#and we wouldn’t be able to tell them apart so one of them goes in the closet

[porcupine-girl]

It’s not so important for viruses, since right after you have it you’re usually immune enough not to get the same virus again immediately, but it’s vital for bacterial infections like strep throat. My sister once got strep over and over, every time she finished her antibiotics it came right back, until the doctor was like “you are throwing out her toothbrush every time, right?”

What is it about fics then, where characters always, ALWAYS, have a spare toothbrush conveniently just hanging about in bathroom cupboards for that time someone is, usually unexpectedly, staying the night?

I have lived a few decades now, and I have never known anyone who keeps spare toothbrushes. Is it really common??

[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 28

a/n: You guys are the best. I swear. Thank you for sticking through this wild ride with me. And thank you @bahablastplz for editing!

[ read chapter 27 here ]

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Of Notices and Benches

You cover your face with your hands as you begin to sob. Hyunjin springs into action, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arms around you. You wish there was another way—you don’t truly want to leave yet. But you feel like you have no other choice.

You refuse to suffer through Chan’s antics for the remainder of the school year. You won’t survive it.

Hyunjin pulls you against his chest and strokes the back of your head tenderly. Although his actions comfort you, you find yourself crying even harder, your breathing becoming erratic. 

You weren’t prepared to feel these emotions so soon. You really believed you’d have at least another month and a half before even having to think about saying goodbye. Now that you’ve said the words out loud, it’s hitting you too hard.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” Hyunjin asks softly.

How are you going to say goodbye to him? How can you possibly carry on in life without his unwavering support?

You attempt to control your crying and breathing to get a response out of your chest.

“I’m sure there is,” you sniffle, curling your hands into fists and propping them under your chin. You press your tear-stained face directly against his bare torso. “…but please, don’t.”

You feel him nod against the top of your head.

“Have you told anyone else?” he asks.

“No, not yet.”

He lets out a long breath. He doesn’t even have to say it. You know what he’s thinking, you know what comes next—telling Chan.

The following morning you make Hyunjin promise not to say anything to anyone. He assures you he won’t, and you believe him with ease.

You spend the majority of the day formulating your next steps now that you’ve made this decision—you need to figure out where you’ll spend the rest of the semester, after all. With the funds you’ve saved from your parents you can rent a fully furnished studio apartment for two months. You browse places online first, then on Saturday, Hyunjin accompanies you to look at them in person.

You find a place that will suffice, but the leasing agent advises the unit will become available in just one week. Though you’ve made this decision, you hadn’t anticipated moving so soon.

“Can we have a moment to discuss it?” you ask the leasing agent.

“Sure, I’ll be in the office. Just use the keypad to lock up on your way out.”

Hyunjin, seated in the desk chair, reaches his hand out for you as soon as the leasing agent leaves. You place your hand in his, allowing him to bring you closer. He places his hands on the back of your thighs and looks up at you. You feel the sudden urge to commit his face to memory, because you know as time goes on it will fade.

“Fuck,” you exhale as the thought weighs on your chest. “What am I doing?”

“What’s best for you,” he replies.

“Am I overreacting? Am I being dramatic?”

He moves you so you’re sitting on his leg and wraps his arms around you.

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs. “But sometimes you have to be.”

You rest your head on his shoulder.

“You have two choices—we go in there and you sign the paperwork, or we can go home and act like this never happened. You haven’t told anyone else; it would be just between us.”

“I really don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself together there…with him, for another two months, Hyunjin.”

“Then this is the right decision for you,” he says without missing a beat. “I’ll miss you…but I hate seeing you like this, y/n.”

He holds you against him for a little while longer in silence.

“Alright, let’s get back to the leasing office before he thinks we’re fucking in here.”

You laugh at that and slowly stand from his lap.

“You know I wouldn’t have survived this long without you, right?”

He stands, too, and places his hands on your hips. He leans down to kiss you on the lips. When he breaks the kiss, he leaves his head extremely close to yours, cupping your face and looking straight into your eyes.

“You deserve to be loved and spoiled. Never forget that.”

“I’ll try.”

“You better,” he quickly pecks you on the lips again before taking your hand and leading you out of the apartment.

In the leasing office, he holds your hand as the leasing agent starts speaking in technical terms about the agreements and down payments and when it’s time to pay, Hyunjin covers the cost. You nearly burst into tears at his kindness but settle for hugging and thanking him instead.

On Saturday, you seek out Lee Know to put in your official notice. It’s not a full two weeks as required in the contract, but it’s the best you can do. He’s lounging in the living room with Allie at his side when you ask to speak with him. He seems understandably confused at the request, but follows you out into the backyard, nonetheless.

You take a seat near the firepit, hugging your knees to your chest as he eyes you curiously. You avert your gaze to the charred wood and ashes in the firepit.

Has it really been two months already since you all rang in the New Year in this very spot? It doesn’t feel like much time has passed, yet so much has changed in that short span of time. And not for the better.

“I don’t really know how this works,” you tell him, once you’ve finally bit up the courage to speak. “If I just say it, or if you need it in writing, but…I’m leaving the SKZ house next Sunday.”

He stares at you, for what feels like a lifetime, in silence. You keep your eyes on the firepit, unable to look at him. You know he’s reading you, maybe even upset or annoyed that you didn’t heed his warning.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he finally asks.

You look up at him and catch a glimpse of his rare compassionate side. He seems worried—but is it for you, or Chan?

“I’m sure,” you nod.

“There’s no taking it back once I put in the notice.”

“I’m sure, Minho,” you use his given name for impact.

“Okay,” he accepts. “Today is March 9th—so that will make March 17th your last day here. I’ll give the announcement at dinner.”

“Can you give me a day before announcing it? I want to tell Chan myself.”

“Of course,” he offers you a kind, understanding smile.

“Thanks,” you tell him.

“You know…” he trails off, that fleeting, kind smile already turned upwards into a smirk. “If you’d been with me this wouldn’t—”

You fix him with a death stare, and he shuts up immediately.

“Okay, okay. Too soon.” He nods, realizing now is not the time for his ill-placed humor. “We’ll all miss you; you know that, right?”

“I know. I’ll miss everyone, too.”

You know that first and foremost he is Chan’s friend—Chan’s brother, really. Outside of Hyunjin, Lee Know was the first to have any clue as to what was happening between the two of you. You wonder if Chan has told him anything, something that would cause him to clarify that they will all miss you.

You know he wants you to understand that includes Chan. However, the events that led up to this drastic decision make you believe otherwise. Maybe Chan will miss you, but you’ve seen how he can quickly channel his feelings into anger and disassociation. At the end of the day, he’ll use those same coping mechanisms to forget you.

You have to keep telling yourself this is for the best.

All throughout class on Monday, you can’t help but think of your shrinking timeline. You need to tell Chan you’re leaving; you need to say goodbye to everyone and start packing. You only have six days left.

As you exit the building after class and walk to the parking lot to meet Jeongin and Allie, you stop in your tracks at the sight of Chan. He’s leaning against the front of the black Tesla, hands shoved in his pocket, staring directly at you.

You feel a sudden surge of adrenaline course through you. At first you question why he’s here—but that’s easily answered. He must know. There is literally no other reason for him to be here right now. Then you feel anger—did Lee Know tell him? You know Hyunjin wouldn’t betray you like this. 

You contemplate turning around. You could go back to the building and find an alternate exit. You could take an Uber home. You could run into oncoming traffic. All of those choices seem exponentially easier than facing this man, but they would only exacerbate things.

You take a deep breath and resume walking towards him. The moment you’re close enough to see the expression on his face, you falter. You should have run.

Pissed off doesn’t even begin to describe how he’s looking at you.

“Chan,” you whisper his name ever so softly, “I was gonna tell—”

“Get in the car.” he cuts you off.

You let out another deep breath, but from his tone you know it’s best not to reply. Instead, you just walk around him to the passenger side of the car. Although he doesn’t have a right to be upset with your decision to leave, you can’t fault him for being angry that you didn’t tell him sooner.

Chan gets in the car, starts it up and backs out of the parking space.

“Put on your seatbelt,” he tells you.

“I was going to tell you today,” you finally complete your unfinished sentence as you pull the seatbelt around you and click it into the buckle.

You look over at him. His eyes are trained on the road in front of him, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He doesn’t say anything as he drives. You face forward, not knowing where he’s taking you, but it’s not in the direction of the house. As more recognizable scenery starts to pass by you realize he’s taking you back to Rosewood Park.

You pass the familiar entrance sign, feeling almost entirely like a different person than when he first brought you here all those months ago—but are you, really? You’re once again feeling vulnerable to his temper, afraid of what he might say or do, or tell you to do.

He parks and you both exit the car. You follow quietly behind him along the walking trail, all the way to the same secluded bench located on the bike path.

You sit down first, then he does too, leaving about two feet between you.

“How did you find out?”

He scoffs, “Is that what’s most important to you, right now?”

You lean back against the bench and cross your arms in front of your chest. His snarky tone is unsettling. This way that he speaks to you, in particular, is part of the reason you can’t stay. He can’t treat you like this whenever he’s upset, and you can’t keep allowing him to do it with no consequences.

If anything, this behavior only confirms the decision you’ve made. All his talk about not letting your relationship fail if you ran away into the sunset together feels like a blatant lie right now. He is clearly capable of pushing aside reason in favor of his emotions. Perhaps you are dodging a bullet.

“I will have this talk with you, Chan,” you begin, “but only if you are going to be fair to me. You’re not the only one that’s hurt—you’re not the only one that’s scared shitless right now.”

He takes a moment to contemplate your words before replying.

“My room overlooks the backyard, you know that,” he explains, sounding calmer, “I saw you and Lee Know out there and I pressed him about it all morning. Maybe intimidated it out of him.”

With Chan being the oldest, you imagine he’s the only one that could intimidate anything out of Lee Know.

“I’m sorry…I just wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“Why wouldn’t you come talk to me first?” he asks.

“Because we’ve done so well with talking recently?” you counter.

He lets his head lean over the back of the bench. He knows you’re right.

“But if I’d known you were going to do something so drastic I would’ve…” he sighs, trying to find the words. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“There’s nothing you can do. It’s already decided. It’s my choice, remember?”

He chooses not to respond to that.

“I know you’re not the best at expressing yourself, Chan, but how you’ve treated me the last three weeks is unacceptable.”

“I know. I fucked this all up,” he admits, rubbing at his face. “I don’t know how to be. After saying all that shit to you I’m just supposed to act like I’m happy that you don’t want me as more than the guy you’re contracted to cater to?”

You shake your head, “It’s not that I don’t want you. I swear I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. It’s just the truth of this unfortunate situation we’re in—I can’t have you. You can’t keep me.”

He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“I know how much you love your family,” you continue, “especially your sister and brother. I’d be selfishly taking you away from them if I let you choose me.”

He starts to run his hands through his hair.

“And your future. Everything you’ve worked so hard for would be thrown out the window.”

He suddenly sits up straight and turns to face you.

“That’s the thing, y/n. I haven’t pictured a future that doesn’t have you in it since the moment you stepped foot in our house.”

You’re at a loss for words at that. He stands from the bench and starts pacing back and forth in front of you.

“It could work out…it would. It still can,” he’s saying, though it seems like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

“There’s a legally binding contract that says it’s forbidden,” you remind him. “Please don’t fight it and make this any harder than it already is.”

“We were supposed to have more time together,” he continues pacing, “if you’d have just given me a little more time, I would have come around…”

“Chan…stop,” you tell him, but he keeps on pacing and rambling.

“We could have gone somewhat back to normal. We could have—”

 “Stop!”

He presses his lips together and pauses his movements, stopping in front of you with his eyes focused on the grass.

You can’t let him spiral. You want nothing more than to tell him he’s right. That, together, you can figure out a way to make this work. You want to take him by the hand and reassure him that everything is going to be okay. But you know it would be an empty promise because you can’t guarantee any of it.

It pains you to see him like this, like he’s falling apart. And everything he’s saying feels like too little, too late. You can’t undo any of this.

“I know it may not feel like it right now, but this is the best choice. For both of us.”

“Don’t say that,” he shakes his head, eyes still on the ground.

“I mean it. And one day when you’re,” you pause, struggling to get the words out, “m—married and have little ones running around, you’ll realize that I was right. As much as it hurts right now…it’s the right thing to do.”

He’s still shaking his head, digging his foot into the grass in front of him.

“Can you look at me?”

“I can’t,” he replies.

You reach out for his hand, and he lets you grab it. You pull him to you, and he lowers himself to his knees.

“Look at me.”

“For what?” he asks. “To feel my heart shatter even more?”

That statement unravels you. You muster up all the strength and courage left inside of you. You hook a finger under his chin and tilt his head up—he doesn’t resist. When his eyes meet yours, you see the tears pooling inside of them and feel the cracks splintering your heart, too.

“Chan, I’m sorry…” you choke out. “I’m doing this because I lov—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, “Don’t fucking say it. Please.”

He’s right. It’s probably best not to. But you can show him.

You wrap your hands behind his neck and lean forward to kiss him. He kisses you back. You both channel your unspoken words into the movements of your lips and tongues. The salt of your tears adds a new flavor to the anguish of your connection.

When you pull away from him, you’re both breathing shakily, trying to get ahold of yourselves. You rest your forehead against his.

“I thought I could be the man you deserve.” he whispers.

You lean back against the bench, and he once again averts his gaze. He then lowers his head so it’s resting in your lap, and you lightly rub the hairs at the nape of his neck. There’s nothing more either of you can say. There’s no perfect resolution, this conversation was never going to end wrapped up in a pretty bow.

[ read chapter 29 here ]

a/n: how are we feeling after that? it felt really important to bring them back here for this conversation 🩵 next chapter is a chan POV!

[wandussyfantasy]

hiii i have a request 🌚 g!p reader x Wanda pairing. background: reader and pietro are best friends and have been since childhood. reader and wanda never got along but secretly have crushes on each other. wanda is jealous because reader is a player and has hooked up with all of wanda’s friends, and reader just uses those girls to distract from not being able to have wanda because they don’t want to ruin their friendship with pietro. it all comes to a head when reader saves wanda from a handsy at a house party and the tension between them is too much and they confess their feelings and have sex.

i also have more ideas along their universe where they continue to hook up (behind pietro’s back) and wanda thinks it’s not serious (she wants it to be but is afraid of saying anything thinking reader just wants to be casual) but reader thinks they’re exclusive. maybe wanda sees reader talking to an ex and mentions thinking of going out with some guy and reader is all confused and offended like why would you talk to me about planning to cheat on me? and they have a legit convo about being together exclusively

also thinking it would be funny if after all that pietro catches them after having sex when he goes to readers house and bursts in their room and he just pauses absolutely shocked and scandalized, reader thinks they’re about to be murdered , and then pietro is like…you know what? that actually makes so much sense

sorry this is so long, idk if you can tell but the ideas been in my head a while LOL

Busted

Summary: Final part to You Suck, Let's Fuck. Y/n and Wanda start to get sloppy with hiding their relationship from Pietro.

Pairings: Wanda x NB!AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,661k

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!! smut, g!preader, powerbottom!wanda, fingering, dirty talk, fluff, masturbation, oral, sex toys, public touching, fantasies, and teasing.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“Come on, just one time,” you beg Wanda as you stand behind her in the bathroom. She is brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day. You like to hold her from behind in front of mirrors. As much as you like fucking her from behind in front of the floor length mirror in her bedroom. 

She blushes as she watches you and feels you kiss her neck. “I don’t know. Just, wait a little bit longer. I just got a new prescription. It wouldn’t be safe.” She stops brushing to spit. 

You groan against her neck when she comes back up. She falls against your chest with her eyes closed. She loves being in your strong arms. A door slam has the both of you jumping apart. 

“Wanda! I need-” Pietro starts.

“Damn Wanda! I need to use the restroom! Come on,” you shout from the bathroom  threshold. 

“Wanda, you have to stop hogging the bathroom,” Pietro gripes and Wanda rolls her eyes. 

“Well if this place wasn't overcrowded, maybe we wouldn't continue to have this problem,” Wanda retorts as she starts to pull makeup out. You start dancing like you have to pee. Pietro takes pity on you and takes Wanda out of the room because he needed to ask her about something important. 

“Bitch,” you mutter and stick your tongue out at Wanda. The secret code for affection. 

“Slut,” she hisses and sticks her tongue out. You smile once you close the door and sigh in relief of pulling off the cover up. 

••••

You and Wanda decide to take a day off from school and stay home. Pietro doesn't know and is gone for the day going to class. You are trying to be cute and make something nice for Wanda in the kitchen. She watches you and is so touched by the simple act that she cannot wait to give you a reward. 

While you're mixing the pancake batter, Wanda crawls between you and the kitchen island. She pulls your cock out of your sleep pants and she starts sucking on your cock. “Mmm that feels good,” you hum as you continue to mix the batter. 

The way she licks and sucks on your cock distracts you to the point that you can't think about anything other than her warm lips. You hold her head and start to gently rock your hips, slowly fucking her face. “Fuck, Wanda,” you groan as she strokes the rest of your cock with her warm hand. 

The front door opening causes your eyes to widen. Familiar coughing has your heart racing. “Stop,” you whisper but Wanda is too far gone to hear the hasty whisper. You put your hands on the counter and Wanda takes that as a cue to take the control back. You pray that she at least hears the footsteps getting closer but then she deepthroats you so it's clear that she has no idea. You let out an involuntary moan. 

“Aw no,” Pietro says, then sneezes as he enters the kitchen slightly. “You got the flu too?” He coughs and you nod as you start to sweat. Wanda stalls for a moment. Your dick is throbbing in her mouth. Your heart is pounding anxiously. 

“Yeah, I was trying to make something and ugh, I just started to feel queasy,” you moan again. Trying to mimic the sound you made earlier. 

“Aw damn, I'm sorry,” Pietro coughs again. “I'm going to go lay down.” He points to the rooms. “Hopefully Wanda doesn't get it. We're going to need someone functional to pick up meds and shit.” 

“Yeah, I think she should be home soon. We can have her, ugh, pick stuff up,” you suggest as Wanda starts to suck on your cock again. You are fighting everything in you to not react the way you want to. It's enough to pull off the sick act. 

“Smart, I'll text her,” he says then sneezes. “I'll talk to you later.” He walks off to his room and the fact that he almost caught you with his sister but didn't is enough to have you blowing a load into Wanda's mouth. 

You pull your cock out of her mouth and quickly shove it back into your pants. “That was crazy! I can't believe you,” you whisper shout at her as you look at her on the floor. Wanda holds her finger over her mouth to signal for you to be quiet. Her phone buzzes and she pulls it out to read the message from her brother. 

“We probably should stock up on stuff, you know how bad it gets when someone gets sick in this house. I'll be back,” she kisses you on the cheek. “Finish making the pancakes, I expect them to be stacked in my room by the time I get back.” She grabs her purse and car keys and walks out of the house. You almost can't believe you just came inside of her mouth. 

••••

“Why do you both disappear when we go to these things?” Pietro asks as the three of you sit in an Uber to another house party on campus. “It's like you both agree to go home at the same time or something. I used to be able to actually hangout with you two. What's going on?” 

You hold your breath as you panic. There wasn't a reasonable answer. There was also no way were you going to tell him that you were fucking his sister. 

Wanda looks at you with slightly wide eyes, not sure what to say herself. “Well, sometimes I walk out feeling confident in one of those skimpy outfits but um when I'm there I feel a little weird and leave to change but then I get tired and just go to bed,” Wanda says. “That's why I'm not wearing one of those tonight.” Pietro nods and apologizes to Wanda. He half hugs his sister. 

“Um for me, you know about Wanda’s friends and their little boycott against me. I keep striking out and get bored. I have stuff to ehem, occupy my time at home better than getting rejected.” You say next. 

Pietro frowns, “Oh, I'm sorry Y/n. I didn't realize you were having a hard time picking up. I mean, you have game. I've witnessed you flirt. It's a masterclass. I mean I've spent hours trying to talk with a girl and I've seen you flip that same girl within minutes of approaching her. I swear I've seen the panties drop when they-” 

“OKAY! WE GET IT,” Wanda bursts out. You swear you could see the smoke coming out of her ears. 

“Okay, I won't talk Y/n up now. But Y/n, you've gotta stick with me tonight. I'll help you get some tail tonight.” He pats your shoulder and you smile and say that you appreciate it even though you don't need his help. But what's the alternative? You can't tell him that you're fucking his sister. 

Pietro drags you all over the sorority house, introducing you to the pretty girls. You try to fake the game that Pietro has witnessed time and time again but your heart isn't in it. There is only one person you want to go home with tonight but you can't tell your best friend that. 

You bomb every interaction as you feel Wanda's stare. You want to run to her and kiss her. But you can't escape the arm Pietro has around your shoulders. You can just find her with your eyes. It kills you when you eventually find her flirting with other guys. 

You can't take it anymore. You have to say something. You have to tell Pietro the truth. “Pietro, I have to tell you something,” you start. You've had quite a few drinks so you're louder than you intend to be. “I've been meaning to tell you this for some time now but-” 

“Woah are you feeling well Y/n?” Wanda says as she interjects. “You don't look too good. Maybe I should help you get home.” 

“O-okay,” you stumble on your words as you nod. When Wanda has pulled you outside of the house you frown. “I thought you wanted him to know.” 

“Not like this,” she says as she subtly rubs your back. “Not drunk at a loud party after he tried to hook you up all night,” she shakes her head. “It's not the time,” she looks around before sneaking a kiss on your cheek. 

“Okay,” you agree. When the Uber arrives, the two of you snuggle in the backseat. 

“Geez, you really did need to come home! How much did you drink?” Wanda asks as she helps you into the house. 

“I don't know,” you slur, “your brother kept handing me drinks to loosen me up. Says I need it for the ladies. At this point, nothin’ is happenin’ for the ladies. My dick is dead,” you point to your crotch and laugh. Wanda shakes her head as she helps you into your bed. When you're settled she tries to leave but you grab her wrist and pull her on top of you. “Don't go yet, I want to fall asleep holdin’ you. I like holdin’ you,” you admit. 

Wanda sigh, “I will fall asleep in your arms, honey. As much as I would love to, that's not how Pietro should find us.” 

You pout but you let her go and fall asleep. 

••••

You and Wanda are away on another weekend getaway. The two of you are cuddling on the bed watching a movie and things start to get steamy on the film. You start to think about the things you would like to do to Wanda and your dick starts to come alive. 

“I have a surprise,” Wanda says as she lightly massages the bulge in your sweatpants. 

“You threw out all of the condoms?” You ask excitedly. 

“No,” she rolls her eyes. “Stop asking, I’m not going to say yes. I told you, when I’m ready, I’ll let you know.” 

“Fine, okay,” you laugh, “I’m sorry, it was a bad joke. What’s the surprise?” 

She loosens up and smiles as she kisses you on the lips. She walks to her luggage and unzips it. She diggs inside and pulls out her harness. You’re confused because that’s nothing new. But then she pulls out a dildo much larger than the one she used to use. Your eyes widen. It wasn’t bigger than you but it’s not what a size you’ve had inside of you before. “Tada!” She says as she waves it around. 

“Wow,” you say as you look at the realistic dildo. 

“It vibrates too,” she smiles proudly. 

“My dick doesn’t do that,” you joke. It was girthy and long. You were intimidated to have it inside of you but you thought about how often Wanda’s body has had you endure your penetration. It kind of turns you on more knowing that her body accepts your cock. 

“You're always poking fun at the size of my dildos so I thought I'd get one that would shut you up,” Wanda explains while she removes her dress and pulls on her harness. She winks at you when you look at her with your jaw dropped. She climbs on the bed and takes the dildo to your open mouth. “Get it nice and wet for me,” she hums as pushes and pulls it in and out of your mouth. 

You comply and start to lick the silicone penis. Your cock is creating a tent in your pants as you get turned on by Wanda’s display of dominance. She bites her lips as she watches you get into sucking the dick. She wonders what it would feel like if she had a real penis like you do. How warm your mouth is. The sensations your tongue would bring as it moved around her taut skin. Would it feel the same as when you eat her out? Would it feel better than that? 

“Are you ready for me?” Wanda asks. You pull your mouth off of the toy and nod as you make eye contact. 

“I'm ready,” you whisper. You pull your pants off with a sigh of relief and toss them in the corner. 

Wanda adjusts the dildo onto her strap and tests the remote out to make sure everything is working. When she's confident with the product, she shuts it off and gets ready to fuck you. 

