one of the other wags from toronto, whom you had grown close to, insisted on helping, giving you the numbers of some friends close to the devils.

"i'm honestly so, so proud of you for leaving," she had told you over the phone, her voice nothing but genuine, knowing. "all of us, we all knew you were way too good for him."

"did you?" you asked, maybe a little shocked. having been so completely deceived, so absolutely blind, for so long, it was interesting that others had not been as deluded as you. to hear their perspective, to see what you had not been able to before.

"sweetheart," she said, gently, "everyone who meets you can see that you're good. that you deserve someone good." there was a pause. "and everyone also sees that he was never that."

you let her words settle like glitter on a childhood craft. "thank you," you said. "i miss you."

"we miss you so much. see you soon?"

you agreed, thanked her for her help.

"i hope he's good," were her closing words. "maybe better, at least."

having started classes with your old friends, intent on finishing the degree you had so quickly and thoughtless abandoned for auston, you had ample time to plot.

"feels like we're in a spy movie, or something," your friend had said excitedly.

"we'll be your guys in the chair," the other chimed in. "here the whole way."

the rest of the initial plan came easily, with the help of the people who were on your side, which you quickly learned was a group made up of more people than you thought.

very soon, it was time for step one, and you were in front of your mirror, having just finished getting ready, your friends by your side.

you took a deep breath. "what if this isn't a good idea?" you whispered.

they squeezed at your hands. "no going back now, okay? we'll be there the whole time."

"what if he's not interested?"

"look at yourself," one of them said, "don't be stupid."

"what is he thinks i'm a crazy stalker?"

your oldest friend shrugged, her eyes full of mischief. "what if you are?"

so you found yourself at a dingy, run down bar, the lights low. according to your contacts, this was where the team and their friends came after home games.

when was the last time you had come to a bar looking for something? for someone? it felt distantly familiar, but so strange, like hearing a language you spoke as a child but that hadn't graced your tongue in decades.

you had been with auston for years, after all, having met him when you were 19, him 23. a whirlwind, a tornado, a perfect tempest of pink dust and white teeth. a proposal two years later, a break off a year further.

you were 22 now, and had never felt further from your nineteen-year-old self. a foolish child, a delicate doll, a phantom cloaked in a desperate desire for acceptance, for love.

you didn't know how to flirt in this new body, new being. you didn't even really know to how flirt with anyone but auston - it had been so long since you wanted anyone else. and you didn't even really want jack, at this point. you just wanted justice.

a cluster of motion and noise behind you ripped you from your thoughts. you didn't turn, though, just stirred your drink, let the liquid settle again until you could see yourself in the reflection. until you could make out your eyes, until you could plead with your mouth to tell you what to say.

a game, the beautiful girl mouthed to you, a secret code, it's only a game.

your hazy eyes caught on a pool table in the corner of the bar, vacant, the lamp above it flickering. you smiled to yourself, made your way over, picked out a cue, ran your fingers along the edge of it.

you took a sip of your drink before setting it down, lining yourself up to break. with a swift, even motion, a pleasant cracking noise rung out, colorful balls moving in different directions.

you scrunched up your nose, having sunk none initially, gracefully lining up to go again when you felt a few figures approach.

the first one who spoke, the one right next to you, was not someone you recognized. you didn't even think he was on the team, but he had the build of a hockey player, probably a quick center.

"need a private lesson, there, sugar?" he asked sleazily, his voice the arrogant drawl of a child, almost endearing in its steadiness. he leaned on the table as you looked up at him, straightened, tilted your head to rest against the cue.

"awful kind of you, coach of the year," you teased before nodding to the other person who had joined you, looming across the table like a shadow. "gonna help me beat your friend?"

your new coach scoffed, ran a hand through his long, unruly hair. "trust me, sugar," he said, "you don't need any help beating him."

you locked eyes with the figure across the table, whom you had only seen before on a screen, the one you had heard about in the arms of your ex-fiance. here he was, the soft contours of his face shimmering in the dim light. the mythical and heroic jack hughes, the shaker of the unshakeable auston matthews.

he was shorter than you expected. "not much of a competitor, is he?" you asked the man next to you, talking about jack as if he wasn't right there. as if you hadn't been looking at him the entire time. "doesn't like to play?"

you tilted your head, dared him with your eyes to prove you wrong. the familiar fire of flirtation, of the chase you hadn't engaged with in years flared when he took a step out of the shadows, letting you see him clearly and up close.

during your research, you had seen pictures of him, but they didn't do him even a semblance of justice. he was gorgeous in a fairytale prince sort of way, like he might save the day with a true love's kiss at any moment. his eyes were a striking blue, his nose almost dainty, his jaw angular. your gaze caught on his full mouth before finally landing on his eyes again. he had the kind of complexion and expression you could tell lit up when he smiled. your stomach twisted at the thought. a game, you repeated in your mind. only a game.

"i'll play," he said simply, his voice goofy in a way you weren't used to. not sleazy, like his friend, who was currently behind you while you bent forward, lining up the cue. it wasn't the classic baritone you were used to hearing in auston, but something more cautious, something sweeter.

the game progressed, each of you sinking shots with the tell-tale soft thud. it was his long-haired friend, the one who kept calling you sugar like you were some southern belle, who was much closer to you, who was adjusting your hips and arm placement before each turn, who was flirting with you so openly, his breath hot on your neck, his gaze open and obvious.

even then, a quick exchange of glances with jack felt much more intimate than any innuendo-filled comment and fumbling touch from his friend. whenever jack would sink a ball, his eyes would flutter up to meet yours in a fleeting catch of flame, of promise, of knowing.

with only a few balls still on the green felt of the table, his careful voice broke you from your trance. "what are we playing for?" he asked, eyes alight.

the look you shared was teasing, probing, yet deadly serious. this is everything, the look said. are you ready to give everything?

"how about this?" you began, your tone light and smoky. "if you win, you get my number." his full mouth quirked upwards in the slightest of smirks. "and if i win, i give it to him," you finished, nodding towards his sugar-spewing friend.

jack looked at his friend. "good with you, z?" he asked.

his friend, z, you guessed, let a cocky smirk drape across his face like velvet curtains. "more than good," he said, "as we're gonna win."

with the stakes agreed upon, the game continued until only the eight ball remained. you lined yourself up, your ever-so-involved coach just next to you as you called your pocket.

"have a game, sugar, here we go."

you ignored his friend's voice, lining your cue up perfectly, the smooth wood resting delicately between your fingers, the angle of your arm and neck smooth and sensual. everything about your preparation lent itself to a winning strike, everyone at the table knew it. you could feel it in z's early celebration, see it in the slight quiver of jack's hand.

bent over the table, in the final seconds before your strike, you peered up at jack through dark lashes, all dim light and foggy promise. you gave him a sly smirk as you followed through, the black and white ball missing the pocket by an inch, hitting the side of the table with a soft sound.

jack narrowed his eyes at you with a curious sort of look before quickly calling his pocket and immediately sinking the ball.

his friend sucked on his teeth before throwing up his hands in defeat. "christ, sugar, didn't take you for a choke artist," he said. "unless you're into that." he shot you a wink before heading off to grab a drink.

for the first time, it was just you and jack. you leaned on your cue, let your gaze fall over him lazily, in the same way you knew he was doing to you. he was close now, close enough that you could see how blue his eyes were, how long his lashes, how high and soft his features, how his hair was just a little too long on the sides.

"you let me win," he said, a gentle observation, not anything accusatory.

you smiled. "prove it," you said, to which a matching smile graced his own face.

"must be my lucky night, then," he said as he handed you his phone and you typed your number in.

you laughed. "i don't know," you mused, "you seem like a guy who's used to getting what he wants." and he did seem like that - who could say no to those pretty eyes?

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, a motion you tracked. "'m a guy used to earning what he wants," he corrected, and you hummed. a distinction that auston had never made, even though he worked hard, sure. but he was a natural. what would it be like to be with someone to whom everything didn't come just so, so, easily?

"like to work for it, hm?" you teased.

his gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your eyes.

you stepped forward, pushed and poked at the imaginary line between the two of you. you looked up at him, gently swiped at his cheekbone with your thumb, felt heat rumble between the two of you, something volcanic. "don't work yourself too hard, yeah?"

without a second glance, you placed your cue against the table, grabbed your bag and made for the door.

on your way out, you overhead the conversation that had erupted in your exit.

"i was the one talking to her the whole time," that long-island-ish drawl said.

"if you think she was into you for even a second, you're an idiot," jack replied.

you swore the door was chuckling as it shut behind you.

everything had gone exactly as you'd hoped, exactly as you'd known it would, so you weren't at all surprised to receive a text the next day asking if you were around that night to get a drink.

so you found yourself at a different bar, this one a bit more upscale, quickly spotting jack as he waited for you outside. you blew out a breath as you approached, as a smile made his face glow. it was still so new to find someone else beautiful. when would you get used to his imperfect teeth, his oceanic eyes, his feminine nose, this greek sculpture opposed to autson's roman one?

you blinked. "hi," you said, suddenly feeling lame.

his mouth quirked. "hey." he opened the door for you, nodded. "after you."

"i'm gonna warn you," you started as you ducked past him and into the building. "i haven't been on a date in a while."

he shoved his hands in his pockets, a juvenile habit that made you blush. "find that hard to believe," he said, his tone playful. "pretty girl like yourself."

you scrunched up your nose at that. pretty girl. auston had called you that so many times, but for the first time you actually thought about its meaning. something flipped in your stomach at jack calling you pretty, but it was the girl part that had you pausing for a moment.

you were a girl, pretty much, you were jack's age, but you hadn't felt like one in so long. maybe it was being with someone a little older, but you felt almost ancient, so tired, so drained. but here you were, on a date, every bit the pretty girl he had deemed you.

you just laughed, taking a seat at the counter, smoothing out your dress against your legs. "real sweet talker, are you?" you joked, turning to him and meeting his eyes.

his mouth quirked like he knew something you didn't. "somethin' like that," he said.

the night went by fast, conversation flowing easily, no sign of pressure or anything of the like. you asked about his career, what he did that day, his family, his friends. he made you laugh, and it came so easily, so fluidly. he asked you about what you liked to do, what you were studying in school, how you were enjoying jersey.

surprisingly, you found yourself wanting to be completely honest with him, even though you couldn't be. you found yourself wanting to tell him everything, to answer any question he asked, to never leave him wishing or wanting even for a second.

you got hung up on the curve of his upper lip, on the slope of his shoulders under his button down, on his girlish laugh, his firefly of a smile.

the night was over too soon. too soon, you had the sinking feeling that you were in over your head, that perhaps you had chosen the wrong person for your revenge plot. you wanted to hurt auston, after all, but not yourself. certainly not this shimmery spark of a boy in front of you.

he walked you out, both of you pausing outside the bar, under the dull streetlight, a theatre spotlight for your praiseworthy performance.

you turned to look at him, and him at you, sinking into each others' gazes like quicksand, the air thick with expectation.

"i don't kiss on the first date," you blurted out, talking to his lips, talking to yourself.

he smiled, his shoulders rumbling in a laugh. "'s okay," he breathed, "like to work for it, remember, baby?"

you shook your head as your cheeks erupted in a delighted rosy flush. "goodnight, jack," you said, your voice every bit the giveaway. he returned the sentiment with a knowing grin.

the next day, you invited your girls over to watch him play. as you all settled on the couch, a homemade cocktail in your hand, you couldn't help but hide your face when the camera lingered on his profile during the anthem.

one of your friends gave a mock-salute. "god bless america," she said, shaking her head as you threw a pillow at her.

