#and the water is high pressure and the bathroom is dark and the air outside the shower is cold

[futilechildhooddream]

okay steps for showering

Get up

turn on the shower

forget to grab clothes

grab clothes

forget to plug in devices

plug in devices

cant find a towel

find a towel

stand uncomfortably in the hallway until 40% certain haven’t forgotten anything else

start the dishes

remember I was supposed to be showering

shower (maybe)

never leave

[iwouldn-tdothatifiwereyou]

Sleepy Fun (18+)

FRANK IERO x FTM!READER

SUMMARY: Frank and Y/N are sleeping in the same bed, and Y/N wakes up to Frank ✨jacking off.✨

WORD COUNT: ~1.8K

————

It was late already, music playing quietly in the background. Y/N was in the shower after a super duper ultra hella mega long day at school. He didn't really know where Frank was at this point, but he could assume that his boyfriend was at the very least in the apartment.

Y/N sang along to the words, eyes scrunching up as he lathered shampoo in his hair, knitting his fingers into his scalp.

He smoothed his hair down as he let the shampoo be washed out by the high-pressure shower, occasionally running his fingers through the locks to make them stick up at funny angles because it felt good.

Eventually the man had to turn off the shower head, because they couldn't afford for him to be taking forty-five minute showers. So he counted to three, and on three (not after three) he turned the faucet off. Cold immediately swarmed into the shower and bit at his entire body. He shivered, quickly stepping out and groping around for the towel while trying to stay on the mat placed in front of the shower. A bit of a feat considering how short he was and how far away the towel was, but he managed.

He dried off, carefully patting down the still-healing scars on his chest before going to swipe the towel down the rest of his stomach to collect the water beading down the skin. Carefully avoiding looking at that one part of his body, he continued to dry himself off. He went back up to his hair eventually, scrubbing the fabric through the locks and then drying off his shoulders one last time. He didn't bother to brush his hair down before stepping out of the bathroom.

The air was even colder outside in the hallway, so he waddled, with the towel under his armpits to keep it up, to the bedroom that he shared with Frank to get dressed.

Frank looked up at him as he opened the door, eyes lighting up and face stretching into a fond smile. "Hey, love. Good shower?" he asked. He made grabby hands at Y/N when he walked across the room towards the closet.

"Yeah, give me a minute." Y/N threw over his shoulder as he ruffled through the t-shirts hung up to find one to wear to bed. He settled contently on a Slipknot shirt that Frank had managed to catch for him when they had gone to one of the band's concerts back in 2018. He dropped the towel, completely naked with the door open, to slip the shirt over his head.

"Nice ass," Frank teased. Y/N blushed slightly, despite being used to compliments like that and also being used to getting dressed and undressed in front of his boyfriend. The shirt went down to mid-thigh, so he didn't exactly care to bother putting on boxers.

So he tip-toed back to bed and fell fully onto Frank's body, wrapping his arms around the middle of the man's torso. He scooted his legs to where they were bent under him and his butt was more or less up in the air, wiggling it teasingly but content with any outcome.

Frank moved his head so his mouth was right next to Y/N's ear. "You're so gorgeous," he mumbled. Y/N hummed happily at the praise. They stayed like that for several minutes, the music still playing in the background.

"Well, it's late baby. We should get some sleep." As Frank turned his body, his clothed dick brushed against Y/N's thigh. The man hummed quietly but didn't make any move to do it again, instead just hugging his boyfriend closer and rubbing his back through the t-shirt. They tangled their legs together.

Y/N fell asleep like that, dreaming of nothing.

But then he woke up. He wasn't sure what had woken him up until he heard something familiar. A gust of air right next to him, like a labored breath. He opened his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. In the dark, it was difficult to see, but there was light coming from the hallway where a night light was plugged into the wall, and an outline of a hand moving back and forth caught his eye.

"Frankie?" he whispered, stomach swooping as his boyfriend's face turned towards him. "Are you..."

"Oh, baby, I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry. I just..." he began. He paused. "I'll go finish in the bathroom." But Y/N's stomach had already begun to fill with familiar butterflies and his arms started to tremble with excitement.

"No... wan' help," he stated sleepily.

"Sugar, you're half-asleep," Frank protested, but Y/N's body was already shifting to hover over him.

"C'you kiss me?" he asked, voice slowly losing the tired rumble that he usually had just after waking up.

"Are you sure?" Y/N nodded, before realizing that he probably couldn't see him, and vocalized his consent instead. "Okay." Frank leaned up as Y/N leaned down, both of them tilting their heads opposite ways. His lips were as soft as ever, and the stubble on his face left this delicious tingling in Y/N's mouth. It started out as just lips moving gently against each other, but eventually a hand slick with pre-cum came up to rest on the side of his face and the kiss became harder, more needy. A tongue slipped into his mouth and he didn't even attempt to fight for dominance, basking in the heady warmth of being dominated.

"Baby, baby," Frank gasped as he pulled away. "My prettiest boy, can you lay down for me?" His breathing was a little ragged at this point and his thoughts were clouded in a shy type of lust, but he understood vaguely what Frank wanted from him, and so he complied. He rolled onto his back and bent his knees slightly.

Expecting a cock, he was surprised when his boyfriend crawled down to the bottom of the bed and grabbed onto his thighs, face between his legs. "Gonna eat you out, sweetheart," he whispered as his breath ghosted over Y/N's cunt. His teeth grazed against the clit as he spoke, and Y/N whimpered, eyes going half-lidded, but he wanted to watch, so he forced them to open.

Frank's tongue darted out of his mouth to swipe along the labia, making Y/N's legs shake for a moment. He pulled his tongue back, leaning in closer, nose buried in the pubic hair there. His tongue once again pushed out from his mouth, this time pressing all the way into Y/N's quickly softening cunt. He mewled, voice cracking in a way that it wouldn't have even a year ago.

Frank's tongue twisted as it fucked in and out, slowly but powerfully, dragging against Y/N's walls. Spit was beginning to dribble down the length of Y/N's labia and he shivered. "Please..."he whispered, not quite sure what he wanted but needed to voice whatever thoughts he could piece together. Frank liked when he did that.

The tongue was gone and Frank's head lifted a little bit. "Gonna finger you..." He went back down, a hand now gone from one of Y/N's thighs, and a calloused finger pressed in along with Frank's tongue. He pressed the tip of his finger into the walls of Y/N's vagina in a way that made the man's stomach curl delightfully. He felt in the moment like this was what Frank's fingers were meant to do, even more so when another finger slid in alongside the first. The drag felt so good.

He kept sliding them in and out at a painfully slow pace, for minutes and minutes, sweet gods, how long was he going to keep up? If Frank kept taking his tongue out to nip at his clit, he was not going to last much longer.

And that's exactly what Frank did, pulling little moans and choked pleas out of his boyfriend's mouth until he came with a shudder that strung out his whole body and curled his toes. He tongue-fucked him through the orgasm, pressing one last kiss to the opening before pulling away, stubble grazing along the sensitive skin and making Y/N shake again.

"Can I..." Frank's cock was still out and hard, swollen and deep red. Y/N shook his head as he sat up on jelly-like knees.

"My turn," he mumbled, pushing Frank backwards, hearing the man's body thud against the bed.

Y/N had only done this a few times, being shy and unsure of himself, but he was determined to get his boyfriend off this time. He pressed a butterfly kiss to the tip of Frank's length, and another, and another. "Baby, don't tease." Frank's voice was ragged and low.

Y/N huffed out a laugh, loving the control he had over the current situation. He rubbed the side of his face along Frank's cock before going back to take the tip of it in his mouth, tonguing at the slit of it and sucking gently. His boyfriend groaned.

He pulled more of it into his mouth, halfway down now, swallowing again as he continued to suck, harder now, remembering the tips that Frank had given him over the course of time since they had begun their sexual adventures together. His fingers traced mindlessly along the insides of Frank's thighs as he continued to suck, tongue running along the underside of his cock.

Y/N continued to inch deeper until he was almost struggling to breathe, and then he let himself relax as much as he could. He brought his hand up to Frank's, fisted in the quilt, and tugged on it, placing it on his head when the fist uncurled. "Fuck, love. Love this, so good, you're so good," he muttered as his hand carded through Y/N's hair, tugging gently on it but careful not to do so too harshly.

"Gonna cum, fuck, fuck, fuck—" Frank's hips bucked slightly, making Y/N gag and tears form in the corners of his eyes, but he stayed where he was, swallowing down the warm spend that Frank released. Frank's hand trembled where it was tangled in his boyfriend's hair. Y/N hummed as Frank's orgasm came to an end, coming off of his softening cock and crawling upwards to rest his head on the other's shoulder.

"Thank you, pretty," Frank panted in Y/N's ear, and his stomach fluttered again. "Now let's get back to bed."

———

I have several several fics that I have prepared to post bc I’ve been writing for a while and my bf just recently suggested for me to post them on here. Hope you enjoyed!

[tricksters-captain]

Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving Part 2

AN: Right giving you all what you really wanted... 

Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...

In this chapter: After having a dream about the man himself, you decide to seek out Zemo...

(PART 1 HERE)

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,013

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, receiving oral, choking, Zemo does use a couple phrases in his language and since Sokovia isn’t a real country or language I used Polish (I have seen several fic use German before however). 

You tossed and turned in bed as you tried to get comfortable. Your skin felt hot and uncomforatble to be in and your mind wouldn't stop replaying Zemo’s hands on you. The large bedroom made every movement sound louder than it was so every time you rolled and made the bed frame creak, the more you frustrated you grew. 

You hated Zemo for making you feel so confused. He was an attractive man, that was true, but he had torn the avengers apart. He had used Bucky’s past against him several times and even gotten you hurt because of it. Why did you all of a sudden have the desire to see what he tasted like... 

You figured he’d taste like mint toothpaste and whiskey or perhaps of coffee from earlier or perhaps.... What were you doing?! 

You buried your face into your pillow and groaned. 

You must’ve fallen asleep eventually because you had started dreaming. 

You were back in Madripoor. It was Sharon’s high town home and you had just changed for the party. Except you weren’t wearing what you actually wore that night. Instead, you were wearing a long silky black dress that dropped to the floor with a small trail. It had thin black straps that went over your shoulder and connected to the dress delicately; the dress was completely backless and the cool air from Sharon’s AC tickled your exposed skin. 

“You look beautiful.” Zemo’s voice filled the room. You looked up in the mirror to see Zemo standing at the door behind you. 

“It’s not too much?” You asked, flattening out the skirt with your hands. 

Zemo made his way towards you until he was right behind you. The hairs prickling up on your back revealed just how close he was standing. 

“Not at all.” Zemo brushed the tip of his finger along your shoulder, following the curve from your neck and then down your arm until he cupped your elbow gently. “You look perfect.” 

You felt your breathing stop as Zemo started to learn forward, his eyes remained locked with yours in the mirror as his lips finally met your skin. 

He kissed your shoulder lightly before opening his mouth and grazing his teeth against your flesh, biting ever so gently but with enough pressure to make the sex between your legs throb. 

“We shouldn’t.” You whispered. 

“Why not?” Zemo turned you to face him with the hand that rested on your elbow. He brought you closer to him, pressing a hand to the exposed small of your back. His strong calloused hand against you only made your legs feel weaker. 

“You know why.” You placed your hands on his chest but didn’t push him away. Yet. 

“Ahh, yes. Because of James?” Zemo tilted his head. “What would poor James do if he caught us together like this?” Zemo let his hand slide down the outside of your thigh and hook under your knee, bringing your leg up to his hip to bring you closer. 

You smirked, leaning into the man’s ear. Brushing your lips just ever so slightly against his lobe as you spoke. 

“He’d kill you.” You whispered. 

That’s when you woke up. 

You woke up covered in sweat, your chest heaving and your hair slick to your forehead. You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep for because Bucky was now asleep on the couch in the room too. 

You hoped you didn’t sleep talk anything weird during that dream but you figured that Bucky would be waiting for you to wake up to confront you if you had said Zemo's name or something similar. 

You climbed out of the bed quietly and headed towards the door. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep after that dream and you had felt gross from waking up all sweaty so you made your way to the bathroom. 

You splashed cool water on your face and wiped your neck and chest with a damp towel before you left the bathroom again.

You looked down the hall to Zemo’s room. 

You knew which one it was for safety measures. Sam had taken the room beside his so that he could keep an eye on him but you knew Sam would probably be in the living room on his laptop at this hour to keep watch. Make sure no one is sneaking in or out of the apartment. But that also meant you could creep over to Zemo’s room without the anxiety of Sam coming out of his. 

You found yourself walking before you could stop yourself. 

You hovered outside the door for what felt like an eternity before you lightly rapped on the door. 

You opened it without hearing a response. 

Zemo was sat up on the edge of the bed, tying his robe around him as he must have had been woken by the intrusion. 

“I thought you were Sam.” Zemo rose to his feet after he realised it was you who had entered. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” You apologised. 

“You didn’t. I was merely laying in the bed. I did not lie when I told you about my struggles with sleeping.” Zemo had mentioned his insomnia in the kitchen before. 

You remained in the doorway, just looking at Zemo, panicking slightly as you tried to find something to say. 

“I don’t know why I’m here.” You said lowly. 

“You don’t?” Zemo cocked his eyebrow at you but didn’t move. 

“I just...” You started, “I had this...” You failed to explain yourself.  

“Shh. Shh. Shh.” Zemo waved his hand. He slowly made his way towards you. “You don’t need to come up with excuses.” 

“I’m not.” You argued. 

“Just tell me the truth.” Zemo was now in front of you. He was close enough that you could see the slight stripe pattern on his dark pyjamas beneath his robe. You could also see slight hair poking out of the top of his shirt as the first few buttons were undone. You resisted the urge to reach out and stroke your fingers down his exposed chest, to explore what was beneath his silk pyjamas...

“I-I...” You struggled to respond. You almost felt like punching a wall at how frustrated you were at the fact that Zemo somehow managed to leave you completely speechless. 

“I often use these long nights to think.” Zemo spoke so you didn’t have to. 

“What do you think about?” You questioned. 

“A lot of things usually.” Zemo waved his hand as he spoke. “But these past couple nights I’ve found myself thinking of something more out of the ordinary.”

“And what’s that?” You asked.

“You.” Zemo cocked his head as he looked at you.

You felt a heat grow between your legs as you watched his eyes flicker to your lips for a second. 

“May I?” Zemo stepped forward, reaching his hand out to close the door behind you.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his face passed yours. Zemo slowly pulled back from the door, your faces were mere inches away from each other as he hadn't bothered to go around you to close the door but over your shoulder instead. 

Your gaze met. The thick tension around you was suffocating. 

With his right hand, he reached up and cupped your jaw, firmly underneath your ear. His thumb ran over your cheek; his touch burning against you.  

Zemo leant forward, closing the space between you, and kissed you. 

It was a sweet kiss. A first kiss. He was testing the waters. 

Just as he went to pull away, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him back in. Your body flushed against his as a powerful urge took over you. 

Desperation. Need. A fire that grew in your stomach.

Zemo placed one hand in your hair and it’s counterpart on the small of your back. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he tugged lightly at the back of your hair. 

Zemo’s mouth traveled down your jaw to your neck. His tongue sent goosebumps over your skin as he explored it. He could taste the saltiness from the result of your dream. 

“Did you get all hot and bothered for me, mały ptaszku?” He cooed as his hand moved from your hair to your shoulder. He stroked down the back of your arm until he reached your elbow. You felt your heart skip with the flashback to your dream. 

“What are we doing?” You asked breathlessly as you clung onto the man’s robe. 

“Anything you desire.” He lifted his head back to face you. 

There was a beguiling darkness in his eyes but it didn’t scare you. It only enticed you. 

Zemo took your hand and brought it to his lips. He pressed a silky kiss to your fingers all the while maintaining eye contact. The way his lips look as they curved against your fingers made your stomach tighten with want.

Zemo had noticed the blazing fire in your eyes as you watched him. He smirked, taking just one of your fingers and placing in between his teeth. He dragged it gently, grazing your finger as he pulled it down his lip; the cool night air tickled the wetness on your skin.

Zemo let go of your hand before lifting his own fingers to your lips. You let out a shaky breath as he stroked his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“So beautiful.” Zemo took a moment to admire you. Your lips were slightly plump from his kiss and your eyes were wide, glistening in the dim light. 

You reached forward and steadily untied his robe. He shrugged off the extra layer at your silent request. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Zemo’s searched your eyes for any hesitation or uncertainty but failed to find any. 

You nodded your head ever so slightly. 

“Words, kochanie.” Zemo ordered.

“Yes.” 

“Good girl.” Zemo’s mouth turned up at the corners. You felt your stomach flutter at the praise.

Zemo kissed you again. His large hands held either side of your neck as he guided you deeper into his room. 

You took one of the man’s hands and dragged it down your side, ushering it towards the inner of your legs. 

“Does my little bird want to be touched?” Zemo’s voice was low as he spoke into the kiss. 

You bit down on his lip and urged his hand closer. 

Zemo chuckled at your response. 

“Use your words.” He instructed you. 

You parted from the man when you realised just how close the bed was. You sat down and pushed yourself upwards so that Zemo would have to follow to continue kissing you. He recognised the play. 

“I told you to use your words.” Zemo tutted as he remained stood at the bottom of the bed. You felt him wrap his hand around your ankle before tugging you back down to him. 

You gasped at the sudden action, staring up at the man with lust blown eyes.

Zemo knelt down at the end of the bed. His hand moved up your ankle and began to push up your pyjama leg up. His lips pressed against your ankle, nipping and licking your skin as he worked his way up your calf. 

When he reached your thigh and could go no higher, you helped him by removing your pyjama bottoms. You suddenly felt very exposed in just a tank top and your panties. 

“Such a good girl.” Zemo smirked at your hurry to strip for him. 

Zemo held your thigh with his hand, he dragged his tongue along the inside of it, biting your skin softly but didn’t venture too close to your core. He could sense just how desperate you were for him as your legs began to slightly shake with want. But he wanted you to beg...

You reached down and buried a hand in his thick, styled hair. He only smirked and glanced up at you through his eyebrows as you tried to bring him closer to you. 

Zemo hooked his fingers around your panties and pulled them down, freeing your hot sex to him. 

Zemo sent you a dark smile just before he pressed his tongue against you. The smell of you was too much to resist, he had to taste you. You inhaled sharply as he buried himself between your legs. His tongue teased your clit as his forefinger began to circle your entrance.

“So wet for me.” Zemo murmured. 

His finger pressed inside of you and you arched your back, desperate for more. 

“It’s been a while, mały ptaszku?” Zemo was watching your every reaction as he pumped his finger in and out of you. “For me too.” He confessed. 

His tongue found your sensitive bud again and applied more pressure, causing your grip on the man’s hair to turn even tighter. Zemo groaned at your tugging. His eyes lulling back as his boxers became very tight around his member. 

You could feel your walls tensing as he entered a second finger inside you. Your stomach twisted with your approaching climax. 

“I’m gonna...” You barely managed to breathe out two words out.

“Sing for me, mały ptaszku.” Zemo commanded, his eyes glued to you as he watched you come undone around his fingers. 

Zemo retracted his hand as he allowed you a moment to recover. He wiped the slick wetness from his chin as he regained his stance. 

You leant forward and took hold of the man’s shirt, tugging him towards you. Zemo teeth scraped against your lips as he kissed you fiercely. You craved for him to be inside of you and he craved the same. Watching you cum for him only made him ache with want and need. 

“Zemo...” You used his name for the first time that night, “Please...” 

Zemo couldn’t resist your pleads. 

He tore his pyjama shirt off and stripped of his bottoms, revealing his thick member. 

You reached forward, taking hold of him to feel his impressive size. His tip dripped with precum and the groan that rumbled from his throat at your touch only made you want him more. 

Zemo placed his hands under your arms and tossed you higher up on the bed. You exhaled a shaky breath at the dominant action. He climbed on top of you, parting your legs with his knee. 

“I feel I need to remind you that it has been a very long time since I have been with a beautiful woman such as yourself so I shall try my best to hold back.” Zemo was honest as he aligned his tip to your entrance. 

He slid himself up between your folds spreading your wetness on his head, you felt your convulse at the feeling of his hard cock on your throbbing clit. 

Zemo’s jaw clenched tightly as he finally pressed himself into you, his eyes closed as he relished the feeling. 

You rocked your hips against his as he filled you completely. 

Zemo remained still a moment as he just you fully adjust before he started to move inside of you. 

His hand found your throat as he began to pick up his pace. 

Your nails dug deep into his skin as he squeezed your neck lightly. 

Zemo thrusts became deeper, harder and with every stroke, you felt that sweet spot ache inside you. 

Zemo began to murmur in Sokovian under his breath as he fucked you.

You wrapped your legs around him, your body begging him to fuck you harder. Zemo was happy to comply. 

He thrusted deep within you. Sweat was building on his forehead and his skin felt like fire against your own. 

You clawed at the hand that was wrapped around your neck. Longing for more pressure. 

Zemo eyes rolled back for a moment as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him. 

“Fuck... (Y/n)...” The sound of your name on his lips sent a wave of electricity through your body. 

Zemo released your neck to grab hold of the  headboard behind you. His knuckles turning white as he fucked you faster. 

One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, clinging onto him tightly and Zemo took the chance to sink his teeth into your forearm. You winced at the delicious pain and bit down on your lip to stop yourself from cursing. 

As your second climax suddenly engulfed you, your legs tensed around the baron. The feeling of you pulsing around him was enough to bring forward his own finish. He cursed in his native tongue as he filled you with his seed. 

Zemo dropped his hand from the headboard as he tried to support his weight above you. 

His hot breath danced across your face as he panted above you. 

Zemo removed himself from you and fell beside you. 

You brought your arm up and ran your fingers over the indented teeth marks in your skin. 

“You could’ve done that somewhere less visible.” You scolded the man. 

Zemo weakly smiled at you as he tried to recover. 

“I apologise.” He said through his heavy breathes. 

You reached over the side of the bed and scooped up the baron’s silk pyjama shirt. You wrapped it around you as Zemo watched you with curiosity. 

You slid off the bed and went over to the decanter by the couch in Zemo's room. You poured yourself a glass of scotch and a glass for Zemo before returning to his side. 

“This never happened.” You held out the glass to the man. He took it carefully before clinking the glass against your own. 

“What the soldiers don’t know won’t hurt them.” Zemo was referring to Sam and Bucky. “Doesn’t mean it can’t happen again, no?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” You straddled the man, downing your drink. 

Zemo placed his hands on your thighs, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. 

“What does mały ptaszku mean?” You suddenly recalled the name Zemo had kept calling you now that your mind wasn’t clouded from lust. 

“Little bird.” Zemo smirked. 

AN: Hoped you enjoyed ;)

Tags 

@montypythonsholysnail @chipster-21 @daniquehavinga @noavengers @and-claudia @moonstuffsteve​ @thanoshadtosnaptwiceforyou​ @the-reas0n-is-y0u​ @xaanyhs @soccer-100000​

[itsallyscorner]

hey. can u do part 2 to the’ Being a High School Student on A Marvel Set’? :)

💌

Period Buddies

Pairing: platonic!Sebastian Stan x teen!reader, platonic!Anthony Mackie x teen!reader

Summary: I’m currently on my period so I wrote this to help me cope:) Basically Anthony and Seb being the biggest and supportive guys to you during your period:)

Warnings: Umm not much, some mentions of blood and periods.

Hello my love!💞 Thank you for the request! I was actually planning on making another ‘High School student’ fic with the Marvel cast, so I decided to use that idea for this request! I hope you like it🥰 Also sorry I haven’t uploaded a fic in a while; I was lacking motivation to write and school was pretty hectic😭 Thank you for your patience my loves x

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

fluturaș - little butterfly

✧───── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You were laid out along your couch in your trailer, a fluffy Sherpa blanket wrapped around you and your head resting atop two soft pillows. You were laid on your stomach, the pressure of the couch slightly helping with the stinging pain in your lower abdomen. Your geography teacher was teaching via Zoom, though your laptop was on the coffee table that was inches away from you; knowing you weren’t feeling your best, you’ve decided to stay on the couch for school and moved the table closer to the couch so everything was within your reach. You had been lazily taking notes—or attempting to with the remaining energy you could muster up.

You had been surprised by the devil himself when you woke up earlier today at around six in the morning. You knew your monthly was coming; with the constant cravings, body aches, and the newly developed pimple gracing your face, your period was around the corner. And you were right, a dark red stain was splotched onto your white floral bedsheets when you woke up today. What a way to start the morning.

Yes, no woman ever felt their best during their period. You were always bloated, hungry, and blood was constantly flowing out of you, yet you were still expected to show up to both work and school. Not to mention, the pain you were currently enduring was making it really difficult for you to to focus on anything. Your teacher’s voice seemed to fade into the background as your body was blinded with the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. You may have been overreacting, but everything just hurt.

Geography was your midway class, meaning that you were halfway through your school day. Which also meant that you were soon to be called to set. You had a lunch break and some time to do your homework, but either way you still had to get to set. Usually you’d be antsy to get the school day over with, practically buzzing to get to get into your costume and do some stunts with your two favorite guys on set. Although today was different, the thought of heading to set and being active felt dreadful. You just wanted to curl up into a ball, snuggle into your Sherpa blanket, and take a well deserved nap.

Your teacher’s voice was interrupted by a knock on your door. Already knowing who it was, you let out a faint “come in” to the two men outside your trailer. A second passes before your trailer’s door slowly opens and Anthony’s head pops from behind it. His sparkling yet dark brown eyes and toothy grin etched onto his friendly features. Sebastian pops up behind him, an equally wide smile on his face as he wiggled a white take away box in the air.

“What’s up buttercup.” They cheerfully greet you.

Though both of the men’s smiles drop once they see you bundled up on the couch. Anthony fully enters your trailer, Sebastian following suit. Approaching your little set up, Anthony glances at your laptop.