She rubs the tip between your pussy lips the way that you've done to her many times. She gets it now why you tease her that way. It's a power move. You have the control of the pleasure that she's usually begging for. 

Her eyes move to your face and she can see that you're close to begging her. She is going through so many emotions that she doesn't want to think about it anymore. She pushes the head in and is quickly met with resistance. Your hole wasn't ready for the intrusion. She pulls away ready to apologize but you stop her. 

“It's okay Wanda,” you say calmly. You grab the base of the dildo and pull her closer with it. “You just have to take it slow. Come here,” she does as you say and she leans in and reciprocates your kiss when you meet her lips with yours. She closes her eyes and relaxes. What she doesn't realize is that you are slowly stretching your pussy around her strap. Easing her into your body. She doesn't notice until she is practically falling on top of you with your dick pressing against her belly. 

“I'm in?” She asks in a shy voice and you giggle.

“Yes, Wanda,” you kiss the top of her nose. “You're inside of me.” 

“How does it feel? Am I hurting you at all?” 

You chuckle because she sounds like a virgin which neither of you are. “You're cute,” you kiss her lips. “I'm fine. Now fuck me, Wanda.” 

She kisses you one more time before she starts thrusting her hips into yours. Then she pulls as much of the dildo out without completely pulling out and slams her hips back down. Then she turns on the vibration feature and you start moaning loudly as you start to jerk off. 

In your lustful haze you start to imagine Wanda filling you with cum and it sends an orgasm through your pussy making your legs shake. Wanda is unaware of your orgasm as your dick is still hard. She continues to pound into your sensitive pussy, overstimulating you. 

You had no idea that Wanda had it in her to be so good with a strap-on especially since she claims that she never used one before the two of you started fucking but she is a natural. You move your hips to your body connected to hers every time she starts to pull away. You love this girl. You can't believe how lucky you are. 

The two of you fuck well into the night, missing the dinner reservations. It had been a while since the two of you were allotted such alone time without interruption. 

••••

“Okay, I'm ready,” Wanda tells you while the two of you are hanging out in her room. It had been weeks since the last time you asked to have sex without a condom so it took you a minute to understand what she was saying. 

You are sitting on her desk chair removing a bug on her laptop. She initially asked Pietro but she asked when she knew he had a day full of classes and neither of you did. He quickly turned the request over to you before he left. You asked her why she didn't just wait to ask you until he was gone and she explained that she didn't know how long the process would be and she didn't want to have to explain why she asked you over her tech savvy brother. Plus, she wanted to hangout with her girlfriend. It sucks having to pretend to live separate lives now that the two of you have made it official with each other. 

“Sorry, ready for what?” You ask as you continue to scowl at the computer. None of the programs you were running were finding a bug in the computer. But it didn't make any sense to you because the computer wasn't working the way it should. There is a problem with it. 

“To have sex without a condom,” she says shyly. 

“Are you serious?” you turn your head in her direction. She is sitting on her bed wearing a flowy black dress. She has black eyeliner on and you remember her emo phase back in high school. It was torture everyday to make fun of her when all you wanted to do was kiss her, hold her, love her. She spreads her legs open as an invitation as she bites her red lips. “Now?” You ask with wide eyes. 

“Happy birthday,” she lifts her dress up slightly to tease you with the sight of her upper thigh. 

You frown as you think about the date and realize it is your birthday. “How did you remember and I didn't even realize?” You grin at her. 

Wanda shrugs, “You've been busy. Must've slipped your mind.” 

“But it didn't slip yours,” you smile, touched by the simple act of remembering. “You like me,” you say as you slowly crawl on top of her. She blushes as she kisses you.

“Shut up and let me give you your present already,” she giggles between kisses. You drag your fingers up her thighs into her dress and you feel the lack of fabric. 

“Mmm, no underwear again,” you hum. “Again, are you sure about this? Do you have any ground rules?” You ask as your fingers rub against her soft skin. Wanda bites her lips again as her breathing quickens. She shakes her head.

“No rules, no tricks,” she whispers. “Just you and me,” she pulls your shirt off and tosses it behind her. She grabs one of your hands and pulls it from under the dress and puts it on top of it. “No barriers,” you nod at her request and kiss her deeply before you break the kiss and pull her dress off of her. You drop it to the floor beside the two of you. She pulls your basketball shorts and your underwear down until they fall on their own and you step out of them. 

The two of you are completely naked in front of each other in her bedroom. Your focus is on her entirely. As hers is on you. She crawls onto the bed more to get comfortable and you follow her closely. She giggles out of enjoyment. She almost can't believe that she is doing this. She has never had sex without a condom. She's never felt someone's cum inside of her and she is giddy about feeling your cum inside of her. 

You mirror her smile, her giddiness is contagious. When the two of you start kissing again, the giddy energy calms down a bit as the desire for each other grows. “I love you,” she whispers against your lips. 

“I love you,” you return the sentiment as you lean away to admire her beauty. You want to take your time. This is a big moment for the two of you. 

You kiss your way down her body, giving her breasts an appropriate amount of attention. Then you kiss her soft stomach. She twitches when your nose unintentionally tickles her. “Sorry, that wasn't on purpose,” you say, knowing how much she hates being tickled. She sighs with content and combs her fingers through your hair. 

“It's okay, I know it wasn't intentional,” she says softly as she looks down at you. 

You kiss the spot that your nose grazed, “Okay, good.” You continue down her body and when you're focused on her pussy, you put your arms under her thighs so her legs are over your shoulders. You devour her pussy juices. You lick, suck, and finger fuck her pussy. She falls apart, completely at your mercy. Her body shakes with her first orgasm of the day, her moans are muffled to you because her thighs are squeezing your head completely covering your ears.

When you're done with enjoying the way she squirms on your tongue, you crawl back up her body and rub your bare cock against her warm and wet pussy lips. She shivers under your body. “I want you to ride me,” you say against her lips as you kiss her. She nods as she pushes on your shoulders so that the two of you can switch positions. But you're enjoying the way her tongue collides with yours as the two of you kiss. She takes the time that making out with you gives her to collect herself. Then when she's ready, she really pulls away. 

You get in a comfortable position with her pillows supporting your back. Wanda straddles your lap as she had the first night two of you started this whole thing. You admire the way she looks from this angle. Completely naked and all yours. 

She starts by jerking you off first. You moan as she does, exciting yourself more and more as you think about being inside of her without a condom on. Then you have to think of something to calm down before you end up cumming on your own stomach. 

Wanda hovers her pussy over the tip of your penis and rubs it through her pussy lips until she feels it against her entrance. She lowers herself and you have to think of a million nasty things in order to keep from busting too early. Her warm walls engulf your hard cock as it has many times over the course of the past several months. This time feeling them without the barrier of the condom has you moaning a lot more than before. 

Wanda moans as well from feeling you completely. She feels every inch of you in a new way and she intentionally squeezes your cock every few minutes. “Fuck you're so big,” she says as she continues to lower herself on you. 

“Mph you're so tight,” you say with your eyes screwed shut as you try so hard to hold it together but you have to accept that this isn't a time that you can take a long time to make love to her. You only have yourself to blame for building this moment up in your head for so long only to have the reality be so much better. “Fuck, I'm sorry, it's just too good,” you say as you relax and open your eyes.

Wanda giggles and smiles down at you, “It's okay,” she says as she starts to lightly bounce her body on your cock. “I want you to cum,” she admits, taking your hands and placing them on her hips. “Go ahead, do whatever you want to me.” 

“Aw fuck, Wanda,” you groan as you hold her hips to help her ride your throbbing cock. 

That's what Pietro hears when he enters the house. He's confused at first then he rolls his eyes and figures that the two of you are fighting yet again. He sighs as he walks to her room. He sets his things in his room first then he walks over to Wanda’s room. He had time in between classes that he normally spent on campus but today was your birthday and he almost forgot. So he came back home to offer to take you to lunch. 

“Wanda, please don't kill Y/n today, it's OH MY GOD!” He opens the door the moment that you are cumming inside of his sister for the first time. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!?” 

“PIETRO!” Wanda shouts and in your haze you're confused why she'd shout her brother's name instead of yours and then your heart stops and your blood runs cold as you sit up and peek out from behind Wanda’s body. 

“Oh shit!” You say with wide eyes. Wanda has her arms over her breasts as she pulls off of you. She quickly gets under her blanket to cover her body.

Pietro walks out of the room for a second and you scramble out of the bed to grab your shorts. You're pulling on your shirt when he comes back in. “What are you doing to my sister?” He asks in a tone that's on the edge of freaking out. He has always told you that you're his best friend but his sister comes first. “Are you just fuc- are you disrespecting my sister?” He corrects himself. 

“No, God, no! I'm in love with her,” you admit. “This, we have… I've been wanting to tell you I just didn't know how. This isn't how it was supposed to happen! Believe me,” you try to explain. Fearing that he might actually kill you for this. You were never supposed to cross this line. You were never supposed to want Wanda. You were never supposed to act on those thoughts. Not with her. 

He's still not sure how he's meant to react. Pietro is supposed to protect Wanda, always. That's what their dad always taught him to do. When she came home crying because a boy pulled on her hair, he would be sitting in lunch detention for a week for defending her. When her boyfriend cheated on her, he made sure that guy never came back around to try and ask her to take him back. Only to apologize and never return. Now it was you. He doesn't know what to do. 

“Pietro it's true, we've been seeing each other for months. We're in love,” Wanda defends as she holds her bedding to her chest. “Please don't be mad at Y/n! She cherishes your friendship so much! But neither of us could deny our feelings any longer.” She admits and Pietro physically relaxes. 

“You know what? This actually makes a lot of sense.” He says as he starts hysterically laughing. “Oh my goodness how could I not see it? Wow! You two are good,” he shakes his head as he starts to walk away. “Happy birthday, Y/n!” 

When he's out of the room your entire body is filled with relief and you look at Wanda and see that she is relieved as well. “That went a lot better than expected,” you finally say and Wanda starts laughing as she agrees. You laugh as you fall onto the bed, your head landing on her lap. 

She smiles down at you and you up at her. “How do you feel? Now that it's real?” She asks as she lightly caresses your face. 

“It's always been real for me,” you tell her honestly. “I'm just happy we don't have to hide any more.” 

“Me too,” she leans down and kisses your lips upside down. 

••••

“I do,” Wanda says to the Elvis impersonator. 

You, Wanda, Pietro, and a group of your collective friends were in Las Vegas celebrating everyone’s college graduations and their bright futures. Throughout the vacation you couldn't help but be overwhelmed with how much you love and want to spend your life with Wanda so you asked her to marry you. She said yes and the two of you agreed to elope here in Vegas. 

Everyone is different levels of drunk or high but they're all happy for you two. Natasha and Carol are holding each other in tears as they say how happy they are for you. Pietro is smiling as he sits next to his girlfriend with his arm around her shoulders. He asks her if they should be up next and she laughs with a hard no. 

“I pronounce you married!” The Elvis impersonator says and everyone cheers as you and Wanda kiss as a married couple for the first time. 

The End.

[sinofwriting]

Please, Oh Please - Max Verstappen (Part Two)

Words: 1,049 Summary: A direct continuation of Please, Oh Please that shows a few domestic moments between Max and her. Note(s): Just want to thank LB on ko-fi for this. They commissioned me to write this and I had such a fun time doing so.

Read Part One Here | Masterlist | Support Me!

“You came over.” He watches as she yawns, eyes just barely opening for the first time this morning. “I came over.” The words are a mumble, not helped by the way she closes her eyes again and snuggles up to him. “You never come over.” She makes a humming noise and he nearly jolts at the way it tickles him. “Missed you. Apartment smells kind of like you. Missed you.” He holds her closer, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “I missed you too.” “Yeah?” “Always, Schat. Always.”

The room goes quiet between them with only the sound of their breathing filling it, and Max can’t help but want this forever. It’s not a new want, hasn’t been for weeks, months, but it hits him again, all at once.

“I want you to move in.” His voice is quiet, just barely breaking the silence in the room. Her breathing stills. “What?” “I want you to stay here, to live here.” He turns his head a little to look at her, to look at those eyes that he loves. “I love you.” Her eyes widened. “I love you.” He repeats. “And I want to take care of you, to come home to you, to come back home with you.” “Max,” Her voice breaks. “Please?” He sits up a bit, making it easier for them to look at each other. “You have no idea what it meant to me last night. To come home and see that you have been here, to see you in bed, sleeping, waiting for me.” “Max.” She says again, stopping him as she sits up and her hands are framing his face. “I know how much it means.” Her dominant hand’s thumb strokes over his cheekbone. “I love you. I want to live here with you. To be here when you come home.” Her smile gentle and proud, turns a little bashful. “I want you to take care of me.”

—

Max fears the day that he grows used to this. Grows used to waking up with her in his arms, in his bed, or rather in bed with him considering the amount of traveling they do. It’s been five months since he came home to her, since he asked her to move in, to stay with him, five months since she said yes and he’s still getting used to it. Getting used to having her how he wants, how he had dreamed.

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice thick from sleep breaks him out of his thoughts. “You.” She immediately presses her head into his chest, making him laugh. “Shut up.” She mumbles. “Okay.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Wait.” He nearly laughs at the predictability of it. It's always went like this, he’d fluster her, she’d tell him to be quiet or to shut up, he’d say okay, and immediately she’d say wait, or don’t.

“I have the tournament tomorrow. I won’t be able to go shopping with you tomorrow.” She huffs out a laugh, lifting her head up. “I can go by myself, it’s only one or two bags.” “They’ll be heavy.” “It’s groceries, lovey. I can carry two bags of groceries.” He pouts, “Why don’t we go today?” “Because you promised me a whole day, just you and me, in the apartment, lazing about.” Max sighs, because he had promised that, even if it was normally how they spent their days together, they did have a trip with her friends planned in a few days and immediately after they’d be going to see his sister. Which meant for a solid week they wouldn’t really have time for just the two of them. “Will you at least take a car?” Her nose wrinkles but she nods. “I’ll take a car.”

—

“You have to stop leaving me your card.” “Card? What card?” He asks, waving at GP to go ahead of him. “Max.” She draws out his name a bit. “You know what card. It’s the card you think you're being sneaky about when you leave me with it.” He leans against the wall. “Oh, that card.” “Mhmm. That card.” “What about it?” “What about,” she stops, spluttering. “Max, I don’t need your black card.” “What if something happens?” “I’m getting on a flight to you in less than ten hours. You left just last night.” He shrugs, smiling as he adjusts the phone against his ear. “What if you want something?” “I’ll use the card that you gave to me, that’s in my name. Not your black card. Which you really shouldn’t be giving to people.” “I don’t give it to people, I give it to you.” His voice softens a bit on the last word. She sighs, “That’s very sweet, lovey.” “Mhmm.” “Still not using it.”

—

She grins up at him, whole face alight with excitement. “Hi race winner.” She greets, arms tightening a bit around him as mechanics and such move around the garage. “Hi liefje.” His arms wrap around her in turn, tucking her into him. “I’m so proud of you.” She murmurs against his chest covered by sweat soaked nomex. “So proud.” He rocks them a bit as he presses his lips to her hair. “Yeah?” “Of course.”

She pulls away a bit, mouth opening, and he knows that it’s to tell him to go shower quickly, before he really starts to smell, champagne and sweat unsurprisingly not making a good scent, but before she can, he presses their lips together. Interrupting their normal routine.

Her body tenses against his for a second, before it relaxes. The feeling makes him sigh, and one of his hands moves to cradle her face as the other grabs at her waist a little tighter, keeping her pressed against him.

“I love you so much.” He breathes when they pull apart. “I love you too.” Her soft, gentle smile turns a little playful as soon as she finishes the sentence. “Now go and take a shower, I have a private celebration for you.” His eyebrows raise, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Something I’ll like?” “Something you’ll love.” The promise makes it a bit hard to swallow and he’s quick to press another kiss to her lips. “Thirty minutes and we’ll be gone, yeah?” “Sounds perfect.”

@cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[theshadowrealmitself]

I’m on some weird side of TikTok that hates Gwen for some reason and I’m terrified of looking on tumblr and seeing if that’s just the majority opinion, but anyways my thoughts on it:

So most of the videos I’ve seen on hating Gwen are about her “not being there for Miles” and because “she didn’t tell him”, and I don’t think those people watched the movie because

1.) Gwen joined an organization. An organization with rules. An organization with rules with tracking technology. There’s no way that they would’ve been okay with her just visiting Miles. Yeah she visited other Spideys, but those Spideys were a part of the organization.

If they had caught her visiting Miles for no reason, which they would have most likely noticed immediately, if not because of the tracking technology, then because of Jessica checking in on her often as her mentor that vouched for her, she could have been kicked out of the organization. Which for Gwen meant going back to her universe where she’d either be homeless and on run from the law, or just in jail.

There was no way she could have just visited beforehand, and they most likely had her on strict rules on not contacting him too (because this is an organization that tries to prevent the multiverse from breaking down, there’s no way they didn’t have strict rules), but the second Gwen was able to go to his universe, the very first thing she does, is stop by his house.

In fact, her mission is a second priority to her, she just leaves a tracker where the Spot is going to be, and then focuses on spending time with Miles.

2.) She tells him, then what? Either he accepts it, and just,, waits for his dad to die, knowing it’s not an event that he’s allowed to change (to their knowledge), or he fights against it, which would be the natural instinct of a 15 year old hearing that a loved one they’re close to is about to be killed, which would then put his entire universe at risk.

You heard them, they can fix Pavitr’s timeline “if they’re lucky,” most likely if Miles saved his dad and his universe started collapsing, they might not be able to save it, then he doesn’t just lose his dad, he loses everyone (if they let him join the society, would he be able to if his universe goes or does he go with it?)

Yeah some of the Spideys have some suspicions on whether or not interfering with the canon actually does cause a universe to collapse, but the only for sure facts they have is that Miguel fucked with a universe’s canon and that universe fell apart, it’s too risky to test it out on a hunch, and y’all wanted her to still risk it? knowing that there’s a 50/50 chance Miles still tries to save his dad and accidentally takes down his whole universe???

Now we as the audience have different information, and we’re pretty sure Miguel is wrong about the canon events, but you gotta think about what the characters know in universe, and what Gwen knows is that a Spidey wouldn’t want to just sit back and let a loved one die, and that screwing with canon might cost someone waaaay more than just one loved one

So Gwen not telling Miles anything and not visiting him wasn’t actually her flaws in the movie, yeah we felt betrayed that she did that, because it’s from Miles’ pov and Miles felt betrayed, but just because we wished she had done something different, doesn’t mean that her actions were wrong

Tragically, knowing what she knew, her mistake in the movie wasn’t “not being there more for Miles,” it was actually being there for him and visiting him, instead of avoiding him and focusing on her mission to capture the Spot, because if she had done that, then she could’ve stopped him before he started screwing with the multiverse

[sunkifye]

enhypen as love tropes

lee heeseung ⋅˚₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅౨ৎ

fake dating

“I know our relationship is fake, but the feelings I have for you are so real.”

as heeseung walked through the halls at school, he heard two girls talking and their conversation made him stop in his tracks. “stop lying! I know you don’t have a boyfriend” one girl said to the other. and she was right, that girl didn’t actually have a boyfriend. she was a loner and heeseung knew this, so why did he step in and pretend to be her boyfriend? well, his friends have been pushing him to get a girlfriend so maybe this girl can help him out. the two made a deal to help each other out by pretending to be a couple and they even made some ground rules. but what’ll happen when the two start to fall for each other and break their set of rules? will someone figure out about their act? will their relationship remain fake or turn into something real?

park jongseong ⋅˚₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅౨ৎ

arranged marriage

“arranged or not, I still would have chosen you.”

when jay’s parents told him that he was getting married in a week to a random girl, he almost fell off his chair. getting married to a complete stranger? yeah, no thanks. and the random girl wasn’t so thrilled about this either. their parents both own two of the most successful companies, so in theory, them getting married would combine the two companies and increase profit. this marriage was all about money and not about love. but as the two skeptical strangers begin to spend time with each other throughout the week, they realize that they have more in common than they thought. will this marriage actually work out? or will the success of their parents’ businesses ruin their blossoming relationship?

sim jaeyun ⋅˚₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅౨ৎ

soulmates

“I guess we really were meant to be.”

everyone has a soulmate and is attached to their person by an invisible red string. only a few people are able to see these strings and jake happens to be one of them. wherever he goes, his vision is blurred by the bright strings attached to every single person’s pinky finger, including his own. he hated the idea of soulmates, having to see all of the happy couples that weren’t fated together break up over this idea that they aren’t supposed to be together. or maybe he hated it because his own soulmate already had a boyfriend, and she wasn’t going to breakup with him anytime soon. but what’ll happen when jake starts to go after a girl that isn’t his soulmate? will their relationship flourish? or will his real soulmate come into the picture and make jake’s life a confusing mess?

park sunghoon ⋅˚₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅౨ৎ

second chance

“you’ll always be my number one, even if it didn’t work out the first time.”

sunghoon had a girlfriend for all of senior year of high school. he really thought that she was the one until they went off to college. since they both went to different colleges, they decided to break up instead of having a long distance relationship. the breakup left sunghoon heart broken. he swore to himself that he wouldn’t get caught up in a serious relationship again any time soon. so, he spent his years at college being single and focusing on his studies. after he graduated, he landed a job working in a big business in his home town. his first day on the job, he walked into his office to find his ex girlfriend as his colleague. will the two be able to rekindle their relationship? or will they be torn apart once again?

kim seonwoo ⋅˚₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅౨ৎ

childhood best friends to lovers

“you’ve been there for me since day one.”

sunoo has been best friends with this girl ever since he was born. their parents were best friends, so they were best friends too. growing up they spent every second together. they were attached by the hip and basically inseparable. now in their senior year of high school, the two are still as close as ever, hanging out together at every possible moment. over the past few years, sunoo has grown a crush on his best friend but he has never told her. he can’t tell if she feels the same way and he doesn’t want to put their friendship in jeopardy. but because the end of the year is nearing, sunoo has built up the courage to confess to her before they part for college. however, every time he tries to confess his feelings, something always gets in the way. will his confession ruin their 18 years of friendship? or will sunoo ever be able to confess to her before they both leave for college?

yang jungwon ⋅˚₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅౨ৎ

boy next door / neighbors to lovers

“this whole time, my one true love lived right across the street.”

jungwon had just moved out of his old apartment and into a new house with his grandma. new house, new school, new beginnings. he had quickly become friends with everybody in the neighborhood, except for the person who lives across the street from him. sure he’s met the parents, but he’s never seen their daughter. in other news, he’s taken up a new hobby after school: tutoring. after the first week of school, he started to tutor a girl in his math class. after a few of their tutoring sessions, they became pretty close friends and as the weeks go on, jungwon finds himself falling for her more and more. but what’ll happen when jungwon finds out that his crush is the girl living next door? will this change the dynamic of their relationship? or will someone else come in between them?

nishimura riki ⋅˚₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅౨ৎ

enemies to lovers

“I never thought I would fall for an idiot like you.”

ni-ki is the captain of the boys dance team at his high school—oh and the captain of the girls dance team? she’s his sworn enemy. the two are always bickering and being mean to each other, whether it be during dance practices or the few classes they shared together in school. everyone knew of their hatred for each other, but no one knew what caused it. one day, the school announced that there would be a big performance at the school for the two dance teams. there would be many group numbers, trios, and solos that the two teams had to perform, including a duet between the best dancer from the boys team and the best dancer from the girls team, which just so happens to be the two captains. though both are opposed of doing a duet together, the dance teams persuaded them to try to work together just this once. how are the two enemies supposed to practice a dance together for weeks on end? will they be able to pull off this duet if they can’t stand each other? or will their hatred turn into love?

author’s note : 1. this has been rotting in my drafts for awhile 2. ik these r super cliche BUT THATS WHY I LOVE IT 3. obviously this is my opinion but I would love to hear ur opinions on what tropes u think enha r 4. I really wanna make a fic out of jake’s (or any of the members) but I have to finish rage quit first 5. if u decide to write any fics on these ideas PLEASE DO and tag me bc I would love to read them

ok ty for reading & have a great day 💋💋

[veritas-scribblings]

constellation - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,135

[in-universe: welcome, night, safe, more and then devour | takes place after ' devour'.]

Sometimes, Regulus goes to the roof.

Euphemia worries about him falling. Though well kept, the roof of the Potter home is slated and slightly slippery, but Regulus manoeuvres his way across it with ease. He likes to come up here at night, James has noticed. Sometimes, Regulus will lay on his back to watch the stars. Sometimes he will sit on the roof and read by wand light.