"alright," you chastised.

"what?" she asked, raising a brow, "just appreciating the wonderful offerings of our country."

your other friend shook her head. "you don't usually go for guys like him, eh?" she asked. "i mean, ever since we were in middle school you always went for the guys with biceps bigger than my face." she held her hands in front of her face for visualization.

"'s not like he's tiny," you said, almost embarrassed.

"no, no," she amended, "but he's no auston. he's just, i don't know, pretty."

you smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. auston was so masculine in every way, and jack was softer, somehow, pretty in a way you didn't usually go for.

pretty in a way that made you smile at your phone when he texted you the next day, asking if he could cook you dinner later that week.

you were blushing to yourself, the morning of, after he had texted you asking if you had any dietary restrictions.

and you didn't, but wasn't it just the sweetest, most thoughtful thing to ask? would you have even thought to ask?

i want you to be comfortable, his text said, i want you to laugh with your mouth full in my kitchen.

careful, angel, a deep voice called from the back of your mind, from the inside of your teeth. this is about me, remember?

your fingers twitched with the reminder as you stood on his front stoop, waiting for jack to answer the bell. the air had a brisk twinge of a chill to it, a chill that had your nose turning pink and your feet stiffening in your boots.

but he answered the door, and the breath you blew out rose between the two of you like a misty curtain, one you resented, because it distorted your view of him, even just so.

the mist settled, and his smile was left in its wake.

a smile that silenced all the gossiping voices in your head, left the throne of their malevolent king vacant, abandoned.

"you're here," he breathed, almost like he couldn't believe it, like he couldn't believe you.

"and it's your fault," you teased, scrunching up your nose.

he shook his head, laughed at some joke in his mind, stepped aside. "you must be freezing, baby, come in."

the butterflies in your chest soared as he helped you shoulder off your coat, his fingers leaving just a ghost of a touch on your wrist, the back of your neck, leaving scorched skin behind. you shivered, took in his graceful figure hanging your coat up on a hook by the door, let a smile come easily to your face when he turned back to you.

"what?" he said, grinning.

you let out a half-laugh. "nothing," you said, looking around as you kicked your shoes off. anything to avoid the white-hot light of his undivided attention. "i like your place."

and you did like it, truly, it was just so unexpected. homely, not cluttered, but definitely not the modern, futuristic, almost barren aesthetic you can come to associate with successful hockey players.

he flashed you a shy smile as he led you into the kitchen, bowing his head, making his hair fall into his face, almost bashful. "it likes you too," he told you, swinging his hand up to hit the top of the doorframe like a basketball-obsessed middle-schooler. you bit your lip to stop your grin.

what a pleasure it was to get to know all the most intricate and intimate manners of someone new.

"everything's almost done, now," he said, quickly turning off the stovetop and peering through the glass of the oven.

his tone was much more at ease then when you had talked to him before. he was at home here, and you could tell. he wore home like a hand-me-down sweater, too big in the shoulders and worn in the elbows, but lovely and familiar in all of its comfort.

you sat atop a stool at his counter, nervously rubbing the sole of one foot into the top of the other. "thanks for cooking, jack," you said, "you really didn't have to do anything fancy, or anything." suddenly, sitting here in this space, surrounded by the evidence of his effort, you felt guilt settle deeply into your body. unworthiness, perhaps, of the smell of food in the air, of the drink he had poured for you so gently, of the smile he kept throwing your way.

that voice in your head huffed. look at all this, he said, look at the burden you are.

and you were feeling it, so heavily, until jack took a sip of his own drink and waved you off, furrowing his brow as if confused. "'s how a date works, right, baby?" he said. he tilted his head, teasing, "tellin' me no one's ever pulled out all the stops for you?"

and you laughed, shook your head, because you supposed it was, supposed no one really had.

you got to know each other even better over the meal he had cooked, surprising you once again with how easy everything felt between you.

"tell me what you did today," he might say, his voice soft, muffled from chewing.

and you might tell him about your classes, how midterms were coming up, how you were nervous but felt pretty good about most of them.

maybe then you would ask about practice that morning, to which he would tell you some story about his teammates, how they were giving it to him all morning.

"why?" you might ask, to which he would look up at you with that bashful flush.

"'cause they knew you were coming over tonight," he admitted, pushing broccoli around his plate. "kept saying how i was probably gonna make you a box of kraft or something."

you laughed, a genuine rumble from deep in your chest, tilting your head back. when you looked back at him, he was looking at you with something like wonder.

and maybe later, you would ask what his favorite part of his house was, and he would say it was his wall of framed pictures, which would make you melt a little bit, your heart a puddle of feeling.

too soon, you were setting down your fork and knife, crossing and uncrossing your legs in restlessness.

"did you like it?" he would ask, his voice so full of hope it could have killed you.

so full of hope that you reached across the counter to hold his hand in yours, if only for a moment, to squeeze his fingers in meaningful emphasis.

your touch caught him by surprise, hesitant for a moment before locking eyes with you, simmering, then squeezing your hand back in his warm, callused grip.

a grip that said i'm no natural, but i'll work for it. for you.

"it was perfect," you said honestly, because it was. "but please, please let me do the dishes," you pleaded, looking at him through your lashes, just wanting to do something to help.

it would feel so wrong to be doted on for the whole night while giving nothing in return. at the very least, it would feel foreign.

he shook his head playfully, but relented. "you can help," he conceded, "but 'm not letting a pretty girl clean up my mess by herself."

you scoffed with a smile, squeezed his hand a final time before pushing yourself off of your stool, gathering all the plates and glasses in a single go.

"where'd you learn how to do that?" he asked, genuinely, as he followed you to the sink.

you carefully set everything down in a graceful swoop, let your lips quirk upwards in nostalgia. "once a waitress, always a waitress," you explained, referring to your short-lived stint at a busy restaurant in toronto before auston insisted on you staying home.

and at the time, even a little now, it was a sweet gesture, one you had taken as him wanting you to relax, wanting you to have the freedom to do whatever you wanted with your days.

you just secretly wished he had considered that what you wanted to do with your days was working, going to school, doing something for yourself.

jack leaned on the edge of the counter, his lopsided grin like an electric jolt to your heart. "what, did they show you the door 'cause you were making all the tips?" he teased, nevertheless making you blush as you washed the plates with soap. "not fair for everyone else, 's that it?"

you gasped in dramatic accusation, flicking sudsy water from your fingers his direction. "how dare you?" you exclaimed before turning away from him in a huff, feigning sadness. "'s not like i can control this face."

his mouth widened in shock, then took on a scheme-filled smile as soon as the water hit him, a short laugh escaping him. "you didn't," he said, dipping his hand in the soap and flinging some at you.

you squealed, holding your hands up to shield your face as he reached in for more, bubbles filling both of his palms. "wait, jack, i'm sorry!" you laughed. "i swear, i didn't mean to!"

"liar," he cooed, his gaze sparking like a lighter, you swore you could hear the clicking sound. then he was right in front of you, only a breath apart, so close you swore you could feel the beat on his heart in your own chest.

he reached down and gently held your face in his hands, the soap now all along your jaw and cheeks.

you closed your eyes for a second, sighed in defeat, still so aware of him so close, of his touch, feather-light on you skin.

when they opened again, you both had not moved, frozen in place, perhaps willed by the moment, compelled by the growing sensation of rightness, of being exactly where you were supposed to be. when he spoke, he was speaking to your lips, dragging his gaze back up to your eyes like it weighed something stark.

"do you kiss on the second date?" he breathed, and your breath caught, your heart stuttering at his utter politeness, his thoughtfulness, the idea that he remembered things you had told him.

you bit your tongue, because, if you were being honest, you usually didn't - you took the rule of threes very personally. you liked to take your time, savored that lovely period of what could be. besides, you had learned the hard way what happened when you let people in your life too quickly, too hastily. you knew all too well that giving in to a toothy smile and a sleeve of tattoos only led to shrugs met with tears.

but here, now, with jack's soapy hands on your face, in the space he had so warmly accepted you into, you had the feeling this boy in front of you was going to be an exception. that he would be an exception for many things, perhaps the exception.

as if hearing your internal dialogue loud and clear, he dipped his head down until he was impossibly close, so when he spoke you could feel the words on your lips.

"please let me kiss you, baby," he pleaded, his eyes hooded and heavy, his voice a rasp.

deciding he was an exception indeed, you answered him by pressing up on your toes, meeting his mouth with yours in a kiss that bruised.

and later, you would think about how auston had never been a please let me kiss you man, instead he had been a give me a kiss, angel kind of guy.

after, you would think about how it felt so much more personal, so much more sweet to be asked please, can i instead of being ordered give me, give me, give me, like a demanding, red-faced child.

later, you would think about how the previous kisses in your life paled in comparison to the feeling of jack's lips on yours. how before this moment, you were used to kisses that felt like transactions, like the necessary box being checked before the next step, how they felt like being swallowed.

after, you would swoon over all the details and nuances, but, right now, there was nothing but his lips, his hands, the way he melted into you and practically whimpered when you kissed him harder.

kissing him didn't feel like being swallowed, it felt like taking the biggest deep breath of your life after slowly suffocating for years. you forgot you had soap bubbles all over your face, you forgot about auston, you forgot about everything - there was only him, and you, in this moment.

he held your face like you were something precious, moving one hand into your hair as you wrapped your arms around his neck. he tasted like lemon and rosemary, as well as something so deliciously him you could feel yourself become addicted immediately.

his grip in your hair was soft, and when his lips moved against yours it felt like melting snow in the warmth of the morning, pure and sweet and natural and right. kissing him felt like waking up with sunlight streaming through the windows, like laughing while taking your makeup off, like cinnamon and clove and home.

when you pulled away from him, only just slightly, both of you catching your breath heavily, he opened his eyes slowly, almost reluctantly. his eyes were almost glazed over, and you had a feeling yours looked in a similar way, syrupy and hot.

he gently swiped his thumb along your swollen bottom lip as if testing to make sure you were real, not just some shadow, not just a dream.

you traced your nails along his neck, smiled as he brought his hands down to wrap around your middle, resting them on the small of your back.

"god, you're just so fucking pretty, aren't you?" he breathed, like a revelation.

you swore he had your head spinning for days after, days you unfortunately and cruelly had to spend apart due to a week-long road trip for the team.

you told yourself it was a good thing that he was going away for a bit, as it would give you a second to regroup, to revaluate, to familiarize yourself with what your initial goal was for your plan. you reminded yourself over the week apart that jack was a means to an end, that whatever had blossomed between the two you had a finish line, that all of it was meant to make a point, then hopefully leave this whole hockey world behind after the damage had been done.

but then one of your girls would throw on the game, and jack's expressive face would fill the screen, chewing on the fingers of his gloves during warm ups, and your heart would sink at the thought of leaving him behind. and it just about combusted at the idea that you were using him, even though that's exactly what you were doing.

you've only been on two dates with him, only kissed once, you reminded yourself. he's probably seeing other people, anyways, probably with some other girl right now. it's not like you're exclusive. this is probably not a big deal to him.

the thought was comforting but also devastating, a brick in your stomach.

while he was away, midterms came and went. as you walked into your last one, you thought about maybe texting jack after, trying to get together tonight, since he would finally be back.

then your pen hit the paper and time passed in a blur.

you exited the lecture hall in a flurry of relief and pride, happy to have accomplished something so concrete, something that you had truly worked hard on.

walking down the stairs outside of the entrance, your smile stilled, frozen in shock, when you looked up from your feet and saw a familiar, beautiful figure leaning against his car, an excited grin on his face, flowers in his grip as he locked eyes with you, making your breath catch.