“Isn’t your camera on? Did your teacher allow you to attend school like this?” He asks you. He knew you were a responsible kid and had no troubles keeping up with your education. But that’s the thing, you were still a kid. Having kids of his own, he knew how unmotivated children can get in the middle of the school year and the laziness that came along with it. Seeing you lounging on the couch while your teacher was lecturing was just a bit concerning for him.

You stiffly nod, “My camera’s off. I just don’t feel good.”

The last sentence catches both of the grown men’s attention. Sebastian rounds the corner of the coffee table and hovers over you, observing your face. He softly places the back of his hand onto your forehead, checking for any alarming warmth.

“You’re a bit warm, but it’s probably because of the blanket.” He mutters, choosing to sit on the arm rest of the couch. “You alright, fluturaș?” He looks down at you in concern, lips tilting down into a small frown.

Anthony had settled beside your feet, one of his arms using your ankles as an arm rest. Strangely enough his arm brought you comfort instead of adding to the ache in your legs.

“I’m just—I’m on my period.” You mumbled in response. You wait for the awkward tension to build but it never came. You glance at the two men and see the realization settle in them.

“And I have really bad cramps at the moment, that it’s just hard to do anything. So I decided to stay on the couch today.” You explain with a slight shrug. They didn’t understand the pain you were going through, but they understood what you meant. While the both of them had female friends and what not, they were somewhat aware of what you were going through.

Anthony claps his hands to his thighs, “Alright, it’s ok to give yourself some rest. You just relax and listen to whatever your teacher’s going on about.” He motions to your laptop and continues, “Is there anything we can do to help you?”

While taking down notes, you momentarily glance at them, “No it’s fine, you guys already brought me food. Thanks, by the way.”

They didn’t want to leave you alone, you were clearly not feeling well and they both wanted to do something. They couldn’t do anything about the pain from your menstrual cycle, but they can help distract you from the pain.

“No, we’re gonna help you. Have you eaten ever since breakfast? I’ll spoon feed you if I have to.” Sebastian insists. You thought he was joking, but when you looked at his face he was serious.

“I had a brownie—wait, aren’t you guys supposed to be filming?” You question the both of them.

“Something went wrong on set so now we have a few hours or something till they figure it out.” Anthony answers, scrolling through his phone. He abruptly stands up to his feet and heads towards the door. You and Seb send him a questioning look.

“I’ll be back.” With that he pulls your door open and jogs out, leaving you and Sebastian in your trailer. You decide to tune back into your class, resuming to take down notes from the slides your teacher shared. Suddenly, a large hand gets in the way of your notebook.

“Gimme that.” Sebastian takes the pencil and notebook from you, placing them on his lap and staring at your screen. His eyes scan the PowerPoint, looking for the part you left off on. He hums when he finds it and began to write the notes himself.

“What are you doing?” You raise a brow at him, scanning his appearance. He was dressed in Bucky’s clothes, minus the black and gold ‘metal’ arm. He was still sat on the arm rest, slightly slouching so he could bend down to use his lap as a table.

“I’m doing your notes for you.” He answers nonchalantly. He motions to the white take away box on your coffee table, “Eat your lunch, I got this.”

You hesitate to sit up, feeling bad that Sebastian was doing your notes. Though, he did insist on doing it and you weren’t feeling your best. After an internal argument with yourself, you decided to let it slide and let Sebastian do your notes. Besides, he looked like he was enjoying taking notes on agriculture regions and the different types of farming.

“Are you sure, Seb?” You ask him again, slowly sitting up on the couch. He responds with a distracted ‘mhm’, his eyes focused on your notebook and his tongue sticking out in concentration. You quietly thank him and get up to use the bathroom.

While you were gone doing your business, Anthony had entered your trailer again. This time he had a plate full of brownies, a medium sized cup of ice cream from the vending machine, and one of those red hot water bottles in his arms.

“Where’s the kid?” He balances the things in his arms while carefully placing the plate of brownies onto your coffee table. Anthony locates your mini fridge and stores the ice cream in the freezer.

“Bathroom.” Sebastian acknowledged, still focused on writing the notes correctly in your notebook. He made sure to write neatly and copy the way you organized your notes. Saving you the hassle of missing out on important parts of the lesson and from decoding his personally sloppy writing.

Anthony empties his pockets to reveal more of your favorite snacks from crafties and the vending machine. “So...what are you doing?”

“I’m in geography class.” Anthony snorts at his friend before taking a look at your laptop screen, “And what are y’all learning in geography class?”

“Pastoral nomadism.” Seb bluntly answers. With his arms now free of the items he brought, Anthony decided to tidy up your couch. He folded your blanket neatly, fluffed your pillows, and made space for Seb to actually sit on the couch.

“What the hell is pastoral nomadism?” Anthony thought out loud.

“It’s when people travel from place to place with domesticated animals. It’s usually practiced in dry land climates.” Sebastian explains, eyes never faltering from the screen or your notebook. Anthony let’s out a sound of approval at Seb’s explanation. When he was done cleaning up your couch, he took the white take away box and headed to your kitchen. Emptying the contents of the container onto one of your plates, heating the food up for you.

You walk into the kitchen section of your trailer, shutting the bathroom door behind you. A delicious aroma lingers in the air, your nose picks up on the smell, sending it straight to your stomach. In response, your stomach lets out a low growl, making Anthony snicker at you.

“I’m heating up the food.” Anthony mentions as you pass by him. You thank him with a small smile as he gently nudges his shoulder against yours.

“Want me to make tea or something? I heard it helps reduce the cramps.” You raise a brow at him amusingly, “Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it on Google. You know, research, gotta make sure our girl’s comfortable.” He proudly tells you. Your heart warms at the fact that both him and Seb were willingly helping you while you were in pain. The microwave dings catching both yours and Anthony’s attention.

As he gingerly takes the plate out he asks you, “You wanna eat at the table or the couch.”

“The couch, I still wanna listen in on the lesson.” For a moment you forgot that you were supposed to still be at school, taking notes, and listening to your teacher teach the lesson. You enter the living room and sit next to Seb, who’s hand was digging into your pencil case.

“Want me to take over?”

“Nah, I got it, I’m too invested to stop. Which one?” He held up three of your highlighters, one was light blue, another was a peachy pink, and the other was a typical yellow highlighter. You grin, picking the peachy pink one. He tosses the other two back into your pencil case and uncaps the highlighter. While your teacher wraps up class, he began to highlight the new terms from today’s class.

“Here ya go.” Anthony sang; grabbing a pillow, placing it onto your lap, and carefully setting the plate of chicken teriyaki fried rice on top of it. You happily thank him and began to dig in. He slumps onto the couch beside you, “Tell me if you need anything else. I’ve got ice cream in the freezer, brownies, a hot water bottle, and a whole box of tea.” He throws his arm around your shoulder, letting it rest against the back of the couch.

You pause your eating, pouting at the two men beside you, “You guys really don’t have to do this. But I appreciate it so much, thank you.”

Seb looks at you over his shoulder, sending you a sweet smile, “Anything to make you happy, fluturaș.”

Anthony squeezes your shoulder, “Anytime munchkin, starting today till you’re not a ketchup packet anymore, Seb and I’ll be your period buddies.”

You snort shaking your head at him, “Again, I appreciate it Ant, but please don’t call yourselves period buddies.”

“What’s wrong with period buddies? You’re on your period and we’re all a bunch of buddies. It makes perfect sense!” Anthony reasoned defensively. Seb looks at the both of you over his shoulder again, “I like period buddies.”

“See! Thank you.” You playfully rolled your eyes at the two. “Fine, period buddies it is.”

Your geography teacher wraps the lesson up and ends the Zoom call. Seb shuts your notebook and puts it to the side. Clapping his hands, he asks you, “Alright, what class do we have next?”

“Calculus.” You smirk, followed by the groans of Anthony and Sebastian filling your trailer.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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[jaeminscoffee]

Still with you | L. Dh

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Warning(s): Sexual themes insinuated, Oral (fem receiving) mentions of multiple orgasms, softdom!Haechan, Reader slips into subspace, soft aftercare, could be potentially cringe since I've never written anything related to subspace before yikes

type; drabble: 1.14k

To explain your state of mind with a single word, the spotlight would lead to 'bliss'. 

Though, the sole meaning of the word too falls short when you are to talk about your emotions as Donghyuck skillfully works his mouth at your core. 

One can only explain your expression as that of a person who'd reached cloud nine when he pins you down with a gentle arm thrown over your waist. 

"Hyuck, oh god.." you whine out as you feel yet another high growing at the pit of your stomach.

You writhe around when Haechan finally does you a favour and slides his tongue into your wetness with much ease while simultaneously adding pressure onto your clit with his free hands.

The sight unfolding between yours legs is truly sinful that Asmodeus and Eros themselves would've grown a problem to deal with where the sun doesn't shine. 

Donghyuck lets out a throaty growl while observing you from the valley of your chest, his hips slowly grinding onto the mattress which makes him think that he could just attain his orgasm while listening to you chirping in pleasure, the pleasure he's providing you. 

He's the one making you feel this good. 

"Donghyu-.. Donghyuck I'm so cl-!" He replaces his tongue with two beautifully slender digits as the work with much experience simultaneously along with the pleasurable figure eights he's drawing onto your clit.

"Fuck baby, you're going to cum again? Am i making you feel that good?" He let's the question linger in the air, not really expecting an answer. 

You thrash around as your high hits you the moment you hear his airy voice, his fingers working hard to prolong your orgasm, your mouth open ajar, eyes screwed shut. 

You're ethereal. 

Donghyuck slows down the pace a little in order to allow some room for you to catch up on air before diving in again, quickly replacing his figures with his mouth, lapping up your essence. 

You don't really know how long your boyfriend has been going at it. You even lost count of the times you came. But this was nothing you couldn't handle, Haechan knew that all too well. 

"you're so fucking beautiful, do you know that?" he mumbles against your clitoris, replacing the thumb with his tongue before sliding two digits in once again. You sob at the sensitivity. 

"i could keep going, baby. How do you keep getting sweeter after every single high." 

"Hyuck..! " you whine at his words, jolting each time the tips of his finger brushes against your sweet spot, further encouraging another wave of pleasure to hit you all the more powerful. 

The next time you try opening your eyes, all you see is patches of darkness. You feel your hips lift off the bed, possibly entailing that you've reached your high, yet, you feel nothing other than peachy. 

You blink slowly to clear up your vision, curling up in order to clutch your stomach. Yet, you feel no more aching between your legs from the overstimulation.

It's only after the darkness subsides and you regain your senses do you realize that Donghyuck had been calling your name while patiently caressing your hair, removing the few rebellious strands stuck to your forehead. 

"You with me, doll?" he inquires softly. You let out a sound of acknowledgment, letting him know that you're back, not trusting your voice with a full fledged sentence as it could come off as hoarse and cracked from the previous whining and crying.

"Stay with me for a little longer okay? I'll clean us up real quick and then we can cuddle to sleep, hm?" Donghyuck presses a kiss onto your forehead, not caring about the sweat droplets that adorned the skin there before peeling himself off of you, walking into the bathroom. 

Donghyuck returns back in no more than 5 minutes, now wearing a new pair of sweatpants and walks towards the closet to pull out one of his t-shirts. 

He walks over with a wet cloth, and wipes your forehead first, moving onto the neck and arms while slowly making his way south, "Still with me?" he asks, pressing another peck at your torso while cleaning up your inner thigh, making a sound of apology when he senses you jolt as the cloth accidentally brushes against your core, "Mhm, yeah" 

He gently pulls his shirt over your head and walks over to his side of the bed to turn the aircon on, making sure the wings face you to cool down your burning skin, "I'll bring you water, do you want something to eat before we sleep?" Donghyuck questions, 

"Just water would do, oh and! Come back quick please" you speak in a cutesy tone as you watch him turn his back and head towards the door and outside. You hear him let out giggles at your antics, "Of course, darling." he shoots you a wink while semi jogging towards the kitchen. 

Just as you'd asked him, he returned back as quickly as possible with a glass filled with water and a protein bar ( the one covered in chocolate because you have divine taste buds). 

You accept the water, not really wanting to have anything solid at the moment no matter how tempting a mere chocolate covered protein bar looked, "You need something in that little belly of yours, doll. It isn't anything heavy so eat up" 

You shake your head, setting the half empty glass onto your bedside table. Donghyuck 'tsks', opening the wrapper halfway through and shoves it towards you, "I'll be the small spoon tonight if you eat this," 

You blink away the tiredness that keeps weighing down your eyelids at the proposal of your boyfriend being the small spoon as you blindly reach out to grab the bar, much to your disdain. 

"You're still with me, right..?" Donghyuck questions as he watches you lazily chew onto the bar, barely getting the first bite down your throat, your eyes drooping lower with each passing second. 

"Yea..?" He lets out a sigh, grabbing the bar out of your hands, while helping you chug the content with the remaining water. He cleans up the place and helps you lean back down the bed, onto the fluffy cushions, getting in immediately after. 

You curl in onto his side the moment he turns the lights off as you draw random figures onto his bare chest while waiting for slumber to completely consume you. Haechan leans down to peck a longing kiss onto your now tidy hair, hearing your breathing grow softer, the actions onto his figure growing slower, 

"I doubt you're with me-" he chuckles, "You did really well today, doll. Sweet slumber, my love" you hear him just before you fall unconscious, 

"Hmm I'm still with you.." you whisper out before letting the darkness engulf you and lead you into the dreamland. 

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

for your eyes only || h. styles

warnings: swearing, references to drugs

word count: 2.5k

summary: harry is feeling the pressure of making his new album...

You were already in bed by the time Harry got home. Though still awake, your eyes were heavy and your body ached for rest. But you’d never been able to sleep without knowing Harry was safe at home. 

The slamming of the front door echoed through your house. You listened silently as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. You heard him wander into the kitchen, turn on the tap and pour himself a glass of water. After a couple of minutes, he ventured upstairs, heading straight into the bathroom. He began brushing his teeth. 

All the while, you stared out the window of your bedroom. It looked out onto the London streets, dimly lit by the street lights. The bedroom was dark, only illuminated slightly by the outside sky and all of its stars and the moon. 

Harry had been at the studio all day. He’d been stressing about writing his new album. He had started coming home late and leaving early. You barely saw him anymore. You always left him some leftovers in the fridge for him to eat when he got in or take for his lunch. Every time you tried to ask him if he was okay or if he needed to take a break, he’d just shrug you off and tell you he was fine. 

You’d seen a similar thing when he was making his first album, but it was never as bad as this. You’d seen it when he was trying to finish Watermelon Sugar, but it was never as bad as this. 

You felt the bed sink beside you, which consequently woke your cat, who was sleeping at the bottom of your bed. His name was Podge. Rolling over to face Harry, you smiled softly at him. You wanted to be angry at him for never telling you where he was anymore or prioritising his album over your relationship, but you just couldn’t be. You always knew where he was. He went to the studio all day and then would go back to Sarah and Mitch’s for a bit during the evening. “How are you?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your body.

“Tired,” you replied, squeezing him tightly.

He pressed his lips lazily to the top of your head. You smiled at the feeling of his touch. “Go to sleep then,” he mumbled. 

“But I haven’t seen you today. And I won’t see you tomorrow,” you sighed. “I just miss you. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, love. You know I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

You sat up, turning back to him. He frowned, propping himself up against the headboard. “That’s the thing. I don’t think you would tell me.”

“What? Where did you get that idea?” 

“Well, you never told me when you were making your first album. You never told me when you were trying to finish Watermelon Sugar. You don’t have a great track record of being transparent when it comes to telling me when you’re not okay,” you explained. “Instead, all you do is come home and go to sleep. Then you wake up before me to get to the studio early. And even when you finish at the studio, you go back to Sarah and Mitch’s. She’s fucking pregnant, Harry, give them some time alone.”

He sat there and took it like a small child being scolded by his mother. He played with his fingers as you tried not to shout. You both knew it would only be a matter of time before you broke and all your feelings would come pouring out. 

The sound of Podge whining at the bottom of the bed interrupted your heated rant. He plodded his way up to the two of you, settling in between you both. He often did that. He’d clamber up to the top of the bed to sleep between your bodies when everyone was comfortable.

Harry reached down to run his hand along Podge’s soft back. You sighed, throwing the covers off your legs. “I’m going to get a drink,” you told him as you left him alone in the bedroom. 

He watched you leave. He didn’t call out or beg for your forgiveness. That was never how arguments were handled in your relationship. He sighed, getting comfortable in bed again, waiting for your return. The sound of Podge purring was enough to calm his nerves as he listened to you pour yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. He listened carefully as you walked around a bit, before he heard the back door open and close. 

You often went outside to take a moment to collect your thoughts whenever you and Harry got into an argument. Harry knew this. 

You set your glass down as you sat down on the bench against the wall. The fabric was cold against your thighs. You looked up at the bedroom window, wondering whether Harry was contemplating everything you’d said or if he was comfortably falling asleep. 

Harry waited for you to return. You never did. You’d gone to sleep in the spare bedroom. The two of you were too tired to take it too further tonight. So, you both slept, knowing tomorrow would either be full of shouting and tears of frustration or pettiness. 

However, when Harry woke in the morning, he climbed out of bed to apologise to you. Podge followed after him, his claws loud on the floor. But you were gone. The bed in the spare bedroom was made. He slowly made his way down to the kitchen, his nerves getting the better of him. Had you really left? 

There was a note on the kitchen counter by the bowl of fruit. ‘GONE OUT FOR BREAKFAST WITH GEM’. Harry looked over at the clock on the wall. It was thirteen minutes past nine. But he didn’t know when you’d written the note. He quietly poured himself a glass of orange juice and buttered some toast. He went out into the back garden, sitting down in the very spot you’d sat in a few hours earlier. 

The weather was nice. The sky was blue and there was a moderate breeze in the air. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up to reveal the picture of you he had set as his lock screen. Your slightly pixelated smile was electric through the screen as you cradled Podge in your arms when he was just a kitten. 

The notification was from Mitch. He couldn’t make it to the studio. Harry replied quickly, telling him it wasn’t a problem. It was Saturday anyway. Granted, Harry could probably do with a day off. But, even when he lay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing, he was still working.

That was the trouble with making an album: it plays on your mind until it’s finally out in the hands of the public. More so, Harry noticed, with his solo albums. And that was why Harry seemed to spend every waking moment in the studio. He figured that he might as well be in an environment where he can turn his epiphanies into harmonies.

He heard the front door open and close. You were home. Harry finished the remnants of his orange juice. Podge appeared in the doorway, rubbing his head along on the edge of the threshold. Shortly after, you followed. You were standing in the doorway, shuffling awkwardly. “Not going to the studio today?” you asked, sitting down opposite him. 

He shrugged, “Might do. It’s still early yet.”

You nodded. There was no pettiness. There was no shouting. There was just silence with intervals of small talk. Harry watched you as you fiddled with your fingers, your knee bouncing. You were nervous, he could tell. “How was Gemma?” he asked. 

“She was great,” you replied. “Asked how you were.”

“Yeah? What did you tell her?”

“I said you were fine,” you shrugged. “Just busy with the album.”

He nodded slowly, “Right.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up straight. You felt Podge run his body along your leg beneath the table. “What? Was I wrong to say that?” you asked, worrying that you’d done something wrong. 

He shook his head quickly, “No, no.”

Harry didn’t say anything more. He was closed off. There was something he wasn’t telling you. You’d been with Harry long enough to know this. Usually, he was quite open with you. He told you what felt like everything. But this never applied to his music. His job. You and his job were two separate things. He made that explicitly clear from the very beginning. You were never to get mixed up with his music and his music was never to get mixed up with you. The line between the two was never blurred. 

But this meant he hardly ever told you when he was struggling or when he felt like he needed a break from it all. You only ever heard songs when they were finished. You only ever saw music videos when they were complete. You had only ever been to one awards show with him - the 2020 Brits. You had never even seen the inside of the studio. You had only met his band on a handful of occasions, all of which had been on nights out or for celebratory dinners, never when they were rehearsing. 

It was like he was leading two lives. 

“You are okay, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “Sure. Just a bit stressed.”

You sighed, exasperated, “You always say that! Every time I ask if you’re doing alright, you just shrug and tell me you’re ‘a bit stressed’. Harry, ‘a bit stressed’ isn’t spending every day at the studio. It isn’t spending all night at the piano, trying to get a song just right. It isn’t constantly comparing yourself to other artists, trying to work out what worked for them and what didn’t. It isn’t getting high every time you fuck something up. It isn’t acting like you have no life outside of the music you make.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a life outside of the music I make. Don’t you get it? I’ve dreamed of this my entire life. I reached the top with the band. And once you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to own the fucking world, everything you do becomes about trying to get there again. It’s like a fucking drug. When it’s been in your system once, it lives there forever and you can’t stop thinking about it. You crave it,” he snapped. You winced as you watched him become so worked up, tears of frustration falling down his cheeks. He dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly. 

It took you a moment to absorb everything Harry had said. Last night, it had only been a matter of time before you’d broken. Today, it had only been a matter of time since Harry broke. You were sick of it. Harry was sick of it. You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as his words registered, “I don’t know if you need to hear this from me. I don’t know if anyone has ever actually said this to you. But you’ll never be as big as the band.”

Harry looked up, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked offended. As anyone would be, you supposed. “What?” he squeaked out. 

“I know it’s brutal. And I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re never going to be as big as the band. And it’s shit, Harry, I know. But you’re a fifth of that band. Some fans left with Liam, and some left with Zayn, and some left with Louis, and some left with Niall. And some left with you. And some left with all five of you. But the point is you’re missing four of the components you had when you owned the world. That band was fucking massive, Harry.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. You didn’t expect him to. You’d said all you felt you needed to say to him. And, while you knew you’d never be able to relate to exactly how Harry was feeling, you’d seen the devastating consequences stardom has on a person. You pressed on, “You owned the fucking world, Harry. But you owned it with four other guys. And I don’t think you could do it on your own.”

He sighed, nodding, “It’s just hard.”

“I know, baby. But it won’t get easier if you just don’t stop. You need to step back from this toxic mindset you’ve got yourself into. You literally just won a Grammy, give yourself a break,” you said. 

“That’s the point. I won a Grammy for Watermelon Sugar. What if I can’t make that again?” he sighed.

“Harry, you’ll never be able to make it again. Surely that’s the beauty of it all, right? Nobody wants to hear you put out another Watermelon Sugar. I can guarantee your fans would be happy to listen to what you want to make,” you said. 

It felt so foreign to be talking to Harry about these kinds of things. You’d reassured him and given him advice on all sorts, but never about the music industry. That was his area of expertise. But spending time with Gemma always put you in some sort of healthy frame of mind.

You reached across the table to squeeze his hand. There was no way you could still be angry at Harry for spending so much time away from the house. He wiped away the stray tears that clung to his cheeks. He reached down to cuddle Podge, who’d jumped up onto the bench at some point or another. “Thanks,” he said quietly, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up over this. It’s so pathetic.”

“Don’t apologise, H. I love you and I’m always gonna be here for you. Please don’t be embarrassed about these things. I’ll never judge you for being emotional,” you smiled softly. 

“You’re too good for me,” he said, grinning across at you. 

You leaned back in your chair, shrugging, “Probably. I do think of this relationship as more of charity work.”

He laughed, “You’re so selfless!”

“I know! What can I say, some heroes don’t wear capes,” you smirked. 

It was moments like these, with the sun beaming down at the two of you, that you’d missed. Harry was smiling again. It felt like something you hadn’t seen for weeks. 

The truth was, Harry had always found it easier to express his feelings through the art of music. And, while this posed many benefits for him, it meant that, when he was trapped with writer’s block, he found it difficult to free himself of the burdening stresses of his industry. 

You got to your feet, extending your hand to Harry, “Come on, you’ve not had a shower for days. You stink.”

[amerrierworld]

Lullaby

Ocean’s 8 fanfiction

for the request: More Lou x reader plssss they’re so good! Maybe a protective!Lou fic

Summary: Lou is there for you as you struggle with incessant nightmares.

Characters: Lou x gn!reader, the team mentioned in passing

Word Count: 2,071

Warnings: comfort and fluffffff. a bit dark in reference to scary nightmares, restlessness, worry, etc! some fluffy suggestiveness, but nothing smutty

You knew you needed to sleep. Hell, you wanted to sleep. Your eyes were burning as you stared at the ceiling fan high above you, spinning gently and sending cool air to the sleeping bodies below.

The ladies had all crashed at Lou’s that night, an impromptu sleep-over after a night drinking in celebration. There was plenty of couch space to go around, and an extra mattress was pulled out for the remaining few. Pillows and blankets were tossed about and shared. 

You heard Rose snoring quietly at the other end of the mattress. At some point in the night, you had rolled off of your side onto the hardwood floor, blankets half-covering your restless body.

The ground was hard and cold against your back, but it was a welcomed feeling, because you’d woken up in a fit, heart pounding, drenched in sweat and gripping the blankets with trembling hands. 

You didn’t expect nightmares to visit you tonight. You’d drank happily and were exhausted from the day’s events, and you were out cold as soon as everyone turned out the lights and said goodnight.

But shadowy figures danced about your brain as you laid there, staring up at the ceiling fan, trying to decide what to do next. Memories of the nightmare were already fading due to the drunken haze you had fallen asleep in, but the panic was still heavy in your chest. 

Suddenly, your body tingled with restlessness and you sat up. Wincing at the stickiness of your sweaty shirt peeling off the floor, you got up and gingerly stepped around your sleeping friends. You needed to move, or do something, before your heavy breathing woke anyone else up.

You went to the bathroom, used the toilet, combed your fingers through your wild hair. Wandered around the small space for a bit, opened the cupboards and inspected what kind of hair products Lou liked to use. 

It was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet in someone else’s house that you’re not used to. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, which was wondrously large, and debated drawing yourself a bath. It’d be too loud to fill it, you figured. You’d feel like you were imposing, no matter how comfortably you knew Lou and the rest of the team. 

But you also didn’t want to go back yet either. The cool bathroom floor tiles were jarring but relaxing to your aching feet, and the harsh bright light dispelled any shadows around you.