Sirius had done this quite often in the early days when he had first run away from Grimmauld Place. He would go to the roof and lay on his back and he would try to find himself in the stars. And sometimes, James knows, he would try to find Regulus as well. Because no matter how much he had denied it, Sirius always carried Regulus with him, and with that came the guilt of leaving him behind.

Like brother, like brother, James supposes.

One night in April, during the Easter break of his seventh year, James makes his way to the alcove on the second floor of his home and pries the window open to climb onto the roof and find Regulus. It’s a clear Spring night and Regulus will be star-gazing, as he is always visible in the night sky this time of year.

James climbs through the alcove window and onto the roof. He is making his way to the shed-dormer where he knows Regulus will be when he hears Regulus’s voice. That crisp, curtness that always makes James feel a little weak in his knees, that melts him from the inside out.

‘If you’re here to tell me that I can’t see him,’ Regulus is saying, ���then you can fuck right off. James and I are between James and I and have nothing to do with you.’

James tries to duck down, but out on the open on the roof, there’s nothing to properly conceal him. Instead, he crouches awkwardly and hopes that Sirius and Regulus don’t notice him. And that he doesn’t fall to his death. It would be a humiliating way to die: trying to hide from his…boyfriend? love interest? previous paramour? The boy who has stolen and run away with his heart?

Sitting on the flat part of the roof next to Regulus, Sirius narrows his eyes. He’s a little uneasy about the height without the security of a broomstick, James knows, but still doing his best to hide it. ‘You sneaking around with my best friend has everything to do with me, you absolute little shit. So firstly, fuck you for snogging by best friend behind my back.’

Regulus turns to look at Sirius so quickly that James worries he’s going to roll off and plummet to his death. ‘Snogging? What makes you think that all we did was snog?’ Regulus says this so dangerously low that James knows he’s trying to goad Sirius into a reaction.

James can’t help but feel weak in a different sort of way; he hasn’t yet worked out if Sirius is mad with him. After everything had come out into the open—and after Sirius had threatened to skin him alive and hang his flayed flesh on the walls of Grimmauld Place—Sirius had barely said a word to him. The entire train ride home, Sirius had simply frozen him out.

Sirius turns away from Regulus, snorting. For a moment, he looks up at the stars hanging high above them. 

‘James is an absolute shit liar,’ Sirius eventually says. ‘He wouldn’t be able to hide it from me if he had violated my little brother’s honour.’

Still hovering some distance behind, pressing himself up against the chimney, James cringes, because it’s true. The memory of how true it is feels a little raw. Sirius had seen it on him those times when James and Regulus had had…moments. Moments where James had felt dizzier that he’d ever felt, more thrilled, more excited and they’d come so, so, so close.

‘We aren’t even two years apart. I’m not your little anything,’ Regulus retorts. He doesn’t look at Sirius, and James now knows Regulus well enough to be able to tell that Regulus is feeling uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

‘You’re my little brother, end of story, and as your sole adoring family member I will ritualistically flay and sacrifice anyone who tries to sully your good name.’ Sirius says this all with a solemnity that’s so profound it’s almost ridiculous. ’No one gets to touch your until I give my blessing and approval and, perhaps, until you're married and forty-years-old.'

James almost wobbles in alarm when Regulus lets out a loud, ‘ha!’ 

Sirius, however, does scramble up in shock. Even in the dark, James can tell he’s disturbed and a little bit pale. ‘Who the fuck has done what to you?’ he demands so loudly that James is almost surprised when it doesn’t wake all of their neighbours. ‘I’m serious, Reg! Which filthy, dirty bastard has laid their hands on you?!’

Regulus is laughing. James has to shut his eyes and crouch lower to try and quell the sick feeling in his stomach, because he knows which ‘filthy, dirty bastard’ has ‘laid their hands’ on Regulus. Regulus had told him that one time they’d come really close and James had admitted he’s never done ‘it’ before and Regulus had admitted that he very much has.

And James had felt that jealous, jealous beast grow in his chest. That same jealous beast that’s once more being roused.

‘Prongs!’ Sirius shouts, startling James out of his own private moment so suddenly that James scrambles on the spot and almost falls. ‘Prongs, you arsehole, who the hell has done what with my baby brother?!’ Sirius looks over his shoulder to where James is perched nervously, hoping to become one with the brick chimney. 

Regulus, now sitting up next to Sirius, doesn’t look in the least bit fazed by James’s presence. He smirks a little and tips his head up to glance once more at the night sky above them. 

At his star, which is gleaming in the south. At Sirius’s star, which is always so visibly clear. At the moon, which is full and huge and bright.

‘Yes, I know you’re there,’ Sirius rolls his eyes, ‘and for the record, you absolute dirty bastards, I approve. Not that you ever asked.’ He sniffs, feigning offence. Or, perhaps, entirely serious about it. James is too apprehensive to tell anymore. ‘James is a good egg. There’s no one else I’d trust with my little baby brother. I’m glad it’s you. You have my blessing.’ He narrows his eyes, dramatic about it as he’s Sirius. ‘However, if you don’t tell me what Regulus is “ha-ing” about, and if you don’t give me names, Prongsie, then I will liberate you of little prongs and ensure that my little baby brother forever remains my little baby brother.’

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#21: The Getaway Plan (1.03)

gif cred: @nat111love

I love how Rick is the only man Michonne happily lets take over. He’s the only one she’ll ever defer to and trust to go with his way over her own. It’s why she never even second-guessed his escape plan. But then, y'all, Rick's getaway plan threw Michonne and me for a loop😢...

So once he’s alone in the apartment, Rick gets right to work laying out everything he needs for this getaway plan. I like how he always keeps all his secrets in the couch cushions. And both times the stuff he has inside the couch has so much to do with Michonne.

Rick is thorough with it laying everything out like paddles, wire, and a consignee jacket, going over maps, writing out stuff, and drinking to numb the fact that he’s also making a plan that means he may never see Michonne again after this. 😢 But I love this scene of seeing him so determined to figure out how to save his wife and get her safely home. 

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

Then we see Michonne sitting at lunchtime with the consignees and it is a drab set up I must say. Like the area was giving prison yard. And it makes me sad to think this is how Rick spent so many lonely lunches for years.

As Michonne eats, she sees Rick coming over in his CRM uniform, which is all she’s seen him wearing thus far. I feel like it illustrates how the CRM has a constant hold on him.

Since Richonne can always communicate without words Michonne immediately knows Rick is coming over here to give her a note.

She puts her plate away and then casually walks pass him as he slips a note in her hand and of course, they do the pass off smoothly because they’re just a well-oiled machine like that. 👌🏽

Part of me was like wouldn’t it sorta be odder to the other soldiers if the two don’t acknowledge each other at all when they pass each other considering their story is she saved Rick from an attack? But they’re not taking any chances I guess. And the way Richonne can’t be subtle about each other it’s probably for the best they just walk on by. 🙂

gif cred: @nat111love

When Rick walks off after passing the note he takes a breath and even looks teary because if all goes according to his plan that really was his last time being able to see and feel his wife - another final hand moment like how their last real moment side-by-side in TWD was a hand moment. 🥺

I know right now Rick thinks this is for the best but it also has to be so painful for him knowing that he’s about to be without her again. And knowing Michonne doesn’t even know that this technically would be their last moment together is just...☹️😢

Michonne reads the letter as we hear Rick’s fine voice say what’s inside it. He starts by saying, “This is it, tonight. We gotta move fast.” And I love Michonne’s little smile as she reads that. She fully trusts Rick to get them out of here and so she’s ready and willing to follow his lead with this…which is why what comes next is so heartbreaking.

gif cred: @nat111love

But first, we see everything Rick did to ensure Michonne would have the smoothest escape possible. It is so sweet that despite Michonne being super capable, Rick still wanted to take care of everything he possibly could for her. 😊 That’s a good man, Savannah, a good man. 👏🏽

As Rick’s walking in a tunnel he sees writing on the floor that says ‘Tell them I’m sorry I lied’ and it’s very intentional showing that because I feel like that is essentially what Rick will want Michonne to tell Judith (and RJ) after he lied to get Michonne out of this place.

Also, I once again need to note - Rick in all-black. ❤️‍🔥😋

gif cred: andy-clutterbuck

It’s interesting because while those words written on the ground should have been a clear sign to us viewers that a lie is afoot right now, eye fully believed Rick was really intending to escape with Michonne with this plan. So Michonne and I were very caught off guard when that wasn’t the case. 

Rick tells Michonne all the details of where to go and what to do to escape, laying it out step by step to make it as easy as possible, and she’s following what the letter says.

And then my favorite part of this letter moment arrives when he says, “I love you.” 😍 Rick is gonna earn that Ultimate Loverboy title every chance he gets. It’s also sweet cuz he knows this could be one of the last times he gets to tell her. ☹️

gif cred: richone4life

I love that he always wants to be sure that if nothing else she knows he loves her. While his decisions right now are going to upset Michonne (and me 🙋🏽‍♀️), it is all being done because of how much he loves her.

And then I absolutely adore Michonne’s response to reading her husband say I love you in the letter. The sweetest. 🥰And that smile was an 'I love you back' from Michonne. Again, it really is so clear that he makes her feel so safe and loved and like they can truly pull this off together.  

gif cred: @riickgrimes

(Side note: I love the softening of Michonne over the seasons in TWD and that Rick brought out her softest side. Like it makes so much sense that she had a rougher exterior when she was introduced in season 3 because being a woman in that world is so dangerous, especially a woman traveling alone for a long period of time. I can legitimately name about 8 woman characters in TWD who were SA'ed or at risk of that. and so as women, it probably feels like you have to hide any part of yourself that is softer just to stay safe. But as each season progressed, Michonne got to tap back into that part of her, especially as she found a true safe space in Rick. She knows how to be fierce and intimidating when she needs to be but with Rick her heart just melts like when she reads his letter with the escape plan and she sees that he wrote I love you)

Then I absolutely love the cute flirty delivery of Rick saying “...and I left you a little something” as they then do a perfect cut to Michonne slicing a walker with her katana. 👏🏽

Y’all, of course, Rick 'Man of the Year' Grimes would make sure Michonne didn’t leave here without her signature sword. The best. 😊

Once again I love Michonne’s proud smile as she’s about to take out more walkers only to realize Rick has already got it covered and tied them up for her. The world might be riddled with dead but chivalry is alive and well cuz of that man Rick Grimes. 👌🏽

And I’ll forever appreciate that Rick never treated Michonne like a weapon with a weapon. As the woman he values, he wants to take it upon himself to handle everything to make her escape and travel a smooth and successful process. 

gif cred: @richonne4life

Rick’s also walking through the same spots Michonne is and it was clever to have his scenes intercut with Michonne’s because they really had me fooled, thinking they were both headed to the getaway boat - not realizing all his scenes are actually occurring ahead of time as he sets everything up for Michonne’s escape.

Normally I would be suspicious that something is up, especially cuz when is a plan ever that smooth but idk, me and Michonne just really believe in Rick Grimes i guess, so like her, I didn’t question anything lol.

gif cred: @nerd4music

I thought the complications might come once they got to the boat and tried to escape together or something, however Rick had us in for a sad surprise.

I honestly feel like had this getaway plan been given to Michonne by anyone other than Rick, her intuition would have sounded a few more alarms that maybe something is suspect with the plan. It was so smooth to get out, and I know part of it is because Rick sweetly made sure Michonne could walk right through with little to no hurdles but with how easy it seemed, Michonne might have been inclined to wonder how it could be this smooth to escape and yet Rick was trapped for years.

Cuz the way her getaway was going, it was looking like Rick should've been able to escape in time to be there for RJ’s birth lol. But Michonne trusted his plan wholeheartedly because she wholeheartedly loves and trust Rick more than anyone. That’s another reason why it’s gotta be so hurtful knowing that he knew she’d trust his lead and he used that to try to get her to leave alone. 😞

But still, I really like this whole escape scene and the intercut between the two. It felt like the way an escape scene should be executed in an epic love story because it was all still so rooted in Richonne’s love. And the parallel shots of their silhouetted selves walking through the tunnels with red and blue light were nice.

gif cred: @chaoticroad

So then Michonne makes it to the designated destination and seeing her smile in anticipation to see Rick makes me so sad rewatching and knowing he’s not coming.

gif cred: @richonne4life

She was really looking forward to reuniting with Rick here and heading home together. Her smile was giving....

But then that happiness just gets crushed. 😔

She calls out for Rick but he’s nowhere in sight. She looks suspicious when she notices a walker in a consignee jacket, which little does she know Rick planted there to fake her death.

Then, as she searches through the boat she finds another letter that just makes my heart break. 💔

gif cred: @nat111love

Rick's letter says, “I’m not coming. And if you don’t go, you’ll never get away and we both die here.” It’s painful knowing he’s basically like 'I’m the only one that should die here.'

Then I like that he mentions getting Michonne back to their daughter specifically when he writes, “The only way to get you back to Judith is that I stay here to make sure.”

gif cred: @nat111love

You can hear the sadness in the way Rick is talking out what’s in the letter, he knows Judith needs her mom and so even tho he needs Michonne too he’ll always try to choose his kids needing Michonne above himself. And then you really feel his emotions as he tells Michonne, “I love you forever.” 🥺

First of all; I absolutely love that he wrote that to her and that we now get to add Rick saying “I love you forever” to the many romantic things he’s told Michonne. It’s so heartwarmingly worded for him to want her to know that while this is essentially goodbye he will forever be in love with her even as they're apart. 

gif cred: @nat111love

Then the most problematic part of the letter is Rick saying “If you love me, you’ll go.” 😓 And for so many reasons...

I know Rick means well but it’s weaponizing love to say something like that. He knows she loves him. He knows how hard it would be for her to leave him here hence why he had to lie to even get her to go along with the plan in the first place. And now he’s essentially attempting to make her feel like she doesn’t love him if she stays. When deep down Rick knows full well Michonne doesn’t leave people behind let alone the love of her life.

And if the roles were reversed Rick would never just leave her someplace that has her clearly trapped and miserable. But it’s been a minute, so maybe Rick got a little foggy on just how much he and Michonne are cut from the same cloth which means she would never leave him either.

gif cred: @nat111love

And just the 'if' gets to me cuz there is no if, Richard. That’s exactly why she can’t go. Because she loves him.

Saying that line puts Michonne in an unfair position. She either goes back home, just having to live with the knowledge that Rick is out there and hurting and her kids will never get to meet their dad who is alive and she’ll never even get to tell Rick about his son. Or she stays and has it be deemed a lack of love for staying. When again it’s the ultimate act of love for her to stay in this place and still fight for Rick even when he doesn’t think he’s worth fighting for.

I remember one of my thoughts when I first heard this letter was "What did Rick want Michonne to tell Judith?…like should she say 'yeah, I found your dad. He’s alive but he’s never coming home so let’s just move on and live our lives??'" That was never gonna be an option. But I guess he’d want her to tell Judith and RJ what he saw in the tunnel - “I’m sorry I lied.”

gif cred: @taiturner

I also had this moment of wondering - why does Rick seem to think leaving him or moving on from him is so doable? And then it hit me that it might be because he’s had it happen before. 🥺

He was in a coma for just a few months and by the time he saw Lori again she was pregnant with his best friend's baby and his best friend was fully playing house with his wife and son.

But Michonne cannot be compared to the wife and BFF of Christmas past.

No, now Rick has a wife and bff rolled into one who hasn’t moved on from him for almost 8 years so she’s def not about to move on from him now. 

It’s almost like Rick doesn’t think this relationship is an equal win. An equal gift. He understandably feels extremely lucky that a gem like Michonne is his wife. She’s the ultimate treasure to him and brings his life so much value. It’s harder for it to hit him that he is a special treasured gift to Michonne too. That she needs him and feels safest with him and can’t ever move on from him the same way he feels about her.

Plus, this isn’t just a wife's mission, it’s a mother's mission for Michonne. She’s doing this for her kids too. Which takes this to a whole other level. What Rick doesn’t know is when he tells her to go, Michonne also hears the voice of their sweet daughter saying mom go get him and bring him home.

She hears the adorable voice of RJ confirming that Michonne would do anything for them and their dad.

And she hears Carl on his deathbed saying she has to be strong for Rick and Judith.

That’s running through her head always I’m sure and motivating sacrificing time with her kids to bring their father home. She’s not letting her kids down.

When Rick tried to get her to leave without him he didn’t just get in the way of the mission she has for herself and for him but for their kids and that’s when you’re going to get a pissed Michonne because now you’re interfering with what the kids need which is both their parents.

And no one stops this mother from doing what needs to be done for her kids, not even Rick. It reminds me of The Distance and how that also was Michonne on a mission to provide what her kids needed.

So it was already so sad to see Michonne alone realizing she’d essentially been duped into leaving without Rick after trusting him and his plan wholeheartedly - but then to see her have to be confronted with this idea that Rick thinks the way she can best show her love is just to leave him behind was just such an added layer of painful.

Michonne makes my heart hurt seeing how sad this all is making her. She truly looks shocked, hurt, and heartbroken over this. And understandably so. After everything she’s been through there’s no way it ends like this.

The acting Danai does is great at this moment as all Michonne can do is stand teary-eyed and repeatedly shake her head with silent bewilderment that Rick would even pull something like this when the Rick she knew would never. 

gif cred: @nat111love

I think something important to note is that while Michonne is the first time Rick’s had a wife who can protect herself, Rick still absolutely feels like it is his job to protect her. Like yes her competence and capability means he can rely on her and lean on her more than his former partner but that doesn’t mean Rick ever would take a backseat to being his wife’s protector. He still wants to keep Michonne safe just as fiercely as had she been someone more defenseless. 

We see this throughout the main series in the way Rick always looks out for and checks on Michonne and panics whenever he thinks she’s in danger.

Again, she’s not a weapon with a weapon to him. He loves and respects that Michonne is strong and a leader, and he also knows that doesn’t mean she’s incapable of being harmed, especially around the CRM. So it is one of his biggest goals to protect her and keep her alive even if she’s capable of doing that herself. As competent as Michonne is, she does need him and feels most safe with him and Rick takes that seriously. 

The way it caused conflict in TOWL tho is Rick became so hyper-focused on protecting her that he almost started to treat Michonne like a fragile sculpture that could break at any moment and he started acting like it was only up to him to keep the sculpture intact even if it means leaving her out of the loop and breaking her heart. Which seeing him pull this just had me like...

Rick knows Michonne is strong but he stopped believing that her strength and his strength and especially their strength together could be a good thing - it just makes them a target hence his actions that were so steeped in fear.

It’s like he overcorrected and while many just see Michonne as some powerful force rather than a person with vulnerabilities, Rick started mainly seeing her as potential vulnerable prey for the CRM rather than a person who also should have a say in how the two of them proceed.

With Rick's beautiful letters that he’d been writing to Michonne the whole time he'd been away, it’s almost like in an innocent way he got used to one-sided communication with his wife. But when Michonne reenters his life he has to relearn that this relationship is very much a two-way street where she can now weigh in and step in as well and he can't make executive decisions like this for her. Just like Rick...

And her choice is him and their family.

But also thinking about how he’ll later admit how scared he was seeing her return into his life, it hits my heart because I think part of Rick felt scared because he doesn’t think he’s still the same man who could protect her like before. He no longer fully believes he’s the fighter he knows she fell in love with. So he’s still going to try to save her of course, but he's doing so by sending her away rather than figuring out how to break away with her.

Fortunately, Michonne has enough belief for the both of them. And since Michonne went on this mission to find her Rick, she can’t possibly go home because the job is not finished. She found Rick but not her Rick yet, and so she knows she has to stay. And she also has to give Rick a piece of her mind without even saying a word. 👌🏽😅

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXVIII. “for love”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce Wayne goes to therapy [NOT CLICKBAIT]

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, panic attack, vomit, blood, grief/trauma, yearning

words: 9.7k

a/n: more miscommunication, more of reader getting themselves into situations 💀 as far as I’m concerned, Bruce Wayne’s love language is ‘worry’. as always, i adore hearing allll of your comments!! please tell me everything lovelies, i adore interacting with you all <3

You’d probably bored him with your photos and reminiscing. Maybe he didn’t even have to go anywhere.

You’d hoped you’d been able to distract Bruce enough, even if he was just humoring you. In addition to the articles about the murderous stalker, you’d noted the bruises on his knuckles. After last Saturday when you’d learned he’d gone back to Batman, you’d been worried sick; worry tinged with anger at his immovable desire to get back into the muck, at his inability to let himself relax. You hoped you’d given him a sliver of that, a moment of reprieve so his system didn’t overload. It wasn’t realistic that his meds had fully set in yet. As Dr. Crane so diligently reminded you over the weekend, this time was fragile.

In a self-serving way that made your stomach hurt, in a way you didn’t want to fully admit to yourself and play off as a joke, the shock of the serial killer had sideswept your anxiety at having to see him again post-dream. The only time it had entered your brain again was when he’d made the comment about housing, blurting out so eloquently I thought I’d dreamt that. You’d wanted to sink into the floor, certain that your dream was plastered across your forehead.

At least he smiled some at the end of the night–he wouldn’t have sought you out at the rally’s end if he hadn’t wanted to talk to you, right? Or was this yet another thing fueled by his guilt? So soon off the heels of the attempt, and everything with Miller… yeah, he didn’t want to talk to you. Only felt like he needed to.

You waited at a separate intersection now, in an area of town you had never been to before. So holed up to downtown while being in classes, you hadn’t ventured much besides the places Mar dragged you every blue moon. Crown Point was separate from downtown, almost intentionally so—in your research for March’s rally, you’d learned that it was a neighborhood infamous for its poverty and crime. Most of the articles online spoke only about the latter, giving no credence to the reality of simply needing to get by. It had also been the neighborhood most impacted by the historic flood of 2022, never quite being resuscitated. You’d wanted to start hearing what the city thought of this campaign, and what better voices to highlight coming off the heels of Bruce’s first interview than the most abandoned?

Marginalized and disenfranchised didn’t even begin to cover it. It was like the city at large had tried to swallow up Crown Point—or better yet, tried to drown it in the depths of the river, desperately stomping out any signs of life. Cars were toppled over from accidents no one had bothered to attend to, or clean up from. Blood tinged all layers of the street, no street cleaners bothering to come by. Every apartment looked decimated; chunks of yellowed, dry grass sprung wild in cracks of concrete, surviving off blood, crude oil, and spite. Trash more than littered the streets, it became them; when you visited again, if you even saw a single soul, you’d need to wear boots. Some of the garbage was up to your knees.

You thought back to a group project in high school with Gabbi. She’d wanted to focus on the benefits of recycling, starting a campaign to expand the trash removal options at the school. She’d pulled up pictures of places like this, turning her nose up to the class as they presented. “We don’t want our city to turn into this, do we?” Even then, having never stepped foot outside your little town, you’d thought she was being callous and cruel.

The first sign of life presented itself as a rustle in some bushes. You cleared your throat of its gumminess on approach, suddenly feeling very much like an intruder. Street interviews were commonplace, it wasn’t supposed to be weird, but this side of town almost felt feral; like it’d been left alone for so long the buildings might bite back. What could I give them in return? Dr. Vry had always made it clear you weren’t supposed to give gifts in journalism; it was biased, and even if well-intentioned, demerited your work. Maybe it would be enough for you to see them, to help give their voice a boost. To know that someone was looking out for them.

Upon closer inspection, these bushes proved the entrance to a houseless camp. The residents had become very savvy, and you kept yourself tight to where you’d come in case they wanted you to leave. You had a penchant for walking unwanted into people’s homes, it seemed; but the tentative response was short-lived. A child emerged from a tent a few feet in front of you, and waved, running toward the back of the haphazardly-kempt wire fence lining the area. It was massive; hundreds of people could live here, easily. You noticed a couple sitting together eating some shelf-stable food on a nearby bench. Another kid playing with a stray cat in the far corner. Tents and tarps were plentiful, with the odd bike and mattress parked around.

“If you’re a cop, we don’t want you.” A tall woman sitting under a tarp gestured to you. “Lot of you have tried, but we won’t go.”

You shook your head. “I’m not, I uh, I’m a journalist with the Gazette. Wanted to know what the people of Crown Point thought about the upcoming election.”

A chorus of laughs erupted, many voices from places you couldn’t place. Some echoey, some dampened, some sounding like they were standing right beside you. The same woman shrugged, tossing her pillow to the side of her to lay back on. “The election doesn’t matter. Still leaving us to die.”

You went with her concern, probing it, validating it. “That’s why I’m here. I want to help your concerns be heard.”