"is that jack hughes?" some kid from your class said altogether too loudly to his friend. you had seen that same kid wearing devils gear more than once.

his friend didn't look up from his phone. "who's jack hughes?" he replied.

you couldn't stop your disbelieving laugh, your smile, already making your cheeks sore as you finished descending the stairs, until you were in front of him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug before you even realized what you were doing.

this was so unlike you, really, letting yourself feel as deeply as you could without filtering it, but anything else would have felt so wrong it could have killed you. especially when he brought his arms around you without even a second's hesitation, held you tight and close, so you could feel the petals of the flowers on the back of your neck.

"you're here," you said, breathlessly, still shocked, into his firm chest.

"had to make it back for your last test," he said into your hair, both of you not wanting to let go.

"how did you know?" you murmured, pulling away from him, only slightly.

he loosened his embrace, pulled away to get a look at you, let his eyes run over you carefully, indulgently. he pushed your hair back from your face, his touch gentle, like you were a relic, something worth treasuring. "you said so, last week," he said simply, like it was obvious.

he said it as if, for years of your life, you had wished and yearned so reverently for auston to remember the little things, like your coffee order, like the dates on which your parents were coming to visit, like your anniversary.

he said it as if it didn't mean the entire world that he had listened, that he had remembered.

you only leaned into his chest, looked up at him with something seriously dangerous in your eyes, something that was not supposed to be there. "'d you bring me flowers, jack?" you asked, a playful note in your tone.

he flushed, so lovely, hid his face behind the bouquet, peeking only one deep blue eye out, as if embarrassed. "too much?" he asked, still shielding his face.

you laughed, squeezed his bicep lightheartedly. "just enough," you assured him, your eyes full of meaning, willing him to lower his shield, let you see the face you had been dreaming of all week. "thank you. i missed you."

you would have told him that a thousand times just to see the way his whole face lit up, like he could never hide how happy your words made him. he wore the late afternoon sunshine like a dream, the dewy rays dripping down his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, slow and golden as honey.

he had this way of making you feel like you were first choice, every time, and it was so foreign that you hadn't known you had been craving it until he had laid it at your feet like an offering. every time he texted you to check in, to ask how your day was, to finalize plans, it would send a flurry of butterflies swarming your chest, a rosy flush to the bridge of your nose.

he was so, so beautiful, inside and out, that you effectively forgot what the whole point of your plan was in the first place. you basically had forgotten about it, that day that he dragged you along with some of his friends to pick out a christmas tree.

"do i know any of these friends?" you had asked on the way up, riding shotgun, reaching over periodically to run your nails along his neck, just below his hairline, your way of saying i'm happy you're here. and he would reach over and rest his hand on your thigh, not possessive, just a reminder of your presence. a reminder that made your insides twist with want, nonetheless, that made your gaze simmer.

one of the things you appreciated so genuinely about jack was that he didn't rush you for even a second, so happy to go at whatever pace made you most comfortable, whatever pace would keep you around the longest. it felt almost wrong that his acceptance of a slow pace made you want to speed things up, made you want to know what he felt like in your hands, what sounds he might make if you teased him, what his voice would sound like in your bed.

he let out a rumble of a laugh at your question, shaking you from your daze. "you'll definitely recognize one of them," he said. "though i don't know if he's fully recovered from your last meeting."

"oh no." you paled. "not him." you winced, thinking about how you had probably bruised his inflated ego. not beyond repair, though, you knew. for guys like that, never beyond repair.

jack traced circles on your thigh with his thumb in affirmation. "don't worry, baby," he said, "told 'm to be on best behavior."

when you arrived, you recognized that boisterous voice immediately.

"so good to see you again, sugar," he drawled, his tone especially toying.

you decided to cut any hard feelings immediately, going up to him and giving him a quick hug in greeting. "i think i owe you a thank you, coach of the year," you said, pulling away with a smile.

luckily, he seemed to forgive quickly, even to appreciate your efforts. "i prefer my thank yous in hot chocolate form," he said, and you promised to fulfill his request later. he gave you his name in exchange for yours.

you spent the afternoon leisurely ambling around the grounds, looking at potential trees, but really just enjoying the company of those around you.

most of the time, you spent laughing, tucked into jack's side, finding warmth in the firm feeling of his hip against your waist.

"what about this one?" trevor asked, holding up an especially short and stout one.

the two of you decided jack would need a taller one to better suit the ceiling proportions in his living room.

walking around, it felt like you were in your own dreamy winter wonderland, in a fog of laughter and warmth and a million other beautiful things.

"you leave again tomorrow?" you asked at one point, unable to hide the slight disappointment in your voice. you peered up at him, your eyes warm, your cheeks rosy from the cold.

he met your gaze and nodded, hugged you tighter into his side. "back in a few days," he said.

you couldn't help but pout just a little. jack's roadtrips felt longer and more lonely than auston's ever had.

jack ran his thumb along your bottom lip. "what's that for, baby?" he asked.

you shrugged. "just gonna miss you, 's all," you told him honestly.

something sweet bubbled up in his gaze, but the moment was effectively interrupted by trevor's voice coming from behind you, now shockingly close.

"oh?" he said, dramatic, "what's this? is that - mistletoe?" he emphasized all of his words with dramatic pauses. you briefly thought that maybe, if he hadn't been all in on hockey, he would have made an excellent theater kid.

you both turned to find trevor standing right behind you, holding an alarmingly large branch of something that resembled mistletoe.

"where did you find that?" jack asked his friend.

"never mind that," trevor said, waving him off.

you elbowed jack lightly. "looking for an excuse not to kiss me, are you?"

he shook his head incredulously, as if you had said something funny. you were about to tease him again, but he didn't give you the chance, immediately taking your face in his hands and angling his head down slightly to meet you in a kiss that seared every bit of chill from the air.

would you ever get used to this? would his lips ever not feel like they belonged on yours? would your heartbeat ever not thrum, like some perfect harmony?

the warmth of his hands on your face, the security of yours against the plane of his chest, all of it, everything - it was so perfect you wanted to stay here, just like this, forever. and the thought didn't even scare you as want began to pool inside of you, hot and heavy.

a mixture of a cough and a laugh had the two of you pulling away from each other. one of jack's other friends who had tagged along let out a low whistle, making you blush deeper.

jack just slung a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

luckily, trevor's attention had already strayed, as he was now holding the branch over his own head and the head of the other friend. "don't fight it!" he was calling out as the friend broke out into a light gait.

"get away from me, you scumbag," the poor kid called out over his shoulder.

your eyes were stuck on jack's face, still hazy from your kiss. he turned to you, his mouth quirking up. "staring, baby?" he said, low enough for only you to hear.

you nodded, shameless. "want you," you told him plainly, barely recognizing the tone of your own voice.

the fire in his own eyes welled up as you placed your hands flat on his chest. "fuck, now, baby?" he asked, looking around to where his friends chased each other around.

you bit your lip, pleaded him with your eyes. "please, jack," you said, "please take me home."

he took your hand in his immediately, tossed some parting words over his shoulder to his friends, who paused, watched the two of you stumble into jack's car with urgency.

as he started the engine and pulled away, you heard a faint the hell are we supposed to do with this tree?

the car ride back felt longer than it really was, both of you practically buzzing with want. you kept a hand in his hair, his palm planted firmly on the inside of your thigh, close but not close enough.

you let out a sigh of relief when he pulled into the driveway, let him pull you into the house, push you up against the closed door, kiss you again with heat and force and somehow, such softness.

it was the softness that filled you with want. his desire was obvious, especially when he pressed his hips up, hard against you, but that didn't mean he wasn't just so gentle with you, so in tune to what you wanted.

you fisted your hands in his hair, pulled until his posture faltered, until his lips parted further and he moaned into your mouth.

you hooked a leg around his hip to bring him closer, relished the way he began to rock against you.

"fuck, baby," he breathed out, strained, stuttering in places, "don't wanna fuck you against the door."

later, you would think about how auston had never had such a problem. he had never cared where you were, how uncomfortable a position had made you. sometimes you had thought he found his own bed boring.

but jack just pulled you into his room, lightly rocked you back onto the bed, pressed soft kisses down your jaw, your neck, your stomach. you both pushed and pulled clothes aside, looking to give the other as much access as possible.

"so fuckin' pretty," he mumbled against your stomach, making you flush all over.

"please, jack," you whined as he slowly dragged his fingers through your folds, making you shiver.

"what do you need, baby?" he asked, pumping himself a few times, up and down, his voice low and rough.

you sat up for a moment, took hold of his hand, peered up at him through your lashes as you spit into it.

he groaned, ran his hand over his cock, now glistening with your spit. desire glowed in your eyes like fireflies. "tell me," he begged.

you laid back on the bed again, the smell of him everywhere. another time, you would insist on feeling him in your mouth, maybe on feeling his mouth on you, but you knew the both of you were far too desperate for that.

"just need you inside me, baby, please," you said, your eyes raking over his figure above you, all gentle slopes and hard lines together.

"ask me so good, baby, so good for me," he said, a careful rasp. he thumbed your clit, making you jolt, dragging his fingers through you again before bringing them to his mouth. "and so ready, hm?"

you nodded feverishly, your mouth falling open as he finally pushed into you, his groan deep.

you whined, the stretch so surreal as you reached forward to grasp at his forearm, anything to ground you.

staying still in the stretch for a second, you waited for the feeling to weaken, but it didn't, not really.

he dropped his head, his exhale coming out shallow, the muscles in his shoulders constrained.

you tightened your grip on his forearm, let your nails dig into him to pull him back to you.

"fuck, baby, i can't," he bit out, "can't, i swear."

you rolled your hips back and forth, trying to will some movement from him. "please, jack, please move," you begged. "please fuck me, baby."

never one to deny you, he began a slow pace, the friction and depth almost unbearable. one of his hands dug into your hip, so hard you could feel bruising, the other beginning to rub careful circles on your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

"you're so deep," you choked, "faster, baby, need you faster."

he obliged, picking up the pace of his rhythm, moving his hand faster against your clit, making that wave well up within you, forcing moans from your throat.

"fuck, sound so pretty, baby," he said, a glistening sheen now painted across his brow, his collarbones. "so pretty, squeezing me so perfect."

the muscles of his stomach began to contract as you felt yourself dangerously close.

his rhythm continued, bruising in depth and force, so lovely in softness. you tugged his hand from your hip, placed his fingers on your tongue, desperate for something to do with your mouth. you sucked, pulling a guttural moan from him. "don't stand a chance when you do that, baby, swear," he said, "fuck, don't stand a chance with you, hm?"

you felt yourself smile around his hand, your eyes watering, glazed over.