Wild, hot tears prickled the edges of your eyes and you sniffled. You rubbed your face with a shaky hand, irritated at your drowsiness but inability to sleep peacefully which only made you cry harder. 

Wind roared outside and the lights flickered for a split second as you sobbed silently into your hands.

-

Lou wasn’t a light sleeper by any means, but if something sounded off in her own home, she’d be the first to wake up. And so, when she heard soft footsteps creaking up her staircase, she was awake in seconds.

She peeked down the hall and saw the light coming from the bathroom as you snuck in, clicking it shut slowly, as if all hell would break loose if someone heard you. 

Lou normally wouldn’t have done anything, considering there were eight people sleeping over and someone was bound to use the toilet in the middle of the night, but the way your feet shuffled weakly and your head was bowed down in fear made her worry.

She waited for you to come back out. Heard the flushing of the toilet, the running of the sink, and expected you to open the door again immediately. But you didn’t. And when she walked over, leaned her ear towards the door and heard quiet sobs coming through, she nearly broke down the door with how swiftly she opened it, fearing the worst. 

Your back straightened, squeaking in surprise at the sight of Lou in the doorway, her eyebrows furrowed.

You both stared at each other for a moment. Lou opened her mouth and closed it again, swallowing thickly. She realized how invasive it was for her to burst through the door, but the sound of you in torment pushed any rational thoughts out of her brain.

Rubbing your eyes quickly, you got up and wrung your hands in front of you. 

“S-sorry I took so long,” you said, thinking she needed to hurriedly use the bathroom. Lou’s brain was short-circuiting with both worry and confusion. Your clothes stuck to your body and seemed damp, and your face was red and splotchy, despite your attempt to hide any signs of your crying.

You felt bad for waking Lou and keeping her waiting. She was wearing an oversized rock ‘n roll t-shirt that nearly reached her knees, and her hair stuck out in all directions, a low bun drooping and threatening to fall out entirely. 

“It’s alright,” Lou replied dumbly, not realizing why you were apologizing. 

You got closer, trying to think of how to get past her without making it obvious how much you were struggling, hoping her sky-blue eyes wouldn’t catch on.

But a gentle hand stopped you before you could walk past her and you knew that she had.

“Y/N,” she whispered, pushing you back a bit so she could close the bathroom door, giving you privacy, “what’s wrong?”

You nonchalantly leaned against the sink, looking at your toes, “nothing.”

The lights flickered again as the wind howled outside. Suddenly the space felt too surreal, too harsh and bright, and you ached.

Lou turned away from you, rummaging around and pulling out a washcloth. She used the sink behind you to dampen it, and you wondered what she needed it for. Maybe she needed to wash her face, or had some makeup left over...

Then she reached for your hand and gently pressed the fabric against the back of it. The lukewarm temperature of it zapped through your body like a shot and your clammy hand went limp in hers.

She searched your eyes, looking for fear, for rejection. Instead she found pleading, drowsiness and trust.

“I’m not good with words,” she muttered as she rubbed the cloth over your fingers and forearm, before moving to the other. “But does this help?”

You nodded, face scrunching up as tears threatened to flow again and you wanted to hold them back. 

Then she pressed the damp cloth against your collarbones and shoulders, where you felt sickly sweaty, shuddering. When she reached behind to cup your  neck and work her fingers into your muscles through the cloth, you surrendered. Your body tipped forward, following the pressure of her hand and resting your forehead against her shoulder. 

She stilled, holding the cloth against your bare, clammy skin. 

“I can’t sleep,” you muttered thickly into her shirt, voice breaking.

Immediately the cloth was gone and her hands replaced the absence, holding you closely and letting your entire weight rest against her. Hot tears flowed again.

“Did Tammy kick you in her sleep?” Lou asked, “apparently she does that. If she did you just gotta kick her back-”

You chuckled, pulling away a bit, and replied, “no, it wasn’t Tam. I get these.. nightmares.”

Lou’s eyebrow raised in curiosity. Her hands held your waist as she let you speak, the warmth and heaviness of them a grounding feeling for you.

“I have trouble sleeping at really stupid times,” you muttered, “And then I’m stressed about it. When I wake up I- I’m afraid to even think about going back to sleep.

��Like- I- I don’t know, they just happen and I wake up, but I don’t feel like myself when I do, and- and it takes ages to feel okay again. I just..”

You trailed off, biting your lip in worry, clenching Lou’s shirt in your hands as you looked at her chin to avoid her piercing gaze.

Lou’s heart broke a bit at the sight of you fighting with yourself, and she sighed. One of her hands came up to cup your cheek, making you meet her eyes.

“Would it help if someone was with you?” she asked.

“Well.. no, clearly, because even with the whole team down there-”

“I meant someone who was with you. Making sure you’re okay and safe to fall sleep,” Lou corrected herself, smiling at your doe-eyed look, eyes wide, cheeks still splotchy. She picked up the washcloth, ran it under the water again and rubbed it gently against your cheeks.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to form words, feeling wonderfully sleepy in her arms,

“I- I suppose so.. maybe. I don’t know.”

“My bed is a lot cozier than the couches downstairs,” Lou suggested, picking her words carefully. “If you’d like you could...”

“Sleep with you?”

“Not sleep with me,” Lou said hastily, “but.. yes. If it'd be more comfortable.”

You smirked a little, looking up at her and batting your eyelashes, “What if I did want to... sleep with you?”

Lou snorted, “not with the state you’re in right now, missy. You look ready to fall over and snore all on my floors.”

You blushed, rubbing your thumbs over the middle of Lou’s shirt, too distracted by the design on it to notice you were pressing your fingers against her abdomen and warm skin, making her nostrils flare and her grip tighten.

“You can say no, Y/N.”

“No, I’d like that, but.. why? You’re not just feeling bad for me are you?”

“No, of course not,” Lou sighed, “Y/N..”

She cupped your cheek and looked you squarely in the eyes, “you mean the world to me, darling. I mean that. Let me take care of you, at least for tonight. Let me help.”

You blushed, again feeling your emotions well up and threaten to spill over but Lou rubbed your cheeks with her thumbs, brushed back your hair, pulled you closer to her warm body.

You nodded and felt Lou take your hand, open the door and turn off the bathroom light, swallowing both of you in darkness. She lead you and you followed blindly to her bedroom, where a massive bed awaited. 

You put a hand on the mattress, feeling that it was still warm from where Lou was sleeping, and the thought made you blush. There was a glass of water on the nightstand that Lou encouraged you to drink.

“Crying makes you dehydrated,” she said as she went through her drawers. “Drink something, it’ll help.”

You downed the glass in nearly one gulp, and your throat felt less like sandpaper after finishing it. 

“Here,” Lou whispered softly. She was holding out another oversized shirt to you, “It’ll be easier to sleep with something clean.”

You nodded and lifted your arms as Lou reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it off of your body. In the semi-darkness, the only light being Lou’s lamp on her nightstand, you should have felt exposed, but Lou did nothing that made you feel uncomfortable. 

She tugged her shirt over your head and helped your arms through, the soft fabric falling against your skin with a welcomed sigh.

Then she kneeled down and tugged your pants off for you too, palms rubbing at your calves and heels in assurance. 

She pushed back the comforter and climbed in on the other side of the bad, tucking her long legs under the sheets and holding out her hand for you to take.

You snuggled in beside her, warm from where she’d been sleeping, her scent enveloping you and blurring your mind like a drug. 

“Feeling better?”

You nodded, admiring her in the soft light. You looked so cozy, swaddled by her comforter and pillows that Lou couldn’t bear to ask you to turn out the light. So instead, she reached over you with long arms, turning out the light herself.

As she did, your body rolled towards her as she came closer to you, and she blinked in surprise just as darkness surrounded you. 

Once Lou got comfortable, you were pressed up against her side, face buried in the crook of her neck, and your breathing was coming out slowly, evenly.

Lou smiled as she realized you’d fallen asleep, peacefully, it seemed. She draped an arm over your middle and pressed a kiss on your head, holding you tightly and mentally fighting off all the nightmares threatening to come into her room tonight. 

-

A/N: this was very cathartic for me to write, I hope it may do the same for you reading it <3

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

aquarium ii | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader; ex-jungkook x reader

summary: Life after Jeon Jungkook was grey. You had to find your own color, grow your own rainbow. But what would surprise you the most is the appearance of white cosmos, seven of them clutched tightly in Kim Taehyung’s hand.

warnings: reader discretion is advised: a (half-hearted) suicide attempt; mentions of cheating in previous relationship; language; heavy angst; fluffiest fluff; non-idol!AU; kind garden-loving landlord!Taehyung x reader; ft. sadboi!Jungkook

–

part i

-

now playing – without me by halsey ft. JUICE WRLD

tell me, how's it feel sittin' up there? feelin’ so high, but too far away to hold me

You couldn’t remember that night very well, because you didn’t come up.

The worst part about being cheated on was not the actual cheating. It was the moment where you thought you had done something wrong, like somehow it was your fault it happened, like if you hadn’t done this or that, maybe things would have been different. Maybe if you hadn’t chosen that night to snoop into Jeon Jungkook’s phone, he would have had second thoughts, deleted it all, and loved you again. Maybe if you were a little kinder, a little more attentive, he wouldn’t have fallen out of love with you. Maybe... Maybe.

Maybe.

You knew that was just your brain trying to rationalize his irrationality. You had done wrong by invading his privacy by acting on sheer gut feeling. And you had run away, without confronting it, without giving him a chance, because you knew, you knew that if you gave him a chance, you would believe all his words, get dragged back into his sea, back into those dangerous waters.

All these thoughts coursed through you as the water closed in.

The milky bathwater was slowly replacing your depleting air, leaking into your lungs and you didn’t fight it, turning the darkness of the underside of your eyelids into light, because deep down you still loved him, no matter how stupid or foolish it was. Your heart still clung to his soft, I’m sorry, and you didn’t want to hear it anymore.

You didn’t want to know what loving Jeon Jungkook was like anymore. It was too painful.

you know i'm the one who put you up there name in the sky, does it ever get lonely?

You gave everything so he could be what he wanted to be, not knowing that you were the one slowly being eroded. No one could tell you. You were the one who had to find the signs. You were the one who found yourself trapped in glass walls, stuck in an aquarium, surrounded on all sides by Jeon Jungkook as he made a mockery of your feelings.

You screamed into the water and no one heard you.

The next memory you had was hazy, barely there.

You felt a tightness in your chest, harsh, solid pressure. A frustrated, agonized voice above you, desperately calling your name in deep baritone, desperately asking you to come back, praying in every language he knew for you to come back, come back, please, please, please.

“Please…”

In the whiteness, you wandered. Were you meant to be here? It was a loose fog. You looked around, seeing traces of memory like torn book pages, slipping through the haze. You reached out to touch them and they disappeared, only mirages.

And then you fell, dragged into dark blue, torn, battered, lungs burning as you struggled to stay afloat, coughing hard, your muscles screaming with asphyxiation, sudden oxygen flooding your brain. You whipped your head to the side, hacking up water, spilling it all over the green tiles of the bathroom floor, head pounding. Thoughts swimming, barely computing the shouting above you.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” one voice growled above your jerking body, so venomous that it made your blood run cold. “You absolute disaster of a man, thinking for one fucking second she would even consider taking you back. Look at her! She’d rather drown herself in my damn bathtub than hold a conversation with you!”

“What the fuck do you know?” The familiar voice, the voice that haunted you in your nightmares, the voice that fed you sweet poison. “She would do anything for me! She worships the fucking ground I walk on!”

You curled up into a ball, head pounding by the sudden explosion of light and sound. There was a towel over you, covering your wet naked body, and yet you shivered. You barely registered Kim Taehyung snarling, rising to his feet.

“You narcissistic bastard,” Taehyung spat out. “Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out and don’t ever come near her again or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

“You can’t do anything to me. You’re a nobody,” Jeon Jungkook taunted. “Unlike you, I actually have money to sue you for assault.”

Apparently, Taehyung did not give a single shit, because he immediately roared and launched himself past you, the brown ball slamming into the black wall. You blinked, trying to register what was happening, but it was too much for you and your brain that was slowly trying to restore function due to lack of oxygen. They tumbled down the stairs and you laid your head against the floor, hearing the grunts and shouting, wondering why Taehyung had come back.

Wondering how he knew.

You closed your eyes.

In your dreams, you saw the soft sunlight glowing against Taehyung’s tan skin as he reached down to retrieve a dark green cucumber to show you. It was a bit wonky and hadn’t grown quite right, but you watched Taehyung tap it and smile to himself.

“Doesn’t matter what it looks like on the outside,” he said cheerfully. “I know it will still taste delicious because I gave it love.”

-

You tried to go back to work, but it was awful.

You loved your work. Perhaps it was boring to others, accounting all day, but it was mundane and peaceful, always knowing what you had to do. You never had to question the numbers. The numbers were what they were and that was that.

But now when you stared out into the grey urban jungle, it pained you.

What once was your safe haven turned into your cage, chaining you to clock in, clock out. You would go home to a motel nearby, crying into unfamiliar, starched sheets, pitying housekeepers preparing your meals, asking you what was wrong and you couldn’t tell them.

Because you didn’t know.

i'm sad inside, but i know it's for the best, right? you had to realize where you drew the line 

You didn’t check his social media. You didn’t check his Twitch, his Instagram, his Twitter. You got a new phone, only giving your new number to your work and your parents. With a start, you realized you hadn’t contacted your old high school friends in years. You had lost them all, committing social suicide for Jeon Jungkook. In fact, you had no social media presence, so there was no need to download those apps.

There was nothing on your old phone that you wanted. It sat in the storage unit, forgotten. You didn’t want to turn on your old phone to see the photos, the lock screen of his arms around you, smile on his face from two years ago.

A smile you didn’t even know was real or fake.

i still hate it when you’re not there

You tried to tell yourself you were fine, because moping over Jeon Jungkook was stupid. But you had invested so much. You had given him everything. It was hard to regrow. You were stuffed in this tiny motel room, staring out to the hazy, polluted city, yellow sunlight fighting to be seen.

You sat by the window, clutching your pink flats, remembering Taehyung’s last words to you before you left.

“I looked up the brand and bought you some new ones,” he had said sheepishly. “I felt bad that they got so ruined, all because I asked you to help me with the garden.” He gave you that big, boxy smile. “Just think of them as a parting gift for being such a great tenant.”

You inhaled a deep breath, placing the pale pink flats next to the exact same style but grass-stained, greyed-out, worn ones. You stared at them both.

And made a choice.

-

“I thought I would never see you again.”

You lifted your head. The scent of flowers, so familiar and comforting, wafted around you, a reassuring embrace. You were wearing a long-sleeved white dress, a brown ribbon around the collar. The pink flats, the ones the owner of the deep baritone voice had gifted you.

That was nearly six months ago now. You had since thrown away the other ones.

Kim Taehyung walked up to you. He was wearing brown overalls and a cream shirt, elbows smeared with dirt. His skin had lightened due to the passing winter, but it was spring now. The flower shop was very busy, but there were other employees, and Taehyung was fixated on you.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Taehyung said quietly, his brown eyes shimmering. “I would have come here a lot more often if I knew.”

You bit you lip and bowed your head politely, smiling at him. Taehyung coughed and rubbed the back of his head, messing up his dark brown hair. It was longer and curlier now, desperately needing a trim.

“I… I came to get carnations. The shop I normally go to ran out.”

You nodded, leading him wordlessly to the red and pink carnations. There was still a good number left, but you had to pick through carefully to find the most beautiful ones for him. He watched you work, chewing on his lip. You held up the large bouquet to him.

“What do you think?” you asked softly.

He smiled at you. “Perfect.” He didn’t ask the price. “Could you make two corsages out of a few of them?”

“Of course. Right this way.”

You brought him to one of the counters, selecting a few blooms to make the corsages. You showed him the available ribbons and he picked a thin, sheer white one. He watched you work, quickly, but delicately, careful not to bruise the petals.

“You became an expert about flowers,” he remarked. “I’m still struggling.”

You smiled. “I’m still learning. It’s very different from what I used to do.” You twisted the ribbon into a perfect bow, using floral wire to secure it.

“You don’t talk to him anymore, do you?”

You shook your head. “Haven’t seen him since that day you threw him down your stairs.”

Taehyung laughed a little too loud, making the patrons stare at him. He coughed nervously, cramming the crumpled brown hat under his arm onto his head. You placed your hand over your lips, trying to hide your chuckle. Your fingertips smelled like phloem sap from the cut stems, sweet and grassy.

Taehyung gazed at you, surrounded by flowers, carnations laid out on the counter.

“Will you… let me take a picture of you?”

You blinked at him, lips parting.

Taehyung reached into his pocket, pulling out an old 35mm film camera. He looked sheepish as he held it up, hesitating.

“Sorry, I just… you look so beautiful, and I don’t want to forget that.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I know it’s a weird habit. But I like to take pictures and I never took one of you.” He looked deep into your eyes.

“I really regret not taking a picture of you.”

Your fingers were still over your mouth. You nodded.

Taehyung held the camera up and snapped a photo.

-

“He waits for you to get off work every day. It’s been a week now.”

The manager was teasing you, nudging your arm as you tugged on your long camel coat. You smiled at her, an old woman with knowing eyes that had seen and enjoyed a lot of life. Taehyung waved across the street as you made eye contact with him.

“There aren’t men like him anymore, you know,” she said gently. “These kinds of things happened in my generation, but now young people send pictures of flowers instead of the real thing.”

When you thanked the manager and walked out to Taehyung, he held out a small bundle of tiny flowers to you. White cosmos. You stopped, surprised. Breathless as you looked up at him. He was illuminated by a streetlight and the dying sun, the golden hour matching his golden skin. Holding out the white cosmos, shivering in the spring breeze.

“They’re not that pretty,” he said guiltily, stepping up to you. “I’ve been trying to grow flowers for months now and these are the only ones that survived, ahahaha…”

He scratched his head, brushing his hair back.

“I always hoped that if I saw you again, I could show you that I was able to finally grow flowers.” Taehyung laughed, shrugging apologetically. “This is all I got.”

You reached out and took the small bundle from him. They were a bit curled and slightly wilted from being carried around but you smiled at them.

“No one has ever grown flowers for me,” you said quietly.

The tiny yellow centers of each flower were surrounded by white. You counted seven. Taehyung had given you seven flowers. Seven flowers he grew on his own, because he wanted to show you. You placed your fingers on your mouth, the scent of the floral shop returning to you with the action. Your chest felt tight and full, a feeling unlike any other.

“I wanted to grow at least eight,” Taehyung lamented. “Because that would be luckier, but…”

You shook your head quickly, looking up at him. Him and his beautiful brown eyes, a small patch of dirt underneath his cheek. He probably didn’t even know it was there.

“No.”

You removed your hand from your lips and smiled at him.

“Seven is perfect.”

You threw your hands around him and hugged him tightly.

-

When Jeon Jungkook saw you again, everything was different.

He was distracting himself from school. University was much harder than he thought, especially since he didn’t attend right after high school to pursue his streaming career.

For a long time, he had someone to take care of him, first his mom and then you. Someone to do everything so he could recklessly chase his dreams. But things were different now. He had to suddenly become an adult. It wasn’t because of you. You hadn’t told anyone what happened.

But everyone knew.

One girl had let it slip, and then another and another, and then screenshots were plastered everywhere, all over the internet for anyone to see, not knowing the context, tossing judgements left and right. His parents found out and then his friends, everyone disappointed in him, not surprised that you vanished without a trace. He had to vanish too, every sponsor cutting ties with him immediately, not asking if it was true or not. It was bad for business to be associated with something like that.

Jungkook really regretted it now, but there was nothing he could do to take it back.

That’s why he was sitting in this tiny, one room apartment, using what was leftover from his streaming money to get a degree, saving every penny to his education. At least he hadn’t been so reckless to overspend. You hadn’t let him, always reminding him to save for his future, using your own income to pay for the necessities.

Even now, you were helping him.

Every once in a while, Jungkook would type variations of your old Instagram username into the search bar, wondering if you had ever set it up again. He had asked you to delete it, since you had been getting constant DMs from guys asking you out, sending you unsolicited dick pics. You had agreed, even through you could have fought him or simply privated it.

You had deleted it, Jungkook knew now, because he asked you and you loved him.

It hurt to know that you loved him so dearly and he was too busy feeding his own ego to see it.

When Jungkook saw you again, you were surrounded by flowers.

Your profile picture was a close up shot of your beautiful face, golden sun against your skin, a white cosmos tucked behind your ear. He knew it was you. He could tell by the shape of your lips, the contours of your eyes, even through your eyes were closed. Wearing a white dress, the ruffles fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook was breathless, seeing you again. He scrolled through your pictures. They were mostly of flowers, with captions of how to grow them. Were you a florist now? Some of them were of you in different dresses, surrounded by blue sky and green summer. The smile on your face was so dazzling that he wondered who gave you that smile.

His heart wrenched uncomfortably in his chest.

Or maybe it wasn’t a someone.

There was a time when that smile was his. There was a time when he could make you smile like that, your lips saying his name breathlessly – “Jungkook, Jungkook, look at this!” – showing him something silly or giving him his favorite banana milk with special edition packaging, saying how cute it was, just like him.

He blinked and a droplet fell onto his phone.

Right on your smiling face, hand holding a large straw hat, your pink dress fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook wiped it away, swiping at his tears with the sleeve of his black sweatshirt, wondering why had he taken that smile for granted, why he had drifted away from the safe coast, why he had thought, even for a second, that the days and nights you spent cleaning after him meant that you were keeping yourself busy and away from him, not seeing it for what it was, not seeing that it was your love for him and his own sloppiness that left him here now, staring at your summer as his summer was torn from him by textbooks and lectures.

He shuddered, still looking at the pictures, not wanting to miss a moment, even if they weren’t his moments anymore.

One of your pictures was a bundle of seven white cosmos, a little wilted and sad-looking.

Jungkook read the caption.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you’re beautiful. Because there is someone out there who thinks you are. They use every resource they know to give you love, even if it’s clumsy at first. Even if you don’t think you need it or want it.

The tears were really coming now, streaming down his cheeks as Jungkook asked himself why, why did he give this up?

They celebrate you and your love instead of simply tolerating it.

-

You sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side.

Your pink flats were right beside you, and your arms were resting on the wooden fence. The ocean breeze was strong here, salty and cold. But you didn’t feel the cold, because Kim Taehyung had wrapped a thick wool blanket around you two. It was already night, but by the seaside it was still chilly, even in the summer, due to the sea breeze.

He peeled the foil back on a roasted sweet yam, taking off some of the skin so you could bite into it. You tried to take it from him but he shook his head, frowning at you. You laughed and took a bite, scalding your mouth from how hot it was. But it still tasted good.

“I asked my parents if I could have it.”

You looked up at him, trying to blow the steaming air from your mouth in attempt to cool off.

“The cottage?”

Taehyung nodded, taking a bite and wincing. “You’ll never guess what they said.”

You smiled. “What did they say?”

He scowled. “Then pay rent!” He waved a hand to the seaside house behind you two. “They own it! Why do I have to pay rent? I’m their son!”

You giggled, hiding your mouth behind you hand. Taehyung angrily bit into the sweet yam again and choked, forgetting how hot it was. Your giggles turned into full-blown laughter, falling back onto the grass, wool softening your fall. Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you, shaking the yam furiously. The white moonlight glinted off the silver foil. He puffed his cheeks and sighed as your laughter faded out.

You looked up at the stars, realizing how clear the sky was here.

It was nothing like the city.

Even in darkness, the white stars shone against the black, bright and clear. You wouldn’t have seen them if you weren’t here, on your back and looking up at them.

“Anyway, they only said it was a hundred won, so I guess that’s fine,” Taehyung grumbled. “Really made me worried there for a second, sheesh.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “You going to live here?”

Taehyung shook his head.

“No, you are.”

You blinked, taken aback. He rewrapped the yam, determining it was too hot to eat right now. He gazed down at you, smiling a little.

“It’s better than that one room you have in that house. Safer too.”

You chewed on your lip. “But I can’t pay the amount I paid when I rented it…”

Taehyung poked you with the yam. “Weren’t you listening? The rent is a hundred won. No, two hundred for you, since I have to make some profit.”

He laid down next to you, eye to eye now, smile getting bigger.

“Although I hear there’s this annoying gardener that comes around every day caring for the plants.”

You were smiling now too, drawn by his cheeky, boxy grin.

“Really? I think he’s pretty cute. I think that’s how he gets away with it.”

His brown eyes locked with yours.

“Will you let me care for you too?”

The sound of the sea, crashing into the rockface, constructing a new memory for you.

“I know you’ll be much harder than a plant,” Taehyung murmured quietly. “Sorry, that’s a dumb thing to say, I meant–”

You pressed your lips against his, cold air chilling your cheeks, warmth spreading throughout your soul.

When you pulled away, breathless, Taehyung was staring at you, eyes wide. Those three words came to you, words that you thought you were never going to say again, words you had for someone else, but you knew this was the right one, the perfect flower.

The one who struggled to grow seven flowers.

White cosmos.

Just for you.

“I love you, Kim Taehyung.”

-

The next summer.

Seven flowers. White cosmos, bright, glowing, perfectly shaped. Surrounding your left hand. The ring finger held a princess-cut diamond surrounded by six tiny small ones like petals.

The caption.

He grew them perfectly this time.

Jeon Jungkook sighed heavily, placing his phone back in his pocket. The noise around him was loud, clattering and chattering, now a familiar atmosphere. The black bucket hat was low over his eyes, shrouding them. He pulled his face mask higher, hiding his features, not wanting to be recognized. Internet shame was enough; he didn’t need public shame as well. He already had to switch universities because of it.

Jungkook placed his hand back onto the subway rail, shouldering his backpack, staring out the train window at the black tunnel.

--

masterpost

[iwillsearchtheuniverse4u]

See You In My Dreams, Stranger

Sik-k smut | khh smut

Warnings: SMUT! ORAL! (f and m receiving) PUBLIC? (not really tho)

Preview: Meeting a stranger on my night walk down the river turns out to be one of the best nights of my life.