“What’s the point of being heard if we’re gonna freeze anyway?” The man sitting on the bench chimed in, shaking his head with a tight, scrunched face. They were right; why would they want to speak if they were hungry, exhausted, and at risk of freezing to the cold, hard ground this winter? Your heart broke thinking of how many loved ones they’d already had to mourn.

The zing of it propelled the words out before you’d fully thought them through. “I could help all of you get housed, tonight.”

The man on the bench glared at you, the woman next to him looking up from her lap. The woman underneath the tarp that had spoken slowly sat up, eyebrow raising. “Is this a trick? Get us to leave so you can sweep the joint?”

Damn. What is Bruce gonna think about this? “No. I have… connections. At least for the time being. Hotels, motels, but eventually to something long-term.” What, there were a few hundred people here? Maximum? Some of them had to be families, couples. You swallowed a lump in your throat at the prospect of overpromising and underdelivering. You knew there were enough empty apartments, but not about hotels…

Rightfully so, they only became more suspicious, with more people peeking out from their tents to see who the hell was saying such things. “I worked with Bruce Wayne recently.” What to say?! “He talked about the housing crisis, he wants to help.”

“This isn’t more of that Renewal bullshit, right?”

“Wayne kid getting out now?”

“Why would he want to help us? Planning to run?”

They’d been hurt before. Led astray. They were just being protective. “I think he wants to follow his parents. I know they were philanthropic.”

“Can’t be too much, or he wouldn’t have his billions.”

You couldn’t believe you were standing here vouching for Bruce fucking Wayne, the man that just a few months ago scowled at you in his basement while essentially moralizing their existence. It dawned on you that you were promising them his money, and guilt washed through you yet again. “I’ll get in contact with his management. If that’s something you’d all want.”

The few people who were looking at you looked around at each other, and a pause hung longer than you thought it would. You stifled a sigh of relief at giving them a choice–you didn’t want to come in like some savior if it wasn’t what they wanted right now. You stifled another when they all nodded, and you disappeared back into the bushes after saying you’d only be a minute.

Calling him was hard. You stared at his contact in your phone like it was a mirage, and would leap from the screen and disappear any moment. Only once you heard a particularly strained meow from one of the camp’s cats did you press the button, all but slamming the phone to your ear. Ring one, ring two, ring three, ring four… you bit your cheek, already sore from biting it so much the night before. He isn’t gonna answer. He wants nothing to do with me. Rightfully so.

“Y/N?”

You loathed the way your body jumped when he said your name, a phenomenon you were becoming aware of ever since that night at your apartment. The request tumbled out of you, with both too much and not enough context; sudden, intrusive, and trapping. You were beginning to hate yourself, and the lengthy silence between your ask and his response had you jumping in place, holding tight, constricted air heavy in your chest. Fuck. I’ll have to tell everyone I was lying, that I didn’t have anything lined up. That you’d put your foot in your mouth, and felt entitled to his money. Maybe, in your emotional anguish, you’d even confess to them that you’d lied. That you’d lied to a big, important man about a big, important thing. All weekend you’d ruminated on his reputation, fully internalizing it for the first time.

“Be there soon.” His voice was flat, distant, and he abruptly hung up.

Not an okay, sure, or even a that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, stay away from me from him. Just another obligation. Another thing he had to swallow with you; another way you made yourself a menace, another way he couldn’t escape you.

He arrived the same way, eyes cast down as he slammed the door shut. His hair wasn’t done, but the rest of him was—donning a light brown sweater against tapered black pants rather than his baggy black-on-black, tattered tee look. As much as you wanted to mirror his avoidance, you had to bite the bullet, maintaining your eyes to his face and breaking the silence. “Thank you, I’m, I know this is unexpected,”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he flinched, his face scrunching together as he faced the concrete again. You felt queasy. His voice was low and mumbled. You could barely hear him, though the city din was much lower out here. “—fine.” He shrugged, his shoulders tightening. Your gut cinched as you led him to the camp, each step drawing the nausea more to the surface. After the rollercoaster of the past week, it’d been too easy to forget the fragile line you walked with him.

By the time you both stood at the entrance, watching everyone’s eyes widen at Bruce’s presence, you were almost positive you’d crumble to the ground. By some lucky break, he decided to speak first. He sounded nothing like he had when he’d been with you seconds earlier.

“I know the chill is coming in soon, and we want to help you get housed. For the first few nights you’ll be staying in a hotel or motel in the city. Beyond that, my team will get you set up in an apartment long-term. Fully paid.” Some people asked him why he was doing this, but others were already taking down their tents, shoving everything into their arms and into stray plastic bags. He answered with: “Money has no use sitting in a cell while people can use it.”

You tried not to linger on the we of it all, but it was hard. He didn’t look at you as you both helped residents pack up their things, staying to opposite sides of the encampment. After you did a headcount, you realized there were only about a hundred-fifty people living here. A handful of them were children, a few elders, but most middle-aged, and single. When people would turn to finish grabbing their belongings, you’d stare at Bruce’s back, or his side-profile, or his face if he was facing you. He never so much as glanced your direction, even when he was paused, waiting.

Once everyone was packed, you took out your phone to scour hotel sites, presenting the second time he’d acknowledged your existence in the two hours you’d been there. His voice was quiet still, this time with more discernible reasons as to why, though he kept his interactions short, clipped, impersonal. “My butler’s handling it. Marriot’s coming off a conference, everyone can go there.” He mumbled something as he walked past about Alfred sending cars for everyone, directing you to stay back for the time being. He walked to the group toward the front and followed them out, saying something else you could hardly hear, but sounded like leadership.

Nearly in tears by how coolly he was behaving, you’d threatened to crumble until a small boy walked up to you holding a tiny kitten. The kitten shivered, their orange fur standing up in the wind tunnel the fencing and bushes created. They had open scabs around their back, and on the pads of their paws. “Mommy says he needs a doctor.”

Crouching down to meet his eye level, you reached out to gently pet the cat’s head. You could feel how small and weak they were. “Is this your kitty?”

He nodded. “His name is Bouncer.” He said it pointedly, like people had been calling Bouncer ‘cat’ against his wishes. His face was pouty, frustrated. He held the cat close to him, like you were going to take him away. “Can he come?”

“Yes, he can. I can take him to the doctor too if you’d like.” Dr. Vry’s second paycheck had come in over the weekend, so this task wasn’t something you’d have to ask Bruce’s card information for. Thank god.

“Bouncer.”

“I can take Bouncer to the cat doctor, and bring him back to you. How does that sound?” Your heart squeezed as you thought back to what had likely gotten him that name, the bouncing, leaping, energetic presence of a new kitten, seeing how clenched and tired the cat looked now.

The boy looked over your shoulder and pointed, and you followed his finger to Bruce, stepping back into the encampment. “You and him.” He pointed to the cat, brow furrowed, then back to Bruce again. “Get him.”

He was already motioning at Bruce, and you counted the sound of his footsteps until you felt him beside you. He wasn’t wearing the cologne he always wore at city hall meetings, the universe giving you a millisecond of relief. His voice was gentler when he spoke now, crouching to mimic your posture in front of the kid. “Is that your cat?”

The kid stared at you like you were supposed to introduce them. You didn’t look at him, only at the small, shaky head of the kitten in front of you. “That’s Bouncer. He needs to go to the vet.”

“You guys will.” He shoved the kitten in your arms, and you felt how chilly he was. His body trembled and shook, and you cradled his head as you looked into his face. The kid said something to Bruce about ‘the buddy system’ and ‘illegal’ to not go with someone else, but their conversation faded into the green of the kitten’s eyes. Their eyelids were covered in grime, their nose runny. Poor baby. You caressed their head, their eyes fluttering, and they stretched into a yawn, the tiny claws poking at your arms.

“Landon, there you are.” A woman, presumably his mom, walked up to the child and grabbed his elbow. “The cars are coming.”

“Bouncer! He’s going to the doctor.”

The lady met your eyes, and glanced between you and Bruce. She shook her head and hoisted the bag higher on her back. “No baby, we don’t have the money yet.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Bruce intercepted. “I’ll cover it.”

The woman blushed, an exasperated sigh following. She ran her fingers through Landon’s hair. “You’re already doing so much, we can’t possibly,”

He shook his head and stood, but you stayed crouched. You pulled the kitten close to your chest, hoping to warm them off your body heat. “It’s no problem. I’ll have someone bring Bouncer to your room later tonight.”

As they shuffled away, the boy blew a kiss at the cat and waved; you gently grabbed the kitten’s paw and gave the teensiest wave back, careful not to move him much. As they turned out of view, stepping out of the bushes to the cars that supposedly awaited them all, you caught Bruce staring at you, blank-faced. He held the eye contact only a second, but it felt like a lifetime after being wholeheartedly avoided. You wished he would speak, you wanted to know what he was thinking so badly.

Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode forward, mumbling again. “Get in the backseat with it.”

You didn’t like his tone, but you didn’t feel in any position to complain; you’d probably cost him upwards of fifty thousand dollars today, not counting whatever the vet bill would be, food costs, and the long-term investment of housing everyone. You hadn’t consulted with him, of course he was angry. Of course he was being short with you. You didn’t care much about the money aspect, especially not as you walked past the crowds of people buzzing with anticipation to finally get a warm shower and soft bed, but when you paired it with your previous behavior, it didn’t feel too stellar. Seemed that as quick as the smoke cleared from a past fuckup, you were slamming another between the two of you.

Slipping into the backseat was easier than you thought; the kitten was far from rambunctious, tired and tiny, so you set them in the seat next to you and slid in, scooping them up as quickly as they’d been set down. As you gently pet their head, down their back, and wiggled their toes, you could’ve sworn you felt the beginnings of a purr. You looked out the tinted windows at the people climbing into Ubers and Lyfts, and rolled down the window to wave again at Landon before he climbed in the back of the rideshare.

Bruce slipped into the driver’s side and turned the car on as one pulled up beside you. Alfred was messing with his seatbelt before stepping out, seemingly orchestrating the rides. He said something to the group and those who had just hopped inside the cars, but Bruce sped off before you could hear it. Every movement of his felt impatient, stilted, forced. You remained silent the rest of the drive, the mood soured, millenniums away from the night before. You shifted your focus to the animal in your arms, which was automatic; they’d begun to let out pitiful meows, opening their eyes as much as they could.

You pulled into the parking lot of a clinic you’d never seen before, a 24 hour emergency vet. Bruce turned to take the cat, but Bouncer had clawed his way into your shirt, clinging on for dear life. You cooed at him, rubbing behind his ears, and stepped out without thinking, only realizing once both feet were on the ground to look for paparazzi. The beaming of the sun, a rarity in the inner city, caused a momentary panic, and you scurried into the clinic as fast as you knew you could protect the terrified pet in your arms. After pretending you’d found a stray cat and wanted to rescue them, you handed him to a tech, giving your card information and phone number to the man at the front desk. They told you for security reasons they’d need you to wait in your car, but they estimated it wouldn’t be longer than an hour. Apparently it was usually much busier, and the wait averaged twelve hours. Shit.

Walking out to the car brought an anxiety you hadn’t felt toward him since the first night at Wayne Tower. He didn’t look up when you walked past his window, nor when you slid into the backseat. In fact, he didn’t say a word for multiple minutes after, seemingly staring down at his feet, or the steering wheel. Is he okay?

“How long did they say it would be?” Still mumbling. Still with no further acknowledgment outside the bare minimum.

“About an hour.”

The silence continued for a cluster of minutes before you forced an apology through your mounting nerves. “I’m sorry. I know I should have asked you before. They asked what good was it to have their voice heard if they were gonna freeze to death anyway, and—”

“It’s fine.” But it didn’t sound fine, it sounded like he had an armory of sharp words to stab into you; an unspoken tension so tightly wound you had a feeling you couldn’t even ask about it without things escalating. Whatever it was, you felt it; a thick, dense cord jammed between and through you.

“It’s not right of me—”

“It’s fine.”

This felt eerily similar to how standoffish he’d acted the night after you hugged, but it didn’t make sense. All he’d done was drive you home. His reassurance wasn’t gentle, it was tempered. A kettle barely kept from boiling. Whenever he acted like this, you couldn’t help the storm brewing within you to pull him out of it, make him explain himself.

But you’d done too much. So you sat, twiddling your thumbs, and counted the seconds as they passed until the clinic called back. You put it on speaker so you wouldn’t have to repeat yourself to him.

“Hi Y/N, this is Mountain Valley vet clinic calling. Bouncer has been seen by our staff.” They went on to let you know that he had dermatitis and was extremely dehydrated; they gave him subcutaneous fluid, a wash, and a cone, as well as trimmed his nails. You agreed to purchasing the hypoallergenic kibble they recommended, and walked out a few minutes later with a cardboard carrier holding a tiny, washed kitten in a large cone.

Bruce still didn’t say a word.

Bruce felt like he might die.

You left him in the car with the kitten after insisting on the ride back that you get the creature some supplies. He peeked in once to see if it was breathing, and its bleary eyes stared up at him. He gave the little thing a pet, but that was the most he could do. He felt like he needed a trip to the doctor.

He didn’t want you to come back. He’d been pacing his room before you called, cataloging what he might say to you the next day. He’d been too terrified to sleep, afraid to shut his eyes after the debacle in the shower. He’d tried to come up with an excuse to not see you, but nothing revealed itself, and now he was here. Stuck in this stuffy, cramped car with you. Stuck remembering the tenderness in your body as you held the animal, stuck with the insurmountable, immovable, horrifying thought that there was nothing he could do but grow fonder and fonder of you with each interaction.

He wasn’t mad you’d taken the initiative; he was mad that his body had betrayed him, and annihilated his footing, making the sight of you absolutely unbearable. Seeing you felt like a hot branding iron, like your hand was wrapped around his throat to make him suffer, cutting off oxygen to his limbs until he felt them shrivel and die. He ached to lean toward you, converse, connect; but in equal measure, with equal force, nothing had ever felt more dangerous. Not even cutting the wire and plunging into the blood-filled waters during the flooding, though he knew how illogical it was.

He looked at the cat again. How you held it. How it clung onto you like the world would end if it let go. He couldn’t resist looking at you then. Couldn’t stomp out the part of him that wanted to do the exact same thing. It made him sick.

You slid into the backseat and for a split second he considered folding. Indulging the questions that spun his thoughts all afternoon. Why Crown Point? Why now? What article were you working on? Had anyone heckled you? Had Gavenstein or the other men said anything? Had you recovered yet from your injuries? What questions did you prepare for the rally that weren’t heard? How were you, really? Were you still having nightmares?

“Which room are they in?”

Holy shit, he’d been driving on autopilot, the Marriot sign projecting beams of light through his eyes in the parking lot. This was precisely why he couldn’t ask those questions, why it was imperative he resist the dynamic forming. He was entirely ragged and unnerved.

The click of your seatbelt unbuckling forced him to speak. “I’ll do it.”

“No, I’ll run up there, I was the—”

“You can’t be associated with this.”

“I already am. Look,”

His hand knocked into yours as he grabbed the box’s handle, and he slammed his head back on the headrest with a scowl as he yanked his arm away. His hand was burning where you’d touched, his heart racing…

“Just admit it.”

If he thought his heart was racing then, he had no idea what it was doing now, certain it would tear out of his chest. You couldn’t know about last night, impossible. You couldn’t. “Admit what?” It was easy for his tone to be harsh when he was this thrown. He counted the split of each second between your answer by the pounding of blood in his ears.

“You’re mad at me.”

His brow furrowed, gaze fixed on the top of the steering wheel. You shifted in your seat, the thin plastic handles of the Petco bag deepening the crease under your knuckles. It was oozing off of him. You nearly snapped when he denied it. “I’m not.”

“I know what I did was entitled.”

“Take the cat in.”

“You’re angry. That’s fine,”

He scoffed, something which didn’t help whatever case he was trying to front. “Do you want me to be?” He turned to face you, his face flushed with frustration. His chest was heaving, causing you to press your back flush to the seat in a strange anticipation. Almost like he might grab you if you got too close. Or run away.

You hid your surprise when he spoke again, his voice embittered. “Do you want me to tell you you shouldn’t have done that?” The collar of his sweater snagged your vision, your eyes oscillating there and back again. To his deep blue eyes with their fiery, unblinking focus… “That I don’t want you spending my family’s money? That you should’ve given it more thought?” His lips were fascinating as they wrapped around his words. “What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking.” The words caught in your throat, coming out breathy. His intensity filled you to the brim with overwhelm, knocking the wind clean out of you. It began to feel obscenely difficult to only focus on his eyes. Something flashed across his face, like apprehension, or worry, and quickly settled. “Don't pretend you’re not upset.”

He glared at you another beat, one that you soaked up more than you cared to admit, before grumbling back into his seat. You couldn’t make out what he was looking at, but he was looking down. He suddenly looked a few years older. Is he okay? “Room 731.”

You reached around, taking great care not to brush his arm, and grabbed Bouncer’s box from the passenger seat. The cabin air was stifling, charged with whatever complaints Bruce was set on denying, but you couldn’t resist a last look at the frail little cat in the big, huge box.

You thought about how Bruce hadn’t held him yet, and, even though he was causing a well of something to toil in you, and his tone brooked no further conversation, you shoved through it. Hopeful it could help him off the edge of whatever he was dealing with. Walter always helped you regulate. “Do you want to hold him before I go in?”

“Why?”

“You haven’t held him yet.” And he had a shitty week.

Like nothing more than obligation, he twisted his body toward the box and reached inside, expression cross and unyielding. The kitten meowed, and Bruce’s face scrunched as he saw the bubble on his back. “What happened?” He held the cat up and looked at it from another angle, his concern mounting.

“That’s the fluid.” The kitten let out a sizable scream as he kicked his paws, scrambling. Bruce held him almost at arm’s length, confused. His serious expression and the wiggling kitten caught between his hands was a sight you burned into memory for when you needed to laugh later. “Bring him closer, he’s just cold.”

He folded his arms mechanically, and at such a snail pace you wondered if the cat might outgrow the cone by the time he reached the plane of his chest. The feeling that welled up in you when the cat snuggled into him had you interrogating your subconscious for an ulterior motive. Something about seeing a stony man holding the world’s most fragile kitten had you feeling woozy. You could’ve sworn you saw the sunrise of a smile glint in his eyes.

“Is that Bruce Wayne?!”

“Duck.”

You made yourself one with the floor of the back seat as he threw the car in reverse, one hand on the kitten, one to the wheel. Being this low to the ground in a vehicle made your head spin, all thought leaving you save making sure you didn’t vomit.

He parked sooner than you anticipated, wasting no time. “I’ll walk the cat back. Give me the bag.” He placed the cat delicately in the box, but your head was pounding. You didn’t like having to do this. Having to lay horizontal every time someone might see you with him, stay ducked behind bushes, across the room at city hall. You knew why. You knew it would destroy any chance of you making it on your own, typecasting you as Bruce Wayne’s mistress the rest of your life. You saw it at the rally the night before. The looks the women gave you. The snickers the men did as you walked past. The way none of the other press would interact with you. You hated how you’d done this to yourself, not thinking of the implications of actually getting the interview, getting it published, and sticking around.

He shut the door, walking off. You reminded yourself, not-so-gently, that you’d be leaving soon. If Bruce was so frustrated by your presence, the least you could do–after Dr. Crane gave you the clear–was leave. Swiftly. No more chance encounters, no more meddling… all would be right with the world. Maybe you wouldn’t even miss him.

Bruce had amassed an even larger aura of annoyance by the time he came back. He didn’t cloak his scowl, or pause to chat; he peeled out of the side street and booked it for The Moore. You sat up slowly, hoping he wouldn’t strike you down with another demand, though you felt like you deserved it. You stared at the back of his hair, dark and messy, covering his ears and half his neck. If you wanted, you could reach out and touch him. Run your hands down his shoulders to his wrists, slip through his palm back into his fingers. You drew a sharp breath, covering the sound of it with another apology, the envelope of the luck you’d pushed nearly bursting at the seams. “It won’t happen again.”

Nothing in the car changed. He didn’t care, and you couldn’t blame him.

You hadn’t lingered when he pulled into the same alleyway, trying your best to slip out of his sportscar like an apparition. The stale air threatened to snuff you out, and for once you relished the mildewed public air as you gulped back to your apartment, heart tumbling down your sleeve. Everyone who walked past was blurry. The key shook in the lock as you pushed inside. It felt horrifying having him pull away, and horrifying that it was over something so avoidable. What if he could’ve came back and watched a show? If only you’d called him before? Instead of crossing boundary after boundary, fuck.

You wished he would’ve yelled at you. Torn you up. But you weren’t worth that. You were only worth brooding; tense silence that would inevitably turn into avoidance, which would mean he’d never talk to you again. No matter how often you told yourself it didn’t matter, god… sitting in his car last night had felt fun. The happy, bouncing adrenaline of hoping he’d find you at the end of the night when he’d waited precisely for your spot in line to join. His presence felt so warm.

You prayed he wouldn’t ignore you at City Hall, but it wasn’t heeded. It was as if you’d stopped existing. Alfred had texted you an update earlier that day about the housing situation, letting you know he’d secured apartments for the last of them through this time next year, probably the most obvious confirmation that Bruce was done interacting with you. He’d ended the text with: We’ll take it from here. You’d crossed a line.

The crossbody bag hanging heavy on your shoulder mocked your spine, though you’d packed light. At the meeting’s end, you kept to the foyer wall as you dug through it, pulling out the plane ticket to make sure it didn’t rip on the hard edges of the recorder and notebook shoved between chargers and sweatpants. Pen…

“Thought you were staying through the election.”

The bag slipped off your shoulder and fell to the floor, masking your gasp. Positive he wasn’t looking at you, you chanced a look up after stooping to grab your bag. His eyes were fixed on yours, relentless. You wondered how any criminals resisted him. “Um,” you swallowed, hard, your mind drifting away. After a few embarrassing breaths that felt weird to do while in direct eye contact, words found you. “I’m visiting for the weekend. Mom stuff.”

The bags under his eyes were pronounced. He sprayed that cologne again. His hair was done, but somehow still in his face. His sweater switched for a black turtleneck. You caught it all in piecemeal, never spending too long in one place. He hadn’t blinked, something which made you feel wholeheartedly exposed. You broke the stare, flustered, pretending to fiddle with the zipper on your bag to escape it, his smoldering—but when you looked up he was gone.

Bruce took his time pulling out his wallet, making small talk with the valet about the weather while he thumbed through hundreds. Depending on how soon you got in the Uber, he’d be rich. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine–he needed to stop there. A thousand dollar tip for parking his car? He didn’t want the guy to get suspicious.

The guy’s face was pale, and he stuttered. “Sir, did you–”

“Feeling generous.” Waiting to see if you were about to get abducted. He nodded and took his keys, taking short, slow strides while he pretended to take in the air, maybe give the paparazzi more glamor shots.

The faintest whisper of your name from across the street pulled his attention to a man driving a blue Toyota Corolla. No dents, no scratches. He wished he could make an ID on the driver, a stocky man with a thick beard and dirty blonde hair. He watched you get in in pieces–first your hand on the back passenger door, then your bag, then your hips, then your head. He realized too late he’d been openly gawking, stowing his hands to hide their shaking. When the Corolla drove off, he jumped into the driver’s seat and sped to the nearest place of isolation, swallowing spoons of bile. Were you safe? His rapid breathing was speeding up his body’s rejection of breakfast. Would you come back in pieces?

The very instant he’d thrown off the cameras, he stumbled out and vomited, one hand stabilizing him to the brick, the other holding his hair behind his ear. It splashed over his shoes and freckled his calves. He gasped between spurts, gag reflex mingling salt pooling by his lips. His forehead dragged on the concrete wall, catching some hairs of his eyebrow. Retching turned to dry heaves, which evolved to wheezes. He couldn’t follow you. He couldn’t drive you. Fuck.

He got dizzy again when he thought of the plane ticket. Hysteria had taken over him, freezing his veins with pure panic. You were killing him. How long it had taken you to answer, leaving him standing there, frigid. You were going to kill him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look at it, he couldn’t. He couldn’t talk to you. He wanted to fall into you. Learn more about you. Be around you. It was actually killing him, he should’ve just let you leave. He shouldn’t have talked to you. He’d seen that you’d bought the ticket a week ago on the receipt dangling out of your bag, it wasn’t an emergency, and that should’ve been enough, but he’d wrestled with asking you about what prompted the visit, if your mom was alright, just to hear you talk. Just to hear you talk!