"gonna make me cum, baby," he whined, his motions becoming jerky, his voice little more than a plea. "cum with me, baby, hm? make me feel so good, yeah?"

you fell over the edge at his words, felt his orgasm follow yours almost immediately, the air warm and sticky around you. he collapsed on top of you, his exhales like liquid on your skin, yours like dreamy sighs as he pulled you to him, held you close as you waited for the rise and fall of your chests to settle.

he drew his fingers lazily around the flesh of your thigh, your hip, you pushed his hair back from his face as you both fought sleep, wanting just a few more seconds in the conscious presence of the other.

everything was so lovely you could barely stand it.

you should have known it wouldn't last long.

a day into jack's time away, you received a text from one of your friends in toronto. it was a picture from auston's instagram with the message just thought you should know. we miss you.

something cracked in your chest at the photo of your ex-fiance and this new girl. it wasn't really jealousy, definitely not desire, no, it was harder to pinpoint.

maybe it was the fact that after four years of being together, and after a whole year of being engaged, auston had never once even thought about posting a picture of the two of you.

and you had always chalked it up to the fact that you didn't have any social media, but now, you realized there was something to be said about letting the world know that you were taken.

and you also knew, now, that that was a statement auston had been unable to make your entire relationship.

a voice in the back of your mind, tone watery with tears, wailed. what makes her so special? it pressed. what makes her so much better than me?

it didn't help that she looked absolutely nothing like you. you wondered passingly if you would have preferred a look-a-like to be staring back at you through your screen. you didn't really know, but you did know that her features were sharp to your soft, your eyes are hair completely different in coloring. her face had you questioning if he had ever really found you beautiful, or if you had been the exception to his regular type. the idea weighed heavily on your shoulders like a cape made of cement.

but you knew, at the end of the day, that it was not about her.

and so you decided that as much as your relationship with jack had become genuine, maybe it was time to bring back the plan, just a little.

it can be two things, you told yourself, jack doesn't need to get hurt.

so when jack arrived back from the road, your relationship now teetered on a tightrope, balancing between two things, two motives like a trapeze artist.

still, you tried your best not to let your desire to rip out the heart of your ex-fiance stand in between you and jack. you could be bloodthirsty and gentle at the same time, you told yourself. two things.

the idea became easier when jack began to ask you to come to his games.

at first, you had been skeptical. auston hadn't wanted you there until maybe a year and half into your relationship. you didn't want to push this, press your luck, make yourself a burden, in fear of him abandoning you.

"are you sure you want me there?" you had asked the first time, a little timid, your face resting on your clasped hands, sitting at his kitchen counter, keeping him company as he made something on the stove.

he had turned to you, head tilted, confused. "of course i do, baby," he had said, calmly and clearly. "i want you everywhere i am."

and that had been the end of that.

so you began to become a regular attendee at his games, getting to know the people of his life more closely, becoming a fixture in his life more solidly.

you let him post a picture of the two of you, so touched that he would even ask. he showed you the post when he was done.

you kissed his shoulder in response. "your eyes are closed, jack," you said, half-laughing at the fact that he had chosen this picture, so flawed in nature.

"hm?" he looked at the picture again, then shrugged. "hadn't noticed. no one's gonna be looking at me, anyways."

you shook your head, disbelieving. he was making it hard for this to be two things. he was making it really, really hard to care if your ex-fiance even saw this post. he was making it really hard to care about your ex-fiance at all.

"i don't believe you, sometimes," you mused aloud.

he twirled a lock of your hair, mesmerized. "how?"

you tilted your head back to allow him easier access. "you're pretty perfect, you know that?" you smiled up at him, blissful. "too perfect."

seeing his face go pink with your praise made you make a mental vow to tell him more often.

and he gave you every opportunity to be surprised by his perfection, over and over.

every kiss was something teenage you would have dreamed about, every time he led you into his bedroom was something current you dreamed about. how he seemed to enjoy every moment no matter what you were doing, even how clearly he communicated with you during your first fight, all of it astounded you.

he made all of your friends jealous, but so happy for you. he met them, one time, when he dropped you off to get coffee with them after class.

he was so respectful with them, asked them genuine questions, but never anything that told you that he wasn't in on you one hundred percent.

when auston met your best friend in toronto, he had dropped your hand that he had been holding.

"didn't tell me she was so pretty, angel," he had said, and you had hoped it was just to show you he was putting in an effort to impress the people that were important to you.

when jack said he had to be going, to get to morning skate, he just kissed your cheek. "use my card, yeah, baby?" he called out, waiting for your nod and smile before he drove away.

how had you stumbled into this? was it possible that it wasn't too good to be true?

jack had asked you to come to toronto when the devils headed up north to play the leafs, because he knew you had lived there, because he had lived there, too, and wanted to show you around. and it had reached a point where refusing him when he offered a piece of himself to you seemed cruelly impossible.

you told yourself that it was just another game, just another day. it helped that you honestly didn't feel any attachment to this rink, even to this city. you had watched jack play plenty, now, and you were determined to treat this game just the same as any other, if not rooting for jack with just a little more urgency, a little more emotion.

you loved how easy he was to cheer for. you loved how you could see how much he loved the game, how he smiled after every good play, how he saw things you could have never seen on the ice. you could practically hear his laugh in the rafters, see his imperfect teeth in the glass. he was everywhere, here, are you loved it.

of course, you noticed that your ex-fiance was here, but it honestly wasn't even that bad. if anything, it was confirmation that you were over him, that what you had with jack was real, that you weren't in for revenge anymore. you weren't in this for auston at all.

until he scored, and his goal song echoed through the arena. you knew that this year, the leafs had decided to try out individual goal songs after players scored, songs that they chose before the season started.

you did not know, however, that auston matthews' goal song was the song that, months ago, was set to be the soundtrack to your first dance.

the crowd was eating it up, of course they were, the juxtaposition of auston's dynamic scoring ability with the old-fashioned crooning of you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you.

the song seemed to reverberate off of the walls, into your head, behind your eyes, where it settled like thick fog. it smelled like champagne, waxy makeup, hairspray. your eyes began to water, which made your throat constrict.

like a dream, maybe a hazy memory, your first dance that never was flashed across your mind. an ornate, almost gauche white dress, the beautiful heels you had been practicing to wear. his pressed suit, slicked back hair, stupid designer socks that used to make you laugh. his hand on your waist, your arms around his neck, the two of you lost in each other, swaying, swirling around the floor to this song, surrounded by loved ones, high on laughter and the future and love.

slowly, the image blinked out of your vision as the song faded and the puck dropped, play starting up again.

it blinked out like a dying star, and then it was exactly that. dead.

because as you trained your eyes back on the ice, never once did they stray from 86 in red. never once did anything like regret or nostalgic desire well up in your heart, because you were not the one who lost. you were not the one with something to prove.

finally, you buried that wedding dress, laid it six feet under, let the soil spoil it, knowing one day you would wear a white dress and it would mean something to both parties involved.

in a breath, the game ended, and jack won, and he was truly all you were thinking about.

waiting for him, though, practically bouncing up and down, you were suddenly pulled into a side hallway by a grip you would recognize anywhere.

you were not surprised to look up and see the calculating eyes of auston matthews looking down at you with some lethal combination of heat and arrogance.

"angel," he said, a greeting that made you grind your teeth.

you pulled your arm away from him, shook him off of you, willed strength and stone into your posture and tone. "cool goal song, asshole," you bit out.

"i missed you too," he cooed, not taking you seriously, even now. his frame seemed so imposing now, looming large, too large for someone you didn't trust.

you rolled your eyes. "if you'll excuse me, i'm waiting for someone." you turned to leave the hallway, go back to the exit where jack would surely be walking out of any minute.

auston grabbed at your wrist, and it burned. "what, you mean that kid?" he scoffed, but didn't let go. "c'mon, angel, you know he's nothing to you." he rubbed a circle into your wrist that once, might have been soothing, but now made you feel sick. "you know you're all for me."

and you could have said so many things. like how that kid was your age, actually, so what did that say about him? like how that kid was twice the man he would ever be. like how this would be the last time you ever saw him, the last time he would ever have your attention.

the opening of a door ripped you from your thoughts as both you and auston glanced up to see jack in the doorframe, his bag slung over his shoulder, his face flushed from the game, tired blue eyes caught on auston's hand around your wrist.

time froze for a millisecond as you felt like you were pulled between worlds. it can be two things, you had told yourself once. it was never two things.

you watched as painful realization settled in jack's eyes as he simply turned away, let the door close behind him.

you ripped your arm from auston's grasp. "you've never taken me seriously," you told him then, looking him square in the face, your tone steady and serious as anything. "but if you believe anything i say, let it be that you are nothing to me, and you never will be again."

for the second time, you were the one to leave, this time running towards something worth saving.

you cursed under your breath, looking around for that head of soft brown hair.

you found him in a different hallway, sitting on the ground, his bag slumped next to him, his back leaning against the wall, his feet flat on the ground.

for a single moment, it was so quiet you swore that your exhales echoed against the walls. he didn't turn to face you, but obviously knew you were there.

"so you're with him, then?" he practically whispered, his tone like a cleaver to your chest, so defeated and blindsided, almost like he was talking to himself.

you slowly made your way over to him, sat down next to him, mirrored his position. side by side, but he felt so far away. "i'm not," you said back to him.

he let out some kind of bitter laugh, a sound you hated, a sound you hoped you would never have to hear again. "so that was you making friends?" he picked at a thread on his dress pants. "just meeting new people, 's that it?"

you turned to face him, then, but he still faced forward, as if looking at you would ruin him. "it's not what you think," you said, softly.

"well, what is it?" he paused, looked at you, then, and he wore his sadness like a suit fit for mourning. "be honest with me, please."

you took a shaky breath, knowing that this, very possibly, might be the last time you would ever be so close to him. knowing that your next words, your explanation, it might drive him away from you forever, before you had even really had the chance to have him.

you savored this breath, this liminal space between the truth and the now.

"i was going to marry him," you said, and the confession felt like letting go of every single vengeful thought you had ever had, like all the spite and disdain in your body had evaporated into dust.

"you were going to marry auston matthews," jack murmured, his face blank, his tone confused.

"yes."

"but you're not anymore?" he asked, looking at you, leaning his cheek onto his knees like an impatient elementary school kid waiting for recess.

you shook your head. "no. he cheated on me."

there was a pause, brutal silence, as his brow furrowed in confusion, his fists clenched briefly before letting go. his gaze fell to his hands for a moment, and when he spoke again it was so cautious, so pointed, that your stomach sank. "and then you just happened to start dating me?" he looked so tired. "same job, same goals, pretty much same life." he let out a breath. "you can't tell me that's a coincidence."

you sighed, prayed to whatever god would listen that honesty would count for something. "no, it wasn't a coincidence." your heart felt like it was lulling itself to sleep. "you were never a coincidence."

he dropped his head between his knees, and hurt vibrated through the air like sound waves. you could feel his hurt in your fingertips, could have melted in down, frozen it, wielded it like a weapon. "tell me something, baby," he pleaded, muffled by his legs. "please."

you knew it was unfair, but you laid a gentle hand on his fingers. "let me tell you all of it, please, jack, and then you don't have to see me again if you don't want to."

he took a breath that you felt in your bones, then in an act of mercy you cherished, gave a soft nod.

so you did. you told him the whole story - how you had been so devastated and hurt that you were blinded by a desire to make auston suffer. how you had chosen jack on purpose, because you knew it would cut the deepest. how you had not simply shown up randomly at that bar, all that time ago, how all of it was part of a plan, down to flirting with his friend, down to that first game of pool.

he didn't push your hand away, actually leaned his leg into your arm as you told him the story. the scary part's over, you wanted to say, you can stop hiding under the covers, now.

and so you told him about how he had hijacked your plan entirely. how you never expected to determine how good your day was based on how often you heard his laugh, how no one could have predicted how often you dreamed of his smile, how days when he was away truly felt like a loss.