It was one of those restless nights that I’ve been dreading ever since I started attending university. I couldn’t sleep, the thought of not knowing where my life is headed keeping me awake every single night. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t brush my teeth or remember to drink water, I just felt like existence was so utterly useless when all my dreams have been swept under a rug somewhere because I was too afraid to act upon them. I’d been dreaming of becoming a translator but all the odds of the world were against me so I chose some apparently more ‘useful’ business degree that I hated with all that I had in me. Because of my perfectionism I had been attending all of my online classes and excelling at them but I felt empty, I felt like I had been contributing to everything I hated the most in this society. At the same time I was just too afraid to change my major because I felt like I had to do something impressive to the outside world, something that would make people respect me.

Just another night of endless tossing and turning, tears streaming down my face, wondering if life does ever get better than this. I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up, took a few steps towards the light switch in the corner of my one room apartment and pressed it. The cheap yellow light bulb lit up the room. The floor next to my mattress was covered in books I was trying to study from and my notes covered in smudged ink. I had a bad habit of crying while studying, sleeping, listening to music and showering, every activity that demanded me to be alone in my little space that had never really felt like home at all. Not much else was in that room apart from a small refrigerator, a microwave oven, my mattress, a closet and a wooden bookshelf. I also had a tiny bathroom that always smelled a bit moldy if I forgot to spray the air freshener three times a day.

I decided to go for a walk along the river as it became clear I wasn’t getting a second of sleep in that night. I hastily put on my black leggings and a hoodie with my high school’s logo on it. I desperately needed to get away from my own thoughts so I grabbed my phone and my earphones that were tied into little knots as always. I couldn’t afford the wireless ones because my scholarship was kept safe in my bank account where I was saving every last cent just in case I decided to drop out and go move to...run away to a foreign country where my name sounds like a whisper of the distant wind. As I was locking my door I heard one of the neighbors flush their toilets. Most of them were students like me or people living on part-time jobs, I never really met any of them, they were just familiar faces I would probably forget in a year after moving out.

The streets were quiet, only the sounds of air conditioners and an occasional motorbike or a car passing by me. I checked my phone to see the time, the picture of my favourite singer’s face lighting up my screen: 3.30am. Of course other parts of the city were probably very much alive at this time of the night but my area was populated only by grocery stores, cafes and libraries, not a single club in sight. The only lights I could see where streetlights and some LED signs. I headed towards the river trying to untie my headphones. I put them in my ears and decided to lose myself in the beats of one of those hyped-up rap songs. I put the volume up just so it was a bit uncomfortable and let my ears adjust to the blasting music.

I finally reached the riverside and started walking along the flow of the water. I couldn’t hear it but it still resonated with my mind better than the rustling sound of the city. There was a road along the river that ended somewhere within the green forest because the are was populated with some important bird species that I could never remember the name of. I sat on the bench at the beginning of that forest, my mind still dissolved in the loud beats coming out of my earphones. Even though my ears were covered with a thick layer of my long brown hair I was sure the music could be heard by anyone standing within a 1 meter ratio. I didn't mind, it was 4 am, people were either asleep or sloppily making out in a club somewhere far away. Thinking about the things I was missing out on started to become louder than the music and I let my tears fall. I was overworked, overwhelmed and empty, I couldn't keep it in. Not that I ever tried. I had never been good at hiding my emotions.

Looking at the night view of the city on the other side reflecting on the surface of the river, getting lost in my thoughts, I felt the bench move ever so slightly under my body. I looked to the side and almost fainted at the sight of a dark shadow sitting beside me. My heart started beating and I stood up to leave in case it was a stranger trying to talk to me in the middle of the night. As I took my first step away from the bench the person lightly touched the fabric of my sleeve. I looked back at him. I was certain it was a man judging by his broad shoulders and a black cap on his head. I removed my headphones, my heart still beating as if I had been running for the last 3 hours. "Excuse me. I wasn't trying to bother you or anything. I just like to look at the city at night when my head gets all crowded and I can't think straight. Don't go just because of me." His voice was deep and raspy but had an elegant tone to it, it felt  calm but distant as if he had been lost in thought. He was looking at me and the lights of the city were playfully jumping around in his eyes but his expression was the complete opposite. He seemed broken. I couldn’t let myself leave him, partly because he seemed significantly depressed and partly because he was astonishingly beautiful. My feet were unable to move, I stood there for a moment contemplating my options but my gut feeling sat me down next to him.

As we were sitting, each on one side of the bench, looking at the sparkly surface of the river my heart calmed down and minutes passed, none of us speaking, just the sound of the river mixed with my music flowing through the night air. "You were crying." He stated with a regretful tone, almost whispering. My cheeks flushed with warmth, I looked at his profile, him still staring at the waves. "I just thought I was alo-" "Don't. Feelings aren't something to be ashamed of. They're just as much a part of you as your legs and arms are. If people feel burdened it's usually their problem because they've never been faced by their own emotions. They just don't know how to act and feel uncomfortable." He talked slowly and didn't bother looking at me. It felt like his words were directed at the universe or at himself just at the general direction he was speaking, he looked so lost. I didn't notice I was staring until he looked at my eyes and smiled. It was one of those crooked smiles, filled with a certain type of worry I couldn't identify. "You can tell me why you were crying. I probably won't remember tomorrow anyway. I can lend you my ears for tonight, maybe I'll forget all about my own problems." His gaze moved back to the view as he sat back and crossed his arms on his chest. At that moment I felt like telling him every little thing about my life. It had been so long since I had anyone who would just listen without the constant urge to solve my problems but just LISTEN. I stopped myself. "I won't let you get off the hook that easy. I have a feeling that you're the one not facing your own problems. Why don't you lean on someone for a change?" I said, determined to make him speak. He looked at me from the side and his head slowly followed his gaze, his eyebrows furrowing just so much I could notice. The anticipation of hearing his raspy voice that felt so familiar and kind made me turn off my music. This man that sat next to me just a moment ago suddenly awakened my curiosity. It took a while for him to speak as we were maintaining a really intense eye contact for what felt as hours. I was able to inspect every milimeter of his dark cat-like eyes. "You're good at reading people, I'll give you that." He smiled and turned back to face the view. "I'm just under a lot of pressure. People expect a lot from me, that's all...and sometimes it can get really frustrating when I can't really reach those expectations. Sometimes it feels like there are so many people doing my thing better than me, it scares me." He put his hands in the pockets of his black sweater still staring at something in the distance. I wasn't sure what to say but he also didn't expect me to say anything. He needed someone to listen and I was there to supply. I asked: "And what would your 'thing' be exactly?" in an effort to get to know more about this mysterious creature in front of me. "Music. I make music for a living." His eyes now focused on his shoes while he bit his lips in an effort not to smile. I finally realized why his voice sounded so familiar, it was freaking Kwon Minsik, Sik-k, Korea's best rapper, sitting next to me staring at the Han river. My hand automatically covered my mouth as I inhaled. I was trying to calm myself down. He probably heard my playlist which was full of his songs and it made me feel so embarrassed, my cheeks flushing with heat again. He tried really hard to hide his cocky smile as he turned his face away from me, looking into the woods on the other side. After a few minutes he asked: "So now are you going to tell me why you were crying?" He was facing me, looking at my eyes attentively like a little boy waiting for instructions from his teacher. I was still to shy to maintain eye contact so I looked at my hands on my lap. I told him my story about how lost and useless I felt in life. I told him about feeling lonely and scared about my future. I told him everything.

Before I knew it tears started to emerge from my eyes again and I tried really hard not to look at Minsik who was still facing me, one of his arms resting on the back of the bench. I cracked. I cracked in front of a man I respected the most. It was embarrassing but also liberating, I was done trying to impress the world. I dropped my head, defeated. Next thing I felt was his warm hand on my cheek, gently wiping the trail of my tears. I froze for a bit, my eyes widening at the sudden proximity of his body. I didn't even notice him getting closer before he put his hand on my face. He was sitting right next to me, the sides of our thighs touching ever so slightly. I could hear my heart rate getting faster and louder. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t control it. I looked at him and he removed his hand, still looking at me with his furrowed eyebrows, a concerned expression drawing on his face. "I'm sorry. You probably think I'm just being childish, crying at something as trivial as my major." I said with a shaky voice. "Don't ever say sorry for your feelings ever again, you hear me? And besides, I don't think it's stupid, I think it's just very important to you. You want to set goals for yourself but you're too afraid that you're not going to reach them so you just let them go. I would obviously tell you to go for what feels right and figure it out but that won't make you feel secure and I bet a lot of other people in your life told you this before." He replied with his deep raspy voice that I loved so much. He was so close. I could feel every breath on the surface of my cheek, his left arm was lying behind me on the back of the bench, it was almost like a hug. I couldn’t think straight anymore, my thoughts were intertwined with the smell of his cologne and the heat of his body so close to mine. He didn't feel like a stranger, he felt like someone who'd known me for years. I buried my face into my hands so I wouldn't make any thoughtless mistakes. Suddenly, he moved away from me, I couldn’t feel the proximity of his body anymore, the cold night air embracing my whole being. I peeked up from my palms. He was still looking at me with concern in his eyes, saying: "Sorry, I probably got too close for comfort, I'm not used to this kind of emotional thing, you know?" I felt a desperate need for physical touch, maybe it was the cold air, the anxiety or his perfect stature or maybe it was a mix of both but I straightened my back and looked directly into his eyes. It was so unlike me to be this bold but my body automatically moved closer to his.

He didn't move even when my face was only ten centimeters away from his. His expression changed, his forehead relaxing, his eyelids closing halfway when I suddenly felt his hand on my thigh. He grabbed onto it like he was holding on for his dear life and it made me want him more. I stopped, looking down at his lips when he pulled himself closer. His smooth lips crashing into mine made me lean back but he was only getting closer until he pinned me to the wooden bench beneath us. It was a passionate kiss, his hands didn't limit themselves to my thighs but discovered the hot surface of my skin under my hoodie. I felt a certain kind of euphoria, the kind you only get to experience when you do something completely out of character for you but turns out to be the best thing you could have possibly done.

As our kiss was getting more heated and his hands were groping my breasts for a couple of minutes the heat between my legs was getting unbearable. I could feel one of his hands roam down to my thigh and up to my ass where he got the grip to grind against me. Our lips and tounges still inseparable, I played along and grinded my heat against his growing buldge until I heard his raspy growls which sent shivers down my spine. As our tempo aligned we started breathing heavily and his lips left mine but relocated to my neck, definitely leaving more than just the incredibly pleasing pain. There was only a couple of pieces of clothing seperating us but the longing was excruciating. I started tugging on the collar of his black hoodie, trying to stop him as his lips attacked my collarbone. "Stop...I can'...I can't take it." I said with a soft voice in between my moans. His hips stopped moving immediately and he pushed himself above me so we were looking face to face, his body still on top of me. The loss of friction left me feeling needy. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to be this fast, I just thought-" I got up and laid a small kiss on his lips mid-sentence. "Come to my place." I whispered in his ear. I hadn't gotten to know this part of me before but that night felt different. Maybe it was the stream of emotions I had just shared with this stranger on top of me or the tone of his voice or the feeling of the cold night breeze but I didn't want to spend this morning alone.

When we finally arrived at my door he was standing so close to me I almost held my breath trying to get myself to collect my thoughts. I swear I could hear his heartbeat like it was my own, his lips suddenly tracing the curve of my neck as I was trying to insert the right passcode. I couldn’t even focus in my own hands as his were holding me around the waist so it took me a few moments to find the right digits. When the holy sound of the door lock unlocking echoed in the hallway he already pressed the knob in a hurry and pushed me inside. Because my one room apartment was so small it only took our intertwined bodies a solid 30 seconds to hit the mattress. He was planting sloppy kisses down my collar bone as I was tugging at his hoodie, trying to set him free of it. He stopped for a moment only to get up and remove it. The moonlight from outside my small window caressing his elegant body, lighting him up from the back like he was some beastly creature of the night taking advantage of my sadness. I couldn’t move, he was sitting on top of me, his face was covered in darkness but I knew he was watching me. "Do you have any idea how freaking beautiful you look in this light?" His raspy whisper made me quiver. I smiled and looked away while my body was hungry for his touch. I wasn't ready to show it.

He slowly got up with his hands trailing the shape of my thighs until he was holding me behind the knees, still looking at me. I felt his hands pull my leggings of as if it was the easiest thing in the whole entire world. He then proceeded to playfully pull at my panties, rubbed my knot and lowered his face to blow at my growing heat, my legs almost immediately trying to close at the sudden pleasure. He held them open while licking my folds twice, trying to see my reaction. I couldn’t hold in my moans and my spine curved in-synch with my breathing. It was something I haven't felt in forever, not like this, not this strong. I grabbed onto his hair and he seemed to read the ques as he got rid of the piece of fabric. His tounge was doing circles around my clit making me see fireworks and probably tugging at his hair with both hands so much that his scalp was in pain. He got me shaking in a matter of minutes and it was the best high I've ever experienced, sending all kinds of shivers down my skin, leaving me panting. He was far from done though.

"You taste so good, baby girl," he said unknowing of the affect it had on me. I got up to unzip his pants (which he more than willingly helped me with). I traced my fingers down his perfect abs to the hem of his boxers and lower, tracing his hard member while inspecting his face. As soon as I grabbed it through the fabric with my whole hand his eyelids shut closed and his head fell back in pleasure. I pulled him to the mattress and got on top of him trying to grind at his boxers, making them soaking wet. Then I got up to remove the rest of his clothing. I proceeded to trace my tounge along his shaft and sucking on his member, enjoying his growls. His hands were grabbing the sheets and the veins on his forearms and neck were starting to protrude. Every now and then a soft "fuck~" escaped his mouth, motivating me to keep going. Then he suddenly stopped me, saying: "I need to come inside of you, grab my wallet." Instead, I got up to open one of my drawers where I was saving a pack of condoms, praying they would fit him. I handed one to him and he was so quick about it, it got me thinking just how many girls he gets to play around with like this every night. The thought escaped my mind when he stood up to hold me around the waist, slowly pulling me back to bed with him. He undressed me, pulling my hoodie over my head only to discover I wasn't wearing a bra underneath. His dark eyes glowed with passion as he greabbed one of my nipples, tugging at it while kissing me sloppily. He threw me on the mattress and got on top of me. My body was heated up completely, I couldn’t even feel the night breeze coming from the opened window. He licked my sensitive nipples a few more times before aligning himself with my entrance and pushing inside of me. The fireworks from before were nothing compared to the utter pleasure I felt at that exact moment, Sik-k filling me up perfectly. My head fell back in moans and my back curved up again. I could have sworn I saw stars playing in the darkness of my eyelids. All I heard him say was: "Fuck..." He took his time waiting for me to adjust and started to quicken his pace while adjusting the angle. One of his hands was stroking my stomach and the other was holding onto my ass. I tried to mimic his movements, increasing the fraction of our bodies. The moans escaping our mouths felt so unholy they made it even more passionate. "I'm going to- I'm close!" I squealed throught the moans which made him go even harder and faster. My whole body tensed up and I grabbed onto the bedsheets pulling them off. His dick was starting to twitch inside of me, hitting all the right spots and I knew he was trying his best to make me come first which was a rare experience. I opened my eyes seeing him focused on me with his furrowed eyebrows, sweat dripping down the side of his jawline. My body was caught up in a wave of shivers, the walls of my pussy tightening so much it got him shaking as well. We were both just trying to ride out our highs with the last strenght we had. It was sweaty and suffocating but liberating at the same time, all of our thoughts disappearing for these unthinkable moments of pleasure. His hot body collapsed on top of me, both of us trying to catch our breaths again. "This was amazing." I told him in between breaths. He rolled over me to remove the condom and, to my surprise, came right back to lie beside me, his arms hugging me from behind. He kissed my neck and whispered in my ear: "See you in my dreams, stranger."

[olivinesea]

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter five: swallow the sun

a/n: Sorry about this one, just know I feel fairly guilty and also there will be some happiness somewhere down the line. Just not here. Warnings: substance use, abuse & violence, vomit, suicidal thoughts…no, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Too deep in it to turn back now. ~5.5k

The first thing Aaron noticed was how very dry his mouth was. He tried to swallow but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. With significant determination, he lifted his hand, heavy and prickling as if the blood had pooled, to scratch the tip of his nose. He sighed at the immediate relief it brought. On their own accord, his fingers moved to address another itch, this one on the side of his neck. He hummed at the sensation brought on by the feeling of his fingernails dragging against his skin. Never before had scratching an itch felt so good, he was sure of it. He heard a voice mutter beside him. Turning his head, he saw Cole stretched out on the bed next to him.

“Hmm?” He hadn’t understood the muffled syllables.

“I said stop that,” he said, waving his hand in Aaron’s direction, like he wanted to grab him but couldn’t quite reach.

Only half listening, his attention caught up elsewhere, Aaron wasn’t sure what he meant and didn’t much care either. He moved his hand down to scratch at his shoulder, drawn by the bit of skin exposed by his shirt collar. Cole finally managed to make contact, shoving Aaron’s shoulder, knocking his hand away.

“You’re just going to make it worse,” he explained, words slow and thick.

Grudgingly Aaron dropped his hand to his side, but his fingers continued to twitch. His mind felt cloudy and he tried to remember what he had been doing. How long had he been laying here? He pushed himself up into a sitting position. His head swam and a wave of nausea washed over him. He closed his eyes, leaning with palms pressed against his knees, trying to gather his thoughts. Inhaling slowly through his nose, all he could think about was the damp mildew smell of the garage, of how much he disliked it and the way it felt like mold was trying to colonize his airways.

“What time is it?”

“Fuck if I know,” Cole replied with a laugh.

Aaron rubbed his face, he needed to get home. Home seemed so far away but he needed to make it back before his father got up for work. He gritted his teeth and tried to push himself up off the mattress. Cole’s hand shot out, wrapping tightly around his wrist, holding him in place. He looked down at it, the edges of his skin whitening beneath the pressure. His heart beat faster.

“I have to go,” he tried to say, but his voice wasn’t cooperating. The words came out wispy and thin.

Cole smiled, eyes still closed. “Happy birthday, Aaron.”

Aaron blushed, opening his mouth, but failing to make any sound. Cole let go, stretching both arms above his head, humming with contentment. Aaron’s arm tingled where Cole had gripped it, his skin resuming its normal color as the blood rushed back into place.

“Now get out of here.”

Aaron nodded, still unable to speak. There was far too much happening around him, between the lights and the smell and the touch lingering on his arm, still confused about what had happened but clinging to the peace he had felt. He didn’t have time to process what he was feeling, his only focus was the need to get home. He managed to stand up, his legs unsteady as he stumbled to the door, pulling it up only enough to fit under. Before ducking down, he looked back at Cole, still sprawled out on the bed. Thank you, he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if the words actually came out.

The walk home was difficult, stumbling into lamp posts and tripping over uneven sidewalk in the freezing midnight air. Eventually he made it, up the stairs and into his room without incident. He undressed, shedding his clothes directly onto the floor. A problem for tomorrow. With his last reserve of energy he climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin, teeth chattering as he shivered, sweat beading at his temples. He curled onto his side and wrapped his hand around his wrist, holding it where Cole had grabbed him, pulling it against his chest as he closed his eyes and tried to remember every detail of how it had felt. He rubbed his face against his pillow, squeezing his wrist tighter. He fell asleep like that, holding his own hand, pretending it was someone else.

~

The sun filtering in through his window forced Aaron awake. His head was throbbing and he felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. Groaning, he rolled over to block out the light. He could hear Sean’s little footsteps running down the hallway, nearing his door. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, hoping it would be enough to get Sean to leave him alone. The door creaked as it opened slightly.

“Aaron?” his brother stage whispered.

Aaron didn’t move though anxiety spiked through his chest.

“Mom says it’s time for you to get up.”

Aaron felt bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Aaron?” A little louder this time, his shrill child’s voice piercing through Aaron’s skull. “Mom says—” He was startled when Aaron suddenly jumped up, pushing past him as he raced for the bathroom.

He barely fumbled the lock into place behind him before falling on his knees and throwing up into the toilet. He felt a strange surge of contentment as it happened, relief as the limited contents of his stomach left his body. He leaned back against the cool porcelain of the tub, forehead flushed with sweat. It felt like he had a fever but also like his skin was buzzing pleasantly. Outside, Sean was banging on the bathroom door.

“Aaron?” he sounded on the verge of tears.

“I’m fine, Sean.” His ragged voice contradicted the assurance, throat raw from dehydration and sickness. He heard a sniffle and sighed. “I’m just going to take a shower, I’ll be down soon.” He felt out of breath, so many words taking a toll. He leaned his head between his knees, another wave of nausea threatening to overtake him. There were some unintelligible sounds from the other side of the door and then, further away, Sean calling for their mother as he ran downstairs.

Aaron reached behind himself, fumbling for the taps, knowing that he needed to get moving. There was no way his mother would let him stay home, he’d learned that well enough. Plus he didn’t want to answer any questions, didn’t feel up to enduring her accusatory looks. She knew enough about what her son was getting into to be suspicious of any sudden illness. She would never say anything to him directly, but she knew how to make him uncomfortable, how to let him know his behavior was unwelcome. Besides, if he went to school he could see Cole, the only person he really wanted to see anyway. He had questions, very important questions.

When the water was hot, he climbed in, his whole body shivering its confusion at the conflicting temperatures. His skin felt chilled while his insides burned, the headache had worked its way from the back to the front of his skull. He braced his hand against the tiled wall and turned his face into the spray. Eyes closed, he could almost feel the bliss of the night before, when everything around him faded away and he was left with a rush of warmth and the softness of oblivion holding him. He’d give anything to have that feeling again.

Aaron didn’t even make it through second period, by nine a.m. his anxiety had built to an intolerable degree. He needed to talk to Cole. His heart, its rhythm fluctuating wildly from racing to non-existence, felt like it was going to burst any moment. He lurched out of his seat and towards the door, a half formed excuse about needing the restroom barely leaving his lips. The teacher snorted, watching him leave, then returned to her lesson, not giving a second thought to it. He wasn’t her problem, let the truancy officers deal with that one.

He found Cole smoking behind the portables, just as he had the first time months ago. Cole didn’t look any worse for wear, certainly not sick in the way Aaron was. When he gave him that same infuriating smile, as if he knew something, some secret that he wasn’t sharing, Aaron felt a surge of resentment. It overwhelmed his usual hesitation, his deference to the older boy. He was always waiting on a signal from him, waiting for an invitation. This time he grabbed Cole’s arm and dragged him away from the group. Cole laughed, shaking him off but reaching a hand out to steady him at the same time. Aaron’s balance hadn’t quite returned.

“What’s up kid?” he asked, letting go once it seemed like he wouldn’t fall over.

Aaron gave him a dark look. “What did you give me last night? Was that…what was that?”

“What do you think?” Cole raised an eyebrow, daring him to say it.

Aaron grimaced. “Heroin?”

“Bingo.”

“Isn’t that—should we be doing that?”

Cole shrugged. “Well, did you like it?”

Hesitantly, Aaron nodded.

“Want to do it again?”

Aaron’s breath caught at the intense rush of desire, the absolute certainty that he wanted to do it again. Would do anything to make that to happen.

“Yes, please,” his voice cracked, hating the way it felt like he was begging.

~

They fell into an uneasy routine. Cole insisted he could only get high like that once a week, though he complained about being treated like a child. After seeing how sick it made him, he agreed it made the most sense to keep it to the weekends, when Aaron could disappear for a couple days without anyone calling to say he was missing school and his father was generally too inebriated to note whether he came home or not. He spent the whole week anxiously thinking about it, blowing through packs of cigarettes and joint after joint, trying to manage the rising anticipation of the high that was coming. The gnawing expectation of returning to that place, where no one and nothing mattered, where he didn’t exist.

He refused to admit to himself that the high was always a little bit disappointing. The rush was there, the relief after days of waiting, of unconsciously picking at scabs until they bled, of being too anxious to eat. He was losing weight but no one noticed, he was never that solid to begin with. But beyond that, he was always left craving more. Maybe if he just did a little more he could find what he was looking for. He started to bug Cole about adding another day, dipping into the supply twice a week. He didn’t know where Cole was buying the drugs so he couldn’t get them on his own, otherwise he would have. He might have been nervous about it at first but he was invested now. Nothing he’d tried before had given him that same sense of relief.

Cole snapped at him after he’d asked one time too many. He threatened to take it away entirely, telling Aaron he was too attached, that he needed to calm down. Aaron felt like he’d been stung, retreating into himself, refusing speak to Cole for several days. Not until Friday rolled around again at least, then he was back, as eager as ever, ready to say whatever he needed to convince Cole to share that way out with him again.

Alongside his increasingly frequent clashes with Cole, things were getting tenser at home. School had been calling relentlessly, asking why he was missing so much class. Every time he came home he was met with yelled accusations, with blows that did nothing to change his behavior. He started coming home later and later, hoping to avoid his father entirely. It worked for awhile, sneaking into the house well after dark, sleeping in his closet so it wasn’t obvious he’d come home. It worked so well in fact that he thought he’d solved the problem and he got careless with his precautions.

It was a night when he came back earlier than usual, having argued with Cole again about something trivial that was really an argument about drugs. He wasn’t thinking straight, still caught up in his irritation that Cole wouldn’t take him seriously, wouldn’t trust that he knew his own limits. He was climbing the stairs, too stoned and angry to be cautious. A large hand wrapped around his neck just as he reached the top of the stairs. He looked up startled, red eyes blearily taking in the form of his father. His nerves were too dulled to panic. In fact, this moment made a lot of sense to him. It was the obvious outcome if he had cared to look ahead at all. He coughed as the hand tightened, cutting into his airway.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his father asked.

Aaron tried to shake his head, grabbing at the fingers holding him in place, trying to pry them off.

“Did you know the cops came looking for you today?” He sounded almost conversational, the faint scent of bourbon the only detail giving away his insobriety.