He’d deluded himself into thinking he could ignore it. But the fear that gripped him now, the damn terror, the grating, emulsifying anxiety that liquified his insides at seeing you get into the car. He hadn’t thought it would be that bad. That it was still this bad. Why was it this bad?! He barely knew you! Why did it feel like you were dying? Why couldn’t he breathe?

Logic hadn’t helped quell the worry. Not yesterday, not last night, not the night before, not this morning, not during the meeting, not now. He was being stupid. Stupid, stupid…

He pulled out his phone and fought the urge to throw it. 8:20, you were probably at the airport by now. It wasn’t far, you’d absolutely be there if you hadn’t been kidnapped. Barrel to your skull. He should’ve driven you. Should’ve. Should’ve. Should’ve.

Get there safe?

But he couldn’t press send. He couldn’t wait on a response. He dropped the phone with the earthquake that were his fingers, scraping indents into his nails as he clawed at the ground for it. His chest was tight, his mind going in and out of a red backdrop, the sounds of the cars on the highway searing through his eardums. His throat was closing up. It was closing up, and he wouldn’t be able to breathe, he’d die right here, he’d die.

His finger hovered on the dial below your name.

The next day Bruce found himself sitting in a small waiting area at three in the afternoon. The walls were the same shade of beige, and the same secretary took his name. The seats were the only thing different, a lot softer than he remembered.

Seeing her face again felt disorienting, nearly catapulting him back to the months after the murder. She was older now, her hair filled with shades of gray. Her smile was the same, and her voice unchanged. It was the only thing tethering him to the same room down the stuffy hallway, into a room far smaller than he thought it had been.

“Bruce, welcome back. It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?” Iris was the only name he knew of hers. He hadn’t looked at the directory when he’d called, he’d only left his name, number, and his preference of provider. He struggled not to feel ten years old sitting in front of her after all this time, his body already folding in on itself. His hands warmed themselves squished between his thighs, his shoulders trying their damndest to connect.

He nodded, and glazed over while she went over the consent forms he’d already signed. He had to blink back to the room when she said ‘tell me more about that’.

“I don’t want a lot of sessions. I just need solutions. They need to stop.”

Iris nodded at him, her brows knit just so. Her chair was thick and upholstered, the yellow sitting discordantly with the shade of blue on the walls. “The panic attacks need to stop?”

“Yeah.”

She wrote something on her clipboard, scribbling the only sound in the room. “What usually precipitates the panic, Bruce?”

Per usual, her eyes drilled into him. Like they wouldn’t let him get out of it. “Nothing.”

The silence hung for a few beats, something she did often, but he’d conveniently forgotten. The first few sessions of theirs they’d sat in mutual silence, with the odd prompting question to try to bring him out of it. She threw him a bone this time. “Seems to come out of nowhere?”

He immediately knew why he’d stopped coming. He loathed to sit in his body, to have someone point their finger at all the sticky points. Like she did again, not letting up.

“What’s coming up?”

“People. People cause them.”

“Tell me more.” She crossed her leg and sat back in the seat, anticipating Bruce giving a novel. It made him only want to say less, and he only shrugged in response.

The silence continued for another two minutes, like a game of tug-of-war.

“Is it certain people?”

There was always a sticking point, too. The first question that set him on edge, brought him closer to the jagged edges of his mind he desperately tried to drown. He nodded slowly, not wanting to give anything away, not wanting to sit and stare at each other.

But that was all it was. Silent, apart from the ticking of the clock by the door. He knew why she did this, and why she did it now. She’d explained it one day, letting him know this was his space, and she could only do with it what he gave. She’d been kind enough when she said it, but he’d still felt like he was doing it wrong. Still loathed why he was in there in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to sit in this room while Alfred waited in the lobby, he wanted to eat dinner with his parents.

He forced more words to fill the space, determined to rid his body of the emotional toxin as hurriedly as possible. He tapped his foot impatiently. “So what do I do about it? If I have to keep being around those people?”

“What do you think?”

He grunted, sucking on his teeth to abate a scoff. “Just tell me what to do.”

She nodded, setting aside her clipboard. “Sounds like you really want relief from something excruciating.”

He hated when she used feeling words. Hated when she’d pull out the feelings wheel, try to get descriptive with the toils of his head and stomach. He didn’t realize he was breathing harder, eyes shifting about the room, until she drew attention to it. Of course she did.

“Are you starting to feel it right now?”

His hands gripped the edge of the couch, shoulders tensing. He felt like something was about to spill out of him, bubbling to the surface, but it wasn’t clear, it wasn’t tangible. He focused on the carpet, counting the rings of thread, staving it off. He felt himself begin to sway, and nodded.

Her pointed, slow breathing filled the room, and he begrudgingly matched it until his shoulders dropped. She’d described deep breathing to him twenty years ago as ‘pulling in air’ to your body so it can ‘keep you on the floor’. God, he hadn’t thought about that in over a decade. Once his breathing was under control, she struck again.

“Are you fine with me asking some questions about what it feels like?”

He waited for her to speak, eyeing her cautiously. She caught his imperceptible nod, something that made him more angry than he wanted to divulge. Always under the microscope.

“Let me know if it’s too activating, and we can go right back to breathing.” She pulled up her clipboard again, clicking her pen open. “Does it feel like your throat is closing up, chest tight, like you’re worried you won’t be able to breathe?”

His face grew hot. “Yes.”

“Any images cross your mind, or repeating thoughts?” She wrote something down while he hesitated, squeezing his eyes shut more with each syllable. He felt small. Tiny. Smaller than that kitten.

“That I'm dying.” The color red smeared across his vision, recurrently. When he opened his eyes and refocused, the image unblurred. His face scrunched, nose crinkling. “And… blood.”

Iris nodded, giving him a moment to take another regulating breath. She waited for his shoulders to drop again before pressing on. “I noticed you started trembling. Is there anything else you noticed? Thoughts, feelings, physical sensations?”

He’d been trembling? He looked down at his hands, knuckles white from gripping the couch, buzzing. His stomach flipped, burning, springing saliva to his tongue. He hated this. “Nausea.”

“If you could describe how you’re feeling in one word, what comes to mind?” Her pen hung loosely in her hand, balanced on one knuckle. Her eyes had more wrinkles around them. Her shoulders sagged more. The bookshelf that had been to her right was now a side table with a glass of water and box of tissues.

He deliberately reminded himself that the faster he answered, the faster he could leave. Moreso than that, the faster he could get over the bullshit plaguing him. “Fear.”

“Mmm.” She nodded, clicking her pen into the top of the board. He didn’t like how she was sitting up. What was she about to say? Had she already psychoanalyzed him enough? Could she give him a plan to walk out of here and never break down again? “Thank you for exploring that with me.” Bruce sat further back into the couch when she resituated closer, nervous to bridge any of the distance padding their interactions. “Mind if I make an observation?”

He gestured for her to speak, wishing his body would stop trembling, giving itself away to her. Everything felt too charged, she was choosing her words too carefully… her tone too soothing, too soft. She pulled a paper from her stack, from the bottom of the clipboard. “You gave me the exact same answers after the death of your parents. What comes up when I say that?”

No shit. He didn’t suppress his eye-roll, a decision she’d praised him for years ago. ‘Expressing yourself is good, Bruce. Gets it out of your system. That’s what this place is for.’ She didn’t acknowledge it now. “That’s when they started.”

Her sigh was gentle, accommodating. It made him uncomfortable to sit in a room that felt like someone walking through his brain. “The reason I ask is that we identified some triggers and base fears in our previous work together. I’m curious if they hold up now.”

Bruce vaguely recalled a few, the general concepts of people and grief, but nothing specific. Still, his palms grew sweaty, the shaking increasing–so much so that he had to metabolize it by tapping both feet against the ground. The sticker-worthy cliches were coming back to him in whispers. ‘Go through to get through’ ‘feel to heal’, phrases that Alfred had picked up from their brief group meetings, employing incessantly at home in the year following their deaths. Maybe getting to the root will solve it. Make his brain a crumb more hospitable, no longer running completely loose. Maybe it was something about needing to save you somehow, like he’d felt with his parents. Finally, something he could logic through. You’d be gone from Gotham soon enough, and wouldn’t need any saving. You didn’t even want saving. Yeah. Bring it. Easy.

“Would you like me to read them to you?”

Bruce nodded.

“One of the activating events for you was making friends at school. You described it as being ‘scary’ to spend time with others. When I asked what was ‘scary’ about that, you said: ‘I don't want to be more sad’.”

Ah, shit. He felt like the room was swallowing him up, the walls closing in.

“Another activating event was sleeping. You used to have a lot of nightmares. We deduced the nightmares were flashbacks to–”

He cut her off, hoping it would salvage the last molecules of oxygen left in the room. “I remember them.”

She glanced over her glasses—when had she put those on?—and paused before saying the rest. “When I asked you what helps, you said being alone. You said ‘more people means more funerals’.”

More, more, more. He was shoved under a spotlight, her eyes the lens of a microscope, excavating all of what he’d so diligently buried. Was this therapy or suffering? Therapeutic, or torturous? The room began to spin.

“Do you think that’s still true for you?”

Stars entered his vision, blurring her features into one blob. She started her breathing thing again, which only made him more aware of his body. He felt claws around his neck, nails jamming into his skull, a bear sitting on his chest that he couldn’t roll out from under. “It’s bullshit. I don’t care about her.” He winced, like you might have overheard it. “I don’t have a reason to.”

If she was thinking something, her eyes didn’t give it away. “Do you need a reason to care about someone?”

His eyes could’ve bulged out of his head, a scoff rolling off his tongue, escaping the ropes of doom pulling him under. Obviously!

He wanted her to stay silent. Do the silent thing. Do fucking anything than keep her foot on his neck. “What’s the reason for others in your life?”

Speaking = leaving faster. “Alfred, Dory, they’re family.” He shook his head, the back of his throat lighting up in flames. Shocked the words were still coming out, certain his esophagus wasn’t open anymore, wishing these confessions brought any relief. “It’s stupid. Stupid.” His breaths were shallow, rapid, and he felt his brain shut down in one thunk. “She hasn’t, I don’t,”

“Take a deep breath in through your nose, then a long breath out–”

He started to wheeze, clamoring to his feet. “I can’t do this,”

Iris sat forward. “Bruce,”

He fell to the side of the couch, gasping. “I can’t fucking breathe,” he folded over the edge, clutching his chest. He needed to go to the hospital. She needed to call 911 now, while he was still partially here. He wouldn’t for long, one of these breaths was going to be his last, he knew it…

She crouched next to him, making him think of you. He slapped the thought down as quick as it came, unbearable. Dying. Chest. Air. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The last ten minutes had been hazy, in and out, but he was sitting on the opposite end of the couch now, fiddling with a stress ball she’d handed him during a grounding technique he barely remembered. His throat was thick with snot, his eyes hot and dry. He didn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed, though the feeling kept knocking to be heard.

“How are you feeling now?” Her low, even voice was more soothing now. He was utterly depleted. Worn. Avoiding eye contact. “That grounding exercise seemed to help. Do you think so?”

Now he felt silly. Now he felt stupid, but he nodded. How ridiculous was it that he couldn’t even handle something as silly as a passing emotion? Call 911? She probably thought he was an idiot, but couldn’t say it because of therapeutic rapport or something. Or something. Even his thoughts weren’t forming right. He felt hollow.

“Panic attacks are terrifying, and draining. Do you want to stop for today, and come back next week?”

He had a visceral response, jolting back to life. “No. I want them to stop. Now.”

Her weak smile told him everything he needed to know. “Panic attacks are tricky. Especially when they’re attached to early traumas. Avoiding can sometimes have the opposite effect, increasing the panic response, and that fear you described.”

His body clenched with defeat, the last kicks of anger pouting like a little kid. “So I have to feel like this forever.”

She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her. If he wanted to panic, he could do that in any alley in the city. Could do it in his own bedroom. No witnesses. “Becoming more aware of triggers can help. Help us be kinder, gentler, utilize coping skills early on, before a full panic response. Sounds like one of the triggers is someone new in your life. That’s something we could explore.”

Fifteen minutes left on the clock, he shoved through. Still time for a breakthrough. No need to come back. Rapid fire. “Doesn’t that mean I don’t care? This panic?” It wasn’t a good feeling, and definitely not one anyone with any sense would associate with anything positive.

“Depends on what it stems from. Are you sure you’re wanting to discuss this today?”

“I want it done.”

A resonant pause, absolutely there to help his words echo. “What situations with her cause the attacks?”

“A lot.”

“What’s the most recent?”

“Being worried.” Shit, speaking this fast, maybe they could get somewhere.

“Being worried?”

The thought that swerved into him made him still. Made his chest hurt all over again. Made him afraid it wouldn’t stop. He pulled a sigh from the depth of his chest cavity, swearing he could taste the blood on his tongue. “That she’s gonna die.”

“Is that a common thread with the other times?”

He hardly heard her as he stared off into space, his mind and body numb.

“If this is too distressing,”

Bruce felt the world fall away. “When she tries to help me. It’s too much.” The clock didn’t tick anymore. His lungs didn’t breathe anymore. His stomach shivered, pulling its lining into his throat.

“Overbearing? Overstimulating?”

Every breath was a swallowed knife. Every word spoken under his breath evaporating into mist. “It’s like I'm on fire.”

He was far away, but finally in the feeling. “Stay with that. What is it saying?”

The walls shifted and moved, glimmers of light fusing to the center of his retinas. “…Run. Everywhere.” His face twitched. “Closer. Farther.” A tear slid down his cheek, but he couldn’t move. Blood spurted in his ears. Globbed over his shoes.

“Is any direction louder?”

“No. Yes.”

“Which one?”

It came out in a gasp, thick with saliva. “Closer.”

“But the flames hurt.”

His body shuddered. Exhaustion split his spine, his shoulders calloused from the barbell welded to his skin. His empty voice showed how intensely he yearned for rest. “Yeah.”

“Is that why you were saying it’s stupid? Stupid to walk into a fire?”

His jaw quivered when he nodded.

“Sounds like there’s something that draws you in.” She followed his analogy. “Fires can destroy, but they’re also warm. Full of light.”

His eyes shut and his chin fell to his chest. No words flowed in or out, no feelings but the weight of his bones and a keen awareness of the flesh casing them. He didn’t know how long he sat there. He couldn’t feel time passing at all.

“What’s pulling you closer?”

He winced.

“Is the fire too bright?”

All the saliva left his mouth, and he blinked back into the room, orbs of light swimming in his periphery. “I won’t make it.”

“Sounds like your body trying to protect itself. Survival.”

His face squeezed in unison with his hands, his body coming back into focus. “I don’t want to go through any of that ever again. I can’t.”

“Or you won’t make it?”

“I’m not made for that.”

“For what?”

He thought of the slip of the grapple between his fingers when he wasn’t sure it took. The disorienting overwhelm of an elbow to the mouth while a chorus of shouts and gunshots peppered his chest. The metal-on-metal wrenching of a loose axle joint on a high-speed chase. Nothing frightened him more than the feeling of being around you. And nothing had ever made him feel more ridiculous.

Bruce packed up then, taking his copy of the intake forms from her clipboard on the way out. She thanked him for coming, sharing that her schedule was pretty available for the coming weeks if he wanted to dive deeper. “It was pleasant to see you again, Bruce. I hope you take care.”

He took a moment before going to the basement to haul his weary body to bed. He laid on his back and counted the dusty cobwebs lacing the ceiling; if he suspended disbelief enough, he could place himself there. Counting the boards on his ceiling and the creaks of the walls in the wind. Feel the dying hope in his chest that it was all just a nightmare. See the fading indents of his mother’s slippers until the carpet bounced back.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to dive deeper. Maybe he wasn’t made for it, but god… you made the concept alluring.

[mockerycrow]

Undercover II (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

Summary: After being waterboarded, your body is too exhausted and injured to handle any more. Soap and you are formally introduced outside of an interrogation setting.

[WARNINGS: medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, angst.]

“Any dog, you put him in the corner, no matter if they’re vicious or not, they’re going to bite back.” -Mike James.

WAKING UP AFTER such harsh injuries is weird. It’s like the world keeps trying to materialize, distant voices that aren’t too definite, textures under my fingers aren’t quite recognizable yet, not being able to tell pain or pleasure from one another.. I wake up first with sensations across my body—pain, numbness, open wounds, closed wounds—cold, hot, burning, piercing. It makes me wish maybe I did die by Makarov’s hand. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to bare the burden of everything I know, everything I did to prove I was.. loyal, to that sick, sonofabitch.

I feel incredibly heavy, sandbags instead of muscles, my throat feels like I swallowed glass—that’s almost worse than the pain I feel in the rest of my body. The next thing I hear is a faint monitor, maybe two different ones? I can’t tell. My mouth is dry so when I swallow, nothing comes down my throat, but the retraction of my muscles in my neck ache nonetheless. I cough quietly and I gain just enough energy to open my eyelids. I find myself in a.. infirmary type room. I go to move my hand over my gut but metal sliding against metal hits my ears. My unfocused gaze hovers over to my hand and I see one of my hands is handcuffed to the railing of the gurney. My heart drops into my gut as I weakly pull on the handcuffs, a quiet sigh leaving my lips.

Fuck.

My free hand rests gently on top of my gut—they had to have cut me open or some shit, because this hurts like fucking hell on Earth. I feel like my goddamn intestines are about to spill out. Or maybe it’s the aftermath of Makarov’s torture hitting me.

I look down at myself and I’m changed into a fresh hospital gown, a surprisingly high quality blanket draped across my body. My free arm has an IV in my arm and in my vein in my hand, connected to a dispenser not too far away. I look up at the hooks decorated with liquid medicine—definitely a pain killer, I don’t know about the other bags, though. Can’t read from here. My hand goes my face and I feel two tubes; an oxygen tube gently hooked into my nose and a.. I think a feeding tube? My fingers go down to my jaw and I find a bandage wrapped around my neck and jaw, my eyebrows furrowing together. Jesus. Maybe he did break my jaw. Why can’t I feel it, then? I lay my head back down onto the paper pillowcase, closing my eyes for a few seconds. So, now I have to make a plan. Did they patch me because I was about to die? They know I have a lot of valuable information, so they need me alive just enough for that stuff. Makarov’s remaining warehouses, his extensive plans, everything. Do I keep my mouth shut? Yes. I have to remain loyal to my true team, not the one who’s planning ripping populations apart, desecrating entire cities—

The nearby door opens and my eyes shoot open as my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. A doctor comes in with a nurse and they pause at the sight of me being awake. I stare back at them for a moment before the doctor smiles softly at me. “You’re finally awake. That’s good, we nearly lost ya.” His accent is a thick southern-american (U.S.) one. I don’t answer—I wish I could thank them, but I have to be Zhenya. The doctor turns to the nurse and murmurs something just out of my hearing range, the nurse nodding in return and leaving the room, leaving me alone with the doctor. He begins to approach me and my heart monitor immediately begins to spike, as if I’m in danger—because I am—I have no idea who this guy is or if he plans on torturing me, too! The doctor stops in his tracks, his voice coming out as comforting and soft, “Woah there, pal. I’m not here to harm ya, just here to check your vitals. Ask you a few questions, too.”

My hands clench into weak fists as I keep my eyes on him—wait, American??—I don’t have much time to think about that as the doctor comes over to my IV machine, glancing at the numbers before looking at me with a soft, sympathetic look. “My name is Doctor Erikson. Are you in any pain?” I hesitate to answer but I give him a subtle nod, my hand resting back over my stomach. Doctor Erikson turns to the IV machine and ups the drip dosage, glancing at me. “Alright, now I have some basic questions for you, okay, hon? You were out longer than expected, so it’s just prodecure.” I answer with another nod, keeping my eyes training on Dr. Erikson. He has dark skin with tightly curled hair, put up into a neat bun. He has square glasses resting on his big, arched nose. Dr. Erikson is clean shaven, a scar resting on his cheek—looks quite old, probably from a shaving accident when he was younger. He has big, welcoming and soft brown eyes that you don’t feel like they stare into your soul. In this line of work, we need more people like him. His eyes may be soft, but you can tell he’s seen some things. I rapidly blink in order to focus; I naturally profile people when I feel.. on edge.

Dr. Erikson presses the end of his pen and the ballpoint end pops out with a click! He looks at me, a soft subtle smile remaining on his face. “What is the year?”

“2023.”

He nods and quickly checks something off—probably a box. “Who is the President of the United States?”

“Joe Biden.”

“What’s your name?”

I stare at him for a second and my heart stops for a moment before I answer with, “Zhenya. Zhenya Antonenko.”

Dr. Erikson and I stare at each other for a moment before he checks off two more boxes. He sets aside the clipboard on a counter nearby in the room. He keeps the pen and walks over, murmuring, “Keep your head still, follow the pen with your eyes only.”

Dr. Erikson begins to move the pen left and right, tracking my eye movement as I keep my eyes trained on the pen. After he doesn’t find any eye coordination discrepancies, he sets the pen down and grabs an otoscope, putting a singular use cone on the end, clicking the ‘on’ button, the end of the cone emitting light. He comes to my left side and gently puts the cone inside of my ear, checking for a few seconds. “You’ll have some visitors in a few moments, they will inform you of your medical injuries and what procedures we took.” He murmurs softer than he was before, considering how close he is my ears. My ear tingles as he removes the otoscope, coming around to the other side of the bed to check my other ear. I don’t respond. Dr. Erikson hums as he throws away the single use cone and murmurs ‘stare straight ahead’, using the little light from the otoscope to test my pupil dilation.

Fuck. I don’t want to see them again. Not now. My hand grabs the blanket, and then there’s a firm and quick knock on the door before the door swings open.

In comes fucking Laswell, Hudson, Mutton-Chops, and Mohawk.

What in God’s name is fucking going on??

Dr. Erikson puts the otoscope away and walks over to them, glancing back at me before talking. “They’re in a delicate state, physically and mentally,” He mutters, probably thinking I can’t hear. He isn’t good at being quiet with military dudes. His own people though, sure. “Be sure to play nice.” Hudson immediately approaches my bedside and I can’t help the hot and stinging tears that threaten to spill from my tear ducts—his soothing voice instantaneously makes my worries die down for a good 10 minutes. “You’re okay now, [Name]. The mission is over. You’re in good hands.”

I choke on a sob; of relief? Of devastation? Of need? Of grief? I don’t know.

I lift my handcuffed hand ever so slightly, my voice wobbly, “Why?”

“It’s a safety precaution,” Laswell says gently, approaching the bedside that Hudson is on. Mutton-Chops and Mohawk stay by the door, quietly eyeing me. I catch Mohawk’s eyes and I can’t read his emotion which makes me feel on edge; I turn back to my familiar faces. “S.. Safety precaution?” I question, glancing between them. They give each other a look—a look of pity—before Hudson speaks up. “You’ve.. been through a lot, [Name]. More than I can imagine. Until we have you go through a psychological evaluation, we’re keeping the cuffs on you.”

Oh. So like a caged animal.

My shoulders sink and I glance at the handcuffs, joy mixing with dread. “I know it’s hard, but we’re having Soap stay with you until we can have that psychologist come for you.” Laswell murmurs, gently grabbing my hand and squeezing it? avoiding the IV and it’s tape. I nod as I glance over at the men. “What kind of name is Soap?” I mutter, earning a snort from Mutton-Chops. Hudson looks at me worriedly, his wrinkles-in-the-corner-of-his-eyes kind of worried. I look back up at Hudson and look between him and Laswell a few times, biting the inside of my cheek. “Everything?” I ask. They don’t even need more than that to know what I’m talking about. “Everything.” He confirms with a nod. I take a deep breath—which I immediately regret because now it feels like my guts are trying to spill out again owowowowow—and I must wince because Laswell grabs a pillow from a nearby table and puts it on my abdomen. “Here, hold the pillow with soft pressure. It helps that weird feeling with your stitches. Learned it from the field.” She comments, her eyes scanning me like a worried mother. I nod as a thank you and use my free arm, applying pressure across my abdomen—gentle, mind you. Oddly enough, it brings me some level of relief. “We’ve provided Soap with a recorder so we can record your statement and stories, so you don’t have to repeat everything over and over.”

I nod silently—my throat feels like shit and I have no energy to speak, so might as well save what I do have for the statements..