"if i had known you, i never would have put you through this," you told him, finally, honestly. "i would have left you alone."

he was quiet for a moment, and then he picked his head up and looked at you, genuinely, thoughtfully. "you never would have used me to get back at your ex-fiance?" he asked, but there was not really any bite in his tone.

you tried your luck, reached up, brushed his damp hair from his forehead. "i did use you," you admitted. "and i don't have an excuse." he looked at you with clear eyes. "it was mean, and cruel, and all i can do is say that i'm so, so sorry and i will never hurt you like that again. i promise, that's the truth."

in the silent moments after you finished speaking, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, waiting for his reaction.

when you opened your eyes, he was looking at you. he opened his legs and knees wide, held open his arms, waiting. "i believe you."

it took no convincing for you to settle into the space he had created for you, to lean back against his chest, feel his heartbeat between your shoulder blades, his arms coming around your sides to clasp in front of your middle.

"you believe me?" you said, almost a whisper. you picked up his hand, held it to your chest, shocked that he was letting you. shocked that he was still here, making space for you.

you let the smell of him engulf you. it felt similar to walking into your mother's closet - the evidence of her living, loving, everywhere around you. the evidence of jack was everywhere, now, all over you, growing like some carnivorous plant over your heart.

"you promised," he said simply, into your hair.

and how spectacular it felt for someone to take you seriously, to take your words at face value, to understand that when you promised something, you meant it.

it felt like words were failing you, so you brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his palm lightly.

he hummed into your hair. "tell me about now," he said, voice steady and patient.

"hm?" you twisted your neck to look him in the eye, leaned back further until the back of your head rested on his chest.

"you told me about before. about him," he said, his eyes swimming with home, with hope. "tell me about us. tell me about now."

you searched for words, wondering how you could convey just how important he was to you, just how deeply you cared.

you could have said that his eyes were the most beautiful ocean you'd ever swam in. you could have said that kissing him felt like swallowing stardust, that listening to him talk about his day was a privilege and honor.

you could have said how you loved his voice after a long day, how he wore his emotions openly, shamelessly, how kind he was to those around him, how he didn't let you leave his house in doubt for even a second about his feelings, how he let laughter come easy, how he was many things but never, ever, indifferent.

you could have said so many things, but sometimes poetry and fancy words are inadequate, just diluting the true meaning, make it taste like watered-down juice, faint and lacking.

you could have said so many things, but you just told him the truth.

"i wake up every morning and i think of you," you said. "every moment you're not with me, i wish you were." you willed every ounce of meaning into your gaze. "you are my first choice, every time, jack. and it's not even close."

there was a silence as he processed what you said, and something like adoration dawned in his gaze like a springtime sunrise.

he tilted his head down, pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that told you he understood.

that no matter how you had gotten here, you were here, now.

"tell me again," he whispered against your mouth, and you smiled into his. that, you could do.

fin.

[rockinlibrarian]

Must stand up for myself and my husband whose political beliefs suck. There's a lot of assumptions made about what such a marriage looks like, both here in this post/its notes and in real life. Though he sides politically with trad-husbands (is that what the spouses of trad-wives are called?) and evangelicals and such, that's not the guy I married: he's a goofy dad and a doting husband and a gamer and a sap. He's a bona fide gun nut, yes-- that's how he got on that political side in the first place-- but he's safe and smart about it, not one of the dudes waving guns around to look tough and accidentally blowing their nuts off.

The truth is that, despite the fact that who you vote for DOES matter in practical real-life ways, your day-to-day life doesn't delve into those matters much. Yes, we have conversations that are not superficial! We talk about our health, our kids, our extended families, our jobs, our friends, our finances, both off-hand and deep! We also quote dumb movies and and have stupid in-jokes, and kiss and cuddle and other such TMI, and other superficial things that make life bearable and fun.

I have noticed that, when you really talk to people of various political persuasions, you will have your extremists, I'm not saying people like that don't exist, but a SHOCKING amount of people actually care about the same things, worry about the same things: can they take care of their families? Can they keep them and their loved ones healthy and thriving? Will they have enough money to not only get by but to do things they really want to do? The DIFFERENCES are in what they believe the SOLUTIONS to these problems are.

And this is where talking out the differences on governmental levels becomes difficult if not impossible, because there's just a mindset about The Way Things Work and The Way Things ARE, it's like suddenly you're speaking different languages entirely. Words mean different things. (Literally: one good example I saw-- in a Tumblr post once, I think-- is the word "Respect"-- Conservatives see "showing respect" as showing deference, acknowledging that someone is Better than you; while Progressives see "showing respect" as treating everyone as equals. So when a Progressive asks for respect, a Conservative thinks they're trying to be better than others; but if a Conservative asks for respect, a Progressive's like I was TRYING to give you respect but you're trampling everybody else here, geez. Anyway). So eventually you do get like, Okay, never mind, there's no convincing you to see things the way I do on this matter, so let's not talk about it. And most of the time you don't HAVE to talk about it, so great!

Does it SUCK that my own husband is so confused about the differences between socialism and Communism that he'll vote for a guy even he knows is a complete (and even dangerous) idiot just to keep *gasp* LEFTISTS (who might dare enact laws that smack of socialism!) out of office, convinced that because Socialism=Communism=Totalitarianism that we as a nation will stay Free-er under a guy who's bragged about intending to become a dictator? YES, it is utterly stupid! But there is nothing I can say that will break this mindset! Our KIDS take after me, politically, so he knows he's outnumbered anyhow. And who knows, maybe we HAVE made a dent in his beliefs, just like I don't believe Guns are Inherently Bad And Should Be Banned anymore. Enough to get him to stop voting straight ticket Republican, probably not. But every little bit helps.*

In the end, the biggest Issue we have in our marriage is about How Clean the House Is (because we're both--all, counting the kids-- complete slobs, but he's more embarrassed by having a house his mom is embarrassed by than I am, so it bothers him more). I hope the state of our nation never comes to the point where our political differences will interfere with that. I can't guarantee they won't (civil war, for example). But for now, why break what we got?

*(I mean obviously we HAVE discussed politics, that's how I KNOW what he believes and why. It's just not worth rehashing the things we already know we're not going to agree about).

I cannot imagine willingly staying in a relationship so superficial and bad that you can’t discuss your beliefs.

[reareaotaku]

Menace to Society

Summary: You met the infamous Damian Wayne and neither of you are impressed. Content: Jon Kent mentioned, kinda derailed... I'm sorry, Could also be kind of read as Jon Kent x Reader too, but it's meant to be Damian Wayne x Reader..., Fem! Reader Taglist: N/a

[Pt II?]

[--- : Three Dashes is flashback] [---: 2nd Three Dashes is back to the present] [--: Two Dashes is Time Skip]

You had heard the rumors about the Wayne boy, but you didn't pay it much mind. You never thought you encounter him, so it didn't seem productive to think about him. Besides you had bigger problems; Like the fact you lived in fucking Gotham City, the most dangerous city in America. Oh, to have been born to a family in Metropolis is a dream you wish for every night, hoping to wake from this damn nightmare.

The rumors varied, depending on who was telling them. Some say he was incredibly handsome, just like his father- Others said he was a rotten guy who knew no empathy or compassion for another human being. You were leaning towards the latter, because he was a rich boy, who had never known a day of poverty, of course he'd be a stuck up bastard. Though, you didn't blame him, you were sure he was enabled.

You found it weird when you'd defend the boy's actions. It could have just been because you didn't know him and felt less biased. That was until you met the asshole.

He was worse than anyone had ever described. He was literally the child of hell. He was entitled, selfish, egotistical and narcissistic. He was your worse nightmare.

He didn't like you either. You were such an annoyance to him. Granted, most people annoyed him, but you were different. It's like you were a chigger [What are Chiggers?] digging into his skin and chewing on his flesh. Not to mention it seemed you were a pest on his life. He just couldn't get rid of you no matter how hard he tried.

The crazy thing is you were rarely around ech other, but when you are it feels like eternity. You felt like you were constantly competing with a spoiled brat and he felt like you were an annoying pest trying to push him to the side.

The thing is you were too similar to each other. At least that's what Jon thought. You remembered the first time you met Jon and he made the comparison.

---

You pushed through the crowds, before getting off the train. You sighed when looking around of the city of Metropolis. It was just a small trip, because your father needed some things from the city, that weren't in Gotham, but he was to busy, so he asked you to do it. You weren't going to get distracted.

--

You looked through the multiple vinyls. There were dozens of books on the shelves around you that you had already scoured. Your eyes were lead up to the top shelf of one of the bookcase, before your eyes caught a big black clock. It said 5:45- Your father wanted you home at 6...

You were never going to be allowed out again.

You rushed through the store, trying to catch your barings, but just your luck, you run into a man. You quickly apologize before standing u, brushing yourself off and picking up your things. You look down at him- He... looked different than guys in Gotham.

You wondered if it was something in the water, because the boys in Metropolis looked more... alive? They looked like the type that haven't had evil wrap it's nasty smoke around them since the day they were born. They were carefree and happy. How nice.

He looked up at you with baby blue eyes, before a light pink dusted his cheeks. He had a school-boyish charm. He looks at your hand that you had out for him, before he takes it.

"I'm Jon," He grips your tightly as he looks down at you. He was incredibly tall and you didn't realize it until he stood up.

"Y/n..." You say, trying to take your hand back but he has a tight grip on you. "Um.. Can I have my hand back?"

He blushes a darker red, before letting go of your hand and apologizing. He rubs the back of his neck, looking away from you. "So, are you new to Metropolis?"

"Uh... No- I mean I guess, but I don't like here. I'm just getting stuff for my dad."

"Oh, uh-"

Before he can finish his statement, the shop keeper comes out and starts yelling at you about having to pay. You looked at him confused before realizing that you still had the vinyl in your hands. You blushed darkly, realizing this guy probably thought you were a thief and you wanted to shoot yourself.

You apologized to the man, before handing him the vinyl, telling him you didn't mean to take it, your mind just went blank when realizing the time. Thankfully, the store keeper was understanding and took the vinyl before going back inside.

There were a few minutes of silence, before the guy- Jon- starts laughing. "Gosh, he was so mad, his face looked like a tomato."

You smile, nodding, "Yeah, he was, wasn't he?"

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but then your phone starts ringing and you freeze up. You pull your phone out of your pocket and sigh when seeing your father's number.

"Sorry, I have to take this-" You take a few steps way from him, before answering the phone.

"Y/n were are you?"

"I'm still in Metropolis-"

"What? Why are you still there?"

"I got... distracted?"

You hear a sigh and groan, causing you to frown.

"Get home as soon as you can."

"Okay," You hang up the phone, before sighing. You were just happy he didn't yell at you through the screen.

"Are you in trouble?"

You jumped a little before looking back at Jon. You forgot that he was there.

"Uh... No, not really... But I do have to get back home."

"I can take you! I mean, I can walk with you... You know," He gestures to you, not knowing what to say. "I mean," He quickly shakes his head and hands, "Not that you can't take care of yourself, but it'd be really shitty if I let you walk alone."

You smirk, looking the boy up and down. He would never last a second in Gotham. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Besides, I don't think you want to go where I'm going."

"Well where are you going?"

--

Jon is starting to regret his offer. Not because of you, but because of the people who were squished against him. The subway smelled awful, like death and piss, and made him scrunch his nose. You were pressed against his chest, hoping the next stop was your stop.

"You know, I have a friend in Gotham. He's a lot like you-"

"I'm like a guy?" You joke, causing him to blush and quickly back track.

"No- No. I mean, you're like him in the way you act. But, you're nicer."

"Yeah? What's his name?"

"Damian Wayne."

---

You groaned, trying to ignore the laughter of the gangs that you had to pass. You could feel their stares go through you as you try and walk away as fast as possible. Your fear rose when hearing footsteps behind you.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back.