Aaron had a hard time understanding what he was talking about, too focused on getting air into his lungs.

“And do you know what they said to me, when I told them I didn’t know where my delinquent son was?” His grip tightened, rendering Aaron’s struggles useless as he tried and failed to twist away. “They said without a properly excused reason for absence, they would hold me, me, responsible if you didn’t start attending school regularly.”

He laughed and the sound was cold and terrifying. He leaned in close to Aaron’s face. “Let’s give you a reason to miss school, shall we?”

He released his grip, tossing Aaron backwards as he did so. His eyes were emotionless as he watched his son crash down the wooden staircase. Only a slight hint of disgust was visible as he brushed his hand off on his pant leg. The sound brought his mother flying out of her bedroom, looking over the railing, horrified at the unnatural shape Aaron’s body was now making.

He was dazed but not unconscious, staring at the ceiling once again. How many times had he been in this position? He couldn’t even feel his body, didn’t register any pain. When his mother came down the stairs, anxiously tapping his cheek to try to get him to focus on her, his eyes slid away from her face, looking at the ring on her finger, the thing that tied her to this monster pretending to be human. He felt his own fingers, no ring there, no reason to stay. Distantly he heard crying and wondered why anyone would cry over him.

Sean had also been woken up by the noise. The little boy tried to come to Aaron’s side, but his mother waved him back, still looking at Aaron with concern. He hadn’t moved but that was mostly because he didn’t want to, not because he couldn’t. She didn’t know that. He realized it was Sean crying. This stirred an emotion somewhere deep inside his chest. Perhaps that was why he kept coming home—he loved Sean. Or he had. He didn’t feel much anymore except a desire to get high and an annoyance when he wasn’t. It was better that way. Other emotions were painful, only reminded him what a failure he was, how much he lacked. Sean was far better off without him, it was best to let him realize these things now. Still, he could hear fear in Sean’s sobs and he didn’t need to be that cause of that. There were enough other reason for him to be afraid within these walls.

Feeling guilty he tried to move, tried to rearrange himself into a less horrifying position. His ribs screamed at him as he unfolded his legs, untwisted his body. He swore, the sudden pain almost whiting out his vision. Sean whimpered.

“‘m okay,” he tried to reassure the little boy but he looked far from it. His mother, still hovering nearby, tried to help him up but only made him cry out as her hand put pressure against his side. She nervously looked up at her husband, still watching this scene from the top of the stairs, dispassionate and unimpressed.

“We have to take him to the hospital,” she pleaded.

Aaron felt like he was going to be sick, the pain, once he became aware of it, was building. A pressure in his head made him certain he would throw up if the lights got any brighter so he squeezed his eyes closed.

“Do whatever you want, he’s not my problem.” His father turned away, slamming the door to the bedroom. The sound made everyone flinch.

“Can you get up?” his mother asked. Aaron inhaled deeply and instantly regretted it, the expansion of his lungs making his ribs creak. Instead of wasting air on an answer, he pushed off the bottom stair slowly, using the banister to pull himself upright. He was hunched over, unable to completely straighten out, panting in much shallower breaths.

“Okay, okay, let me just get my keys,” she brushed her fingers through his hair lightly. He only turned his face away from her, focusing all his energy on not falling down. He didn’t think he’d be able to get up a second time.

“Sean, go back to bed,” she directed. Sean whined, wanting to come along, to make sure his brother was going to be okay. But she wasn’t listening, she was already moving around the house, getting a coat and shoes, finding her purse. He came down the remaining steps to where Aaron was standing and leaned against his thigh.

Aaron gritted his teeth. “Don’t—just listen to mom, buddy. We’ll be back soon. Just go back to bed.”

Sean grabbed the fabric of his pants, shaking his head and rubbing his runny nose into Aaron’s leg in the process.

“Please, Sean,” Aaron whispered, trying to hold his temper but every movement was painful, was asking too much of ability to remain balanced on two feet. “I promise I’m ok, it was just an accident.”

Sean looked up at him, suspicious but also young enough to want to believe. He’d been told repeatedly since he could understand: always tell the truth. There was no reason to think adults played by different rules. Aaron tried to smile, unsure how successful he was.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, mostly for his own benefit.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” Sean asked.

Aaron rolled his eyes, wanting to say no but not wanting to extend the discussion further. “Sure, get it warm for me okay?”

Sean nodded reluctantly and turned, cautiously making his way up the stairs, never letting go of the railing, as if he too might find himself crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. As if it had really been an accident that they were all equally in danger of experiencing.

~

Once his mother had explained to the nurses how he had crashed his bike riding home in the dark, and he had numbly nodded along with the story, there was a flurry of activity around him. The doctor shined a sickeningly bright light into his pupils, palpated the sore places on his side, had him demonstrate that all his major joints were operational. They wrapped his broken ribs tightly and gave him an ice pack to hold against his throbbing temple. If anyone noticed the lack of abrasions consistent with road rash no one mentioned it. He was wearing long sleeves after all. The doctor talked to him sternly about the importance of wearing a helmet and told him how lucky he was to have only sustained such relatively minor injuries.

Aaron wasn’t listening, was just doing his best not to stare at the bottle in the doctor’s hand. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the label so he stared down at his hands instead, fingers twisting together nervously. He could only read half the words printed there, the other half obscured by the doctors age-spotted hand, but he was fairly certain he knew what it was. He tried to listen enough to nod when it was appropriate, mumbling an apology and promising to make better choices in the future.

“Now, you’re going to be in a bit of pain for the next couple weeks so I’m giving you a prescription for oxycodone. Have you ever taken that before?”

Aaron bit his lip and shook his head slightly, wincing as he felt his brain slosh from side to side. “No, sir, I haven’t.”

“Well, it’s pretty strong stuff so make sure you follow the instructions. Don’t take more than it says or you’ll find yourself feeling pretty sick; okay, son?”

Aaron fought the urge to say something rude, annoyed by the way the doctor was addressing him. He needed that bottle of pills though, this was no time to start picking fights. “Yessir,” he mumbled.

“Good boy,” the doctor patted his knee and looked over at his mother who was anxiously watching from a chair by the door. “You’ve got a very polite kid here Mrs. Hotchner, you must be raising him right.”

Aaron’s eyes were fixed on the bottle still in the doctor’s hand. He thought it would probably be a mistake to reach out and grab it but he was growing impatient. He could only sustain the model son act for so long, especially after the last few hours. He dropped his eyes when the doctor turned back to him.

“Here why don’t you take one of these now, it’ll help with the trip home no doubt.” He popped the cap off and grabbed Aaron’s hand, shaking one out into his palm while calling to a nurse to bring a cup of water.

Aaron stared at the pill, feeling excitement racing through his veins, finally he’d have control over his high. His hand shook a little and the doctor misread what he was seeing.

“Don’t worry, it will probably just make you a little sleepy. Nothing to be concerned about.” He held out a cup of water. Aaron popped the pill into his mouth before accepting, washing it down and feeling smug satisfaction wash through him as well. The doctor traded the cup for the bottle of pills and patted his knee again before leaving, wishing his mother a pleasant evening. When he was gone, Aaron and his mother’s eyes met. He could see she was hesitant about the pills and he wrapped his hand around the bottle tighter. No one was going to take this from him, he’d earned it as far as he was concerned.

She sighed, unwilling to argue about it right then. “Let’s go home, Aaron.”

He slid off the table to follow her, his steps only slightly faltering, buoyed by the key he now held.  

~

It didn’t take long for Cole to find out about the pills. After Aaron didn’t show up at school for several days and, more alarmingly, didn’t turn up on Friday, he went to the Hotchner house looking for him. Though he knew where Aaron lived, he had never been there. No one was out front and he knew better than to ring the doorbell. Instead, he walked around the side and found him behind the house, stretched out on a bench, one arm dangling in the grass, the other covering his eyes.

“What the fuck?”

Aaron looked at him sleepily. “Huh?”

“Where have you been Hotchner?”

Aaron shrugged, sitting up warily. “I fell down.” He didn’t elaborate.

Cole snorted. “What are you even talking about?”

Aaron rubbed his nose, alleviating the ever-present itch on the tip of it.

“Do you know what day it is?”

All he got in response was a blank stare.

“Are you fucking high?” Cole sounded shocked, like he couldn’t believe Aaron would be capable of such a thing on his own. This needled Aaron’s pride, deeply annoyed by this persistent belief that he’d had no experience on his own, like he hadn’t figured things out for years without any help from Cole or anyone else. It was like Cole believed he was some innocent and, worse, he preferred Aaron in that role. Never questioning, always being led into things, as if he couldn’t make his own decisions. As if it wasn’t, in reality, Aaron seeking him out.

“What if I am?” he spat back. Cole had moved right in front of him so he stood up, disappointed that he was still several inches shorter.

“Are you stealing from me?” Cole’s voice was icy and sent an unwelcome flash of fear through Aaron. He tried to pretend it didn’t affect him, putting on a show of disinterest.

“Why would I? I don’t need your shit.”

“Liar,” Cole countered. “Where did you get it then?”

Aaron sank down on the bench again, he was too high to fight. He had been having a pleasant afternoon, everyone gone, just him and his pills and the sky. “The doctor,” he muttered, pulling the bottle from his pocket without thinking, “I cracked a couple ribs.”

Cole stared at him for a second, understanding passing between them, before snatching the bottle from Aaron.

“Hey!” He jumped up, furious. “Give that back.”

“What? I share with you all the time and you were just going to keep this to yourself? How’s that fair?”

Aaron faltered, caught by the logic of the argument, maybe he should have thought to share but the idea had never even crossed his mind. Still, they were his, he could do what he wanted, he was the one in pain after all. He tried a different tactic. “Please, I need them. It’s…it really does hurt.” He didn’t like to admit it, it made the high less enjoyable, tied it too closely to the nightmare in his home.

Cole’s eyes sparkled, he could tell he had the upper hand again, was back in the position he preferred. Irritated, Aaron tried to grab the bottle back but Cole was too fast, lifting his arm out of Aaron’s reach.

“Uh-uh, I think you need to learn a lesson about sharing.”

“Cole,” Aaron warned. This wasn’t a game to him. He could feel rage beginning to boil inside him.

Unaware, Cole laughed at him. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Furious and unthinking, Aaron shoved him hard with both hands, knocking him backwards. He tripped and landed on his back, the bottle slipping out of his hand as he tried to catch himself. Aaron breathed hard, the muscles in his side had pulled painfully at his broken ribs and the pain was making him see stars. Before he could recover, Cole was back on his feet and approaching him.

“They’re mine,” he said, as if that explained everything, as if that would fix the anger that had clouded Cole’s face. He took a couple steps back but he didn’t move fast enough. Cole swung his fist and it connected with Aaron’s jaw with a loud crack. He stumbled to the side, barely catching himself before he took another hit. His cheekbone burned with the impact, his ears were full of the brittle sound of his struggling lungs. His knees folded under him and he found himself on all fours in the dirt. He wheezed, trying to breathe around the pain in his ribs. Just out of reach he saw the prescription bottle and moved just enough to grab it. As soon as it was in his hand he scrambled to his feet, half bent over, free hand wrapped around his ribs. Cole watched him, anger fading but still not pleased with what he was seeing. Aaron probed his face, exploring the way his lip was swelling, the trace of blood running down his chin. He looked at Cole, betrayed.

“Fuck you,” he whispered, before turning and walking away, praying he wouldn’t be followed.  

He didn’t know where he was going at first but found himself back at an old hiding place by the river. The tree with the tall roots that had cradled him so often when he would sneak away to make himself sick off his father’s alcohol. He sank down and, against his own wishes, cried. He hated himself more with every tear. He should never have trusted Cole in the first place. This situation was his own fault. How could he have believed someone cared about him? That someone wanted to spend time with him because they liked him as a person, not just a thing to get something from, a thing to be pushed around when he wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Now that thin illusion was broken and he had nothing left. He’d let this friendship, this experiment overtake everything else in his life. He’d pushed away what little he’d had to focus his energy on holding on to this, wrapping himself up in the high. The drug high, sure, but more than that, the high of attention and believing someone else understood him. But it had never been real and he should have known that.

He considered the bottle of painkillers, an idea floating up, whispering sweetly, promising a solution to the mistakes he’d let himself make. A way to erase the sting of realizing he was not and would never be anyone worth caring for. That would be the ultimate trick, one that no one would anticipate before it was too late. Carefully he poured out a handful. Took one. Took another. And another. He put a fourth one in his mouth but found he couldn’t make it go down. He held it there, tasting the bitterness as it began to dissolve. A wave of regret forced him to spit the pill out into his hand. Maybe today wasn’t the day, maybe he would just enjoy the high for now. He could always make that decision later, he had the means available. He leaned back and let the effect of the pills he’d swallowed pull him away from himself. Within moments he fell asleep, bottle clutched in one hand, the sticky pill, coated in dirt, in the other.

He was shaken awake roughly, someone calling his name. Trying to ignore it, he squeezed his eyes tightly, not wanting to wake up, to come up from the dark waters he’d been pleasantly floating in. Fingers snapped close to his ear and he flinched. Reluctantly he slit his eyes open. Cole was there.

“Leave me alone.” He tried to roll over, away from him. Cole pulled him back roughly.

“How many did you take Aaron?”

“What do you care?” His words were slurred, tongue lazy.

“Of course I fucking care,” Cole sounded exasperated and, though Aaron wasn’t sure he was interpreting the emotion correctly, worried. Finally he opened his eyes all the way to glare at the other boy, sullen. He licked his lips where he could still taste blood. Cole reached to touch his face and Aaron recoiled hard, hitting his head on the tree trunk. He yelped, the pain ricocheting through his skull. Cole’s hand still hung in the air between them. He looked disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.

Surprised, Aaron looked at him again. This time he remained still, let Cole touch his face, touch the bruises, run his finger over the dried blood in the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to.”

They were very close now, so close Aaron could feel Cole’s exhale as he spoke travel across his cheeks. He held his breath and clenched his fists, crushing the partially dissolved pill still in his palm. Vaguely he noticed his other hand was empty. Just as he was about to look for the bottle, eyes darting to the ground, he felt Cole’s lips, pressed against his mouth. Shocked, he tried to make sense of everything, of how close he was, of the warmth, of the way the pressure caused the edges of his teeth to cut into his skin.

Cole pulled back, seeming to be as surprised as Aaron felt. They were frozen, tension holding them in place. Before he could form a complete thought about it, Aaron grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back, crashing against each other. The tension shattered into an angry, clumsy struggle, all teeth and crushed noses. Cole was pulled off balance and knelt, one hand braced on the tree above Aaron’s head, one hand around the back of his neck. Aaron’s hands, gritty with dirt, wrapped in his shirt, holding on desperately, afraid Cole would leave the moment he let go. The kissing was rough and it made the bruise on his jaw ache, his broken ribs burn, but he needed this. Far more than he wanted to admit, he needed someone else’s touch to prove he was wanted, that he belonged. And for that kind of reassurance, he’d accept any touch at all.

chapter six

[starlightrows]

The Perfect Day

Pairing: Paz Viszla x reader

Word Count: 2k

Tags: Dangerously high levels of fluff!

Summary: Paz goes out of the way to make your birthday special!

AN: Second time posting this, the original got deleted by mistake! This was created to celebrate my birthday! Loosely inspired by @maybege soulmate!paz!

Your nose twitches at the sweet smell of cocoa and coffee as you begin the pull towards wakefulness. The heavy blankets and duvet that keep you warm is being pulled back, and you can feel gentle breath being puffed onto your cheeks. He places gentle pressure on your forehead, again on your temple trailing down to the apple of your cheek to the tip of your nose. By the time he reaches your lips you can’t contain your sleepy smile. His laugh is deep and hearty between gentle kisses, coaxing you into opening your eyes.

“Good morning birthday girl,” he smiles. You squeeze your eyes shut and push your face up to his to nuzzle your nose against his, feeling extra cuddly from his wake up kisses.

“Good morning,” you reply

“Made you breakfast,” he says, you open your eyes and sit up with him.

“Oh! Thank you honey,” He brings a bread tray forward, loaded with a massive plate of what you correctly assume to be savory waffles, a bowl of fruit, and two cups of coffee. He sits on the bed cross legged in front of you, placing the tray between you.

You excitedly dig, enjoying the crispy exterior of the waffles and rich chocolate laced into the coffee. He sits back enjoying his coffee, and the fruits of his labor.

“Paz, there is so much of this. How early did you get up to pull all this off?” You ask, because even with both of you eating there is a lot of food.

“Not as early as you think, this is turning out to be more of a birthday brunch than a breakfast” he smiles sheepishly. You glance at the clock on his dresser. He’s right, it’s a quarter past 11. He let you sleep in well past your normal lazy day wake up time.

“I figured if I was going to make your favorite breakfast anyway, I might as well make a lot so we can save some for the next few days,” he explains

You can’t help but smile, it was a thoughtful gesture, but if he didn’t put them away soon you’d sit there and eat the whole platter full!

When the bunch was finished, you helped him take the dishes downstairs, despite his protests.

“It’s your day love, is there anything you’d like to do?” He asks while washing the utensils you’d used to eat.

“Well with all the fresh snow on the ground, I was thinking we could pull out the snow shoes and do a hike. We could try the lookout loop again,” you reply, peeking out the massive front window at the snowy driveway and dense forest just outside the cabin. While the ground may be covered in a thick blanket of snow, the sky is free of heavy cloud cover “it’s pretty clear out today, hopefully we’ll be able to see the valley this time,”

“Yeah, sounds great. I can pack the hiking bag if you want to go pull the snow shoes out from the equipment closet,” he tosses a tea towel over his shoulder. You nod and slammer off to find the snow shoes.

Half an hour later, you and Paz are sitting on the bench under the covered back porch wearing snow pants, lightweight thermal jackets, beanies and gloves; strapping the snowshoe attachments to your heavy snow boots. Paz carries the big hiking bag that houses your emergency supplies and water for the wintertime hike, while you carry the smaller bag that has snacks and a blanket for the look out point.

He gives you a hand up, and lets you lead the way to start out the hike. You’d done this hike together many times before, once you started moving you almost didn’t need to think about it. He fell in step just behind you and the two of you shared easy, fun conversation as you hiked the familiar path up the mountain. Air was still and cold, but you felt amazing, kept warm by your insulating layers and the movement of your body. This hike was beautiful as it is in the summer months, but winter was its own kind of beauty.

The last mile or so to reach the lookout point was the hardest part, Paz’s long strides made it somewhat easier for him and you laughed as he passed you on the uphill climb. Just like he always did. He welcomed you at the top with a gentle hand, leading you to the lookout point. This place was special to the two of you. You’d come up here dozens of times together, he’d proposed to you on this spot, and a year later you’d gotten married at the top of this mountain.

“You were right,” he said, directing your attention out over the valley. It was pristine and perfect. The valley was like a bowl, fully surrounded on all sides by steep snow capped mountains. The lake in the center was a deep dark inky black, without so much as a ripple on the water. The lack of breeze in the chilled air made everything still. It was absolutely gorgeous and exactly what you had been hoping for.

Paz helped ease the pack off your back, and fished the blanket out from the bottom. He did his best to dust off one of the massive boulders you often sat on when coming up here, and spread the blanket out over it.

You sat together on the blanket enjoying crisp apples, sour gummy worms, salty jerky and of course passing a thermos full of cocoa back and forth. The only acceptable lunch for a day hike you claimed.

Before long you and Paz packed up your blanket and small amount of trash back into the bag, and triple checked to make sure everything was just the way you had found it. Together you set off back down the mountain, leading for home.

As the two of you neared the edge of the forest, Paz reached out and snagged your arm.

“Shhh, look!” He whispered pointing through the trees towards the cabin. You followed his gaze and the direction of his finger. Your eyes went wide, and your jaw slacked in elated shock.

Through the trees you could see it, a massive bull moose, leisurely strolling through your backyard about 30 yards away from where you and Paz stood. You had to cover your mouth to suppress your giddiness. Moose are your favorite animal, and one of the more rare animals to see on this side of the mountain. This was the biggest one you’d ever seen, and certainly the closest you’d ever been to one.

Of course you were well aware of how dangerous they are, so being protected from its view by the trees at this comfortable distance was the best and safest scenario for you. But this was also the coolest, most exciting thing that had ever happened to you! Eventually the Moose trotted along and disappeared into the trees on the opposite side of the property. You shared a look with Paz.

“Oh my god! That was a little intense,” you said following him towards the house

“I know. I’ve never seen one that close in my life. I almost wish we’d had a camera,” he replied.

You sat together on the back porch once more, removing your snowshoes, and kicking the remaining snow off the bottom of your boots. Once inside both of you stripped out of your snow pants and coats, leaving you in base layers and socks. You hung up the heavy gear in the entryway closet, and collected the extra bits that could go in the wash like socks.

Paz approaches you leaned down a bit and kissed the top of your head.

“If you let me rinse off real quick, you can take a bath while I work on dinner,” he offers

You hum at the attention of his kisses, “How can I say no to that. Its a deal babe,”

True to his word, Paz jumps in for a very quick shower just to get the sweat off of his body. He emerges from the bathroom with wet hair and warm skin. He gives you one more lingering kiss before letting you run off to draw a fancy bath for yourself.

Meanwhile he busies himself in the kitchen to make sure he’s got enough time to finish dinner, that he had secretly already started that morning, as well as the dessert he had planned.

By the time you’re coming back downstairs looking very cozy in an oversized knit sweater and leggings, dinner is on the table and dessert is just going into the oven. The table is set for the two of you with your favorite meal, and a nice candle in the middle. You sidle up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“This is so romantic, you did all this for me?” You gaze lovingly at the beautiful dinner awaiting you.

“Of course,” he wraps his arms around you too, giving you a loving squeeze. He pulls away, and invites you to sit. The food is delicious, perfectly cooked just the way you like it. As you finish a timer goes off back in the kitchen.

You look past him into the kitchen, then turn your eyes back to him. “Paz?”

He grins mischievously, and gets up to pull dessert from the oven. It’s a small chocolate cake, and from the looks of it he’s attempted to make a lava cake with a gooey fudgy center. He turns it out onto a dish, and pulls the mold up and off it. He looks rather proud of himself. He sticks a single delicate white candle in the middle and deftly lights it. He sits it down in front of you with the warmest most genuine smile.

“Happy birthday baby,” he says “Don’t forget to make a wish,”

You giggle and give him a gentle smile, “I don’t know what more I could possibly wish for,” He grins at you. You do know what to wish for. You wish to be this happy every day. To feel this loved and cherished every moment for the rest of your days. You wish he would feel the same love and devotion coming from you. And you blow out the candle.

He produces two spoons and you share the dessert, finding its rich spongey cake to be without a shadow of a doubt the best dessert you’ve ever had. And you make sure to tell him that.

“I must be the most spoiled woman in the world. Breakfast, dinner and dessert! Will you at least let me help you do the dishes?” You ask when the plate has been all but licked clean of his chocolatey confection.

“Not a chance. You’re gonna go pick a movie,” he tells you, taking the plates into the kitchen to be washed. You laugh and shake your head, but acquiesce.

He joins you in the living room, and tumbles onto the couch pulling you on top of him to snuggle. In the end you choose an old favorite movie of yours, one that still makes you laugh despite the obviously terrible jokes. You’re half heartedly paying attention, more just basking in the warmth of Paz’s chest and the nostalgia of the film. Paz is not paying attention to the movie at all. He’s stroking your hair, and memorizing every detail of your face looking so blissful and content. Despite having been married for two years now, and together for two more, he could still spend an eternity studying your face and find something new or cute or amusing.

Your gaze drifted up to meet Paz, and your smile seemed to melt into a wider sleepier smile as you exhaled deeply.

“Good birthday?” He asks

“Mhm...” you nod “Perfect,”

[shimmeringclouds]

Chapter 2

'Another day wasted.'

It was the first thought to come to your mind when you had awoken the next day, the sun already high above the horizon and glaring through your windows.

You didn't feel well rested, despite having slept for hours on end. Your mind was tired, your heart still ached, you didn't feel as if you had the strength to open your eyes. You just lay there on your bed, unmoving and unbothered.

You would have stayed there all day, had it not been for your hunger. Clutching at your stomach in pain, you remembered how you had barely eaten anything the previous day, too busy wallowing in self pity to even think about eating.

With a groan, you slowly sat up on the edge of your mattress, blinking away the sudden head rush that came with the movement. The floorboards felt cold beneath your feet, sending shivers up your spine as you placed them flat on the wooden flooring. You rubbed at your eyes as you stood up, stumbling out of your bedroom to go and wash up.

It was unbearably hot in your living room, prompting you to open up the patio doors to allow some air inside, the humidity increasing as a new wave of warm air wafted into the room. The echoing sounds of cicadas that rested on tree trunks beyond your fencing filled the air, buzzing and buzzing until that white noise in your mind was finally cancelled out.

You chewed slowly on your food, maybe to waste more time so that the sun would go down and you could go back to sleep. But it was barely noon and the sun was still hovering high in the sky, scorning you with its intense rays as if to punish you for wishing it to leave. It was going to be a long summer's day, and you were already sick of it.

Sick.

You suddenly placed your half-eaten plate of food down with a clatter as you scrambled to your feet, slapping a hand desperately over your mouth as you felt it rise and boil in your throat, barely making it to the bathroom as your stomach spewed out bile into the sink.

It was happening again, you realised as you continued to gag, fumbling to turn the tap on to wash away the disgusting sight before you, prompting you to choke again. It was all going so well, and now it's happening again. Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed them shut. Just make it stop. Please make it stop.

Your legs finally collapsed from beneath you and you tumbled to the tiled floor, hands still clutched to the edge of the basin as you crouched down, head low and breaths heavy. A cold sweat had broken out over your skin, leaving you shivering and abnormally feverish.

It wasn't fair, you thought miserably. Nothing had happened. Nothing had gone wrong. But apparently something did go wrong. Things always go wrong. You can never seem to be at peace, no matter what you try. The sudden waves of anxiety that hit you when you least expected it wasn't your fault. And yet it was entirely your fault. Nothing made sense. Nothing ever made sense. You were too stupid to understand. You could never understand.