Hudson clears his throat and glances at Laswell, then back at me, “Laswell and I have to go for a bit, since the operation has been revealed, we have a lot of shit to do.” He says with an unsatisfied tone; like he wants to stay by my side. My heart warms a bit from that— Hudson has always taken care of his team, made me feel like I belong. I crave for him to stay near me but I bite my lip, —and then quickly releasing it from the hold my teeth had on it because I one-hundred-percent forgot that my lip was injured—and shake my head. “Go,” I start. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere, right?” I attempt to make a joke, and Hudson tries to offer a stale chuckle—one he only does if someone got seriously injured.. It must be bad—and he squeezes my hand gently.

They murmur me their goodbyes, taking their leave, pushing the door open and walking out. Mutton-Chops follows them close behind.

That leaves me alone with Mohawk—“So you must be Soap, then.” I state as the man starts to approach my beside, his boots thumping against the infirmary floor. He offers a boyish grin that fits him quite well and he nods, grabbing a chair and easily pulling it kind of near the bed, but not too close. The distance suggests distrust, caution. Which is understandable because he did take place in my brief torture part two..

Like a wild animal, again.

“The one and only,” He chimes, his fingers fiddling with the recorder. Soap leans back in the chair, his eyes studying me for a second. “Doc said someone should give ya th’rundown of what happened, eh?”

I nod, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the pillowcase of the pillow across my stomach. Soap hums and tilts his head, his expression turning ever so slightly sad. “You had internal bleedin’ n’ broken ribs; one of which nearly pierced ye lung. Your jaw is fractured on yer right side, they had t’put a screw in. Your stabs wounds were pretty ‘typical’ by the doc’s standards, but they did have to open you up and repair th’abdominal wall. He said you’re lucky you didn’t lose any organs.”

Lucky.

Lucky.

Lucky.

That fucking word. “I’m lucky?” I bark out with disbelief. I know I am, but that phrase makes me so angry.

I look back at Soap whose lips are pursed together; he’s sitting up from my slight outburst which makes me look back down at my lap. Soap doesn’t say anything for a moment, the faint beeps of the monitors filling that empty space. When he does speak, he switches on the recorder. “This is Sergeant John MacTavish, Callsign Soap interviewing…” He trails off, holding the recorder out between himself so it can pick up his voice, as well as mine. I take a deep breath and let it go. “[Name] [Last Name].” Soap offers a mood lifting grin as he repeats his name back to me and murmuring the date. His lip curls just enough to show some of his gums by his right canine tooth, ever so slightly. I can’t help but wonder for a moment why he suddenly is so friendly, but I already know the answer to that. When you’re in this line of work, there are friends and there are foes. There are no frenemies in this game. You are either on their side or against it. Something I can relate to.

“What division are in, and your mission?” He has a professional tone for the sake of the recording. I don’t even know this guy it seems so unlike him that it makes me wanna roll my eyes into the back of my head until they get stuck there. “I’m a sergeant of Task Force Eclipse. My Captain is Tyler Hudson, and my teammate, besides my captain is Trinity Wilson, code-name Lake. My other teammate Sasha Miranov, code-name Coal, is KIA. Richard Jensen, code-name Tendril, had committed treason and had joined the very cause I’ve been fighting against. He’s also KIA.” I pause as my heart aches. “My mission began a few years ago, I was a special ops soldier that worked with the CIA, being placed wherever I was needed. Station Chief Kate Laswell called me into a special conference room where I was met with my future colleagues…”

I pause in the doorway as my eyes scan several different unfamiliar faces, sweeping the room on instinct. I spot Laswell, General Shepherd, and an old friend, Tyler Hudson standing in front of the round table where the three strangers are sitting. “Come in,” Laswell beckons, holding a thick, vanilla folder between her fingertips. The confusion is shared between amongst me and three strangers—I shut the door behind me. Laswell leans over the table and presses a button and the glass walls of the conference room become foggy and soundproof. “Sir.” I greet General Shepherd with a kind and professional tone, taking the seat closest to Laswell. He nods towards me, his hands folded neatly in front of him. His brow is pushed forward like something is troubling him; isn’t surprising, considering his position. Laswell holds up the folder as she begins to speak. “You must be wondering why I have called you all here today. You’re here because between Captain Hudson, General Shepherd and I, you four are the best for this job. You have not been given any details up until now because this quite possibly might be the most confidential mission you will ever work on in your time of service.”

Laswell places the folder down and motions to the person furthest from me. “Everyone, this is Richard Jensen. He will be joining us from MI6, along with—the girl who is next to him—Trinity Wilson. Then there is Sasha Miranov and [Name] [Last Name] from our very own CIA.” We look between each other wearily because Laswell still hasn’t said the nature of this mission, and General Shepherd hasn’t said a word at all this entire time. We give each other silent head nods because there will be time to get acquainted later. I put my hand on the table and fingers tap nervously against the glass top. Laswell steps out of the way of the wall with both Captain Hudson and General Shepherd. Hudson hands her a small remote which she murmurs a thank you, turning to said wall. It prompts all of us to look in the same direction and she presses a button and a projector projects a light box with a symbol of a moon and sun in the middle, hints of CIA and MI6 logos as well. She looks back at us, letting out another sigh laced with stress. “Today, you are no longer with your old units. You are now in Task Force Eclipse, lead by Captain Tyler Hudson; curtesy of CIA.” My eyebrows raise for a second because of the anticipation in my bones, in my veins. Working with Hudson?

She presses another button and pops up Richard Jensen’s face and basic information; his name, his age, blood type, occupation, whatever. “Also starting today, you are no longer yourselves,” Laswell presses another button and Jensen’s information fades into Russian, quickly translating back to English. My lips part in surprise as Laswell opens the vanilla folder, going around the table, passing out different documents to everyone. “Starting today, you are living as new people, from either Russia or Ukraine. You lived and grew up in these areas and share the same ideals as our enemy—who you will be working closely with.” No fucking way. There’s absolutely no fucking way—

“We have entrusted you five to work this undercover op, to weasel your way into Makarov’s organization and take information to relay it back to us. Is that clear?” Shepherd’s tone is rough, rude, and authoritative as always. He’s leaning his hand on the table, looking between all of us. I keep glancing between my documents, briefly glancing over the information before looking back up at him. “Sir, no offense, our mission is to.. be terrorists?” Trinity speaks up, her accent cutting through the air like a knife. Her tone shows she’s absolutely baffled, traced with incredulousness. “Yes. You will have to be prepared to commit acts you never would otherwise.” He responds, holding back his snappy response from her own. I look down at my paper and see my new name, my new age—very close to my actual one—my new backstory, fuck, even passports and other official documents are displayed with my new name. “You will have to work close with the group, even find your way under Makarov’s wing. We will set up times and dates for you to relay important information back to your Captain, and to me.” Laswell’s voice is a bit quieter in volume as the heavy mood sets in the room. I tense as I borderline feel everything just.. sink. “You all have worked undercover ops before, and you all have done incredibly well. This is why we trust you with this task.”

It was no secret the CIA and MI6 trusted some of the wrong people, and some of the right people.

taglist: @glitterypirateduck @darling006 @elowynnlane @hardnutpost [If you are not tagged and you’re here, it did not let me tag you.]

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 17

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy and Jake need to have a few conversations about the future | smut

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Jake wouldn’t let me leave the bed longer than it took for me to brush my teeth in the morning, guiding me to straddle his lap. 

“We’re not having sex with your parents in the house,” I pulled the comforter over my shoulders, keeping out the chill morning air. Jake settled his hands on my hips,

“Just want you close, we’ve got to talk.” I tensed, panic immediately setting in. Jake didn’t let me spiral for more than a second, pulling me in for a slow, emotional kiss that had my lungs burning for air. “We’re okay, Wildflower,” He whispered. “We’ve just got to talk about deployment stuff.” 

“Sure you don’t just want to kiss me again?” Jake chuckled, giving me a peck on the lips.

“No distracting me,” He squeezed my hips, “Let’s figure out how to handle deployments as a couple.” A couple. I liked the way he said that.

“Okay, how did you handle them with your other girlfriends?” Jake blushed, looking away. “You’ve never been deployed with a girlfriend, have you?” 

“I didn’t really do committed before I met you, so, this is new for both of us.” I rested my forehead against his,

“I’m scared that if I tell you something big, you’ll be distracted in the air,” Tears pricked in my eyes. “If something happened to you after I told you something? I’d never be able to forgive myself.” Jake sighed, brows furrowing in concentration as he stared at me for a long moment. “What?”

“I can’t argue with that but it’s not what I want,” Jake’s frown deepened. “I don’t want you having to carry the burden alone when big things happen.” He brushed hair behind my ear, “And I don’t want to feel blindsided when I get home.” 

I sat back, biting my bottom lip, thinking. Obviously even though Pops had been in the navy, Jake’s family weren’t the people to ask. They were biased. Penny would probably know what to do. 

“How about this, if something big happens, I’ll talk to Penny about how to handle it. Whatever she says goes, tell you or don’t tell you, we listen to Penny. I’ll run this past her, make sure she’s okay being on the hook for this, but, it’s the best idea I’ve got.” 

“If she’s okay with it, I’m okay with it,” I nodded, smiling, a weight off my shoulders now that was sorted out. I’d give Penny a call later and run her through things but for now, Jake was home and I could finally enjoy it. 

“Anything else you want to talk about?” I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his. Jake rolled us so that he was on top, deepening the kiss. I moaned softly, tugging on his hair. Jake squeezed my hips, one hand smoothing up my side, coming to palm my breast. My hips keened into his, Jake’s touch lighting a two-curling fire in my stomach.

“Do you want kids?” Jake whispered, trailing kisses across my cheek and down my neck. Did I want kids? On one hand, I wanted to see my kids playing with my nieces, running around while Harvey and I looked on. On the other hand, I was terrified that something would happen, leaving them orphans like Harvey and I had been. Jake kissed me just behind the ear, making my brain go fuzzy.

“Time out, pretty boy,” Jake pulled back, clearly worried he had done something wrong. “It’s really hard to think while you’re doing that.” Jake huffed but settled us both on our sides, pulling me into his chest. “You really do love to manhandle me don’t you?”

“You doubted my ability once,” Jake kissed my forehead, I rolled my eyes, recalling the night in his truck. “Just want to make sure you remember that I can.” 

“Like I could ever forget,” I sighed, thinking back on that night. “That was the night I realized I was falling in love with you.” Jake tensed and I kept going, sliding my hand under his shirt. “Still wasn’t one hundred percent sure you felt the same way but looking back on it, I know you did.” 

“Damn right I did, I thought I was making myself pretty clear but you were determined to write me off,” Jake kissed my hair. “Thankfully you came around though.” 

I hummed in agreement, thinking back over the past few months. Natasha had told me he was a cocky pilot they all initially hated working with and Penny had told me all about his womanizing ways in the past. Then I met him and he was a gentleman for me, always flirting, but doing everything he could to make me feel special. Always listening to me, remembering the little details like my favorite color and how  I took my coffee. 

He’d be an attentive dad, loving and over the top. I could picture it, laying in the back of his truck, stargazing, our kid snuggled between us. I bet Jake would be a total girl dad like Pops was, spoiling them and making them feel like princesses. God, the thought of Jake holding a baby was enough to make me regret the no-sex-in-his-parents-house rule and the one-year-proposal rule. 

“Might be a good story to tell our kids one day,” I kissed his chest, right over his heart. “How many do you want?”

“Two or three,” Jake kissed my hair again, “Maybe four.” 

“I’ll agree to two for now but I have a feeling you’ll be pretty convincing,” I pulled away enough to look up at him. The look on his face made me want to give into having enough kids for a soccer team. Jake pulled my leg up over his hips and kissed me hard, I couldn’t help it, hips rolling into his. Jake groaned, grinding against me.

“Can you be quiet for me?” This was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea but instead of standing firm, I nodded. “Good girl.” I let Jake move me around like a rag doll, laying me out on my back, taking his time to make sure I was comfortable, before shimmying the sleep pants I had put on in the morning off and my underwear.

“If we get caught, I’m going to be mortified,” I whispered. “Oh my God, is the door even locked?” 

“Good call,” Jake got up and locked the door. “Now stay quiet or I’ll have to stop.” He crawled back on top of me, snaking a hand between us, sliding a finger between my folds. I bit back a moan, “You’re already so wet for me, baby.”

“Jake,” I whispered, back arching as he slipped a finger inside of me. He kissed me, smothering the noises I had as he worked his fingers in and out, thumb grazing over my clit. 

“Remember, baby, quiet.” I nodded, pressing my lips together. Jake picked up his pace, “Cum for me, Daisy. Cum on my fingers and then we can practice making babies.” That should not have been hot but it was. I had a feeling my IUD was going to be working overtime now that Jake had kids on the brain. My orgasm crashed over me and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, trying to keep myself quiet.

Jake kissed me, sucking on my bottom lip, soothing the bite mark. I reached down, guiding him into me and we both moaned. I hoped there was nobody in the hallway that could hear us, I would never be able to look my in-laws in the eyes if I knew they had heard us having sex. 

“I love you,” Jake whispered, slowly moving in and out, stretching me, making my toes curl in pleasure. “I love you so much and I can’t wait to marry you.” 

“I love you too,” I wrapped my legs around his waist, bringing him deeper inside of me. “So much, Jake.” 

Jake took us through the motions slowly, increasing the pace until the bed squeaked and then slowing again. Somehow the chance of being caught made it all the more exciting, heightening every kiss and thrust until I was on the edge again.

“Going to cum,” I kissed his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. Jake grunted, picking up the pace slightly.

“Cum for me, Daisy, cum on my cock,” My second orgasm washed over me and Jake followed right behind me, spilling inside of me with a muffled moan, his face buried in my neck.

“I love you,” I peppered his shoulder with kisses. “And I can’t wait to marry you either.” 

X

Mama and Daisy were in the kitchen, putting the final touches on dinner while I sat with Pops in the living room. I had attempted to help but the women had kicked me out, mama bringing up my many failed attempts at cooking in the past. Daisy had given me a kiss on the cheek and pushed me towards the living room with Pops.

“She’s a good woman, Jake,” Pops patted my knee. “I knew that before she got here but after meeting her? There’s not a question in my mind.” 

“I’m going to marry her, just as soon as she lets me.” 

“Good,” Pops patted my knee again and then turned up the volume on the TV, drowning out the laughter coming from the kitchen.

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart

Next Chapter

[lihhelsing]

I've got no plans for the weekend (so should we speak then?)

CW: alcohol abuse, mention of cheating (not steddie)

Steve is sad. 

Robin always tells him he shouldn't drink when he's sad, but still, he downs the shot in one go and goes straight for the next. 

Maybe if he keeps the alcohol coming he'll be able to block his thoughts, somehow.

When he finally starts to feel drunk, though, the thoughts are still there. It’s like he can’t possibly escape the memories flooding his mind and it makes him want to bash his head on the table. 

He just wants to forget. 

He wants to forget how happy he was feeling until the moment he caught his girlfriend kissing another guy. In his room, in his /bed/. Steve felt unwell. 

He thought she was going to be upset. He thought she was going to try and defend herself and say 'this is not what it looks like' but she just watched him, a grin on her face as if she didn’t even care. 

And Steve? He stood there for a second before leaving the room, leaving his house, hoping they wouldn’t be there when he got back. 

He ended up in a shitty bar, drinking by himself and feeling completely void of any and all feelings. 

Maybe that’s why it took him a long moment to realize this isn’t his typical bar. He thought it was a place Robin had taken him one time, but he was wrong. He was /clearly/ out of place, still wearing his polo and jeans, ready for date night. 

But Steve's there and alcohol is alcohol and maybe that's exactly what he needs. Just a place to drown his feelings and pretend his life isn't a shit show. He's fine by himself. Knows Robin will eventually call because she always /knows/ when he's not feeling well. 

That is, until the bartender slides him a pink drink with a little umbrella in it. 

"It's from that guy over there," the bartender nods towards a corner where a group stands and one of the guys, the one with long curly hair and a black leather jacket, wiggles his fingers at him. 

Steve feels his cheeks growing hot. The drink matches his polo shirt and that's the first time Steve realizes he's the /only/ person wearing pink at the bar. Everyone else is in black, leather, darker colors. He stands out like crazy. 

But he's drunk and drunk Steve is not known for making the greatest choices, so he downs the drink and before he realizes it, he's walking toward the guys in the corner. They all snicker and whisper among themselves as they watch Steve approaching. 

"You lost, princess?" The long-haired guy talks first. There's a mocking tone to his voice, but Steve knows the way his lips are curled. He's curious. Intrigued. 

"No, I don't think I am," Steve replies and his voice sounds weird to him. There's a confidence he hasn't felt ever since he was in high school and people called him King. 

Steve walks right into the guy's personal space. He's sitting on a high stool, legs spread apart as he sips a glass of bourbon. It's like time is standing still and everyone is waiting for something to happen. 

"Thanks for the drink," Steve says. They aren't touching yet, but it's a matter of time. It's a matter of one of them reaching out. 

"How about another one…?"

"Steve,"

"You can call me Eddie," he says, and motions for the bartender to make another. When Eddie moves his hand again, it is to rest it on Steve's hips. 

Steve acts on instinct. He has never kissed a guy before, but he can't say he hasn't been interested. He can't say he hasn't wondered what it would feel like. His hands find Eddie's lapel and he grips at it. When the drink arrives, Steve notices there isn't anyone else around them. 

Just him, Eddie, and his hands on his hips. 

"What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" Eddie asks. His thumb is drawing circles on Steve's waist, slowly dipping under his shirt and grazing on skin. Steve feels a shiver with just this small touch. 

"Looking for you," he replies. It's not really what he means. 

He had no idea he was looking for a guy like Eddie up until he lay his eyes on him. He knows now. He just wants someone that looks like they could ruin Steve's life. He wants someone that will make him feel something /else/. He wants to feel different. 

"Lucky you found me, then," Eddie says, his smile growing more wolfish. 

"Would you-" Steve starts but cuts himself short. He looks away from Eddie, but soon Eddie's fingers are on his chin, moving his face so they are staring at each other again. 

"Tell me, princess. What is it that you want?" 

Steve swallows and watches as Eddie's eyes follow his every movement. 

"To get back at someone," he says before he loses his courage. 

"And how would you do that?"

"By kissing someone else," Steve says. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. "Kissing you."

"I see," Eddie's entire hand is under Steve's shirt right now. His fingers are warm but his rings are cold and the contrasting sensation is heavenly. "You want to use me, then?"

Steve's cheeks burn. "N-no, I… That's not what I-"

Eddie's laugh fills his ears and he feels his hands pulling him close. When Steve's hips meet Eddie's belly he notices he's half-hard already. 

Eddie leans in closer, mouth next to his ear. "You can use me, princess. I don't mind."

There's a shiver that runs down Steve's spine. Eddie pulls back a little, their noses are almost touching now. 

"I'm just not sure you will want to stop after only one kiss," Eddie says and fuck, Steve's not sure either. 

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 4

Title: Sunday Nights and Lost Memories

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Yuri’s mad at you, you agreed to be friends with the prince and now it’s...movie night?

Warnings: PG18, fluff, swearing, touch of angst, banter, lots of texting!!, nothing too drastic, just them <3, mentions of nudes, reader eats cheese - up to you whether or not it's dairy cheese or not, same goes for the meat. I didn't specify if it's veg or animal based | * there is a part where JK lifts reader. For all you readers out there,  big, little, small, tall, cute, beautiful, handsome, adorable, wonderful, perfect the way you are readers. I say my JK can lift you, okay? He’s strong and able enough to because I say so *

Word Count: 9062

Release Date: May 19, 2023, 8:00pm

A/N 1: she’s heeeereeee

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Three weeks.

Yuri’d given you the cold shoulder for the better part of three weeks.

And you’d let her, more impressed than anything she stuck to it. She’d never been mad at you for that long before and it made for a few awkward encounters—but it’s nothing you wouldn’t survive knowing what was coming.

Jungkook telling her to back off.

He’d asked you a few times, about ways to create some boundaries with her. Light ones, like not always walking with her on his arm or not discussing very personal topics such as grooming habits.  

But no matter what you suggested, no matter what he tried or said, Yuri was always somehow able to make it into something else.

Every new ‘boundary’ of his became a way for him to keep her closer instead of pushing her away.

Not walking on his arm was his way of letting her keep her independence. Not discussing grooming habits was his way of keeping the spark and mystery alive.

You don’t know how she did it. How she kept doing it to herself, finding ways to spin things in her favour, completely ignoring the rationality and reality of the situation.

Therefore, you decided that it was just going to have to be a hard lesson she’d learn in time. 

And in time did she ever.

When Jungkook finally did tell her outright, it was a last resort made after his several attempts at trying to convince her of their strictly platonic friendship, of trying to enforce his boundaries and be gentlemanly about the situation. 

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with this kind of behaviour from women.

But much to his regret, he was only able to tell her after she tried to kiss him. 

One afternoon, they were sitting on a bench in one of the school's lesser traveled courtyards, a respectable distance apart from one another, sipping on coffee he’d offered to pay for. 

He kept buying her coffees, kept occasionally complimenting her outfits, he was kind to her, and communicated his needs in their ‘relationship.’ 

It was the final nail in the coffin for her. 

She’d been debating it for a while, wondering if she should make the first move or wait until he did, but she wasn’t completely sure he felt the same. 

So, Yuri’d taken this final declaration of affection as the confirmation she needed, and leaned in. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook didn’t think much of treating her. It had always been his way of saying thank you for all the help around campus. In fact he’d done it more than once, really hoping she could see how grateful he was to her. 

She’d shown him the best places to eat and study in their building, showed him the fastest routes to his classes and the ones that would offer him the most privacy for him. 

She introduced you to him. 

He was grateful to her. 

But then he saw her eyes closing, and puckered lips moving closer and closer and closer and—in a not very princely, but very Jungkook way—panicked. 

He caught her shoulder with a hand to stop her advance and hoped that while doing so he was somehow wondrously mistaken and he was saving her from fainting or falling or literally anything else.

However, reality quickly derailed the nice thought.

It took a second for Yuri to register the hold was meant to halt rather than control, and opened her eyes, mortified.

No. 

Worse. So much worse. 

Horribly, stomach dropping, gut twisting, face heating, all-encompassingly embarrassing.

She just tried to kiss the prince. 

She just tried to kiss the prince??!!

And he stopped her. Almost pushed her away because he was so against the idea. 

She tried to kis—

Oh no. 

Oh no no no. 

No no no! 

Fuck! 

What the hell is wrong with her?! Why was she so stupid? She should have just listened to you. 

Why didn’t she listen to you!!??

Jungkook felt horrible for Yuri as he watched her process her emotions. Felt angry with himself. 

Horrible to have caused this and angry that he was unable to be honest with her about how he felt from the get go and save them both from this situation.

But he didn’t. And now he has to. 

And she looks like she wants to be half way across campus right boss.

So Jungkook, as kindly as he could, informed Yuri that while he was incredibly thankful for all of her help with everything over the past month, he didn’t feel the same way she did. And that he was very sorry if he’d ever done anything to make her think he did. He truly didn’t mean to, and apologized again that the boundaries he tried to set weren’t clear enough to signal that to her.

And from the water that began to swim over her irises to her hands that shook as he spoke, he could see it went over about as well as he expected.

Meanwhile, Yuri’d never left a situation so quickly in her life.

Jacket thrown over an arm, half open purse hastily grabbed, Yuri’d scrambled to be literally anywhere that he wasn’t. The held back tears freeing themselves from the confines of her lashes as she went.

The second she was out of his sight you received a heads up text, informing that a very distraught Yuri was most likely on her way to you, to please be gentle with her, and that he was extremely sorry to have caused this.

Not two minutes later did a mascara stained Yuri burst through your shared door apologizing for being so stupid. Rambling on about how you were right and he didn’t want her. That she read all of his signs wrong and frantic over the thought that her dreams of their future were crushed.

You held her as she cried her heart out, verbally bashing the prince for ‘being an asshole’ and ‘leading her on.’ Allowing her to process and get all of her feelings out.

He didn’t lead her on and you knew that. And you’re pretty sure she knew it too. But you weren’t going to call her on it. Instead, you agreed with every word she said and offered up a few choice ones of your own. In particular, ‘that asshole doesn’t know what he had.’

Your comfort seemed to make her feel better and you were glad because wanted to support her. To let her know she could always come back to you no matter what. That friends are forever even if there are bumps in the road, and you’ll always be there for her.

She made a promise that night to never let a guy come between you two ever again.

That was a month ago, and little to her knowledge, your friendship with Jungkook is flourishing with every passing week.

After having a mini meltdown about the realization of what you agreed to, you rationalized, and decided you didn’t think saying yes would really amount to much. Fully expecting him to text you maybe once a week about something school related or send you funny pictures on social media every now and then—not that you followed one another.