You hear a flop and a groan and stupidily look back. On top of the man who was following you was The Robin- Well, not 'THE' Robin, but one of them... The new one.

Robin's eyes go up to you, before they widen for a second.

"Y/n?"

"Do I know you?"

Before he could back track, you hear some fabric flap[?] and look back to see THE Batman. He was tall and incredibly intimidating.

"You should probably go home, kid."

"Yeah." You look back at Robin, before back at Batman. "Yeah, I will."

[mullermilkshake]

A lasting impression - Part two

Part one

Part two

Sukuna takes matters into his own hands.

MINORS DNI 🔞 - Tags: Yakuza AU, Fem!reader. Hanami the muscle mummy, Graphic depictions of violence, gore, murder, eye gouging, stabbing, disembowellment, blood, eye gore

Yakuza!Sukuna

Sukuna knew exactly who had taken you, or for certain which family.

It wasn’t the fact that someone had taken you, this was way past that now. It was the point that someone had dared to touch you, struck you- hit you. Someone had the absolute gall to leave a mark on your body and cause you pain.

And Sukuna would not have it.

He paced down the street and called a taxi, on his way over, he managed to remove the blood from his face at least. Not the most presentable, but enough not to scare off the driver when he got in.

"Where to, sir?"

Sukuna gave the address and sat back in the seat with his arms crossed.

"That's quite far, is there a special occasion?"

Despite Sukuna just not liking people, it was admittedly neutral not to hear from someone who knew who he was. Or the man was incredibly blind not to see the blood on his clothes. Nor that he was Yakuza.

It was most probably because it was getting dark out. Still, his voice wasn't completely annoying.

Sukuna observed out of the window at the passing signs and open food stalls with one goal in mind. "I'm going to a boxing match."

Better for now than announcing that he was going to take a life tonight.

"Oh! You must be one of those famous boxers or something. Well good luck tonight!"

"Sure."

Sukuna listened to him ramble on the entire way over, almost banging his head against the glass and the longest story anyone could ever tell.

He must have thought more than a handful of times just to kick the man out of the taxi and drive himself over to the family office. It would have been faster than whatever this was.

The only saving grace to him was Sukuna's pent up rage seeing you as you were. By now, Uraume would have taken you back to headquarters, probably bathed you and wiped the red from your face.

Just the thought of another mans blood on you made Sukuna physically sick. The viscous liquid he painted on his fingers that were an extension of his arm touched you and contaminated your skin.

He would never forgive himself.

Maybe he would forgive it when he confronted the person he knew was responsible for this transgression.

Jiro Awasaka.

The bald headed fuck.

Just from those words you spoke. Tallest woman you had ever seen.

"Here's your stop sir, good luck on your endeavours."

Sukuna slid out of the car and just dropped plenty of notes on the man's passenger chair to which he yelled out with joy. It didn't matter how much was there, not really.

The light was on in that office like a beacon, beckoning Sukuna towards it like a moth fluttering by. The Awasaka family knew Sukuna was far from unsuspecting though decided to piss him off anyway.

Idiots.

He wandered in without a care, the empty lower levels weren’t a shock to see but suspenseful to say the least. Sukuna took the stairs with his hands in his pockets and just trudged up to the third floor where the office door was already open.

"Sukuna. I'm surprised to see you here."

Awasaka was hidden behind his desk, fingers laced together as though he was subconsciously hoping Sukuna would turn right around and leave and believe this pathetic front he was producing.

"I'm not interested in you just now, Awasaka. It's her I want."

Hanami. Awasaka's half witted guard.

The tallest woman anyone had ever seen. A rose amongst thorns in the Yakuza world. That's why she was so easy to identify.

Usually she her full arm and shoulder tattoo sleeve of roses and vines were visable. They were covered up in a black suit jacket clinging to her body and her tie at her next was done up to the top, that only a petal of ink peeped out over the collar by her neck.

She stood in the corner, suited more fashionably than her boss in her fitted pant suit, fluidly showing her attributes along the tight material across her arms.

Her height and muscles alone were nothing to deter Sukuna though.

"Her? What's she done?"

The fact that this man was questioning Sukuna's inteiilgence was laughable. "Did IQ's drop since the last time we met, Awasaka?"

Nanami said nothing, she stood by his side looking through Sukuna like he was nothing. And he was far from nothing.

'Nothing' was Awasaka. 'Nothing' was this entire clan and their chairman.

Noritoshi Kamo.

Yes. the very same Kamo.

"Oh... that meeting with your wife? Well she attacked two of my men, one is dead. All Noritoshi wanted to do was talk with her, but she caused so much hassle."

Upon hearing that, Sukuna couldn’t have been more proud of you.

He also wanted it be known that Choso Kamo was plucked from the same tree Noritoshi grew, yet became nothing like him. he had his reservations, but it was better the kid grew up under Sukuna's watchful eye instead of that ungrateful bastard.

Noritoshi Kamo was nothing to Sukuna, he was far superior in every way and never once actually saw Noritoshi as a threat.

"My bet is you wanted to ransom her off, right? How much is my wife worth to you, Awasaka?"

Sukuna ket his eyes transfixed on Hanami. The coward behind the desk suddenly became mute.

"Be concise and perhaps I won't kill you," if that wasn't enough to get his toes curling, this definitely would be, "or did you forget what happened to Zenin?"

He noticed Awasaka visibly swallow yet kept his smug look somewhat steady. "A hundred mil."

It was that easy to extract information from him and Sukuna hadn't even pulled any finger nails yet. How disappointing.

In honesty, you were worth far more than this little empire Sukuna had built. He'd trade it all in a heartbeat.

"The fact you think that a lousy one hundred mil would equate to my wife's worth, just shows how small minded you are. You bet too little on her head and quite frankly, I'm insulted."

One hundred million yen was 'nothing'.

You were everything.

"Sukuna-"

"I'll take compensation for the suffering you have made for a civilian. That does not come in monetary value. It comes in blood. Her blood."

"Hanami will do no such thing."

"Hanami will if she values you as her superior. Or perhaps I should start with you instead, Awasaka."

Sukuna had not moved from his spot in the office, the office door still open behind him. His age was becoming more evident, but his senses were not dulling no matter how much his opposition wanted to think.

"If you want more blood spilled, by all means, let your men down the hall witness my bare fist rip your stomach out."

"Wait... Leave us be- leave the building!" Awasaka called to no one and the movement tickling Sukuna's ears fell silent.

"You made the right choice, man," Sukuna made his move to the desk before both living bodies could register, "though I don't give second chances."

He grabbed the back of Awakasa's head and brought it down to the flat of the desk, the satisfying crunch of a broken nose set Sukuna’s instincts into overdrive.

This was nothing compared to what happened with Naobito Zenin.

Hanami finally made her own move, trying to block and break the closeness between her bleeding boss and Sukuna. Far too slow for someone hired to protect and just as clumsy when Sukuna avoided her fist and swinging arm upwards easy enough.

He swung and moved with enough speed to kick his leg out and temporarily topple Hanami in the awkward space behind the desk. Next, he pulled Awasaka from the chair and threw him to the ground to the point his stomach was now exposed under his shirt.

That's where the little ball point pens went from the stand on his desk. Two in deep enough to make the man squirm. Hanami grabbed Sukuna from behind and yanked him away.

She was slick enough to assume she had Sukuna in a bind, pulling him up and using the crook of her elbow at his neck. She never did see the two bull point pens in his hands.

Sukuna moved and utilised the almost two foot height different to his advantage and slipped out of it easy enough, practically climbing her and peicing her eyes with enough pressure that they popped.

She screamed out and stumbled around the room unti her body hit the wall with him still attached to her.

"An eye for an eye, but let's take interest until I'm satisfied," he twisted the pens and let them squelch the mass inside the eye sockets, "flesh from your skull ought to do that, maybe it'll teach you not to touch who you do not have any right to."

She said nothing, just yelped in pain some more until she slipped down the wall.

"Come on, don't be shy when you were so confident earlier hitting a civilian," He pushed the pen shaped metal in deeper until Hanami stopped moving. "Consequences have actions and I do not let things slide. Not when it comes to her."

No one got away with touching you in any way and got to walk out without losing a body part.

And now to take out the trash.

Awasaka still laid on the ground right where he was, gurgling away from his broken nose and most probably a punctured lung. Sukuna knelt down at him and watched the pathetic waste struggle.

"This will certainly be a sign to Noritoshi to take me on and I hope he does. Maybe then I'll find someone actually worth fighting, though I highly doubt that."

Pushing his fingers through the gouge in his stomach he made, Sukuna opened it further and noted the spray from Awasaka's lips as his hand disappeared inside his abdomen.

There he pulled out whatever he could get his hands on and yanked it from his body, it was practically still throbbing and steaming in his closed fist when it was tugged away.

It slumped on his skin and formed a neat pile over his chest, like a bow for a present. That should have been enough to question Noritoshi Kamo and coax him in for a 'little talk' about how his lieutenants were going unchecked.

It wasn't the last time he'd do this. It wasn’t as though Sukuna had eradicated the danger for you, but he could sleep sounder tonight knowing one less evil was at large.

They were all filthy nobodies not worth their salt.

And soon Sukuna would ensure they all met their graves in a timely manner.

Just for you.

[euno11a]

pairing: Childhood best friend! Jungkook x Childhood best friend! Reader

Warning: not much? Slight heartbreak, reader being madly in love with JK, JK being oblivious, jealousy, slight angst, fluff

***

Was it wrong to be in love with your best friend, even though he has a girlfriend?

I mean, it probably was, selfish even - but how could you not? He had the sweetest smile, the kindest eyes that sparkled every time he talked about comics he loved or new foods he’s tried.

There was an innocence to him almost, one that made him see the world and all the good in it. You couldn’t help the way your heart tugged every time you saw him with his girlfriend, the way he was slightly stiff, always had an awkward smile on his face and did almost anything to keep away.

He met Jia, his girlfriend, in high school. You remember the day he ran to you all giddy and smiley, telling you about the girl he liked.

“She’s so pretty! She has the prettiest eyes, and her hair, god her hair! She puts it into a ponytail and it sways when she walks-”

“Doesn’t all hair sway when people walk? I mean, unless you put product in or something.” You asked, raising a brow as he looked at you with a pout and furrowed brows.

“Jeez, Y/n, just listen! Okay? She’s…different.” He said, but the way he looked away with a small smile made your heart break. He rambled on and on about her, how amazing she was, how funny she was, the fact that he saw her in the hall today.

Of course you supported him throughout his years of dating Jia, you didn’t want to sabotage his relationship no matter how much you loved him. So now, being in university and a….semi-mature person, you decided to put this silly crush behind you.

It was annual game night with all your friends at his dorm, it was a tradition you had started in junior high and carried to now, in university. You walked up to the frat house door, hating the smell of sweat that lingered outside even. You were let in by Jimin, one of Jungkook’s friends who welcomed you with a hug. Walking in further, you could see the small group of people. You migrated to the kitchen to help get some things ready, feeling someone poke your sides. You jumped, a small yelp escaping your lips as you turned to see Jungkook with a big smile on his face. “Jeez, Kook! You scared me!”

He chuckled as he pulled you into a playful headlock, his big hands tangling in your soft hair. Pulling you into a noogie, he peppered your head with kisses, ignoring your muffled complaints.

"Ah, my favorite girl is here! I missed you, Y/n~" He said in a singsong voice, finally releasing you from the headlock. You grumbled and tried to fix your messy hair as he just grinned like a fool.