'If only I didn't go outside yesterday.'

But it still would have happened. This would still have happened. You didn't know why, but it would have. Because that's just how it works. It's not supposed to work that way. But for you, it does. You didn't need to understand. You just needed to let it happen. Even if you didn't want it to. You have no power, no control. Just fall to your knees and cry, as you always do. That's how it always works.

You stood up shakily, hesitantly staring back at the face in the mirror. She looked better than you did. Smiling, happy, glad she was behind the glass and wasn't there with you.

You blinked, and the image changed. That was you. You, with the messy hair and the dark, tired eyes, the sickly skin and pinched cheeks, frail and weak, gaze sullen and dazed. Lost and confused. Sad and pitiful. That was who you were.

Unable to look any longer, you twisted the faucet back on, cupping handfuls of cold water and splashing it over your face multiple times, scrubbing harshly at your eyes and mouth, rinsing it out to get rid of the sickening taste of bile. You didn't dare look back into the mirror as you grabbed your towel, rubbing it over your face and tossing it aside before exiting the bathroom.

Breakfast didn't sound appetising anymore, and you regretfully threw the rest of the food away. You stood in the middle of your living room, glancing around from the couch to the TV, to the console next to it, to the small bookshelf stuffed with a few books you had decided to keep for whatever reason, your fingers furling and unfurling against your palms.

They finally landed on a slim, black, hard-cover book shoved lopsidedly into the bottom shelf, it's ringed binder hanging out over the edge of the dark wood.

You reached for it, gingerly pulling it out of the shelf with the tips of your fingers, holding it at arms length as if it were some kind of wild animal. The first few pages were frayed and withered, but the rest were crisp and clean, untouched and unused.

You stared and stared at the tough cover, running your gaze over the blank darkness, as if you were searching for something. But you knew everything you were searching for was inside the book. The courage to look was dwindling away as time tricked by.

You suddenly grasped the corner of the cover, flipping it open with force and coming to a halt at the sight of the first page. All you saw was coloured blotches, streaking across the otherwise empty paper in messy lines. The blues and greens merged together in a disgusting mesh of hues, the watery disarray of paint unable to form any real structure.

After staring at it for a long while, face stoic, you flipped over to the next page. The paper was stiff and wrinkled, less like paper and more like cardboard, crackling with the slightest amount of pressure applied to it.

It was just the same as the previous one, if not, worse. You couldn't look at it for longer than a couple of minutes before moving on, and that time hastily shortened down to a few seconds until you finally reached a blank page.

With a shaky breath, you grabbed a pencil from one of the pots on your shelf and silently seated yourself down at the low table behind you. You hovered the lead over the white canvas, carefully moving it along with your hand, the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper filling your ears.

Your arm made jerky movements, wrist flicking left and right as you attempted to make an outline of something you had seen before, with the lead eroding away ever so slowly with each stroke. You watched your hand wander to every corner of the paper, pausing with a flinch every now and then when it moved just a little too far off the intended path.

The clock ticked on and on, seconds to minutes to hours, with you sat at the low table in the bright light of the sun in your living room, scratch, scratch, scratching away, even as your pencil became blunt, forcing it to mark out the lines of a seemingly misshapen landscape, thin and delicate lines becoming thick and crooked veins.

It wasn't until the pencil began stabbing the paper with its splintered tip that you finally stopped, moving your hand off the page to look down at the horrible mess you had made. It was the same picture as the others, only much, much more awful, with less colour and less sense of mind.

That same stoic face stared down at the page. Your grip on your pencil was now limp, your hand dropping to the floor by your side and the tool now slipping from your fingers, rolling over the floor and out of your reach.

You can't do anything right, can you?

The sting of tears in your eyes was going to drive you mad. You stood back up, ignoring the needle-like numbness in your lower limbs as you staggered to your bedroom, the urge to get out of the deathly silent house growing stronger.

You changed out of your clothes into an oversized beige hoodie and shorts, thinking that it wouldn't draw attention to yourself, only to realise that it would draw attention because what kind of idiot would wear a hoodie in the middle of summer? So you tossed it aside and pulled on a white vest and a grey dress-shirt on top instead, thankful that the loose fitting clothing would at least cover your curves.

You slipped on the first pair of sneakers you saw and left the house, your keys, purse and phone stuffed into your back pockets. You stood in front of your door for a moment, unsure of where to go, then ultimately decided that it really didn't matter, and you turned left and started walking.

You kept your head low, hands awkwardly swaying by your sides, unsure of where to put them because you had no other pockets. The sun was lower in the sky now, gently stretching your shadow behind you as you walked further and further down the street, following it wherever it took you because who cares where you would end up?

As always, there was no one outside besides you. The gentle patter of your footsteps against the cobbled pathway was the only sound you could hear besides the familiar twitter of birds above you. It was moments like these when you began to miss the sounds of the city, with its constant bustling streets and roads filling that emptiness in the air and somewhat reassuring you that you weren't completely alone in this world.

But here, you were. You were entirely alone.

You always thought you would be okay with that, and yet you were now hating it more than anything. How pathetic.

Glancing upwards, you noticed with a blink that the houses in the village were now far behind you. You paused, turning to look over your shoulder to see the shrunken structures in the distance, and your surroundings were instead replaced with rolling green fields of tall grass, mutely swaying in the breeze. How long had it been since you had started walking?

Despite your confusion, you turned back around and continued onward. You shouldn't think about it too much. You didn't want to think at all anymore.

And so, you walked. You walked and walked and walked. You had no idea where the road was headed towards, you had no idea if you were even in the Akashika District at that point, but that was fine. The unknown was welcomed with open arms. Anything to keep your mind quiet.

Unfortunately for you, though, all good things must come to an end. That end came far too quickly when your legs and feet began to ache. Your body was becoming tired — most likely due to you not having any food in your system — and your shortness of breath under the brutal summer heat was making your head spin. You needed to stop soon, unless you wanted to faint.

With great reluctance, you steered yourself to the side of the road, kneeling down with your knees tucked into your chest and your forearms hanging over them. You pushed your hair away from your face, disliking the sweat accumulating on your temple. Whilst you caught your breath, you looked back again down the road you had walked up, and the town was now a lot smaller than it was before.

You would have to walk back there eventually, you reminded yourself, and you outwardly groaned. You didn't want to do that. But you guessed it was your own fault, anyway. You deserved this. It's the consequence of your actions, isn't it? You acted irrationally, and now you had to suffer further.

The sound of a car horn startled you from your thoughts. You whipped your head over to your right with wide eyes, watching as a white car rolled to a stop a few feet ahead of you, its tires crunching against the dirt. The engine died down into silence as you heard the clutch being pulled into place with a squeak, catching a brief glimpse of a shadowy silhouette through the windscreen as it shuffled to get out of the car.

You were frozen in place as you watched a man step out of the vehicle, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he regarded you with a curious look, raising a brow as he stepped closer. His rounded face looked so familiar, as well as those large, half-lidded eyes, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. He wore a white shirt complete with a deep blue tie, which hung loosely under his unbuttoned collar. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, exposing his forearms.

"Are you okay there?" He asked, sauntering to a stop as he stood over you. You stared up at him, breath caught in your throat, unsure of what to say. No, you were not okay, but you couldn't just tell people that, could you? You had to be okay, you had to be normal.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you." You attempted to smile, the strain of forcibly stretching your lips across your cheeks paining you greatly, and you would have kept it up if the man hadn't frowned at you. The smile that was more akin to a grimace slowly slipped off of your face, replaced by a nervous pinch to your lower lip instead.

"You don't look 'fine' to me," he stated bluntly, leaning down a little so that his head was mere inches away from your own. "What are you doing all the way out here on the ground?"

You inched yourself back slightly, wobbling under the uneven balance on your limbs. Excuses, you had to come up with excuses, but that was becoming an increasingly difficult task when the man interrogating you seemed to know that you were lying before you even spoke.

Just as you were about to lose your balance in your crouched position, he grabbed onto your upper arm to steady you. The warmth radiating from his palm seeped through your sleeve, your already boiling skin heating up further from the touch. You felt your cheeks heat up, too, the unfamiliar touch of this (admittedly attractive) man leaving you in a slight daze.

"I-I was just out for a walk, and I got tired, that's all," you quickly stammered, unable to look him in the eyes lest you burst into flames. His scrutinising look didn't falter, instead increasing as he squinted at you harshly.

"You look like you're gonna faint. I think you're a little more than tired, lady."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest at his words. You were fine, totally fine, why couldn't he just accept that?

You gasped as you suddenly felt yourself being lifted off the ground, your arms pulled forward as he forced you to follow behind him. He was leading you to his car, his grip on you firm as if to say that you didn't have a choice.

"Where are you taking me?" You couldn't exactly trust a man you had just met so easily. He stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at you with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, sorry! I'm gonna look weird if I just start dragging you over here, huh?" He released your arms to bow mockingly, peering up at you through one eye as the other closed in a wink.

"The name's Akashika Ozo. Taxi driver, at your service." He grinned widely, seemingly proud of himself for the little skit he had pulled. Ozo straightened back up, taking a hold of your forearm tenderly this time and gesturing towards his car. "I was just planning on giving you a lift to wherever it is you're going. If you want one, that is."

[sassy-pelican]

Monsters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Premise: Bucky and reader discover that all of them loves all of the other. 

Warnings: language, fluff (only a bit), angst (its more just hard feels), smut - non explicit, (the holy trinity of fanfic), kinda rough sex but with lots of feeling? Choking (very mild), um … I think that’s it? I’m trying to get better at warnings and labels so please tell me if I should add more.

A/N: This is based off the song Monster In Me by Little Mix (lyric video) and I definitely think you should give it a listen. The lyrics really helped create the vibe for this. Anyway, I am having serious writers block (much to my Kinktober challenge’s dismay, since it’s November and I never finished it, whoops).

Also if anyone writes something with Bucky based on this song, I’d love to be tagged in it. I would love to know other interpretations of this with Bucky. It just screams Bucky to me. I’m saying Bucky too much. 

This is unedited and all done in about an hour.

It wasn’t that you and Bucky weren’t perfect together, far from it. The two of you meshed so well that it was sickening to some people - mainly Sam who had to put it up with the most. It just always felt like you were holding back, and he was too. 

Despite the obvious love that was clearly written in everything you did, in everything Bucky did, neither of you dared to act on it. Both of you had your demons, and demons always showed their face. 

Bucky was fearful of hurting you, and you him. Evenly matched in every aspect was the best way to describe you and him. Every day you both put on a brave face, showed the world the side of you they wanted and shut the hollow part of you that haunted you at night away, until the stars and moon became the demons only witness. 

The nightmares weren’t silent demons, no, they screamed and cried and hurt in the worst ways. You longed for it to hurt in other ways, better ways. 

~~~

This mission had gotten to the core of both your demons. Your eyes found the room at the same time, silently staying on the chair, the braces, the pure pain without a sound and smell until Sam and Nat pulled you both out of the warehouse, all the way home, mere shells of what you were at the start of the day.

It was a bitter memory, one that both of you relieved over and over every day with inadequate skills to fight. 

Bucky pulled off his gloves in silence, such a loud sound for nothing at all. You in turn removed your tac belt in an equally silent manner. Neither one of you needed to speak to know the horrors that were playing behind the screen of your eyes. You saw yourself removing the physical evidence of the mission yet the mental parts lingered. 

Normally the two of you would share a shower, never to speak of it until the next, and fall asleep curled up in the warmth of one another. Tonight every breath felt like nails in your lungs. Every second where normalcy is expected felt like fire in your veins. 

“Bucky,” you whisper, pleading. 

“I can’t,” he doesn't say anything else before rushing out the door. 

You wanted to call out to him, to beg him to come back, to not let you crumble alone but no words came out. Harder than before the darkness of your past, the demons that dare not speak in the daylight, start screaming. And you need it. You need him. 

Your feet are moving before your mind fully catches up. Clothes are stripped along the way, leaving a trail of evidence for anyone to find. Yet you don’t care. All rationality is gone, only primal need to rid yourself of the hurt. 

Bare by the time you step into his bathroom you are all steel and flame as you rip open the shower, and he doesn’t even look at you. He can feel the shift in the air though. The energy surrounding you isn’t calm and timid like normal it is hot and icy in intent. 

“Y/N,” he starts, turning to you long enough to be shoved to the back of the shower, under the spray of the shower, scalding in temperature but you don’t care. You crave the feeling, crave the jolting heat to pull you out of the abyss. 

Lips attach to his in fury, teeth nipping at his lips before he comprehends what’s going on. Yet somehow he knows, he knows what you need. 

His normally soft touches are lit with passion instead of longing. He holds you with lust instead of love. Tenderness leaves each of you with each breath taken between tongue filled kisses. Bodies pressed against each other, water scorching skin with each movement, you grab at him anywhere you can. 

“Y/N,” he moans, lifting you up against him, pulling you against him. You bite on his shoulder, hard enough that you taste blood and both of you only sink into one another. 

He pushes past your resistance with ease, the slight burning only spurring you on. Bucky lifts his gaze to yours, his once blue eyes all but black with lust. His hands slam yours against the wall above your head, pinning them with ease that you allow.

Each thrust sends you up the wall, the groans, the moans, the screams, all filling the room in a rhythm only you two know. You feel his flesh hand grab you around the throat and you groan. 

“More,” you gasp, leaning into his touch. 

He moans into your chest as he continues to thrust, trying to reach that peak that seems impossible. Yet you both seem to near it. The closer you each get to that high only you can give one another the rougher it gets. Kisses become all teeth and tongue, hands hold with a bruising grip, nails dig into skin.  

With a shout he collapses onto you, and that heavy pressure is enough. A scream and you slide down the wall, boneless and limp. 

The reprieve from the demons doesn’t last. You can feel them creeping back, can see Bucky’s eyes return to their haunted blue-grey. 

“I could’ve hurt you,” he mutters. 

“Yes,” you reply. Lying to him will get you nowhere. “And I could’ve hurt you but we didnt.” 

“Why?” he asks. You know he isn’t about hurting one another, no, he’s asking about everything. 

You can’t answer him. Not when you don’t even know the answer yourself. “I don’t know.” 

Neither of you move from your spot on the shower floor until the water turns icy and it reminds you too much of before, of when it all hurt for the wrong reasons. 

Standing outside the shower, wrapped in a towel, staring in the mirror you turn to him. Much more tender than before you pull him down into you. Lips meeting in anything but fury and need. 

You can feel your soul snap into place, like it came home. His hands cup your waist as he slowly, tenderly returns the kiss. “Y/N,” he says. 

“Bucky.”

“What are we doing?”

You press your forehead against his, waiting for the words to come to you, waiting for the right moment. “We’re loving each other.”

“I don’t deserve your love,” he mutters. 

“I probably don’t deserve yours either Bucky,” you reply. “We both have done terrible things, and yet here we are.”

“Y/N,” he interrupts but you press a finger to his lips. 

“We are Y/N and Bucky,” you say. “But we both have demons, have monsters that will always be there, always lurk in the dark. Nothing will change that.

“And I will love you anyway. I will love every part of you.”

He kisses you, cheeks wet with fresh tears and it isn’t until he wipes yours that you realize you shed one. 

“I love every part of you too, even the darkest corners.”

“Even the darkest corners.”

~~~

Nat notices the marks before anyone else. “You get in a fight?” she asks, spooning cereal into her mouth. 

“No.”

She sees Bucky then, the same marks adorning him. Smirking to herself she doesn’t say anything else. Yet she barely holds back a smile when Y/N pecks his cheek before he retreats back to his room with his own breakfast. 

“You and Barnes?”

“Yes.”

“Anything special or just a spur of the moment thing?”

“Both.”

She cocks her head. “How so?”

“We know the darkest parts of each other and still come back for more. Yet never before was it like that.”

“I see.” Nat says, and she did. She saw the love in both their eyes long before either of them did, and she still sees it now. 

~~~

Bucky pulls Y/N to his side when she joins back in his room. “Nat say anything?”

“Of course,” you reply. 

“What did you say?”

“The truth.”

“And what’s that?” he asks, kissing the top of your head. 

“That we love every part of one another.”

~~~

“The monster in me loves the monster in you.” - Monster In Me by Little Mix

[somerpmemes]

Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist S1 Starters

Change as needed. More under the cut.

“Quick question: do you always have to play and sing your music that loud?”

“Why are you up so early anyways?”

“Oh, I didn’t go to bed.”

“So, you’re ready for this?”

“I just really don’t wanna screw this up.”

“Keeping it lean for the ladies.”

“I need to expand my horizons.”

“It was literally all you.”

“Now is not the time to be modest.”

“Let’s face it, the woman’s a narcissist.”

“Work your magic, feel the glory, in it to win it.”

“Well I’m not really comfortable with anything.”

“Alright, who wants some freshly delivered, slightly cold, mediocre pizza!”

“Could we maybe open a window or something?”

“They’re not that scary.”

“Are you sure this isn’t an elaborate teleportation device that will take me to an alternate universe?”

“I just wanna get this over with.”

“Is this supposed to be happening?”

“That sounds really sad.”

“Why are you singing right now?”

“Why would I sing to you? You don’t even like me.”

“Can I get you anything? Water? Vodka? Xanax?”

“Quick question: did you recently imbibe or inject anything that came from a “medicinal” type shop?”

“But I’m an open-minded person, I’m willing to roll with this.”

“Maybe you’re operating on a higher plane than the rest of us.”

“Child, I’m completely baked. Ain’t nothing going on in my head right now.”

“This is the first thing that I find remotely interesting about you.”

“Will we ever have joie de vivre?”

“My mom left me when I was young and my whole life has been a series of rejections from the opposite sex.”

“You sure you don’t hear that?”

“Let’s party like it’s 1978!”

“And you should really take everything I say when I’m high with a grain of salt.”

“That song is real dark.”

“Good music can make you feel things you can’t express in words.”

“Hey, not that I’m keeping tabs or anything but that’s like your fourth cup of coffee today.”

“That’s a whole lot of tmi I just spewed on you.”

“Who knows what other people are really thinking, right?”

“I’ve found in general death and dying tend not to be the best conversation starters.”

“If I show you something can you promise to keep it only between us?”

“This is the only thing that I can hold onto.”

“I’ve become a real expert on bottling my shame and pain and hiding it from the world.”

“Listen, I’m not an expert on this or anything but you can't just keep it in.”

“I should’ve been the one this happened to.”

“I think we’re just gonna have to stumble through it together. The blind leading the blind.”

“If you had the power to know what was going on in other people’s heads, do you think you’d feel guilty?”

“I’m going to be uncharacteristically honest with you so don’t get used to it.”

“I notice everything.”

“I just feel like everyone’s against me.”

“Two more hours and I would’ve gotten it, just saying.”

“There’s gonna be good days and bad days, remember? Let’s chalk this up to one of the good ones.”

“Mama needs an update.”

“No, no, don’t be flattered.”

“I view you more as a social experiment, like a rat running through a maze.”

“Sounds bougie, I’m in.”

“I'm not in trouble, am I?”

“Bottom line, please?”

“You’re yelling, bro.”

“I’m acting weirder than normal?”

“Believe it or not I didn’t really play any sports growing up.”

“This power is wasted on you!”

“Is this weird? This feels weird.”

“I gotta say, I am loving the energy.”

“I’m pretty sure nobody cares.”

“Any desire to tell me what this is all about?”

“Of course I know that song, it’s a very famous song. Do YOU know that song?”

“With great power comes a lot of nasty stuff don’t nobody wanna do.”

“I’m not NOT mortified right now.”

“Please tell me your day was better than mine.”

“Do I need to hide all of my breakables?”

“I can’t cook. You should see the inside of my fridge.”

“I guess we’ve just breezed right past the whole “knocking-and-waiting-for-the-other-person-to-answer” phase.”

“When I get inspired no doors will stand in my way.”

“Creative. Absolutely terrifying..”

“Could be cool. Could be confusing. Could be both. Let’s see.”

“And I’m kinda obsessed with you.”

“Door’s always open, honey.”

“So could everyone please act as if they care?”

“I haven’t breathed outside air in over forty-three hours.”

“Why did we come up with this stupid, stupid plan?”

“Dolly Parton is my spirit animal.”

“There are lots of reasons why people are unsatisfied, ___. 80% of it is sex related.”

“Do you just make these statistics up?”

“I’m gonna keep this one simple.”

“The only place I’m comfortable dancing is in my bedroom… closet.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“First of all, that’s terrible grammar.”

“I was a drum major in high school and that mess would not have been tolerated.”

“I have always found it helpful to vent when I’m feeling dissatisfied.”

“I don’t vent, I scream into a pillow.”

“You dress like a docent at a folk art museum.”

“Wow, we’re still talking about this?”

“___, are you growing as a person?”

“And the good news is I’ve been banned from the grocery store.”

“There’s been a radical shift in the way I perceive the world, you wouldn’t understand.”

“There is nothing in the world that I love more than your smile. But not if it isn’t real.”

“Don’t make this into a thing right now.”

“That term hasn’t been used in well over a decade.”

“I can see your side eye.”

“You can take the fifth and stop telling me about it.”

“Do you know anything about faith at all?”

“I think we might be vibing again.”

“Are you sure that everything’s okay with you because I feel like maybe it’s not.”

“See, that whole “leap of faith” thing really doesn’t work for me.”

“Empathy is a wonderful gift to have.”

“I have faith. You should too.”

“I recognize your tiny footsteps.”

“Okay, that’s enough gaping at the shut in for one day.”

“I swear this is the last one.”

“Why so secretive?”

“I am very aware of what a duet is.”

“Why do I even answer the phone this early?”

“My brain does not like functioning until night o’clock.”

“What’s the good of bad news if you can’t share it?”

“I love barely meeting expectations!”

“Is it great? Feels not so great.”

“I think you’re crushing it, that’s all that matters.”

“You two would be great in a female cop show.”

“Something’s going on with you, I can tell.”

“How do you do that? Really see me. No one else has the ability.”

“I’m just not used to negative feedback.”

“Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Can I take a picture? I’m gonna take a picture.”

“Uh oh. Don’t tell me you’re depressed too.”

“My body’s doing all sorts of disgusting things to me like making liquid appear in my eyes.”

“It’s too gutless, it’s too passive-aggressive. I like aggressive-aggressive.”

“I just feel like I’m failing.”

“Why do you put so much pressure on yourself?”

“Wow. I just got a window into your soul and, baby, it is not a place I wanna visit.”

“Did you know I once stared at the ocean for literally seven hours?”

“How about you lead the way and I’ll just holler if I need any medical assistance?”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t good, right?”

“So, tell me some good news please.”

“Thank you for not trying to fix me or make me feel better. Thanks for just being real.”

“Why are you smirking?”

“Sometimes I just feel like I can’t do anything right.”

“Someone sounds like they’re in a good mood.”

“The world is waiting, so am I.”

“I have no interest in hanging around a bunch of 20-somethings talking about artisanal beer all night.”

“___, this is a classy affair. Of course they’ll be pigs in a blanket.”

“Now it’s time for a makeover which is literally my favorite thing to do.”

“No matter how hard I try I just never say the right thing.”

“At least let me help you accessorize.”

“I gotta admit this is kinda fun.”

“Now they just taste like water.”

“Who do we know with a hot tub?”

“You are super fun. Like sloppy, dance on a bar fun.”

“I might also be drunk.”

“I’m a mess… and emotional… also vodka.”

“Life doesn’t always go as planned. It just doesn’t.”

“Is it weird that I want one of those?”

“Yeah, nothing good happens after someone sings that song.”

“I hate when people assume I know their names.”

“So, you’re attractive and talented.”

“I can’t believe that happened, and how quickly…”

“If there’s something going on I’d love all our friends to hear about it.”

“You should probably leave this party before you burn something else down.”

“That’s almost funny.”

“I need that thing more than you’ve ever needed anything in your entire life and I’m ready to fight you for it if you make me.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself to ride that thing sober let alone now still halfway drunk.”

“The last thing I want to hear from you is another apology.”

“I really need to be mad at you right now.”

“Are you crying?”

“What? I’m not allowed to get emotional at a superhero movie? Lives were lost, ___. Ethical questions were raised!”

“He only responds in one letter. ‘K’? Who does that?”

“Just— let’s talk about you.”

“It’s hard to accept that I can’t do this all on my own anymore.”

“Wouldn’t peg you for a food court guy.”

“We are gonna be ultra professional from now on.”

“What’s the crisis? Did I cause it?”

“Can you believe it?! ...apparently you can and perhaps already knew?”

“___, are you okay? You look paler than usual.”

“You okay? You look shaken.”

“But I feel great and I’m gonna be totally fine.”

“Can you google that for me?”

“Are you seriously hiding from me?”

“I listen to true crime to calm myself.”

“Look, we both know I’m not good with feelings or emotions.”

“Mad respect for your pun game.”

“Men don’t check on men in bathrooms, it’s not a thing.”

“Well now I know you’re telling the truth because no one would ever lie about doing something that heartless.”

“Were we ever even friends at all?”

“Real friends have hard conversations. They owe it to each other.”

“I’m gonna get deep for a hot second so bear with me.”

“Stuff like this has been going on for a while now. You wanna tell me what’s up?”

“You’re starting to seem like a liability, man.”

“What’s the point of rising if we can’t do it together?”

“Here to pour salt on my wounds?”

“It’s all coming from a place of love.”

“It is not exactly what I expected but I’m rolling with it.”

“Watch how fast I nail this.”

“Are we talking witchcraft or just shameless career advancing?”

“I’ve got a super chill brain that never needs calming, so…”

“Was I just singing out loud?”

“Am I going crazy? I feel like I am. I mean, I don’t know what crazy feels like but I feel like this is it.”

“That’s… bad.”

“Are you fine? I mean, I know you’re not fine but…”

“Can you schedule your nervous breakdown for another day?”

“In solving one problem I’ve created another.”

“I… I don’t know why that happened.”