But it hasn’t been anything like that at all.

He messages you everyday.

At first it was just random things, like a picture of a rabbit nibbling on some grass by the greenhouse one morning.

PJK [6:23am]: *see attached: 1 image* PJK [6:23am]: I’m gonna name him floppy, I’ve seen him out here like 3 times now

You don’t reply until your morning alarm goes off at 6:45am, finding the messages when you go to snooze it.

Eyes still heavy with sleep and half closed, you type out your reply.

You [6:45am]: Junfgkook itsnot eben sevem in teh morninf, what thefcuk are yiu doing up, let alione out

Jungkook snorts at your text.

PJK [6:47am]: okay so clearly someonnneees definitely not a morning person, Miss Typos. PJK [6:48am]: But to answer your question: morning workout followed by homework. I prefer to get both out of the way before the day starts. PJK [6:48am]: Plus I like the greenhouse in the morning, it opens early so I get breakfast and a nice view while getting to work in peace

You scoff with a quirked smile. 

Of course.

You [6:50am]: Camt realte, I’ll be a mornig pesron once im outof bed, its teh period of time betwenn nowanf then taht im not

And that’s true. Once you’re up, you’re up. No caffeine or food needed. Your brain goes  “up now? Okay.” But that little period of time between waking up and getting out of bed?

You’re a zombie.

Jungkook laughs to himself at your butchered words, sitting in his newly decided seat outside the cafe—the one next to yours—before replying.

PJK [6:51am]: noted. don’t message YN before 7am or fear her wrath

You drag a pillow over your head, groaning. Guess you’re ‘up’ now.

You [6:53am]: damn straight You [6:54am]: the bunny’s cute tho You [6:54am]: hi floppy

That’s how you learned that he’s a morning person.

Random texts aside?

Jungkook’s also genuinely trying to get to know you while letting you learn about him too, and you really weren’t expecting just how… normal he is.

PJK [4:28pm]: What’s your favourite drink?

You [4:30pm]: Like alcohol wise or in general? Cuz if in general its a 3 way tie between OJ, apple juice and fruit punch, but if it’s alcohol? You [4:31pm]: I like wine I guess, the fruity kind. Dont really care what brand, but I also dont drink all that often so make of that what you will

PJK [4:32pm]: I meant in general but I’ll take that answer too. Mines milk or beer PJK [4:33pm]: wine’s delicious though. And a 3way tie between juices? I worry for your sugar intake

You [4:34pm]: haha. my sugar intake’s just fine thanks

PJK [4:35pm]: lol.

A weird quirk of yours is that you never use ‘lol’. Something deep inside you just hates it, maybe because of how overused it is. You’ve always used a version of ‘haha’ or ‘hehe’ or one of the various laughing emoticons. But naturally, when he found out about this little aversion, Jungkook seemed to use it more and more around you just to get a rise.

PJK [4:35pm]: whatever you say, Rembrandt

A smile finds your lips at that.

You don’t know how it started really, but sometime between that Monday in September and now, halfway through October, Jungkook started to refer to you almost exclusively by a number of old artist themed nicknames.

And they have, so far, never once been repeated. You're starting to wonder if he searches up new ones because of how many he’s donned you without duplication.

Ding.

PJK [4:49pm]: what are we feeling for Sunday? Action? Thriller? Mystery? What’s on the menu? Is there a dress code?

Another tradition that’s somehow worked its way into your life; Sunday movie nights at Jungkook’s.

He lives in a single dorm so you never have to worry about prying eyes or noisy roommates. Plus he always has the best snacks so you can never say no.

And, well…You love them.  

You love having dedicated time to relaxing and being social in an environment where you feel safe and not overwhelmed. Where you feel comfortable getting out of your academic head for a few hours with someone you’re learning to trust and know, whose company you genuinely enjoy.

They’re something you didn’t know you needed so badly until they became routine. Three to five hours a week of nothing but relaxing and fun. A break from the chaos your life has always been.

No painting or drawing or studying or catching up on anything you’re behind on. No preparing yourself for the next day's lessons or keeping up with your practice schedule.

Just a few blissful hours of complete peaceful nothing where your brain can turn to mush before coming back stronger than before. Like a caterpillar needs to do in order to become a butterfly.

You tell Yuri you’re doing individual studies in the school during them. And in true Yuri fashion, says; “Only crazy people study all night before the week starts up again, but you do you Sweets,” or something along those lines every time.

She knows not to get in your way when it comes to your academics, and does her best to support you from afar.

It makes the night that much sweeter knowing you won’t be interrupted.

But right now, it’s barely Wednesday evening. You haven’t thought that far ahead yet. And for good reason.

You [4:55pm]: all I ask is a comfy dress code please, like PJ level comfy and no horror movies. I’m going to be so dead this weekend. Expect no makeup and minimal effort

You have an early mid-term on Friday, and already know you’re going to be so wiped for the days following. Your study habits aren’t exactly healthy, but they work, and that’s all you care about.

Who needs sleep or food when you’re top of your class and have a scholarship to keep from the top university in the nation?

PJK [4:57pm]: so what I’m hearing is I get free reign over choice of movie and snacks as long as I follow the two requests of casual wear and nothing scary?

You [4:59pm]: well considering that you always eat 90% of the snacks and whine until we settle on a movie you like then talk through anyways? You [4:59pm]: sure

He ignores your playful jab, and instead tries out one of his own. To see if you’ll budge.

He’s been testing the limits of your humor lately, to see if yours and his match up at all.

PJK [5:01pm]: But what if I sleep naked and have no Pj’s? Hmmm?? What would you do then???

You [5:01pm] take pictures and sell them to the highest bidder. You [5:02pm] How much do you think I could get for leaking the first pictures of the prince's dick to the public?

You think twice after sending that message, maybe a bit too bold.

But he takes it in stride, is a little proud even.

Not many would speak to him that bluntly, especially not with a ‘threat’.  It seems your senses of humor line up quite well.

PJK [5:02pm]: ok damn. I have PJ’s, no need to go there so quickly.  lol PJK [5:03pm]: i don’t need my dick on the cover of every news outlet thanks. my dad would literally kill me

It makes you snort how he refers to the king as his dad. Because on one hand, yeah. But on the other, it seems like such a mundane title for the most powerful man within 5000 miles in any direction. The monarch. The one who can command armies with the flick of an eyebrow or quirk of the finger.

You [5:03pm]: you literally asked for it.

Also, how in the fuck did you manage to get yourself into talking about the princes dick? That’s definitely not a safe topic by any means.

And yet… it didn’t stop you from doing so.

Stupid brain always needing to win.

PJK [5:04pm]: yeah… guess I did. Allow me to make up for it: PJK [5:04pm]: you can ask for one snack and I will guarantee its presence on Sunday

You [5:05pm]: ahhhh. i love your princely power sometimes. being able to ~guarantee~ me anything my heart desires. You [5:05pm]: A true friend indeed.

Jungkook laughs at that.

You [5:07pm]: blue raspberry sour drops, the small ones

PJK [5:09pm]: done. PJK [5:09pm]: see you at mine then? with Pj’s on, of course.

You [5:10pm]: yeah, sounds good

But you add in, simply because you cannot help but drive the point home.

You [5:10pm]: and shame, I was really looking forward to the payday your nudes could get me. multiple zeros, meet my bank account

He doesn’t deign you with a response, but you know he saw the joke in your words.

He always does.

You put your phone down to get back to studying, but a memory of Yuri saying she was going out Sunday night pops into your head. Something about a duke asking her out but he was only able to go out on a Sunday night due to his schedule.

She, being Yuri, obviously jumped at the chance, thrilled to put the embarrassment of the Jungkook incident far, far, far behind her.

“And don’t wait up for me, I don’t plan on coming home until the morning,” she told you with a wink.

You held up your hand, and she smacked it.

“Go get’em tiger,” you encouraged in what you hoped was your most suave voice. But you cracked a giant grin before you could finish and you both broke out laughing.

With that thought in mind, you grab your phone again.

You [5:15pm]: oh wait actually You [5:15pm]: up to you, but Yuri’s gunna be gone Sunday night if you wanna finally check out casa de Rembrandt You [5:16pm]: seeing as you’ve been asking for literally forever

More like two weeks, but what’s the point of being accurate when you can be dramatic. Plus, it would be safe with no Yuri. You were on the first floor, quick and easy to get to without anyone seeing.

You [5:17pm]: gotta come in incognito mode tho, cant have that famous mug of yours filling up my security cameras

You don’t want to even imagine what would happen if security found out that the prince was entering the girls dorm.

Front page news on every gossip magazine to start.

Maybe you shouldn’t hav—Ding.

PJK [5:20pm]: absolutely 100% yes. I’ve been dying to raid your fridge of all things boring and unhealthy. I swear your diet only consists of bread, hot chocolate, cheese and egg tarts. PJK [5:20pm} And juice. Way too much juice.

You [5:21pm]: hey you leave my juice out of this Jeon. Not everyone can have a personal chef and nutritionist 😅

You don’t know that Jungkook doesn’t have either of those. That he cooks everything he eats himself.

Hey—Everyone’s gotta have hobbies. And half his friends back home are the sons of palace chefs.

You learn things when you hang out in kitchen’s all day.

PJK [5:22pm]: no one should be able to survive off of what you do, so I’ll go after your insane juice habits if I want to PJK [5:22pm]: lol

You roll your eyes. This isn’t the first, nor will it be the last time he’s going to bug you about this. 

You [5:23pm]: Thin ice, Jeon. Thin fucking ice. You [5:23pm]:  In fact, I think the only thing that will thicken it again is the addition of chocolate at movie night on your dime

PJK [5:24pm]: we’ll see about that, Cézanne. We’ll see.

Friday comes and goes way too quickly, and you were right. Your study habits are insane—but they always pay off. You knew every single answer on your mid-term and have no doubt you’ll pass with flying colours.

And just like you were right about that you were also right about being totally wiped for the following days. All that build up had to come crashing down at some point.

It’s finally Sunday evening and Yuri’s about to leave for her date, currently busy applying mascara in your shared washroom.

She already knows you’re going to skip your regularly scheduled “Sunday night study session” in favour of a night in with your bed, a movie and junkfood.

Not a lie, you tell yourself, just not the whole truth.

Not a lie, not a lie, not a lie.

“I’m glad you're finally listening to your body and resting, Sweets. Gods know you work too hard in the first place,” she says, sliding the mascara wand back into the tube and doing final checks in the mirror. “A night in will do you some good. You look exhausted.”

She’s wearing a tight little black dress and matching heels with red bottoms. Her hair’s up in an intentionally messy updo, with a smokey eye, and a lipstick that matches the soles of her shoes perfectly.

In short, she looks hot.

“I feel exhausted,” you admit, leaning against the dining room table. You’re wearing a tank and pj pants paired with your favourite bunny slippers. “But I aced that exam soooo… worth it. You have fun though! And go get that dick yeah? Let me live vicariously through you, considering mine lives on the other side of the planet right now.”

The sad smile she begins to give you gets replaced by a wider, much more mischievous one, “I’ll be sure to fill you in on every detail. I need to know your opinions, you’re clearly better at this whole thing—five year relationship still going strong and all. I need to know if this one’s a keeper.”

“First opinion: if he can’t find the clit, dump him.”

She gives you a look. “That one’s obvious, YN. I’m not completely hopeless.”

You plaster your face with her mischievous grin from earlier and mutter, “could’ve fooled me,”  under your breath.

You’re met with a towel to the face as you laugh. Removing it from its current rental space on your face, you place it on the back of a chair and continue to mock, eyes catching on the clock in your room while doing so.

“Aren’t you going to be late? It’s like 6:15.”

“Shit! Yes. Thank you,” she says, grabbing her handbag off the door handle and stuffing it with makeup and condoms. She knows better than to trust the guy to have them.

Shuffling out, she takes her jacket off the coat hooks by the door and puts it on.

“Okay byeeeeeee, don’t wait up, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon and let you in on all things dirty!”

You wave goodbye. “I’m looking forward to it, be safe!”

“Always am,” she says as she closes the door, and you go back to your room once it clicks shut.

You’d spent the afternoon tidying, not that you were messy, but you were raised to clean before company came over because apparently you can’t have people knowing you actually live in your place of residence. 

Stupid made up rule. But it’s ingrained into you at this point.

Plopping down on your bed, you scroll through your phone waiting on a text from Jungkook to signal his arrival. But before one ever comes, a knock sounds at your door.

It’s probably Yuri. She forgets her keys all the time and no matter how much you hound her for it, the problem never seems to resolve.

Getting up, you don’t hold back your scolding, “Yuri how many times have I told you to just keep your damn keys in your ba—oh,” shock cutting you off as you open the door.

Jungkook’s standing in your entryway wearing flannel PJ pants and white tee under his normal hat, mask and jacket combo.

He looks so completely different to what you’re used to seeing on TV, in magazines and on campus.

No formal wear or designer labels. Just a loose shift and brandless pants.

So normal. Like anyone else.

You think you’d be used to it after a month and half. But you’re still slightly jarred every time you see him so ordinarily dressed.

And as much as you practice what you preach about not giving a shit about his social status, there’s always that underlying expectation of what and how a prince is supposed to look. Regal, royal, not like an entirely regular university student.

He looks comfortable, and his arms are full of plastic bags that likely hold the snacks he promised for tonight.

And while you’re taking him in, you don’t see him staring at you, unable to speak.

He’s looking at you, at your cute shirt and pants, at the most adorable pair of slippers he’s ever seen. But also at your nervous expression, and how tired you seem.

You break the silence, moving past him to peek down the hallway.

“Hey, I thought you were going to text me you were here so I could come get you. Did Yuri see you? She just left,” you ramble, happy to see it’s empty before moving out of the way to let him in.

“Nice pajamas,” is all he manages.

You look down at his compliment, eyeing your slippers. Yikes… That's only slightly embarrassing. “Uh… thanks.”

Your confusion snaps him out of his daze.

“I saw Yuri on my way in, but she didn’t recognize me, don’t worry.”

“Oh that’s good. No text though? You didn’t get lost trying to get here?”

“Hands were full,” he says, lifting his arms. “Plus you’re on the first floor and your building isn’t that hard to navigate. It has signs and I have eyes. I worked it out.”

Closing the door, you turn to help with the bags but immediately pause.

Oh.

You didn’t think prior to his arrival about just how much space he was going to take up in your dorm.

Jungkook’s place is bigger than yours, it feels comfortably large. Has more than enough room to go around.

And your dorm isn’t tiny by any means—when it’s just you and Yuri.

It has two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small kitchenette, a dining room. Lots of room for you two.

But Jungkook, he’s…very large. He takes up a lot of space you aren’t used to having filled.

And you know that, you have to remind yourself. You know he’s taller than you by a good couple inches and that he works out regularly.

You know he isn’t small by any definition of the word.

So why does it still bring such a surprise to have him take up so much of your space.

Gulp.

“Eyes and signs are convenient like that I guess,” you respond dumbly, looking to your room where movie night will be held.

It’s even smaller than the dining space.

You really really didn’t think this through.

“Where can I put these?” he asks, holding up his bag clad arms.

“In there,” you gesture to the room that’s starting to leech the air from your lungs despite the fact you aren’t even occupying it yet.

Jungkook takes his shoes off by the door and heads to your room. He has to turn sideways to get through your door with all of his bags.

“Did you have to buy the whole store?”

“Yes.”

You scoff but follow. He steps between the two bean bag chairs at the side of the bed, and firstly sets the bags down on the floor in front of them before secondly shedding himself of his disguise, leaving the mask and hat on your desk, his jacket on the neatly tucked in desk chair.

And with its removal, tattoos you’re not used to seeing are now on full display as what you thought was a t-shirt is actually a muscle shirt.

His forearm and bicep are covered, the ink continuing to crawl up and over his shoulder and under his shirt.

There’s barely a patch of untouched skin left.

And you try not to stare. You really do, even though all you want to do is stare. Up close. Too close. For hours.

You want to study every line and bit of shading. Every colour gradient and scrawl of text. Every design and hidden meaning.

Damn your love of art.

Reaching into the discarded bags, he pulls out three bags of chips, far too many drinks, two packs of candy—one of which is a massive pack of blue raspberry sour drops—two chocolate bars, and to your surprise, some fruit and vegetable trays and a charcuterie board.

You raise an eyebrow at those last three as your movie nights have almost always exclusively had shitty junk food. Jungkook notices your quizzical expression instantly.

He’s been noticing a lot about you lately.

“Gotta make sure you eat more than junk, your body needs healthy foods too you know.”

“I see cheese, so I am content.”

“Michelangelo, I swear to god if all you eat is the candy, chocolate and cheese I will hire you a personal chef to make sure you eat better. And yes that is a threat.”

He’s setting everything out on your twin bed so you’re both able to reach back to grab what you want, pointing as he lists, “There’s strawberries, tangerine slices, grapes, peaches, bean sprouts, carrots, cucumbers, radish, sesame dip, seaweed, kimchi, meat and crackers here on top of the cheese and junk food. All pre-made and ready to go. So you better shove them in your mouth and thank me later.”

You raise your hands in defeat. He wasn’t mean or rude in his tone, clearly just passionate about healthy eating. And since it’s all here and free and will make him happy, who are you to deny him?

Though that doesn’t mean you’ll accept without giving him a hard time about it.

“Alright, alright your majesty, I concede, your wish is my command.”

He gives you a look you wholly ignore as you head to the computer you have set up on a little stand in front of the bean bag chairs. Not nearly as nice as the couch and flatscreen at Jungkook's place, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“What am I cuing up?”

He tells you the movie he’s selected for the night, and you’re not surprised. It’s an action thriller, something with car chases and explosions. You’re too tired to argue, so you don’t, instead clicking into your streaming app and loading the movie.

“Plates?” he asks, not paying attention to if you're listening or not, still busy setting the food up.

Yeah, you guess plates could be useful. And maybe cups too.

By the time you return from the kitchen with two plates, two bowls, some cutlery and cups, Jungkook’s already settled into the chair on the right; himself and the food ready to go.

Flicking the lights off on the way to your seat, you give him his share of dishes, and both of you fill them as much as you can.

Yours is stacked with a bit of everything, to which Jungkook gives a nod that you know means ‘good.’

A single butterfly flaps its wings in your stomach.

Leaning forward, you hit the space button to play, and grab a bite of cured meat with a cracker and cheese.

—Oh! Wait, that's actually really yummy. 

Munching away, you credit him for making it past the title sequence before starting to talk. It’s further than you usually get.

“How was your exam?” he asks, mouth half full of chips but that never seems to stop him.

For someone raised in a palace you thought he’d have more manners drilled into him.

You don’t mind though, when he was like this it was easier to forget he was the second most important person on the continent.

“Great,” you answer, another small piece of cheese making its way to your belly. “Nailed it actually, just waiting on the professor to confirm.”

Jungkook’s subtly watching you eat from the corner of his eye while you pretend to focus on the movie. You haven't touched any of the fruit or vegetables on your plate. Slightly perturbed, he replies, “That’s great Botticelli, you’ll have to teach me your study methods one day. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up.”

“You couldn’t handle my methods,” you joke. But if you really thought about it, he was probably one of the only people that could.

You can’t imagine the pressure and discipline he put on himself growing up, let alone what his father put from the little he’s told you about him.

“You know, I think you’re right,” he says, still observing because most of the cheese and chocolate are gone while the healthy foods remain untouched.

—But that’s because you liked eating cheese and chocolate together! They complement one another on your palette. You’ll get to the fruits and vegetables… eventually.

He continues, “But it was worth a shot.”

You hum, finishing your mouthful of cheesy-chocolatey goodness, and go to grab another, but he picks up a baby carrot from his plate and places it at your lips.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Open,” he says firmly.

Jungkook really wasn’t kidding with all the healthy food talk, or maybe he just doesn’t want his money to go to waste. It isn’t like you weren’t going to eat it.

But you do as instructed, teeth gently taking the carrot from his fingers. A very satisfying crunch sounding from your bite.

His eyes linger for a second before going back to watching the movie, as if he didn’t just feed you.

There’s a feeling in your stomach you don’t want to recognize, so you push it down, and decide not to unintentionally provoke him again by beginning to eat the healthy foods on your plate. Abandoning the rest of your cheese, chocolate and blue raspberry drops.

For now.

Your phone dings from its place on your thigh, a notification from Nel popping up.

Nelly <3 [7:10pm]: hey babe, just got my ticket. I’ll see you in a few 😘

A smile plasters its way to your face immediately, cheeks almost hurting from how wide.

Nel comes over every fall reading week. You look forward to it every single year.

You [7:11pm]: I’ll see you in a few Smoosh, I love you❤️

Nelly <3 [7:11pm]: love you too x Nelly <3 [7:12pm]: what’re you up too?

You [7:15pm]: movie night with snacks

Not a lie. Not a lie. Not a lie.

Nelly <3 [7:15pm]: Yuri with you?

You [7:16pm]: nope, she’s on a date

Nelly <3 [7:16pm]: ah, hope that goes well for her Nelly <3 [7:16pm]: I won’t bug anymore though. enjoy your movie

You [7:17pm]: thanks baby, I will ❤️

It only burns a little bit to omit the fact that you have another man in your room. That while no, Yuri isn’t with you, someone else is. Not that you aren’t allowed to have guy friends, half your friends back home are, and Nel doesn’t care, he trusts you.

Also, it’s not like anything will ever happen. You two are friends and you’re quite content in your relationship.

It just feels a little too much like lying—But it’s not.

And keeping it a secret was your decision. You have to stick with it.

“Who beckons?” Jungkook asks, eyes on the screen. A car chase currently capturing his attention.

“Just Nel letting me know he got his ticket for fall break,” a strawberry meets  your tongue, mmm. “I’m so excited to have him for a whole eight days.”

It’d taken you a minute to tell Jungkook about Nel, primarily because the topic never really came up and because you thought going “Oh by the way I have a boyfriend” randomly might’ve made Jungkook think you thought he was trying to flirt or get with you, even though you knew that wasn’t the case. It was just an awkward situation you didn’t know how to properly approach.

But conveniently, just as he got your number in the first place, Jungkook saw ‘Nelly <3’ pop up on your phone screen one day while you were at the greenhouse.

“Hey, YN, you have a text from a ‘Nelly heart emoticon’?” He calls to you.

You were walking out of the cafe, hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in hand. “Oh, that’s Nel, well, Cornelius, but he hates his full name so I just call him Nel. He’s my boyfriend.”

You swear Jungkook stiffens at the word boyfriend, but it’s such a small change you can't tell if it actually happened or if you imagined it. You decide it was the latter as his reply is normal.

Well…normal for him at least.

“Boyfriend, hmmmm? Since when? You never told me about a boyfriend. Would I approve? Does he treat you well? He showers right? Some guys say they do and then wear too much cologne to cover up the fact that they don’t,” Jungkook’s leaning in now, like a detective conducting an interview. His only tell that he’s joking, a quirked lip. His eyes on the other hand…

You indulge him. “Since the end of 10th grade, I never told because you never asked, I think you two would get along actually, and yes he does. To both.”

Jungkook stares, squinting at—no—into you. Trying to decide if you’re lying about that last part. “Damn,” and you thought you detected a hint of defeat in his voice. But if there was, he recovered fast.

“That’s a long time, I’m glad you’re with someone who treats you well, and showers,” honing in on you again, he looks like he’s mentally deciding something, then nods. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”

“But I’m not sorry?”

“You’re still forgiven.”

Back in the present, Jungkook asks with wider eyes than normal, “Does that mean I won’t see or hear from you for a week?”

Jungkook isn’t leaving campus for fall break. His family will be in another country then—a regularly scheduled trip from the middle of October to the second week of November. This is the first year he won’t be going.

“Uhm.. yeah probably. I only get to see Nel in the summer, a day during Solstice break if I’m lucky, and fall reading week, so I try to maximize my time when I’m with him.”

You and Nel are both always too busy to do anything for the spring reading week because you’re trying to wrap up your school years. Nel is only able to come your way during the fall because he isn’t at his school on scholarship, and doesn’t rely on being a top student to be there. Though he’s still brilliant.

He’s studying architecture at the Eastern College of Architecture and Design and is proudly ranked somewhere in the middle to higher area of his class. 

Unfortunately, his program also requires him to stay longer during the Solstice break, so anytime he does have during it, he wants to spend with his family—which you understand. Solstice is important to your mother too, so it works out that you spend that time with her.

Therefore, summer and fall break are your favourite times of the year. Your Nel Time.