"Aww c'mon, you know you love my noogies!" He teased, flicking your nose playfully. "Now c'mere, I need my daily dose of Y/n hugs!"

He opened his arms wide, waiting for you to walk into his embrace. He loved you, he really did, you always cheered him up no matter what. Even when he had Jia, they never hugged or touched as much as he hugged you. He needed your comforting presence in his life.

"Seriously though, I'm glad you're here. Game night isn't the same without you." He said sincerely, holding you close and rubbing soothing circles on your back. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume.

“Of course it’s not! You need someone to humble you, who else is gonna do it if not me?” You giggled, pulling back to look at him. There was always this look in his eyes, one that you always thought too much about. It was like a glow, a special shine that happened whenever he saw you - and it made you glow.

Soon enough everyone was called to the living room, sitting around in a circle, you sat across from Jungkook, and Jia…well, she sat in his lap. Glaring. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, looking towards Jimin who was explaining how to play Truth or Dare.

“Doesn’t everyone know how to play?” Namjoon asked, everyone giggling as Jimin hit the back of his head, “No! So let me have my fun and explain. We’re gonna spin a bottle to start, whoever it lands on has to ask someone else a question, then they answer and ask, and it’s just a big circle.”

The first round was simple, Jimin asked Taehyung if he ate his last cookie, leading to a pillow being chucked when he said yes - guess the moral was don’t eat his cookies. Everything was fine, flowing normally, people laughed, someone almost started to cry from how much they were laughing; but all good things must come to an end.

“Who were you with yesterday?” Nora, Namjoon’s girlfriend, asked. And soon enough, everyone was focused on Jia. I could see the way Jungkook pulled back, brows furrowed as he looked at her.

“W-What? I wasn’t with anyone yesterday. I was with Jungkook!” She exclaimed, immediately becoming defensive. It was all a blur - the yelling in the room, the look of anger on Jungkook’s face, and then him dragging her away.

Everything was silent. We all sat there awkwardly, looking at each other, knowing that there was most likely a fight going on behind the closed door of his room. Ten more minutes passed, and Jungkook finally came out of his room, staying silent as he walked past everyone and out onto the balcony. You bit your bottom lip, pushing yourself up to follow after him, seeing his hunched frame over the railing. “I broke up with her.”

A gleam of hope shot through you, knowing it probably wasn’t the best time to have a small smile on your face. You sighed softly, moving to stand beside him, looking at him with gentle eyes. “I’m sorry…”

 "Part of me feels relieved, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. But another part of me feels guilty, like I just hurt someone who cared about me." He finally looked over at you, his brown eyes searching yours. "You know how much I value loyalty and honesty. And I just... I couldn't continue pretending anymore. Pretending to be someone I'm not, pretending to be happy when I wasn't... I like you. I have for a while, but I was too much of a coward to break up with Jia.”

His confession made your cheeks heat up, a look of adoration growing. He turned to you fully, his warm hands cupping your cheeks, eyes flickering from yours to your lips. He leaned in closer, his lips inches from yours as you lifted your hand to stop him.

“Kook…I like you too…a lot. Since grade school, actually. But…you just broke up with Jia, and I don’t think it would be wise to jump into anything just yet…” You wanted to bash your head in for denying him a kiss, but you knew it was for the best.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, you’re right…fuck.” He pulled away, looking down at his feet awkwardly. You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his face, words soft as you spoke.

“Don’t be sorry, okay? I’ve waited for you for this long…what’s a few more days?” It didn’t matter how long you had to wait for him, you just knew you would. And he would for you.

[0omillo0]

hello!

i was wondering if i could request an imagine where han and reader have been dating for years (close to marriage) but reader is always in “competition” with lee know? they friendly fight over han but it’s never serious, like han giving the reader attention but lee know pokes his side to steer han’s attention away.

idk if this makes sense but i saw a tt that gave me the idea and i really enjoy your writing! anyways have a good day! 🤍

a/n : tysm I appreciate it so much 🫶🏻 hope you like it <3

fluff!! humor!! kinda short sorry🥹

Han x Reader (ft. Lee Know)

The afternoon sun bathed the cozy living room in a soft golden glow as you curled up with Han on the couch. After dating for years, you had perfected the art of just being together—no big gestures needed, just quiet moments, his arm around you, his smile close enough to catch your heart in an instant.

You looked up at Han, feeling his warmth and the soft squeeze of his hand, when you noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in. Just as you were ready to steal a quick kiss, a familiar poke jabbed at Han’s side.

“Hey, am I interrupting something?” Lee Know’s smirk was unmistakable as he slid onto the couch next to Han, conveniently wedging himself between you two with the stealth of a cat.

You sighed, rolling your eyes with a grin. “As a matter of fact, yes, you are.”

“Oh, my bad,” Lee Know chuckled, clearly not the least bit sorry. “But I think Han’s looking a little bored over here. Mind if I keep him company?”

Han laughed, nudging Lee Know back, though his hand still reached over Lee Know’s shoulder to lace fingers with yours. “Come on, Minho, you have all week to hang out with me.”

Lee Know raised a brow, his expression dramatic. “Oh, I see. Someone’s already whipped.” He gave Han a playful nudge, then leaned over Han’s shoulder to give you a mock pout. “How’s it feel to have such competition, Y/N?”

You crossed your arms, putting on your best fake glare. “I don’t know, Lee Know, maybe you should find your own boyfriend to pester.”

Han burst into laughter, his eyes crinkling with that adorable look that made you melt. But Lee Know was relentless. He poked Han’s side again, and Han squirmed, laughing.

“Okay, okay! Stop, that tickles!” Han chuckled, clutching at his sides but still keeping one arm firmly around you. “You two can share, how about that?”

“Oh no,” you said, leaning over with a smirk. “I’m not sharing. He’s mine.”

“Possessive, I see,” Lee Know said, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Han, blink twice if you’re being held captive.”

“Captive? More like captivated,” Han said, looking at you with a smile so soft, it made your heart skip. For a moment, Lee Know even seemed to pause, rolling his eyes at the sweetness, but a faint smile slipped through his teasing.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you two lovebirds a break,” he said, standing up with a sigh that could only be described as mock dramatic. “But don’t get too cozy, Y/N. I’ll be back to reclaim my bestie soon.”

He gave Han a final, exaggerated pat on the shoulder and tossed you a wink before disappearing into the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, Han turned to you with a grin. “You know he’s totally jealous, right?”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing. “But he’s got nothing on us.”

Han leaned in, his face close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whispered, as he pulled you into a soft, lingering kiss, undisturbed this time.

But just as you were about to melt into the moment, Lee Know’s voice echoed from the kitchen, “Don’t get too comfortable in there!”

The two of you burst into laughter, the sound filling the room with a warmth and joy only shared by people who love as deeply as they play.

[ghostgirl-22]

It’s November so… uh Happy Halloween 👻

18+ !NSFW! Explicit

Day 31: That one time at the Halloween Party

Pair: Artrick + Tashi

It ends upstairs in the bedroom of some star baseball player, Tanner Mulligan, he’s got a full ride to Stanford just like Tashi. Patrick has no idea who the fuck he is but both Art and Tashi seem to know him. It’s how they got invited to his Halloween house party in the first place. There were so many people, hell Patrick probably had a full conversation with him but he doesnt remember much before the bedroom.

He remembers what they dressed up as. He was Mario, red sweater, blue jeans, gloves, a dumb cap and mustache that kept dropping off so he gave up. Tashi was the princess peach in a short little knock off pink dress with frills and a crown. And Art matched him in green but still so blonde he could’ve been a princess too.

It was supposed to be a couples costume but obviously Patrick would never choose if he could get away with it. So they all went together. Art still desperate for his girlfriend and Tashi still playfully amused about it.

It doesn’t matter though. Patrick can handle him. At least that’s what he thinks.

Art is popular among the tennis team but everyone at Stanford seems to adore Tashi. So it was just easier for Patrick to spend the night with Art and watch Tashi work the room. Besides he’s got prime real estate, a spot next to Art crowded onto one of the sofas.

Well it’s not easier, Art’s sitting between Patrick and one of his tennis friends that clearly has a huge crush on him. It’s so fucking obvious to everyone… except probably Art.

It’s ironic actually.

Patrick would go commiserate if he didn’t hate the guy. He’s working on Art, when Patrick’s not even there and Patrick thinks he’ll lose it if someone else gets to fuck him first.

Thankfully Art’s oblivious to the fact that the boy is steadily bringing him drink after drink to get him drunk. Something Patrick might do if he imagined they could make out at the end of the night. It annoys him though that this guy seems to know this about Art.

So Patrick takes Art’s drinks when he’s half done nearly every time to slow the process. It does earn him several frustrated glances from Art’s new boyfriend to which Patrick smirks in response. If he wants it he can get in line. Art’s conveniently oblivious to their silent feud, though. He’s busy pointing out girls in slutty Halloween costumes.

“Isn’t she your type?” Art asks about at least three different girls. Patrick thinks maybe Tashi has broken him because as hot as some of these girls are they aren’t really on Tashi’s level for him.

Even more amusing, Art must notice him watching, when Tashi chats with a group of 4 or 5 boys dressed as zombie football players because he leans over and whispers. “Brandon is the quarterback, he has a crush on her, they’re in the same biology class.”

“Shut up,” Patrick says.

“What? I’m just saying…they work in the lab together. He’s kinda handsome, right?”

Patrick looks at him, smirking. “You’re such a manipulative little shit.”

“I’m not being manipulative, I’m just literally telling you about him,” Art hiccups, snatching his drink back and taking a sip. He’s already drunk. Such a fucking lightweight.

“Yeah Patrick, I think he’s right. You should go check on your girl. I mean… they are standing kinda close.“ It's Art’s crush. He really wants Patrick to leave and Patrick really wants to tell him to fuck off.

“So I go over there and fly off the handle. Tell her she can’t talk to any boys and she tells me to fuck off and comes crying to you right?” Patrick says to Art and he shrugs, shit eating grin on his lips.

He’s not wearing the Luigi cap or mustache any more, boy crush playfully snatched it so Art would take his hat and so he’s got on this Indiana Jones Fedora. He looks stupid cute. If anything Patrick would tell him not to talk to any more boys. He trusts Tashi… at least enough to know she wouldn’t fuck around without telling him. But Art would do it and think nothing of it. They aren’t dating after all…

Tashi walks over then with another friend, some pretty girl with long braids, dressed like a vampire in thigh high stockings just like Tashi’s except black instead of white.

“This is my boyfriend, Patrick,” she says smiling at her friend. “Patrick this is Olivia. She’s my RA.”

”Hi,” Patrick says, trying to focus on her face and not their legs. He’s had enough drinks though that he’s fantasizing about them tangled up together. Tashi’s clearly tipsy or something, one of her white tights is slipping down her calf, her crown is on crooked, her eyes are glassy and she looks dangerously close to spilling whatevers in the red solo cup she’s holding.

“I’ve definitely seen you before, trying to sneak around so you could spend more than three nights in a row in her dorm room,” Olivia says laughing.

“She’s the reason we got away with it,” Tashi grins, she lifts her sleeve back up on her shoulder and it immediately drops again.

“I love you,” Patrick tells her friend and she smiles.

“Look I love her but don’t do it again. I need this job,” Olivia says.

“We won't, he's staying with Art tonight,” Tashi says.

“Technically the rule goes for the whole building but I’ll just pretend you didn’t say that…since I’m not his RA.” Olivia says.