“Okay, yes, I’ll admit I’m in a good mood but it’s for completely unrelated reasons.”

“Okay, this is getting worse by the second.”

“I apologize in advance for whatever’s about to come out of mouth.”

“I'm really sorry. Just know, it’s not me, it’s my body.”

“That’s such a strange way to phrase that.”

“There you go, now you know. Hey, that rhymed.”

“I will go to the supermarket… one day.”

“I ruined my entire life yesterday.”

“I just call that uninspired.”

“Honestly, I think I’m broken.”

“What exactly is going on here? A creative inspiration or a massive cry for help?”

“I’m broken and I’m gonna die alone.”

“How do you go through all that suffering and not let it break you?”

“I don’t know what to do. And it’s tearing me up inside.”

“Hurt people hurt people.”

“I think it’s best if you don’t look at me or worry about and focus on what I’m thinking or feeling.”

“It can be challenging sometimes, knowing the right way and the wrong way to care for somebody.”

“Well, it’s the almost-thought that counts.”

“That’s a terrible surprise face.”

“I think it’s finally time I focus on my own happiness for a change.”

“I don’t want to talk. Lord knows that we’ve done enough talking.”

“I’m exhausted. And exhilarated. And thoroughly depleted.”

“Stay aloof, reveal nothing, keep small talk down to a minimum.”

“You’ve been there for me, I wanna be there for you.”

“Don’t smile at me, I don’t wanna look at your sad, appreciative eyes.”

“What? He’s hot, I’m weak, you do the math.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a hoodie before.”

“This would be a great place to murder someone, huh?”

“So, who’s ready to talk about death?”

“It doesn’t have to go down like this, ___.”

“You can only postpone the inevitable for so long.”

“In moments like these sometimes you have to haul out the big guns.”

“Someone better be dead or dying, I’m not in the mood.”

“I am worried. This is how I compensate.”

“I find you charming and disturbing, like a Pomeranian wearing a tutu.”

“I go big or go home.”

“Death is hideous and ugly and grotesque and wildly, wildly unfair.”

“Believe me, I’m not doing well but I’m not doing that badly either.”

“I guess we gotta face the music sometime, right?”

[sorcererinthestars]

That Which Lurks in the Dark [FAHC]

My contribution to the @rtwritingcommunity‘s Secret Santa fic exchange. I love this exchange because it forces me to write and this year, I got a delight because I got to write something for one of my very best friends, @shadeofazmeinya! I hope you enjoy, my love! <3 

Everyone else, enjoy as well.

WC:  4583 Summary:  Sent out to Boston in the middle of the winter to make relations with a new gun-running squad, the Lads don't realize how badly this could go. Furious, bleeding, and cold, they take shelter in a shitty motel room and are forced to confront the reason they're in this mess... and the feelings that lurk in their hearts.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073598

-

It was that kind of storm that stole breath away, tore the sight from your eyes and made you weep with the fear of it. The storm howled around their little car, made every mile treacherous and dangerous, the potential of it stopping seemed to diminish with every passing second.

Inside the car it was no less dangerous. Three men sat hunched and breathless, trying to flee where they came from and yet make it to their destination unharmed. While they were out of the storm, the atmosphere inside the car was tense, able to be cut with a knife.

Michael, in the back, is bleeding. It slips crimson red down his side, across his pants, and stains the car seat. There’s no way they could return this rental — yet another thing Gavin had to deal with when they got somewhere safe. But the road almost unpassable now, not yet plowed, and the wind continued to howl its rage into the skies around them.

Gavin shifts, gritting his teeth as he tries his best to keep his hands on Michael’s wound. “How’re you doing, boi?”

The resulting wince is enough of an answer, but Michael wasn’t one to stay silent. He huffs an angry grumble. “Fine,” he snorts. Obviously untrue, but what was he supposed to do? The blood flow was thankfully stopping, but stab wounds needed treatment — none he was going to get here. “Or, fine enough.”

“We need to fuckin’ get back to the hotel,” Jeremy growls. His whole body is fixated on the road and not on the two men in the back seat. “If you had just listened to me…”

“Don’t fucking start!” Michael snaps back, his fury igniting like a piece of ripcord. If Gavin hadn’t quickly ducked out of the way, he would have been clipped by Michael’s head as the man straightens up quickly to throw his words at Jeremy like missiles. “Don’t you dare.”

“I knew it was a trap from the moment we walked in!” Jeremy hisses. “But no, you said we still had to go like you’re the fuckin’ leader or something…”

“I AM the fucking leader of the Lads!” Michael shoots back before Gavin wrestles him back down. “Boys, boys, you’re both pretty!” he snaps. “But Michael, you’re gonna bleed out if you continue to fight like this. Sit back, damn it. And Jeremy, you’re gonna crash the damn car. We need to find a place to stop.”

Stop? Jeremy turns to look at him owlishly before having to skid to avoid an ice patch in the center of the road. “This is Boston,” he retorts. “It’s what it’s like in the winter.”

“Doesn’t stop us from havin’ a half-dead guy in the back,” Gavin shoots back. “We need to stop and deal with Michael’s wounds. And look at it! You can’t see.”

It was true. The wind was just getting worse, threatening to toss the car off the road. A full out blizzard. They would need to ditch off for fear of losing everything in a crash. The money in the back seat wasn’t remotely how much they were supposed to get, but it was something, and Geoff would be upset if it didn’t make it home.

Not to mention, probably upset if three of his best crewmates didn’t return home either. Jeremy sighs. “Fine. Google a hotel or a motel closer to here then. Somewhere that won’t ask a lot of questions if we stain shit red with Michael’s blood.”

Gavin nods, pushing Michael’s hand over so he would keep pressure on his own wound. The other shifts, leaning against the car door and pressing firmly down on the stab wound. It wasn’t critical - they wouldn’t have made it out of that damn warehouse if it was. But it was fucking painful as hell and would need stitches for sure. Michael wasn’t quite looking forward to that procedure.

With hands covered in blood, Gavin pokes at his phone, grimacing at the stains that get all over the screen. “Looks like there’s a ... Motel 6 about ten...ten-ish miles down the road. Take the next right.”

Jeremy does, the car skittering and causing them all to grab on tight with shouts of alarm. “Sorry, sorry...,” Jeremy mutters, focusing again on the road and getting traction. He had forgotten how to drive in the snow after so long away.

Michael grunts under his breath and with Gavin’s directions and Jeremy’s partially safe driving, they manage to navigate towards the motel. Its lights barely puncture the maelstrom, providing a somewhat sickly flush of yellow light against the howling winds. But it’s shelter and warmth and a bed, and right now that’s all they need.

Pulling in, Jeremy takes stock of the situation. He’s probably the least bloody of the three of them, just a few stains on his jacket that he wipes off with the back of his hand. “Look. I’m gonna go in and see if I can get a fuckin’ room or two for us. You just... wait here.”

Michael glares at him from the back seat. “Like I’m g-gonna go anywhere,” he winces sarcastically. Jeremy just grunts. He knows he looks ridiculous in his purple and orange getup, but at least he has a big black parka to throw on over it. He snatches it, shouldering the heavy material, and stomps off towards the main building.

As they watch him disappear into the storm, Michael leans back against the leather. Maybe he shouldn’t be so frustrated - it certainly wasn’t Jeremy’s fault they were stood up and attacked during what should have been a simple gun-running meeting - but the sickening feeling that he failed... failed Geoff, failed them, failed himself... still twists in his stomach.

The assignment was simple. They were meeting some east coast gunrunners who were looking to start making shipments across the USA. These guys were cheap and would be a great addition to the Fake portfolio, so Geoff had Gavin research them and then sent his Lads to Boston. They’d meet with the dealers, Gavin would negotiate a deal, and then they’d fly home with money and deal secured.

But shit went tit’s up, and well...

Gavin knocks Michael out of his train of thought by adjusting his pressure on the wound, sending another wave of pain through Michael’s abdomen. He grunts. “Just ... just climb in the back and get some bandages or some shit,” he says forcefully, shoving on Gavin’s shoulder.

Glancing out the back window, Gavin frowns. “I - uh. It’s ... well, Micoo, it’s snowing, and I don’t really want -”

“Baby,” he shoots back, but before he could make another quip, Jeremy comes stomping back. His nose and ears are bright red and his eyes are shining under the hood, which is caked in snow. He hops back into the car and hovers over the heating vent for a few breathless moments, shivering. “FUCK.”

“Cold?” Michael says dryly. “Never would’ve guessed.”

He shoots him the bird and shakes himself off. “They’ve only got one room left,” he announces. “With a King bed. Which means some of us are sleepin’ on the fucking floor. But there’s heat. And a roof.”

“Good enough,” Gavin says quietly, glancing between the two of them with a somewhat uneasy expression. Jeremy starts the car and with a bit of slipping and sliding in the snow that gathered, they make it to the space outside their hotel room. A deliberate effort between all three of them manages to get Michael out of the car, Gavin gagging a bit at the bloodstain on the seat. They hobble Michael to the door and Gavin stands, shivering and supporting Michael’s dead weight as Jeremy fumbles with the lock.

The door opens with a whoosh of warm air and they stagger inside, frantically throwing the door shut behind them with finality. It’s a basic motel room, certainly nothing fancy, but thankfully warm and clean enough. Michael sags onto the bed, holding his side with a grunt. “...ugh.”

“Ugh indeed,” Jeremy shoots back. “Gav, can you stay with him? I’m going to unload the car.” He adjusts his parka. “See if you can get some hot water going, we’re all gonna need a shower.”

The room turns into a flurry of activity with Michael as an oasis of calm. Jeremy drags their few things inside - a black duffel bag full of cash, a few guns, and that’s it. All their clothes and supplies are back in the five-star hotel they had booked, a twenty-five minute drive back into the city. It may as well be sixty miles, based on how fast they could drive and as much as they could see.

Gavin, in the bathroom, fiddles with the old pipes. He cranks the hot water on as high as it would go and waits, hearing the rattle and hiss as the pipes pull the water and tries to heat it. The first blast is ice cold, sending him skittering away like a kicked puppy as he almost gets a blast of the artic against his already cold skin. The pipes rattle and groan and the water turns very slightly less miserable.

He frowns at it and leaves the bathroom. “...gonna take a while,” he announces, “if it ever gets there at all.” Then he immediately gags and almost runs back into the bathroom to vom, as Jeremy has Michael’s shirt off and is probing the wound that weeps miserably down his side.

“I can do it,” Michael grits. “I’ve dressed my own wounds before.”

“Alone, in the middle of a heist, maybe - and I’ve seen the results of your self-stitching in all the bubbled scars on your skin,” Jeremy retorts. “Just shut up and let me help you, you whiny baby.”

Michael squeezes his eyes closed as Jeremy probes the edges of the wound before digging into his first aid kit. Thankfully, they had brought it along, figuring their meeting may involve a bit of a scuffle but never realizing it would devolve as much as it had. Controlling his stomach as best he could, Gavin pads over to sit next to Michael and watch owlishly as Jeremy starts doing what he can for the wound.

First he cleans it with strong antiseptic, to the point where Michael has to bite on the side of his sweatshirt to stop from howling and alerting all their neighbors to something nefarious going on in the next room. Then he sterilizes a needle as best he can and lays Michael back.

“No fuckin’ booze?” he grunts. “Just going to have you stitch me up stone cold sober?”

“This kind of place doesn’t have a fuckin’ minibar,” Jeremy retorts. “Just shut up and let me do this.”

Gavin elects to go check on the water as Jeremy works to clean and stitch Michael up. Despite the apparent frustration between the two, Jeremy’s stitches are neat and clean and as painless as he can make them. At least until Michael mutters a rude comment under his breath, making Jeremy tug the sutures harder than necessary. Michael gasps in agony. “Bitch!”

“Don’t be a dick when someone’s got a needle in your flesh,” Jeremy retorts calmly, tying off the string. He cleans the wound again and wraps it in clean, bright white bandages. “There. You won’t die.”

“Glad for that,” Michael says stiffly, moving so he could kind of lean against the top of the bed. Jeremy glances over to the shower when Gavin pops back out. “So...,” he says hesitantly. “There’s - uh. Really no hot water.”

Jeremy groans and goes to put his face in his hands but stops when he sees the blood all over them. Gavin weakly tries to smile. “Enough for a quick one?” he says hesitantly and then squawks as Jeremy shoulders him aside to claim the stall. He tries to close the door but Gavin shoves his arm in the way to block it.

“.... we’re both covered in sweat and blood,” he retorts. “Just share, yeah? I won’t look if you won’t.”

Both try to ignore the blooming red on their cheeks, but it’s kind of a hard thing. But what is Jeremy going to say? Neither of them could bathe in ice cold water, not tonight when it was only nominally warmer inside than it was outside. They’d get sick. And they needed enough hot water to bring Michael a cloth to sponge himself off. So reluctantly - with Michael making joking noises in the other room - Jeremy opens the door for Gavin to follow.

They undress quietly, trying not to look. It’s hard not to. Jeremy’s eyes keep flicking to Gavin’s long, lithe figure. He’s got scars, they all do, but they seem to work on him more than they do on the two brawlers. They’re smooth and slight white lines instead of bubbled, dark little things. Gavin’s skin is still tanned despite the winter cold and he’s got hair all over. Tasteful hair, though. Hair Jeremy really has to stop himself from wanting to run his hands through.

For fuck’s sake, J. Get yourself together. He frantically tears his eyes away and focuses on trying not to be caught looking. It had been a stressful night, he just was aching for a quick tug that he would have got if Gav wasn’t sharing the fucking shower with him. He just had to focus solely on not giving himself away with any ... unsavory uncontrollable actions in his nether regions.

For Gavin, he hadn’t ever really hid his attraction in Jeremy and tonight was no different. He gazes long at Jeremy’s back and the curve where it swelled into his ass. But he was too cold and tired to dwell on his thoughts for too long, instead jumping under the lukewarm spray and huddling there until Jeremy viciously shoves him out of the way.

They wrestle for the prime spot under the water for a bit before starting to focus on cleaning themselves off. Thankfully the stall was big enough that they weren’t chest to chest - this would be impossible otherwise. They dance around each other enough to get all the grime and blood and sweat off. Jeremy even offers to clean Gavin’s back of anything he can’t reach.

“.... are you and Michael gonna bitch at each other all night?” Gavin asks reluctantly as they shut the water off and climb out, starting to towel down and change back into the only clothes they got. Jeremy elects to stay in his boxers and throws his ruined bloodstained pants into the tub to try to wash them out. He shrugs a bit. “Guy’s an ass.”

“You know he’s not. You know he’s just scared.” Gavin shifts, glancing over at Jeremy where he’s pulling his tshirt back on, grimacing at how dirty it feels on his clean form. “He got stabbed to save you, y’know.”

Jeremy jerks a bit, straightening quickly. “I know,” he shoots back. “But if he had listened to me, we would never have be --”

“Are you two fuckin’ done in there? I gotta pee!” Michael slams his hand on the door and Jeremy frantically opens it to find Michael holding himself up against the wall sluggishly, having hauled his own ass off the bed and hobbled over to the bathroom.

Jeremy sighs and helps Michael to the toilet, where he braces himself on the side of the sink and gives Jeremy a baleful look. “I can do this part myself, thanks,” he says coldly, and Jeremy holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. We’ll let you pee. If it’s bloody let me know.”

They clamber out of the bathroom and Jeremy and Gavin are left considering the big elephant - or rather, bed - in the room. One bed. Three angry men. Jeremy runs an exasperated hand over his face. “I - who’s taking the floor?”

“I can,” Michael says, opening the door and hobbling forward. “You dicks can take the bed.”

“No way,” Jeremy retorts. “You’re still bleeding. You take the bed, I don’t want to risk anything getting worse. I can sleep on the floor.”

“Can’t we all just share the bed?” Gavin asks with a raised eyebrow. “It’s a King. There’s more than enough room if we squish.”

Jeremy glances over at Michael, who groans and throws his hands up in the air as best he can without toppling over. “I don’t -”

“I’ll just take the floor then,” Gavin shoots back. “You two work out your issues.” They can all hear the exasperation in his voice as he grabs a pillow and one of the spare blankets out of the cabinet and makes a small nest on the floor. “Go to bed,” he snaps. “It’s late.”

Jeremy stands a bit dumbfounded, staring owlishly at the now pile of Gavin that was laying among the blanket on the ground. “I - Gav...”

“Just fucking stop being kids!” he snaps. “Michael, you should have listened to Jeremy when he said it’s probably a trap. Jeremy, you should have left your gun inside because that’s what tipped them off and made them start shooting. But me!” Gavin’s face contorts and he sits up a bit. “Me? I should have fucking researched this team a bit more and saw a setup when one was right in front of me. But I didn’t! None of us did. But we’re alive and for the moment safe, so can you stop being such mongs and just drop it?!”

Michael’s mouth had sort of ... dropped open. Gavin normally didn’t give such impassioned speeches, particularly ones that ended with him curling back up with his back to them on the floor in a somewhat dirty looking fleece blanket. His eyes flick to Jeremy, who is looking back at him.

“I’m sor--”

“Michael, I - “

They blink. Michael turns a bit red. “Look, I should’ve listened to you, okay...”

“No,” Jeremy shoots back. “I never should have brought my gun. If you didn’t shove me out of the way, that knife that guy threw probably would have blinded me, or worse. So uh.... thanks.”

Michael nods a bit. “I - yeah. Come on. If Gav is so comfortable on the floor with all the jizz or whatever the fuck else is down there on that shit carpet, you can take the spot next to me.” He pats the bed and, chuckling slightly, Jeremy climbs in. Gavin, meanwhile, squawks a bit at the thought and shifts, grumbling. “Micoo, why’d you have to remind me....?!”

Before he could reply, there’s a big snapping sound, what sounds like a mini explosion which makes them all jump partially to their feet, and the room plunges into darkness. And cold. “.... shit,” Michael retorts, holding his side and easing back down with a pained gasp. “Transformer blew. No power.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as the cool air starts winning the battle against the now useless heating system. They wouldn’t freeze to death in their sheltered room, but it was going to get a lot colder. Gavin whimpers a bit and pulls his blanket closer to him as Michael adjusts and pulls the covers up and over him and Jeremy.

“....guys?” Gavin’s voice is small. “I ... I know I just yelled at you, but... it’s cold...”

“Oh, get up here,” Michael sighs. Jeremy nods and moves to make a small warm place for Gavin to slip into. He leaps to his feet and clambers over Jeremy to nuzzle between the two of them, dragging his blanket over them all.

For a moment, they just lay there, squished into one bed and breathing into the cool, dark room. Under the covers, Gavin shivers a bit and his hand finds Jeremy’s, latching onto it. Surprisingly, Jeremy squeezes it and holds it close.

“...you guys okay now?” Gavin asks softly. A beat and then two communal noises of affirmation from the other two boys. Michael moves a bit to get himself upright, hissing in pain, but pulls Gavin a bit closer to him. There’s something a bit possessive in the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the room, to the faces he can’t really see. “I - I almost lost you both because... because of my stupid fuckin’ decision and I...”

“Micoo,” Gavin purrs a bit, stroking his face with a blundering hand, as he could just see shadows and shapes in the dark room. But Michael’s eyes still close at the caress, loving the touch of Gavin’s hand against his skin.

“Me too,” Jeremy admits, turning. His eyes glint in the bit of light they had through the window and Michael meets his eyes. The silent apology is obvious. He snuggles closer to Gavin and they all hunch a bit tighter. More for skin contact and touch than for warmth.

Gavin’s the one, in the end, that starts it. He squirms a bit, sandwiched between the two, and holds them close - his two burly boys. One hand drifts a bit too far over and brushes against Jeremy’s crotch. Clothed in only his boxers, Jeremy gasps and shivers at the sensation, unable to stop himself.

No one can see the smirk that arrives on Gavin’s face, but he turns and Jeremy knows the expression despite not being able to see it. “Just sleep, Gav,” he retorts, a bit strained, but no chance now. “Michael... Jeremy likes being in the bed with us, Michael.”

“Shut up, Gav.”

“I think he’s just being grumpy because he secretly loves us and doesn’t like it when we all fight,” Gavin whispers conspiratorially, playfully, to Michael, who chuckles. “Don’t tease him, Gav.”

He grins down at Jeremy, squirming closer to him, but doesn’t realize when a spark kind of ... ignites behind Jeremy’s eyes. He grabs him and yanks him closer, so Gavin’s kind of on top of him and looks down at him breathlessly. “You’re a little shit, aren’t you?”

Gavin giggles a bit. “Mm. Maybe. You’re just a very pretty boy, Jeremy.” He just likes to see the smile on Jeremy’s face, despite the fact that it was almost too dark to see. Michael next to them just watches with an amused look ... that turns into shock as Jeremy yanks Gavin down and seals their lips together.

If Michael was shocked, that was nothing like what Gavin felt. He tugs back for half a second in surprise and Jeremy immediately goes to let him go before he’s surging back down to kiss him deeper. Gavin had wanted this from the very first time Jeremy appeared on the doorsteps to the Fakes, a bag in one hand and a gun in the other, demanding a job.

“Shit,” Michael grins, face red. He wants to turn more but can’t, gasping again in pain. “Don’t... ah! Don’t leave me out of the fun.”

Two heads pop up, just shadows. “You?” Gavin says brightly. “Michael?” Jeremy whispers. “Are - I mean... we just...”

“You don’t think I take a stab wound for just anyone, do you?” Michael says dryly. “Now give me kisses, you dicks, before I have to demand more. I’m currently the invalid, you have to help me feel better you know.”

Gavin’s squeal of pleasure is all he needs, clambering as safely as he can over Michael so they could get the man comfortably between them. Gavin’s lips are very soft. Michael had always imagined them to be so, but it was one thing to use his imagination and another thing to taste them for himself. He tries to pull Gavin closer, but the move hurts and he gasps into the kiss making Gavin pull back.

As soon as he does so, Jeremy is stealing a kiss. It’s rougher than Gavin’s. As if Jeremy’s trying to apologize or make him apologize through a simple kiss. Michael does what he can to push back into it without much control of his ab muscles, meeting rough lips with rough lips.

What he doesn’t expect is Gavin’s hands on his hips. Wrapping around him and jerking. Michael’s eyes fly open with surprise and he jolts, pain and pleasure combining in a spasm. “Jesus, Gavin!”

“No good?” Gavin says quickly, retracting his hand. “I thought - it’s been a stressful night and Jeremy... and you.... “

“No, no, no...,” Michael gasps against Jeremy’s lips before he pulls away. “Very good. Very good. Just - are you sure you...”

“Before we go down this road too much, I need to remind you two that Michael fucking has a hole in his side,” Jeremy cuts in. “Nothing too crazy, please.” But he says it so easily and its so dark Michael can’t really see faces but there’s just such quiet longing in Gavin’s tone, in Jeremy’s, that he can just fall back on the bed and gasp a bit. “We’re idiots.”

“Hmm?” Jeremy asks, chuckling. “How so?”

“Yelling at each other when we were worried instead of doing this,” Michael mutters. “This is much more fun.”

Jeremy laughs. “Sure is.” Then he bends back down to kiss Michael again as Gavin kisses above his wound and gently runs his hand up and down Michael’s length.

In the end, it doesn’t take long before Michael is bucking into Gavin’s hand and gasping. Jeremy and Gavin follow him through to the end and curl up next to him, pressing kisses on both cheeks. Michael closes his eyes, a sleepy breathless mess, pain still intense but more manageable with two warm bodies next to him.

They may be lost in a hotel room in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of thousands of miles from home. They may have no power and not be able to see each other’s faces, and maybe thats’ why things escalated the way that it did. Maybe. But all Michael can think about now was that he had his Lads in his arms. And they were safe, at the end of the day, despite all the fear he held that made him lash out.

He’s hurt, but they’re with him. And they’ll stay with him until the bitter end.

And that’s all he needs.

[allsassnoclass]

i blame it on the weather (can you make it better)

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Key Tag(s): College AU, Cold, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 6,177

Read on AO3

A/N: this was tailor-made for @michaelownsmyheart​. I hope you like it darling <3 also big shout out to @clumsyclifford​ for looking this over and giving me Good Advice

—

Michael doesn’t remember the dorm being this cold when he left in December.  He doesn’t know how the space between him and Calum got that cold, either.

—

The drive back to campus feels shorter than normal, songs on the radio flying by with other cars on the highway the further Michael gets from his family and the closer he gets to the loneliness of an empty dorm.  Normally he wouldn’t mind having the place to himself, especially because that means he can blast music as loud as he wants and no one else is going to take the shower with the good water pressure, but there’s something foreboding about it now.

His phone is still empty of messages from the one person he’s been waiting to hear from.  Two weeks alone in the dorms wouldn’t be so bad if he had Calum on the other end of the line to keep him company.

He pulls into his parking spot right as snow begins to fall, a little earlier than predicted.  He sends a quick text to his parents to let them know he made it safe, then grabs his bags and makes the trek to his dorm.  It’s an older building elegantly nestled between the newer residence halls with better air conditioning or elevators that don’t break down every month, but there’s more character to it.  The other dorms are boxy and made of dark brick, but this one is lighter with turrets at the top and heavy wooden doors.  It looks more like a fantasy castle than a dorm building, and Michael’s mum had fallen in love with it immediately on their campus tour a few years ago.  Now that Michael is living here it’s lost some of its luster, but it’s also the only building to have single rooms, and while having Luke as a roommate turned out alright in the end last year, he likes being able to have the room to himself all of the time.

Michael fumbles for his key card to swipe himself in, biting off one of his gloves so he can get it out of his wallet.  Thick flakes land on his coat and hands, the kind that would probably be good for making snowmen if he still did stuff like that but that will be hell to drive in later.  Hopefully the roads will be clear enough by tomorrow, and he probably has some ramen that he never made from last semester that he can heat up for dinner tonight.

Inside doesn’t feel much warmer than outside, but there’s no snow or wind.  Michael stomps his feet in an attempt to get all of the snow off his boots, but freezes as soon as he glances up.