Long distance is hard, and you plan out this week with Nel in the summer to maximize every second you have with him.

Every single precious second.

“Oh… okay,” Jungkook looks back to the movie, focusing hard on the explosions. But pipes up again after a minute. “What about your study times? I thought you mentioned a while ago that you always study through breaks.”

“I do. We do. Nel studies with me, we go to the greenhouse cafe or the library or wherever. He understands that my education has to come first for now. He’s always said my dedication to my future was one of the first things that attracted him to me in the first place.”

You're smiling again, recalling the memory.

You and Nel met at an art show your high school put on; you displaying your paintings and him his architectural drawings. Barely sixteen and seventeen back then.

You were making the rounds, looking at all the other pieces submitted by students, when his drawings caught your eye.

They were of a very futuristic looking house that was built into the side of a mountain. It was made of glass, wood and a dark material you didn’t know the name of.

It was beautiful. You wanted to live somewhere like that someday.

He saw you staring and struck up a conversation, complimenting your work when he asked if you were in the gallery too and you pointed your section out to him.

That night he asked for your number, and here you were, five years later at twenty-one and twenty-two.

Nel being older by a year.

That was something else you’d noticed a while ago too; that you almost always had older guys around compared to younger.

You guessed something in you subconsciously preferred that. Not having the energy to deal with the hormone induced insanity younger guys tend to have. All of them more than happy to prove themselves the biggest asshole in the room.

Nor did you like the odors and cockiness that oozed from them. Jungkook had a point about guys showering habits.

Older guys always seemed more mature, not in a literal sense, you know most men are children when given the right topic. It was more of a they didn't care what people thought, they were more polite, knew what they wanted and what personal hygiene was.

Though once you were considered ‘one of the guys’ that last one changed really quickly. They just got better at hiding it. Again, Jungkook had a point.

But…well, Nel was older, and Hobi—one of your best friends from back home—was older by a few years too. Most if not all of your guy friends from school were, not one from your grade ever making their way into your social circle.

Even Jungkook’s older by three years. Having turned twenty four about a week before you met him.

The twenty four year old in question has the smallest pout when he asks, “Does that mean I can’t go to the greenhouse for a week?”

You’re quick to clarify. “No, you can do whatever you like. But if I see you, I’ll have to pretend I don’t know you. It’s easier for everyone that way.” You yawn, the repercussions of your actions from earlier in the week coming back in full force. You’re only a half hour or so into the movie. “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook is silent for a minute, in what you assume to be a processing moment. Then,

“When do I get you back?”

Odd phrasing, but you’re one of his only friends on campus, so it makes sense that not speaking or seeing you for a week may feel like you’re being ‘taken away.’

“Nel leaves the following Sunday night, so I’ll have to miss movie night twice—sorry again. Maybe you can use that freed up time for yourself and just relax? Midterms are coming up and you don’t want to burn yourself out. Or maybe you could ask some other friends over those nights?”

Jungkook doesn’t want to tell you he hasn't made any other friends yet. That even after almost two months, you‘re still the only person he’s met that treats him how he’d requested on his first day. The only person he enjoys being around.

Everyone else still looks at him and only sees opportunity for them.

Not him.

Nobody ever saw him.

He didn’t know that being out on his own for the first time would be so isolating. Lonely.

He’d gotten used to having people who were used to him being around them. Whether they were his security—who aren’t scared to make jokes at his expense, having seen him as a teenager and growing up—but they’re here to do a job, not hang out. Or the couple of servants kids he’d grown up with who he considers his true friends.

People he didn’t have to hide around. Wear the mask of ‘prince’ around.

But they were back home at the palace. He doesn’t have them here.

He’d been looking forward to university for almost five years, to have his first and last taste of freedom before signing his life away to kingdom and crown. And he isn’t upset with his experience so far, but at the same time, Jungkook feels like he’s missing out.

Making lifetime friends is supposed to be a part of the experience, isn't it?

He’d made a few predictions about how his university experience would go prior to actually being here. So far, the only things he’s gotten right was where his grades sat, his love for what he was studying and, regrettably, the fact that no one could get over the stupid word that’s been in front of his name since birth. The one that separates him from everyone else.

A small part of him foolishly hoped it wouldn't change anything.

But it did, because it always does, because everyone cares. Everyone wants something from him.

Everyone except you.

You don’t care that he’s The Prince. You call him on his shit, and threaten to send his fictional nudes to media outlets for a laugh. You let him borrow you for some of his homework assignments when he needs a model, and he tries to return the favour whenever you need one for a figure study.

You buy his coffee when you get to the cafe before him, even though he knows you know he doesn’t need you too. Even when he has all the money in the world, and you’re on a tight budget.

But you know his coffee order, and you are kind.

You’re kind to him because you want to be and not because you think it will get you something from him.

You’re kind because it is innate to you. Because you’re different from most people, unintentionally so. You’re not kind to gain recognition or to stand out.

You see the world around you and feel inspired to create beautiful things, both on and off the canvas.

In life and in feelings and friendships.

So you are the only one he’s befriended. And that’s been enough for him. 

You’re enough.

But you’re not his. You’re someone else’s.

Someone who was smart enough to get to you first.

He can’t have you. He’ll never come first.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll have a guys night,” he brushes off with a white lie. The first he’s ever told you. And a part of him hates himself for it.

He’s come to love movie night too. And to miss one, let alone two feels…wrong.

He likes having a tradition of his own making. One that doesn’t come from anything calendar related or of his family’s making. One that he doesn’t ever want to give up.

He likes spending that time with you.

You, snuggled up in too many blankets on his couch, or resting into the bean bag chairs on your floor, munching away and watching whatever movie. Talking about nothing and everything all night.

Laughing together. Joking together. Being present together and simply enjoying one another’s company.

But Jungkook understands that Nel comes first.

Jungkook understands that it would be selfish of him to expect you to spend some of your only time that you get with Nel, with him instead.

Because Nel is your boyfriend, and Jungkook is just your…friend.

“Thanks for understanding Jungkook.”

“Of course.”

Jungkook looks at you when the movie ends.

You’re sleeping.

Silently in your bean bag chair, your head leaning to the side, mouth open a little.

He doesn’t know when you fell asleep.

Conversation dwindled after your text from Nel, and he’d focused mostly on the movie after that to distract himself.

He sees your plate is empty of all foods, healthy and unhealthy alike, and a side-mouthed smile lifts his cheek.

You’d listened to him. 

For once.

You look so peaceful, like you’re dreaming.

He hopes it’s a good dream.

You warned him that your study habits before exams aren’t the healthiest but that they worked, and that you just needed a bit of recovery time afterward. He knew you were tired the second you opened the door in the cutest pajamas and bunny slippers he’s ever seen.

But there were dark circles under your eyes, and he could see your energy levels weren’t the same as they usually were.

That’s why he brought the fruit and vegetable trays and charcuterie board. He had a feeling you needed to get some real food into you to help with your current state. That it would bring some nourishment back into your body, help you feel better.  

And by the looks of the quiet, rhythmic breaths leaving you, they did their job. Your dark circles disappearing, cheeks regaining some colour.

He thinks about waking you for a second, before deciding against it. He doesn’t want to disturb you finally getting the rest you so clearly need.

Instead, he gets up from his seat and moves the remaining food to the ground, pulls the blankets of your bed back and gently slides his arms under your knees and back, lifting.

In your semi-unconscious state from being moved, you slide your arms around his neck and nuzzle your head into the junction where his shoulder meets his neck.

Jungkook’s heart thumps, and for reasons he doesn’t know and doesn’t want to uncover, stands just a second longer with you in his arms, as you clutch yourself to him. 

Your skin under his fingertips, and lips resting near his neck.

Warm.

He takes a small breath before placing you down on your bed with the utmost care, and tucking you in.

There’s a fleeting thought of lips meeting forehead, but it’s gone before it ever arrives.

Jungkook turns to shut down the computer, then plugs your phone into its charger on your night stand and gathers the leftover food and drinks. He brings them to your kitchen and puts them away neatly into your fridge.

While doing so he notices all of the juices on the shelf and has to hold back a laugh.

You really weren’t kidding.

Silently retrieving his hat, mask and jacket silently from your room, Jungkook’s mind is reeling as he takes one last look at your sleeping form, before slipping from your room and sliding his shoes on by the door.

He exits your building, entering into the cool night with three things unable to leave his mind.

1.  The feeling of your arms around his neck, holding tightly. Refusing to let go.

2. Your hair smells like apples. Sweet ones. The ones that the castle's orchard produces for his family only. Like a piece of home.

And,

3. That in order to save whatever this friendship you two have is, he’s going to have to listen to his father’s only advice before sending him off to university. A piece of advice he never intended on listening to, until now.

To save this before he ruined it.

“While you’re at that school you need to look for a future wife. You’re going to be 24 soon enough, and you’ll be 28 by the time that you finish. The Royal Academy has all of your generation's most eligible women. Find the best one, and pick her. She’d be a fool to say no.

“And If you want my opinion,” Jungkook doesn’t but he knows his father is going to tell him whether he wants to know or not, “There’s a girl there named Adaline Dupree, she’s twenty-one, from a well bred family, of high social standing, and beautiful. She’s been on my radar for potential matches for you since you were young.

“Start with her.”

Jungkook gulps, getting into the black sedan that’s waiting for him outside.

You wake up in your bed.

You wake up in your bed?      

How did you get in your bed? Weren’t you just—?

You look for your phone, and in your search see that the computer is closed, your phone is plugged in and that the food and Jungkook are gone.

Fuck.

Did you fall asleep during the movie? 

You can’t remember.

Fuck!

Morning light is slowly crawling up your walls like ivy, the sun just barely creeping over the horizon. And you jolt in panic.

It’s Monday. Did you set your alarms last night? How early is it?

Scrambling for your phone, you read 7:43am and exhale a dramatic breath.

Your first class isn’t till nine.

Heart rate decelerating, you fall back onto your pillow. You feel rested, like you got a full night's sleep and then some. Like you’re finally recovered from the hell you put yourself through to thrive academically.

That’s the fastest you’ve done that since highschool. Only two days?

What changed this time?

Pulling the blankets back over you, the question of ‘how did you get into your bed?’ returns.

Did you wake up by yourself at some point during the night and get yourself there? Did you stay awake for the movie and slither in after Jungkook left? Or did Jungkook have to wake you up to tell you he was leaving?

You cringe, hoping it isn’t that one.

And if it is, you’re glad you don’t remember.

But with that troubling thought and a yawn, you know you won’t be able to go back to sleep, so you yank your sheets off and walk to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You can feel with a run of your tongue over them that you forgot too last night, and you need to get all of yesterday's grime off.

Half way through brushing, you quickly check the fridge for your usual morning breakfast items, only to find all of last night's uneaten snacks inside. There’s still a decent amount of fruits and vegetables left, and you decide that instead of your usual toast, jam and juice, you would use the fruit and borrow a little bit of Yuri’s yogurt for your first meal of the day. Considering it a consultation fee for the inevitable conversation about the duke later, where you will most definitely be asked for your opinion on many things.

After a return to the bathroom to spit and wash, you make a mental note to thank Jungkook for the brain food. You’re going to need it.

You [7:54am]: thanks You [7:55am]: for the food. You [7:55am]: It helped

Chapter 5: Shocking Announcements and Camouflaged Expectations

A/N 2: Thanks for waiting for her <3

<- Back

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Nubbins Sawyer NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare

This man is touch-starved as hell. I mean take a look at his family; no way they are a huggy bunch, except for maybe Bubba. He will get so happy with getting to cuddle with you that he can‘t stop giggling to himself (that‘s gonna be a theme here)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Man loves himself some nice thick thighs to hold onto. That and hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves watching it drip out of you when he is done. His diet unfortunately leaves a lot to be desired, and that shows in the way his cum tastes. But he doesn‘t mind at all if you spit instead of swallow, so that‘s fine. Will also avoid cumming into your mouth at all if you ask him not to.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Nubbins is an absolute panty fiend. When you start living with him you will notice that your underwear tends to disappear and then reappear with suspicious white stains on it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Drayton has never left his brothers with much opportunity to fool around, but that doesn‘t mean that Nubbins hasn‘t. He is on the road for most of the day, after all. So he has a bit of experience, but that experience was mostly with flings, not with an actual partner he cares about. It‘s different.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style, hands down. He loves being able to grope and smack your ass while he is fucking you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? Etc.)

I mean… look at him. Nubbins doesn‘t take anything in life seriously, and sex is no exception. There will be a lot of giggling and occasional tickles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

Does not have a lot of body hair by nature, but has a nice happy trail all the way up to his belly button. Doesn‘t really see the point in trimming or shaving it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Don‘t let his usual silliness fool you. He cares a lot, and even with all the joking, you can tell. He looks at you like you mean the absolute world to him, because you do.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before you came along, he only rubbed one out at night, when his brothers were all fast asleep. Drayton once caught him with his hands in his pants and the bruises from the beating he got took weeks to heal. But once he has you, he hardly masturbates at all anymore. He doesn‘t see the point in it anymore, now that he has you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Overstimulation. He loves to lick and kiss your body until you are a thrashing, squealing mess. And kind of connected to that, this man is addicted to the taste of you. In the sexual sense, not the cannibalism sense.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Outdoors, preferably far away from his home, so there is little chance of his brothers interrupting you. He doesn‘t care if other people see the two of you go at it in the slightest. Nubbins has no shame.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Nubbins is a simple man. He sees you in clothes that leave little to the imagination, he wants to take them off of you. And apart from that, your smell gets him going. He‘ll wrap his arms around you from behind and bury his nose in your hair or the crook of your neck and take a deep breath in. You immediately feel him twitching against your behind.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn‘t want to share you, so threesomes or orgies would be a definite no from him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

If we ignore the massive amount of courage it would take to let a cannibal's mouth anywhere near your squishy bits: Oh boy. He loves giving oral. He could spend all day with his face buried in your nethers. Licking, kissing, and he is noisy while he does it, too. Grunting, slurping, groaning, whatever other noises can produce during oral sex, he makes them, and he makes them loud.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? Etc.)

Fast and feral.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

That’s his preferred way of having sex, at least at home. Taking too long increases the risk of Drayton interrupting you (and coming after the two of you with the broom)

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? Etc.)

He is absolutely willing to experiment, and there are few things he would absolutely refuse to try.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He cums fairly quickly at first, having only very little experience and all, but he does build up stamina over time. But he also recovers very quickly and can go for a good two or three rounds before being fully satisfied.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He does not own toys himself, but if you do and are willing to use them with him, he will happily go along with it. Loves to tease you with them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A LOT. He loves to get you going and then stop right before you cum, just to see you squirm. He can get downright sadistic with it, and continue to tease you even though you’re already in tears, begging him to let you cum already.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Nubbins is very very vocal during sex. He moans and grunts and dirty-talks, letting you know how good you make him feel in excrutiating detail.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He will ask Chop Top for advice when it comes to sex, knowing that his twin had his fair share of flings and knows what works. So I hope you’re okay with Chop knowing everything about your sex life.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Nubbins’ cock is fairly average in length and girth, pale and has a slight curve upward.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Dude has a very high sex drive, it kind of goes along with being so touch-starved. Once a day is the absolute minimum he will go for.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Nubbins falls asleep fairly quickly, but he is not the „rolls over and immediately starts snoring“ type. He dozes off, yes, but he will do so with his arms wrapped around you, and his head resting on your chest so he can hear your heartbeat.

[vampiretendencies]

Could I request lyric viii with JJ Maybank?

“if you get a minute call me back, im so lonely and you’re the only one that knows me”

— call me back by chase atlantic

IDCNTLIKEDARKNESS MILESTONE EVENT ★

pairing; jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings; fluff, mentions of death, tiny bit angsty, maybe suggestive if you take it that way.

authors note; hello! welcome to the first blurb of this event! hope you all enjoy. the event lasts today up until sunday! any rules are linked in the event title. i will also be making mood boards for every blurb, but tumblr tends to ruin the quality of them. doesn’t have to be my lyrics either you may send in fully your own idea to be apart of this <3

masterlist — jj maybank masterlist

JJ bit down so anxiously on his tongue that he felt the familiar metallic taste of blood.

He’d forgotten to pick you up from work, and he knows it’s such a minuscule task but, it did slip his mind. Though he fears he won’t hear from you again, because every mistake might make you slip through his fingertips so quickly that he won’t be able to catch you.

That you’ll abandon him, and leave him for dead like everyone else in his lousy life. In this town full of stupidity, his only remnant of hope was you. And he couldn’t— he just couldn’t have that sensational feeling ripped away from him before he fully got to experience it.

Any moment he got to spend with you, he’d be elated if it was his last.

He’d die a happy man.

Though right now all he wants you to do is pick up the damn phone before he actually goes into full cardiac arrest.

You were on the other end, glaring at the phone that lit up beside you whilst toy with the corners of the sheets on your bed. You weren’t even displeased with him, you were merely proving a point— do not be late to pick late to pick you up from work, having already stayed at the shitty establish long enough.

To be quite fair though, you did have your own way of transportation. JJ just always insisted on sporting his girl in his pick up truck— showing you off to the world with a desiring kiss to his lips.

“Fuck,” he whimpered into the palm of his hand, dialing your number for the umpteenth time.

1 new voicemail.

He never leaves voicemails, you thought.

Must’ve been urgent enough for him to declare his apology to you. So you resonate with the voicemail having craved to hear his raspy, lulling voice all day.

“Baby … look okay I know you’re mad. I don’t even have an excuse this time, but I fuckin’ miss you,” and you hear his somber sentence flail at you heart, already swooning. “Shit, just don’t go okay? If you get a minute call me back, I’m so lonely and you’re the only one that knows me.”

And you did, you stored things about JJ that he wouldn’t tell a soul— not even the Pogues. He’s so adamant in saying such things because, if you leave him he vowed to not let anyone get that close to him again. Fearing to handle such deep rooted pain.

If it wasn’t you, it wasn’t anyone.

Rolling your eyes lovingly— if that was even possible, you dial the insatiable number back. Awaiting to hear his voice, you chew down on your bottom lip.

All it took was one ring.

And he’s jumping off of the couch, a half smile adorning his features.

“Wanna’ tell me why you didn’t pick me up from work?”

“Wanna’ tell me why you can’t answer the damn phone?”

Shared breathy laughter was formed, and then JJ honed in on the fact that maybe he was being overdramatic and so were you.

“Don’t don’t do that shit again, baby.”

“Then remember to pick me up next time, J.”

He huffs on the other end, but you know he doesn’t fully mean it. Stomach soaring at the weakness he felt in his knees, by the sudden and welcoming comfort surging throughout him.

“You weren’t even there to give me a kiss.”

“Tell you what, come here and we can work something out pretty girl.”

[rabbitsrams]

ted having a little get together and mutual friend!schlatt is there.. you just got through a rough break up, and through word of mouth jay knows how shitty your ex was so he spends the night being so so so sweet to you.

making you laugh until it hurts, telling you you look nice unprovoked multiple times through the night. ted picks up on it, having been on the other end of schlatt’s shy confessions about you after your first introduction!! he ultimately becomes wingman and decides to host even more little hangouts, in hopes of ultimately (but naturally) pushing you two together.

schlatt giving you a ride home from one of them and you drunkenly kissing his cheek in gratitude,, tell me he wouldn’t go home call ted and kick his feet like a little school girl!! - scout 🦷

OHHH SCOUT THIS IS SO GREAT!!!! also it got a little long my bad lol

you had met schlatt at a little get-together that your college friend, ted, was having. schlatt was a bit of a flirt, but backed off when you told him you were taken.

he was still very kind to you, and you even found yourself slightly falling for him. he was sweet, handsome and very tall. (all things your current partner wasn't. at least that's what ted thought.)

a few months have passed. you were newly single and also invited to another get-together hosted by ted. you secretly hoped that schlatt would be there, even though you knew he lived in texas. who knows? maybe he was in la for another trip.

and right you were, because as soon as you entered your friend's apartment, there he was.

"hey! j, right?" you say.

"yeah! nice to see you again!" schlatt holds his hand out for you to shake. at the same time, you lean in for a hug.

"oh, sorry." you giggle, sheepishly taking his hand into yours and shaking.

"you're good, don't worry," schlatt says. "so, um, d'ya want a drink?"

"PLEASE. i really need it." schlatt leads you to the drink area in the kitchen, handing you a hard lemonade while he snags a beer.

schlatt is aware of the breakup, having been told by ted. you mentioned in the past how your ex treated you, passing it off as normal when it was the complete opposite. however tonight wasn't about them, tonight was about you.

"so, uh, how's what's their name?" schlatt asks, pretending that he didn't know of the breakup.

"who?"

"your, uh-"

"oh, my significant other? we actually, um, broke up." you look away, downing half the lemonade.

"oh. i'm sorry 'bout that."

"it's okay. honestly, they were kind of an asshole. in a way i'm glad it's all over." schlatt nods, placing a hand on your shoulder. you look up at him, giving him a sad smile.

"let's forget about that dick, we're here to party." schlatt says, putting an arm around you. you nod, smiling as you down the rest of your drink.

you say your hellos to ted and his other friends as you go around the apartment with schlatt. you two decide to hang out on the couch slightly away from everyone else. and you like it better that way because you're able to talk to schlatt with minimal interruptions.

you don't remember the last time you laughed this hard. he's naturally witty, even the smallest things he says make you giggle. he has such a way with words that even makes you swoon a bit.

"did i tell you how good you look right now?"

"you did, a few times. and thank you, you look good too."

you and schlatt slowly and unconsciously move closer together as the night goes on, with him throwing his arm around you while you lean on him as you're laughing.

all while you're spending time with schlatt, ted is watching you guys. he is very aware of how schlatt feels about you. he would always ask ted how you were doing whenever they would get on call to record the podcast. if ted ever posted a story with you he'd stare at it a little too long because you were so pretty. hell, even on the night you met, he kept ted up for an extra hour purely gushing over you.

he sees that you're smiling a lot more than you have been ever since the breakup. he knew that you liked schlatt and noticed how you looked at him when you met. there was definitely something there between you two.

"i'm gonna get another beer, want anything?" schlatt asks.

"just some water, thanks."

schlatt nods, standing from his spot and moving to the drink area. as he searches for a water bottle, ted comes up behind him.

"jesus christ, man, you scared the shit out of me!" schlatt grumbles, smacking ted on the arm.

"you know, this is the happiest i've seen y/n since the breakup." ted says, handing schlatt a can of beer.

"really?"

"yeah. they really like you. and i know how much you like them." ted wiggles his eyebrows, earning an eye roll and another smack from schlatt.

"shut up dude, i'm just tryin' to make 'em smile. they deserve it."

"i know, i know."

and from that point on, ted was going to try and get you two together. schlatt was in la for another week and ted knew he had a limited time to work his magic.

you were over ted's place every night since the party. what started out as a smaller gathering with you, schlatt and a few of your shared la friends turned into just the three of you.

and you loved hanging out with them. you were happy to have more time to hang out with schlatt and get to know him better. there was something about him that drew you to him, ever since you met for the first time months ago. and now that you were able to finally sit down and talk to him properly, you could properly assess your feelings for him.

and of course schlatt's feelings for you increased the more he hung out with you. you were just so amazing and fascinating and beautiful, how could he not catch feelings?

on the last night and last gathering before schlatt's flight back to texas, you went out to eat with the boys. you drank one too many margaritas which had you giggly and clingy, particularly toward schlatt.

he offered to drive you home after dinner, mostly to make sure nothing bad happened while you were drunk. ted happily obliged, letting schlatt use his truck while he ubered back to his place.

"johnnyyy... you're so kind. so sweet for taking me homeeee..." you slur, lightly tapping him on the shoulder.

"of course. need to make sure you're okay."

you giggle, thanking him. there was something about your drunken laughter that had schlatt absolutely swooning. you were so cute.

he helped you out of the car and up the stairs to your apartment. you try to take your keys out of your purse but drop them, the loud clang of the metal shocking you. "oh fuck."

"here, i gotcha." schlatt bends down to pick the keys up. you gasp loudly when the keys land in your hands.

"thank you! thank you so much! you got my keys! you got my keys!" you lean in to kiss him on the cheek.

he's absolutely star-struck at that, not even realizing that the door to your apartment opened and one of your roommates was standing there.

"thanks for bringing them home, i'll take it from here." they say. they help walk you inside the apartment before shutting the door.

"yeah, no problem..." schlatt goes down the stairs with an extra pep in his step, and once he's safe inside the car, he lets out an actual squeal.

"ted. they kissed me. they KISSED ME!"