“And that’s why we love you,” Tashi links their arms and they start chatting two feet in front of them. Art’s not being subtle, he’s looking at Tashi’s thighs while boy crush asks him if he wants another drink.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Patrick asks Art.

Art hiccups and points over at a line of people waiting near a closed door. Patrick groans. “I don’t think I can wait.”

”There’s another one upstairs you can go to,” boy crush says. “I’m sure there’s no line.”

“Come with me,” Patrick says to Art.

“But then we’ll lose our spot on the sofa,” Art points out, his eyes drifting back to Tashi’s long legs.

“I can show you where it is,” Tashi says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you,” Patrick gets up. And of course Art stumbles to his feet too and Patrick smirks. “I thought you wanted your spot.”

“I uh.. I might have to go too,” Art says.

“The group costume is so cute,” Olivia laughs looking over the three of them.

“Thank you,” Tashi curtsies adorably in Olivia’s direction and Olivia grins. Tashi takes his hand and he reaches for her cup before she almost spills. “My bad,” she giggles and she gives it to him. “It’s rum and coke.” Tashi says in his ear.

He takes a sip as they go upstairs. And the alcohol seems to hit him harder as they’re walking around. The second bathroom is full. It seems like there’s a couple hooking up in there. Tashi giggles as she presses her ear against the door.

“I think there’s another bathroom,” Art hiccups.

“Lead the way,” Patrick says.

That’s how they end up in Tanner’s bedroom in varying degrees of inebriation. Tashi sits on the bed to pull up her white knee high socks she can’t stop giggling and it makes Patrick smile.

”How do Mario and Luigi even know a princess anyway? Aren’t they plumbers? And what’s with all the turtles?” She’s cracking herself up and it makes him and Art laugh.

“And…” Art adds. “what the fuck is yoshi?”

”He’s a fucking dinosaur,” Patrick says.

This cracks them up even more. Everything is so funny and Patrick thinks if he doesn’t catch his breath and go in the bathroom soon he’ll pee his pants. But the funniest part is when Art leans in and kisses him. It’s just a little at first, and then again. Then he’s pushing his tongue in Patrick’s mouth.

“Mm,” Patrick steadies him. “Hold that thought while I pee.” He whispers.

Tashi giggles. “You two are fucking now, huh?”

“God, imagine,” Patrick rolls his eyes.

Art blinks like he’s just realized where he is and what he’s done in front of her. “I didn’t mean to…” he starts.

“I know,” Patrick smirks. “It has been well documented that you didn’t mean to every single time it happens.”

Art rubs his face. “I’m really drunk,” he groans.

Patrick can’t hold it any longer. He goes in the bathroom and when he comes out he’s not surprised to find the two of them making out. Art’s doing exactly what he might do to Patrick when he gets dizzy drunk. Trying to get on top, straddle her. And Tashi is playing her fingers into his hair pulling him closer.

If it was anyone but Art he’d probably be pissed. Instead he’s having trouble catching his breath.

He walks closer to the bed and plays with a strand of Tashi’s hair. She seems a bit startled and she pulls back looking up at him a little guilty. “Dont be mad… you kissed him first.”

“It’s okay…it’s hot,” Patrick says, quietly. He feels dizzy, his cock is already full in the steps it took for him to reach the bed.

Tashi bites her lip and pulls her hair back squeezing her thighs together. Arts licking his lips… they’re all messy covered in her gloss. His mouth now stained the same color as hers. He stares up at Patrick, lips parted, eyes dilated. Patrick’s one step away from blue screening.

“Are you two gonna fuck?” Patrick asks.

Tashi sits on her hands, crossing her legs. She can’t sit still… it’s such a tell. “I thought you two would.”

Art shrugs and Patrick snatches the fedora off his head, as cute as he looks Patrick kinda hates that he’s wearing it. “You know he wants to fuck you right?” He tosses it on the bed.

“Who Carter?” Art sniffles. “No he doesn’t. You think everyone wants to fuck me.”

“No he does,” Tashi says, grinning. “I thought you wanted him too. You guys flirt all the time.”

“Because he can’t help himself,” Patrick says, teasing his fingers into Art’s hair.

“He’s my friend.” Art says.

“How many times have you kissed him?” Patrick asks.

“Only twice,” Art hiccups. “Mm and I was really wasted and confused. So it doesn’t count.”

“What the fuck?” Tashi giggles.

“He’s a menace,” Patrick straddles him on the bed. Art leans back on his elbows.

“Mm not being manipulative.” He murmurs.

“No of course not,” Patrick leans over him and takes his mouth. It tastes good, the way Tashi’s lipstick tastes. He licks Art’s lips and Art licks his tongue, pushes it inside Patrick’s mouth deepening the kiss. He can hear the beat of the stereo thrumming through the house and Tashi taking light breaths. He feels Art getting harder as he grabs Patrick’s face, he’s such a good kisser. It’s not surprising that Carter wants him drunk to do it again and again.

Patrick moves his hand down to unzip Art’s jeans and grips his swollen cock. Art gasps, licking his lips as Patrick pulls back. “I get to fuck you first,” Patrick whispers. “Right?”

Art moans as Patrick works on him. “I’m not even… oh fuck…he’s just my friend, Patrick.”

Tashi takes a breath and crosses her legs again.

“I know, and you’re such a good friend Art. Till you're tipsy in his bed with your mouth on his cock.”

“No,” Art breathes. “It’s not like that…He’s not like you.”

“Not like me how?”

“Patrick,” Art says breathlessly as Patrick stops touching him.

“Not like me how?”

“Mm so drunk,” he whines, squirming and stretching out beneath Patrick. Patrick traces Art’s mouth with his fingertips and he opens up right away. Sucking them inside while staring up at Patrick.

“Jesus Christ.” Patrick breathes. He ponders what to use for lube because he needs to fuck him right now or he might go insane.

Tashi lays on the bed next to Art. And Patrick slowly pulls his fingers out watching her.

“You’ve never had anything inside you?” She asks, softly playing with his hair..

Art closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I promise it feels so good,” she whispers. “Really fucking good.”

“God,” Patrick breathes.

Art opens his eyes and turns to look at her shyly. She grins, touching his cheek and he kisses her. Patrick grips him again, he’s gentle with it. He doesn’t want Art to come yet but he’s dripping, dripping, dripping wet from the tip. Art sighs as Tashi pulls back, her fingers lingering in his hair.

”You’re such a pretty boy,” she says softly. “You should let him fuck you.”

“Your boyfriend?” Art says.

“Mmhm,” Tashi says, quietly. “Or maybe… you want to fuck him?”

Patrick thinks he’s in love with her.

Art bites his lip and reaches for Patrick’s zipper. Patrick doesn’t waste time waiting for him. He undoes it himself before getting Arts jeans all the way off.

Art gazes at him and hiccups, grinning. “You want to put it in me?” He’s come apart like a little slut, legs spread wide, flushed all down his neck, cock so full, heavy. Patrick starts to grab at his sweater and Art lifts it off. Patrick doesn’t have lube but Tashi has a condom that’s covered in it in her bag so Patrick kisses her. She grins against his lips and helps him take his sweater off.

Patrick then looks at Art beneath him, nothing but raw, needy, anxious energy. He nudges Arts thighs further apart and kisses him. Slowly. Letting it build.

Art lets him, stretched out beneath pushing his tongue in and out like sex and moaning till Patrick can’t take much more. He positions himself and feels Art starting to tense. He presses…slowly… and Art starts to react as the tip enters.

“Wait…” he breathes. And Patrick thinks he might kill him. Just take the pillow and smother him. He slips out again and licks his top lip forcing himself to calm down.

“Yes?” He says breathlessly.

“What if someone tries to… tries to… is the door locked?” Art asks.

“I can lock it,” Tashi says.

”She’s gonna lock it,” Patrick says, and Art nods. Patrick goes to try again and Art sighs.

“Patrick wait… have you ever… have you ever done this before?”

Patrick presses his lips together trying to find the best answer that will lead to the least amount of follow up questions.

“Art I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” Tashi says, climbing back on the bed.

“Okay,” Art breathes.

“Okay?” Patrick says raising his eyebrows.

“Can you go slow? I’ve never…” he trails off and he sounds oddly lucid.

“Yeah I’ll go slow. But you’ve got to let me fucking go or you’re gonna kill me,” Patrick says.

Art nods again and adjusts his head on the pillow. Patrick bends over so their faces are inches apart and he cradles Arts face in his hands. “Just close your eyes. I’m only gonna fuck you like a friend. A really good friend.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Art says, biting back his smile. Patrick licks at his mouth and Art opens for him. Another kiss and a moment later Patrick starts again easing into what is honestly deliciously tight wet heat. Art is squeezing right away which feels insanely good. Fuck. Maybe he’s having a religious experience. He’s wanted this for so fucking long. He’s halfway in and Art is pulling his legs up on either side of him.

“Oh fuuck… Patrick…” Art moans breathlessly. And Patrick thinks he’ll probably embarrass himself and come on one or two strokes if Art's voice continues to sound like that.

When he gets fully inside Art is holding his breath. And Patrick smiles and slowly pulls back. When he’s mostly out, Art breaths out again. He’s fucking shivering.

Patrick pushes again and gazes at him, rubbing his stomach. “Okay?”

“Mmhm,” Art says, tense.

“Relax. Breathe through it,” Patrick says, probably talking to himself more than anything.

Art nods and tries to let it out. Patrick is pretty proud actually for lasting this long. He goes for it again and Art’s breathing so deep and then he moans.

“Is it okay?” Patrick asks. The sound is going to kill him. Make him nut inside all prematurely like he’s fucking sixteen.

“Yes,” Art says. He’s still shivering. “Mm fuck… yes, yes, yes,” Art moans into his ear.

Tashi sighs and Patrick can see she’s got her hand between her thighs. And fuck, this moment is gonna do permanent damage to Patrick’s brain. He thinks he might die actually.

Patrick is something like five strokes in before Art breaks him completely. He’s watching Art’s tummy rise and fall when Art begins moaning for it in earnest and clenching so tightly.

It’s so fucking delicious that Patrick knows he won’t last much longer… he thinks of death, dying, his sister, his mom, his stupid brother…anything to keep himself together but nothing is fucking helping. So he grips at Art’s cock and starts jerking him… thankfully it only takes twice before Art’s spilling all over himself, his hips jerking up erratically and the sound, the sounds he can’t tell who’s doing what anymore…even his own voice is foreign to his ears. Patrick just loses it. Just fucking can’t anymore.

“Fuck,” Patrick groans, collapsing on top of him.

Art takes shallow breaths. “Mm Patrick?” He tangles his fingers in Patrick’s hair.

“That was,” Tashi whispers, her voice still pitched with arousal, she’s trying to catch her breath. “Did you like it?”

“Mmhm,” Art hums.

“I told you.”

Patrick can hear them kissing again.

He’s ready to fall asleep right here. Listening to them. Listening to Art's heartbeat. He thought that this would fucking cure him but he might actually be more sick over Art than he was before he fucked him. He’s certain everything that just happened in Tanner's little bedroom will be permanently etched into his memory. Even if the rest of the day isn’t.

He knows they eventually got dressed and that maybe they mixed up the red and the green. He doesn’t know what the fuck happened to the fedora or Carter for that matter. He remembers going back to the dorm. Watching Rocky Horror picture show. Tashi falling asleep in Arts bed while he slept on the floor with Art. And he remembers Art doesn’t pull away when he links their fingers together.

———————-

Thank y’all for reading. Master list is here.