Nestled amongst the armchairs, big windows, fireplace, piano, and little side tables that make up the front lounge, Calum Hood stares back at him like a deer in headlights.  He’s got a notebook and pencil in his hand and a textbook open in front of him, blanket wrapped around his shoulders in a way that Michael wishes he were.  He looks exactly the same as he did when Michael last saw him a few weeks ago, except he’s fully clothed this time.  He looks good.  He looks cozy.

He looks like Michael is the last person he wants to see.

Michael clears his throat.

“I didn’t know you were back on campus,” he says.

“I’m taking a j-term and thought it’d be easier to focus here,” Calum replies, lifting the notebook halfheartedly.  “It’s a prereq for my chem class this semester.  It turns out that switching majors put me a bit behind this time.”

Michael nods.  Calum started as a music education major, then switched to an elementary education major before realizing he didn’t want to deal with little kids.  Now he’s studying to be a high school science teacher, which means he has a few freshman science classes he needs to squeeze into his schedule.  He hadn’t said anything about a j-term to Michael when he registered, but they also haven’t exactly been communicating much since before finals.

“I didn’t expect anyone back yet,” Calum says eventually.

“I got permission to come back early so I can take a few more shifts.  Gotta pay for college somehow, you know…”

Michael trails off, unbalanced and uncomfortable.  It feels wrong to be reacting like this around Calum, just like it felt wrong to not hear from him during finals or break, but after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence and chewing his lip he hefts his bag higher on his shoulder and makes an excuse about wanting to get his room back to rights.  He feels Calum’s eyes on him as he leaves, the weight of his gaze lingering even after Michael has entered the stairwell, dug out his key, and entered his room.  When he takes off his jacket he immediately reaches for a blanket, wrapping himself up and trying to suppress the shivers threatening to erupt throughout his body.

He doesn’t remember the dorm being this cold when he left in December.  He doesn’t know how the space between him and Calum got that cold, either.

-/-

Once he has a bowl of instant ramen in front of him and his stuff more or less put away, Michael calls Luke.

“Good morning,” Luke answers, a leftover joke gone stale from when they were roommates with opposite sleep schedules.  It almost makes him wish for a simpler time when Luke was forcing him to go places like Welcome Week events and they were literally running into people like Calum and Luke was forcing them all to be friends even though Michael’s smoothie got spilled and Calum dropped his nachos.  Michael would take being newly flustered over a hot guy who got a strawberry drink all over his favorite sweatshirt rather than having Calum not fucking talk to him.

“Did you know that Calum’s doing a j-term?”

Luke sighs on the other end of the line.

“I’m doing fine, Michael, thank you for asking.  How are you?”

“I’m bad.  Calum is here and no one warned me.”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t tell him that you would be back early, either.”

“That much was obvious.”  Michael stirs his noodles, suddenly feeling like he doesn’t have the right appetite for this.  “He looked like me showing up was the worst thing in the world.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not,” he says.  “You should’ve seen him.  He hates me now, and I still don’t know what I did wrong.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Luke says.  “He misses you, too.”

“If he misses me so much, he should respond to my texts.”

Luke hums on the other end of the line.

“You’re both in the same place now.  Maybe you can corner him in person.”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if someone would just tell me what happened.”

“What happened is that you two slept together and then Calum ghosted you,” Luke sighs.  “If you want his reasoning, you have to ask him.  I will not be a messenger pigeon for you two.”

“I feel like that metaphor works best only if he’s been asking about me, too,” Michael says.  Luke doesn’t respond right away, a drawn out pause that makes Michael look up from his noodles.  He wishes they were video chatting so he could see what sort of expression Luke is wearing. “Luke, has he asked about me?”

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” Luke says.

“You fucker, he has talked about me!  Do you know why he ghosted me?”

“Stop using me as a go-between!  If you want to know why Calum hasn’t replied to your messages, ask him yourself.  You both need to get your heads out of your asses and communicate.  I can’t believe I’m the one who has to say that.”

Silence descends and Michael pulls his phone away from his ear to see that Luke hung up on him.  Michael huffs.  A second later his phone lights up with an incoming call, a very unattractive picture of Luke staring at him from his screen.  He considers letting it ring out and go to voicemail, but in the end he decides to take the high ground and answer.

“What,” he says flatly.

“Sorry I hung up on you,” Luke says.  “I don’t like being caught between you both.”

“Yeah,” he sighs.  “I don’t like it, either.”

“Will you try to talk to him?  He’ll let you if it’s in person.”

“I guess.”

Luke hums.  They stay on the phone a little longer, small talk filling the silence so Michael doesn’t have to be alone while he eats, but he knows he’s being a bad conversation partner, too distracted by what Calum may or may not have been saying about him to Luke.  When they finally hang up Michael flops back on his bed and groans, wondering if he should just move to Antarctica and change his name rather than put himself through this.

-/-

He manages to go the rest of the night without any indication that Calum is there.  They miss each other in the bathroom, but every sound in the hallway has the hair on his arms standing on end, wondering if it could be Calum or just the settling of the near-empty building.  He sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning on the sub-par dorm mattress, cuddling deeper into his blanket in an attempt to find some much-needed warmth.

The last night he spent with Calum, and the first night they’d spent together in that way, Michael fell asleep warm.  It was almost too hot, sticky under the covers and burning wherever their skin touched, but he loved it.  He’d take the heat over the cold any day, and he hasn’t felt warm since he woke up alone, bed feeling too big without the other boy in it to act as his personal space heater.

That morning the sheets had still smelled like him, but they were cold.  He’d left long before Michael woke up.  Michael’s first morning back feels like a mirror of that day.  Right before he fully wakes up he catches himself reaching for Calum and coming up empty.  When he realizes what he had been doing, he forces himself to get up rather than stay in bed and wallow only because he can’t afford to be late to work on his first day back and he doesn’t trust the roads to be cleared yet.  The college is situated on the outskirts of town, an odd placement that puts a woodsy area to one side and only a few smaller shops next to it.  Michael hadn’t managed to land a job in one of those places, but the family-owned restaurant he works at pays enough to be worth the gas it takes to get there.  He throws on a hoodie and slippers and shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Calum is already at one of the sinks when he enters.  Michael doesn’t let his eyes stray from his face, refusing to take in the tan shoulders and torso or the drops of water glistening against him, leading down to the towel wrapped around his hips.  He has a toothbrush in his mouth, foam gathering at the corners of his lips, lips that Michael has--

No.  He can’t think about this now.

“Morning,” he says, clearing his throat to get it to work properly.

“Morning,” Calum replies around his toothbrush, consonants muffled.  He spits into the sink and Michael makes himself focus on his own morning routine, meticulously putting toothpaste on his own brush and hoping it’s not obvious that even glancing at Calum is dangerous for him right now.

Neither of them try to say anything more, and Michael wonders if the silence is hanging as heavily in the air for Calum as it is for him.  Before break, silences between them were the only types of silences Michael could stand.  He’s fidgety by nature and gets uncomfortable without background noise, but Calum always managed to temper that a bit.  Being around him settles something inside, something that right now makes Michael want to scream.

He’s about to try to break the silence when Calum picks up his bathroom caddy and leaves without so much as a glance his way.  Michael tries not to let it bother him, but he misses the weight of his gaze.  Calum used to look at him fondly, filled with enough affection that Michael could feel it in his heart.  He doesn’t understand why that would have to change now.

By the time Michael goes to start his car for work, Calum has set himself up in the lounge again, laptop open in front of him.  He’s turned on the fireplace, something that Michael thinks they're not technically supposed to do but that he’s certainly not going to call him on, and he doesn’t look up when Michael comes down the stairs.  Michael lingers by the doorway longer than he should.

They’ve spent a lot of time in this room, whether doing homework on the couch, trying to play duets on the piano in the corner, or hogging the chess set by the window, figuring out how to play and passing the time.

The chess board is set up for a fresh game.  In a naive fit of hope Michael walks over to it and moves one of the pawns forward.  Calum doesn’t glance up from his computer, but he’s still in a way that means he knows what Michael is doing.

On his way out he thinks he hears someone say drive safe, but the howling of the wind is already filling his ears and he can’t be sure.

-/-

Michael gets sent home early because of the snow.  He fights it all the way there, pulling in late because he had to move so slow, and halfway through his shift the manager calls it, deciding to close up for the day.  Right after he clocks out Michael gets a notification on his phone for a severe blizzard alert, and he steels himself to face it before leaving behind the warmth of the restaurant.  Outside the world is covered in a thick sheet of white, plows not able to keep up with the large flakes still falling from the sky, and Michael wills his car to survive the drive, windshield wipers going furiously in an attempt to keep him seeing as much as he can.  The drive takes three times longer than usual, and when he finally spots his dorm through the snow it comes with a sigh of relief.

Calum is still in the lounge when he comes inside and stomps his feet to get some feeling back into them.  With the snow came a biting wind, and even after barely being outside he feels frozen.

“I was getting worried,” Calum says, startling him.  “It looks like it’s bad out there.”

“It is,” Michael says, taking off his hat and shaking snow off of it.  He squints at Calum, in a different position and bundled in a blanket now, the big blue one that Mali got him as a grad present.  Michael once again has to push away the urge to cuddle up to him.

“It’s fucking cold,” he says instead, because it’s true and if he doesn’t make small talk he’s going to blurt something embarrassing like I’ve been thinking about you all the time or why did you leave me or I love you I love you I love you I’m sorry please can we be friends again?

“Going to be a cold night for us, then,” Calum says.  “The heating’s been shit this break.  I don’t think they keep it up as high when there’s only one student here.”

“I’ve had a few cold nights,” Michael snorts before he thinks about it.  “I mean--I’ll use some extra blankets.”

Calum nods once.  He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then snaps it shut again, looking down at his computer.  It feels like a dismissal, like Michael isn’t worth his time anymore, and it stings.

He should go upstairs, anyway.  He needs to find some blankets of his own.  He glances over the piano and the fireplace, eyes landing on the chess game by the window.

Someone has moved a pawn on the other side.  He glances at Calum, then moves a knight, continuing the game.  He wants to ask Calum to sit down and play a proper round with him, but one glance at Calum’s posture has him biting his tongue.  He’s closed off, blanket wrapped around him securely and face tense, and Michael can’t bring himself to bother him, not when interacting with Michael seems to be the last thing he wants to do.

Michael looks back at the chess set, three pieces out of place, and heads to his room.

-/-

The night comes simultaneously fast and slow in the way that all boring winter nights do.  Michael sits in his room scrolling through social media while the sun sets around him, and when he does eventually get up it’s only so he can make more ramen to eat.  He had lunch at the restaurant and never did get to the grocery store, but he has a few snacks to munch on and if things get really bad he can always see if Calum has anything he’s willing to share.

Calum initiated conversation earlier, so things can’t be too bad between them, right?  It’s still terribly stiff and uncomfortable, but at least he’s not getting the silent treatment anymore.  At least Calum looked at him for a little bit.

He plays video games until he’s too bored to continue, then showers and crawls into bed.  It’s still cold, just like Calum said it would be, but they haven’t lost power yet.  Michael piles on the blankets and pillows, but his sheets are frigid, not yet warmed by his body heat and making him shiver.  After a few minutes of tossing and turning he considers boiling water just to have a warm mug to hold in his hands.

Maybe it’ll be better in the lounge with the fireplace on.  No one’s here to get mad at him for falling asleep on the couch, but then he’d have to haul all of his blankets down there, something that he doesn’t think he has the energy for right now.

He wishes Calum were here.  It feels like all he’s done since getting back to campus is think about Calum, his presence in the building affecting him more than it would have if he was fully alone, but in a pragmatic sense he also really wants a warm body next to him right now.  Two people under the covers are warmer than one, and he’s already put on socks and a hoodie.  Wrapping himself in Calum would keep him warm on a physical level, and maybe it’ll settle him enough that he’ll actually be able to sleep without having weird dreams or waking up every few hours.

He hasn’t even gotten close enough to touch him since getting here.  Before break, he and Calum were always handsy with each other, personal space a myth with the two of them.  It feels wrong to have seen him and not immediately gone in for a hug.

He flops onto his stomach, trying to get comfortable without disturbing the blankets too much, but sleep isn’t coming easy.  When a knock comes on his door, he’s immediately awake and alert.  He wonders if it was a piece of a dream instead, given that there’s only one other person in the building and late night visits did not seem to be an option on the table, but after a few moments someone knocks again.

The light of the hallway is bright after the dark of his room, making him squint at the silhouette of Calum standing before him, wrapped in a blanket like he always seems to be right now.  His hair is messy, no doubt from his own fitful attempt to sleep, and Michael wants to run his fingers through it and put it back to rights.

“Hi,” Michael says.

“I called maintenance about the heat,” Calum says.  “They said they’re having a bit of issue with it and will send someone out, but with the road conditions it could be a little while.  I think they forgot that there were people here.”

“Oh,” Michael says.  “Okay.”

He stares at Calum again, cataloguing how tightly he’s wrapped up and the way he’s chewing on his lips.  Michael waits for him to say what he really came here to.

“It’s really fucking cold, Michael,” Calum blurts finally, a little desperate.

“I know,” Michael says, not sure how to tell Calum that he’d set the world on fire for him if it would help.

“It’d be warmer if we were together.  Like, scientifically speaking.  If we cuddled, it would warm us up a bit.”

“Well, you are the scientist in this duo.  You would know.”  Calum finally meets his eyes, looking up through his eyelashes a little in a way that’s completely unfair.  He’s already got Michael wrapped around his finger, heart skipping a beat at the simple occasion of having his attention again.

He has it so bad that it’s pathetic.

“Is that all?” Michael asks, trying to scrape together some of his dignity.  Calum has been ghosting him for weeks, and a conversation about the bad heating isn’t exactly what Michael wanted from a real conversation with him.  He’s too tired for small talk and much too cold to be standing here when he could be under the covers.

“You’re shivering,” Calum says.  Michael hadn’t noticed the small tremors, but now that Calum pointed them out he can’t ignore them.

“Come on, Mikey,” Calum says, stepping closer.  Michael wants to lean into him and the warmth he promises.  “I promise it’ll be warmer if we cuddle.”

“Do you want to come in?” he asks.  Calum nods, so he steps aside.

Having Calum in his room again when the last time included one of the best and most overwhelming experiences of Michael’s life is weird, to say the least.  It’s like Michael can see two versions of him: the current Calum, wrapped in a blanket and closed off in every conceivable way, and the Calum from that night, laughing at all of Michael’s jokes and spouting off facts about gravity to explain how they kept getting closer and closer.

“See, everything with mass exerts gravity on everything else, except typically it’s not enough to be noticeable compared to the gravity of the Earth.  Your gravitational field must be really strong today.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No, Michael, you idiot.  Stop misinterpreting what I’m saying!”

Calum surveys the room, the safety light reflecting off the snow outside just enough to give him silhouettes to work with.  Michael wonders what he’s remembering.

“How do you want to do this?” Michael asks when the silence has stretched on for too long.  Calum shrugs, so Michael climbs up onto his bed, sliding under the covers and leaving a corner flipped up in invitation.  Calum hesitates, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s going to turn tail and run, but he throws his blanket on top of the covers and joins.  The bed is too small to avoid some awkward elbows and involuntary brushes of clothing, barely big enough for one person, let alone two.  Michael holds his breath while Calum gets somewhat settled, pressed against the wall to give him as much room as possible.

“It’ll be warmer if we’re touching,” Calum whispers, words hitting Michael like a shout with the close proximity and otherwise silence of the room.  If the lights were on, Michael would probably be able to count his eyelashes, but now his face is a combination of different shadows.

“How do you…” Michael trails off.  Calum reaches out first, a cold hand wrapping around his own and pulling him closer.  They end up with Calum on his back and Michael’s head on his shoulder, legs tangled together.  Michael’s sure that Calum can hear how loud his heart is beating, but he can feel Calum’s own beating in a similar pattern so he can’t be too upset about it.  He can hear every inhale and rustle of clothing, can feel the soft cotton of Calum’s shirt against his cheek and smell the faint remains of his soap.

He’s warm.  It’s not the burning heat from their last night together, but it’s almost worse with the gradual way that Michael can feel himself unthaw in his presence, slow enough that he could forget it’s happening only to wake up as an irreparable puddle.

“Okay?” Michael asks, sending flashbacks to the last few times he had asked that question and Calum’s answers: always positive, whether a verbal yes or a nod or a fierce kiss and wandering hands.

“Yeah,” Calum says.  Michael swallows.

Calum starts tracing a design on his back with his finger, barely-felt with Michael still bundled up.  Michael wills himself to stay in the moment rather than slipping into the past or wishing for a different future.

It’s not bad like this.  He gets Calum close at least, receiving that little piece of contact from him that he’s been craving.  If this is the last time they’re like this, he wants to enjoy it if he can.

He shifts, Calum freezing under him for a moment until they both exhale and relax a little more.

Michael closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

“Michael?” Calum whispers after a few minutes.  For a moment he considers not answering, sure that anything Calum might think to say in the dark of the night will be something he doesn’t want to hear, but all he’s been asking for the past few weeks is his attention, and it seems vindictive to reject it now.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael should ask for clarification on what, exactly, Calum is apologizing about.  He’s opened the door to this conversation, and Michael should take the opportunity to finally walk through and get their wires straightened out, but he can’t bring himself to do any of that, not like this.  Not when Michael is breathing him in and stealing his warmth and there’s absolutely nothing between them to act as a buffer.

In the dark cuddled up together, Michael can keep pretending that Calum isn’t about to crush him.  As long as he doesn’t ask for clarification, it’s like Schrodinger’s heartbreak: Michael can be both loved and lonely at the same time.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” he asks.  “We need to talk about it, but I’m tired.  And cold.  Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Calum says.  Michael waits to see if there’s anything else, but Calum just resumes tracing his secret design on Michael’s back.

Michael closes his eyes and hopes they don’t freeze to death in the night, twin skeletons found tangled together by some unsuspecting third party when the thaw comes.  He’s not sure when he falls asleep and begins to dream, but in his mind Calum presses a kiss to his hair and Michael tries not to let such a simple action break him.

-/-

When he wakes up the bed is cold and empty again.  It shouldn’t be surprising, certainly not after last time.  There was less expectation to stay here, but everything is ugly in the cold light, shattering the fragile balance of the night before.  Michael feels a pit in his stomach, but also a hot flare of anger.

Calum is the one who came begging for his company yesterday after completely ignoring him for weeks.  Calum is the one who left without a trace after Michael showed him he loves him the best way he knows how.  Calum is the one who keeps running away from this, but Michael is the one who keeps getting hurt and that’s not fair.

It’s a little warmer in the building now, the heaters likely getting sorted while they were sleeping, but Michael still grabs a blanket.  No one answers Calum’s door and the bathroom seems to be empty.  He heads downstairs to see if he has set himself up in the lounge again and knows he’s on the right track when he starts to hear piano music drifting softly towards him the more he descends the stairs.

Calum is one of the only people who ever uses the grand piano in the lounge.  It’s slightly out of tune, just enough for Michael himself to notice but for Calum to complain about a lot.  Michael has spent a lot of later nights in the lounge listening to him play, whether he was practicing back when he used to be a music major and take lessons or just playing for fun.  Calum curses a lot when he practices, but Michael has also caught him with his eyes closed and a content smile on his face, letting the music take him away.  Watching him like that, Michael sometimes wonders why Calum switched from music to science, but the rarity of the moments makes them all the more special.

He’s playing a piece that he’s been working on for a while.  Michael tries not to disturb him, walking slowly towards the chess set where another piece has been moved in a continuation of the game.  Calum must have pulled the curtains by the windows up, deep drifts of snow piled against them and sunlight reflecting off the white to set the entire room aglow.  In this setting and with this soundtrack, the morning feels less frosty.

The last note hangs suspended in the air and Michael holds his breath until it dissipates.  Calum sighs, breaking his posture to slump down, and turns to face Michael.

“You’ve gotten better at that one,” Michael says.

“Easier to practice when I don’t have to go to the music hall and no one’s here to use the piano.”

Michael studies him, taking in his rumpled appearance.  He doesn’t look like he’s been up that long, still in the same pants he went to bed in and already folding the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands to keep them warm.

The sweatshirt he’s wearing is one of Michael’s.  His heart flip-flops.

“Did you want to talk now?” Calum asks.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs.  Calum nods once.  He scoots over on the piano bench, making room, and Michael gingerly sits next to him.  After a moment’s hesitation, he offers part of his blanket, nearly sighing in relief when Calum accepts it.

“I’m sorry for how I left, and for not replying to any of your messages,” Calum begins.  “That was a jerk move.”

“It was,” Michael says.  “You’re my best friend, Calum.  If I had known that’s how you’d react, I wouldn’t have--”  He stops, because he doesn’t want to say he regrets sleeping with Calum unless he has to.  It would be a lie.  He’d rather have Calum as a friend than nothing, but the will-we-won’t-we would’ve killed him eventually, and the night itself was amazing right up until Calum left.

“I don’t want to jeopardize that,” he says instead.  “You mean a lot to me.”

Calum presses his lips together.

“Why did you leave?” Michael asks.  “I thought we were on the same page.  I mean… you wanted it, right?  You said you did.  I thought you did.  I didn’t--”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Calum interrupts.  “I did want it.  I really wanted it.  Too much, probably.”

“What does that mean?”

Calum sighs, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his sleeves again.  Michael wants to know why he’s so nervous.  He wants to grab his hands and hold him steady the way that Calum does for him when he’s freaking out, but that wouldn’t be welcome right now.

“Michael, I can’t do something casual with you.  You’ve said before that you’re not looking for anything serious, but I can’t be friends with benefits, not with you.  Not when I’m in love with you.  It’d tear me apart.”

“What made you think I wanted something casual?” Michael asks.  “Apparently you couldn’t tell, but that night was kind of a big deal for me.  I’m not exactly known for sleeping around.”

“Michael--”

“I’ve been crushing on you since we met, okay?” Michael says, turning to face him more fully.  “I wasn’t looking for something serious with anyone else because I’ve been hung up on you.  That night was one of the best nights of my life, and then you weren’t there in the morning.  I thought I had fucked up.  I thought I had ruined one of the most important relationships in my life.”

“You didn’t,” Calum says, grabbing his hand.  “I should have talked to you instead of running away.  That’s on me.”

“Yeah it is,” Michael sulks.  “Why didn’t you?  Why’d you just assume what I wanted instead of bothering to ask me?  That hurt, Cal.”

“I know.”  Calum grimaces, then shrugs.  “I don’t know.  I thought I knew what you wanted.  Or didn’t want, I guess.  I didn’t consider that you could like me until you kissed me, and you’ve never shown interest in an actual relationship.  I wasn’t ready for you to reject me.”

“But I wasn’t going to,” Michael says.  “You’re you.  You’re the exception.”

“I didn’t know that, though.  We didn’t exactly sit down for a conversation.  Our mouths were otherwise occupied that night, if I remember correctly.”  Michael opens his mouth to protest, then snaps it shut.

He doesn’t remember exactly what he said in the heat of it, but he remembers biting back I love you, knowing it was too early to be throwing that phrase around, no matter how true it was.  Maybe he ended up hiding the sentiment a bit more than he anticipated.

“You still should’ve talked to me,” he says.

“I know,” Calum replies, squeezing his hand.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll do better with that.”

Michael squeezes his hand back.

“So,” he says, “you like me?”

“Yeah,” Calum says.  “A lot.”

“You got that I like you, too, right?  I said that.  I’ve had it bad for you since we met.”  Calum frowns.

“You took a while to warm up to me.  I thought you were still holding a grudge because I spilled your smoothie.”

“No, you had me tongue-tied,” Michael says.  “I had to figure out how to function around you.  You’re really hot and it made me flustered.”

“Shut up,” Calum says.  He’s blushing, crimson staining his cheeks enough for Michael to see, sending a strong thrill of satisfaction through him.

“I’m serious,” he needles.  “You’re ridiculously attractive, dude.  You’re not going to hear the end of it from me now.  I’ve said it once and now there’s nothing to stop me from saying it five times a day.”

Calum laughs and tucks his face into Michael’s shoulder.  Michael feels his own happiness bubble up inside him, threatening to burst.  He brings Calum’s hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it in an attempt to release some of the pressure.

“Are we boyfriends now?” Calum asks.

“Fuck yeah,” Michael says.  “Unless you don’t want to be, but that’d be lame.”

“I want to be,” Calum says quickly.

“Good,” Michael says.  “Then we are.”

“Good.”

They sit for a while, and this silence feels comfortable again, like their old ones.  Michal could stay suspended in this moment like the final note of Calum’s piano song and feel content with it rather than uncomfortable.  That more than anything lets him know they’ll be okay.

“I’m cold,” Calum says eventually.

“We should move by the fire.”

“We should eat breakfast,” Calum counters.  Michael hums and gives Calum’s neck an exaggerated sniff, making him squirm and giggle again.

“You should shower,” he says.

“Fuck you.  That’s rude.”

“I could join you?” Michael offers.

“These showers are not big enough for two people,” Calum says.  “Nice try, though.”

He stands and kisses Michael on the forehead, tucking the blanket back around him.

“Can I kiss you properly?” Michael asks.  Calum nods and leans down again, the gentle press of his lips both familiar and thrilling, sweeter in the morning light.

“Breakfast, then I’m going to shower alone, then I think we have a chess game to finish.”

“Or we could make out all day while we have the lounge to ourselves.”  Calum considers him, tilting his head and giving a wry smile.

“We can do that if you win the chess match.”

“Deal,” Michael says.  It’s an easy bargain, because Michael is better at chess than Calum is, and with that prize on the line nothing’s going to distract him.

“Breakfast,” Calum repeats, tugging on his hands until he’s standing, too.  Michael leans forward and kisses him again, just because he can now.  Calum beams and leads him to the stairs, Michael tripping over his blanket and Calum’s laugh filling the room.

It could just be the heating kicking in more, but Michael isn’t sure he needs the blanket right now, not when Calum is here warming him from the inside out.